Their Lady Adyé [Star Wars]

Truth and Riddles

Bek looked down at the communications console, his thick fingers absently tracing the disconnect knob. He was deep in thought, trying to reconcile the communiqué he'd just received.

Tamara was now wanted by the Rebel Alliance. No, that wasn't quite right. Wanted was the wrong term. It was more of a general warning that she was compromised as a member of the Alliance. And that was because she apparently wasn't who she said she was. He could have told them that part...he'd always suspected Tamara wasn't her real name. But that wasn't exactly uncommon in the parts of the Galaxy he, Tamara and their underworld associates frequented. No, it was who she actually was that was causing the commotion.

Tamara was Obscura. She was Darth Vader's Right Hand, his Shadow. Bek couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He'd always figured she'd been something. That had always been blatantly clear. He'd just assumed she was something like an ex-assassin or bounty hunter. Something like that. Perhaps an escapee from one of those assassin cults where young females were trained to be deadly from infancy. He could have easily pictured that. Or a young protégé of one of the Galaxy's many underworld arms dealers gone rogue. After all, she was young, far younger than he'd anticipated when he first met her, before he'd seen under that hood. And it took a special set of skills to be able to take on Black Sun ships or have the right instincts to make her way around an arms deal.

Well, he hadn't exactly been wrong, either. If the rumours were true, Obscura was all that and more, wrapped up in one petite little package.

Heaving himself to his feet with a groan, the Gran shuffled over to the table he favoured when stopping in at Maz' establishment. It took only a pointed grunt to send the Elom and Twi'lek sitting there off to find a new table, something that had Maz Kanata chuckling indulgently as she wandered over, a drink for Bek already in hand. Another grunt, one far more friendly and meant to imply gratitude, rasped out of his chest as Maz set the Rylothian Ale in front of him.

"You know, one of these days, I'm going to stop looking so kindly on you chasing away my patrons," she said dryly. Bek eyed her as he downed a large gulp, reaching up to scratch at the base of his centre eyestalk before gesturing over toward a booth a short ways away where the pair were settling themselves down again to resume their business.

"Didn't chase them too far away." Maz didn't even turn to look, but then, Bek suspected she'd known well enough where her two evicted guests had relocated. She only hmm'd, her clear eyes sharpening as she hopped up onto the seat across from Bek after leaning her tray against the booth ledge. She then fixed that all-seeing gaze on him. Bek restrained the urge to shift uncomfortably. He'd known Maz for years now, but that look always managed to make him feel like a naughty child again.

"Something is bothering you, Bek Reem." She finally said. It startled him a little. Not that she'd discerned that he was, in fact, troubled, but rather that she had simply come out and said it. He grunted, eying her warily, mulling over whether or not to try and talk it over with Maz. She knew things, sure, but she was way too damn cryptic most of the time to get anything of immediate use out of her. Eventually things she said would become clear and make perfect sense. But it was less helpful when one wanted answers right away. Finally he sighed, his thick fingers scratching at the collar of his shirt. There was nothing for it.

"Did you know? About Captain Tamara being Obscura?" Maz looked at him with her usual enigmatic but unreadable expression, her magnified eyes fixed searchingly on his face. Then, as was her way, she nodded slightly as though satisfied with what she saw before speaking.

"I knew there was darkness in her past. That much has always been obvious. She that you speak of has never been what she seems. But then, many who come here are just so," she gestured absently around her establishment as she said it and Reem had to grant that, even if there was a second meaning to her words, she did have a point on the surface as well. But then he narrowed his eyes at Maz.

"You didn't quite answer my question." She smiled brightly, though her eyes held a sly, bemused expression.

"Didn't I?"

Bek narrowed his eyes further at the diminutive smuggler, scowling at the almost smug grin she was sending his way. With a satisfied little sound she hopped back down from her seat, grabbing her tray where she had leaned it next to the bench. With a tiny hand she patted him affectionately on the arm. But she hesitated before turning back to the business of running her place, those knowing brown eyes settling on him again.

"Bek Reem, many who come here do so because they are looking to rest and many more come because they are looking to hide. Yet not all those who come here know which they require; to rest or to hide. But the rarest are those who come here because they are lost. And when the lost begin to find their way, great things happen. She is one of those. She is special, and she has begun to find her way, I think."

With a bright smile she moved away, her distinctive voice rising and mixing with her other patrons as she darted around her establishment with a quickness that always managed to astonish the Gran. Huffing, Bek snatched up him cup again, swilling back another mouthful. Her deceptively riddling answer was caught in his mind, though, nearly drowning out the news about Tamara—Obscura that had him so distracted and thoughtful in the first place. And there was always truth in her riddles.

Grunting again to himself, he shook his head. Perhaps, for once, Maz had spoken plainly. But that deduction didn't sit well. Nevertheless, Bek wasn't interested in trying to muddle through it now. Finishing off his ale in one last gulp, he thumped the cup back on the table before heaving himself to his feet again.

He had work to do; this was only supposed to be a short visit, a chance to take a quick break and put an ear to the ground while he was at it. Instead he'd gotten riddled to by Maz.

But as he flicked his credits onto the table and made his way to the door, the ancient smuggler's words nevertheless stayed with him. With a sigh he glanced back into the bar, eyes picking through the noisy but not unruly crowd—Maz wouldn't tolerate that—until he caught sight of the diminutive orange smuggler across the room by the bar.

She was watching him, that sly, bright look still on her face as she raised a hand in farewell to him. With a grunt, one almost more like a huffing sigh, he raised a half-hearted hand of his own before stalking out the door into the dimming evening.

There was one thing about Obscura that Maz was right about, he couldn't help but think grudgingly to himself as he punched in the code to lower his ship's boarding ramp.

She was special.

Only, to what end, Bek wasn't entirely sure.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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