As Jarren holsters his blaster, the tension drains noticeably from the Jawas although they still seem somewhat on edge. Above, on the side of the vehicle, about four meters up, creaking and clanking can be heard as two small, rectangular hatches are opened. Alerted by the sound, Jarren glances up and watches as two decidedly low-tech slug-throwers are extended through the openings and aimed at him amateurishly. Two sets of unblinking, glowing eyes sit behind each gun, scrutinizing the blue humanoid below, waiting for a threatening move or some other signal to open fire. Certainly projectiles fired by the slug-throwers are not as lethal as blaster fire, but he knows they still pack a punch and could do some serious damage and possibly even kill him outright if he was to be shot. For some reason, aided by the mysterious machinations of his porous memory, Jarren seems fairly unconcerned, confident that the Jawas are peaceful in nature and would probably not attack if unprovoked.

"I have cargo for trade but that depends on what you have. But let me make one thing clear I'm not going to pay you for my own droid. If you continue to try and steal him I will kill every one of you. Then I will go on a Holy crusade and hunt down and kill every Jawa that I come across. I will make it my personal mission to wipe out your whole race, but only if you steal my droid! So lets be friends instead. You let my droid go and I won't have to start a blood bath. And then we can talk about trading."

About the time Jarren mentioned that he had cargo aboard his ship, the Jawas pretty much stopped paying attention to what he was saying and began talking among themselves in hushed, enthusiastic tones. The Jawa that had spoken previously, apparently their de facto leader, speaks up again using their Trade Language. “You are wise! We not steal! We not make pay for droid. We trade for you cargo instead! No need to deal money money! Tell us of cargo! We more want cargo than money.”

“Yes, yes, tell us!” cry the other Jawas in their characteristically simplistic speech, several of them hopping up in down in nervous excitement. “We make good trade for machine!”

Jarren is upset. Apparently the Jawas have missed the point of his tirade completely. They now seem to want to trade him for his droid that is hanging under the sandcrawler by it’s magnetically booted head. Then again, it really never was his droid to begin with. Funny how that works, he thinks to himself.

“Yes, look at our droid we trade for you,” says the leader scampering over to the captive ASP droid and giving it a resounding whack with it’s knuckle, then quickly shining the spot with his sleeve. Raising his arms he goes on, “Good work droid. We make deal for cargo. Let us see!”

The rest of the Jawas good-naturedly surround Jarren, excitedly hopping up and down and pulling on his poncho expectantly, urging him to lead them into his ship. He sagely puts his hand over his blaster so that the sticky fingers of the Jawas don’t relieve him of that too. It’s hard not to smile in light of their enthusiasm, but a glance back at the droid reminds him of his goal.

"Jarren, this is Dex. You there? …" cracks his comm link.

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A FEW MINUTES EARLIER …

Interesting. Interesting indeed, thinks Dex as he leads Ian and Ears to the gap in the fence, tucking his new blaster in his belt. Smiling happily, Cal walks along with them to that point, stopping at the gate where he lets them pass through.

“Remember. Go see Coozer about that ship of yours and he’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure he knows you’re coming.” His smile drops off and his eyes become hard and filled with hatred as he continues, “And make sure that Joko knows…”

Being an honest, hard working, mostly decent man, Callouste finds that he can’t finish his sentence, because, for him, that would almost be as bad as committing the act himself. His intention is clear to Dex and Ian, however. Cal wants to make sure that Joko knows who was the mastermind of his demise when the end comes – the name of Callouste Gulbek whispered in his ear to speed his journey to hell.

The ragtag shipmates exit the compound with the weight of their deal not fully sinking in. The deal to murder for a price. For Ian, it’s not much of a stretch to rationalize the whole thing. After all, it’s all just an illusion anyway. For Dex though, it’s a little harder pill to swallow, because if life has taught him nothing else, it’s that actions always have consequences. Always.

As the group rounds the perimeter of the fenced compound to get back on course to Mos Taike, Cal sets the force field back in place and quickly hobbles into his living quarters. Some cheesy music, probably from a holo, wafts up the rise after them, carried on the dry wind. Finally having cleared the compound, Dex takes the opportunity to call Jarren on the comm link and let him know about Coozer’s spaceport and the deal they’d struck with the junk merchant, minus the part about Joko, of course (for the time being). [OOC: Rick, feel free to reply to Dex’s message.]

The two suns are fairly low on the horizon now; one a hazy orange ball, one a hazy yellow ball. The yellow sun is above and askew from the orange one, and Dex casually wonders which one is which, finally deciding that it doesn’t matter anyway. Ian walks along with Ears riding on his shoulder, kicking up sandy dirt apathetically with each step. As they crest the ridge that paralleled the back fence of Cal’s yard, Mos Taike is visible in the distance about a kilometer off, and the distinct architecture of the spaceport is slightly further out, about a kilometer and a half way, judging with the naked eye. Like Cal said, it’s really not much of a town. There are about ten large, low buildings made with earthen materials loosely centralized on a main thoroughfare. Dex and Ian both conclude independently that the large buildings are most likely the stores, repair shops, cantinas, and other businesses of a small frontier town. Surrounding the larger buildings are many smaller ones, most likely the dwellings of Mos Taike’s citizens. Finally, outlying the city in every direction, and barely visible at this distance, is the vast array of vaporators that provide the townspeople with their water supply and their livelihood as well.

Half an hour later, the party arrives at the outskirts of town. Now that it’s slightly cooler, the town has come alive and the hustle and bustle of everyday activity is taking place on the main street and the side alleys. The occasional speeder floats down the street, its repulsolift generator softly humming as it keep the vehicle aloft and defying gravity. Several harnessed Banthas are tied up near a feed store at the edge of the main street as well. The large, shaggy herd animals with curving horns snort in response to Ear’s cackle at them as the small party walks by. Dex wonders idly how they could possibly stay cool with the thick mass of hair draping off or their bodies.

For the most part, the local population studiously ignores the three ex-prisoners. Although mostly human, there is nonetheless a wide variety of alien species that roam the streets. There is the occasional hooded Jawa slumped next to a building, Rodian merchants walking around, even a horned Devoronian can be seen haggling with a three-eyed Gran over some mechanical contraption who’s use even Ian cannot concoct an imaginary use for. All is pretty much as could be expected.

In addition to the feed store, the main buildings in town that can be seen are, the Oasis Cantina and Inn, Twin Machinery, Talley’s (a cantina also by the look of it), Mos Taike Farming Supply Co., and Bo Mercantile. The other building’s functions are not readily apparent. The party isn’t sure if they are large private residences or businesses that have no storefront.

They pause at the middle of town, looking around and deciding what to do.