Star Wars_ Splinter of the Mind's Eye - Alan Dean Foster [16]
“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, materalizing 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 reasonably 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