When morning came, however, there was no sign of Peli's Twi'lek guest anywhere near the hangar. This left Peli quite aggravated. Perhaps she should have gotten up earlier, but the night's revelry had left her with a thickened mouth and sensitive eyes, and it would have been unwise to rise with the suns. As she trudged along, her droids in tow, Peli felt that caf was in order. The stimulating virtue of the beverage brought a new clarity to her mind as she wandered like a lost soul around her shop. The podracer occupied most of it.

To her surprise, the ding of an incoming holo — of the urgent kind — resounded at interval from her office. Caught in a struggle between laziness and curiosity, she waited for the third time to go check what the fuss was about.

The image of a man, on the older side of life, hovered over the console. Greying beard, receding hairline; he introduced himself as Lortha Peel.

"Dear Mistress Motto, a water-monger by trade I am," he droned, "but some recent uneasiness pushed me to search for other avenues of revenue. For some time, I was kept back by my own doubts. My mind, however is now made up on the subject, for having seen the recent market trends, I have been so fortunate as to invest in the enduring aspects of stone and mortar. A lucky bet on yesterday's race brought me ownership of a few select properties, amongst which yours is one of the best. As a landlord, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of ease of mind in all I have business with; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of goodwill are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being the owner of your walls will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject my offer. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at the sorry state of my property, and I presume to much improve it, for your own comfort and benefit. If you should have no objection to receive me into your workshop, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you today, by four o'clock."

"Blast," cried Peli. "Dank farrik, fark, and kark it! I didn't want a new landlord! Or need one! Droids! Come 'ere! We got some clean up to do!"

Indeed, some of the less legal tools and parts Peli needed to hide, in case that Lortha Peel had an eye for engineering and could tell blackmarket from legitimate acquisitions. The little pit droids jumped around, dragging the most interesting things in a basement excavated for this very purpose. By the time Peli was satisfied that she could pass a cursory inspection, the afternoon was almost halfway through. She dragged a few heavy crates over the basement trap, swept the ground to remove all traces of the move and, nearly as an afterthought, artistically blew sand in a few corners to give the illusion of bleak abandon that goes with struggling businesses and failing hopes alike.

Lortha Peel was punctual to his time, and was received with cheery politeness by Peli. His air was grave and stately, and his manners very formal. He had not long been there before he complimented Peli Motto on having so fine a workshop and hangar; said he had heard much of her fame, and wondered that she lived alone. This gallantry was not much to the taste of his hearer; but Peli, who quarreled with no compliment, answered most readily.

"That's kind of you to say, but it's a hard life I lead, and not one folks find easy to share. Rent's high, and it's expensive to run that shop too. I get by, but that's all."

"Believe me, as a business owner myself I'm very sensible of that hardship, and could say much on the subject. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted…"

He was interrupted by pain, as he had stepped on a stray hammer and hurt his ankle; and Peli gave a thumbs up to her droids behind his back. It didn't stop his inspection, though, and he examined and praised all that he saw; and his commendation of everything would have touched Peli Motto's heart, but for the fear of expropriation. He expressed once again his desire to conduct repairs on the outer walls and a few rooms, only regretting that it would require an increase in rent before the works began. In a softened tone, Peli declared herself quite in agreement; but she pushed him to the door as soon as she could.

There was no help for it, however. Lortha Peel's proposal Peli Motto accepted with as good a grace as she was able to muster. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. It now first struck her that she was selected from several possible investments as a lone woman, to be bullied and coddled into parting with her hard-earned credits. When Kopecz Baaa-Cap at last came back from Boba Fett's palace (or wherever he had been), Peli informed him of another increase in rent.

The effect was immediate. An air of embarrassment came all over the Twi'lek's features, but he kept silent.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about it, Kopecz, but I have a new landlord," she explained, more apologetic than she could have been. "It's that water-monger from Mos Espa, name of Lortha Peel. And I got lucky that he doesn't know I'm subletting a room to you."

"The man is a wretch with no honour," replied Baaa-cap. "Even the late mayor avoided dealing with him, when possible."

"So you don't like him any more than Marshall Vanth then?"

"Indeed not."

Peli cocked her head, grinning. "How dare you make him sympathetic to me, Kopecz," she taunted, a wild light in her eyes. "Now I'll have to be kind to him!"

The Twi'lek blushed under the chaff, but he left not, and sat not far from Peli's side when she at last settled to pore over her accounting books. She wondered if she could scam the podracer from the hands of Iktotchi, and sell it at a high price to some outworld tenderfoot with a death-wish. The ban on podracing, however, had made that species rare since Tatooine had fully joined the New Republic. Better get the Iktotchi to remove the damn thing then, and make room for whatever half-wreck of a spaceship in need of repairs the port authorities saw fit to direct to Peli's hangar.

