“Anything’s possible.” Ben smiled narrowly, teeth clenched together, as Orrin pushed him toward the doorway.
Kallie stepped outside to greet him. She smiled. “Rooh’s been waiting for you, Ben.”
Annileen walked up, grabbed her daughter by the shoulder blades, and pivoted her 180 degrees. “You. Elsewhere. Now.” Kallie looked back at Ben, flashed her teeth, and dashed happily back inside the store. Orrin laughed.
Ben looked to Annileen. “Really, I’m just here for the eopie …”
“Nonsense,” Orrin said. Eight Settlers’ Call holdouts had wised up and joined up today; maybe Ben was Number Nine. “A drink for our new neighbor!”
Orrin held the door open for Ben. The man stepped forward, only to be stopped by Annileen. She looked up at him. “Before you walk in, I just want to say—I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure what you have to apologize for,” Ben said. Then he stepped inside the Claim.
“Kenobi!”
The man’s eyes widened at the sound of the name called out by the clutch of people at the end of the bar. But Orrin guided him inside.
Leelee Pace looked back from her packages and waved. “Hey there, Ben Kenobi!”
By the sundries aisle, Doc Mell told his child, “There’s that Ben Kenobi. I think he’s a doctor, too!”
And at the bar, Jabe contributed a glare as he wiped down the counter. “Crazy old Ben. Still talking to yourself?”
Ben looked at Annileen—and then back at Orrin. The visitor was slightly bemused, Orrin was glad to see. It happened this way all the time. People came to the oasis wanting to keep to themselves, for whatever reason—not knowing that small-town life made privacy completely impossible. Seeing Wyle Ulbreck approaching, Orrin shot Ben an apologetic look.
“You’re the fellow from yesterday,” the old man said, tugging at the sleeve of Ben’s robe like a tailor droid checking a seam. “You’re a Kenobi?”
Ben pulled his sleeve back. “I—”
“Hired a Kenobi once. Gormel, they called him. Thief. Stank of spice all the time. I fired him quicker than you can say your name.”
“Well, I didn’t say my name—to you, anyway.” Ben politely turned away. “Please excuse me.”
Ulbreck followed him. “You saw me yesterday when them Sandies was here—you saw how many I put on the floor.” Ulbreck gestured to the tables. “Come tell the folks what I did. Some people won’t believe an honest man—”
Orrin interceded. “Honestly, Wyle. Another time.” He peeled Ben away from the old man and guided him toward the bar. “Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Some people will cling to you like mynocks if you let them.”
“It’s all right,” Ben said, his eyes settling on Kallie as she chattered with some teenage friends. “I think I know what happened now.”
“I’m sorry,” Annileen said. “Kallie came looking for us and ended up snooping. I’m mortified.”
Orrin gestured for others to leave the bar, making room for him and Ben. “Gossip gets around pretty fast where there’s not a lot goin’ on.”
Ben nodded. “I would’ve thought the invasion and massacre would have kept the circuit going for a while.”
Orrin raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call it a massacre,” he said, his tone more serious. He didn’t like that word. “It was justice.”
Ben looked down, as if aware he’d spoken wrong.
“There aren’t innocents among Tuskens, Ben. We know that group was the one that struck us here—but it doesn’t really matter. They’re predators, same as a krayt.”
“Understood.”
Orrin waved to Jabe to bring over drinks. He didn’t want to make Ben squirm too much—not if he might subscribe to the Fund. But he didn’t mind taking the man down a bit, either. Orrin knew Ben’s kind. Ben would play modest and detached until he had every woman in the oasis interested—and then they’d find out he was trouble. Orrin just hadn’t figured out what kind of trouble, yet. Kallie’s story, blabbed around the bar before lunchtime, added more evidence to the case for crazy. But Ben’s actions the day before suggested he might be something else—maybe some kind of Clone Wars veteran who’d lost his nerve for fighting. That would track with a bleeding heart for Tuskens.
Change in tactics, then. Orrin took his glass and toasted. “To keeping people safe.”
Ben nodded. “I can live with that.”
