Star Wars - [X-Wing 09] - Starfighters Of Adumar (by Aaron Allston)

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Star Wars
X-Wing Book 9
Starfighters of Adumar
by Aaron Allston
1
She was beautiful and fragile and he could not count the number of times
he had told her he loved her. But he had come here knowing he had to hurt her
very badly.
Her name was Qwi Xux. She was not human; her blue skin, a shade lighter
than her eyes, and her glistening brown hair, downy in its softness, were
those of the humanoids of the planet Omwat. She was dressed for the occasion
in a white evening gown whose flowing lines complemented her willowy form.
They sat at a table in a balcony cafe three kilometers above the surface
of the planet Coruscant, the world that was a city without end. Just beyond
the balcony rail was a vista made up of skyscrapers extending to the horizon,
an orange sky threatening rain, and the sun setting beyond one of the more
distant thunderheads. Breezes drifting across the two of them smelled of rain
to come. At this early-evening hour, he and Qwi were the only diners on the
balcony, and he was grateful for the privacy.
Qwi looked up from her entree of factory-bred
Coruscant game fowl, her soft smile fading from her lips. "Wedge, there
is something I must say."
Wedge Antilles, general of the New Republic, perhaps still the most
famous pilot of the old Rebel Alliance, breathed a sigh of silent thanks.
Qwi's conversational distraction would give him at least a few more moments
before he had to arm his bad news and fire it off at her. "What is it?"
Her gaze fixed on him, she took a deep breath and held it until he was
sure she would begin to turn even more blue. He recognized her expression a
reluctance to injure. He gestured, not impatiently, for her to go ahead.
"Wedge," she said, her words all in a rush, "I think our time together is
done."
"What?"
"I don't know how to say it so that it doesn't seem cruel." She gave him
a helpless shrug. "I think we must go our separate ways."
He remained silent, trying to restructure what she'd said into something
he understood.
It wasn't that her words were confusing. But they were the words he was
supposed to be saying. How they'd defected from his mind to hers was a
complete mystery to him.
He tried to remember what he'd thought she would say when he spoke those
words to her. All he could manage was "Why?" At least his tone was neutral, no
accusation in it.
"Because I think we have no future together." Her gaze scanned his face
as if looking for new cuts or bruises. "Wedge, we are good together. You bring
me happiness. I think I do the same for you. But whenever I try to turn my
mind from where we are to where we will be someday, I see no home, no family,
no celebration days special to us. Just two careers whose bearers keep
intersecting out of need. I think of what we feel for one another and every
time it seems 'affection' is the proper word, not 'love.' "
Wedge sat transfixed. Yes, those were his thoughts, much as he had been
marshaling them all day long. "If not love, Qwi, what do you think this
relationship meant to us?"
"For me, it was need. When I left the Maw facility where I designed
weapons for the Empire, when I was made to understand what sort of work I had
been doing, I was left with nothing. I looked for something to tractor me
toward safety, toward comfort, and that tractor beam was you." She dropped her
gaze from his. "When Kyp Durron used his Force powers to destroy my memory, to
ensure I could never engineer another Death Star or Sun-crusher, I became
nothing, and was more in need of my tractor beam than ever."
She met his gaze again. "For you, it was a simulator run."
"What?"
"Please, hear me out." Distressed, she turned away from him to stare at
the cloud-mottled sky and the distant sunset. "When we met, I think your heart
told you that it was time for you to love. And you did, you loved me." Her
voice became a whisper. "I understand now that humans, in their adolescent
years, fall in love long before they understand what it means. These loves do
not usually endure. They are learning experiences. I think perhaps that you,
shoved from your childhood home straight into a world of starfighters and
lasers and death, missed having those learning loves. But the need for them
stayed with you.
"Wedge, I was the wrong one for you. Whatever your intent, whatever your
seriousness, I think that all you have felt for me has been a simulator run
for some later time, for some other woman. One with whom you can share a
future." Her words became raspy. She turned
her attention back to Wedge, and he could see tears forming in her eyes.
