Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [25]
Wedge studied him critically for several seconds, then raised his gaze to Cheriss’s. He spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “This boy needs to learn to handle pain, so that when he does die, he does not embarrass his family.” He held out his hand, palm up.
Cheriss shrugged and nodded, not apparently bothered. Some applause broke out from the audience, and some murmuring; but Wedge could see the perator nod agreeably, and suddenly all the courtiers around the ruler were applauding, and the applause spread from there to the rest of the crowd.
Wedge returned to his place in the audience. As he approached, Tomer, too, applauded. “A good solution,” Tomer said, his voice barely audible over the crowd. “Credible.”
“We’re going to talk about this later,” Wedge said. “And you’re not going to enjoy it.” He looked around for his pilots and spotted them, all three together, standing toward the back of the audience ring.
The crowd broke up, its members drifting away, and Wedge saw the perator’s personal retinue move toward a side exit. Two men dressed in the featureless brown livery worn by the door guards collected Depird, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet and helping him toward the main exit. Janson caught his eye and grinned uninformatively.
“Did you like it?”
Wedge turned. Cheriss, her weapons once again sheathed, stood before him. Her smile was, oddly, just a little uncertain.
“He certainly did,” Tomer said.
“I thought it was a very impressive, skillful display,” Wedge said truthfully. “With an interesting aesthetic component. Do I understand right that his objection to you was that you’d beaten his brother in a tournament?”
She nodded. “In the finals of the last Cartann Ground Championship. Depird’s brother, unlike Depird, was one of the few pilots who really knew how to handle a blastsword. Almost a pity that he died of his injuries.”
“Pity. Um, Cheriss, what purpose did the ground championship serve, other than to establish you as the new ground champion?”
She smiled. “Well, none, I suppose.”
“Entertainment,” Tomer said. “And continuation of a tradition dear to the hearts of the people of Cartann.”
“That, too,” Cheriss said.
Janson appeared beside Wedge. “News,” he said.
4
They were on foot in the streets of the city of Cartann, but nearly anonymous—the people on the street accorded them not a second glance. Wedge supposed it was because they were in native dress; had they been in their New Republic flight suits or dress uniforms, he was certain they’d be mobbed. Cheriss moved on ahead of them, politely banished from the current conversation as she led them back to their building.
“You don’t speak for me,” Wedge said. “Ever.”
The words originated in a cold spot deep in Wedge’s gut, but Tomer seemed oblivious to Wedge’s emotion. The diplomat merely shrugged. “I understand. But you have to understand that sometimes I can’t let you say the first thing to pop out of your head. Until you know a lot more about the way things work in Cartann, you’re likely to precipitate an interplanetary crisis with an ill-thought-out remark.”
“Tomer, I direct your attention to the word ‘let.’ You’ve misused it. You don’t ‘let’ me, or ‘not let’ me, anything. Understand?”
“I understand completely. You’re the one who doesn’t understand. You shot your mouth off tonight and precipitated a duel you immediately wanted to stop. Should I step aside, keep quiet, and let you do that again? Or something worse?”
“No.” Wedge fumed for a few moments. “We have to work out a way to do this. To work together. But I’m not going to blindly follow your lead.”
“It would be better for everyone if you did.” Tomer caught sight of Wedge’s expression. “Well, on another matter, what’s this news Janson brings us?”
“Pilot news,” Wedge said. “Results of some Red Flight betting. And rather than compromise myself with