One of the pair felt that that unstable condition had temporarily shifted in his favor, and he was about to take full advantage of it as he raised his rifle toward the landspeeder. But his companion grabbed the weapon and shoved down on it before it could be fired. This set off a violent argument between the two. And, as they traded vociferous opinions in a language consisting mostly of consonants, the landspeeder sped on its way.

Either because the speeder had pa.s.sed out of range or because the second Tusken had convinced the other, the two broke off the discussion and scrambled down the back side of the high ridge. Snuffling and a shifting of weight took place at the ridge bottom as the two Banthas stirred at the approach of their masters. Each was as large as a small dinosaur, with bright eyes and long, thick fur. They hissed anxiously as the two sandpeople approached, then mounted them from knee to saddle.

With a kick the Banthas rose. Moving slowly but with enormous strides, the two ma.s.sive horned creatures swept down the back of the rugged bluff, urged on by their anxious, equally outrageous mahouts.

"It's him, all right," Luke declared with mixed anger and satisfaction as the tiny tripodal form came into view. The speeder banked and swung down onto the floor of a huge sandstone canyon. Luke slipped his rifle out from behind the seat and swung it over his shoulder. "Come round in front of him, Threepio," he instructed.

"With pleasure, sir."

The Artoo unit obviously noted their approach, but made no move to escape; it could hardly have outrun the landspeeder anyway. Artoo simply halted as soon as it detected them and waited until the craft swung around in a smooth arc. Threepio came to a sharp halt, sending up a low cloud of sand on the smaller robot's right. Then the whine from the landspeeder's engine dropped to a low idling hum as Threepio put it in parking mode. A last sigh and the craft stopped completely.

After finishing a cautious survey of the canyon, Luke led his companion out onto the gravelly surface and up to Artoo Detoo. "Just where," he inquired sharply, "did you think you were going?"

A feeble whistle issued from the apologetic robot, but it was Threepio and not the recalcitrant rover who was abruptly doing most of the talking.

"Master Luke here is now your rightful owner, Artoo. How could you just amble away from him like this? Now that he's found you, let's have no more of this 'Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi' gibberish. I don't know where you picked that up-or that melodramatic hologram, either."

Artoo started to beep in protest, but Threepio's indignation was too great to permit excuses. "And don't talk to me about your mission. What rot! You're fortunate Master Luke doesn't blast you into a million pieces right here and now."

"Not much chance of that," admitted Luke, a bit overwhelmed by Threepio's casual vindictiveness. "Come on-it's getting late." He eyed the rapidly rising suns. "I just hope we can get back before Uncle Owen really lets go."

"If you don't mind my saying so," Threepio suggested, apparently unwilling that the Artoo unit should get off so easily, "I think you ought to deactivate the little fugitive until you've gotten him safely back in the garage."

"No. He's not going to try anything." Luke studied the softly beeping droid sternly. "I hope he's learned his lesson. There's no need to-"

Without warning the Artoo unit suddenly leaped off the ground-no mean feat considering the weakness of the spring mechanisms in his three thick legs. His cylindrical body was twisting and spinning as he let out a frantic symphony of whistles, hoots, and electronic exclamations.

Luke was tired, not alarmed. "What is it? What's wrong with him now?" He was beginning to see how Threepio's patience could be worn thin. He had had about enough of this addled instrument himself.

Undoubtedly the Artoo unit had acquired the holo of the girl by accident, then used it to entice Luke into removing his restraining module. Threepio probably had the right att.i.tude. Still, once Luke got its circuits realigned and its logic couplings cleaned, it would make a perfectly serviceable farm unit. Only... if that was the case, then why was Threepio looking around so anxiously?

"Oh my, sir. Artoo claims there are several creatures of unknown type approaching from the southeast."

That could be another attempt by Artoo to distract them, but Luke couldn't take the chance. Instantly he had his rifle off his shoulder and had activated the energy cell. He examined the horizon in the indicated direction and saw nothing. But then, sandpeople were experts at making themselves unseeable.

Luke suddenly realized exactly how far out they were, how much ground the landspeeder had covered that morning. "I've never been out in this direction this far from the farm before," he informed Threepio. "There are some awfully strange things living out here. Not all of them have been cla.s.sified. It's better to treat anything as dangerous until determined otherwise. Of course, if it's something utterly new..." His curiosity prodded him. In any case, this was probably just another ruse of Artoo Detoo's. "Let's take a look," he decided.

Moving cautiously forward and keeping his rifle ready, he led Threepio toward the crest of a nearby high dune. At the same time he took care not to let Artoo out of his sight.

Once at the top he lay flat and traded his rifle for the macro-binoculars. Below, another canyon spread out before them, rising to a wind-weathered wall of rust and ocher. Advancing the binocs slowly across the canyon floor, he settled unexpectedly on two tethered shapes. Banthas-and riderless!

