Luke finally got his growth spurt at age 12, after begging, bargaining with, and berating his biology for years before. It was a little disappointing, truth be told, but he was now big enough to do a man's work, and that was what mattered. Now he could manage not just the small blasters that Uncle Owen kept, but the rifles-big slugthrowers that could stop a Tusken in their tracks and that kicked like a dewback. With the ability to defend himself came a small, precious measure of independance. Not a lot, not compared to some-Camie, he knew, had gotten a speeder bike when she was ten and had been making supply runs almost as long-but enough.

Now, when two of the vaporators in the north-east sector began pinging error messages while Uncle Owen was still shopping in Anchorhead, he was able to take a bike by himself to check it out, although not without loving warnings from Aunt Beru. The warnings weren't necessary-the path to the eastern sectors took him right by Grandma Shmi and Grandpa Cliegg's graves, so even if he was feeling reckless that old familiar reminder would have brought him back to earth. Still, in deference to his Aunt's concerns he parked on a ridge a few klicks out from the malfunctioning vaporators and looked them over through macrobinoculars. There was no sign of Sand People, not even bantha tracks, so he made the final approach and inspected the closest machine.

"Poodoo," he said in disgust, and pulled out his comlink. It just spat static at first, but a carefully calibrated whack against the side of the casing got it working again so he could call home. "Aunt Beru? It's womp rats." The anchor-points of this machine were pretty shiny, polished by a recent sandstorm, and the stupid things had no doubt mistaken them for hubba-gourd vines. He raised the macrobinocs back to his eyes and continued, "Actually, I think that nest in the Talon canyon is occupied again-I'm going to see if I can go clear it out."

"You do have a rifle, don't you?" Baru's calm voice crackled over the link, and Luke rolled his eyes as he remounted the bike.

"Yes, Aunt Beru. I'm not stupid."

"The desert doesn't just eat the stupid," she said with the particular brand of melancholy humor peculiar to the Whitesuns. "Although it finds them particularly toothsome."

"I know, I know. I'll be careful, ok?"

And he was careful. He got to a vantage point where he could see the nest and settled down with his rifle to wait, even though there was no sign of the womp rats for ages. Finally they did emerge, and he waited for them to get far enough out of the nest that they couldn't move to safety before lining up the sights on the first one's head and gently squeezing the trigger. The crack of the shot echoed in the canyon as the first rat dropped, and he lined up his second shot and snapped it off before the other rats could react. The third rat stopped in its tracks and turned on the first rat's corpse, hissing, and Luke coolly shot the stupid thing right between the eyes. He waited, hardly breathing, to make sure none of them got back up-the skulls were thick, and if he'd caught one at a bad angle it might be only stunned.

Evidently not; they stayed down, and his face broke out in a triumphant grin as he slung the rifle over his shoulder and started the descent into the canyon. He was almost to the nest, standing on a ledge and plotting the best way to scramble down, when a chilling screech from the shadows near his feet turned his careful drop into a panicked scramble-because there was a fourth rat, against all odds, small enough that it was probably a juvenile but still bigger than Luke and twice as mean. He hit the dirt and knew, in the gut-level way he sometimes knew things, that there was no way he'd be able to get the rifle around in time to shoot it down. Instead he wrenched the vibroblade out of his belt, snapping the holster half-off and not even having time to switch it in before the rat was on him. It was a short utility blade, probably not long enough to reach the heart, and so Luke instead braced the hilt in his hands and buried it in the rat's throat. Not deep enough-it wouldn't bleed out fast enough-the creature's thrashing ripped the blade from his hands and he felt a moment of absolute certainty that he was going to die-

-before a gaffi stick came down on the rat's head with a horrible, final crack.

It collapsed half on top of him and he scrambled away, grabbing at his vibroblade because gaffi sticks meant Tusken Raiders and that was a whole nother kind of trouble...then he stopped, because instead of the hooting war cry all farmers knew to fear there was instead an incongruously polite voice saying, "Why, hello there."

Luke stared, hands clenched around the knife and dizzy with adrenaline, at old Ben, the hermit who lived somewhere at the edge of the Wastes. The man was crouched down next to the fourth rat, leaning on the gaffi stick, as still and cool as the point where suns-shadows crossed after midday. "...what are you DOING here?" He finally said, breathless with the aftermath of killing fear.

"I have encountered you in passing," old Ben said lightly, nodding down the canyon where Luke now saw there was a rangy eopie standing, bedecked in parcels. "And a lucky thing too, it seems."

"I could have handled it!" Luke assured him fiercely. "Only there were four, there's never been four before, the nest here isn't that big-"

"Oh, it seems you did quite well for yourself," old Ben allowed, and stood to look over the three that Luke had shot. "I don't know that I would have done so well for myself, when I was ten."

"I'm twelve," Luke said. "Sir."

"I stand corrected."

Luke nodded, and climbed to his own feet unsteadily. The head of the beast that had almost had him was near his feet, and without really thinking about it he gave the nasty thing a few vicious kicks. When he looked up, Ben was staring at him with a complete lack of expression that nonetheless made Luke feel strangely guilty. "It tried to kill me," he said.

