“But do you really need sixteen boridium emitters?” Janeway asked in disbelief.
“Yes yes yes, you never know when they’ll come in handy!” The furry little alien bobbed his middle head like a bird, while the first and third heads kept watchful eyes on Janeway and the emitters, respectively.

“What about that broken one?” Neelix asked, pointing at a charred and dented hunk of boridium in the corner. Janeway’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t need Neelix’s wink to know what he was doing — trying to break the ice, establish trust, prove their willingness to buy.
“No no no, I might need that for parts.” All three heads shook like a dog shedding water.

“Pirkit Prime does not sell!” the dominant head barked, and Janeway didn’t know whether that was the alien’s name, title or species.
“Pirkit Major only buys,” explained the middle head; the third head was a breath behind in adding “Pirkit Minor bargains or trades, but but but very rarely, it is hard to say goodbye to a thing knowing you might need it again!”
Janeway and Neelix exchanged a look, and she tried to deliver the death glare that meant we do not trade our technology, but she too had a hard time resisting the insidious thought: what would Pirkit give for a replicator?

She couldn’t, of course, not against the Prime Directive and not in good conscience: whether Pirkit was an eccentric individual (or triad?) or representative of its species, it would be the height of irresponsibility to expose it (them?) to a means of endlessly duplicating junk they already had.
Pirkit’s noses quivered, and the submissive head whined even as shrewd middle Major licked its lips and the dominant Prime head focused on Janeway with all the intensity of a hound on the scent.
“What do you have to offer?” it barked, and heaven help her, but Janeway had never been able to resist puppy dog eyes.