OOC:

The following is my submission for DeepSix’s NPC character competition.  If you have any questions or comments, feel free to PM me!

Ensign Kragston stormed into the Good Sailing Cantina, a notorious stop for those using the nearby Lotaith spaceport.  Cigar smoke (cheap cigars) washed over him the moment he plunged into the dingy place, and his already sour mood darkened when he realised that his naval uniform would need washed thoroughly to remove the stink later.

He cast his dark brown eyes about, adjusting to the gloom, and saw a place full of patrons of multiple species.  Unlike some former Imperials, Kragston did not have a problem with non-humans, but trying to remember every type and name made his head spin.  Anyway, the Ensign did not actually know the race of the one he sought, so he approached the bar.

“I’m looking for a ship captain,” He barked over the noise (perhaps intended to be music) that blared from a nearby jukebox.

The bartender, a surly human with a heavy-set jowly face, saw the uniform of the Vast Empire Navy and replied swiftly.  “Name of the ship?”

“The...” Kragston consulted his datapad.  “The Spacecrawler,” He said in reply, feeling a little bad for not remembering.  A name that stupid was pretty memorable.

The bartender let the hint of a smile tug at his lips.  “Over there,” He pointed.  “And when he drives you nuts, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Confused by the odd advice, the Ensign set off in the indicated direction, and walked straight to a nearby table with two occupants.  Well, one occupant and his droid, an old Baktoid Combat Automata B1-class battle droid, used famously by the CIS during the Clone Wars.  The machine’s owner was a diminutive alien in brown robes, and with his hood up all the Kragston could see of its face were two glowing yellow eyes.  The alien wore a variety of belts, full of tools from hydrospanners to restraining bolts, and everything else in between.

“Are you the Captain of the Spacecrawler?” Asked the Ensign, staring down at the short being.

“Yes-yes, Captain of said vessel I am being,” Chirped the alien in a high-pitched voice.

“You have a license for that combat droid, I take it?” Asked the Ensign, dropping into a seat opposite the alien and glaring at his mechanical escort.

“License not needing, when droid-friend being unarmed,” Replied the other.  “Harmless he is, right-right?”

“Roger, roger,” Concurred the droid.

Oh great, mused Kragston, They both double talk.  Moving on, he began with the introduction.  “I am Ensign Kragston with the Vast Empire Navy’s Logistics Division.”

“And I am being Ghik Njek, Captain of the salvage vessel Spacecrawler.  A pleasure it is-is.”

“No, it isn’t,” Said the Ensign, his initial surprise fading and his earlier anger returning.  “I have some major issues with the salvage you sold us.”

“Salvage is salvage,” Said the alien.  “Jawas just collect, sell on, and our business is done-done.  As the Chieftain says, ‘Faults lie not with Jawas, but with the sand’.”

“Jawas?” Asked Kragston, confused.  “Sand?”

“Jawa-kind are my kind,” Explained Ghik Njek.  “Sand is sand, common where I am from.  No sand in the great black, though, but rules still the same.  Except for naming home.  Must change from Sandcrawler to Spacecrawler, but is easily done.”

“The problem,” Persisted the Ensign, trying to ignore the strange high-pitched babble and stay on track, “Is with the three TIE Interceptors you recovered recently and sold back to us.”

“Damaged in battle they were,” Said the alien.  “Jawas not to blame if wings were missing.”

“It’s not the wings I blame you Jawas for,” Began Kragston, but the other piped up before he could continue.

“Only one Jawa there is being, Ghik Njek I am.  No more Jawas on my ship, alas.  One day there will be!  One day I will have enough salvage to buy a big ship, big enough to take all my clan to the stars!  My dream it is-is.”

The Ensign frowned.  “You said ‘Jawas’ plural first, not me.”

“Generally I was speaking.  Chieftain says that ‘A rule for one Jawa is a rule for all Jawas’.  Clan unity is most important.”

“I don’t care how many Jawas there are!” Snapped Kragston.  “What I want to know is what happened to all the computer and targeting systems of those Vast Empire TIEs you recovered!”

“Took them, I did,” Said Ghik Njek simply.

“So you admit it!” Snapped the Ensign triumphantly.  “You thought that you could rob the Vast Empire, but I have caught you out!”

“Not rob!  Told Jawas you could have them, you did!” Squeaked the alien.  “Said so in contract!”

“What?  Where?” Challenged Kragston, consulting his datapad and bringing up the salvager agreement one of his subordinates had signed when dealing with Ghik Njek.  “Show me where it says...”

“Here-here,” Said the Jawa, pointing to a line.

“That’s a declaration of what you sold us,” Said the Ensign, growing impatient.  “All it says is that you entered a deal to sell us 3 recovered TIE Interceptors.”

“Yes-yes!  TIE fighter hulls it says.  No mention of what is in-in the hulls!”

Kragston arched an eyebrow.  “You cannot be serious,” He growled.  “It is clearly implied that...”

“Where is clothing clause?” Asked Ghik Njek quickly.

“What?”

“Clause about attire to be worn for transaction?” Asked the Jawa.  “Or clause about colour of my ship?  Or...”

