Colony Two lies about one hundred fifty kilometers north, and ColonyThree about seventy kilometers south of here."
"How long has Colony One been here?" Han asked.
"Nearly five Standard years."
Han looked out across Colony One. Directly across from the WelcomeCenter lay the landing pad. A little freighter lay there, listing onher repulsors. That must be the Dream, Han thought, realizing he'dnever seen the ship from the outside.
The Ylesian Dream was a small vessel, shaped like a fat, somewhatirregular teardrop. On her underside was a bulge where there was a gunwell, proving that the ship hadn't always been a robot freighter.
Another, larger bulge denoted the location of the primary cargo hold.
She was a graceful ship, small enough to be agile. Corellian-built,almost certainly.
Han could see massive ship dock droids working on the Dream, beginningto repair her repulsors. The ship, droids, and everything nearby wassplashed with reddish mud from the crash landing.
Off to the northeast, high above even the jungle giant trees, Han couldmake out a glimpse of snowcapped heights. He pointed. "What mountainsare those?"
"The Mountains of the Exalted," Veratil told him. "The Altar ofPromises where the faithful gather each night to be Exulted lies beforethem. You shall see it tonight, when you attend devotions."
Oh, great, Han thought. Do I have to attend services, too? Then heremembered how much the Ylesians were paying him. Han nodded. "I'llbet it's something to see."
To the pilot's left, he could make out a large expanse of the reddishmud.
Several beings of Teroenza's and Veratil's race lolled in mudholes,tended by droids and servants of assorted species. Han recognized acouple of Rodians, several Gamorreans, and at least one human. "Thoseare the mudflats," Veratil said, waving a dainty hand at the mudbathersand their attendants. "My people relish our mudbaths."
"What are your people?" Han asked. "Are you native to Ylesia?"
"No, we are native---or as native as our distant cousins, the Hutts--toNal Hutta," Veratil replied. "We are the t'landa Til."
Han resolved to learn the t'landa Til's language as soon as he could.
Knowing a language that people didn't know you knew could often provean asset...
The Sacredot led Han around to the rear of the Welcome Center. Han'seyes widened as he took in the huge cleared area before him. Clearingthat much jungle must have been quite a chore. The cleared area wasroughly rectangular, and at least a kilometer on each side. Themountains were now behind and to his left, and he could see, on hisextreme right, the blue-gray glitter of water. "Lake?" he asked,indicating it.
"No, that is Zoma Gawanga, the Western Ocean," Veratil informed him.
Han counted the huge buildings that lay before the mudflats. There
were nine of them. Five were three stories high, the other four wereonly one story. Each was easily the size of a Corellian city block.
"Homes for the pilgrims?" he asked, waving at the buildings.
"No, the dormitory for our pilgrims is over there," Veratil said. Thepriest waved at a massive two-story building on the far left. "Themultistory buildings are where we process ryll, andris, and carsunum.
The sin-glestory buildings you see extend far underground, a necessityfor processing glitterstim, which must be handled in completedarkness."
Andris, ryll, carsunum, and glitterstim . . . Han's nostrils flared.
Of course, that explains the odor! These are factories for processingspice!
He remembered that the Ylesian Dream had originally carried a cargo ofhigh-grade glitterstim, the most expensive and exotic variety ofspice.
The other types were usually cheaper--though they were still one of themost profitable cargoes a smuggler could take on.
"We receive shipments of raw materials from worlds such as Kessel,Ryloth, and Nal Hutta several times a month," Veratil went on. "In thebeginning, the robot freighters which supplied us landed here at ColonyOne, but that practice soon had to be discontinued."
"Why?" Han asked, wondering if he really wanted to know.
"Two ships--most unfortunately---could not negotiate our trickyatmosphere, and crashed. So we built a space station and decided touse living pilots to ferry the raw spice material down to thefactories. We used to have three pilots, but now we are down to one,and the unfortunate Sullustan who is currently serving as our pilot hasbeen . . . ill. That is why we need you, Pilot Draygo."
It's so nice to be needed, Han thought sarcastically. "Uh . . .
Veratil .
. what happened to those other guys?"
"One crashed, the other simply . . . disappeared. We have also lost anumber of robot vessels, which has cut down on our profit margin mostgrievously," Veratil said sadly. "Spice is a high-credit export, butspaceships are very expensive."
"Yeah," Han agreed sourly. "All those crashes would tend to put acrimp in your business." No wonder they didn't have pilots beatingdown their doors, he thought. Most of the experienced pilots haveprobably spread the word about how dangerous this planet is for pilots. . .
Han knew a little bit about the various kinds of spice, mostly fromhearing Shrike and the other smugglers discuss their properties.
Glitterstim, mined on Kessel, was by far the most valuable. Whenexposed to light, then quickly ingested, it gave the user a temporarytelepathic ability to sense surface thoughts and emotions. Spies usedit, lovers used it, and the Empire used it when interrogatingprisoners. Matter of
fact, the Empire claimed all the glitterstim mined on Kessel as itsrightful property, which was why it was so rare and so lucrative tosmuggle.
