"Look at me! Look what you've done to me!"
"Made you look a little more like a servant girl," he replied easily. "Can't be too careful here, you know."
"Well, in that case..." Luke ducked the first handful of gook she heaved in his direction, caught part of the second and grappled with her.
Halla was watching, amused, until several large men came out of the tavern behind her. They paused, their attention also drawn by the wrestling match in the mud. They were all just drunk enough to be dangerous and the longer they watched, the quieter they became.
Much too quiet to suit Halla...
IV
"FOR our souls and health," she muttered hastily to the two combatants, "stop it, you two!"
Encased in mud, neither Luke nor the Princess heard Halla's anxiously whispered warning.
One of the men leaned to his right, spat something out between his beard and commented, "Servant's not supposed to fight back, boys."
"Doesn't seem proper somehow," his companion agreed.
"Besides," the first man added, "fightin' in public's against the town decrees, ain't it?"
"That's right," another man concurred. "Maybe we can straighten 'em out before the night troop takes 'em in. Be doin' 'em a good turn." He called down to Luke. "Hang in there, young fella. We won't let her hurt you."
Grinning and chuckling among themselves, the five stepped down off the walkway. Finding herself providently ignored by all concerned, Halla slipped back into the shadows.
"Is there anything we can do, madam?" a voice said into her ear. She jumped. Threepio jumped.
"You've no right scaring me like that, you refugee from a scrap shop!"
"I apologize, but my master and the lady..."
"Oh. Are you Threepio?" The 'droid nodded slightly. "And this must be Artoo." A beep sounded from a dim shape nearby. "We can't do anything yet, I'm afraid." She peered back out into the street. "Maybe those bulk-boys are just teasing."
Two of the men pulled Leia off Luke. That provided them with a good glimpse of her for the first time. Their initial amusement abruptly shifted as less pleasant emotions surfaced.
"Well now," murmured a barrel-chested individual with a Manchu mustache. "This is no 'droid servant, that's for sure."
Leia became aware of the miners' stares. Several buckles and straps on the tight-fitting clothes had come undone while she'd been wrestling with Luke. Despite the coating of mud over them, their exposed areas were drawing an uncomfortable amount of attention. She felt as if something was crawling all over her under her clothing.
Ignoring the mud and trying to draw the loose ends of her attire together, she drew herself up regally, announced with shaky dignity, "Thank you very much. This is a private matter. Now, if you'll all be so kind as to leave us to settle our differences."
"Thank you very much, this is a private matter," one of the men echoed in a mincing tone. The others guffawed. The one with the beard leered down at her.
"You're not a registered citizen, lady-love." He indicated her shoulder. "No name tag, nothing. Fighting in a public street's against the law. Mine law says we got to apprehend anyone breaking the law when and where we can. C'mere and lemme apprehend you." He reached out a massive paw.
Backing up a quick step, the Princess continued to glare at them, but her confidence was seeping away like snow on a stove.
"I can't tell you who I am, but if any of you put a hand on me, you'll answer for it."
Barrel-chest moved closer. There was no humor in his voice and he did not smile at her. "Little mudhen, I'll put more than a hand on you...."
A slim form interposed itself between the Princess and her would-be apprehender. "Look, this is a private argument and we can finish it ourselves, friend."
"I ain't your friend, sonny," the man said evenly, putting out a hand and shoving Luke backward. "Stay out of this. Your argument ain't important anymore."
The Princess let out a startled exclamation. One of the other men had slipped up behind her and had grabbed her around the chest with his left arm. Luke stepped over quickly, brought the edge of his palm down hard on the other's wrist. Letting out a hurt yelp, the miner stepped back, holding his wrist.
It had grown deathly silent on the street. All eyes were focused on Luke now, not on the Princess. The only sounds in the mist came from the distant jungle.
