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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,