Star Wars - Kenobi

the Claim had already been repaired, the most lasting harm had been caused when his spoiled daughter put Annileen’s X-31 into the stone wall. Repairs would park Annileen’s landspeeder for weeks. Orrin would happily loan her a vehicle from his work fleet. But he’d let Veeka—whose Sportster was in even worse shape—find her own rides for a while. Maybe slowing down would be good for her.
    No, the only thing that had tested his smile was Old Number One. His technicians were finding what he had realized, earlier. The vaporator mechanism had survived—tough things, these Pretormins—but Dannar’s precious settings had been lost. The first test vial had produced what Orrin judged an absolutely pedestrian cocktail of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. Later tests yielded no better results … and sickened his heart.
    But sorrow would wait today. Every visitor had brought him something: business, congratulations—even a sugar cake. And now, as he saw another figure approaching on foot from the southwest, he wondered what good tidings this person brought.
    Orrin squinted. Well, I’ll be, he thought. He stood tall and waved. “Hey, Kenobi! Ben Kenobi! ”
    For a moment, the hooded man appeared to disappear back behind the dune. But when Orrin charged up the rise, he found Ben kneeling to adjust his boot. “I thought that was you,” Orrin said.
    Ben stood. As Orrin shook his hand vigorously, Ben said, “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you say—”
    “Ben Kenobi—that’s your name, isn’t it?”
    Ben looked down, around, and back to Orrin. “Yes, but—”
    “But what?” Orrin smiled.
    “I was just curious how you heard it.”
    “Oh!” Orrin laughed loudly and slapped Ben on the back. “You’ll find out when you go inside.” He turned toward the store, coaxing Ben along.
    “Perhaps another day.” Ben pointed past the store. “I wasn’t going inside. I’m just here for my eopie—”
    A high-pitched shout came from the Claim. “Ben!”
    The men looked over to see Kallie in the open doorway of the store, waving frenetically. Annileen stood behind her, looking a little embarrassed.
    “I think you’re going in, brother.” Orrin put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Kenobi. There was a Kenobi down around Arnthout, sold damper coils for repulsorlifts. You any relation?”
    “Anything’s possible.” Ben smiled narrowly, teeth clenched together, as Orrin pushed him toward the doorway.
    Kallie stepped outside to greet him. She smiled. “Rooh’s been waiting for you, Ben.”
    Annileen walked up, grabbed her daughter by the shoulder blades, and pivoted her 180 degrees. “You. Elsewhere. Now.” Kallie looked back at Ben, flashed her teeth, and dashed happily back inside the store. Orrin laughed.
    Ben looked to Annileen. “Really, I’m just here for the eopie …”
    “Nonsense,” Orrin said. Eight Settlers’ Call holdouts had wised up and joined up today; maybe Ben was Number Nine. “A drink for our new neighbor!”
    Orrin held the door open for Ben. The man stepped forward, only to be stopped by Annileen. She looked up at him. “Before you walk in, I just want to say—I’m sorry.”
    “I’m not sure what you have to apologize for,” Ben said. Then he stepped inside the Claim.
    “Kenobi!”
    The man’s eyes widened at the sound of the name called out by the clutch of people at the end of the bar. But Orrin guided him inside.
    Leelee Pace looked back from her packages and waved. “Hey there, Ben Kenobi!”
    By the sundries aisle, Doc Mell told his child, “There’s that Ben Kenobi. I think he’s a doctor, too!”
    And at the bar, Jabe contributed a glare as he wiped down the counter. “Crazy old Ben. Still talking to yourself?”
    Ben looked at Annileen—and then back at Orrin. The visitor was slightly bemused, Orrin was glad to see. It happened this way all the time. People came to the oasis wanting to keep to themselves, for whatever reason—not knowing that small-town life made privacy completely impossible. Seeing Wyle Ulbreck approaching, Orrin shot Ben an apologetic look.
    “You’re the fellow from yesterday,” the old man said, tugging at the sleeve of Ben’s robe like a tailor droid checking a seam. “You’re a Kenobi?”
    Ben pulled his sleeve back. “I—”
    “Hired a Kenobi once. Gormel, they called him. Thief. Stank of spice all the time. I fired him quicker than you can say your name.”
    “Well, I didn’t say my name—to you, anyway.” Ben