"I wish I could have been her."
Wedge sagged back against his chair. At last her words had become her own
again.
"And I am at fault," she continued. "I haveoh, this is hard to say."
"Go ahead, Qwi. I'm not angry. I'm not going to make this harder for you.
"
She flashed a brief smile. "No, you wouldn't. Wedge, when we came
together I was a different woman. Then, when I lost my memory, I became
someone else, the woman I am now, and you were therebrave and modest and
admired, my protector in a universe that was unfamiliar to meand after I
realized this, I could not bring myself to make you understand..."
"Tell me." Unconsciously, he leaned over to take her hand.
"Wedge, I feel as though I inherited you. From a friend who passed away.
You were her choice. I do not know if you would have been mine. I never had
the chance to find out."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then a laugh escaped him. "Let me get
this straight. I look on you as a comfortable old simulator, and you look on
me as an inheritance that doesn't match the rest of your furniture."
She started to look stricken, then she laughed in return. She clapped her
free hand over her mouth and nodded.
"Qwi, one of the things I truly admire is courage. It took courage for
you to say what you've said to me. And it would be irresponsible, even cruel,
of me if I didn't admit that I came here tonight to break up with you."
She put her hand down. Her expression was not surprised. Instead, it was
a little wondering, a little amused. "Why?"
"Well, I don't think I have your eloquence on this matter. I don't think
I've thought it through the way you have. But one reason is the same. The
future. I keep looking toward it and I don't see you there. Sometimes I don't
see we there."
She nodded. "Until just now I had a little fear that I was wrong. That I
might be making a mistake. Now I can be sure I was not. Thank you for telling
me. It would have been so easy for you not to have."
"No, it wouldn't."
"Well... maybe it wouldn't for Wedge Antilles. For many men, it would
have been." She turned a smile upon him, a smile made up, he thought, of pride
in him. "What will you do now?"
"I've been thinking a lot about that. I've been looking at the two sides
of my life. My career and my personal life. Except for the fact that I'm not
flying nearly as much as I want to, I have no complaints about my career."
That wasn't entirely true, and hadn't been ever since he'd been convinced to
accept the rank of general, but he tried not to burden her with frustrations
he was convinced arose from his own selfishness. "I'm doing important work and
being recognized for it. But my personal life..." He shook his head as though
reacting to the death of a friend. "Qwi, you were the last part of my personal
life. Now there's nothing there. A vacuum purer than anything in space. So I
think, in a few weeks, I'm going to take a leave of absence. Travel a bit, try
to sneak a visit into Corellia, not think about my work. I'll just try to find
out if there is anything to me except career."
"There is."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Keep your visual sensors turned up, then."
He laughed. "What about you?"
"I have friends. I have work. I am acquiring hobbies. Remember, the new
Qwi is less than two years old. In that way, I'm still a little girl
experiencing the universe for the first time." She looked apologetic. "So I
will learn, and work, and see who it is I am becoming."
"I hope you'll still consider me a friend," he said. "Always."
"Meaning you can still call on me. Send me messages. Send me lifeday
presents." She laughed. "Greedy." "Thank you, Qwi." "Thank you, Wedge."
He packed as though he were still an active pilot. Everything went into
one shapeless bag, a bag chosen for its ideal fit within the cargo compartment
of an X-wing fighter. Nothing his life would depend upon went into the bag
just clothes, toiletries, a holoplayer. More crucial itemsidenticards,
credcards, hard currency, comlink, a holdout blaster pistolhe kept on him, so
that a sudden separation from his bag would be an inconvenience rather than a
crisis.
He sealed the bag and looked around his quarters. They were spacious, as
befitted a general of the New Republic, and well situated high in a Coruscant
skyscraper. He had only to speak a word and the quarters' computer would
change the polarity of the wall-to-wall viewports to give him a commanding
view of sky, endless cityscape, ceaseless streams of vessels large and small.