Orrin started his sales pitch anew. This time, he described the Settlers’ Call Fund as the best hope for peace. If Tuskens were intelligent—as their encounter with Plug-eye seemed to suggest—then maybe they could learn, Orrin said. If they learned every settler household on the desert was under the same shield, they might turn their attentions to the Western Dune Sea, instead. “Let ’em hassle the Jawas for a change.”
He started to talk pricing, knowing that if Kenobi’s place were close to the Jundland, he could ask for a sizable fee. But Ben interrupted with something that surprised him.
“How much,” Ben asked tentatively, “would it cost to extend your protection out even farther?” He affixed his eyes to the drink in his hands. “Say … to where that kidnapping you told me about happened?”
“What, the Lars place?”
“Well, around there,” Ben said.
Orrin noticed Annileen pause nearby. Since they’d started talking, Annileen had circled back and forth, dealing with matters in the store—and yet, Orrin noted, she kept swooping back cometlike to the bar, catching an earful where she could. “The Lars place. That’s way out there. Isn’t it, Annie?”
“Past Motesta Oasis,” she said, turning back to her shelving.
“Past Jawa Heights, even,” Orrin said, calculating. “What kind of business do you have that’d need protecting out that way?”
“Just curious,” Ben said casually. “You were describing the potential a minute ago. I was just wondering what was feasible.”
Orrin nodded. “Well, let’s see,” he said, pulling a datapad from his vest pocket.
Ben waited as Orrin pretended to run the numbers. It was impossible, really. Orrin knew there wasn’t any prospect of extending patrols to Owen Lars’s farm. It was more than a hundred kilometers from the oasis, with a chunk of the eastern highlands in the way; the Settlers’ Call would have to install satellite armories farther east before they could even consider it. And they wouldn’t—because the Fund was, at its roots, a local collective.
But Kenobi didn’t need to know that.
“I would think nineteen hundred credits a year would cover it,” Orrin said. The figure was huge. More than anyone was paying currently, except for Ulbreck, if he ever bit. “And we’d need that up front to get weapons caches and patrols set up.” He looked Ben in the eye. “I don’t know if you can find that.”
Ben suppressed a laugh. “I don’t know that I can, either!”
Thought so. Orrin nodded and started to put away the datapad. Then Ben said something in a softer voice: “But I don’t know that I can’t.”
Orrin raised an eyebrow. He’d known Kenobi had money enough to buy supplies, but why would anyone of means live and dress as he did? “What kind of work are you—”
He was interrupted by a high whine from outside, syncopated with a thumm-thumm-thumm that grew louder every second and rattled cans from the shelves. Annileen looked up. “What the—”
Jabe peered out the window behind the counter. “You’re not gonna believe this, Mom!” The screech passed from east to west, heading toward the parking area. Annileen hurried to the side door, Orrin alongside her.
It took Orrin a second to realize what he was looking at. It was a landspeeder, but some fool had modified it to make it look like a snubfighter, with wings mounted on either side and a long, pointed nose grafted onto the front. The vehicle was painted a shocking red, with orange mock flames on the air intakes. And it was currently making violent revolutions in the sand, its fake wingtip cannons nearly clipping several of the vehicles parked nearby.
&nb
sp; The thumm-thumm-thumm resolved into a musical beat. Orrin saw now that the central turbine for the ridiculous-looking landspeeder was, in fact, a giant speaker, blasting sounds that nearly lifted pebbles from the ground.
Behind Orrin and Annileen, Kallie yelled to be heard. “The animals are going crazy! Did the Call siren break?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Annileen said, gawking.
The canopy of the strange vehicle slid forward to reveal the driver, a spindly thing with a leathery face and a head shaped like a teardrop. His cranium tapered off into a gray curl that pointed to the sky. He wore a black trench coat—in Tatooine heat!—and as he stood up in the driver’s compartment, Orrin spied not one, but three blaster-bearing shoulder holsters peeking out from underneath. Picking up a jeweled cane, the alien stepped out of the strange speeder.
Half the occupants of the store were at the windows now, watching the driver. Two knees divided each of his legs into thirds, and golden anklets shook back and forth as he kicked the sand with his hooves. Any jangling the rings did was purely theoretical, as the speaker continued to boom away.
