“Thank you, sir. I accept.” Her voice was smooth, controlled.
Wedge stood. He did it slowly and carefully, the better to mask what he was feeling. Regardless of how inevitable this moment might have been, regardless of how inflexibly he might hold on to the ethics that had made it happen, being relieved of command still felt like taking a sledgehammer blow to the gut, and he didn’t want anyone in this group to see how he felt. Smoothly, he saluted. “Congratulations, Admiral.”
She returned his salute. “Thank you, Admiral. After this meeting breaks up, perhaps we could have a cup of caf and discuss things.”
Wedge limited his reaction to a faint smile. He knew what that conversation would consist of: I’m sorry this had to happen. I hope there won’t be any uneasiness between us. We need you …
No, they didn’t. But that realization, and what he had to do next, caused Wedge’s stomach to turn even further.
Gejjen said, “Admiral Antilles, your tactical and strategic planning abilities continue to make you invaluable to our armed forces. If Admiral Delpin agrees, I want you to join her operations staff.”
Delpin gave Gejjen a crisp nod. “I do agree.”
Wedge took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Admiral, ordinarily I would have no hesitation in accepting, and in working with you, and for you. But circumstances are not ordinary.” He fixed Gejjen with a stare. “Sir, I hereby resign my commission in the Corellian Defense Force.”
The room fell silent. A moment later, someone behind Wedge said, “Good!”
Gejjen shot an angry look at the speaker, then addressed Wedge. “I won’t accept.”
Wedge shrugged. “You have no choice. Or rather, your choice is to keep me on as noncommissioned personnel or offer me a full discharge. From this point on, or at least from the point I submit my resignation along official lines, I am no longer a commissioned officer.”
Gejjen heaved a sigh and thought for a moment. “You can either stay on as a sergeant-a speeder pilot for our landing forces-or you can make one last public appearance as Admiral Antilles, cheerfully handing off your post and duties to Admiral Delpin, and honorably retire.”
Wedge considered it. The public appearance would help convince the majority of the populace that everything was fine with their leadership, that he had every faith in the new Supreme Commander, that he supported the new regime and all its ways. Which was a lie.
But if he didn’t do it, members of the armed forces might lose a little faith in their leadership. And that could result in breakdowns in authority, in the deaths of good soldiers.
Wedge’s entire deliberation took a quarter second. “I’ll make the appearance, of course.”
“Of course,” Gejjen echoed. “Dismissed.”
Wedge saluted and, a little stiff-legged, made his way from the room.
His posture was perfect for the long walk through the doors, down the long corridor beyond, past a guard station, and into the turbolift that would carry him up to ground level. But once the lift doors closed behind him, he sagged against the wall. His legs felt like rubber, and his stomach rebelled like a ground-pounder’s upon its first experience with zero gravity.
From admiral in charge o f an entire planetary system’s armed forces to civilian in two easy steps, he thought, and managed a slightly nauseated smile.
And once again, he might just have signed his own death warrant. A government that was willing to assassinate foreign rulers wouldn’t hesitate at ridding itself of someone who could be a potent symbol used against them … and who had just proven that he wasn’t with them.
The instant he finished his public appearance with Admiral Delpin, the chrono would begin ticking down on his life.
The thought, so familiar after a lifetime of warfare, settled his stomach and beat back the nausea he’d felt from the moment he knew he was to be relieved of command. By the time the lift doors opened, he was standing tall again. He walked past the ground-floor security station and flashed its guards a smile suggesting that he was a rancor and they were made of meat.
GYNDINE SYSTEM
TENDRANDO REFUELING AND REPAIR STATION
The vehicle lining up for an approach on the refueling station’s spinward docking bay had once been a Corellian YT 1300 transport-efficiently diskshaped, with aggressive-looking forward mandibles and a cockpit that protruded from the starboard side of the bow to give the craft an oddly pleasing, asymmetrical profile. Now, however, countless burns of battle damage darkened the hull, and the top and bottom turrets, which had once housed laser cannons, were just gone.
As the craft made her last bank before the approach, the man waiting in the docking bay could see that the top-side turret had not been replaced or even covered over; where it had once been installed, there was a hole that gaped into the vehicle’s interior.