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“So, what’s going on with this world? You’ve got Hutts running this world, who’re clashing with other clans of Hutts on Nal Hutta—why?” Han thought for a moment, then answered his own question. “Oh. Of course. For the spice.”

“Naturally. The Hutts and the t’landa Til, their caretakers, profit in two ways from Ylesia. First, there is the processed spice. But the Ylesian Hutts must buy their spice from other Hutt families who provide the raw materials. Have you ever heard of Jiliac or of Jabba?”

“Jabba?” Han frowned. “Jabba the Hutt? I think I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he supposed to be the guy who pretty much controls Nar Shaadaa, the smugglers’ moon that orbits Nal Hutta?”

“That’s right. He divides his time between his home on Nal Hutta and a spice transshipping operation he runs through a back-of-beyond planet called Tatooine.”

“Tatooine? Never heard of it.”

Nebl shuddered. “Trust me, you don’t want to go there. It’s a dump.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So this Jabba and Jiliac get the raw spice and ship it here for processing, right?”

“Yes. But lately, I believe, they may be trying to increase their profit by sending out ships to masquerade as pirates, and having them hijack the Ylesian spice ships. That way, Jabba and Jiliac get the processed spice for nothing—something that would please them greatly.”

Han pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Talk about biting the hand that feeds you …”

“Indeed. Yet I have no difficulty believing them capable of doing it.”

Han ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It had been a very long day. “Yeah, from what I’ve heard, a Hutt would sell his own grandmother—assuming they have such things—for a credit’s profit.”

“So you must be very, very cautious, young Vykk. Tell Teroenza you need increased shielding.”

“I have.”

“Good. Greater firepower would not be amiss, either.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Han fixed the Sullustan with a steady gaze. “Nebl, since we’re talkin’ frankly here, tell me something. There ain’t nothin’ to this religion thing the priests are pushing at these pilgrims, is there?”

“I do not believe so, Vykk. But I do not understand exactly what the Exultation is. I am not a believer, so I have never felt it, but judging by the way the pilgrims react, it has a more intoxicating effect than any dose of spice.”

“Yeah, it packs a wallop, all right,” Han agreed. “What I’m figuring is that this whole setup on Ylesia is just one big scam to get their lousy spice processed cheap.”

“That is not their only motive, Vykk. Do you remember that I said there were two ways that the priests and the Hutts profit from these colonies?”

“Yeah,” Han said. “So go on, what’s the second way?”

“Slaves,” Nebl said bluntly. “Trained, compliant slaves. The Ylesians export the pilgrims from the spice factories when they consider them fully trained, all will to resist removed. They are taken to other worlds and sold. Their places in the factories are taken by fresh shipments of pilgrims.”

“And the slaves are too cowed and brainwashed to complain or tell the truth about Ylesia and what’s waiting for the pilgrims here?” Han asked.

“Certainly. And even if they did talk, who listens to a slave? And if the slave gets too noisy …” Nebl made a sudden, unmistakable hand across throat gesture. “Silencing a slave is easy.”

Han was thinking about 921. She said she’d been on Ylesia nearly a year …

“How long do they keep ’em before they ship the slaves out? And where do they send them?”

“A year is standard. They send many of the strong ones to Kessel, to work in the spice mines. Nobody ever gets off Kessel alive, you know. And the pretty ones … they are the lucky few. They go for dancing girls or boys, or to the barracks pleasure-houses. An undignified life, perhaps, but far easier than slaving and dying in the mines.”

Nebl was watching Han intently out of his wet, luminous eyes. “Why do you ask? Is there a particular slave that matters to you?”

“Well … kinda,” Han admitted. “She works in the glitterstim factory, down on the deepest level. She’s been here close to a year.”

“If you care for her, you