Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare (10 page)

Before Han left
Trader’s Luck
, he’d taken the precaution of stashing a small hoard of credits and complete ID sets in two lockboxes on Corellia, in case he ever needed a quick change of identity. Garris Shrike had provided the boy with different sets of ID for each scam Han participated in, and Han had kept each set and updated them as necessary.

The Corellian knew, however, that none of his forged IDs would stand up to Imperial scanners. Before he’d be able to take the Academy entrance exams, Han was well aware that he’d have to pay out a small fortune in bribes on Coruscant to gain ID documentation so genuine that it would pass an Imperial security clearance check.

With all of the business details taken care of, Teroenza then summoned an Under-Priest, or Sacredot, as they were called, and instructed him to take Han on a tour of the complex. Han was left in private to resume his jumpsuit, after being assured that clothing bearing the Ylesian symbol—a huge, wide-open eye and mouth—would be furnished to him.

As he donned the clothes and his boots, he realized that he was sweating heavily.
Hot and humid
, he thought.
Wonderful climate
. But for the money the priests were paying, he was willing to put up with a year’s discomfort. By taking this job, he’d get lots of practice flying big ships and access to training sims. That ought to ensure that he could pass the entrance exams to enter the Academy.

The money would mean that he had the proper amount for bribes to make sure his application was processed
quickly and actually reached the admissions officers. He knew from his research that without bribes it frequently took a month or more for a cadet candidate to apply, pass all relevant exams, be interviewed, and finally accepted for entrance into the Imperial Academy.

The Sacredot arrived and introduced himself as “Veratil.” Han followed him down a corridor, past a large amphitheater, and what appeared to be a registration area. “Our Welcome Center,” the priest explained. Veratil led him outside. Han stepped through the door, and even before he could draw a deep breath, he was immediately bathed in sweat. Steaming heat and humidity smote him in the face, almost like a physical blow. The air was rich with smells—heavy perfume from flowers, rotting vegetation—and another odor, one he’d smelled before but couldn’t quite identify.

Han stood at the top of the short ramp that led down from the building and looked up at the sky, seeing that it was a translucent blue-gray. The sun overhead was an orangey-red, and looked larger than he was used to. This star must be closer to its planet than Corel was to Corellia. Han glanced at the shadows, seeing it was far past noon, and then glanced at his wrist-chrono. “How long is the day here?” he asked Veratil.

“Ten Standard hours, sir,” the Sacredot replied.

No wonder the weather is so stormy
, Han thought.
We’ve got a hot, wet world with a really rapid rotation
.

Han looked out across the cleared area. The permacrete ended abruptly, giving way to the natural ground and vegetation. Pools of water attested to recent torrential rain. Reddish mud made an arresting contrast to lush, blue-green vegetation. The flowers hanging from the vines and trees in the encroaching jungle were huge and multicolored—scarlet, deep purple, and vivid yellow.

“This is Colony One,” Veratil explained. “We have also established two new colonies for our pilgrims. Two years ago we founded Colony Two, and last winter we built Colony Three, which is still very small. Colony Two lies about
one hundred fifty kilometers north, and Colony Three 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 Welcome Center lay the landing pad. A little freighter lay there, listing on her repulsors.
That must be the
Dream, Han thought, realizing he’d never seen the ship from the outside.

The
Ylesian Dream
was a small vessel, shaped like a fat, somewhat irregular teardrop. On her underside was a bulge where there was a gun well, 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 shipdock droids working on the
Dream
, beginning to repair her repulsors. The ship, droids, and everything nearby was splashed with reddish mud from the crash landing.

Off to the northeast, high above even the jungle giant trees, Han could make out a glimpse of snowcapped heights. He pointed. “What mountains are those?”

“The Mountains of the Exalted,” Veratil told him. “The Altar of Promises where the faithful gather each night to be Exulted lies before them. You shall see it tonight, when you attend devotions.”

Oh, great
, Han thought.
Do I have to attend services, too?
Then he remembered how much the Ylesians were paying him. Han nodded. “I’ll bet it’s something to see.”

To the pilot’s left, he could make out a large expanse of the reddish mud. Several beings of Teroenza’s and Veratil’s race lolled in mudholes, tended by droids and servants of assorted species. Han recognized a couple of Rodians, several Gamorreans, and at least one human. “Those are the mudflats,” Veratil said, waving a dainty hand at the mudbathers and 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—to Nal 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 prove an asset …

The Sacredot led Han around to the rear of the Welcome Center. Han’s eyes widened as he took in the huge cleared area before him.
Clearing that much jungle must have been quite a chore
. The cleared area was roughly rectangular, and at least a kilometer on each side. The mountains were now behind and to his left, and he could see, on his extreme 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 were only 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. The priest waved at a massive two-story building on the far left. “The multistory buildings are where we process ryll, andris, and carsunum. The single-story buildings you see extend far underground, a necessity for processing glitterstim, which must be handled in complete darkness.”

