• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

The giant alien shook his whiskered head. “Never happen. Pilot have Muuurgh, who has blaster.”

“Uh … that’s true,” Han said. Mentally, he made a note to ask Teroenza for some kind of weapon. He felt naked without one, even after only having had one for a couple of days.

“So, Muuurgh, shall we go exploring?” Han asked. “I don’t have any baggage to unpack, as you can see.”

“Explore where?” the Togorian asked.

“I’d like to tour the factories,” Han said. “And this Administration Center.”

“Fine,” the Togorian said. “Come, Pilot.”

“Right behind you,” Han said, suiting his action to his words.

They walked the corridors of the Administration Center, glanced in at the mess hall, toured the guards’ wing, and peeked at the priests’ quarters. When Han caught a glimpse of the Armory, he realized that the Ylesian priests must be afraid of a pilgrim uprising, because the percentage of guards to workers was high. The Armory boasted a lot of heavy-duty riot control armament—force pikes and stun gas. The guards they met came from many different worlds. Besides humans, Han saw Rodians, Sullustans, Twi’leks, and porcine Gamorreans.

“So let me get this straight,” he said to Muuurgh as they skirted an area in the Administration Center that signs in many languages identified as RESTRICTED ACCESS. “The guards all sleep here most of the time? But why don’t they sleep near the pilgrims’ dormitory if the priests want to make sure the workers stay under control?”

“Sleep-time not the problem,” the Togorian said in his halting Basic. “After pilgrims are Exulted, can barely walk back, go sleep right away. Only time pilgrims get mad, angry at bosses, is before Exultation.”

Makes sense, Han thought dourly. Give the addicts their fix, and then they just sleep it off until the next day. “Then the guard patro—”

The pilot stopped in midword when he glimpsed something large and grayish gliding far down the corridor in the off-limits area. Han squinted into the dimness. “Hey … what was that?” he muttered. “That looked just like a—” Han broke off as the object turned the corner. He started after it at a good clip.

Muuurgh made a futile grab for his charge, but Han was quicker than the big alien and dodged. He jogged down the “forbidden” hallway, listening hard for the sound of footsteps, but none came.

When he reached the junction of the corridors, Han turned to stare up the one where he’d glimpsed that flicker of gliding motion. His eyes widened.

Hey, it is a Hutt! What’s a Hutt doing here? There was no mistaking the identity of that huge, sluglike form reclining on its repulsorlift sled.

As he hesitated, Muuurgh pounced on him as though he were a vrelt, and picked up the Corellian bodily. Han repressed a yelp of dismay as the Togorian tucked him under one muscled arm and ran back down the corridor, until they were back in the UNRESTRICTED ACCESS section of the Center.

Muuurgh set Han back on his feet and flexed a hand under the Corellian’s nose. “My people teach, everyone entitled to ONE mistake,” the bodyguard said. “Pilot just have his. No more mistakes, or Muuurgh have to teach Pilot like little cub. Muuurgh has given word of honor, remember. Understood?”

Han eyed the claws that gleamed under his nose, sharp and shiny as razors. “Uh … yeah,” he managed to say. “I understand, Muuurgh. Humans just get … curious, you know?”

“Curiosity fatal sometimes,” Muuurgh growled.

“I can see your point,” Han said dryly. “Or, rather, your points.”

Muuurgh stared at the sharp, shining tips of his claws, then his muzzle lifted back from his fangs, and he made a low, mewling sound. For a moment Han froze, then he looked at the Togorian and realized this was the alien’s form of laughter. Evidently Muuurgh had caught the joke.

Han managed a weak chuckle. “So, how about we get some food, then check out those factories, eh, pal?” he asked.

“Muuurgh always hungry,” the Togorian agreed, leading the way toward the mess hall. “What means this word ‘pal’?”

“Oh, a pal is a friend, a buddy, you know. Someone