Splinter in the Mind's Eye Page 4

  They hugged the walls of the buildings, trying to pass quickly before any lit windows or open doors, slipping furtively from shadow to shadow. Luke hastily examined each storefront in passing. Finally he halted, indicated the sign above a doorway.

  "Miner's supplies," he whispered. "This is the one we want." While the Princess watched the walkways, he tried to peer through one dark window. "Maybe it's a holiday," he guessed hopefully.

  "More likely the only establishments open this time of night sell nothing but intoxicants," the Princess pointed out prosaically. "What now?" She looked uncomfortable.

  By way of reply Luke led her around back. The rear entrance he'd hoped for was there. But it was secured, as he'd feared. To complicate matters there was a broad open lane behind the buildings, from which the jungle and bog had been shunted away. If anyone happened to come walking past, they'd have nowhere to hide.

  "Wonderful," the Princess observed as Luke tried the locked portal. "How do we get in?" She was indicating the seamless metal door which, no doubt, was locked and controlled from the inside. The back of the building was devoid of windows, possibly to foil intentions such as theirs.

  Luke removed the lightsaber from his waist, very slowly adjusted the controls set in the handle.

  "What are you going to do, Luke?"

  "I don't know how big this town is, but a noisy break-in would attract too much attention. So I'm trying not to be noisy."

  Watching with interest, the Princess took a couple of steps back, looking nervously up and down the alleyway. Any second she expected to see a squad of angry troopers racing around a corner toward her, alerted by some hidden alarm they had unknowingly triggered.

  Only jungle sounds reached her; however, as Luke activated his saber. Instead of the meter-plus shaft of white energy, the pommel put forth a short, needle-thin spoke. With concentration worthy of a master craftsman, Luke stepped forward and moved the energy beam along the slight space visible between door and frame. A third of the way down the door a distinct click sounded and the door slid obediently aside. Readjusting his saber, Luke flicked it off and replaced it at his waist.

  "Go ahead," she told him. "The 'droids and I will keep watch."

  He nodded, vanished inside.

  Luke's principal objective was conveniently located close to the back of the store. He spent several minutes scrounging through the racks before he found what he wanted. Taking the well-used clothing, he hurried to the back entrance and tossed the booty to the Princess. Then he stepped just outside the door, reached back in and touched the Close stud. He pulled his arm clear as the door slid shut behind him. With luck it might be several weeks before the storekeeper discovered his loss.

  Well pleased with himself, Luke stepped down to the ground and began unsnapping his flight suit. He was partly undressed when he paused and noticed the Princess standing and staring at him.

  "Come on. We have to hurry."

  She put hands on seal-curve hips, cocked her head to one side and stared meaningfully at him.

  "Oh," he murmured, half-smiling. He turned away and continued undressing. Feeling that nothing had changed behind him, he sneaked a glance, saw the Princess still eying him uncomfortably. "What's wrong, Princess?"

  She sounded embarrassed. "Luke, I like you, and we've known each other for awhile, but I'm not sure I can trust you... now."

  He grinned. "You know it won't make any difference if the stormtroopers find us here in our flight suits." He gestured. "You can change in the bush."

  Turning away from her, he continued changing his own attire. She looked back at the nearby jungle. Tiny yellow points of light, the eyes of unknown creatures, winked on and off in the bushes. Strange, discomfiting sounds hissed and bleated at her. She sighed, started to slip out of her own flight suit, then paused.

  "Well, what are you two staring at?"

  "Oh... sorry, I..." An insistent whistle. "Yes, you're right, Artoo." Both 'droids turned away from the Princess.

  Shortly, Luke was able to turn and study her approvingly. Her simple, worn suit was a bit snug, but otherwise looked quite natural on her.

  "Well?" she asked, obviously not enthralled with her new wardrobe. "What are you staring at?"

  "I think maybe something in a print..." he began. He had to react quickly to duck the boot she threw at him. It clattered off the metal door.

  "Sorry," he told her, sounding like he meant it as he picked up the boot. Bending over his old suit he began transferring various items from it and from his backpack to the belt pouches of the miner's uniform.