Ryll came from the Twi'lek world, Ryloth, where it was perfectly legalto mine, and was used for analgesic purposes. There were illegalapplications, however, and it could be used to produce severalintoxicants and hallucinogens.
Carsunum was a black spice that came from Sevarcos, and it was quiterare and very valuable. Users experienced euphoria, and an increase intheir abilities--while under the influence they became stronger,faster, and more intelligent. There was a downside, of course. Afterthe effects wore off, users frequently became listless, depressed, andsome even died when the substance had a toxic effect on theirmetabolisms.
Sevarcos also supplied the galaxy with andris, a white powder that wasadded to foods to enhance flavor and preserve them. Some users claimedthat the drug caused a mild euphoria and increase in sensation.
They're not mining it here, Han thought. These factories process theraw material to turn it into the finished product.
"Factories?" Han echoed. "They're huge . . ."
"Yes, and Ylesia has admirable production rates, enabling us tofavorably compete with the cost of the spice shipped directly fromKessel, Ryloth, or Sevarcos," Veratil explained. "And we are the onlyfacility that offers such variety of spice. Buyers frequently wish topurchase several different kinds of spice for their customers, and weprovide that."
Han saw figures entering and leaving the factory buildings. Manyhumans, some nonhumans. He recognized Twi'leks, Rodians, Gamorreans,Devaronians, Sullustans . . . and there were others that were unknownto him. All the humans and bipedal aliens wore tan-colored robes thatcame down below their knees and tan-colored caps that covered theirhair.
He gestured at the people. "Factory workers?"
The Sacredot hesitated, then said, "They are the pilgrims that havechosen to serve the Oneness, the All, in our factories."
"Oh," Han murmured. "I see."
He saw a lot of things, now, more and more clearly each instant. Andhe had a bad feeling about what he was seeing, These pilgrims come hereto attain religious sanctuary, and wind up working in spicefactories.
I smell a vrelt---a dead one.
The Ylesian sun was far down in the sky by now, almost to thehorizon.
Han noticed that throngs of tan-clad workers were streaming northeast,toward the mountains. Veratil beckoned Han with one undersized hand.
"It is time f
or the blessed pilgrims to attend devotions and to be
Exulted in the One, render their prayers to the All. Let us take thePath of Oneness to reach the Altar of Promises. Come, Pilot Draygo."
Han obediently followed the priest up a well-worn paved path. Eventhough they were surrounded by pilgrims, Han noticed that no oneventured very close to them. All of the pilgrims gave Veratil deepbows, hands folded over their hearts. "They offer thanks for theExultation they are about to receive," Veratil explained to Han as theywalked along.
As they moved away from the buildings, the jungle around them closedin, until the path they were walking on was shadowed and overhung withgiant branches. Han almost felt as though he were walking in atun nel.
They passed a huge open area that was evidently some kind of swamp,because it was completely covered in huge blooms that were so beautifuland exotic that Han had never seen anything like them. "The FloweredPlains," Veratil, still playing tour guide, pointed out. "And this isthe Forest of Faithfulness."
Han nodded. I wonder how much more of this I can take, he thought. Ihope they don't expect me to become a convert, because they've got thewrong guy.
After a twenty-minute walk, the group reached a large, paved area thatwas fronted with a partially roofed area supported by three monstrouspillars.
Veratil indicated that Han should stay with the crowd of pilgrims, thenthe Sacredot moved on, heading for the pillars. Han saw several of thet'landa Til assembled beneath the pillars, including one that hetentatively identified as Teroenza. They were ranged around a lowaltar carved from some translucent white stone that seemed to glow withan inner light.
The high, snowcapped mountains made an impressive backdrop to thescene, as they towered high above the jungle. Han craned his neck,looking up . .
. up . . . the tops of the highest peaks were hidden by driftingclouds, stained red from the sunset. The snows on the western sides ofthe peaks glowed crimson and rose.
Impressive, Han was forced to admit. The simplicity of the naturalamphitheater, with its paved floor and pillared altar, made it seemlike some vast natural cathedral.
The faithful filed into ranks and stood waiting.
Han stood at the back, shifting impatiently, hoping whatever religiousservice was about to take place wouldn't last long. He was hungry, hishead was throbbing, and the heat was making him sleepy.
The High Priest raised his tiny arms and intoned a phrase in his nativelanguage. The Sacredots, including Veratil, echoed him. Then the
assembled throng (Han estimated four or five hundred in the crowd)echoed the High Priest's phrase. Han leaned closer to the nearestpilgrim, a Twil'lek. "What are they saying?"
"They said, 'The One is All,'" the Twi'lek, who spoke excellent Basic,translated. "Would you like me to interpret the service for you?"
Since Han was determined to begin learning the t'landa Til's language,he nodded. "If you wouldn't mind."
The High Priest intoned again. Han listened to the ritual phrasesrepeated by the Sacredots, then droned forth by the faithful pilgrims"The All is One."
"We are One. We belong to the All."