These quarters were clean and spare as a military man kept them. They
were
They weren't home. Neither were the smaller but equally lavish quarters
he enjoyed on the Super Star Destroyer Lusankya, the seat of his military
operations though he was still assigned to Starfigh ter Command, the special
task force he commanded kept him in circumstances and settings more suited to
a Fleet Command officer.
Here, as there, the presence of a few mementos, of a framed holo showing
his parents in a happy embrace, of friends captured at celebrations or launch
zones, didn't conceal the impersonal nature of the furniture. If he received a
new posting while he was away on leave, he wouldn't even have to come back
here. He'd send a short message to the right department and an aide or droid
would pack everything up and ship it off, and an identical one would receive
it all and unpack it into a new set of quarters on some other world or
station, and that would become the place where he lived.
But not home. Home was a family-owned refueling station, destroyed half
his life ago with his parents still aboard, and nothing had ever come along to
replace it.
He slung his bag over his shoulder. While on leave, maybe he'd be able to
see in the faces and hear in the words of those he visited what it was that
had turned their housing into their homes. Maybe
His door chimed. He set the bag down again. "Come."
The door slid up. Beyond was a man, muscular, graying, a bright and often
cheerless intelligence in his eyes. He wore the uniform of a New Republic
general.
Wedge approached, hand extended. "General Crac-ken! Come in. Have you
come to see me off? I wasn't expecting a military escort."
Airen Cracken, head of New Republic Intelligence, entered and took
Wedge's hand. His expression did not brighten; he looked, if anything,
regretful. "General Antilles. Yes, I'm here to see you off."
Something in his tone sounded a quiet alarm in Wedge's mind. "Should I be
going evasive?"
That brought a faint smile to Cracken's face. "Probably. I have an
assignment for you."
"I'm on leave. It's already begun."
Cracken shook his head.
"General Cracken, you're not in a position to issue assignments to me. So
what you're saying is you have something you'd like me to volunteer for."
"I have something you're going to volunteer for."
"I don't think so."
"The following information is for your ears only. You're not to discuss
it outside these quarters until you reach your rendezvous point."
"That explains it."
Cracken frowned. "Explains what?"
"When I was packing this morning. Why things seemed a little different.
As if a cleaning detail had been through and picked up everything, putting it
back almost exactly where it was before. Your people were through here when I
was out, weren't they? Making sure there were no listening or recording
devices present."
Cracken didn't reply to that. He just looked a little surly. He
continued, "The world of Adumar is on the near edge of Wild Space. It was
colonized as long as ten thousand years ago by a coalition of peoples who had
staged a rebellion against the Old Republic, been defeated, and been spared...
so long as they went far away and never caused any more trouble."
Wedge just stared. Perhaps if he demonstrated continued indifference
Cracken would go away. That wasn't usually the way it worked, of course.
Cracken said, "According to what we've been able to gather, their spirit
of rebellion and divisiveness didn't end when they found a world worthy of
settling. Their history suggests they fought among themselves a number of
times, eventually reducing themselves to poverty and barbarismnot once, but
twice at least. Though apparently their ancient teaching-recordings survived
for thousands of years; their language is recognizably a dialect of Basic." He
paused as if anticipating questions from Wedge.
"I'm not curious."
"Anyway, they were completely forgotten by the Old Republic. There is no
mention of them in Imperial archives, either. We were fortunate that one of
our deep-space scouts stumbled across them when returning from a mapping
mission into the Unknown Regions."
"If you continue to map the Unknown Regions, you'll have to call them
something else."
Cracken blinked, his expression suggesting that he didn't know whether to
interpret that comment as humor or not. "Adumar is heavily industrialized, and
a large portion of its industrial development is military. Their weapons are
oriented around high-powered explosives. Our analysts suggest that it would be
a simple matter to convert a portion of their industry over to the production
of proton torpedoes. General, how would you like it if the New Republic's X-
wings never had to face a shortage of proton torpedoes again?"
Wedge suppressed a whistle. Lasers were the most often-used weapons of
starfighters, the means by which they shot one another down... but it was
proton torpedoes that gave some starfighters the punch necessary to damage or
even destroy capital ships. "That would... be helpful."