  One small case he flipped open carefully, went rapidly through its contents before snapping it shut and slipping it into a pocket. "I've got enough Imperial currency to last us a while. You?"

  She glanced away from him. "What would a representative of the Alliance be doing with common currency on a diplomatic mission?"

  Luke sighed. "We'll make do, I suppose. How would you like something to eat besides a concentrate?"

  She faced him, visibly more cheerful. "I could eat half a Chou-shou, Luke. Are you sure we ought to, though?"

  "We have to mingle sometime. As long as we don't look or act like total strangers, no one should bother us." They started back toward the main street, after burying their packs and flight suits in a syrupy bog.

  They were halfway there when the increasing light caused Luke to stop.

  "What's the matter?" the Princess asked, worried.

  "Two things," Luke insisted, eying her. "First of all, there's your walk."

  "And what's wrong with my walk?"

  "Nothing. That's the trouble."

  Her brows drew together in puzzlement. "I don't follow you, Luke."

  He explained slowly. "You're walking like... like a Princess. Not like a working woman. Slump your shoulders, take some of the confidence and distance out of your stride. Stagger a little. You've got to walk like a tired mineral-grubber, not like one of the Imperial family. And then there's the second thing...."

  Reaching out, he touseled her neat hairdo violently.

  "Hey!" she objected, struggling. When he stepped back, her hair formed a nebulous maze of undisciplined strands around her head and face, the intricate double-bun she'd worn now completely obliterated.

  "That's better," he observed, "but there's still something not right." After a moment, he reached down, picked up a handful of moist earth, then stepped toward her.

  "Oh no," she warned him, putting up both hands defensively and moving backward. "I've been living in sludge for days. I'm not letting you smear that gunk on me!"

  "Have it your way, Leia." He dropped the dirt and it hit the ground with a loud splat. "You do it."

  The Princess hesitated. Then, using spit and hands and a minimum of dirt, she succeeded in wiping every trace of makeup from her face and dirtying it as little as possible.

  "How's this?" she asked guardedly.

  Luke nodded approvingly. "Much better. You look like someone who's been out in the desert too long without water."

  "Thanks," she muttered. "I'm beginning to feel like it, too."

  "It's necessary. I just want to see us get off this world alive."

  "We won't if we don't find that food you mentioned." He had to hurry to catch up with her as she headed toward the street....

  III

  THEY conversed in whispers as they made their way down the metal walkway toward the better-lit buildings. More and more miners and other figures began to appear, materializing out of the mists.

  "The town's beginning to come alive," Leia murmured. "They probably run three alternating shifts at the mine. Looks like one is just letting out."

  "I don't know," Luke confessed, "but you've got to do something about your walk. Slouch some more."

  She nodded, made an effort to comply. Luke tried not to stare at passing faces, afraid one might be staring back at them.

  "You're still too tense. Relax. There, that's better."

  They stopped before a rea
sonably quiet, fairly well maintained structure that advertised itself as a tavern.

  "It looks peaceful enough." He turned. "Threepio, you and Artoo wait out here. No sense asking for trouble. Find a dark corner somewhere and stay quiet until we come back."

  "You don't have to urge me, Master Luke," the tall golden 'droid exclaimed fervently. "Come on, Artoo." Both 'droids headed for a narrow passageway between the tavern and its neighboring building.

  "What do you think, Princess? Should we take a chance?"

  "I'm starving... we've wasted enough time." She put a hand over the door switch. Immediately the double doors slid apart.

  Lights and noise and talk in overwhelming quantities assailed them instantly. Having exposed themselves, they had no choice but to enter, as casually as they could manage.

  Low booths filled with hectic humanity honeycombed the tavern interior. The miasma of narcotic incense and other smokes nearly asphyxiated Luke, and he had to struggle not to cough.

  "What's wrong?" The Princess looked worried, though unaffected by the decadent atmosphere. "People are looking at you."

  "It's... the air," he explained, fighting to breathe normally. "There's something in it. A whole bunch of somethings."