After a few days, Peli decided to drive to Mos Espa, to attend to some business as well as to inquire if Cobb Vanth had made it back to Tatooine. She was surprised to find him in person at the spaceport, where it seemed he had barely landed. For once, she found that her attention was easy to divert from the ships — big, overwhelming, and with that metallic smell that spoke of outer space — as he invited her to the nearby cantina for a glass of whatever she'd like. He voluntarily acknowledged that the necessity of his absence had been self-imposed.

"I found," said he, "as the race drew near, that I couldn't deal with Baaa-cap, or Boba Fett for that matter. To be the daimyo's guest, to be in his tow for the whole race and the party after… It would have gone south, faster than a hungry rancor."

She highly approved his forbearance, despite admitting the race had been good.

"What's your deal with Boba Fett? I thought he'd payed for all your fancy…" Peli gestured, "insides."

"I hate the Pykes," said Cobb Vanth. "Any spice runner I'll meet, I'll shoot. When your Mando friend came to ask for Freetown's help, I wasn't sure of what needed to be done, 'cause at the end of the day, Boba Fett's just another crime lord. Best case scenario, he and the Pykes would have killed one another."

He took a gulp of blue milk. "What he did for me, he did for his own gain, and I had no say in it. Until I know for sure he won't do money out of folk's addictions, I'll keep to myself, thank you very much."

"Why did you go to his dinner party then?"

"Curiosity."

Peli lifted her glass to him. "Well I'm glad you came. It would have been a sad world if we hadn't met."

"Indeed," replied the Marshall with a raised eyebrow and a wide smile before toasting her back.

Until then, Peli had considered herself too old to have crushes on people. The butterflies in her stomach begged her to reconsider.

Before she left Mos Espa — much later, and in a very high mood — Peli still had to pay a visit to her new landlord. There was no reason for him to be the only one to drop by uninvited, after all. He had given her a week to sign the new lease. Like a visit to the dentist, Peli wanted it to be over.

Lortha Peel's shop was in a bad part of Mos Espa, the part that made for most of the thrilling introduction to The Destitute, where the hero was imprisoned for stealing bread. Still, it wasn't as bad a Mos Eisley, and Peli never travelled without a sizeable wench and a blaster anyway. She might not be a Mandalorian fighter, but muggers and outlaws generally knew better than messing with her. As for those who didn't, they left the encounter with a newfound respect for undersized ladies of a certain age.

Dusk was falling. Someone, nearby, was cooking Tatooine Terrine; the drifting perfume of mushrooms simmering in several spices and cooking oil made Peli's mouth water. This was something outworlders never wrote about — too busy relishing the poverty and harsh living were they, that they never knew the common joys from which those who lived under the twin suns derived much of their daily contentment. Gravel crunched under Peli Motto's shoes. Heat radiated from the white walls all around. A child — not the child — laughed in the distance. Lortha Peel was leaning against his door.

"Hey, master Peel," called Peli, "look who's there for you! Your favourite tenant!"

"Mistress Motto, what a delightful surprise! And all the way from Mos Eisley! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

A mischievous look that made her scrunch up her nose took over Peli's face as she waved the datapad containing her new lease. The water-monger beamed and invited her in.

"You've got nothing to tell me that the whole street doesn't need to hear," congenially refused Peli. "I'm not signing that trash."

"My dear mistress Motto, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding. But permit me to say that there must be some lack of understanding on your part. Without a lease, I shall surely evict you within the month."

"Pffassk, spare me. You've got no mayor, and the magistrate's five years behind in his cases. No one'll take your complaint."

"Pardon me," interrupted her landlord, "for neglecting such specifics, as in the case before us consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a lady like yourself. Common law, in that case, would allow me to hire some private help, and conduct the eviction myself."

"Common law my ass. I'm invited at Boba Fett's castle and he opened the Boonta Eve Classic from my pit stand. Lucky for you, I'm an honest woman, which means I'm willing to negotiate."

Thus began a tragically unsung, but nonetheless heroic, evening of bargaining and haggling that would otherwise have made it into the high tales of Tatooine. There was much protesting in good faith. Hands were raised in despair towards the darkening sky; fingers were pointed accusingly, and several times the phrase "at that price, I'm cutting my own throat" was uttered in a plaintive tone. There was even some mock walking away from both parts. As negotiations drew on, the ensuing noise caused a few neighbours to loudly complain that some people would like to sleep — and for the following minutes, their wish was granted, as Peli Motto and Lortha Peel regressed to angry whispering. That is, until a new snag was hit and the whole process started anew.

At last, however, landlord and tenant came to an agreement. The datapad was duly signed, with protesting reluctance on each side, perhaps, but signed nevertheless. Rent would increase, but not as steeply; repairs would be made, but not as many. Peli was satisfied, and she hoped the water-monger had learned his lesson. By the time her speeder reached her home, she was humming, despite the late (or early) hour.