Star Wars - Kenobi

look, she thought, that said in the most pleasant but firm way that the interview was over.
    Annileen backed down the slope toward her landspeeder. “Well, you know where we are if you need anything. And I almost forgot—four days from now there’s a big race at Mos Espa. If you’d like to see what the store looks like without so many rude idiots around, that’s your chance.” She looked keenly at him. “People depend on one another around here. It’s no place to live alone.”
    Atop the rise, Ben cracked a small smile. “To hear you talk, anyone in my care would be dead in five minutes.”
    “We’ll see,” she said, turning back to her speeder. “See you, Ben.”
    If he’s hiding, he’s new at it, she thought, settling into the driver’s seat. In her years of running the store, Annileen had seen her share of people trying to disappear. From spouses, from Republic justice, from the Hutts—there had even been one runaway from a traveling circus. One thing she’d noticed: in an area where everyone knew everyone else’s business, the more nondescript someone tried to seem, the more curious the neighbors became. You needed a label, so people could forget about you. She’d always joked that when her kids finally drove her to run to the hills, she’d become known as the crazy lady who stewed mynocks for dinner.
    Maybe Ben would figure that out, she thought as the engine revved. But he was certainly failing at shooing away interest. The man looked … well, sad whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. Anyone like that just had to have a story.
    Pulling away, Annileen circled a rock and looked back up the bluff. She saw Ben looking up at the suns—and removing his hood.
    Strange.
    Back at Dannar’s Claim, the hands from the Gault fields were in and gorging. Jabe was among them, back from Bestine. He didn’t look up when his mother walked in. She stepped past the diners to the tap to refill her canteen.
    Two trays balanced on each arm, Kallie paused to study her. “You forgot the dricklefruit.”
    “ You’re the dricklefruit,” Annileen said, walking toward the back. “Any messages?”
    “One from your daughter, wanting to know what Ben said.”
    “He said thanks for the groceries.”
    Kallie rolled her eyes impatiently. “Wanting to know what Ben said about her .”
    Annileen emerged wearing an apron and looked primly back at Kallie. “He said he’s happy to know I have a daughter who’s such a good and loyal worker—and who minds her own business.”
    Kallie swore. Annileen didn’t bother to scold her. Seeing Ulbreck in mid-conversation, she stepped in to clear his table. “So, Wyle. Where were we?”
    A’Yark returned to The Pillars exhausted. Having seen the Airshaper depart the compound before double noon, the marauder had raced to a waiting bantha. But there was no hope of catching up with the landspeeder. The Airshaper’s route appeared to match her hairy-faced rescuer’s path from days earlier; it was a reasonable assumption that she had gone to see him. Perhaps they were spouses, after all.
    More useful information. A’Yark had intended to tell the others on returning. The Tuskens did not have war councils; it was not the way of Sand People to discuss and connive. Tuskens were so single-minded of goal, so similarly driven, that little coordination was necessary. They moved as a single entity. The only need for words was in sharing information about a target. With that, they would all know what to do.
    But a surprise waited in the shadows beneath the towering rocks. A gathering was under way—without A’Yark.
    A’Yark recognized the low grunts of Gr’Karr, oldest remaining member of the tribe. “The omen is good,” the old fighter was saying, clutching the horn of a young bantha calf. “Bounty comes to us. The time is right.”
    “What animal is this?” an incensed A’Yark demanded, barging into the circle. “And who told you to speak without me?”
    “I did,” barked another Tusken, huge and dominating. H’Raak was a recent addition, the last mighty survivor of another tribe. “No one needs to hear the words of A’Yark to know what to do.”
    The one-eyed Tusken ignored the brute. H’Raak had never accepted A’Yark’s role in the group, convinced his own size and strength meant all—a foolish belief. The dewback the Airshaper rode had been huge, and yet it yielded to the sarlacc. Sometimes it was better to lie in wait. “The calf. It wandered