Watto's in trouble. He purchased a huge lot of rolo-droids -- 4,000 in all -- and nobody was buying.

"This will ruin me," laments Watto to his young slave Anakin, "those little droids cost me a fortune, and they're taking up half my junkyard! How-a am I ever supposed to turn a profit now?"

Just then, a well-dressed Twi'lek strides into the shop. "Excuse me," he booms, "I represent Ogramit Securities, and I was told by a rival merchant that you might have some R-PK rolo-droids available."

Watto flutters to the door. "Why-a, yes! Yes, of course I do! How-a many do you need?"

"Several thousand, at least."

Watto stares back at Anakin, who's equally amazed.

"I have just what you need! The boy will get them for you!"

"Wonderful," chortles the Twi'lek businessman, "but I will not be taking them back with me. For an order this large, I must confirm it with my home office on Ryloth. Afterwards, if they approve, you can ship all the droids directly to there."

He hands Watto a small disc. "All the information you require is on here. If there is a problem, I will send a message with a protocol droid. But if you don't hear from me in one week's time, assume the deal is on and send the droids!" With that, he slaps Watto's hand and departs.

The next week is the longest of Watto's life. Each day, he and Anakin do nothing but stare at the entrance to the shop. Day one passed, and no protocol droid showed up. Day two, no droid. Same for days three, four, five, six. By closing time on day seven, Watto is ecstatic -- until a silver-white droid suddenly appears in his doorway.

"I have a priority message for the proprietor of this establishment."

Watto slumps to the ground, waving a hand at Anakin. "You get it, boy."

Anakin sprints to the droid and take a small envelope out of its hands. He opens it up, takes a glance -- then suddenly perks up! "Watto, great news! Your sister died!"