It was mid-afternoon the next day, but Tatooine's twin suns had not diminished their production of heat to a great degree. Even with the sandcrawler's temperature control systems, the heat was draining Jek Nkik's energy. He took two gulps from one of the reserve water packets that were kept in the crawler and instantly felt refreshed. Jawa physiology was specially tailored to make a little moisture go a long way, a useful adaptation for a species that developed on a planet of interminable desert.
His energy restored, Jek ejected from the crawler and signaled for his lieutenants to open the door to the cargo bays. The huge panel slid aside, and Jek's lieutenants stepped inside, unholstering their ion blasters. Jek stood at the hatchway as the other Jawas prodded the droids with their weapons. Some of them moved to submit to their captors' orders, others did not stir. Jek figured most of them were in need of repair in order to attain some semblance of functionality. The Nkik Jawas would get to them later. The first priority of a trader was to deal with what worked. Right now, some of the "junk " that was moving toward the exit didn't look too shabby.
Jek looked at his potential customers, who had emerged from their subterranean farm house. A grim-faced older man, powerfully built and caked in dust, stood next to a much younger man, dwarfed by elder's bulky frame. Jek recognized the type: the overworked and underpaid employees of the soil, who coaxed the life-giving water and even scarcer food plants from the unforgiving desert. They were the backbone of Tatooine, but that didn't mean Jek had any sympathy for them. They, too, looked down upon the Jawas, dubbing them a lesser people, and thus Jek enjoyed taking advantage of their inconvenience just as much as anyone else.
As his lieutenants lined up the robots that functioned well enough to locomote themselves to display position, Jek chattered a translatable Jawa greeting to the elder farmer. The man grunted a rather rude-sounding response and went to inspect the line of mechanicals.
Jek followed the burly man as he passed down the display of robots, telling him, in as few words as possible (Jawa language could vary in expressiveness as well as comprehensibility) the redeeming and useful features of each one. The man steadily refused each, until they passed an agromech unit that he seemed to have some interest in. Jek quickly ran through a list of its amazing qualities, some that it possessed, some that it may have possessed at one time, and some that he had just made up in his head. The moisture farmer grumbled an approval, however noncommittal, and continued down the line until he came to the gold-plated protocol droid they had picked up earlier. The droid, a member of the popular 3PO line, engaged him immediately. Jek managed to catch most of the conversation.
"You," the farmer said, calling for the robot's attention. "I suppose you're programmed for etiquette and protocol."
Jek chuckled inwardly. Not a very useful attribute for a moisture farmer's machine. Unless the droid could somehow manage to diplomatically convince the loose soil of Tatooine to spit out crops.
"Protocol? Why, it's my primary function, sir!" the robot said, seeming to brighten at the human's interest in him.
The human shook his head. "I have no need for a protocol droid."
Jek thought that might have been the end of it, but the droid was surprisingly--and hopefully profitably--ingenuous. "Of course you haven't, sir. Not in an environment such as this. That is why I have been programmed. . ."
"What I really need," the farmer interrupted, "is a droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators."
Jek rubbed his fingers together, already feeling the credits between his gloved digits. The droid almost certainly could understand the basic language of other droids, since it had told the Jawas when they picked it up that it specialized in "human-cyborg relationships" or somesuch.
"Vaporators?!" the robot said in the same excited, but polished tone. "My first job was programming binary load-lifters, very similar to your vaporators in most respects. . ."
"Can you speak Bocce?"
"Of course I can, sir. It's like a second language to me. I'm as fluent in it as. . ."
The human interrupted it again, which to Jek was a good thing, since most protocol droids would go on for hours if you let them. "All right, shut up." He addressed Jek. "I'll take that one."
Jek chattered softly about the excellent choices the human had made, but he knew it made no difference, since stubborn creatures such as Humans rarely, if ever, changed their minds. The farmer ignored him, but spoke sternly to his younger companion. He waited patiently for them to finish their exchange, then watched as the smaller human motioned the droids forward. He noted with misgiving that the agromech unit delayed in following, but after some ushering from the human, slowly rolled out of line and pursued him and the other droid back toward the homestead.
Jek was happy to begin the final part—his most favorite part--of making a sale: haggling over the price. Jawas were experts at it, and Jek was especially talented in this arena, another reason he had received the position of crawler captain.
Jek was so enjoying negotiating the price with the weary human that he didn't notice the blue-domed R2 unit bypass its restrainer and make its way out of line to follow the trio heading back toward the farmhouse. One of his sublieutenants did, though, and he quickly tripped its restraining bolt with his droid caller. The R2 unit froze in place, giving a brief whine of protest.
Then, disaster struck. The agromech unit following the young human and the protocol droid stopped short, and a mechanical part popped, unbidden, out of its head. It gave a strange mechanical groan and froze in position.
The human called back to the elder one. "Uncle Owen! This R2 unit has a bad motivator. Look!"
The older human turned back to Jek, an angry expression on his face. "Hey, what are you trying to push on us?!"
Jek was surprised, but he was accustomed to this kind of question and replied quickly and indignantly. "I would not cheat you, my valued customer! My only wish is that you receive your needed merchandise at the best possible price. I was unaware of this droid's faulty mechanism."
The statement was was true; Jek hadn't been aware of the fault. But that didn't mean if he had been, he would've informed the human before it was sold. If the part blew while it was in the farmer's possession and the Jawas long gone, it was the farmer's problem, not Jek's.
The human didn't believe him, and Jek could tell just by looking at him that he was about to lose the deal. Jek stood his ground, dread welling up in his stomach. Just as the farmer--Owen, was that his name?--was about to speak, the younger human interjected.
"Uncle Owen! What about that one?" He gestured toward the blue domed R2 unit that had moved out of line and was now standing, immobile, at the forefront of the display.
Fortunately, the farmer went for it. "What about that blue one? We'll take that one."
The pheromones of the other Jawas around screamed relief. Jek shared their sentiment, but tried not to make it too obvious. He hoped the sands would bless the young human.
He began the process of re-negotiating the deal, since, he told the man, the blue R2 droid was an astromech unit, and therefore worth far more.
He cast a sidelong glance as two of his sublieutenants carried away the agromech unit, and the blue R2 unit followed the boy and the interpreter droid.
Jek felt a strange sense of awe envelop him, as though he had just taken part in something that would have a great consequence for the universe. Perhaps, in some small way, his sale had changed the course of events out among the stars.
Jek shook the feeling off to embrace a new feeling: the collecting of credits. He watched in greedy anticipation as the farmer paid out the amount that they had agreed upon.
Jek reassured his clan brothers with pheromones that expressed satisfaction and success. The smell of joy wafted through the air and Jek bade farewell to the moisture farmer with the standard barterer's adage: "Both traders have received the better bargain this day."
The man turned back to his farm, grumbling something about the unfairness of the local economy. Jek faced his comrades and began dividing the credits among the Jawas, giving the largest shares to the acquisition team and the Jawas who had handled the droids personally. Jek kept a considerable sum for himself, of course.
After all was done, Jek motioned his clan brothers back into the sandcrawler and returned to his command room.