She paused, and when she continued, her words were hurried and less laced with

formality. "You must help me, Obi-wan Kenobi. 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

Kenobi. Do not fail me."

A small cloud of tridimensional static replaced the delicate portrait, and then it

vanished entirely. Artoo Detoo gazed up expectantly at Kenobi.

Luke's mind was as muddy as a pond laced with petroleum. Unanchored, his

thoughts and eyes turned for stability to the quiet figure seated nearby.

The old man. The crazy wizard. The desert bum and all-around characters

whom his uncle and everyone else had known of for as long as Luke could recall.

If the breathless, anxiety-ridden message the unknown woman had just spoken

into the cool air of the cave had affected Kenobi in any way he gave no hint of it.

Instead, he leaned back against the rock wall and tugged thoughtfully at his beard,

puffing slowly on a water pipe of free-form tarnished chrome.

Luke visualized that simple yet lovely portrait. "She's so-so-" His farming

background didn't provide him with the requisite words. Suddenly something in the

message caused him to stare disbelievingly at the oldster. "General Kenobi, you

fought in the Clone Wars? But...that was so long ago."

"Um, yes," Kenobi acknowledged, as casually as he might have discussed the

recipe for shang stew. "I guess it was a while back. I was a Jedi knight once.

Like," he added, watching the youth appraisingly, "your father."

"A Jedi knight," Luke echoed. Then he looked confused. "But my father

didn't fight in the Clone Wars. He was no knight-just a navigator on a space

freighter."

Kenobi's smile enfolded the pipe's mouthpiece. "Or so your uncle has told

you." His attention was suddenly focused elsewhere. "Owen Lars didn't agree

with your father's ideas, opinions, or with his philosophy of life. He believed that

your father should have stayed here on Tatooine and not gotten involved in..."

Again the seeminglyindifferent shrug. "Well, he thought he should have remained

here and minded his farming."

Luke said nothing, his body tense as the old man related bits and pieces of a

personal history Luke had viewed only through his uncle's distortions.

"Owen was always afraid that your father's adventurous life might influence you,

might pull you away from Anchorhead." He shook his head slowly, regretfully at

the remembrance. "I'm afraid there wasn't much of the farmer in your father."

Luke turned away. He returned to cleaning the last particles of sand from

Threepio's healing armature. "I wish I'd known him," he finally whispered.

"He was the best pilot I ever knew," Kenobi went on, "and a smart fighter. The

force...the instinct was strong in him." For a brief second Kenobi actually appeared

old. "He was also a good friend."

Suddenly the boyish twinkle returned to those piercing eyes along with the old

man's natural humor. "I understand you're quite a pilot yourself. Piloting and

navigation aren't hereditary, but a number of the things that can combine to make a

good small-ship pilot are. Those you may have inherited. Still, even a duck has to

be taught to swim."

"What's a duck?" Luke asked curiously.

"Never mind. In many ways, you know, you are much like your father."

Kenobi's unabashed look of evaluation made Luke nervous. "You've grown up

quite a bit since the last time I saw you."

Having no reply for that, Luke waited silently as Kenobi sank back into deep

contemplation. After a while the old man stirred, evidently having reached an

important decision.

"All this reminds me," he declared with deceptive casualness, "I have something

here for you." He rose and walked over to a bulky, old-fashioned chest and started

rummaging through it. All sorts of intriguing items were removed and shoved

around, only to be placed back in the bin. A few of them Luke recognized. As

Kenobi was obviously intent on something important, he forbore inquiring about any

of the other tantalizing flotsam.

"When you were old enough," Kenobi was saying, "your father want you to have

this...if I can ever find the blasted device. I tried to give it to you once before, but

your uncle wouldn't allow it. He believed you might get some crazy ideas from it

and end up following old Obi-wan on some idealistic crusade.

"You see, Luke, that's where your father and your Uncle Owen disagreed. Lars

is not a man to let idealism interfere with business, whereas your father didn't think

the question even worth discussing. His decision on such matters came like his

piloting-instinctively."

Luke nodded. He finished picking out the last of the grit and looked around for

one remaining component to snap back in Threepio's open chest plate. Locating the

restraining module, he opened the receiving latches in the machine and set about

locking it back in place. Threepio watched the process and appeared to wince ever

so perceptibly.

Luke stared into those metal and plastic photoreceptors for a long moment.

Then he set the module pointedly on the workbench and closed the 'droid up.

Threepio said nothing.

A grunt came from behind them, and Luke turned to see a pleased Kenobi

walking over. He handed Luke a small, innocuous-looking device, which the youth

studied with interest.

It consisted primarily of a short, thick handgrip with a couple of small switches

set into the grip. Above this small post was a circular metal disk barely larger in

diameter than his spread palm. A number of unfamiliar, jewel-like components were

built into both handle and disk, including what looked like the smallest power cell

Luke had ever seen. The reverse side of the disk was polished to a mirror brightness.

But it was the power cell that puzzled Luke the most. Whatever the thing was, it

required a great deal of energy, according to the rating form of the cell.
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