"Now, this is important, Beru." He turned his attention back to his nephew. "I’ve told you about Kenobi before. He’s a crazy old man. he’d dangerous and full of mischief, and he’s the best left well along." Beru’s pleading gaze caused him to quiet somewhat. "That ’droid has nothing to do with him. Couldn’t have," he grumbled half to himself. "Recording—huh! Well, tomorrow I want you to take the unit into Anchorhead and have its memory flushed." Snorting, Owen bent to his half-eaten meal with determination. "That will be the end of this foolishness. I don’t care where that machine thinks it came from. I paid hard credit for it, and it belongs to us now." "But suppose it does belong to someone else" Luke wondered. "What if this Obi-wan person comes looking for his ’droid?" An expression between sorrow and a sneer crossed his uncle’s seamed face at a remembrance. "He won’t. I don’t think that man exists anymore. He died about the same time as your father." A huge mouthful of hot food was shoveled inward. "Now forget about it." "Then it was a real person," Luke murmured, staring down at his plate. He added slowly, "Did he know my father?" "I said forge about it." Owen snapped. "Your only worry as far as those two ’droids are concerned is having them ready for work tomorrow. Remember, the last of our saving is tied up in those two. Wouldn’t even have bought them if it wasn’t so near harvest." He shook a spoon at his nephew. "In the morning I want you to have them working with the irrigation units up on the south ridge.