"I'll show you sometime, son. It's not too hard. Just takes the right attitude, 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 Kenobi 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 Kenobi's aid, the battered 'droid somehow managed to

struggle erect. Little Artoo watched from the pit's rim.

Hesitating part way up the slope, Kenobi 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 décor of Ben Kenobi's well-concealed cave was Spartan without appearing

uncomfortable. It would not have suited most people, reflecting as it did it's 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 Kenobi'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 Kenobi'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-seals.

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, Kenobi's attention was concentrated on Artoo

Detoo. The squat 'droid sat passively 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 Kenobi'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 space from the

front of the little robot. Luke broke off, enraptured by its enigmatic beauty once

again.

"Yes, I think that's got it," Kenobi 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: Kenobi was skilled in subjects more specific than desert scavenging.

"General Obi-wan Kenobi," 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."

Kenobi 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."
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