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Hallis gave him an indulgent smile. “I took Whitecap off while I was tailing him, Major. I’m fully aware of the sort of commotion he causes when I wear him. But what I know—and what you don’t know—is that people, when they look at me, only see the two-headed lady. They don’t give me a close look, they don’t register my features. Meaning that I can tuck Whitecap under my cloak and take off my goggles, and nobody recognizes me. I doubt even you would.”

Janson opened his mouth as if to protest and then shut it again, his expression thoughtful.

“Hallis, are you Intelligence-trained?” Wedge asked.

She shook her head. “Sludgenews-trained. Are you familiar with sludgenews?”

Tycho made a face. “A minor evil found in many heavily populated worlds, especially in the Corporate Sector. News on which celebrities are in love this week, complete with holos recorded by someone who sneaked onto their private estates and then escaped again. Revelations on how the shapes of nebulae determine your fate. Stories about women who claim to have borne a son to Emperor Palpatine. Stores that there never was a New Republic/Imperial war, that it was all cooked up to foster wartime productivity and profit the starfighter manufacturers. Stories claiming that Darth Vader is still alive, about to lead a revolt to reinstitute the Empire. That sort of thing.”

Hallis nodded. “It’s a very competitive field. You learn to hustle, to bribe, to sneak, to plant transmitters, to read past the text stream to the data stream … or you fail and get out. I learned it all, and then I got out anyway. It’s a brand of newsmaking that doesn’t exactly make the galaxy a better place.”

“So you followed our intruder out of here,” Wedge said.

“Yes. He didn’t even leave the building. He went into a room on the third floor. Third Alabaster it’s called. I don’t know whether it was his room or not; its door admitted him, but then so did yours. I waited around for a while to see who else might go in or come out, but its corridor is just a little too public, so I left.”

“That’s good work,” Wedge said. “I assume that he’s probably New Republic Intelligence, keeping up on us … but it’s not safe to assume anything for too long. We’ll have to find out whose quarters those are and start tracing some connections. Thank you, Hallis.”

She offered him a nod.

From the corner of his eye, Wedge saw Cheriss appear at the transparent door into the pilots’ quarters. She waved but didn’t come through the door—sensitive, doubtless, to the fact that she might not yet be welcome. But a second later, Tomer Darpen brushed past her, slid the door open, and emerged onto the balcony, his expression dark. “I need to speak with General Antilles,” he said. “Everyone else please leave.”

No one budged. Wedge could feel their eyes upon him, but he gave them no signal. Wedge spoke, his tone artificially mild: “People I haven’t invited over don’t get to tell my guests to leave. Try again.”

Tomer said nothing for a few seconds, during which time Wedge supposed he was trying to compose himself, and then said, “This is an official exchange between the diplomatic delegation to Adumar, that’s me, and the point diplomat, that’s you. It’s not going to be entirely friendly. It may include things you don’t want your pilots to hear, but obviously you can insist they stay if you must. But I’m going to have to ask this young lady to leave, if only to the next room—”

“My pilots have heard lots of grown-up words,” Wedge said. “Even Janson. And this young lady is Hallis.”

Tomer looked at her, confused. “Where’s your other head?”

She gave him a sorrowful look. “When I was walking around today, I met a young man who had no head. Just a stump that suggested he had a long, sad story to tell. But of course he couldn’t, because he had no head. So I gave Whitecap to him. The man now has the voice and mannerisms of a 3PO unit, but they’re better than nothing.”

Tomer’s mouth worked for a moment or two. Then he turned his glare back on Wedge. “There. Now you’ve corrupted her, too. That’s what