“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 you spend time with that you like,” Han explained.
“Yessss …” the Togorian said, nodding. “Pilot means ‘packmate.”” “Right.”
“Good,” the bodyguard said. “Muuurgh misses his packmates.”
Han recalled Teroenza saying that his people came from Nal Hutta, the Hutt homeworld, but Han hadn’t realized that that meant there were Hutts living on Ylesia. When questioned, Muuurgh confirmed that he had seen several of the “slug masters who ride on air” as he called them.
There’s only one reason Hutts are here, Han thought. They’re the real masters of Ylesia. After all, they dominate the contraband spice trade . .
.
Lunch was good, if unimaginative and (to Han’s taste) lacking in seasoning. Still, the cook was no slouch. His or her bread was very good, Han thought as he chewed on a bite of Alderaanian flatbread. He realized suddenly, with a pang, that it had been nearly a day since he’d thought of Dewlanna. The thought made him feel vaguely disloyal, but then he took himself in hand. Dewlanna wouldn’t want him to mope and grieve over her.
She’d always enjoyed life, and she wouldn’t expect Han not to, just because she was gone …
He came back out of his reverie to find Muuurgh watching him curiously.
“Pilot is thinking of someone far away,” the Togorian observed, waving the bone he had just finished gnawing. Tiny fragments of raw meat still clung to it, but Muuurgh had cleaned it impressively, Han thought. He had to get every little bit. It required a lot of raw meat to keep that massive body going.
“Yeah,” Han agreed with a sigh. “Someone about as far away as anyone can be.”
“Pilot have sweetheart?”
Han shook his head. “Well, there’ve been a few girls here and there,” he admitted, “but nobody special. No, I was thinking of the person who more or less raised me.”
Muuurgh took a huge gulp of some foamy stuff from a tankard. “Humans raise young much differently than my people do,” he said. “Really?