“Those things aren’t important!” Barked the Ensign, knowing an attempt at a diversion when he heard it.

“Not important, so not mentioned!” Said Ghik Njek.  “Contract only covers what matters.  Contract makes no mention of TIE computer systems, so they not-not important to you!  So I take.”

“An oversight.  Clearly the intention was...” Began Kragston.

“Mis-thinking being yours, not mine.  Transaction now completed.  If you want parts, you must pay.”

“We already thought we had paid for them!” Exclaimed the Ensign, incredulous that this little alien had to gall to charge him again.  “You will hand over whatever you found in those TIE Interceptors, free of charge,” He stated, making sound like an order.

“Jawas not give, Jawas barter.  Pay me for parts.”

“That’s it!” Declared Kragston, pushed too far.  “You have dealt with us deceptively, so now you leave me no choice.  I will call in some Stormtroopers, board your poorly-named vessel and simply take what the Vast Empire is owed!”

“Spacecrawler is not badly named!” Squeaked the Jawa.  “And deal is deal.  Take now what you didn’t pay for, and my fellow traders find out.  Chieftain says that ‘words are swifter than wind over dunes’.  Take from me without paying, and VE reputation be damaged.  Sell your recovered ships to others the salvagers will.”

“Are you threatening me?” Growled the Ensign.

“Not threaten, inform!” Corrected Ghik Njek.  “Think through you should.  Perhaps we can reach arrangement.”

“Go on,” Said Kragston, painfully aware of all the other independent traders and businessmen in the bar who had overheard his outburst.

“Give you parts I can’t, but as part of deal-deal is good,” Said the Jawa.  “Longer contract I want, not for just one job, but several.  Swap these, can you?”

“You want a guarantee of employment as a VE salvager?” Asked the Ensign, “Rather than just doing work ad hoc?”

“Just a year, no more.  Long term plan for a new ship I have, ship big enough for my clan.  Long term ship payment needs long term contract.  Deal-deal have we?”

The human thought on this.  The TIE parts were nothing really, but it would look bad to his superiors if he had paid too much for the salvage, and then failed to be precise in a contract signing.  Getting the parts back would help cover his mistake, and if he signed up this clearly cunning salvager to the VE, what was the harm in that?  “I’ll make up some documents for you to sign,” Said Kragston slowly.  “However, we have an agreement.  The VE gets your exclusive services for a year, and you give us first look at all salvage you recover, Vast Empire or otherwise.”

“Parts I will give to seal deal,” Said Ghik Njek happily.  “Business is concluded.  Is all good.  Right, droid-friend?”

“Roger, roger.”

Kragston did not even bother with a goodbye as he turned and departed, quickly exiting the Good Sailing Cantina and getting lost among the throngs at the spaceport.

“Said it would work-work, I did!” Said Ghik Njek to his B1 battle droid.  “Like Chieftain says, ‘a manipulated customer is a happy customer’!”

-----

Name: Ghik Njek
Homeworld: Tatooine
Age: 28
Species: Jawa
Languages: Jawaese, Jawa Trade Language, Basic (among the very few Jawas who can manage it).
Gender: Male
Height: 0.98 meters
Weight: 31 kilograms

Physical Description: Ghik is your average Jawa, with brown robes and glowing yellow eyes.  He is distinguished by the large array of belts that his wears, both around his waist and over his torso.  They are crammed with tools, both for his droids and for his ship, both of which Ghik is constantly repairing.

Personality: Ghik has a cunning mind and is as fast at thinking as he as at talking.  His life among the stars has made him bolder than the average Jawa, especially in terms of negotiations and business dealings.  However, he is no warrior, and is deadly afraid of fighting (hence his constant droid bodyguard).

Background: Ghik was a normal Jawa scavenger and trader, highly adept with machines, especially droids.  He adored his grand uncle, the Chieftain of Clan Njek, and was treated as a son in return.  Ghik memorized all the elder’s words and advice, and dreamt of one day leading the tribe.

Then one day he had a chance meeting with the shaman of his clan.  The head female, perhaps a mystic, perhaps just old and mad, gave Ghik a prophecy that he took to heart.  She spoke of the young Njek being a trailblazer, who would lead the clan to distant lands and scavenging the likes of which they had never seen.

Ghik set out at once for Mos Espa, leaving the clan but not forgetting them.  He believed firmly that the old woman spoke of the stars, and knew that visitors, especially humans, travelled among them.  Eventually taken on as a tech on a rough trading vessel, Ghik left for space.

It was tough, and he had to learn the ways of space the hard way from a crew with little patience (or trust) of a Jawa.  Through immense effort, he began to copy and learn to speak Basic, though he spoke it quickly and still doubles random words.

In time, Ghik made enough to afford the down payment on a ship of his own, a battered salvage vessel he named the Spacecrawler, and now spends his time searching war zones and battle sites to recover things to sell to the VE.  His crew are entirely mechanical (he calls them droid-friends) for at heart he trusts no one save other Jawas.

One day Ghik hopes to return to Tatooine in a vast ship, and take his people to the stars.  On that day he will become Chieftain of clan Njek, and will lead his people to a new age of scrap and salvage!