Folks, this book is rough enough that maybe even fat free flavor crystals sprinkled on a sarcastic omniscient space clam can't save it. Everyone is getting done dirty in this section, from the entire Wampa race down to Wedge Antilles. Our heroes hop all over the galaxy, finding out things that other people already know and gaslighting their significant others, friends, and/or protégées. Even more upsetting are the gratuitous mentions of Pellaeon's depression mustache. Our hosts dive deep into Crix Madine's baffling uniform to distract themselves from the impossible task of figuring out how much time has elapsed so far in this book (Five years? Two days? The galaxy may never know).