"You know," Luke replied distantly, "I think these ’droids are going to work out fine. In fact, I—" He hesitated, shooting his uncle a surreptitious glare. "I was thinking about our agreement about me staying on for another season." His uncle failed to react, so Luke rushed on before his nerve failed. "If these new ’droids do work out, I want to transmit my application to enter the Academy for next year." Owen scowled, trying to hide his displeasure with food. "You mean, you want to transmit application next year—after the harvest." "You have more than enough ’droids now, and they’re in good condition.
They’ll last." "’droids, yes," his uncle agreed, "but ’droids can’t replace a man, Luke. You know that. The harvest is when I need you the most. It’s just for one more season after this one." He looked away, bluster and anger gone now.
Luke toyed with his food, not eating, saying nothing.
"Listen," his uncle told him, "for the first time we’ve got a chance for a real fortune. We’ll make enough to hire some extra hands for next time. Not ’droids— people. Then you can go to the Academy." He fumbled over words, unaccustomed to pleading. "I need you here, Luke. You understand that, don’t you?" "It’s another year," his nephew objected sullenly. "Another year." "How many times had he heard that before? How many times had they repeated this identical charade with the same result? Convinced once more that Luke had come round to his way of thinking. Owen shrugged the objection off. "Time will pass before you know it" Abruptly Luke rose, shoving his barely touched plate of food aside. "That’s what you said last year when Biggs left." He spun and half ran from the room.
"Where are you going, Luke?" his aunt yelled worriedly after him.
Luke’s reply was bleak, bitter. "Looks like I’m going nowhere." Then he added, out of consideration for his aunt’s sensibilities, "I have to finish cleaning those ’droids if they’re going to be ready to work tomorrow." Silence hung in the air of the dining room after Luke departed. Husband and wife ate mechanically. Eventually Aunt Beru stopped shoving her food around her plate, looked up, and pointed out earnestly, "Owen, you can’t keep him here forever.
Most of his friends are gone, the people he grew up with. The Academy means so much to him." Listlessly her husband replied, "I’ll make it up to him next year. I promise.
We’ll have money—or maybe, the year after that." "Luke’s just not a farmer, Owen," she continued firmly. "He never will be, no matter how hard you try to make him one." She shook her head slowly. "He’s got too much of his father in him."
责任编辑：mman
