Twin suns baked the arid land and sucked life from its surface. Life shriveled and died here in hours, but for those who knew the ways of survival, few though they were. Luke Skywalker, age twenty, crouched by a moisture vaporator and worked at it with a wrench. Loose clothes let air circulate over his body while hat and goggles shielded from ultraviolet. A water pouch hung from his shoulder by a strap; a quarter on the way, half while there.
Scorch marks and fissures scarred the vaporator surface. A panel was torn aside where the vandal had reached in and ripped at wires. Most sand people hated normal people and lately found new means to express their distaste.
The farmer guzzled water. He evened the dents on the panel with a hammer and then screwed it back in place. Something had to be done about all these cracks through which moisture could escape. He took a tube of sealant, five credits out his pocket at Anchorhead, and practiced patience.
Anchorhead was a ghost town at first glance, because the sane stayed indoors when they could. Tosche Station rested at the outskirts.
Luke parked his speeder outside the front door and hopped off. Machines stuck in windows turned carbon dioxide to oxygen, filtered out dust, and blew cool air back on Fixer, Camie, and Windy. Camie was sweaty and half naked on Fixer's lap as the man greased an engine part. Windy sat by a fan and surfed holo-porn.
"Better switch that to something else," Fixer said. "Or we'll have to call Wormy over here Stiffy from now on." Windy howled with laughter.
"His eyes are on me, dumbass." Camie blew Luke a kiss.
"Whatever," Luke sat backwards in a chair. "Who's in the mood to snipe sand people tonight? They hit another vaporator."
"Too spooked to go out alone?" Fixer set the part down and swiveled around in his seat to face Luke. "Pay me and I'll start cleaning my rifle."
Luke glared at him. "My farm's the reason why folks can live in Anchorhead and Mos Eisley. You'd be dried corpses if I'd left for the Imperial Academy like I wanted."
Fixer glared right back. "Saying we owe you, Wormy? How about a kick in the rear? We pay what's charged and it's kept your livelihood running."
"My prices are low for you guys, because you're friends. But you owe me your lives."
Camie stood up. "I've got it. Fixer's the Beggar Canyon hotshot. He's the one skyhopper pilot who can cut close to Stone Needle and tell the tale. Y'all suck compared to my baby."
"What about it?" Luke said. Fixer eyed his girlfriend skeptically.
"Race to the finish line. Fixer wins, we get our water free for the rest of the season. Wormy wins, and we pitch in for the rest of the season to guard those vaporators."
"Can I be your co-pilot?" Windy forgot his porn and went to stand by Luke.
Fixer opened and shut his mouth a few times. He would appear yellow in front of the woman if he declined, but his last race had been four years ago. "Fine."
The farmer crossed his arms and weighed the odds. His skyhopper needed repairs which cost credits and he was out of practice at the controls. But the risk-taker inside said this was too sweet a gamble to turn down.