Jek reclined meditatively in his swivel chair. It had been a profitable day, and now night was approaching. He should get some rest before the forthcoming swap meet. He would need to be in top condition to get the best bargains.

When Wimateeka, the Nkik clan leader, learned of his great accomplishments, he would commend Jek for his excellent work. Perhaps he would even be in line for a promotion in the distant future. Maybe he would eventually rise to the position of clan leader, long after Wimateeka had passed away. His clan brother, Het Nkik would stand at his side and transfer his commands down through the hierarchy

Perhaps he could even make something concrete out of Het's radical ideas. When his efforts as a clan leader brought power and prestige to the Jawas, they would rise from their position as cowardly scavengers and become a great power on Tatooine. The Nkik military forces would drive the heavens' latest contemptible spawn, the white-armored "sandtroupers," off of Tatooine, and make it safe for free traders from Mos Eisley to the Dune Sea.

Jek's daydreams metamorphosed into much clearer visions, and dimly he realized he was falling asleep. The endless vista of his mind stretched out into the equally vast desertscape of Tatooine. He saw himself, sitting in a command chair more luxurious than the one he currently occupied, gazing out a polished viewport at his clan brother, Het Nkik. Het stood the size of a ripe Wookie, shaking hands with a proud human, as a crowd equipped with holocams and recorders edged toward the central pair enthusiastically. Nearby, ranks of sandtroopers, their unmasked faces cast toward the ground, marched defeatedly into a waiting troop carrier. Jek watched victoriously, knowing that he had engineered the whole affair.

Jek looked behind him, and the desert wind blew back a storm of sand, almost as though tearing away a layer of time to reveal the past. On a platform extending out over the Dune Sea, stood the young moisture farmer, clad in black with an air of invincibility. Behind him stood all the antagonists of the Jawas, and Jek realized distantly that the confident human was the leader of his army. The enemies drew their weapons and came closer to Jek's friend.

Behind the battle that was about to ensue, the remainder of Jek's army, the two droids that they had sold to the farmers, stood ready. The young human made some kind of gesture, and leaped off the platform. Then, the blue R2 unit opened a compartment in his dome and shot a shiny handle, which resembled an oversized multitool, into the air.

Before Jek's mind caught up with his eyes, the young farmer was soaring through the air. His hand reached out and the handle flew, like a bantha to a Tusken, into his palm. He dropped to the ground and landed neatly on his feet among the enemies.

Jek sat forward, his eyes glowing brightly with amazement. No sooner did the young warrior's boots touch the deck, the shiny handle turned, by some unknown form of magic, into a glowing sword in his hands. With the speed and skill of a true fighter, he swung his sword and cut the enemy soldiers down.

Jek grinned in triumph, reclining in his chair. Just then, an auditory impulse arrived at his brain, and he was startled out of his peaceful slumber, as his dreams swirled and coalesced into reality. He found himself in the command room of his sandcrawler once again, in almost the same chair, but this one cobbled together from old boxes and crates. He fine-tuned his highly sensitive hearing to pick up and confirm the sound he believed he had just heard.

There it was again! The cry of a bantha sounded, just outside the sandcrawler. Jek noticed with escalating dread that the sandcrawler had stopped moving; it's massive gears no longer groaned beneath his feet.

He stepped out of the command room, securing his ion blaster. He knew, however, that it would be no use. Ion blasters were made to temporarily disable the functions of a droid. If Tusken Raiders had decided to attack the crawler, as the presence of banthas would suggest, then it would be useful only to further arouse the wrath of their foes.

Jek stole quietly through the corridors of the sandcrawler. Perhaps the Sand People just needed some scrap metal or ration packs or some water. The Jawas would only gladly give them what they wanted . . .

. . . In exchange for their lives? Was Jek fooling himself? Tuskens didn't attack huge vehicles on the offhand chance of gaining spare provisions. They did it for sport, for fun, for the morbid opportunity to slaughter creatures smaller and weaker than themselves.

Jek was just beginning to rethink his future policies, this time considering hosting an annual Tusken hunt, when he caught site of a plate of dusty white armor. Jek stepped back and shrieked some broken curses in his native tongue. The "sandtrouper" ignored him, and leveled his blaster at the Jawa leader.

"Where are those droids?" the soldier barked.

Jek trembled, but collected himself enough to offer a meek response. "We have several robots on board for sale. I would be honored to negotiate with you for one of them."

There was an untruth if he had ever told one.

The human was not giving in. "You acquired some droids wandering in the desert. You will hand them over now!"

Jek's calm wavered, but held. "We picked up two droids in the desert. One was an R2 unit; one was a 3PO translator model. . ."

"Where are they?"

The bold crawler captain's language broke down, giving the Jawa equivalent of stuttering. "We-we-we sold them to a farmer down that way," he screeched, motioning in the general direction of the plantation house.

If the Jawa could have seen the sandtrooper's expression, he would have been appalled by the sinister smirk that was currently hidden behind a mask. "You've been real helpful, midget. Give our regards to the rest of 'em."

With that, the trooper and his companions marched from the chamber, and Jek heard the clutter of their boots on the duracrete. He collapsed in his chair and took a moment to recover himself.

He didn't have much time before a horrible sound came from outside the crawler. Jek swiveled around in his chair and listened intently to the sound of laser weapons tearing into the ancient sandcrawler. Amidst the shrieks of his clan-brothers and the stench of ozone permeating the air, Jek closed his eyes and thought of the Jawa army and the farmer with the glowing sword. In his mind's eye, he stared at the blade, and then white-hot fire erupted all around. Beneath his hood, Jek Nkik smiled as the darkness came to claim him.