Blaster in hand, Jarren heads purposefully toward the crew door. “Close and lock the hatch after me. Only open it if it’s me."

“What’s happening sir? Are we under attack? It’s the end isn’t it?” bemoans the neurotic protocol droid as it scuttles behind Jarren to the blast door.

Arriving at the door, the athletic Omwati steels himself and punches in the key code to open the blast door. The door slides open with a dutiful hiss, once again revealing the harsh landscape beyond. He is a bit taken aback by the blast of heat that rushes in, having practically forgotten the brutality of the Tatooine environment. For a moment he wonders if this latest lapse, albeit a small one, is another indication of his failing memory or just his mind having trouble reconciling the extreme contrast between a normal, comfortable environment and the flamethrower-like stream of air rushing in. He figures it’s probably the latter since his memory seems fine – at least back to the point where it all becomes black, anyway. Regardless, it’s still a shock to be facing the blasting heat again.

After the moment passes, Jarren pokes his head out into the oven, looking toward the rear of the ship where the Jawas had been. No Jawas are visible, but some sort of vehicle has taken up station behind the ship. The bulk of the vehicle is blocked by the ship, but it is quite large, almost monolithic in nature. It’s tough for Jarren to make out much detail since his eyes are still adjusting to the brightness of the sky, especially now with the planet’s suns lower to the horizon causing him to have to squint a little.

In order to get a better view, the blue humanoid descends the ladder and walks out wide of the ship cautiously, keeping his blaster trained toward the rear. Moving closer as well as away from the ship lets Jarren see what’s taking place back there. There are about seven Jawas in a rough semi-circle facing the enormous brown, tracked vehicle. A-18 is between the front and rear tracks and below the belly of the vehicle in front of them. It appears as though there is a retractable magnetic boot being guided above the droid’s head. As the boot is then set into place on the droid, another round of cheers erupts from the hooded Jawas.

In Jawa trade language, Jarren shouts out “Release that droid!”

The Jawa’s heads turn toward Jarren in unison, revealing their curious glowing yellow eyes. One of the Jawas hits the one next to him and seeths, “You said there was no one here!” Then, seeing Jarren’s blaster, they immediate scatter with various cries of “Blaster!”, “He looks mad!”, or “Get inside!”. Jarren can’t understand the rest of what’s being said, but gets the gist of it nonetheless.

“Wait, wait, WAIT!” shouts Jarren in Trade language, “ I just want my droid back!”

“How much will you pay?” asks one, pausing in the middle of the pandemonium, intrigued. Hearing that, the rest of them more or less stop in their tracks, mesmerized by the thought of profit and the prospect of cutting a deal.

Jarren seems to have found the one thing, in fact probably the only thing, that could override their concerns for safety - the art of the trade.