"Sonny boy wants to play," snickered the man whose wrist Luke had clipped. "Resistin' public apprehension." He flicked his right forearm. There was a clicking sound and a double-bladed stiletto slid out from under his coverall sleeve. The flat of the blades lay flush against the back of his fist. Faded light from the shielded tavern windows reflected ominously off both blades as the man started moving in a low crouch toward Luke.
The Princess said nothing, just stared. So did Halla, Threepio, and Artoo from the safety of the shadows.
"Come on, sonny," the man urged, gesturing with his unarmed hand for Luke to approach. Then he flicked the weapon, and twin blades flashed out of his empty sleeve. He kicked his right leg, then his left. Double blades protruded from each boot sole. "Come on, let's dance. I'll make it last."
Trying to watch all eight blades at once, Luke tried to distract his attacker. "The lady and I were discussing something. We don't need any outside involvement."
"Too late, sonny," the man grinned. "You and I are involved, now." His companions were watching and chuckling, occasionally nudging one another. They were obviously enjoying every second of the action.
Jumping forward, the knife-wielder swung at Luke with his left hand, followed up the miss as Luke moved back with a spinning side kick, then swung around in an arc, reaching with his right hand. The double blades made whooshing sounds in the thick, damp night air.
"We don't want any trouble," Luke declared, his hand moving reluctantly to the pommel of his light-saber.
"In a couple of minutes you won't have to worry about it," his assailant assured him. He dove with a yell toward Luke, who dodged both kicks and arm swings agilely.
"Look out, Luke!" the Princess shouted... too late. One of the other men had come up behind Luke and now pinned both arms to his sides. The knife-wielder was approaching leisurely, the smile gone from his face, making entwining motions with his fists. The blades gleamed like his eyes.
"Fancy dancer, ain't you, boy? I'm tired of chasing you."
"Do him slow, Jake," one of the onlookers advised. "Wise-mouth kid."
"I said," Luke began, keeping his eyes on those nearing, weaving blades even as his right hand moved to his waist again, "we don't want any trouble." He pushed the stud on the hilt of the saber.
Activated, the backward-pointing, meter-long beam of blue energy materialized, straight through the right thigh of the man who was holding him. Howling, the man let go of Luke and dropped to the ground, clutching at his leg.
Knife-wielder froze for a moment, then started forward. With the saber, Luke described an intricate series of interweaving arcs and circles in the near darkness that caused his attacker to hesitate. A steady moaning came from the man on the ground.
Luke lunged at the knife artist, just enough to make him retreat. "All of you, now... clear off."
Instead of clearing off, the grim-faced quartet exposed more blades and other hand weapons. They began maneuvering to encircle Luke, staying just out of range of that darting, lethal beam of light.
Leia evened up the odds by leaping on the back of the man nearest her and clawing at his face. The three remaining men continued to probe at Luke with their own weapons, testing his speed and reflexes with professional acumen, talking among themselves and comparing notes on Luke's abilities while planning the best way to take him. If they were waiting for their fourth companion to join them, they'd be disappointed. He had his hands full with the Princess, who was cursing them at the top of her lungs.
Halla was looking on anxiously when movement further up the street drew her attention from the fight. A knot of efficient figures clad
in black and white armor was moving at a fast trot toward the tavern. From the approaching Imperials she looked back to the stalemated battle.
One man lunged at Luke from behind. Luke jumped above the charged prod the man was wielding and swung downward simultaneously. Off came a hand, cut and cauterized neatly at the wrist, to land in the mud and lie there smoking slightly. The man fell backward, speechless, staring at his carbonized stump.
The troopers were close now. Halla left her hiding place and, gesturing for Artoo and Threepio to follow, slunk off down the accessway between the buildings, vanishing into the night. After a second's pause to see they could do no good by getting themselves captured, the two 'droids followed.
Both remaining assailants continued to stalk Luke, more cautiously now. Having dispatched her single opponent with judicious pressure in the right place, the Princess was looking to take on another when something sun-bright and loud exploded in their midst, stunning everyone. They all turned, blinking against the lingering glare, to see a number of energy rifles focused on them.