"You've pushed for years for increased production of proton torpedoes.
Since you made the rank of general, people have even been listening. But the
New Republic has so many demands on its resources that efforts to boost
production of the secondary or tertiary weapon of choice among all
starfighters tends to get lost in the shuffle. It wouldn't keep getting lost
if we could bring Adumar into the New Republic; then, it would just be some
industrial retooling."
"So send a diplomatic mission and work things out with them."
"Ah, that's the trouble." Cracken rubbed his hands together. "The people
of Adumar have no respect for career politicians. A very sensible attitude, in
my opinion though if you tell anyone I said that, I'll merely have to deny
it. Do you know what sort of individual they hold in highest regard?"
"No."
"Fighter pilots. The Old Republic had its Jedi; Adu-mar has its fighter
pilots. They love them, a case of hero worship that spans their whole culture.
Their entertainments revolve around them. Social promotion, properties,
titles, all accompany military promotion in their pilot corps."
"That sounds like a reasonable arrangement. Let's implement it in the New
Republic."
"And so they'll talk with a diplomat. But only if he's also a pilot. Our
best."
Wedge sighed. "I'm no diplomat."
"We'll assign you an advisor. A career diplomat, already on station at
Adumar, named Darpen. By the terms by which the Adumari are allowing our
diplomatic mission, you'll be accompanied by three other pilots, your choice,
a crew of aides, including that advisor, and one shipyou'll be in command of
the Allegiance, an Imperial-class Star Destroyer"
"I remember her. From the Battle of Selaggis."
"Well, then." Cracken took a datacard from a pocket and held it out.
"Your orders. You and the pilots you choose will rendezvous with Allegiance at
the coordinates provided here. Tell your pilots nothing about the mission
until the rendezvous."
Wedge offered him nothing but a steady stare. "I need this leave,
General. This is no joke. Find someone else."
"You need. Antilles, the New Republic needs. You've never turned your
back on the New Republic in its times of need."
Wedge felt his last hope slipping away, to be replaced by anger. "What's
it like, General?"
Cracken's expression turned to one of confusion. "What's what like?
Adumar?"
"No. What's it like to have so many resources? So that you can simply
turn to your staff and say, 'I need so-
and-so for this task. Find me the button I can push so he'll do whatever
I say, regardless of what it costs him.' What's that like?"
Cracken's face flushed. "You're coming dangerously close to
insubordination, General."
"No, General." Wedge took the datacard from Cracken's hand. "I'm not your
subordinate. And what I'm coming dangerously close to is violence. Perhaps
you'd better leave."
Cracken stood there a moment, and Wedge could see him struggling against
saying something further. Then the man turned away. The door opened before
him.
As he passed through it, Cracken said, "Pack your dress uniform, General.
" Then he was gone.
Wedge's X-wing and the three snubfighters accompanying him dropped out of
hyperspace at the same instant.
Unfamiliar stars surrounded them. But within visual range was something
he recognizedthe white triangular form of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, a
1.6-kilometer-long package of destructive force.
His sensor unit tagged it immediately as Allegiance, his expected
rendezvous. But his heart rate still quickened a bit as he oriented his X-wing
toward the vessel.
For many years, Star Destroyers had been objects of dread among Rebel
pilots. Wedge had fought against so many of them, participating in the
destruction of some, losing friends to several. Over the years, the New
Republic had captured a number of them, turning their awesome firepower
against the Empire. Now they were almost a common sight in New Republic Fleet
Command, but Wedge could never rid himself of the presentiment of evil he felt
whenever he saw one.
His comm unit beeped and words appeared on the text screenacknowledgment
by Allegiance that they had recognized him, authorization for landing, and a
small schematic indicating the small landing bay, suited for dignitaries,
where they were supposed to put down.
"Red Flight," he said, "we are cleared to land. Main starfighter bay.
Follow me in."
He heard acknowledgments from his three pilots, then began a long, slow
loop around toward the Star Destroyer's underside.
