Star Wars - Kenobi

Every day, Annileen fed and fortified half the workers living near the oasis, not necessarily in that order.
    This was her roost, but the complex went on from there. Northwest of the main store was the first garage Dannar had built to service the vehicles of oasis prospectors; it had been expanded many times since, as local mechanics rented bays. To the north and east sat a livestock area, where the few surviving animals from Annileen’s father’s failed ranch had formed the basis for a thriving livery, serving those daring fools who preferred the reptilian dewbacks to landspeeders.
    And all around: the oasis, a wide clearing shielded from the wind by gently rolling sand hills. Once a basin for a prehistoric lake, the area and its clumpy soil gave rise to flowering pika plants and a few hardy deb-deb trees—and something else. Orrin Gault’s newfangled cylindrical vaporators rose all around, producing water for delivery in the vast tankers that sat parked outside the Claim’s garages. Most of the harvest was bound for faraway parts; the locals drank what they needed and little more. They knew what they had, and its value.
    Though gifted at water prospecting, Dannar had never taken much interest in moisture farming. He’d reasoned that a store would weather the bad-harvest years better, and that had mostly turned out to be true. But he’d left his widow with so many secondary businesses under one roof that Annileen feared taking a day off, lest Tatooine’s rural economy collapse.
    She’d held up okay, or so she thought every once in a while, when she caught her reflection in the glassware in the sink. Annileen could even recognize herself on occasion. The auburn hair of her youth, which she wore tied back, was going to brown, not gray; so far so good. Inside work had never fully met with her approval, but it had kept her skin rosy rather than roasted.
    And Annileen’s eyes were about the only truly green thing on the whole planet, if you didn’t count dewbacks or Rodian barflies. Counting dewbacks was now her daughter’s job, anyway. Looking out the square window, Annileen could see Kallie, blond and determined, trying to teach the dewback yearlings some manners before they realized they had the muscle to tear the fencing apart at will.
    At least Kallie wasn’t messing with Snit, Annileen saw to her relief. The creature wasn’t of the cannibal breed; Annileen wouldn’t have let one of those near the compound. But Snit had been bitten by a kreetle as a hatchling, and had been snapping at everything in sight since. Annileen assumed her daughter had the sense to stay away—but she never knew. Breaking dewbacks wasn’t a safe job for an assassin droid, much less a seventeen-year-old girl. But Dannar Calwell had never accepted limits, and his oldest child wasn’t about to, either. Stubbornness bred true.
    Annileen had hoped her son, Jabe, would be different. But it wasn’t turning out that way. And between the emergency siren, her kids, and the customers today, Annileen had just about had it. She glared out the window and winced.
    In pain. “Ow!”
    “That’s new,” Leelee said, depositing her parcel and some credits on the counter. She pointed to Annileen’s hands. “You have literally cut off your own circulation with your apron strings. Appropriate. A little on the nose, though.”
    Looking down, Annileen quickly unwound the fabric from her reddened palm. “You’re the range psychiatrist now?”
    “No, but I’ve got five children of my own. And I know if you keep staring at Kallie, she’s just gonna try to ride the crazy one.”
    Annileen turned away from the window. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” she said, collecting the money. “It’s always the kid I can’t see that I’m worried about.”
    Jabe had already been long gone with the prospectors when the Settlers’ Call had sounded. Her son knew very well what Annileen thought about him getting anywhere near Orrin’s business. But as far as she could tell, the boy didn’t care at all. She just didn’t understand him anymore. Jabe had something everyone on Tatooine dreamed of: a guaranteed life of safe, indoor work, filling his father’s shoes. Instead, the stubborn teen kept sneaking away with Orrin’s work crew. Sure, Annileen knew the boy had eyes for Orrin’s daughter, Veeka. But he had no more chance with that hellion than he had of becoming Chancellor of the Republic—or whatever they called it these days.
    No,