"Foster, Alan Dean - Splinter of the minds eye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Well pleased with himself, Luke stepped down to the ground and began unsnapping his flight suit. He was partly undressed when he paused and noticed the Princess standing and staring at him.

"Come on. We have to hurry."

She put hands on seal-curve hips, cocked her head to one side and stared meaningfully at him.

"Oh," he murmured, half-smiling. He turned away and continued undressing. Feeling that nothing had changed behind him, he sneaked a glance, saw the Princess still eying him uncomfortably. "What's wrong, Princess?"

She sounded embarrassed. "Luke, I like you, and we've known each other for awhile, but I'm not sure I can trust you... now."

He grinned. "You know it won't make any difference if the stormtroopers find us here in our flight suits." He gestured. "You can change in the bush."

Turning away from her, he continued changing his own attire. She looked back at the nearby jungle. Tiny yellow points of light, the eyes of unknown creatures, winked on and off in the bushes. Strange, discomfiting sounds hissed and bleated at her. She sighed, started to slip out of her own flight suit, then paused.

"Well, what are you two staring at?"

"Oh... sorry, I..." An insistent whistle. "Yes, you're right, Artoo." Both 'droids turned away from the Princess.

Shortly, Luke was able to turn and study her approvingly. Her simple, worn suit was a bit snug, but otherwise looked quite natural on her.

"Well?" she asked, obviously not enthralled with her new wardrobe. "What are _you_ staring at?"

"I think maybe something in a print..." he began. He had to react quickly to duck the boot she threw at him. It clattered off the metal door.

"Sorry," he told her, sounding like he meant it as he picked up the boot. Bending over his old suit he began transferring various items from it and from his backpack to the belt pouches of the miner's uniform.

One small case he flipped open carefully, went rapidly through its contents before snapping it shut and slipping it into a pocket. "I've got enough Imperial currency to last us a while. You?"

She glanced away from him. "What would a representative of the Alliance be doing with common currency on a diplomatic mission?"

Luke sighed. "We'll make do, I suppose. How would you like something to eat besides a concentrate?"

She faced him, visibly more cheerful. "I could eat half a Chou-shou, Luke. Are you sure we ought to, though?"

"We have to mingle sometime. As long as we don't look or act like total strangers, no one should bother us." They started back toward the main street, after burying their packs and flight suits in a syrupy bog.

They were halfway there when the increasing light caused Luke to stop.

"What's the matter?" the Princess asked, worried.

"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...."