Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [89]
“I understand.”
“Good.”
He rejoined Iella and strapped himself back in, then wrapped his arm around her.
“All settled?” she asked.
He nodded.
“If I can ask, what was it all about?”
“She’s just growing up. She’s come along two, maybe three years since the other night.”
“That’s good.”
“Maybe we can figure out how to build a weapon out of the process and shoot Wes a few times.”
His eyes still closed, Janson said, “I heard that.”
The briefing room where Wedge and company met the rulers of the Yedagon Confederacy was unlike anything they had seen in the city of Cartann. It was a circular chamber, half bounded by curving wall, half by a succession of ornate columns beyond which were close-cut grasses and artistically spaced trees. The portion of the room bounded by columns was open to the sky, though Wedge could see a panel at the edge of the ceiling of the room’s other half that suggested some sort of light cover could be mechanically extended as a roof.
The floor and tables in the chamber were of a marblelike stone, the floor textured so that feet did not slip upon it; Wedge prodded at it with his toe to find that it was indeed solid, not the sort of cushiony cover that seemed to decorate every surface in Cartann.
Light winds stirred in the chamber. The place was airy and well lit, with no corners for skulking, no shadows to hide within. A vast improvement over what we’ve been enjoying, Wedge decided as he seated himself.
On the other side of the central table from him, Escalion, the perator of the Confederacy, settled into position. “I will be brief,” he said. “You are a military man and doubtless have no taste for roundabout talk or circuitous approaches to the subject.”
“Thank you,” Wedge said, and studied the man. Yedagon’s perator was also in contrast to Cartann’s. Of average height, he was dark of hair and beard but pale of skin. The contrast gave his features the appearance of intensity even when he was at ease. He was a few years older than Wedge, and his physical condition seemed to be as good as Wedge’s; the musculature of his upper body suggested regular exercise or workouts and his waist was flat. His uniform was a spotless white, reminiscent of an Imperial Grand Admiral’s uniform except for the elaborate purple scrollery traced down the outside of his sleeves and trouser legs and the bank of medals and campaign markers on his chest—each a different size, shape, and color, decorations that the orderly Imperials would find offensive in the extreme.
“If it is your wish,” Escalion said, “we would be happy to provide you transport to your orbital vessel. Your public refusal to fall in with Cartann’s military aggression indebts us to you that far, and more. But we would like to present you with another alternative. A request.”
“You want me to fly with your forces against Cartann.”
“No,” Escalion said. “To lead them. All of them.”
Wedge leaned back. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to put an entire nation’s military force in the hands of a man who has only the vaguest familiarity with it.”
“You misunderstand me,” Escalion said. “I’m not talking about one nation. I’m in constant communication with the ruler of Halbegardia, and she is in agreement. We wish you to lead the united forces of all nations arrayed against Cartann.”
“Why?”
“Because you have done things on Adumar that are unprecedented. You have demonstrated piloting skills that surpass our best—your four-pilot unit shot down thirty opponents last night, lest we forget. You have sought to teach rather than accumulate honor at a cost of blood and lives. You have defied the most powerful man on Adumar and survived his wrath. All of which is only part of the answer.” He leaned forward over the table, his expression genuinely intent. “It is my belief, and the belief of my advisors and Halbegardia’s, that if it is known that you lead our combined forces against Cartann, many other nations