Free Star Wars - Kenobi by John Jackson Miller Page A

is spotty everywhere here, but regardless, I don’t want to own anything that taps into it. I haven’t even used the secret one-way message drop Bail Organa provided to tell him I’ve settled in. The fewer signals coming from my home, the better. What if Palpatine has eyes all the way out here, looking for Jedi Knights he failed to kill? It could happen.
    The other Jedi. How I hope others have survived. I couldn’t bear to be the only one left. It seems impossible to imagine.
    I wish you could tell me—
    In any case, with regard to the Lars farm, it’s probably okay if I just go over there once in a while, on foot or on Rooh. I can hide better that way, and camp if I need. There won’t be a pattern to my movements, or when I choose to go. I won’t be able to respond quickly if someone troubles the boy—or even know about it. But at least I won’t be the trouble.
    Still, I wish there was someone I could rely on, closer to them. I’ve been hearing some sirens to the north; there was another this morning. I worried it involved the Empire, but I think now it might be a warning system of some kind. Maybe that could be of help, I don’t—
    This would be easier if you said something. Never mind. I’ll be briefer.
    This house. It’s in worse shape than I thought. I rode into Bestine to make sure it was unoccupied, but I hardly needed confirmation. The Jawas picked the place over long ago. There’s a shell of a vaporator, if I can ever get it working right—it needs parts, still. And the place should have a low profile, if I can remove the trash from the yard. You can imagine what kind of junk even a Jawa would pass up.
    I was worried it was going to require more trips to Bestine—that’s forty kilometers or so—but maybe there’s another option. Annileen—
    That’s Annileen Calwell, a woman from the Pika Oasis, and her daughter. The oasis is closer, and from what she says it has more of what I need to set up housekeeping here.
    Meeting her gave me a chance to finally use the name I chose. You’ll like this: Ben. I had seen it on the map at the property office in Bestine—there’s some mesa by that name. Satine used to call me that—it was a private thing. I like the sound of it.
    I’m … afraid I drew some attention to myself when I met Annileen. I won’t get into details, but she was in trouble, and I helped her. It felt good to be doing something, after all this hiding. And good to be talking to someone again, when I’m feeling so alone and—
    Ah, well.
    I don’t know. I’m closer to the oasis, but it’s closer to me, too. Maybe it’s not a good idea to become too familiar a sight with the locals.
    I probably won’t go.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    “HOW EEET LOOK, MASTER Gault?”
    “Real pretty, Gloamer.” Orrin ran his hand across the new windshield on the landspeeder. “Like new. I don’t know how you do it.”
    Orrin wasn’t surprised. Of all the mechanics in the Calwell garages, Gloamer, a green-skinned Phindian whose dangly arms nearly reached his ankles, was by far the best. Starting from a single rented bay five years earlier, Gloamer now ran a vibrant trade taking up a building and a half. That made him the garages’ third largest occupant, after the Gault vaporator installation fleet and the storage space for the Settlers’ Fund vehicles. Since Gloamer worked on all of those, too, he and his assistants were seen almost everywhere.
    “Eees best speeeder in oh-aaay-sees,” the mechanic said, his golden eyes alight in their white cavities. “Eees maaaarvel .”
    Orrin grinned. Phindians could never let go of a vowel, it seemed—and few beings he had met had more appreciation for a fine vehicle. On this one, Gloamer was right: the USV-5 looked as if it belonged on a nicer planet. Orrin had dithered over buying it; a farmer shouldn’t put on airs. But selling water was as much a part of the job as finding it, and the high-volume city accounts didn’t want to buy from someone who looked