Almost immediat ely his comm unit crackled. "X-wing group, this is
Allegiance. You, uh, seem to be off your approach vector for Bay Alpha Two."
"Allegiance, this is Red Leader," Wedge said. "We're inbound for the main
bay. By orders of the expedition commander." He let the comm officer stew over
that one for a moment. He, Wedge, was the expedition commander.
There was a moment of delayjust long enough, Wedge estimated, for the
comm officer to make one short broadcast to the ship commander and get one
short reply. "Acknowledged, Red Leader. Allegiance out."
Wedge and his companions took up position beneath the gigantic vessel and
rose within the spacious confines of the ship's main bay. Wedge hovered,
ignoring the flight line worker beckoning to him with glowing batons, and took
a look around.
Starfighters stood ready to launch into battle A-wings, B-wings, X-
wings, Y-wings, and even TIE fighters that had once fought the New Republic.
Retrofitted with shields, the TIEs were now a common sight in friendly
hangars. Mechanics worked briskly on fighters in need of repair or
maintenance. The metal floors and bulkheads wore a dull sheen, showing age and
wear but also cleanliness, rather than a shine suggesting that the captain was
too concerned with appearance. These were good signs.
The smaller bay they'd originally been directed to could have been put in
tiptop shape for their arrival with comparative ease, but the state of affairs
in the main bay was a better indicator of how the ship was being run, and
things here looked good.
Wedge finally allowed the worker to direct Red Flight to a landing spot,
near the vessel's single squadron of X-wings. The unit patch on those
snubfighters, showing a single X-wing soaring high above a mountain peak,
identified them as High Flight Squadron. Wedge nodded. They weren't the best
X-wing unit in the fleet, but they were a veteran squadron with plenty of
battle experience.
As he and his fellows set down, Wedge saw the main doorway into the bay
open upward and a crowd of people enter at a run. Some of them skidded as they
spotted Red Flight and turned in the direction of the recently arrived
snubfighters. Among them were a man in a Fleet Command captain's uniform, the
usual complement of junior officers and guards, and, most odd of all, what
looked like a woman with two heads, one of them shining silver.
Wedge descended his access ladder and turned to face the delegation. He
felt and heard his own pilots fall into line behind him. He extended his hand
toward the highest-ranking officer. "Captain Salaban. I was glad to hear you'd
been promoted off Battle Dog."
The captain, a lean, bearded man with skin the color of tanned leather,
still breathing hard, hesitated. Obviously confused for a moment as to whether
he should salute properly or follow Wedge's informal fashion of greeting, he
chose the latter and shook Wedge's hand. "Thank you, sir. And welcome aboard.
Allow me to introduce you to my senior officers..."
It was a ritual Wedge knew from countless repetitions in the past. He
committed each officer's name and face to memory, hoping his retention would
last until the end of the mission; it usually did.
Then the captain gestured to the two-headed woman. "And the mission
documentarian, Hallis Saper."
Wedge could finally give her his full attention. She was a tall woman,
taller than he by two or three centimeters, with long brown hair worn in a
braid and wide-open features; she looked as though she'd recently arrived from
a one-shuttle agrarian world. He could not read her eyes, as they were
concealed behind goggles darkened almost to opacity. She wore a brown jumpsuit
festooned with belts, pouches, and pockets.
And on her right shoulder, held on a bracket affixed to her clothing, was
the silver head of a 3PO protocol droid. Its eyes were lit.
"I'm so happy to meet the most famous pilot of Starfighter Command," she
said; her voice was pleasant but loud, unrestrained.
"Thank you," he said. "Urn, I couldn't help noticing that you have two
heads."
She smiled. "This is Whitecap, my holo-recording unit. I put him together
from a ruined protocol droid and a standard holocam. I added memory and some
basic conversational circuitry and programming. He looks wherever I lookthe
goggles have sensors that track my eye movementand records whatever I see."
"I see," Wedge said. He didn't, but the words served as building tones
useful for plugging up holes where conversation should be. "Why?"
"I record a lot of interviews with children. Studies suggest that they
find 3PO units nonthreatening."
