#grith cesask

Ord Mantell is just about as far into the Interior as you'll ever find me. The planet is conveniently located next to several hyperspace lanes, and it being so close to the Interior means you can often find things that don't always make it out to the Outer Rim.

If you're looking to modify or fix your starship, it has what you're looking for. Perhaps you're looking to upgrade your droid with weapons or programming most governments would find questionable. Or perhaps you're like us, possessing plunder recently relieved from unwilling well-to-dos you would like to sell quickly, with little to no questions asked -- Ord Mantell is the place you go.

There is a Devaronian I know who works in the ruins of Ord Mantell City. I met him when I was still in Siom Lech's crew and he quickly became the face of person I could trust.

"I'm here just like you," he often says, "trying to put a little jingle in my pocket. I can't always offer what you want, but I will always offer you what I can."

His name is Grith Cesask and he is waiting for us as we step off the ramp of the Nexu and into our docking bay. He's dressed in dark clothes, making his crimson skin look all the redder. Over his dusky attire is a golden shawl of a cape. It's wrapped around him, hanging off of him and giving him a hood.

"Well look who decided to pay his Uncle Grith a visit!" He pushes his hood off, revealing the large black horns that curl back over his bald, red head. "You know, Beacon," he waves a red finger at me, "it's starting to feel like you only come see me when you want money from me."

I laugh and he hugs me tight.

"What have you brought me this time?"

I step out of the way so Fordsy and Xil Vee can present our plunder. But before I can tell him about the Bardottan silk we had managed to procure, he holds up and hand and tell me to shut up.

"Who is this?" Grith says, gesturing to our pilot, who is descending the ramp.

Humaira is wearing a pink double-breasted tunic she has only half-buttoned, creating a plunging neckline that very nearly connects with her black, high-waisted wrap pants. The ankle boots she stole from Liittii, the impish smirk she was born with.

Grith cocks a devilish smile and runs his hands over his horns as if he were straightening his hair. With a flourish and a bow, he extends his hand to Humaira.

"This may be the Bright Jewel System, but nothing here shines brighter than you."

Humaira looks at him and then up at me. She doesn't voice it, but the look on her face is clearly, "is he serious?" Then something washes over her. She becomes someone different, someone I have never seen before. She stands a little straighter and there is a regal tilt to head. As a princess, she must have played this part in this exact scene a thousand different times. She offers Grith her hand, raising him from his bow.

"Humaira," I say apologetically, "this is Grith Cesask."

"The Devaronian Fence," Grith stands with a flourish, flinging his cape back over his shoulders. "Buyer and seller of secondhand and aftermarket items. I won't say where I bought them if you won't say where you sold them."

"Grith, this is Humaira. She is our pilot."

"And I like your cape," Humaira says.

"I love your accent," Grith says. "Cantonican?"

"Where'd you get it?"

"It's one of a kind, I'm afraid." Grith shows it off. It's a light, golden fabric and on closer inspection, there is an intricate, flowery design sewn into it.

Humaira shakes her head. "I could probably find ten like it and not leave this docking bay."

"Capes, yes." Grith nods. "Shawls, cloaks, absolutely. But this? This is an Alderaanian cape. Not to be callous, but these aren't being made any more. It's vintage."

Humaira's eyes light up. "How much do you want for it?"

"It's not for sale."

"Everything is for sale," she counters quickly.

The Devaronian smiles a playful, wicked smile. "Well let's see what you brought me, shall we?"

Humaira points to the long wooden crate Xil and Fordsy had carried down the ramp. "We have nine of these crates. Each crate has three reams of Bardottan silk. That's twenty-seven reams of Bardottan silk in various shades and colors."

I look over at Xil Vee to see if he's seeing this. This is usually my role. The Ardennian shrugs his four shoulders.

"Bardottan silk is a high-quality fabric sought after by the upper crust of, she pauses to roll her eyes, "the entire galaxy. Each ream has about one hundred meters of fabric that can be sold for ninety credits a yard." She snaps her fingers. "Fordsy! How much money does our Devaronian friend stand to make?"

"Roughly 243,000 credits."

Humaira looks at Grith. "I don't have to tell you that's a lot of money."

"I won't be able to sell it for that."

"That's not our problem," Humaira puts her hands on her hips. "But that is what it's worth."

"You couldn't sell it for that."

"No," Humaira agrees, "but that's why we're here. To sell it to you. For, let's say, 120,000 credits. Now, I don't know if you know this, but we don't keep that money. Not all of it."

Grith makes eye contact with me. "I do know that."

"First we take 10% for fuel, repairs, supplies -- anything we need to keep the operation afloat. From there, we take another 25% and divide it equally amongst the crew. They've earned that. What remains is sent to a cause in need or is used to purchase things for a people who can't afford it. Are you with me so far?" Humaira look at the Devaronian like a school teacher looks at an unruly class.

"Yes," Grith growls.

"Fordsy, what would be my cut for this?"

"4,950 credits," the droid responds quickly.

"I need a little something for my trouble, so I'm going to keep 950 of those credits and return 4,000 of them back to you."

Grith's bald eyebrows rise. "4,000 credits?"

"You see it as 4,000 credits, I see it as my cut." Humaira says. "For my part in this heist, I would like that cape."

"So 116,000 credits for all your silk," Grith turns to me.

Before I can respond, Humaira raises a hand. "No. That's not how percentages work. You lower the amount you pay us, and everyone's cut goes down. You pay us 120,000 credits. I will then return 4,000 credits back to you. You can see it as only having spent 116,000 credits or you can see it as having already made 4,000 of your credits back."

Grith looks at me and points at her. "You need to keep this one. She's good."

"I'm from Cantonica," Humaira smiles. "I could do this in my sleep."

Grith unwraps the cloak and folds it up. Holding it one hand and extending to me his other, he smiles, "that works for me."

It happened so fast, my brain is still trying to catch up. Math and money has never been my strong suit. I feel like I've missed something, but the thing I keep running into is, 120,000 credits is more than I was expecting to make and Grith didn't even bat an eye at it.

I give him my hand. He shakes it enthusiastically. "Alright, I'll call my boys and get you unloaded in two shakes of a damgo."

Humaira takes the cape from Grith and with a curt nod says, "it was a pleasure doing business. I believe Fordsy will take it from here."

"That was incredible," I say to Humaira as we leave the docking bay.

She wraps the long shawl around her. "Feel how soft this is," she says. "It's so soft it almost makes me want to cry."

"I didn't expect you to do that," I steer us back to the conversation I want to have.

"I'm sorry," Humaira says, "I hope I didn't overstep or-"

"No, not at all." I shake my head.

"I want to hold my own," she says. "I want to be a valuable member of this team."

"You are." I say.

"I know you think that, but I want to make sure they do too." Humaira stops. She smiles at me. "We are quite . . . smitten with one another, I think it's fair to say. I don't want them to think that's the only reason I'm here. And piloting is . . ." Her head bobs back and forth. "Everyone thinks they can do it. It's a hard thing to prove you're the best at. What is easy to understand is money. They now have more money in their pockets because of me. We are going to help more people because of me. What I said, I said only partly in jest. I am a Princess of Cantonica. I understand business. Give that responsibility to me and I will make us more money."

She hears no argument from me. I dub her the Treasurer and Chief Haggler on the spot.