Ben followed the Rodian long enough to ascertain that he intended no more mischief that day. He then returned to the shop to finish purchasing supplies.

The clerk gave a little start and tugged at his braids when Ben entered. The smell of blaster fire hung in the air and the blaster lay still on the counter. The Weequay put a cautionary hand on the handle, as though he were afraid it might move again.

"You needn't worry," said Ben, moving to a wall shelf to select the things he needed. "He isn't coming back."

"That's a mercy," the clerk said flatly, not moving his hand.

Ben approached him, his arms full of dried vegetables. "Is something wrong?" he asked.


The clerk licked his lips. "You moved this blaster with your mind, didn't you? You can move things just by looking at 'em."

"The blaster moved from the thief's possession to yours." Ben set the vegetables on the counter. "Does it really matter how it got there?"

The clerk wrinkled his flat nose and took a step back as though the vegetables were contaminated. "Don't try none of your mind tricks on me, mister." He wagged a finger at Ben. "You're a Jedi."

Ben paused to make sure his features did not betray how the Weequay's tone of accusation provoked him. "The Jedi Order no longer exists," he replied carefully.

"That's not what I said." The clerk waved his finger about like a weapon, his dark eyes wide and excited. "You're a Jedi. I know you. You're the devil that caused that trouble four years back. The one what used to live here."

"I live alone," said Ben, pulling coins out of the pouch at his belt to pay for the vegetables, "on the edge of the Jundland Wastes. I mean no harm to anyone."

"Put it away," spat the Weequay, pushing the vegetables back across the counter. "Take what you need. I don't want your money, and I don't want no Jedi. Get out of my store."

Ben swept up the vegetables and left before the clerk could reach for the blaster again.

Still afraid he mused, after four years. Must my every attempt at a good turn meet with this sort of gratitude?

Most of the people of Tatooine faced too many hardships to dwell on them for long. They were willing to forget that Ben had ever caused them distress. But those who remembered feared him, and their spite stung.

Once he had been a highly respected member of a highly respected Order. Now with the Order a memory and its members lost or dead, Ben received no honor from anyone.

It was not only the petty resentment of the locals that troubled him. It was the fear that word of a resident Jedi would leak out beyond Tatooine's sphere and reach unsympathetic ears in the Empire. His executioner might arrive any day.

But if all that is true, he thought, then why did I stop the Rodian from robbing the store?

The trek back to his hut was long and monotonous. By the time he topped the last moonlit rise, Ben had churned through all his old fears and resentments and resolved to meditate on them later that night.

He stepped into the hut and inhaled deeply. The stale, dry air brought him little relief.

It looks nearly as abandoned as it did when I found it four years ago, he observed as he scuffed his way across the ubiquitous sand to the raised kitchen. I suppose it takes more than living in a place to make a house a home. What "more" consisted of he hardly knew. He found he did not particularly care. Instead of pondering the question, he set about unpacking his supplies from town and preparing his evening meal.

~*~

The evening meal was noisier than usual at the Lars homestead. Since Beru and Luke had spent the day in Anchorhead, Owen prepared the food and had it waiting for them. Luke generally preferred his aunt's cooking to his uncle's, but the smell of well-roasted meat drifting up the stairs to meet them was inviting.

"You're back late," Uncle Owen remarked when they walked in. "What kept you?"

"There was a little disturbance in one of the stores," said Aunt Beru.

"A robber!" Luke piped up, determined not to be left out of the conversation.

"What?" Uncle Owen looked as though he did not trust Luke's powers of observation. "Beru, what happened?"

"A man did try to rob the store," she admitted, setting their purchases down with what Luke thought was a little too much noise and bustle, "but he didn't succeed."

"His blaster flew out of his hand!" said Luke, climbing into his chair.

"Really?" asked Uncle Owen, raising his eyebrows.

"The shopkeeper did get hold of it rather quickly," said Aunt Beru in a light voice. "He must have activated a magnet, or something."

"No, he didn't!" protested Luke. "It was the man across the room!"

"The man across the room had a magnet?" asked Owen.

"No, he-- he..." Luke's finger paused in mid-point as he tried to explain what he'd seen.

Aunt Beru sat down with a sigh. "He was Ben Kenobi," she said.

"You know him?" asked Luke in surprise. "Does he tell you how he does that?"

Aunt Beru poked at her meal. Uncle Owen cleared his throat and looked at Luke.

"Ben Kenobi is a wizard," he said.

"What's a wizard?" asked Luke.

"A wizard is someone who can do things that ordinary people can't," said Uncle Owen, reaching for the pitcher of blue milk.

"Like move things without touching them?"

"Yes."

"Wow!"

Uncle Owen set a cup of milk in front of Luke with a thud. "Now, Luke, I don't want you to get too excited about Mister Kenobi. He's lived alone past the Dune Sea for, oh, four years now. And he wants to be left that way. Alone."

"Where did he live before that?" Luke persisted.

Uncle Owen paused, then answered, "Anchorhead. Eat your dinner."