"Did you say something, sir?" wheezed Threepio, struggling up behind Luke. His locomotors were not designed for such outer climbing and scrambling.

"Banthas, all right," Luke whispered over his shoulder, not considering in the excitement of the moment that Threepio might not know a Bantha from a panda.

He looked back into the eyepieces, refocusing slightly. "Wait... it's sandpeople, sure. I see one of them."

Something dark suddenly blocked his sight. For a moment he thought that a rock might have moved in front of him. Irritably he dropped the binoculars and reached out to move the blinding object aside. His hand touched something like soft metal.

It was a bandaged leg about as big around as both of Luke's together. Shocked, he looked up... and up. The towering figure glaring down at him was no jawa. It had seemingly erupted straight from the sand.

Threepio took a startled step backward and found no footing. As gyros whined in protest the tall robot tumbled backward down the side of the dune. Frozen in place, Luke heard steadily fading bangs and rattles as Threepio bounced down the steep slope behind him.

As the moment of confrontation pa.s.sed, the Tusken let out a terrifying grunt of fury and pleasure and brought down his heavy gaderffii. The double-edged ax would have cleaved Luke's skull neatly in two, except that he threw the rifle up in a gesture more instinctive than calculated. His weapon deflected the blow, but would never do so again. Made from cannibalized freighter plating the huge ax shattered the barrel and made metallic confetti of the gun's delicate insides.

Luke scrambled backward and found himself against a steep drop. The Raider stalked him slowly, weapon held high over its rag-enclosed head. It uttered a gruesome, chuckling laugh, the sound made all the more inhuman by the distortion effect of its gridlike sandfilter.

Luke tried to view his situation objectively, as he had been instructed to do in survival school. Trouble was, his mouth was dry, his hands were shaking, and he was paralyzed with fear. With the Raider in front of him and a probably fatal drop behind, something else in his mind took over and opted for the least painful response. He fainted.

None of the Raiders noticed Artoo Detoo as the tiny robot forced himself into a small alcove in the rocks near the landspeeder. One of them was carrying the inert form of Luke. He dumped the unconscious youth in a heap next to the speeder, then joined his fellows as they began swarming over the open craft.

Supplies and spare parts were thrown in all directions. From time to time the plundering would be interrupted as several of them quibbled or fought over a particularly choice bit of booty.

Unexpectedly, distribution of the landspeeder's contents ceased, and with frightening speed the Raiders became part of the desertscape, looking in all directions.

A lost breeze idled absently down the canyon. Far off to the west, something howled. A rolling, booming drone ricocheted off canyon walls and crawled nervously up and down a gorgon scale.

The sandpeople remained poised a moment longer. Then they were uttering loud grunts and moans of fright as they rushed to get away from the highly visible landspeeder.

The shivering howl sounded again, nearer this time. By now the sandpeople were halfway to their waiting Banthas, that were likewise lowing tensely and tugging at their tethers.

Although the sound held no meaning for Artoo Detoo, the little droid tried to squeeze himself even deeper into the almost-cave. The booming howl came closer. Judging by the way the sandpeople had reacted, something monstrous beyond imagining had to be behind that rolling cry. Something monstrous and murder-bent which might not have the sense to distinguish between edible organics and inedible machines.

Not even the dust of their pa.s.sing remained to mark where the Tusken Raiders had only minutes before been dismembering the interior of the landspeeder. Artoo Detoo shut down all but vital functions, trying to minimize noise and light as a swishing sound grew gradually audible. Moving toward the landspeeder, the creature appeared above the top of a nearby dune...

= V =.

IT was tall, but hardly monstrous. Artoo frowned inwardly as he checked ocular circuitry and reactivated his innards.

The monster looked very much like an old man. He was clad in a shabby cloak and loose robes hung with a few small straps, packs, and unrecognizable instruments. Artoo searched the human's wake but detected no evidence of a pursuing nightmare. Nor did the man appear threatened. Actually, Artoo thought, he looked kind of pleased.

It was impossible to tell where the odd arrival's overlapping attire ended and his skin began. That aged visage blended into the sand-stroked cloth, and his beard appeared but an extension of the loose threads covering his upper chest.

Hints of extreme climates other than desert, of ultimate cold and humidity, were etched into that seamed face. A questing beak of nose, like a high rock, protruded outward from a flashflood of wrinkles and scars. The eyes bordering it were a liquid crystal-azure. The man smiled through sand and dust and beard, squinting at the sight of the crumpled form lying quietly alongside the landspeeder.

Convinced that the sandpeople had been the victims of an auditory delusion of some kind-conveniently ignoring the fact that he had experienced it also-and likewise a.s.sured that this stranger meant Luke no harm, Artoo shifted his position slightly, trying to obtain a better view. The sound produced by a tiny pebble he dislodged was barely perceptible to his electronic sensors, but the man whirled as if shot. He stared straight at Artoo's alcove, still smiling gently.

