• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

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’ shoulder, she exerted a gentle but unyielding pressure. Still slightly stunned, the Princess sat down