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Reegesk’s nose wrinkled briefly as he tried to identify the scent that hung about Het Nkik. Sensing what he could only interpret as impatience or anticipation, Reegesk decided against any further delay and swung smoothly into the trading process. He began with glowing descriptions of the bargains he had made that morning. Strangely, Het Nkik was not very enthusiastic as he spoke of his own trading and showed Reegesk a charged Blastech DL-44 blaster in excellent condition. Reegesk did not need to feign either admiration or jealousy over the trade; since it was still illegal to arm a Ranat in the Outer Rim Territories, it was difficult for Reegesk to bargain for anything that might be used as a weapon. And the DL-44 was a particularly fine weapon.

Seeming to take little notice of Reegesk’s approval of his bartering, Het Nkik allowed the trading to move to an alternating exchange of increasingly valuable information. The two traders were so engrossed in their interchange that Reegesk did not notice the Rodian bounty hunter until he had bumped backward into their table. An obnoxious new arrival named Greedo. Reegesk made a grab for his brew and caught it as it teetered precariously at the edge of the table. He felt his nostrils contract in annoyance, as they would at an unpleasant odor.

Greedo turned, apparently ready to excuse himself for his mistake, but he stopped when he noticed the table’s occupants. The greenish tinge of his skin deepened and the lips on his snout formed a sneer as he looked at Reegesk. “Womp!” he spat out, giving the table another sharp shove as he delivered the epithet, and then moved off in the general direction of the bar.

Reegesk bristled, hurling venomous thoughts after the sour-smelling green-skinned bounty hunter. The outrage of it! The insult. After all, Ranats were no relation whatsoever to the nonsentient Tatooine womp rats! Greedo was one person he would not mind seeing cheated in a trade.

When he was calm again, the trading moved to the next stage and Reegesk began discreetly displaying the items he was willing to trade. Het Nkik showed a mild interest in the stormtrooper helmet, but when Reegesk brought out the bantha horn carved in the shape of a Tusken battle talisman, Het Nkik’s excitement was unmistakable. Reegesk, quickly searching his memory for anything he knew about such objects, managed to remember something of interest. The Sand People, he explained, believed a battle talisman brought them the physical strength of a bantha in battle and gave them the courage to face death, if need be. Het Nkik asked to hold the talisman, turning it over and over in his hands, uttering exclamations in a dialect Reegesk did not recognize.

Reegesk hid a triumphant smile. This would be almost too easy. It was unusual for a Jawa to show so much enthusiasm for an item being traded, since it might skew the bartering to indicate that the item had value to him. Reegesk closed in to begin the negotiation. “The talisman is indeed of great value. The exchange must measure up to its worth.”

Het Nkik’s reverent expression turned to one of chagrin. “I have little with me today that is suitable for this exchange.”

Reegesk’s heart began to beat rapidly as he smelled his chances improving. The Jawa definitely wanted to make a trade. Reegesk slyly lowered his eyes to indicate the blaster that Het Nkik held in his lap, hidden by the table. “The time for opportunity is always now.”

The Jawa’s hands clutched convulsively at the weapon, and for a moment he seemed at a loss. “I cannot meet such a high price,” he answered carefully, “… today.” His eyes did not meet Reegesk’s. He negotiated for a while longer before finally agreeing to an amount far higher than Reegesk had expected to get.

“You know that I am a skilled trader,” Het Nkik said. “Here are a few credits to show my good faith. If you will give me until morning, I will meet your price.”

Success! But could the Jawa be trusted? Reegesk ordered himself to use caution. “Then I will bring