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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