Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [26]
But the Wraiths all shuffled into the enclosed bed of the skimmer, Wedge followed, the door closed behind him, and the vehicle lurched into motion, all without an unwelcome demand for papers. Wedge smiled. If security was lax here, it might be just as lax within the base.
“Hey, that’s Lieutenant Cothron,” one of the real stormtroopers said.
Face nodded. “He’s a pretty belligerent drunk.”
“Nice guy the rest of the time, though.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Ever play sabacc with him?”
“Sure, he took me for a week’s pay once.”
“You’re joking. He’s the worst player I ever saw.”
There was the slightest of delays in Face’s response as he adjusted his story in light of new information. “No, I think I’m the worst.”
“Really? You up for a game tonight?”
“No, I’ve learned my lesson.”
The stormtrooper settled back, his posture one of disappointment.
Moments later, the skimmer slowed. Wedge heard a verbal exchange between the pilot and what must have been the gate guards, but he couldn’t make out the words. Then they were in motion again.
It was a long minute before they slowed once more. Then the skimmer’s repulsorlift depowered and the vehicle settled to a hard surface.
The door beside Wedge opened. They appeared to be in a vehicle hangar, and a few steps away was a table where a uniformed officer and another pair of stormtroopers waited. The officer, a man with graying hair and hard lines to his face, looked bored and irritable. “Move them out. It’s time for instant justice.”
Wedge waved the real stormtroopers and their prisoners to proceed while his people got their unconscious prisoners up. Then the Wraiths moved out. Wedge was the last one out of the vehicle.
“Papers,” said the officer in charge. Wedge tensed. But the stormtrooper he addressed handed him standard identity cards bearing the likenesses of the prisoners in his charge. Wedge glanced at Face, who discreetly held up the handful of identity cards taken from their own prisoners. Wedge turned away again.
The officer looked over the identity cards. “Facts?”
The stormtrooper in charge said, “Drunk and disorderly at Ola’s.”
The officer grimaced. “You two idiots ought to find a better class of drinking establishment. Charges?”
The stormtrooper in charge shook his head, the motion exaggerated by his helmet. “None.”
“Well, that’s not too bad.” The officer glanced up at the two prisoners. “You two are confined to base for six days.”
The prisoners looked relieved.
“That’s three days starting now,” the officer continued, “and three days starting next payday.” He ignored their expressions of dismay and gestured for them to be on their way. “Next.”
Wedge stepped up. He reached over without looking. Face put the identity cards in his hand and he presented them to the officer. “Drunk and disorderly at Rojio’s. Brawling with civilians.”
The officer gave him an I-don’t-want-to-believe-you look. “They’re all unconscious. They lost to civilians?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
The officer looked pained. “Five of them against two civilians, and they’re too drunk to make a good accounting of themselves. They’ll pay for letting the unit down.” He frowned. “Five. Say, these are Captain Wanatte’s drinking buddies. Where’s the captain?”
Face spoke up: “Before he passed out the last time, Lieutenant Cothron said the captain had found some companionship for the evening.”
“Ah. Well, then. Let’s see the damages.”
Wedge said, “One of the civilians paid for the damages before we dropped them off with the city authorities.”
“Commendable. All right. I think these five will be improved by doing a few days of cleanup and breakdown work for the next morale event. Get ’em to their quarters.”
Wedge saluted smartly and headed off in the direction the other stormtroopers had taken to leave the hangar. He heard the Wraiths fall in step behind