“That’s a Gossam,” Ben said, at the window.
“That’s an idiot,” Annileen replied from the doorway. “What’s he brought with him?”
They soon saw. Crammed into the backseat of the vehicle were two enormous green masses—figures that now struggled with each other. If the driver was a mystery to many of the Claim’s patrons, all could recognize Gamorreans, the great porcine warriors who worked for any lowlife that would feed them. The two fought, each trying to squeeze through the small space to exit the vehicle. When one finally won out and clambered out on the right, the entire speeder-thing nearly flipped over. The Gossam driver berated the Gamorreans, cracking at them with his gem-tipped cane.
“What the blazes is he supposed to be?” Annileen said.
Orrin froze. Sudden realization washed over him. No. No, they wouldn’t send anyone here. Would they?
It took him just a second to answer his own question. Orrin stepped backward into the store, nearly stumbling over his own feet. The good day had taken a turn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“WE’RE HERE TO SEE ORRIN GAULT,” the shrivel-faced Gossam said, standing in the doorway to the Claim.
“I can’t hear you,” Annileen said. “You’ve deafened us all.” She had let the creature enter only after he agreed to turn off the alleged music; that communication had required two minutes of makeshift sign language.
The Gossam clip-clopped on the synstone floor. His sickly yellow eyes traced the shelves around him, as if taking inventory. He reached for a flask inside his jacket, revealing his blasters for Annileen to see clearly. A swig later, his gray lips smacked loudly. “Orry-Orry-Orry,” he said, as if trying out a new tongue. “Orrin. Orrin Gaa-woooolt. Orrin Gault. Is one of these sounds familiar to you, grubber?”
Orrin was missing, but over the shelves Annileen saw that the door to his office was open. He’d likely gone for his blaster. Behind the counter, Jabe had pulled the pistol from the cashbox. Annileen waved him off. If she didn’t want Jabe hunting Tuskens, she surely didn’t want him killed in a shootout with … what? Whatever these people were.
“I’m Bojo Boopa,” the Gossam said, surveying Annileen. “But you will call me Master Boopa.”
“Not if you don’t want me to laugh.” Annileen looked to her left. Ben was standing casually at a clothing rack, trying to pay the visitors no mind. But she saw his eyes dart between her and Jabe in a way she found reassuring.
The Gamorreans thundered forward, bumping against shelves. Items clattered to the floor.
“Hey!” Annileen stepped up—only to freeze as one of the titans growled. The other balled his fist and punched a display, knocking packages all across the aisle. At the bar, Jabe began to move.
“There’s no need for trouble,” Ben said, interposing his body between the Gamorreans and Annileen.
Boopa leered at him and returned the flask inside his coat in a move that displayed his blasters to the watchful customers. “What are you supposed to be? A hero?”
“Not at all,” Ben said, kneeling. “I’m the janitor.” He began picking up the fallen containers and placing them back on their shelves.
Orrin stepped out from his office in the back. “I’m Orrin Gault,” he said, his earlier smile gone. He approached Boopa, eyeing him coolly. “Can we get you something?”
“Hardly.” The Gossam sniffed disdainfully as his neck craned. Seeing the room Orrin had emerged from, he pointed. “Is that where you do business, Orry?”
“Some of the time.”
“Well, let’s go.” Twirling his cane, Boopa trotted down the aisle toward the office.
Orrin gave a look to Annileen—and half a glance to Ben—before turning to follow. “This’ll be just a minute,” he told them. The door closed.
Orrin, you’ve lied to me, Annileen thought. It wasn’t just a minute. It had been closer to fifteen, each one spent in alternating anxiety and annoyance.
Anxiety over what was happening inside the office. The newcomers weren’t moisture farmers, to be sure. Orrin had dealt with shady folks before; one almost had to in running a ranch the size of his. Some supplier somewhere was always under the massive thumb of a Hutt. And she’d known Orrin to deal with merchants now and again whose property might not have been legally obtained. But that was about cutting corners. This seemed like something else again.
“Do you think the Devaronians sent them for revenge after their partner died?” she had whispered to Ben.
