THE PARADISE SNARE(58)

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. “Well. Oh, no ssir, 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 priest said.

“How do you guys do that thing you do with the pilgrims each night at the devotion? What they call the Exultation? It sure packs a wallop, whatever it is.”

“The Exultation?” Veratil chuckled, a low, booming sound. “That moment of rapture the pilgrims regard as a Divine Gift?”

“Right,” Han said. “I’ve never been able to experience it,” he admitted.

Because I’ve fought it as hard as I can, he added silently. Because the last thing I want is some critter as ugly as you giving me jolts in my pleasure

“That is because you are a strongminded individual, Pilot Draygo,” Veratil said. “Our pilgrims come to us because they are not strong minded, they are weak, and looking for guidance. And their diets are designed to make them even more … malleable.”

Teroenza spoke up, “The Exultation is a refinement of a ability we males of the t’landa Til use to attract the females of our species during mating season. We create a frequency resonance within the recipient’s brain that stimulates the pleasure centers. The humming vibration is produced by air flowing over the cilia in our neck pouches when we inflate them. Our females find it irresistible.”

“We males also have a low-grade empathic projection ability,” Veratil said. “By concentrating on feeling good, we can project those feelings at the crowd of pilgrims. Both effects, taken together, produce the Exultation.”

“Neat trick!” Han said admiringly. “Is it difficult?”

“Not at all,” Teroenza said. “What we find difficult is having to lead the pilgrims in those endless services and prayers. At times, I’ve been so bored that I nearly fell asleep, waiting for my turn to lead the devotions.”

“Last year, one of the Sacredots did fall asleep,” Veratil said, booming with his species’s version of laughter. “Palazidar fell right over. The pilgrims were most upset.”

Both priests enjoyed the memory. Han laughed, too, but inside he was simmering with anger, thinking of the pilgrims staggering down the path, religious faith and devotion shining in their eyes. This place makes any of Garris Shrike’s scams look like nothing, he thought disgustedly. Someone should shut these greedy vermin down …