The outreaches of Coronet City spider-webbed across too much of the planet, auto-mated plants and construction yards, ore processing and gas refineries. In Coronet City she preferred a lounge of gentle music, low lighting, and heavy, pure, whiskey—that was not where the meeting was set up. The location was picked because it wasn’t in the city, it wasn’t directly around wandering eyes, it was in an area filled with workers who had better things to worry about and other things to focus on. 

And because it made the two men stand out. She knew the one, but other…something told her she should recognize him, but she didn’t. One was older, grittier, the look of a spacer about him. The other clean-shaven, kept and combed hair, he reminded her of an accountant, or an academic…which he likely was, given the deal.  She watched from the unseen booth in the back of the dim red glow of the bar’s inner lights, whether steam or fog from the bar interior of the heavily industrial world outside helping to shroud her from view. 

“Her name is what?”

“Rama.” 

The younger of the two men, the polished one, gave a shrug and took a sip of his drink, “Never heard of her.”

The older, gruffer, spacer stared at him, “…yeah? You’ve never heard of the mysterious antiquities dealer even though I’ve only met them in person once before? Wow, imagine my fucking shock.” 

Whatever their conversion, the younger man looked sheepish, out of place. There were no back-alley instincts to that one, no lower-level smarts. She waited until they started to look bored before she told one of the waitresses to ask the two men to join her in the back booth. Both human men approached with their drinks, squinting to find her in the shadow until she leaned forward into the rust-colored hazy glow of the bar lights.

She watched the older man take her in with hard eyes, and nod, carefully, casting glances this way and that—looking for hired muscle, assuming she needed such a silly thing. The younger stared at her, harder than he had any right to. Even as his companion sat down in the booth, he lingered, staring.

“Sit the fuck down,” his ‘friend’ told him.

But he didn’t. Finally, the young man smiled at her, “…I know you. You were the girl at the RCU North Library, third floor? Always third floor, always at like…four in the morning? Never earlier than two?”

‘Rama’ smiled her dark painted lips and motioned to the seat across from the older man, adjacent to her in the booth, “Sit, please.”

The older man had [i]‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’[/i] written across his face as he stared at the younger man, before he took on a pensive look when he turned to her, “I apologize for my friend, here, Rama. I needed an expert on this era, and I promise you, he knows what to look for in Late Republic era weaponry, even if maybe he doesn’t know how to have a meeting to save his life…whatever the fuck a RCU is.”

Her head tilted, though her lips remained flat, there was a hint of amusement in her dark eyes as she looked back to the younger man, before turning to Gaer, “He’s right,” she began, before turning back to the younger man, “It means Royal Charmath University. Renowned for its historical and archaeological archives. I was that girl, once, long ago, far, far away. I don’t remember you.”

His smile faded, like he was disappointed, “I would say hi from time to time, I asked you about a text you were reading once, about the history of—”

“—Taris,” she finished his sentence with a revelation of memory. “I remember you, now. Shy, quiet, bookish…with wandering eyes. You never introduced yourself, just clumsily walked into my focus and attention, praying for graciousness and kindness.”

“You weren’t cruel,” he said, having regained some of his smile with the knowledge that she recalled him. 

She shrugged, “What’s your name?”

“Oh, uh,” he nearly stammered at her, “Tavian, Tavian Wyr. What’s yours?”

When she looked at Gaer, she saw more frustration, it amused her enough for her to be kind in her response to Tavian Wyr, “I suppose you should have asked me that back then, Tavian Wyr. Now it’s ‘Rama.’ Did you look at the item?”

Gaer took a long drink, as the older man and she watched the mirth of the young man drain out of him as she soundly rejected his nostalgia and attempt to be a new, older, man rather than the timid boy he’d been at RCU. 

“Uh, yes. I would agree, the piece is missing some of the tubing, but it has what appear to be original filters…where did you find such a complete helmet of the Nihir pirates? I’d heard of some items from the excavation on-going by friends from Corellia but that was just mention of records, no actual items.”

‘Rama’ laughed out loud, and loudly. Gaer, to his credit, grimaced and cursed under his breath. “You’re satisfied, then, Gaer?”

“Yes. It’s legit. I have a client for it lined up. Is it where the last time was left for pickup?”

“He can go, then,” she said, abruptly, looking at Gaer.

Tavian Wyr sounded like he might protest, until anger flashed dull in Gaer’s rough voice, “You’ll get your fee, Wyr. She said leave, so fucking leave.” 

She felt Wyr’s stare. It made her smile, to feel his angst, to feel his anger at rejection. She was even a little disappointed when he just turned and left, as if trying to re-establish some manner of pride. 

“You said your expert had some questions regarding the authenticity of the item.”

Gaer all but grunted, “He said he did.”

“Bring another child around me, Gaer, and I’ll never answer another request from you again.” She took a hard, final, shot of her smoldering drink in the short, stubby, glass with it’s heavy metallic base and went to leave, abruptly, “Transfer the credits.”

On the way out she she found him just outside the establishment, his mass-produced coat and pants, synth-leather shoes, none of it matching the grim roughess of the outskirts of Coronet City. His glare was sullen, hurt. She rather enjoyed it, looking at him under her dark brown leather coat, and black tights, heavy leather boots with big dull metallic buckles. “You were a coward.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a real thing, just a defense, and bitterly done, “What was I supposed to do?”

“Ask me my name, ten years ago…c’mon. Let’s have a drink.” She wanted to shock him, she wanted to hurt him, she wanted to leave him haunted for the rest of his life. “No names. You can tell me about this magnificent excavation of your friends.”

When she left the hotel room the next morning, she left him asleep, ankles still fastened to the frame of the bed, exhausted from the cocktail of pleasure and pain…she left with his personal devices, with information on his friends, and what they were up to on Yavin IV. By the time the light of day began to hit the streets of Coronet City, she had changed into sleeveless black on black tights and black slender boots. Her hair was down, loose, and her dark eyes wild as she came aboard the unnamed Wayfarer as quiet as a ghost in the dark. 

It was then she caught the new droid in the back cargo bay. If a droid could jump in surprise, it might have, finding her staring at it from the other side of the aisles of shelving littered with everything from junk to parts to priceless artifacts. “We’re leaving. Careful, droid, you never know what’s back here…”

“We are departing to Chandrilla? 

She grinned, “Unplanned detour. Yavin IV. I’ll get you to Chandrilla after, as agreed. Just…” she motioned to the treasures in the back cargo bay of the Wayfarer, “don’t touch.”