It's the kind of product that's common on the core worlds but rarely shipped to the Outer Rim, despite the need for it. The Jawas could use it to clean and maintain their wares, keep their sandcrawlers sealed from storms for months, maybe even years. Just a little could go a long way.

"One hundred milliliters," she says, setting the slender vial down on the table. "This is a gift."

This causes another rustle among the Jawas. The one who has spoken to Hera reaches out to pick up the vial, turns it over in their hands, holds it close to their eyes. The vial is then passed down, back and forth, as each takes a turn inspecting it. The last Jawa to take it lifts the vial to what looks like an old vibrosander they had been piecing together. They activate the sprayer, and let out a low trill, confirming the product is genuine.

The rustle passes back among them, until the last one speaks to Hera again. She doesn't recognize the word, Tsedec, but just a glance to Sovi is enough for her to realize that it's a name.

"Hera," she answers.