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Grammel moved to stare down at the Princess. Now he smiled gingerly, as if the effort hurt him. “And you, my dear? You’re a miner too, I suppose.”

“No.” Leia didn’t look at him. She nodded briefly toward Luke. “I’m his … servant.”

“That’s right,” Luke said quickly. “She’s only my—”

“I can hear, boy,” Grammel murmured. He stared back at her, ran a finger down one cheek. “Pretty woman …” She twitched out of his grip. “Spirited, too.” He looked at Luke. “I congratulate you on your taste, boy.”

“Thank you, sir.” Leia glared at him, but what else could he have said?

“Your manners are probably matched only by your incompetence,” the Princess told him.

Grammel merely nodded with satisfaction. “Manners,” he repeated. “Incompetence. Odd way for a servant to speak.” He barked at the sergeant, standing stiffly at attention nearby: “What identification did you find on these two?”

“Identification, Captain-Supervisor? We assumed that it was standard, sir.”

“You haven’t checked their identification, Sergeant?” Grammel inquired slowly.

Succeeding only in giving the impression of a man sweating beneath his armor, the officer explained lamely, “No, sir. We just assumed.”

“Never assume, Sergeant. The universe is full of dead people who lived by assumption.” He turned politely to Luke and Leia. “Your identification now, please?”

Luke made a pretense of searching his clothing, tried to look stunned when the nonexistent identification didn’t materialize. The Princess fought to imitate him.

“We must have lost it during the fight,” he declared, and then hurriedly tried to change the subject. “These five—three now—attacked us without provocation and—”

“It’s a lie!” one of the miners objected strenuously. He looked to Grammel for sympathy, found none.

“You,” Grammel told the man very quietly, “shut up.” The man complied with alacrity.

A trooper entered the chamber, called out ingratiatingly, “Captain-Supervisor?”

Grammel appeared irritated at the interruption. “Yes, what is it?”

The trooper approached the desk, whispered something in Grammel’s ear. Grammel looked surprised. “Yes, I’ll see him.” He walked toward the door.

A small cloaked figure entered and engaged Grammel in conversation. Luke couldn’t make out more than an occasional word. Leaning over, he whispered to the Princess, “I don’t like this, Leia.”

She whispered back tightly, “You have this wonderfully evocative way about you, Luke, of reducing the most excruciatingly uncomfortable circumstances to the merely mundane.”

Luke looked hurt. The Captain-Supervisor concluded his conversation with the stunted figure, which promptly bowed and scurried from the room. Idly, Luke wondered if the thing under the cloak was human or maybe one of the natives. His speculation was interrupted by Grammel’s return.

“You miners started the fight,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone, pointedly excluding Luke and Leia from that category.

“Oh, but Captain-Supervisor,” the largest of the three began obsequiously, “we were provoked. We were trying only to uphold the town law about fighting.”

“By breaking it,” Grammel countered, “and by attacking this young lady?”

“It wasn’t anything serious,” the man ventured. “We were only goin’ to have a little fun, first.”

“Your fun will cost each of you a half time-period’s pay,” Grammel declared. “I’m going to be lenient with you.” The three men hardly dared appear hopeful. “The mine laws here are lax and permit you considerable leeway in terms of relaxation.” Now he glowered at them.

“However, assault with intent to murder is not the Empire’s idea of productive leisure. Whatever,” he added as an afterthought, “I may think personally.”

Emboldened, one of the miners decided to push his luck. Stepping forward, he announced, “Captain-Supervisor Grammel, I appeal the judgment.”

Grammel eyed the man the way a botanist would a new species of weed. “You have that right. On what grounds?”

“Shortness … shortness of trial and informality of circumstances,