"Ah. And have you had much luck with this approach?" He was pretty sure
he knew the answer to this one.
"Well, not yet. I'm still working out the kinks in the system."
It would help if you started with the fact that you're a two-headed lady
with eyes that children can't see, Wedge thought, but kept it to himself. "And
now you're taking a temporary break from children to record Starfighter
pilots."
She nodded. The 3PO head remained stationary on her shoulder, unaffected
by her motion. "It's a wonderful opportunity. Thank you."
"Well, you're welcome. But I'm afraid that Whitecap is going to have to
suffer some additional coding. I need to be able to issue a verbal command and
shut him off. Circumstances sometimes demand privacy."
Hallis fidgeted. "That was never part of the arrangement. I'll have to
refuse."
"Very well. You'll be getting some very good footage of the inside of
your cabin."
"Oh. Well, in that case, I accept. I'll do the coding myself."
"And then hand Whitecap over to the Allegiance's code-slicers briefly
for, oh, code optimization."
Hallis's smile flickered for a moment and Wedge knew he'd guessed
correctly. Hallis must have intended to arrange things so that a second code
issued by her would secretly override Wedge's shutoff command. "Of course,"
she said, but there was now just a trace of brittleness to her voice.
Wedge returned his attention to Captain Salaban. "Allow me in turn to
introduce you to my pilots. I present Colonel Tycho Celchu, leader of Rogue
Squadron."
Tycho offered the ship captain a salute. "Sir." He was a lean man, blond,
graying in dignified fashion at the temples, with handsome features and an
aristocrat's bearing. The perfection of his looks might have made him appear
severe, even cruel, in earlier years, but the beatings life had handed himthe
loss of his family on Alderaan at the hands of Grand Moff Tarkin and the first
Death Star, capture and attempted brainwashing by Imperial Intelligence head
Ysanne Isard, and suspicion on the part of New Republic Military Intelligence
forces that despite his escape he had succumbed to that brainwashing and was
an enemy in their midstall had weathered him in spirit if not in form. Now,
he still looked in every way the cold aristocrat... until one looked in his
eyes and saw the humanity and the signs of distant pain there.
"This is Major Wes Janson, and if you're not aware of his exploits, I'm
sure he'll be delighted to give you the whole story."
Janson shot Wedge a cool look as he shook the ship captain's hand. "Good
to be here." He turned to the documentarian. "Oh, and, Hallis, I'm better
known for my breathtaking looks than my fighting skills, so don't forget that
this is my good side." He turned his head so Hallis's recorder would get a
straight-on look at his left profile.
Wedge suppressed a snort. Janson's self-promotion came out of a desire to
entertain rather than from any serious case of narcissism, but he was as good-
looking as he suggested. Like Wedge and a majority of other successful fighter
pilots, he was a few centimeters short of average height, but Janson was
unusually broad in the shoulders, and endowed with a body that showed muscle
definition after only light exercise and was not inclined to fat. His hair was
a rich brown, and his merry features were not just handsome but
preternaturally youthful; he was now in his thirties but could pass for ten
years younger. A most unfair combination, Wedge thought.
"And Major Derek Klivian," Wedge concluded.
The fourth pilot leaned in for a handshake. He was lean, with dark hair
and a face best suited to wearing mournful expressions. "Captain," he said.
Then he, too, turned to the documentarian. "Everyone calls me Hobbie," he
said. "And I'll get back with you on my last name. Lots of people misspell it.
"
Wedge resisted the urge to look into the eyes of the recording unit. He
knew that second head would attract his attention during upcoming events; it
was best to train himself now to ignore it. But he couldn't help but wonder
what sort of scene would emerge from this recording, what part it would play
in the documentary Hallis would be assembling. Or how he'd look beside his
more colorful subordinate pilots. Wedge was, like Janson, below average
height, and he thought of himself as one of the most ordinary-looking men
alive. But admirers had told him that his features bespoke intelligence and
determination. Qwi had said there was a mesmerizing depth to his brown eyes.
