Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [65]
Then, with a grimace that he tried to turn into a smile, the Corellian stepped off the bank. Red mud oozed up his legs, and for a second Han nearly panicked, picturing himself sinking completely out of sight. But there was solid ground beneath the mud. Waving and smiling at the two t’landa Til, Han grimly waded out until he was slithering in mud up to his thighs.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Veratil asked, generously catching up a huge blob of mud and slathering Han’s back. “Nothing in this galaxy beats a good mud bath!”
Han nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Great!”
“I suggest you go for a roll,” Teroenza boomed. “That always refreshes me after the stresses of everyday life. Try it!”
“Sure!” Han agreed, smiling through clenched teeth. “A good roll sounds like just the thing!” Gingerly, he lowered himself into the mud, and with a great slosh and splat! he rolled completely over in the slimy, oozing stuff. It didn’t help his mood to notice that there were long white worms inhabiting the mud. Han assumed they weren’t carnivorous, or the priests wouldn’t be having such a wonderful time.
Bria, honey, I hope you appreciate this … he thought as he completed his roll and sat back up, coated now from the neck down. “Wonderful!” he said loudly. “So … squishy!”
“So, Pilot Draygo … why did you wish to speak with me?” Teroenza asked as the High Priest languidly settled deeper into the wallow.
“Well, I think I may have solved your problem, sir. The problem of how to take care of your collection, that is.”
Teroenza’s massive head swiveled on his almost nonexistent neck. “Really? How?”
“I’ve made friends with one of the pilgrims, a young woman from my homeworld. Before she came here to be a pilgrim, she was studying to be a museum curator, and she knows a lot about caring for rare things. Antiquities, collectibles, stuff like that. I’ll bet she could properly catalog and care for the stuff in your collection.”
Teroenza listened intently, then the High Priest sat back on his haunches, mud squishing up around him. “I had no idea any of our pilgrims had such training. Perhaps I will interview this one. What is her designation?”
“She’s Pilgrim 921, sir.”
“And where does she work?”
“In the glitterstim factory, sir.”
“How long has she been here on Ylesia?”
“Almost a year, sir.”
Teroenza turned to Veratil, and the two priests began talking in their own language.
I gotta learn their lingo for myself, Han thought. He’d found a language program to teach elementary Huttese, and been studying that for the past month. But he’d been unable to locate any translation guides or programs for learning the t’landa Til language. He strained his ears, hoping to be able to decipher what the priests were saying, but t’landa Til was apparently sufficiently different from Huttese to make it impossible for him to understand anything.
Turning back to Han, Veratil said, “This Pilgrim 921 … would you say she’s attractive, as your species measures attractiveness? For example, do you find her appealing as a potential sexual partner?”
Deep in the mud, Han crossed his fingers. “921? Oh, nossir, she’s … well, to be frank, sir, she’s so ugly that if I had a pet with a face that homely, I’d make it walk backward.”
When they heard Han’s words, both priests guffawed and slapped their arms across their chests, which was apparently their species’ way of paying tribute to a witty turn of phrase.
“Very good, Pilot Draygo,” Teroenza boomed. “You are indeed a sharp fellow, and I shall investigate this young woman.” He sloshed around a bit, letting the mud slop up around his huge flanks. “Ahhhhhhh …” he sighed with pleasure.
“So, Veratil.” Han squirmed around in the mud until he was facing the Sacredot. “I’ve got something I’m curious about. Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” the younger