"Put up your weapons," the sergeant in charge ordered them sharply, the angular markings on his armored sleeve showing triple in the dim light. Matching marks crossed his helmet. "You are remanded to custody, in the name of the Emperor, for fighting with weaponry in a public place."
As soon as the miners had retracted or otherwise holstered their various weapons, Luke shut off his saber. Two troopers came around and collected the small arsenal. The Princess noticed her one victim recovering consciousness and kicked him soundly.
"You there, stop that!" the sergeant ordered.
"Sorry," she replied sweetly.
They were marched through the town under armed convoy. Luke took the opportunity to study the surrounding structures. Few showed much difference from those they'd already encountered. In a town like this, interchangeability was an economic necessity, he reflected.
Those inhabitants who encountered them pressed close to the walls of the buildings and whispered among themselves, pointing from time to time at the unlucky miscreants. The spectators obviously had some idea what was in store for them.
Luke wished he did, too.
"Where do you suppose they're taking us?" he murmured to the Princess.
"To the local jail, where else?"
Luke nodded forward. "If that's it, I'm impressed."
They were approaching a massive, forbidding ziggurat of ancient Mimbanian architecture. It was constructed of gray and black stone, exactly like the ruins Luke had spotted when searching for the Princess' ship. The edifice towered, despite its roughly tapering shape, over the more recent, simpler structures of the mining town.
"Not your average lockup," he commented softly as they strode under the thick stone arch over the entrance. Boldly, he queried the trooper next to him. "What is this place?"
The helmeted soldier turned to him with, "Prisoners and violators of the law are to provide answers, not questions."
Surprisingly, as they moved down a stone corridor lined with modern tubing and electronic componentry, the trooper volunteered some information. "This is one of the old temples built by the natives of this world."
Luke's surprise was genuine. "You mean, those pitiful wretches who beg for drinks?"
Unexpectedly, the man laughed. "Good, you've got a sense of humor. You'll need it. Greenies, building this? You must spend all your time in the mines. Not me."
The trooper swelled with self-importance. "I'm always trying to improve myself. As you know," he began, "there are several semi-intelligent races on this world, besides the greenies. Some are more degenerate than the others. Whatever race built these places," and he gestured with his rifle at the stone roof arching overhead, "has long since died out. At least, insofar as the Imperial survey has been able to determine." They turned another corner and Luke marveled at the size of the structure.
"This one's been converted to house the mine offices and Imperial headquarters for Mimban." He shook his head. "You miners, you don't know much of anything except your own work."
"That's true," Luke admitted, feeling no remorse at damning all miners. They hadn't been particularly hospitable to him since he'd landed in their company. "We're from another town," he added for good measure.
The trooper's brief venture into camaraderie vanished and he replied coldly, "That may or may not be. You chronic brawlers lie a lot. Just because the Empire tolerates a limited amount of disorder here as a safety valve for you people is no reason to abuse the privilege. You make it tough on all your fellows." He pointed ahead, to the trooper who was hefting the satchel of confiscated weapons.
"When killing devices are involved, it becomes more than a question of worker discipline. Charges will be brought. Too bad for you. I hope you get what you deserve."
"Thanks," said Luke drily.
One of the miners grumbled, "Not our fault. Saberman and the woman led us on."
"Shut up, you," ordered the sergeant. "You'll have your own chance to tell your side of it to Captain-Supervisor Grammel."
That caused both Luke and Leia to start violently. Grammel was the man Halla had warned them about.
"Perhaps he'll be generous," the sergeant went on philosophically. "Good workers are difficult to get here. He may leave you most of your fingers."
"I wish we'd asked Halla more about this Grammel," Luke murmured.
"Yes, Halla." The Princess sounded discouraged. "She didn't break her back trying to save us, did she?"
