Star Wars - Kenobi

coordinator.” Orrin’s expression hardened when he glanced at Ulbreck. Realizing the old man was in mid-rainfall, Orrin rolled his eyes and plunked down his satchel. “Got a meeting in Mos Eisley. That new hotel is taking bids for a water supplier.”
    Annileen nodded. Since the last commodity bust, Orrin had redoubled his efforts to lock in regular purchasers at preset prices.
    “I’ll talk to a couple of farms on the way back about joining the Settlers’ Call. Folks who actually care about protecting their assets.” Orrin shot a pointed look at Ulbreck, but the old man paid him no mind. Annileen knew that Orrin had tried again—and failed again—to sign Ulbreck up a week earlier.
    Turning his attention to the counter space, Orrin patted his vest pockets. “Blast!”
    “Forgot your credit pouch again?” Annileen knew this story, too. Orrin raised the hinged section of the counter and stepped to the cashbox—sealed, as it had been in her husband’s day, with the barrel of a blaster pistol inserted into a pair of metal rings. Annileen watched as Orrin removed the blaster and pulled out a handful of credits.
    He looked at her, abruptly. “Oh, I’ll leave a—”
    “Forget it.”
    Money in hand, he placed his hand on her cheek and smirked. “Thanks, Annie. Nobody loves me like you do.”
    “You’re probably right.”
    She watched the man leave. Nobody had ever kept accounts between the two families when it came to the small things. But lately, Annileen had increasingly gotten the sense that whatever she owed Orrin for protection and helping to rear her son paled next to the meals, supplies, and petty cash he’d taken out of the store.
    Still, a sunny nature counted for a lot, and if she wasn’t going to begrudge Wyle Ulbreck his audience, it was hard to refuse Orrin his little liberties—especially now that he was in his “big business” phase. Drunk divorcé Orrin had been a trial, years before. The new model verged on blowhard—especially now, as he seemed to be selling in overdrive lately. But that was a definite improvement.
    Ulbreck plopped down a bottle of Fizzzz and a credit on the counter. “Say, did I tell you about the first time I saw a krayt dragon?”
    Enough! Annileen’s eyes scanned beneath the side counter. There it was—the tub of goods Ben had left behind the week before. She’d gone back and forth for days about restocking the shelves with the material. Now, opening the window behind her, she decided to do something else.
    “Kallie!” Annileen leaned out the window. Her daughter was behind the store, in the livestock yard. “Kallie, can you hear me?”
    “No!”
    “Can you watch the counter for a couple of hours?”
    “No!”
    “Great. Come on in.”
    Annileen shut the window and pulled the tub from beneath the counter. She was looking in the little mirror behind the kitchen door when Kallie appeared from the back, a sodden, sullen mess. Annileen threw her daughter a rag. “Clean up. I need you to work the till.”
    “Do I have to?” Kallie glared at her mother.
    “You have something better to do?”
    “I’m mucking out the dewback pen.” The girl peered in at Ulbreck, who was now nattering away to the hapless Rodian. “So the answer is yes.”
    “Sorry, sweetie.” Annileen stepped out from behind the door. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she was wearing her light cloak and hood. “I need to run to Arnthout to see a man about some dricklefruit.”
    “Dricklefruit, my eye. I know where you’re going.” Stepping behind the counter, the girl watched her mother pick up the tub of goods. “You’re the one that said nothing good ever comes from the Jundland Wastes!”
    “Hush,” Annileen said, already to the exit. “I’ll be back before lunch.”
    Kallie’s voice went up two octaves. “Tell Ben I said hello!”
    The whir of a landspeeder sounded outside—and Ulbreck reappeared at the counter before Kallie, continuing his winding tale. He didn’t even seem to notice that he’d switched Calwells.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!
    If not for the sound, she would’ve driven past it. White-on-white under the climbing suns, the squarish hut with its pourstone dome neatly blended with the Jundland Wastes. Only when Annileen banked the X-31 along the desert floor did she see the glint from the vaporator out back. The hut squatted low on a southwestern bluff—likely, she figured, situated over a cave. Another Last-Ditch Lodge.
    The term