Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [76]
“Got it, boss,” Tycho said. He traversed to the port side of the transport and began unloading fire on the new enemies there.
In moments the balcony was mere meters ahead. On it were numerous ornate recliners—and several startled-looking Adumari nobles, brewglasses in hand. Wedge saw no flatscreens in their vicinity and supposed they were unaware of what was going on.
“Come forward!” Wedge shouted. And as his pilots abandoned their positions and moved to join him, he locked the controls down and moved up to the transport’s forward rail. As it came within two meters of the balcony, he stepped up on it and launched himself upward, grabbing the balcony rail, swinging himself over onto the balcony floor. His pilots landed beside him, one, two, three.
He had his blaster pistol out before the balcony residents quite reached their feet. He waited a moment as the slow-moving transport crashed into the side of the building below, and said, “Don’t move, we’re just passing through.”
He led his pilots through the sliding transparent door and into the nobles’ main room. More people were here, adults, children, liveried servants. Wedge gestured with his pistol and they raised their hands.
“Jackets and belts off,” he said. “Too distinctive. You people get to keep them as souvenirs. You.” He gestured at one of the servants. “Where’s your cloakroom?”
The man, his expression wavering somewhere between delight and alarm, pointed.
Janson kept the occupants under guard while Wedge slid the cloakroom door opened. He grabbed four dark cloaks, handed them out as Hobbie and Tycho took up positions on either side of the double doors out into what should have been the building’s main hall.
Behind him, he could hear snatches of conversation from the nobles: “That one’s the diligent one.” “Why, they’re no taller than our pilots. I thought they would be giants.” “Is this a custom from their world? I rather like it. I think we’ll visit the ke Oleans this way.”
Wedge draped a cloak around Janson’s shoulders and the last around his own, then the two of them also set up beside the doors. “Ready,” he said, “go.”
Janson pulled the door open, peered both ways. “Clear. Where to?”
“Straight across,” Wedge said. “Now.”
“Thank you for honoring our home,” called one of the nobles.
“Happy to oblige,” Wedge said, and followed his pilots across the hall.
He could hear shouting from the nearest stairwell, could even make out the words: “We must be allowed entry with our weapons. You have intruders on the first floor up—”
Wedge grinned. For once he was benefiting from, rather than being inconvenienced by, the local security measures.
Opposite was a big set of double doors, the main entrance into some other noble family’s quarters. “The lock,” Wedge said. “Fire.”
“Wait,” Hobbie said. He reached for the door handle, twisted it, gave it a pull. The door swung open toward him. He shrugged, gave Wedge an apologetic look. “Worth trying,” he said.
They charged into that set of quarters, surprising a trio of servants setting places at a long dinner table, and raced past them to the doors onto the balcony. It was unoccupied, though brewglasses were arrayed on the long bar to one side.
Wedge peered over the rail. Below was ordinary street traffic, mostly pedestrian, with two wheeled transports in view. In the distance to his left he saw a rarity for a downtown Cartann avenue—a pair of Adumari riding lizards and riders marching in stately fashion toward them. There were no maniacs waving blaster pistols to be seen.
Moments later, all four pilots dropped to the street and merged into the pedestrian traffic. At the intersection, they ducked faces and pulled up cloak hoods as survivors of the shooters’ crowd turned the corner and raced toward the part of the building from which