"What could she do," Luke countered, "against Imperials?"
"You're right, I guess. But I would've thought she'd try something." Leia shrugged. "I suppose I can't blame her for saving herself."
"At least Threepio and Artoo got away," Luke added softly.
"Hey, any more chatter back there and I'll take off some digits myself," the sergeant warned.
"How would you like to bury yourself under four feet of mud for about an hour?" the Princess snapped.
"I wouldn't," admitted the sergeant calmly. "How would you like your pretty tongue burnt out with a low-power blaster?"
Leia subsided. They were in enough trouble. She'd gain nothing by provoking them more. She concentrated her stare on the middle of the sergeant's back, trying to drive him insane. The sergeant showed no hint of being affected. Probably solid bone under the helmet, she mused.
They turned a last corner and entered a large chamber. After the spartan gray stone inside and out, the sybaritic furnishings here came as a shock. Real and artificial fur was used lavishly. Many of the creature comforts Luke would have associated with a far more developed world than Mimban were present. They were not flaunted, however, which indicated that the inhabitant of this chamber regarded them as his natural accoutrements.
Across the chamber a single man sat behind an un-imposing, functional desk. "Bring them over, sergeant." His bored voice was broken and gravelly. Luke thought he must have suffered some damage to his vocal cords.
At a gesture from the sergeant, the seven prisoners-including one with a limp and a crudely bandaged leg-were herded across the room to stand close by the desk.
The most impressive thing about Grammel, Luke thought, was the reaction to him by the miners. All of their bluster and swagger had disappeared. They stood staring at the floor, the walls, each other-anywhere but at the man behind the desk. Feet shuffled uneasily.
Without seeming to stare, Luke tried to see the personage who inspired such respectful subservience from hardened men like the five miners. Grammel had his head buried in his hands as he studied some paper. Finally he rubbed his eyes, folded his hands and leaned his elbows on the desk as he surveyed them.
Grammel added no color to his surroundings. His face was egg-shell pale, and the image of the Imperial officer was tarnished further when he stood to reveal a modest paunch curving gently from beneath his sternum like a frozen waterfall of suet, to crash and tumble somewhere below the waistline in a jumble of uniform.
The silver a
nd gray uniform itself was spotless and neat, however, as if in an attempt to camouflage the belly beneath. Above the tight, high collar the neck jumped out to a square jaw bordered by a drooping mustache. The line of that facial hair matched well the dour expression the Captain-Supervisor wore-habitually, Luke guessed. Tiny, penetrating eyes peered out from beneath brows like a granite ridge, overtopped by uneasy black and gray hair.
This was a face that rarely laughed, Luke decided, and then for the wrong reasons.
Grammel began examining each of the uneasy group in turn. Luke borrowed a hint from the miners and tried to concentrate solely on a stain on the furred floor.
"So these are the disturbers, who break the peace to fight with killing weapons," he observed disapprovingly. Once more that voice grated on Luke's ears, like a piece of rusty machinery long overdue for lubrication. Full of grimy squeaks and groans, it suited Grammel perfectly.
Stepping forward smartly, the sergeant reported, "Yes, Captain-Supervisor. Permission to take the two wounded to the infirmary."
"Granted," said Grammel. He did not quite smile, but his permanent frown faded enough for his lips to straighten slightly. "For a time, they will be better off than those who remain here."
Under guard, the handless miner and the one with the limp were taken from the room. Grammel resumed his examination of the remaining people. When he reached Luke and the Princess, his mouth twitched as if someone had jabbed him with a pin.
"You two I don't recognize. Who are you?" He came around from behind the desk, stood nose to nose with Luke. "You, boy! What are you?"
"Just a contract miner, Captain-Supervisor," Luke stammered, trying to sound appropriately terrified. It wasn't a difficult task. Nor did he mind a little verbal groveling if his life hung in the balance.
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-"
Splinter in the Mind's Eye Page 6