Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [29]
Wedge dialed the power down on his headset so its signal was unlikely to be intercepted at ranges of more than a few hundred meters. He pulled off his pilot’s helmet, setting it in the little cargo space behind his seat, and put on the headset. “One to Flight. Are you reading? Answer by number.”
“Two, ready.”
“Three, ready to run off at the mouth.”
“Four, I’m a go.”
“All right, gentlemen, what’s news?”
“One, Four. On the lightboard, I keep seeing fighter maneuvers about one hundred fifty Adumar klicks southwest—”
“That’s keps.”
“Thank you, Three. Southwest, and with what I’ve been able to tell from these broken-up signals, they’ve been doing pretty much what we have. My bet is that Turr Phennir and his pilots are also out familiarizing themselves with the Blades.”
“Good to know, Four.”
“One, Three. There’s something I just don’t get.”
“This is news?”
Wedge smiled. “Quiet, Four. Go ahead, Three.”
“Why does the perator of Cartann assume that the Empire just won’t move in here and take over? Why does he think they’ll cooperate in this competition to win their favor and then just go home if they lose?”
Wedge thought about that. “Three, here’s a guess. You’re thinking in terms of the Empire we knew when we joined the Rebellion. Today’s Empire is a fraction of that size, with a heightened sense of economy. To conquer this world, they’d have to commit and probably spend a lot of resources. To do so, they might even have to smash flat the very industry they want to obtain. The Empire would win, no doubt. But they’d lose more than they’d gain. It would probably never be a cost-effective decision.”
“Good point, One. I just can never think of the Empire as anything but this gigantic thing with limitless resources.”
“Back to normal communications,” Wedge said. “The air base is coming up.” Ahead were the familiar colors and shapes of the Cartann air base from which they had taken off—several concentric rings, hangar buildings surrounding central control buildings, all of them with elaborate balconies.
Minutes later, they had landed and returned the Blade-32s back to the flightknife that had loaned them, declined yet another challenge from that flightknife, and been rejoined by Cheriss just outside the hangar. “Did you enjoy them?” she asked, her eyes shining.
“Yes, we did,” Wedge said, and led the way toward the wheeled contrivance that would carry them back into the city. “Very hardy fighter-craft.” The girl’s expression suggested that she awaited further praise for the Blades, so he added, “Obviously a vehicle of conquest.”
She nodded, happy. “There is none better. And it is obvious that you’ve learned to master it very swiftly.”
“Well … we managed not to crash,” Wedge amended. “I wouldn’t say we’ve mastered it.”
“Oh, you were putting them through their paces as though you’d been flying them for years,” she said. “And the Imperial fighters accepted a challenge today and shot down four members of Blood on the Flowers Flightknife.”
“Shot down?” Wedge frowned. “How many survived?”
“One,” she said. “Ejected, badly wounded. He’ll have some scars to brag about.” Her voice became a little more soft, more shy. “Will you be accepting challenges, too? Maybe tomorrow?”
Wedge, out of the corner of his eye, saw Janson grinning at him. Wedge slowed his pace and managed to step on Janson’s foot before the other pilot could adjust. Over Janson’s yelp, he said, “Tell me, are all your challenges live-fire exercises, or do you ever use simulators?”
Her smile faded, replaced by an expression of confusion. “What’s a simulator?”
“A device that simulates what you see and feel when you’re in a fighter’s cockpit. It uses computers, holograms, and