"Pssst! Psssssssstt!"

The yazirian walking through the Minzii marketplace slowed when he heard the hissing and glanced aroun. He as a dangerous looking type, possibly one of the newly arrived mercenaries brought in to settle a mega-corp dispute on the other side of the Bizarre. He located the source of the third "psst" and stooped down next to the stall selling Grothian crystals.

Standing underneath the crystal laden table was an ifshnit, black body hair carefully braided in the manner of a roving Capellan merchant. His tiny stature was wmphasized by the gun case he was leaning on; compared to his own diminutive theight it looked like a huge suitcase.

"Greeted well, simian warrior," said the hairy little being in the musical voice common to his race.
The enforcer had no liking for word games but knew ifshnit customs demanded that the potential customer recognize the merchant as an honorable tradesman. Searching his mind for the correct phrasing, the yazirian stammered, "Uh, recognized with respect and delight, esteemed shopkeepter. What might you have in the way of special items for a needy enforcer?"

The little face grinned, huge eyes glistening with delight. "Oh, nothing, surely, that a traveled, experienced personage such as yourself has not seen in his past wanderings. Only some trinkets and unusual weapons."

The last remark was meant to tantalize. It did. The warrior, feeling a fool for kneeling in the marketplace's dirt street and appearing as if he was talking to a table, began growling with irritation, "Show me anyway, distinguished barterer, that I may broaden my experience."

The ifshnit waved his ringed hand in the air, "No, no, I could not humiliate myself by revealing to your seasoned eyes my meager wares no matter how rare they may be."

"All right you little pirate," the yazirian snapped, temper flaring and teeth bared, "I have a few precious minutes before I bap to another part of your soggy planet. Do you have something to sell or not?"

Though ruffled by the yazirian's impatience, the ifshnit felt confident of a sale. Smiling enigmatically, he flipped open the weapon case and turned it toward the monkeyish face. Inside, the strangely shaped weapon gleamed, even in the shade of the table. Its muzzle was still sealed by the manufacturer's stamp, proving the weapon had never been used.

The yazirian's eyes narrowed, "Is that authentic?"

A slight nod from the merchant sent the warrior's eyes back to the beckoning weapon. Small jeweled hands snapped open compartments and removed insulating panels.

"A WarTech Omega Bolt with tooled krikhide holster. The belt holds six power clips."

The yazirian smiled slowly, licking his lips, "I think we can do business, esteemed one."