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Data came from the drunk patrons and the sober ones, from the happy ones and bitter ones, from the officers with marital problems and straying eyes, from the personnel with accumulated resentments and inadequate filters between their brains and their mouths.

The most valuable data often came from patrons who, at the end of their rest-and-recreation leaves, were dead broke and too drunk to stand. The special circle of Errant Venture employees took care of them, letting them sober up in quiet little lounges, giving them enough credits for a return shuttle flight to their military units—assuming they hadn’t bought round-trip fare in the first place, which often they hadn’t—and even half carrying them to the shuttle docks for their outbound flights. Han, Lando, and the other data gatherers became new best friends to an immense number of young soldiers, pilots, and technical personnel.

But the information they farmed was frustratingly tenuous. One week into their operation, the data gatherers assembled to see if there were any informational gemstones to be found.

“I say we start with you,” Lando said, pointing to Wedge. “You look unhappiest. And that means results.”

Wedge did look surly, and the look he shot at Lando did nothing to diminish that impression. “Unhappy, yes,” he said. “Results, not really. Syal is here today, gambling in the Maw Casino.” Syal, Wedge’s eldest daughter, was a pilot with the Alliance forces, and Lando felt a rush of sympathy for Wedge—to be so close to her, yet unable to approach her, all for the silly little reason that he was technically regarded as enemy personnel.

Then Wedge added, “With a boy.”

Lando snorted. “A boy? What, twelve, thirteen years old?”

Wedge’s glare did not waver. “About her age. And a pilot. There are two types of male pilots. Good men, such as the ones I never tried to break or run out of my squadrons, whom I would shoot before I ever trusted them with my daughter. And worse men, whom I would shoot if I caught them looking at my daughter.”

“Thirty seconds in,” Corran said, “and we’ve already strayed from our topic. War, right? People are still interested in war and puppet masters?”

Wedge sighed and turned his glare onto the tabletop.

“I know this is going to sound strange,” Leia said, “but I haven’t found any indication that this war was precipitated by outside forces. I’ve been reviewing news reports, historical analysis, all the data we have on hand, and it looks like the central conflict between Corellia and the GA was the inevitable conclusion of their respective political directions.”

“Fewer syllables, please,” Lando said. “Remember, your husband is at the table.”

Han gave him a faintly amused you’re-next look, then turned his attention back to his wife. “So that means no puppet master?”

She shook her head. “It means that war itself is not the puppet master’s original plan, or at least not his fault. But the manipulations we think we’ve detected do add up to something. We can see a cause-and-effect relationship…we just have to figure out the motive.”

Iella opened her datapad. “Events like the Corellian ambush of the GA Fleet that came in to intimidate it. The outcome? Corellia remained independent awhile longer. If it hadn’t, another world would probably have become the focal point of the independence movement. Bothawui or Commenor would be likely candidates, but Corellia had something they didn’t.”

Wedge nodded. “Centerpoint Station and a secret assault fleet.”

“Correct,” Iella said. “Then we have Admiral Klauskin, who pretty clearly was meddled with, if we’re right that these Force ghost manifestations are evidence of our puppet master. The result of that interference? The situation here was worsened, the Alliance was cast in a bad light, Corellia received a lot of sympathy.”

“Speeding up the process by which other worlds considered coming in on Corellia’s side,” Leia said. “Then the whole thing at Toryaz Station, the death of Prime Minister Saxan. It caused