Star Wars - Kenobi

him, she pointed to the tub of goods. “Most of our thieves take things without paying. You’re the only person I’ve met who paid and left his stuff.”
    “I’m a very poor thief, then.” Ben moved the bin into the dubious shade of the vaporator. He scratched his head. “I’m sorry for the trouble the other day. I hope there weren’t any damages—”
    “I should be apologizing to you. It’s a friendlier store than that,” she said. “When I didn’t see you again, I was afraid they’d scared you off.”
    “Ah.” Ben looked around. “No, I’ve been busy.”
    To Annileen, this side of the house looked like bazaar day for the Jawas—lots of gear sitting around and gathering sand. And while the doorway to the house was here, the door was not. The burlap curtain she’d sold him hung across the entrance.
    “The former residents left me with a work in progress,” Ben said.
    “A while ago, it looks like.”
    “Yes. I’d thought to build my own home, but that’s more involved than I’d expected,” he said. “But there seems to be no shortage of abandoned buildings.”
    “You should at least get a door.”
    Ben looked amused. “Are you trying to sell me something else?”
    “Just afraid you’re gonna freeze at night. A lot of this stuff needs to be inside, in fact.” She walked toward the eopie pen. “And you need to get a tarp over this feed, or it’ll be baked in an hour.”
    “Will the eopie care?”
    “No, but you might, if you have to live around her.”
    “Ah.” Ben craned his neck. “I was just putting a tarp over my funnel plants.”
    “No, those need to breathe. They won’t get drier than they already are.”
    “Then everything balances out,” he said, lifting the cover from the gritty foliage. “I was afraid of a sandstorm.”
    “Then you’ve seen one before. Anyone who has would be afraid. But no—if you see the rock hornets start to swarm, then you can worry. They beat the forecast half the time.”
    Ben nodded. “Home delivery and the weather report. This is fine service.”
    “It’s how I maintain my monopoly. I keep my customers alive.” She pointed to the hood sewn to the collar of his shirt. “For example, if you’re going to keep working out here, I’d put that up before double noon.”
    He laughed. “I did survive before I met you, you know.” But he dutifully donned the cowl.
    Annileen smiled. “Just looking out for you. Ever hear of Jellion Broon?”
    “No.”
    “There’s a reason for that.” She reached for the canteen strapped around her shoulder and offered it to him. When Ben declined, she took a swig and continued. “Broon was a great holovid actor when I was a kid. My mother loved him. Anyway, he came to Mos Espa for some race story he was acting in, and he caught the bug. Fell in love with the desert. The guy was raised in total privilege, and he sets eyes on the Jundland Wastes and becomes obsessed.” Annileen cocked her head over her shoulder toward the rocky hills and snorted. “I can’t imagine why.”
    “Continue.”
    “So Broon buys a dump out here—no offense—and tells people he’s doing research on his own production, a desert epic. And off he goes.”
    “Ah. And no one ever saw him again.”
    “Yes and no.”
    “Hmm?”
    “He survived all right. Showed up in Bestine six months later—looking twenty years older . The suns and the wind ripped him up something awful. It looked like someone’d taken a plastorch to his face. His own agent didn’t recognize him, and his studio wanted nothing to do with him.” She pointed to the eopie, munching away, its head under the tarp now covering the trough. “Take it from Rooh. Keep your hood on, or you’ll dry out like a sack of gorrmillet.”
    They said nothing for a moment. Finally, Ben picked up his tub of goods and started toward his doorway.
    “So are you an actor?” she asked.
    Ben chortled. “No.”
    “Not out here painting pictures? Not writing about life in the desert?”
    “Or in general.” Ben drew back the curtain just enough to set the supplies inside. He closed it before she could see anything. “No, there is nothing to tell. I am really quite uninteresting—except to wayward banthas.”
    “Right.”
    “Thanks for the supplies. I won’t put you to such trouble again.” Ben turned toward the debris-laden yard. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do.”
    “How long are you staying?”
    Ben stopped in his tracks and gave her a look. A