what he took to be an understanding smile, then increased her pace.
“I’m going to leave you now,” Wedge told his pilots. He checked the chrono from his pocket. As with most people who did a lot of travel from planet to planet, his chrono showed both ship’s time and local time, and the local time indicated it was less than a half hour of midnight.
“You can’t see her now,” Hobbie said, his face grave.
“Why not?”
“You’re all sweaty from the fight.”
“He’s right,” Janson said. “You stink of sweat, and smoke, and the wine the minister spilled on you—”
“He missed me.”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, you’re not fit for a liaison tonight.” Janson put on a long-suffering face. “I’ll go in your place. I’m ready for this assignment, sir.” He saluted.
“This isn’t a liai—” Wedge shut up and turned to Tycho. “If he keeps this up, Hobbie gets to choose his clothes for the next three days.”
“Oh, good,” Hobbie said.
Tycho nodded. “Keep your eyes open tonight, Wedge. We can be pretty sure the Imps put those assassins on us … but we can’t be sure there aren’t duelists out there who want to kill you honorably.”
Wedge waited until Cheriss turned a corner ahead. He whipped off his cloak and reversed it so its dark interior color was now on the outside, and turned to join the pedestrian traffic heading the other way.
At this time of night, with no events taking place, the plaza where he’d made first landfall on Adumar wasnearly empty. Though not illuminated by artificial lights, it was still bright enough under the shine of two moons, one of them full and quite large in the sky.
The temporary stand where Wedge had made his speech was gone, though the four poles with their speakers were still there. The spot where the X-wings had landed was empty, Wedge and his pilots having transferred their snubfighters to their balcony early that day.
But despite its echoing emptiness compared to the previous day, the plaza was not lifeless. Near where the X-wings had landed, a circle of men and women watched a blastsword duel; even at this distance Wedge could see the lines of green and violet color twirling through the air, hear the snap as a blastsword tip hit a surface. The fight continued for several more seconds, so it must not have found flesh, but moments later he heard a second blast followed by a quick shriek. Then a third blast, and applause.
Another life lost to no good purpose. Wedge shook his head.
Ahead, there was a slender silhouette waiting beneath the shortest of the dark display panels. When he was a dozen meters away, he slowed, sure that he should not call Iella’s true name, but not certain as to what sort of greeting was appropriate. Finally he said, “May I approach?”
“You may.” It was Iella’s voice. She lowered the hood of her cloak as he reached her, and moonlight fell full on her face. She extended her hands.
He took them, then stood at a loss for words.
She laughed. “You were more eloquent yesterday.”
“I do that sort of thing more often.” He caught sight of another silhouette, big, probably male, deep within the shadow cast by the nearest building. “Friend of yours?”
“My bodyguard,” she said. “Here, anyone with amarginally profitable job can afford bodyguards for situations like these. Do you have one?”
“Not with me, no. She’s already killed a man for me tonight.” Wedge shook his head, willing away the distraction of the night’s events.
“Killed—were you attacked?”
“All of us. Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie, too. We came out of it unhurt.” He gestured as if thrusting with a blastsword. “Four visiting blades, cutting down assassins. Something more for the court to talk about.” Iella seemed to have caught her breath and grown paler. Wedge leaned in closer. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m not the one in danger, Wedge. You need to be careful. These peoples’ affection for duels,
“I’m going to leave you now,” Wedge told his pilots. He checked the chrono from his pocket. As with most people who did a lot of travel from planet to planet, his chrono showed both ship’s time and local time, and the local time indicated it was less than a half hour of midnight.
“You can’t see her now,” Hobbie said, his face grave.
“Why not?”
“You’re all sweaty from the fight.”
“He’s right,” Janson said. “You stink of sweat, and smoke, and the wine the minister spilled on you—”
“He missed me.”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, you’re not fit for a liaison tonight.” Janson put on a long-suffering face. “I’ll go in your place. I’m ready for this assignment, sir.” He saluted.
“This isn’t a liai—” Wedge shut up and turned to Tycho. “If he keeps this up, Hobbie gets to choose his clothes for the next three days.”
“Oh, good,” Hobbie said.
Tycho nodded. “Keep your eyes open tonight, Wedge. We can be pretty sure the Imps put those assassins on us … but we can’t be sure there aren’t duelists out there who want to kill you honorably.”
Wedge waited until Cheriss turned a corner ahead. He whipped off his cloak and reversed it so its dark interior color was now on the outside, and turned to join the pedestrian traffic heading the other way.
At this time of night, with no events taking place, the plaza where he’d made first landfall on Adumar wasnearly empty. Though not illuminated by artificial lights, it was still bright enough under the shine of two moons, one of them full and quite large in the sky.
The temporary stand where Wedge had made his speech was gone, though the four poles with their speakers were still there. The spot where the X-wings had landed was empty, Wedge and his pilots having transferred their snubfighters to their balcony early that day.
But despite its echoing emptiness compared to the previous day, the plaza was not lifeless. Near where the X-wings had landed, a circle of men and women watched a blastsword duel; even at this distance Wedge could see the lines of green and violet color twirling through the air, hear the snap as a blastsword tip hit a surface. The fight continued for several more seconds, so it must not have found flesh, but moments later he heard a second blast followed by a quick shriek. Then a third blast, and applause.
Another life lost to no good purpose. Wedge shook his head.
Ahead, there was a slender silhouette waiting beneath the shortest of the dark display panels. When he was a dozen meters away, he slowed, sure that he should not call Iella’s true name, but not certain as to what sort of greeting was appropriate. Finally he said, “May I approach?”
“You may.” It was Iella’s voice. She lowered the hood of her cloak as he reached her, and moonlight fell full on her face. She extended her hands.
He took them, then stood at a loss for words.
She laughed. “You were more eloquent yesterday.”
“I do that sort of thing more often.” He caught sight of another silhouette, big, probably male, deep within the shadow cast by the nearest building. “Friend of yours?”
“My bodyguard,” she said. “Here, anyone with amarginally profitable job can afford bodyguards for situations like these. Do you have one?”
“Not with me, no. She’s already killed a man for me tonight.” Wedge shook his head, willing away the distraction of the night’s events.
“Killed—were you attacked?”
“All of us. Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie, too. We came out of it unhurt.” He gestured as if thrusting with a blastsword. “Four visiting blades, cutting down assassins. Something more for the court to talk about.” Iella seemed to have caught her breath and grown paler. Wedge leaned in closer. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m not the one in danger, Wedge. You need to be careful. These peoples’ affection for duels,
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