DESERT - DAY: Imperial stormtroopers mill about in front of the half-buried lifepod that brought Artoo and Threepio to Tatooine. A trooper yells to an officer some distance away.

FIRST TROOPER: Someone was in the pod. The tracks go off in this direction.

A second trooper picks a small bit of metal out of the sand and gives it to the first trooper.

SECOND TROOPER: Look, sir - droids.

TATOOINE - DUNES: The Sandcrawler moves slowly across the great sand dunes. Inside the Sandcrawler, Threepio and Artoo noisily bounce along inside the cramped prison chamber. Artoo appears to be shut off.

THREEPIO: We stopped. . . . . Wake up! Wake up!

Suddenly the shaking and bouncing of the Sandcrawler stops, creating quite a commotion among the mechanical men. Threepio's fist bangs the head of Artoo whose computer lights pop on as he begins beeping.

At the far end of the long chamber a hatch opens, filling the chamber with blinding white light. A dozen or so Jawas make their way through the odd assortment of robots.

THREEPIO: We're doomed. . . . Do you think they'll melt us down?

Artoo responds, making beeping sounds.

A Jawa starts moving toward them.

THREEPIO: Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Will this never end?

TATOOINE - DESERT - LARS HOMESTEAD - AFTERNOON: The Jawas mutter gibberish as they busily line up their battered captives, including Artoo and Threepio, in front of the enormous Sandcrawler, which is parked beside a small homestead consisting of three large holes in the ground surrounded by several tall moisture vaporators and one small adobe block house.

The Jawas scurry around fussing over the robots, straightening them up or brushing some dust from a dented metallic elbow.

The shrouded little creatures smell horribly, attracting small insects to the dark areas when their mouths and nostrils should be.

Out of the shadows of a dingy side-building limps Owen Lars, a large burly man in his mid-fifties. His reddish eyes are sunken in a dust-covered face. As the farmer carefully inspects each robot, he is closely followed by his slump-shouldered nephew, Luke Skywalker. One of the vile little Jawas walks ahead of the farmer spouting an animated sales pitch in a queer, unintelligible language.

A voice calls out from one of the huge holes that form the homestead.

Luke goes over to the edge and sees his Aunt Beru standing in the main courtyard.

BERU: Luke, tell Owen that if he gets a translator to be sure it speaks Bocce.

Luke Skywalker, a farm boy with heroic aspirations who looks much younger than his eighteen years. His shaggy hair and baggy tunic give him the air of a simple but lovable lad with a prize-winning smile.

LUKE: It looks like we don't have much of a choice but I'll remind him.

Luke returns to his uncle as they look over the equipment for sale with the Jawa leader.

A few of the Jawas watching Luke, scatter when he approaches.

Luke joins his uncle, inspecting the robots.

OWEN: You! I supposed you are programmed for etiquette and protocol.

THREEPIO: Protocol? Why it's my primary function, sir. I am well versed it all the customs . . .

OWEN: I have no need for a protocol droid.

THREEPIO: (quickly) Of course you haven't sir, not in an environment such as this. That is why I've also been programmed . . .

OWEN: What I really need is a droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators.

THREEPIO: Vaporators! Sir, my first job was programming binary load lifters very similar to your vaporators in most respects.

OWEN: Can you speak Bocce?

THREEPIO: Of course I can, sir. It's like a second language to me. I'm as fluent. . .

OWEN: All right, shut up. (turning to Jawa) I'll take this one.

THREEPIO: Shutting up, sir.

OWEN: Luke, take these two over to the garage, will you? I want you to have both of them cleaned up before dinner.

LUKE: But I was going into Toshi Station to pick up some power converters...

OWEN: You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done. Now come on, get to it!

LUKE: All right, come on! And the red one, come on. Well, come on, Red, let's go.

As the Jawas start to lead the three remaining robots back into the Sandcrawler, Artoo lets out a pathetic little beep and starts after his old friend Threepio.

He is restrained by a slimy Jawa, who zaps him with a control box. Owen is negotiating with the head Jawa.

Luke and the two robots start off for the garage when a plate pops off the head of the red astro-droid's head plate and it sparks wildly.

LUKE: Uncle Owen...

OWEN: Yeah?

LUKE: This R2 unit has a bad motivator. Look!

OWEN: (to the head Jawa) Hey, what're you trying to push on us?

The Jawa goes into a loud spiel.