"Foster, Alan Dean - Star Wars - Splinter Of The Mind's Eye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

"What's wrong?" The Princess looked worried, though unaffected by the decadent atmosphere. "People are looking at you."
"It's... the air," he explained, fighting to breathe normally. "There's something in it. A whole bunch of somethings."
The Princess chuckled. "Too much for you, fighter pilot?"
Luke wasn't ashamed to admit it. When he could spare the wind for talk again, he told her, "Basically, I'm a country boy, Leia. I haven't had too much exposure to sophisticated entertainments."
She sniffed the air appraisingly. "I wouldn't call these scents sophisticated. Thick, yes, but not sophisticated."
Somewhere near the center of the human whirlpool they miraculously came upon an empty table. The Princess concentrated intently on the tabletop when the human waiter approached them. She needn't have worried. He didn't give them a glance.
"Your pleasure?" he inquired simply, distantly. The man smoked something on the job, Luke noted.
"What's best tonight?" he asked the man, striving to sound like someone who'd just spent ten hours in the bowels of the earth.
"Kommerken steak, flank cut; and ootoowergs... usual supplements."
"For two," Luke told him, keeping conversation to a minimum.
That appeared to suit the attendant fine. "Got it," he replied with equal perfunctoriness, and waded off into the mob.
"He didn't ask any questions," the Princess murmured excitedly, looking back up at Luke.
"No. This might be easier than I thought." He was beginning to feel something like hope. Then his expression darkened.
"What is it, Luke?" He gestured, and she turned to look toward the bar.
A large, hulking miner was being feebly assailed by something human-sized, skinny, and covered completely with light green fur. It had wide, nocturnal eyes and a crest of higher, darker fur running from the crown of its head down the middle of its back. A simply worked skin of some unknown animal was wrapped about its pelvic region and several jangling necklaces adorned with primitive decorations swung from the neck.
Presently the creature began making mewing, begging noises in a high, rippling voice. The alien singsong was coated with an unmistakable hint of desperation.
"Vease, sir," it begged, "smav drink? Vickerman, vickerman?"
The big miner met this pitiful request by putting out a broad foot and kicking the native in the face. Luke winced and looked away. The Princess glanced at him.
"What's wrong, Luke?"
"I can't stand to see anything abused like that," he muttered, "human or animal or alien." He faced her curiously. "How can you watch it?"
"I saw my whole world, several million people, destroyed," she responded with chilling matter-of-factness. "Nothing mankind does surprises me anymore, except that anyone could still be surprised by it." She turned her clinical gaze back to the scene at the bar.
"Bootop!" the miner bellowed at the aborigine, while his companions chortled among themselves. "Bootop, ves?"
Its head twitching in what seemed to be an unnatural action, the whining, pleading alien stared up at the man, wiping the blood from its face. "Vickerman, vickerman?"
"Yeah, vickerman," the miner admitted, tiring of the game a little. "Bootop."
Without further prompting the native dropped on its belly. An unexpectedly long, snake-like tongue darted out and began to lick the grime and mud from the man's boots.
"I'm going to be sick," Luke whispered, barely audible. The Princess merely shrugged.
"We have our devils and our angels, Luke. You have to be ready to handle both."
When she looked back to the bar the native had finished its demeaning task and was holding up cupped hands anxiously. "Tend vickerman, now, now?"
"Yeah, sure," the miner said. Reaching onto the bar he picked up an oddly formed bottle and touched a button on its side. Part of the bottle's upper section filled with a dark liquid. It stopped filling with a click.
Turning to face the expectant native, the miner tilted the bottle over, spilling the thick red liquor onto the floor instead of in the cupped hands. While the men and women at the bar enjoyed their final laugh at the poor creature's expense, it dropped to a prone position and that amazing tongue flicked in and out like a frog's, to lap up the liquor before it retreated into cracks and depressions in the floor.
Unable to watch further, Luke let his curious gaze wander around the large, smoke-filled chamber. Now he saw more of the green-furred bipeds moving about. Many were begging with an air of frantic hopefulness, others engaged in performing some menial task.
"I don't recognize this race."
"Neither do I," the Princess admitted. "They must be native to this world. The Empire isn't noted for the gentleness with which it treats non-allied aborigines."
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.