Star Wars_ Splinter of the Mind's Eye - Alan Dean Foster [71]
After the warrior had moved to one side, a second chief drew close. It spoke solemnly, directing its words toward Luke.
“As near as I can figure him,” Halla translated softly, “we’re invited to stay for a feast tonight.”
“How can they tell tonight from today?” the Princess wanted to know.
“Probably they post watchers at their exits on the surface,” the old woman surmised. “If they haven’t always been underground dwellers, it’s likely they’d retain surface methods of telling time.”
“Can’t you refuse for us?” Luke asked hopefully. “Tell them how badly we have to return to the world above.”
Halla muttered something at the chief, who replied readily. “This isn’t exactly a request, Luke. If we were to turn down the invitation, we’d apparently insult not only their hospitality but Canu’s as well. We have our choice, of course. If we insist on refusing, all we have to do is pick a champion to fight one of theirs and then—”
Luke interrupted with, “It’s just occurred to me how hungry I am.…”
XI
THEY had no sense of night. When the time for the celebration finally arrived it was as bright in the huge cavern as ever. The phosphorescent plant life of internal Mimban functioned according to schedules that ignored the unseen motions of astronomical bodies.
Having dried his clothes by the permanent bonfire and then dressed again, Luke felt almost himself. Only his neck still bothered him. It ached at the back, where the Coway’s unyielding fingers had pressed.
Large platters of exotic-looking foods were passed around a series of concentric circles around the pond. The visitors were entertained by endless dancing, made tolerable in spite of the wailing rhythmic music by the truly astonishing leaps and jumps of the spring-muscled Coway performers.
Halla pronounced judgment on each platter, indicating which foods were tolerable to the human organism and which were not. What went for man apparently served Yuzzem-kind as well, though they did encounter a couple of stomach-twisting exceptions, none fatal.
Luke ate with good grace. He considered Halla’s evaluations severely deficient in a few instances, but he consumed enough food to please their anxious hosts and kept it all down.
While much of it tasted like reprocessed X-wing fuselage insulation, a couple of the subterranean gourmet delights were downright flavorful. He tried to concentrate on these. In actuality he ate a great deal more than he intended to. However alien their origin, the dishes set before him were fresh. They were a welcome change from the steady diet of concentrates he and Leia had been subsisting on.
For her part, the Princess, seated on his immediate left, appeared to be enjoying the entertainment considerably. Apparently her feelings toward Mimban’s surface didn’t extend to criticism of its arts.
An inquiry produced a surprising response. “That’s one of the things that’s so wrong with the Empire, Luke,” she commented enthusiastically. “Its art has grown as decadent as the government. Both suffer from a lack of creative vitality. That’s what originally drew me to the Alliance, not politics. Politically, I was probably almost as naive as you.”
“I don’t quite see,” he said drily.
“When I was living in my father’s palace, I was utterly bored, Luke. Examination of why I found nothing entertaining led me to discover how the Empire had stifled any original thought. Long-established totalitarian governments fear any kind of free expression. A sculpture can be a manifesto, a manuscripted adventure can double as a cry for rebellion. From corrupt aesthetics to corrupt politics was a smaller step than most people around me realized.”
Luke nodded, hoping he really understood. He wanted to, since what the Princess had just said was obviously very important to her.
From the platter nearest him he chose a small fruit resembling a miniature pink gourd. He bit into it experimentally. Blue