Star Wars_ X-Wing 02_ Wedge's Gamble - Michael A. Stackpole [47]
It amazed Wedge that people would or could exist in such luxury in such a time of turmoil. He found their desire for pleasure and ease less disturbing than their apparent lack of foresight. From the Rebellion’s point of view the end was nigh for the Empire—though whether the Rebellion or someone like Warlord Zsinj was going to emerge as the new force in the galaxy was open to conjecture. The fact was, though, that no matter who won, avoiding unnecessary expenditures of money in such dire times seemed just to be common sense to him.
He did realize that some people would spend money to spin around themselves a cocoon within which the Rebellion did not exist. Maintaining the illusion that the Empire was hale and hearty was not difficult if price was no object. Wedge had no doubt that in some far-flung enclaves of the Empire not only were there people who did not believe the Emperor had died, but there were people who would keep on believing he was alive and well for years if not decades and possibly even centuries.
Ignorance I can understand, but not willful ignorance.
He killed another smile before it could blossom, though this one was more difficult to kill than the first. The very same people he considered willfully ignorant would find him deluded and misguided. Half of them would deny there were any problems inherent in the Imperial system—as if slavery, anti-alien sentiments, and weapons that destroyed planets could be so easily forgotten. The other half might admit there were problems, but they would shy from accepting open insurgency against the legitimate government as a solution to them. For those people, working within the system was the way to achieve change, but they failed to realize that when a system had become as corrupt as the Empire, significant change was impossible without a shattering of the power structure.
The trick of it all—and what tempted him to smile—was that all sides could make reasonable and logical arguments for their points of view. Therein was the problem with politics. Since it was the art of compromise, round upon round of discussion could end in no solution being reached. The only time serious change was made was when an individual was willing to die for what he believed. Absent that basic commitment—a commitment most Imperial citizens were not prepared to make—the Empire would continue to exist in one form or another, institutionalizing evil.
A man appeared at the end of his row of seats. “Colonel Roat?”
Wedge looked over slowly, then nodded. “Prefect Dodt. It has been, well, years.”
As Parin Dodt—an Imperial Prefect with greying brown hair and brown eyes—Pash Cracken nodded. “It was last at the ceremony ending the year of mourning, as I recall, just before you were transferred away. I would not have known it was you, but the Customs man told me who you were. The galaxy gets smaller as time goes by.”
Wedge stiffly patted the seat beside his. “Join me, if you do not mind. My body has been broken, but my brain was unaffected. You are coming to Imperial Center on business?”
“You know better than to ask such questions, Colonel, just as I know not to ask where you were injured.” Pash settled himself into the seat and loosely fastened the restraining belts on. “This has been a very smooth flight.”
“It has indeed.” Wedge nodded. Pash’s comment had confirmed what Wedge had decided about the journey to Coruscant: security was not so tight as to uncover them, nor as lax as might have been expected were the Empire’s core institutions breaking down. It also told him that Pash had encountered no trouble fitting in with the other passengers. While the two of them had known they were traveling on the same flight, they had not made contact previously. Had there been any difficulties