"h.e.l.lo there," he called in a deep, surprisingly cheerful voice. "Come here, my little friend. No need to be afraid."

Something forthright and rea.s.suring was in that voice. In any case, the a.s.sociation of an unknown human was preferable to remaining isolated in this wasteland. Waddling out into the sunlight, Artoo made his way over to where Luke lay sprawled. The robot's barrellike body inclined forward as he examined the limp form. Whistles and beeps of concern came from within.

Walking over, the old man bent beside Luke and reached out to touch his forehead, then his temple. Shortly, the unconscious youth was stirring and mumbling like a dreaming sleeper.

"Don't worry," the human told Artoo, "he'll be all right."

As if to confirm this opinion, Luke blinked, stared upward uncomprehendingly, and muttered, "What happened?"

"Rest easy, son," the man instructed him as he sat back on his heels. "You've had a busy day." Again the boyish grin. "You're mighty lucky your head's still attached to the rest of you."

Luke looked around, his gaze coming to rest on the elderly face hovering above him. Recognition did wonders for his condition.

"Ben... it's got to be!" A sudden remembrance made him look around fearfully. But there was no sign of sandpeople. Slowly he raised his body to a sitting position. "Ben Ken.o.bi... am I glad to see you!"

Rising, the old man surveyed the canyon floor and rolling rimwall above. One foot played with the sand. "The Jundland wastes are not to be traveled lightly. It's the misguided traveler who tempts the Tuskens' hospitality." His gaze went back to his patient. "Tell me, young man, what brings you out this far into nowhere?"

Luke indicated Artoo Detoo. "This little droid. For a while I thought he"d gone crazy, claiming he was searching for a former master. Now I don't think so. I've never seen such devotion in a droid-misguided or otherwise. There seems to be no stopping him; he even resorted to tricking me."

Luke's gaze shifted upward. "He claims to be the property of someone called Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi." Luke watched closely, but the man showed no reaction. "Is that a relative of yours? My uncle thinks he was a real person. Or is it just some unimportant bit of scrambled information that got shifted into his primary performance bank?"

An introspective frown did remarkable things to that sandblasted face. Ken.o.bi appeared to ponder the question, scratching absently at his scruffy beard. "Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi!" he recited. "Obi-Wan... now, that's a name I haven't heard in a long time. A long time. Most curious."

"My uncle said he was dead." Luke supplied helpfully.

"Oh, he's not dead," Ken.o.bi corrected him easily. "Not yet, not yet."

Luke climbed excitedly to his feet, all thoughts of Tusken Raiders forgotten now. "You know him, then?"

A smile of perverse youthfulness split that collage of wrinkled skin and beard. "Of course I know him: he's me. Just as you probably suspected, Luke. I haven't gone by the name Obi-Wan, though, since before you were born."

"Then," Luke essayed, gesturing at Artoo Detoo, "this droid does belong to you, as he claims."

"Now, that's the peculiar part," an openly puzzled Ken.o.bi confessed, regarding the silent robot. "I can't seem to remember owning a droid, least of all a modern Artoo unit. Most interesting, most interesting."

Something drew the old man's gaze suddenly to the brow of nearby cliffs. "I think it's best we make use of your landspeeder some. The sandpeople are easily startled, but they'll soon return in greater numbers. A landspeeder's not a prize readily conceded, and after all, jawas they're not."

Placing both hands over his mouth in a peculiar fashion, Ken.o.bi inhaled deeply and let out an unearthly howl that made Luke jump. "That ought to keep any laggards running for a while yet," the old man concluded with satisfaction.

"That's a krayt dragon call!" Luke gaped in astonishment. "How did you do that?"

"I'll show you sometime, son. It's not too hard. Just takes the right att.i.tude, a set of well-used vocal cords, and a lot of wind. Now, if you were an imperial bureaucrat, I could teach you right off, but you're not." He scanned the cliff-spine again. "And I don't think this is the time or place for it."

"I won't argue that." Luke was rubbing at the back of his head. "Let's get started."

That was when Artoo let out a pathetic beep and whirled. Luke couldn't interpret the electronic squeal, but he suddenly comprehended the reason behind it. "Threepio." Luke exclaimed, worriedly. Artoo was already moving as fast as possible away from the landspeeder. "Come on, Ben."

The little robot led them to the edge of a large sandpit. It stopped there, pointing downward and squeaking mournfully. Luke saw where Artoo was pointing, then started cautiously down the smooth, shifting slope while Ken.o.bi followed effortlessly.

Threepio lay in the sand at the base of the slope down which he had rolled and tumbled. His casing was dented and badly mangled, One arm lay broken and bent a short distance away.

