---from the log of Kriss Moenblahd--- Credits. That's what we smugglers are supposed to be all about. It's true, I need them and I need mountains of them but that's not truly what I am searching for. It's easier just to say that in the cantinas though and play the role of hard-*** smuggler than to tell the truth. Well, I am a hard-*** smuggler so that role's not such a stretch. It's hard enough being female and fending off the advances of anything with two eyes or the Force to see me with but carrying a secret at the same time makes me even more hard-*** than I want to be. And truth be told, I want to be pretty damn hard-***. It all started with a dream. See? Right there, that's not something a smuggler is supposed to say. We aren't supposed to be chasing dreams. Credits, fame, all sort of variety of tail, but certainly not a dream. I started having the dream when I was just a little girl and as far as dreams go there really isn't all that much to it. There is a red planet, nothing but desert. In the midst of this sea of sand there is a huge, flat rock on top of which sits a woman. What she does varies from dream to dream but mostly she stands there with a twisted black staff in her hand that crackles with blue electricity and she pulls massive boulders up out of the depths of the sand. She just hangs them in the air like some bored Jedi then sinks them into the sand again where they are swallowed up into the darkness again. Other times she just sits quietly and strokes an ugly lizard creature that she keeps as a pet. Sometimes she is angry and the sky fills with her wrath, raining lightening down around her, searing long streaks of glass into the sand. Then again, sometimes she speaks to me. She says she is my mother. That, of course, she cannot be. My mother is still alive and well and looks nothing like her. Yet something in me is drawn to this woman on her rock and that little red planet that has no name. I know she is out there and she is calling for me. Gah, I need a drink. ---end of log---