Roheb

Roheb was born into the Mon Calamari shipyards at Foamwander City, the youngest of four children in a family that had built capital ships for the Old Republic Navy across three generations. He enlisted at the standard age of nineteen and took a commission six years later, working his way through corvette command, picket-line frigate duty, and finally into the Republic Navy's intelligence branch. He retired with the rank of Captain after twenty-eight years of service, the last six of them spent quietly auditing supply contracts that nobody else wanted to look at — and discovering, in the process, three separate procurement scandals that ended four political careers and one admiral's.

He was offered a senatorial nomination on retirement and politely declined. He was offered a corporate sinecure with Kuat Drive Yards' competitor and politely declined that too. What he wanted, after twenty-eight years on bridges and in briefing rooms, was something quieter — and so he bought a small, well-maintained light freighter, hired a Sullustan first mate he had served alongside, and started running courier work along the Hydian Way: medical supplies, diplomatic correspondence, the kind of small, urgent cargo that Republic shipping clerks didn't have time to handle and private couriers didn't have the security clearances to touch.

The ship is called Foamwalker, after the city where he was born, and the operation runs at a comfortable break-even. Roheb takes the contracts that interest him, declines the ones that do not, and treats every meeting with a client like a small diplomatic encounter. He still wears a version of his old Navy duty whites — laundered, pressed, never with the rank insignia — and his Mon Cal posture and clipped enunciation make most clients assume he's still active duty. He does not correct them.

What he is, beneath the courtesy and the immaculate cuffs, is one of the calmest tactical minds in the Outer Rim, a Mon Calamari intelligence officer of long experience who chose this quiet second life because he watched too many people he served with die for someone else's miscalculation. He keeps the Foamwalker armed but rarely armored. He keeps his blaster clean but rarely drawn. He listens more than he speaks, and when he speaks, he tends to be right — not because of any species mystique, but because he has been doing this for thirty years.