Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [118]
Wedge lowered his gaze for a moment. He had no doubt that the perator best served now by remaining in exile, with little or no influence on Cartann. Wedge had imagined that the former ruler would while away his remaining years, doing little but polishing his memories of the successes of his youth, offering others little but bad advice and a growing dissatisfaction with what his world would become. But that was, perhaps, doing Pekaelic a disservice. The old man might change, might adapt. He might even lead again, by example, someday.
Wedge returned his gaze to Balass’s. “Please tell him I accept.”
“I shall. For now, though, I offer my last farewell. Duty calls.” He offered a minimal bow, shook Wedge’s hand, and was gone.
Iella said, “Poor boy.”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s a perator now. He can’t lavish praise upon you and beg you to teach him all you know.”
“As if he would.”
“He would. Our profile on him says he’s one of your biggest admirers. But now he’s locked behind the ruler’s mask and can never admit it.”
“That’s politics for you.” Wedge looked around the chamber.
Janson and a crowd of admirers occupied a corner. Janson was in his dress uniform, but, in violation of regulations, had his favorite cloak on over it. The flatscreen panels on the cloak showed a line of Jansons, arms linked, doing high kicks like a dancing chorus. Wedge wondered where he’d gotten the image. He also wondered if there was any way to space that cloak, once they were headed back to Coruscant, without Janson knowing.
Tycho and Hobbie stood in a cluster of pilots, their hands moving, showing the respective positions of starfighters from some past dogfight.
Hallis was at the counter that served as the party’s bar, her expression perplexed, as it had been for the last few days. The recordings she had made ever since Red Flight had been condemned to run its gauntlet had been increasingly inappropriate for the documentary she’d hoped to assemble. Some were now even classified. Yet the Adumari Union had settled a small fortune on her for her hard work in scripting the broadcasts that had successfully misled the Imperial invaders, and Wedge suspected, though Iella would not confirm it, that New Republic Intelligence had made an offer for her future services in the field of propaganda and deception. She looked like a woman with too many choices to make and not enough time to make them.
He turned, looking for Cheriss, and there she was beside him. “Ah. Cheriss. I wanted you to know that I’ve transmitted your application to the academy, along with my recommendation.”
“Thank you. May I ask another favor?”
“Certainly.”
“May I leave Adumar with your ship?”
Wedge hesitated. The last thing he needed was for her crush on him to interfere with his time with Iella …
“You see,” she continued, “the new perator is obliged to dislike me. I was a member, the chief guide actually, of the party that captured his father. My—what did Hobbie call it?—endorsement arrangement has already been canceled, and the owner of the building where I keep my quarters has issued a decree of eviction. If I’m to move, I might as well move all at once. Even if your academy does not accept me—”
“You’ll find work teaching the art of the sword, believe me. Of course, Cheriss. I’ll arrange it with Captain Salaban.”
“Thank you.” With a smile, she returned to the group Hobbie and Tycho were entertaining.
Wedge couldn’t quite suppress a rueful grin, and Iella saw it. “What?”
“I was in the process of flattering myself,” Wedge said, “and I got caught doing it.”
“You just flatter yourself anytime you want. I’ll always be here to bring you back to ground.”
He drew her hands up around his neck, took her about the