“I’ve never known hoteliers to be a vengeful lot,” he’d responded.
She’d shooed Kallie and Leelee outside. Several of the customers had left at the sight—and occasional gaseous sound and smell—of the Gamorreans, but some of her regulars of sterner stuff remained, keeping a watchful eye from their tables. Jabe had refused to leave, taking station at the gun counter. If Ulbreck could hold out against a Tusken mob from there, Annileen thought, Jabe should be reasonably safe. She noticed that the old farmer himself had departed, perhaps deciding his adventure the day before was story enough for one week.
And there was Ben, sorting idly through blankets and evaluating spanners. His eyes casually shifted to the Gamorreans and the closed office door. He was curious, to be sure—but not nearly as anxious as Annileen, and his presence had made her feel calmer.
Calm enough that she could feel annoyed. If the Gamorreans had ever been to a store before, Annileen couldn’t tell. They grabbed whatever they wanted from the shelves, as if it were their own private pantry. They were making a mess, but as long as they were stuffing their faces, they weren’t breaking things—or people.
“That’s not good,” Ben whispered as he passed her.
“The store’s survived Tuskens. It can handle this.”
“No, I mean the shorter one just ate a handful of metal bolts. He’ll regret that.”
Annileen had swept her fifth aisle in the Gamorreans’ wake when the office door opened. She strained to hear Boopa’s words.
“—not gonna work, Gault. You may be a big man here,” the Gossam said, emerging. “But this little kingdom of yours is a dust mote in the boss’s eye.”
Orrin stepped out and put his hands on his hips. “Well, you can tell your boss—or anyone who wants to know. This oasis is for good people. We don’t want you around!” He cast a sideways glance to the dining area, where he saw the wide-eyed customers listening intently. He pointed to the exit. “Now go, and take your muscle with you!”
Boopa beckoned to his fat companions. “Let’s go, boys. This place stinks.” He looked around, his snout crumpling. “You’ve had Tuskens here!”
The trio filed out of the building. Orrin followed and stood in the doorway, yelling out after them. “And keep that blasted music off as you go!”
Annileen stepped to the window, watching in amazement. Boopa was back in his ludicrous vehicle, pulling away—quietly. She looked ba
ck to Orrin. “What was that all about?”
Orrin turned back to face the occupants of the store. “It’s nothing,” he said, straightening. “Some gangsters hoping to shake down honest folk for protection money. An old story.” He pointed a thumb out the window. “But it turns out that the Settlers’ Call has multiple uses. Once they heard how fast we’d gotten an army here to fight the Tuskens, they lost interest.”
The statement was delivered as modestly as any she could recall coming from Orrin’s mouth—and it sent a wave of excitement through his audience. Several customers approached, eager to talk to him about joining the Call Fund. Annileen looked at Ben. The man seemed as confused by the experience as she was.
Annileen turned to sweep up the remains of the Gamorreans’ dining, but Orrin stepped free from the crowd and tugged at her sleeve. “Oh, Annie. We need to talk—about your landspeeder.”
Annileen did a double take. It wasn’t the subject she’d expected was on his mind now, not with new business at hand.
“There’s a delay,” Orrin said, sounding earnest. “Gloamer said so. But you don’t have to worry,” he said. Releasing her sleeve, he took her hand. “I’m going to get something sorted out. In the meantime, you can use the USV-5.”
“Your landspeeder?” The offer startled Annileen. Orrin’s luxury vehicle was the pride of his existence. She suspected the only reason he let his son behind the controls was to make it look as if Orrin rated a driver.
“I don’t mind,” Orrin said, bringing his other hand atop hers. He clasped them tightly and looked directly at her. “After all, you’re almost family.”
Annileen’s eyes widened. At the mention of her landspeeder repair, she had expected Orrin’s usual excuse-with-a-smile routine. But this was different. He looked serious. A meaningful expression for others, but Orrin looked that way so infrequently she had no index to measure his sincerity against.
“Family,” he said again, loudly enough so those around could hear.
Annileen was aware of eyes watching from around the room. Part of her wanted to ask where this was coming from. Instead, she could only stammer. “T-thanks.”
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