Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [71]
Rogriss took it. “I can’t pass up an opportunity to gloat.”
“What Imperial admiral could?”
“Good-bye, General.”
“Good evening, Admiral.”
Rogriss’s walk, as he left, was slower than before, but more sure. Was he weighed down by Wedge’s offer, or by being reminded of the dilemma before him? Or had he simply sobered up a bit? Wedge didn’t know.
Before the pilots turned in for the evening, their datapads received a transmission from Tomer. The perator had called another gathering on the world government question for his palace the following evening.
Wedge and Red Flight spent the next morning and afternoon at their usual pursuit, what they were now calling “flight school”—accepting challenges from Adumari pilots and demonstrating to them the New Republic way of doing things. There were fewer challenges today, giving them some long, peaceful stretches when they could just fly for the joy of it.
Today, after the flying, there was no parade lining of well-wishers accompanying them on their way back to their quarters, just a few admirers crowded at the air base gates. There was no Cheriss to tell them how the Imperial flyers had done with their day’s challenges. The ride back to their building was quiet and uneventful.
“No friends left,” Janson said, leaning against the rail. “We’ve managed to make everyone hate us.”
Tycho offered him a half smile. “I thought that’s what you’d been trying to achieve your whole life.”
“Good point.” Janson straightened. “What am I complaining about? No, wait, I know—they haven’t yet erected statues of us to throw rotten fruit at.”
“Give us another day,” Hobbie said.
They again wore their New Republic dress uniforms for the night’s event. This time, entering the Royal Outer Court ballroom, they had no problem spotting the Imperial pilots—they, too, were in dress uniforms, the spotless grays that spoke of decades of the Empire’s rule. Dull by the standards of Adumari dress, they still stood out in the crowd.
“They followed our lead,” Janson said. His grin was infectious. “I bet they had to be ordered to. Stings a bit, doesn’t it, General Phennir?” He was more than a dozen meters from the Imperial officer, who could not have heard his words, but Phennir still glowered at him.
Tomer joined them. “It’s going to be war,” he said, his tone regretful. “There’s no stopping it now.”
“Do me a favor and kill power to this performance,” Wedge said. “Maybe you are a little sad that a war is resulting … but the rest of it is all according to your plan.”
Tomer looked confused. “My plan? I think you’re more than a little mixed up, General.”
“No. It’s pretty much cut and dried. Let’s go back in time a little bit. You’re assigned here as regional head of Intelligence with the task of bringing Adumar into the New Republic.”
“I’m just a diplomat—”
“Shut up. But they need a world government to make the task a simpler one and you get to work persuading the rulers of Adumar’s nations to consider such a change. All very well and good so far.”
Tomer shook his head, a denial, but his attention was fully on Wedge.
“Now, it gets sticky. They want to talk to famous pilots, so you send for me, intending to keep me around as entertainment for the Cartann court, since I have no diplomatic skills to speak of. As soon as I arrive, you discover that the Empire is also here, which drastically moves up the time frame you’re working in. The longer the Empire has to work on it, the more they can appeal to the Adumari love of blood sports and death in combat, so you have to act fast. That means creating a world government by the fastest means possible—by persuading the perator of Cartann to implement one through leverage and conquest, something that appeals to him anyway. We fly fighters for the public’s amusement while you arrange to sacrifice hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocents in a war that will accomplish your mission.”
“You’re interpreting everything in the most negative possible