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The second and smaller of Tatooine’s twin suns was setting, and the day’s activity at the Larses moisture farm was winding down.
Obi-Wan set aside his macrobinoculars and settled in to take watch from a nearby ridge. This ridge benefited from commanding views of the desert for several kilometers in every direction. Luke was safe, but that could change in an eyeblink’s instant, and Obi-Wan knew he had to be ready if—or perhaps when—the Empire came.
He didn’t mind the necessary vigilance. Not in the slightest. He liked the desert, he’d come to realize, its emptiness and its peace, and none of its denizens posed a serious threat to the likes of a Jedi Master armed with his lightsaber.
The dome of the heavens wheeled overhead, a milky wash of stars. Obi-Wan smiled, content.
Another evening, another spectacular sunset, and the day’s activity at the Larses moisture farm was again winding down. Luke would already be tucked into his bassinet, warm and comfy and drifting off into sweet, untroubled sleep. Obi-Wan set aside his macrobinoculars—
“Get up, Kenobi!”
Obi-Wan saw no reason not to comply. “Owen! What a pleasant surprise,” he said good-naturedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Spare me the false pleasantries,” Owen said. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was darker than the sky overhead. “I’ll get straight to the point. I’m sick and tired of having you skulk about the edges of our property. It’s drawing attention to us, and that’s attention we surely don’t need!”
“But Luke is in danger. The Empire—” Obi-Wan began.
“Rubbish!” Owen interrupted fiercely. “The biggest threat to folks named Skywalker is you, Kenobi!”
The accusation hit closer to home than Obi-Wan would admit, but he was not the type of man to lose his temper over insult. “I’m very sorry, Owen, but this is the only solution. Unless you would suggest an alternative…?”
“Bah!” Owen stormed away, back down the ridge toward the farm’s homestead. He didn’t bother with goodbyes.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Obi-Wan had been meditating the whole night, not sleeping. He saw no reason to correct Beru on this point, however. “Well, thank you,” he said.
“Would you care to join us for breakfast?”
Obi-Wan raised his brows in surprise. This was a first—had Owen agreed to it? But he wasn’t about to turn down a homecooked meal, and besides, it would give him a chance to look in on Luke.
Breakfast was rich, sky-blue yogurt and a savory mash made of mincemeat and pickled veg atop thick slices from a loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread. The fare was simple and absolutely delicious.
“We have a proposal,” Owen said after the three of them had eaten their fill. “The commune has repossessed several leasehold farms on marginal land. There is desire to sell them on to new leaseholders, but no one in their right mind would want to buy, even for the low asking prices. Beru and I,” at this, Owen looked across the dining table to Beru, who nodded her encouragement, “think you should buy one of these properties. We’ll even lend you credits for the deposit.”
“The one in the Jundland Wastes is less than a half-day’s travel,” Beru said. “You’d be close—”
“—but not too close,” Owen concluded with satisfaction.
The land itself was just as unpromising for moisture farming as Owen had said. However, it also came with a small adobe cottage already built on the property which, given an airing and a thorough, top-to-bottom cleaning, ought to suit Obi-Wan perfectly.
Beru shook her head ruefully at the sight on the day she arrived in a beat up old landspeeder to help Obi-Wan to settle in. “Only a crazy, suns-addled wizard would want to live here,” she said. She was the daughter of generations of Tatooine moisture farmers just like her—she would know.
“Hm. I think that makes the place perfect.” It really was. It would be the perfect cover. “Oh, by the by. Let’s call the ‘crazy, suns-addled wizard’ Ben Kenobi, shall we?”
“‘Ben’…? That’s what you want to be called, is it?”
“Yes.” Obi-Wan—Ben—smiled, content.