Other ladies had been charmed by his hair it was worn short, but as long as
military regulations-allowed, and was the sort of fine hair that stirred in
any breeze and invited ladies' hands to run through it.
He gave an internal shrug. Perhaps he didn't suffer as much as he feared
in comparison with extroverts like Janson. He just wished that when he was
shaving he could see some of these traits his admirers noted.
"I'd appreciate it," he said, "if we could get a temporary paint job on
the X-wings. Red Flight One, Two, Three, Four," He pointed to himself, Tycho,
Janson, and Hobbie in turn. "A white base, but Rogue Squadron reds for the
striping, no unit patch."
Salaban nodded. "Easily done."
"So," Wedge said, "what's first on our agenda settling in to quarters
or a mission briefing?"
Salaban's expression suggested that the question was not a welcome one.
"Settling in, I'm afraid, sir. There won't be a briefing until you land on-
planet. Intelligence decided not to provide a liaison at this time."
Wedge bit back a response that would not have sounded appropriate in the
mission documentary. "We're going in cold?"
Captain Salaban nodded.
Wedge forced a smile for the holocam. "Well, just another challenge,
then. Let's see those quarters."
2
Wedge was still occasionally fuming, days later, when Allegiance dropped
out of hyperspace at the edges of the Adumar solar system. There was such a
thing, of course, as overplanning. With too much time and too much desire to
put every mission detail into a mission profile, it was possible to lose
perspective on which objectives were most important, on which tactics were
most effective.
But this was the polar opposite of that situation. He didn't know any
more now about the people of Adumar than when he received the datacard from
Cracken. As he sat in his X-wing, running through his preflight checklist, he
had available to him only a set of coordinates on the planet's surface. Once
Allegiance made its approach to the worldan odd, inconvenient path like an
obstacle i course, with direction changes at one of the system's uninhabited
worlds and one of Adumar's two moons Wedge and his three pilots would launch
and make the final approach to their destination... whatever it was that the
mathematical coordinates represented. One of Allegiance's shuttles, filled
with support personnel, in-
cluding Hallis Saper, had already descended to make preparations for
their arrival.
"Red Flight, this is Allegiance. Our final leg terminates in one minute."
Wedge glanced at his comm board. The minute was already counting downhis
R5 unit, Gate, had also received the transmission and, on his own initiative,
begun a count down. Wedge said, "This is Red Leader. Understood. We launch at
arrival plus five seconds. Red Flight, are you good to go?"
"Red Two, ready." That was Tycho, as economical of words as he was of
motion.
"Red Three, four lit and ready to burn." Janson's inimitable voice and
enthusiasm were evident even across the standard X-wing comm distortion.
"Red Four, nothing's gone wrong yet." There was almost a hopeful note to
Hobbie's dour tone.
Wedge felt Allegiance heel to starboard, a maneuver lasting ten seconds,
and it ended just as his countdown dropped to zero. "Red Flight, launch." He
suited action to words, bringing his X-wing up on repulsorlifts until it was
three meters above the hangar floor, then drifting forward over the main
hangar access. Below was a great dark mass featuring occasional sprinkles of
lightAdumar's night side. He angled until his nose was straight down, then
smoothly brought up his thrusters and shot toward the planet's surface. His
sensor board and a visual check to either side showed his three companions
tucked in close beside and behind him in diamond formation. He oriented toward
the planet's direction of spin; Allegiance's orbit was above the planet's
equator. "Leader, Two. We have company." Wedge checked his sensor board again.
It showed two red blips paralleling their course, about ten klicks from one
another and ten klicks above Red Flight's course. As he watched, another two
摘要：

StarWarsX-WingBook9StarfightersofAdumarbyAaronAllston1Shewasbeautifulandfragileandhecouldnotcountthenumberoftimeshehadtoldherhelovedher.Buthehadcomehereknowinghehadtohurtherverybadly.HernamewasQwiXux.Shewasnothuman;herblueskin,ashadelighterthanhereyes,andherglisteningbrownhair,downyinitssoftness,wer...

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