  The Princess chuckled. "Too much for you, fighter pilot?"

  Luke wasn't ashamed to admit it. When he could spare the wind for talk again, he told her, "Basically, I'm a country boy, Leia. I haven't had too much exposure to sophisticated entertainments."

  She sniffed the air appraisingly. "I wouldn't call these scents sophisticated. Thick, yes, but not sophisticated."

  Somewhere near the center of the human whirlpool they miraculously came upon an empty table. The Princess concentrated intently on the tabletop when the human waiter approached them. She needn't have worried. He didn't give them a glance.

  "Your pleasure?" he inquired simply, distantly. The man smoked something on the job, Luke noted.

  "What's best tonight?" he asked the man, striving to sound like someone who'd just spent ten hours in the bowels of the earth.

  "Kommerken steak, flank cut; and ootoowergs... usual supplements."

  "For two," Luke told him, keeping conversation to a minimum.

  That appeared to suit the attendant fine. "Got it," he replied with equal perfunctoriness, and waded off into the mob.

  "He didn't ask any questions," the Princess murmured excitedly, looking back up at Luke.

  "No. This might be easier than I thought." He was beginning to feel something like hope. Then his expression darkened.

  "What is it, Luke?" He gestured, and she turned to look toward the bar.

  A large, hulking miner was being feebly assailed by something human-sized, skinny, and covered completely with light green fur. It had wide, nocturnal eyes and a crest of higher, darker fur running from the crown of its head down the middle of its back. A simply worked skin of some unknown animal was wrapped about its pelvic region and several jangling necklaces adorned with primitive decorations swung from the neck.

  Presently the creature began making mewing, begging noises in a high, rippling voice. The alien singsong was coated with an unmistakable hint of desperation.

  "Vease, sir," it begged, "smav drink? Vickerman, vickerman?"

  The big miner met this pitiful request by putting out a broad foot and kicking the native in the face. Luke winced and looked away. The Princess glanced at him.

  "What's wrong, Luke?"

  "I can't stand to see anything abused like that," he muttered, "human or animal or alien." He faced her curiously. "How can you watch it?"

  "I saw my whole world, several million people, destroyed," she responded with chilling matter-of-factness. "Nothing mankind does surprises me anymore, except that anyone could still be surprised by it." She turned her clinical gaze back to the scene at the bar.

  "Bootop!" the miner bellowed at the aborigine, while his companions chortled among themselves. "Bootop, ves?"

  Its head twitching in what seemed to be an unnatural action, the whining, pleading alien stared up at the man, wiping the blood from its face. "Vickerman, vickerman?"

  "Yeah, vickerman," the miner admitted, tiring of the game a little. "Bootop."

  Without further prompting the native dropped on its belly. An unexpectedly long, snake-like tongue darted out and began to lick the grime and mud from the man's boots.

  "I'm going to be sick," Luke whispered, barely audible. The Princess merely shrugged.

  "We have our devils and our angels, Luke. You have to be ready to handle both."

  When she looked back to the bar the native had finished its demeaning task and was holding up cupped hands anxiously. "Tend vickerman, now, now?"

  "Yeah, sure," the miner said. Reaching onto the bar he picked up an oddly formed bottle and touched a button on its side. Part of the bottle's upper section filled with a dark liquid. It stopped filling with a click.

  Turning to face the expectant native, the miner tilted the bottle over, spilling the thick red liquor onto the floor instead of in the cupped hands. While the men and women at the bar enjoyed their final laugh at the poor creature's expense, it dropped to a prone position and that amazing tongue flicked in and out like a frog's, to lap up the liquor before it retreated into cracks and depressions in the floor.

  Unable to watch further, Luke let his curious gaze wander around the large, smoke-filled chamber. Now he saw more of the green-furred bipeds moving about. Many were begging with an air of frantic hopefulness, others engaged in performing some menial task.

  "I don't recognize this race."

  "Neither do I," the Princess admitted. "They must be native to this world. The Empire isn't noted for the gentleness with which it treats non-allied aborigines."