"Threepio!" Luke called. There was no response. Shaking the droid failed to activate anything. Opening a plate on the robot's back, Luke flipped a hidden switch on and off several times in succession. A low hum started, stopped, started again, and then dropped to a normal purr.

Using his remaining arm, Threepio rolled over and sat up. "Where am I?" he murmured, as his photoreceptors continued to clear. Then he recognized Luke. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I must have taken a bad step."

"You're lucky any of your main circuits are still operational," Luke informed him. He looked significantly toward the top of the hill. "Can you stand? We've got to get out of here before the sandpeople return."

Servomotors whined in protest until Threepio ceased struggling. "I don't think I can make it. You go on, Master Luke. It doesn't make sense to risk yourself on my account. I'm finished."

"No, you're not," Luke shot back, unaccountably affected by this recently encountered machine. But then, Threepio was not the usual uncommunicative, agrifunctional device Luke was accustomed to dealing with. "What kind of talk is that?"

"Logical," Threepio informed him.

Luke shook his head angrily. "Defeatist."

With Luke and Ben Ken.o.bi's aid, the battered droid somehow managed to struggle erect. Little Artoo watched from the pit's rim.

Hesitating part way up the slope, Ken.o.bi sniffed the air suspiciously. "Quickly, son. They're on the move again."

Trying to watch the surrounding rocks and his footsteps simultaneously, Luke fought to drag Threepio clear of the pit.

The decor of Ben Ken.o.bi's well-concealed cave was Spartan without appearing uncomfortable. It would not have suited most people, reflecting as it did its owner's peculiarly eclectic tastes. The living area radiated an aura of lean comfort with more importance attached to mental comforts than those of the awkward human body.

They had succeeded in vacating the canyon before the Tusken Raiders could return in force. Under Ken.o.bi's direction, Luke left a trail behind them so confusing that not even a hypernasal jawa could have followed it.

Luke spent several hours ignoring the temptations of Ken.o.bi's cave. Instead he remained in the corner which was equipped as a compact yet complete repair shop, working to fix Threepio's severed arm.

Fortunately, the automatic overload disconnects had given way under the severe strain, sealing electronic nerves and ganglia without real damage. Repair was merely a matter of reattaching the limb to the shoulder, then activating the self-reseals. Had the arm been broken in mid-"bone" instead of at a joint, such repairs would have been impossible save at a factory shop.

While Luke was thus occupied, Ken.o.bi's attention was concentrated on Artoo Detoo. The squat droid sat pa.s.sively on the cool cavern floor while the old man fiddled with its metal insides. Finally the man sat back with a "Humph!" of satisfaction and closed the open panels in the robot's rounded head. "Now let's see if we can figure out what you are, my little friend, and where you came from."

Luke was almost finished anyway, and Ken.o.bi's words were sufficient to pull him away from the repair area. "I saw part of the message," he began, "and I..."

Once more the striking portrait was being projected into empty s.p.a.ce from the front of the little robot. Luke broke off, enraptured by its enigmatic beauty once again.

"Yes, I think that's got it," Ken.o.bi murmured contemplatively.

The image continued to flicker, indicating a tape hastily prepared. But it was much sharper, better defined now, Luke noted with admiration. One thing was apparent: Ken.o.bi was skilled in subjects more specific than desert scavenging.

"General Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi," the mellifluous voice was saying, "I present myself in the name of the world family of Alderaan and of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. I break your solitude at the bidding of my father, Bail Organa, Viceroy and First Chairman of the Alderaan system."

Ken.o.bi absorbed this extraordinary declamation while Luke's eyes bugged big enough to fall from his face.

"Years ago, General," the voice continued, "you served the Old Republic in the Clone Wars. Now my father begs you to aid us again in our most desperate hour. He would have you join him on Alderaan. You must go to him.

"I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person. My mission to meet personally with you has failed. Hence I have been forced to resort to this secondary method of communication.

"Information vital to the survival of the Alliance has been secured in the mind of this Detoo droid. My father will know how to retrieve it. I plead with you to see this unit safely delivered to Alderaan."

She paused, and when she continued, her words were hurried and less laced with formality. "You must help me, Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi. You are my last hope. I will be captured by agents of the Empire. They will learn nothing from me. Everything to be learned lies locked in the memory cells of this droid. Do not fail us, Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi. Do not fail me."

A small cloud of tridimensional static replaced the delicate portrait, then it vanished entirely. Artoo Detoo gazed up expectantly at Ken.o.bi.

Luke's mind was as muddy as a pond laced with petroleum. Unanch.o.r.ed, his thoughts and eyes turned for stability to the quiet figure seated nearby.

The old man. The crazy wizard. The desert b.u.m and all-around character whom his uncle and everyone else had known of for as long as Luke could recall.