"That it did. But not out of cruelty or malice-it was merely defending itself and its home."

Luke looked at the body, at the three other dead creatures a few paces away, and felt a small twinge of something like pity. "...are you saying I shouldn't have killed them?"

"Did you kill them out of cruelty, or malice?"

"No!" Luke protested. "They were getting at the vaporators, they had to be stopped before they ruined them and dropped our harvest."

"So you were defending your home." The hermit sat on a shadowy bit of boulder, as comfortable as a water-bandit in a fancy speeder. "Do you regret it?"

"...no," Luke admitted slowly. "Should I?"

Old Ben shrugged, a rolling motion under his cloak, and gestured with his gaffi stick. "I don't regret defending myself-or you, young Luke. But I can think it was necessary to kill it without hating it." His expression stayed serene as always, but Luke thought that he was sad, somehow.

"I don't hate it," Luke finally said, switching on the vibroblade and crouching by the furry body. "It's stupid to hate the dead." Ben didn't answer, and with a heave of effort Luke drove his blade into the rat's chest and began cutting downwards.

"I was given to understand that womp rats aren't exactly palatable," Ben said, and Luke jumped at hearing the voice right behind him. For an old man, Ben sure could move silently.

"They're not," Luke said, relieved to put the confusing talk about killing and hating behind him. "But the...liver-" he grunted as he worked his arms into the body cavity, glad when Ben added his own strength to prying it open. "-is pretty good if you cook it right, and Aunt Beru says it's got all kinds of minerals and vitamins and stuff."

"Well, I will bow to your Aunt's good judgement."

Luke nodded, and triumphantly cut loose the liver, a red-grey organ a little larger than his head. He presented it to Ben, who didn't flinch but made no moves to touch it, and then froze as the thought occurred to him that he had no idea how to transport the thing. "Uhhh..." Ben's calm pale eyes made him squirm, and he eyed the liver balefully. "I don't suppose you have a spare sack I can use? I'd rather not wrap it in my tunic."

"F...stars forbid," Ben said dryly. "Why not use the creature's hide?"

"That's...actually a good idea," Luke admitted grudgingly, then with a little bit of mischief held out the liver towards the hermit. "You wanna hold it while I skin it or skin it while I hold it?"

"'Want' is not the word I would have used," Ben said, very dryly indeed, but obligingly unsheathed a knife from his own belt and set about removing enough of the hide to bundle up the prize. With a mind towards redeeming himself from his previous thoughtlessness, Luke dug back into the carcass and came up with the lopsided heart. He cut it carefully into small sections, and scrambled to his feet.

"Your eopie will like this. Can I feed it to her?" Ben nodded, and Luke went to do so. When he returned, Ben was working on butchering one of the other rats, and they worked in companionable silence until all the rats had had their useful parts removed. Carefully, Luke cut another strip of hide from the last rat and bundled two of the livers in it. "This one's for you," he informed Ben. "Thanks for helping me out."

"Certainly," Ben said graciously, then raised an eyebrow. "Of course, it doesn't have anything to do with not bringing home evidence that you took on more than two of our furry friends here."

Luke opened his mouth to protest-then shut it, because he hadn't really thought of it that way but he supposed he had been thinking that, in the back of his mind. Old Ben was unlike anyone else Luke had ever met, and he sat back on his heels and remembered barely in time not to wipe the sweat off his face with his gory arm. "Where are you from?"

"I have a small hut near the Wastes," Ben said, and Luke rolled his eyes.

"I know that, I mean...where are your people from? Are you from the Core? You sound like you're from the Core. What planet did you grow up on? No one from Tatooine has an accent like yours."

"Have you met many people from the Core, then?" Ben replied easily, collecting his portion of the bounty and tying up the bundle neatly. "You cannot say no one here has my accent, since I am here, and this is indeed how I speak."

For a long moment Luke eyed him narrowly before he let out a gusty sigh. "I see why Uncle Owen hates you so much," he said, then winced at how much ruder that sounded than he'd meant.

"Can you?" Ben said. His voice and face were the same but Luke had the distinct expression that he was amused rather than offended, and Luke grinned at him.

"Yeah. He likes straightforward talk, and you make everything all twisty."

"It has been my experience that life itself is, as you put it, 'twisty'," Ben said. "In which case 'straight talk' often rather misses the point."

"Just like that," Luke said happily, wiping his hands on a clean bit of fur and hauling his bundle towards his bike. "It would drive him nuts."

"Of course, you wouldn't ever try to do any such thing."

Luke shrugged, content to know that old Ben wasn't a bad sort at all. "Well, we'll see." It was the work of a moment to fasten the prize to his bike, and he mounted it easily as Ben did the same on his patient eopie. "Be careful out there, okay?" he said, suddenly serious. He was going home to family, but old Ben was alone. "Take care of yourself."

Ben smiled at him, a gentle expression, but Luke thought something had suddenly made him sad. "You do the same, my young friend." He nodded at Luke as though he was a fellow adult, then set off up the canyon towards his home. He didn't look back, not at all, but Luke waited and watched him until he disappeared completely from view.