Trilogy by George Lucas

sandblasted face. Kenobi appeared to ponder the question, scratching absently at his scruffy beard. “Obi-wanKenobi!” he recited. “Obi-wan … now, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. A long time. Most curious.”
    â€œMy uncle said he was dead,” Luke supplied helpfully.
    â€œOh, he’s not dead,” Kenobi 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.”
    â€œThen,” Luke essayed, gesturing at Artoo Detoo, “this ’droid does belong to you, as he claims.”
    â€œNow, that’s the peculiar part,” an openly puzzled Kenobi 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, Kenobi 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.
    â€œThat’s a krayt dragon call!” Luke gaped in astonishment. “How did you do that?”
    â€œI’ll show you sometime, son. It’s not too hard. Justtakes 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.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œ
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.”
    â€œYou’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