• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Tomer pointed to four of the doorways. “Bedchambers there, there, there, and there.” Two of the building porters, adolescent boys who could not stop grinning, obligingly carried the pilots’ bags to those chambers. Tomer gestured to the bank of drapes opposite the entry into the main chamber: “Your balcony there. It’s a pilot’s balcony, by the way.”

Wedge said, “Which means what?”

“Extra-broad and reinforced, and with nothing, including cables, for a level or two above—so you can land your starfighters on it,” Tomer said. “You can move your X-wings here at your leisure, or I can get a member of the support crew to do it—”

“We’ll move them,” Wedge said. “Speaking of those cables—what are they for?”

Tomer grinned. “Private communications from building to building, informal communications. Say you’re a young lady in one building, and your young man lives in the next—”

“You run a comm cable.” Wedge shook his head wonderingly. “There are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of them out there.”

“None to your quarters, though; we’ve had them removed. You can put some in if you choose.” Tomer gestured again. “Kitchen through there, though I doubt you’ll have the opportunity to feed yourself much while you’re here. If you choose to dine here and you prefer not to cook, the building comlink is behind that drape.” He pointed to one of the main chamber’s long walls, near the center. “Servants are standing by for any of your needs.”

“Any of them?” Janson asked.

“No,” Hobbie said. “Some of your needs stray too far outside human norms.”

“Meaning,” Tomer continued, just a trace of testiness creeping into his voice, “that a cook, a courier, a dresser, and a few others are always standing by. If you want a late-night meal or something, press the button and ask for a cook. That’s all it takes.” He gestured to another door. “The refresher. You’ll be dealing with unfamiliar plumbing, which you’ll probably think of as backworld stuff, so I’ll need to show you how the devices work.”

Hobbie nodded. “A refresher course.”

Janson made a face. “You beat me to it.”

Wedge gestured at the two doors not already identified. “And those?”

“Extra bedchambers. This was essentially a dormitory for six unmarried pilots.”

“Good.” Wedge nodded. “We’ll set up one for workouts, and the other will be our operations center. These quarters have been swept for listening devices?”

“Oh, yes.” Tomer smiled. “And they were, of course, thick with such gadgets. We’ve removed them.”

“It sounds as though we’re set up, then,” Wedge said. “What’s next on our agenda?”

“Get cleaned up and get into your dress uniforms; your court dinner with the perator at his palace is in about two hours.”

“Ugh,” Janson said. Hobbie made an unhappy face.

“They’re not reacting to the idea of meeting the perator,” Tycho was quick to explain. “It’s the dress uniform.”

“I understand.” Tomer nodded, sympathy evident on his face. “I got out of Starfighter Command before the dress uniform was even designed. Umm, if you’re looking for alternatives, I’m certain that the court would consider it a sign of honor if you wore local dress instead of your dress uniforms.”

“Yes,” Hobbie said.

“Yes yes yes,” Janson said.

Wedge repressed a smile. The New Republic pilots’ dress uniform wasn’t too bad, but it had been designed in the depths of some government public relations department, without the input of those who would have to wear it, and many pilots just did not care for it. He cleared his throat. “That’s a possibility. If you’d be so kind as to send up some examples of local dress …?”

Tomer smiled. “One snap of my fingers and you’ll have your very own fashion show. I’ll see right to it.” He gestured for the porter, who had been hovering at the exit, to proceed him, and he left.

Wedge turned to Janson. “How well did you know him? Do you trust him?”

Janson considered. “Let’s just say that he’s cleaned up better than I expected.”

“No, let’s not just say that. Let’s be a little more informative.”

Janson’s gaze wandered back in time.