Andris, ryll, carsunum, and glitterstim …
Han’s nostrils flared.
Of course, that explains the odor! These are factories for processing spice!
He remembered that the
Ylesian Dream
had originally carried a cargo of high-grade glitterstim, the most expensive and exotic variety of spice. The other types were usually cheaper—though they were still one of the most 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 the beginning, the robot freighters which supplied us landed here at Colony One, 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 tricky atmosphere, and crashed. So we built a space station and decided to use living pilots to ferry the raw spice material down to the factories. We used to have three pilots, but now we are down to one, and the unfortunate Sullustan who is currently serving as our pilot has been … 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 a number of robot vessels, which has cut down on our profit margin most grievously,” Veratil said sadly. “Spice is a high-credit export, but spaceships are
very
expensive.”

“Yeah,” Han agreed sourly. “All those crashes would tend to put a crimp in your business.”
No wonder they didn’t have pilots beating down their doors
, he thought.
Most of the experienced pilots have probably spread the word about how dangerous this planet is for pilots …

Han knew a little bit about the various kinds of spice, mostly from hearing Shrike and the other smugglers discuss their properties.

Glitterstim, mined on Kessel, was by far the most valuable. When exposed to light, then quickly ingested, it gave the user a temporary telepathic ability to sense surface thoughts and emotions. Spies used it, lovers used it, and the Empire used it when interrogating prisoners. Matter of fact, the Empire claimed all the glitterstim mined on Kessel as its rightful property, which was why it was so rare and so lucrative to smuggle.

Ryll came from the Twi’lek world, Ryloth, where it was perfectly legal to mine, and was used for analgesic purposes. There were illegal applications, however, and it
could be used to produce several intoxicants and hallucinogens.

Carsunum was a black spice that came from Sevarcos, and it was quite rare and very valuable. Users experienced euphoria, and an increase in their abilities—while under the influence they became stronger, faster, and more intelligent. There was a downside, of course. After the effects wore off, users frequently became listless, depressed, and some even died when the substance had a toxic effect on their metabolisms.

Sevarcos also supplied the galaxy with andris, a white powder that was added to foods to enhance flavor and preserve them. Some users claimed that the drug caused a mild euphoria and increase in sensation.

They’re not mining it here
, Han thought.
These factories process the raw material to turn it into the finished product
.

“Factories?” Han echoed. “They’re huge …”

“Yes, and Ylesia has admirable production rates, enabling us to favorably compete with the cost of the spice shipped directly from Kessel, Ryloth, or Sevarcos,” Veratil explained. “And we are the only facility that offers such variety of spice. Buyers frequently wish to purchase several different kinds of spice for their customers, and we provide that.”

Han saw figures entering and leaving the factory buildings. Many humans, some nonhumans. He recognized Twi’leks, Rodians, Gamorreans, Devaronians, Sullustans … and there were others that were unknown to him. All the humans and bipedal aliens wore tan-colored robes that came down below their knees and tan-colored caps that covered their hair.

He gestured at the people. “Factory workers?”

The Sacredot hesitated, then said, “They are the pilgrims that have chosen 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. And he had a bad feeling about what he was seeing,
These pilgrims come here to attain religious sanctuary, and
wind up working in spice factories. I smell a vrelt—a dead one
.

The Ylesian sun was far down in the sky by now, almost to the horizon. Han noticed that throngs of tan-clad workers were streaming northeast, toward the mountains. Veratil beckoned Han with one undersized hand. “It is time for the blessed pilgrims to attend devotions and to be Exulted in the One, render their prayers to the All. Let us take the Path of Oneness to reach the Altar of Promises. Come, Pilot Draygo.”

Han obediently followed the priest up a well-worn paved path. Even though they were surrounded by pilgrims, Han noticed that no one ventured very close to them. All of the pilgrims gave Veratil deep bows, hands folded over their hearts. “They offer thanks for the Exultation they are about to receive,” Veratil explained to Han as they walked along.

As they moved away from the buildings, the jungle around them closed in, until the path they were walking on was shadowed and overhung with giant branches. Han almost felt as though he were walking in a tunnel.

They passed a huge open area that was evidently some kind of swamp, because it was completely covered in huge blooms that were so beautiful and exotic that Han had never seen anything like them. “The Flowered Plains,” Veratil, still playing tour guide, pointed out. “And this is the Forest of Faithfulness.”

Han nodded.
I wonder how much more of this I can take
, he thought.
I hope they don’t expect
me
to become a convert, because they’ve got the wrong guy
.

After a twenty-minute walk, the group reached a large, paved area that was fronted with a partially roofed area supported by three monstrous pillars. Veratil indicated that Han should stay with the crowd of pilgrims, then the Sacredot moved on, heading for the pillars. Han saw several of the t’landa Til assembled beneath the pillars, including one that he tentatively identified as Teroenza. They were ranged around a low altar carved from some translucent white stone that seemed to glow with an inner light.

The high, snowcapped mountains made an impressive
backdrop to the scene, as they towered high above the jungle. Han craned his neck, looking up … up … the tops of the highest peaks were hidden by drifting clouds, stained red from the sunset. The snows on the western sides of the peaks glowed crimson and rose.

Impressive
, Han was forced to admit. The simplicity of the natural amphitheater, with its paved floor and pillared altar, made it seem like some vast natural cathedral.

The faithful filed into ranks and stood waiting.

Han stood at the back, shifting impatiently, hoping whatever religious service was about to take place wouldn’t last long. He was hungry, his head was throbbing, and the heat was making him sleepy.