Star Wars: X-Wing VIIII: Starfighters of Adumar by Aaron Allston

Author:Aaron Allston [Allston, Aaron]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307796394
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-05-03T23:00:00+00:00

11

By dawn, Wedge and the other six refugees were in the passenger/cargo compartment of a Farumme-class hauler, an aircraft Wedge suspected was constructed about the time he was being born. Air whistled through holes in the hull. Rings were imbedded in the compartment’s framework, the better to allow for cargo to be lashed down securely, but the only thing being transported now was Wedge’s party, seated on padded benches that ran the length of the compartment. The Yedagon Confederacy agent who had met them, a lean, very fair man of few words, rode with the pilots in their control compartment.

Wedge glanced around the compartment. Janson, Tycho, and Hobbie were all asleep. He was as tired as they were, in as great a need of sleep, but he had things to think about.

Cheriss sat alone on a bench on the other side of the craft. She had seldom looked at Wedge since their departure from Iella’s quarters, and seemed lost in her thoughts.

Hallis was on the same side of the craft, alone, all the New Republic personnel’s datapads piled up beside her. She had, at Wedge’s request, copied the recording of Tomer Darpen’s treachery to each datapad. Now she was struggling with the most sophisticated of the datapads available to her, Iella’s, to edit that and some other recordings into a portion of her documentary. Her occasional bouts of muttering and swearing suggested that it wasn’t going well.

And Iella—Iella was tucked under Wedge’s arm, her eyes closed, her expression serene.

Wedge smiled, knowing his was probably an idiot’s grin but not caring. He was on the run, a death sentence on his head, on a world where his enemies and admirers alike would be happy to kill him, unable to get in touch with his superiors. But for this moment he was carefree, happy in a way he hadn’t been in years.

Iella’s eyes opened. She looked at him a little fuzzily, then smiled and burrowed her face into his neck. “Haven’t you had any sleep?”

“I’ve been thinking. Putting things in order.”

“Marshaling your troops, General?”

“Only when I could force myself to stop thinking about you.”

Her shoulders shook a little and he realized she was laughing silently. “You know what’s so wonderful about compliments from you?” she asked.

“What?”

“I know you always mean them. You have no skill at flattery.”

Cheriss unstrapped herself and rose. She walked over to Wedge and Iella, her steps unsteady because of the craft’s rocking motions and occasional battles with turbulence. Her expression was as serious as it had been back in Iella’s quarters. “General … Wedge … may I speak to you for a moment? Privately?” She turned a look of apology toward Iella.

“Sure.” Wedge looked down into Iella’s eyes, tried to gauge her reaction. But her expression offered little but sleepy contentment. There was no concern, no jealousy to be seen in them.

Wedge joined Cheriss toward the front of the compartment. They held on to the rings in the framework to steady themselves against the craft’s motion.

When Cheriss spoke,

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