THE PARADISE SNARE(28)
They passed a huge open area that was evidently some kind of swamp, because it was completely covered in huge blooms that were so beautiful and exotic that Han had never seen anything like them. “The Flowered Plains,” Veratil, still playing tour guide, pointed out. “And this is the Forest of Faithfulness.”
Han nodded. I wonder how much more of this I can take, he thought. I hope they don’t expect me to become a convert, because they’ve got the wrong guy.
After a twenty-minute walk, the group reached a large, paved area that was fronted with a partially roofed area supported by three monstrous pillars.
Veratil indicated that Han should stay with the crowd of pilgrims, then the Sacredot moved on, heading for the pillars. Han saw several of the t’landa Til assembled beneath the pillars, including one that he tentatively identified as Teroenza. They were ranged around a low altar carved from some translucent white stone that seemed to glow with an inner light.
The high, snowcapped mountains made an impressive backdrop to the scene, as they towered high above the jungle. Han craned his neck, looking up . .
. up … the tops of the highest peaks were hidden by drifting clouds, stained red from the sunset. The snows on the western sides of the peaks glowed crimson and rose.
Impressive, Han was forced to admit. The simplicity of the natural amphitheater, with its paved floor and pillared altar, made it seem like some vast natural cathedral.
The faithful filed into ranks and stood waiting.
Han stood at the back, shifting impatiently, hoping whatever religious service was about to take place wouldn’t last long. He was hungry, his head was throbbing, and the heat was making him sleepy.
The High Priest raised his tiny arms and intoned a phrase in his native language. The Sacredots, including Veratil, echoed him. Then the assembled throng (Han estimated four or five hundred in the crowd) echoed the High Priest’s phrase. Han leaned closer to the nearest pilgrim, a Twil’lek. “What are they saying?”
“They said, ‘The One is All,’” the Twi’lek, who spoke excellent Basic, translated. “Would you like me to interpret the service for you?”
Since Han was determined to begin learning the t’landa Til’s language, he nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
The High Priest intoned again. Han listened to the ritual phrases repeated by the Sacredots, then droned forth by the faithful pilgrims: “The All is One.”
“We are One. We belong to the All.”
“In service to the All, every One is Exulted.”
“We sacrifice to achieve the All. We serve the One.”
“In work and sacrifice we are All fulfilled. If every One has worked hard, we are All Exulted.”
Han stifled a yawn. This was awfully repetitious.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of chanting, Teroenza and all the priests stepped forward. “You have worked well,” the High Priest pronounced. “Prepare for the blessing of Exultation!”
The crowd gave forth a sound of such greedy anticipation that Han was taken aback. Moving in a great wave, as though they were truly One, they dropped to the pavement and lay there, arms and legs huddled beneath their bodies, in an attitude of breathless hope and yearning.
All of the priests raised their arms. Han watched as the loose, wrinkled skin that hung below their throats inflated with air and began to pulse. A low, throbbing hum—or was it a vibration?—gradually filled the air.
Han’s eyes widened as he felt something invade his mind and body. Part vibration, part sound? He wasn’t sure. Was it empathy, or telepathy, or did that vibration trigger something in his brain? He couldn’t tell. He only knew that it was strong…
It rolled across him in a great wave. Emotional warmth, physical pleasure, it was all of that and more. Han staggered back, off the permacrete, until he was brought up short by the trunk of one of the forest giants. He braced himself against the tree, his head swimming.
He dug his fingernails into the bark, hanging on to the tree. His hands against the bark seemed to be the only thing keeping him from being swept away by that wave of warm feeling and ecstatic pleasure .
. .
Han hung on to the tree physically, and himself mentally, refusing to let himself be sucked under with that wave. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he fought as hard as he ever had. All his life, he’d been his own person, master of his own mind and body, and nothing was going to change that. He was Han Solo, and he didn’t need aliens invading his mind or his body to make him feel good.
No! he thought. I’m a free man, not some pilgrim, not your puppet!
Free, do you hear?
Gritting his teeth, Han fought that invasion as he would have fought a physical opponent, and then, as quickly as it had started, the sensation was gone—he was free.