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The next day Han took the Ylesian shuttle to Colony Two and Colony Three. He discovered that he really enjoyed piloting bigger ships, and his piloting was perfect. He managed to find a few extra minutes on his return run to Colony One to practice low altitude flying, swooping the shuttle so low that the belly nearly brushed the tops of the jungle trees. Beside him in the copilot’s seat, Muuurgh alternated between exhilaration and terror as the Togorian experienced swoops, barrel rolls, and even upside-down high-speed flying. Han was in his element, putting the shuttle through maneuvers he’d only done previously during sims. The Corellian found himself whooping joyously at the sheer thrill of it all.

For his last, best bit of precision flying, Han sent the shuttle hurtling down a river-cut canyon, skimming between the rock walls with so little room to spare that Muuurgh yowled, shut his eyes, and refused to open them. Once they were soaring through open skies again, Han had to shake the Togorian’s arm and repeatedly reassure the big alien that he was finished practicing for the day.

“Muuurgh certain that Pilot is crazy,” the Togorian said, cautiously opening his eyes and straightening up in his seat. “Muuurgh flies on his mosgoth at home, but not like that. Mosgoths have more sense than to fly like that. Muuurgh have more sense, too. Pilot”—the Togorian gave Han a plaintive glance—“promise Muuurgh not to fly crazy again.”

“But, Muuurgh,” Han said, carefully setting them down on the landing field at Colony One, “I’ve got to practice every chance I get! You see …” he hesitated, then decided to trust Muuurgh with part of the truth, “I sort of stretched the facts a little when I told Teroenza about my flying experience. I really am a champion pilot, that’s the truth, but … I need to practice with this shuttle. And with the bigger ships. Sims are fine, but they can’t beat the real thing.”

Muuurgh gave Han a long level look, then nodded. “Muuurgh understands. Pilot trusts Muuurgh not to say this to Teroenza?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Han said. “Can I? Trust you, I mean?”

The Togorian groomed his white whiskers thoughtfully. “As long as Pilot does not crash, Muuurgh does not talk.”

“Fair enough, pal,” Han said with a grin.

When he and Muuurgh came down the ramp from the ship, Veratil was there waiting for them in the pouring rain. By this time Han was growing used to the daily downpours, though the steamy heat still exhausted him. “The High Priest wishes to see you at once, Pilot Draygo,” Veratil said.

The Sacredot led the Corellian and his bodyguard to the High Priest’s personal quarters, which occupied a large part of the underground level of the Administration Center. When Veratil keyed in the security bypass codes and they walked through the huge double doors into the High Priest’s personal sanctum, Han couldn’t repress a low whistle of amazement. “Nice place!”

“This is the High Priest’s display room,” Veratil said. “He is an avid collector, and very proud of his collection of rarities.”

“He deserves to be,” Han said sincerely.

The room was easily ten times the size of Han’s little apartment on the first floor. Display tables, shelves, and racks showcased treasures and antiquities from around the galaxy. Sculpture from a dozen worlds, paintings, and other art objects were scattered amid ornate antique weapons. Tapestries hung from the walls. Rugs of exquisite beauty were covered by protective force fields that felt squishy underfoot as Han walked on them.

Semiprecious gems adorned the collection of pipes and other musical instruments. Bottles of the rarest liquors in the entire galaxy were suspended in a gold-embossed rack.

Han’s fingers literally itched for the whole time it took him to traverse the display room. If I could have five minutes alone in here, I’d be set for life! he thought wistfully as he slowed down to peer at a drreelb carved from living ice. The tiny statue was covered with a layer of dust, which was disturbed by Han’s breath. It wafted up into the air, and the pilot sneezed