  Luke was about to comment, but she made a quieting gesture. The attendant had arrived with their food.

  The meat had a peculiar color, the vegetables more so. But everything was hot and of good flavor. Three spigots emerged flower-like from the center of their table. Filling his glass from one, he sampled the contents expectantly. "Not bad."

  Meanwhile the Princess tasted her meat gingerly. Her mouth wrinkled as she chewed, swallowed. "Not what I'd order if I had a choice..."

  "We don't," Luke pointed out.

  "No... we don't. We..." She stopped, staring, and Luke turned to look behind him.

  The attendant was still standing there, watching her. As soon as he noticed her looking back at him, he turned and walked away.

  "You think he suspects?" she murmured worriedly.

  "How could he? Your clothes are right, even I wouldn't recognize you."

  Partly reassured, Leia bent over her plate and resumed eating.

  "Look, over there," she said. Luke turned, glanced furtively in the indicated direction.

  The attendant was talking with a tall, urbane man dressed in the uniform of an Imperial civil servant.

  "They do suspect!" she whispered tightly. She started to stand. "I've had enough, Luke. Let's get out of here."

  "We can't rush off, especially if we're being watched," he countered. "Don't panic, Princess."

  "I said I'm leaving, Luke." Nervous, she started to turn and leave.

  Without realizing what he was doing, he reached out, slapped her hard across the face, and as heads turned in their direction said loudly, "No favors for you until I'm finished eating!"

  One hand went to her burning cheek. Wide-eyed and voiceless, the Princess slowly sat back down. Luke frantically attacked his steak as the uniformed Imperial sauntered over to them, backed by the attendant at a discreet distance.

  "If there's some trouble..." he began.

  "No, no trouble," Luke assured him, forcing a smile. The man didn't leave. "Can I help you, maybe."

  "Not you. It's clear what you are, miner." The bureaucrat's oily gaze shifted to Leia. "I'm more curious about your companion here." Leia didn't look up at him.

  "Why?" Luke wondered cheerfully. "What's the problem?"

 
"Well, she dresses a little like a miner," the man said, "but as Elarles here," and he indicated the attendant, "noted, her hands would seem to indicate some other profession."

  With a start, Luke also noticed the Princess' hands: soft, pale, uncalloused, clearly the hands of anyone but a manual worker. Luke's years on his uncle's farm had equipped his body, including his hands, to play the role of simple miner, but Princess Organa had probably spent her time handling only booktapes, never an excavator or pitter.

  He thought furiously. "No, she's... uh, I bought her." Leia twitched, stared at him a moment before returning resolutely to her food. "Yes, she's a servant of mine. Spent all my earnings on her." He tried to sound indifferent, shrugged as he returned to his eating. "She's not much, of course." Her shoulders shook. "But she was the best I could afford. And she's kind of amusing to have around, though she tends to get out of line at times and I have to slap her down."

  The bureaucrat nodded understandingly, smiled for the first time. "I sympathize, young man. Sorry to interrupt your meal."

  "No bother," Luke called as the man returned to his own table.

  The Princess glared up at him. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

  "No, of course not. I had to do it, to save us."

  She rubbed her cheek. "And that servant-girl story?"

  "It was the first logical thing I could think of," he insisted. "Besides, it explains you as well as anything could." He sounded pleased. "No one will question you once the word gets around."

  "Gets around?" She rose. "If you think, Luke Skywalker, that I'm going to act as your servant until-"

  "Hey, honey... you okay?" a new voice inquired. Luke looked at the old woman who'd appeared next to the Princess. Placing a firm hand on the Princess's shoulder, she exerted a gentle but unyielding pressure. Still slightly stunned, the Princess sat down slowly.

  Luke eyed the woman warily as she pulled a chair up to their table. "We haven't met. And I don't remember inviting you to join us. So if you'll just leave my servant and me alone."

  "Oh, I wouldn't bother you two, boy," the woman insisted in a tone suggesting subtly that she knew something they didn't. She jerked her head toward the Princess.