"In service to the All, every One is Exulted."
"We sacrifice to achieve the All. We serve the One."
"In work and sacrifice we are All fulfilled. If every One has workedhard, we are All Exulted."
Han stifled a yawn. This was awfully repetitious.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of chanting, Teroenza and all thepriests stepped forward. "You have worked well," the High Priestpronounced. "Prepare for the blessing of Exultation!"
The crowd gave forth a sound of such greedy anticipation that Han wastaken aback. Moving in a great wave, as though they were truly One,they dropped to the pavement and lay there, arms and legs huddledbeneath their bodies, in an attitude of breathless hope and yearning.
All of the priests raised their arms. Han watched as the loose,wrinkled skin that hung below their throats inflated with air and beganto pulse. A low, throbbing hum--or was it a vibration?--graduallyfilled the air.
Han's eyes widened as he felt something invade his mind and body. Partvibration, part sound? He wasn't sure. Was it empathy, or telepathy,or did that vibration trigger something in his brain? He couldn'ttell. He only knew that it was strong...
It rolled across him in a great wave. Emotional warmth, physicalpleasure, it was all of that and more. Han staggered back, off thepermacrete, until he was brought up short by the trunk of one of theforest giants. He braced himself against the tree, his headswimming.
He dug his fingernails into the bark, hanging on to the tree. Hishands against the bark seemed to be the only thing keeping him frombeing swept away by that wave of warm feeling and ecstatic pleasure .
. .
Han hung on to the tree physically, and himself mentally, refusing tolet himself be sucked under with that wave. He wasn't sure where hefound the strength, but he fought as hard as he ever had. All hislife, he'd
been his own person, master of his own mind and body, and nothing wasgoing to change that. He was Han Solo, and he didn't need aliensinvading his mind or his body to make him feel good.
No! he thought. I'm a free man, not some pilgrim, not your puppet!
Free, do you hear?
Gritting his teeth, Han fought that invasion as he would have fought aphysical opponent, and then, as quickly as it had started, thesensation was gone--he was free.
But it was obvious the pilgrims weren't. Their bodies writhed on thestone, and muffled moans of happiness and pleasure made a soft swell ofsound.
Sickened, Han looked over at the priests. They obviously weren'taffected as the pilgrims were. So this is why these poor dupes stay,once they find out they're expected to work in the spice factories, Hanthought, feeling a surge of bitter resentment on behalf of thepilgrims. They slave all day, then they hike up here and get a jolt offeel-good vibrations that makes even the best spice pale bycomparison.
Han wondered whether he'd be expected to attend these "eveningdevotionals" every night, and hoped that he wouldn't. It had been hardenough to push away that rush of warmth and pleasure tonight. He wasafraid that if he had to be exposed to it every night, he wouldn't havethe strength, the resolution, to reject the Ylesian priests' "happypill."
By this time, the pilgrims were beginning to get up, some of themweaving unsteadily. All of their eyes were glazed, and many lookedlike addicts Han had seen in spice and oobalah dens on Corellia andother worlds.
"Do they do this every night?" he muttered to the Twi'lek.
The alien's reddish eyes were shining with joy. "Oh, yes. Wasn't itwonderful?"
"Great," Han said, but the Twi'lek was so enraptured he missed thesarcasm.
"Do they ever not hold these 'devotions'?" Han asked, curious. "Theyare only canceled if there has been trouble in the factories. One timea worker went mad and took a foreman hostage, then he demanded passageoff-planet. Evening devotions and the Exultation were canceled--it washorrible."
"So what happened to the mad worker?" Han asked, reflecting that the"madman" sounded completely sane to him.
"Before morning, we managed to overpower him and turn him over to theguards, thank the One," the Twi'lek said.
Yeah, I'll bet, Han thought. They couldn't stand being without theirlittle nightly charge.
The service was evidently over.
Veratil joined Han for the walk back to the central compound. Han wasdisinclined to talk, and truthfully pleaded fatigue. The Sacredot,saying that he understood perfectly, showed the Corellian pilot back tothe infirmary.
"You may eat and sleep here tonight," he said, "and tomorrow we willtake you to your permanent quarters in our Administration Building."
"Where's that?" Han asked, pausing halfway through a bite ofindifferent--but filling--reedoxstew.
The Sacredot waved his arm roughly northeast. "Not visible from here,but there is a path through the trees. I will meet you back here in,say, six Standard hours? Will that provide you
with sufficientsleep?"
Han nodded. He could always try to snatch a nap later. "Fine." Whenthe priest was gone, Han dragged off his clothes and boots, realizingthat he had to get something clean to wear by tomorrow, or he wouldn'tbe fit for polite society. He considered taking a shower before bed,but he was just too tired.
Han had always been able to set himself to wake up whenever he wishedto, so he mentally programmed himself to wake up in five and a halfhours.
Then, his mind whirling with images and impressions, he lay down on thenarrow infirmary bunk and was instantly asleep.
Star Wars - Han Solo Trilogy - The Paradise Snare Page 8
