Lithe and almost impossibly graceful, the female stands at a not at all commanding 5'7", with black hair and eyes that seem to shift in tone and colour depending on light or mood. Her face is well-formed, with high, prominent cheekbones and full lips; pale skin dotted with a splattering of beauty marks on that smooth canvas.
I had a family once. Perhaps I still do. I suppose I would have to be the sort of daughter they would want to welcome back into their lives to ever find out. Well, that isn't precisely the truth. I suppose I could find them easily enough. They've never been anything more than good, decent, salt of the earth people. But it would hurt too much, I think. I've never wanted to be that person standing out in the cold looking into the window of a house filled with warmth and love. And there was love, once upon a time. A mother and a father. A whole half dozen children. I was the middle daughter. And it was a good childhood. My father never knew a day of indolence. He was a botanist, who worked tirelessly to maintain and cultivate our native species. My mother was his assistant first, before she became his wife. The hours I spent with my hands buried in the good, clean earth playing at being his assistant were some of the happiest of my life. But they never held us to their own ideals. They might have dreamed of smaller things, but they encouraged us to dream of a galaxy full of endless possibilities. So when I reached adulthood they were nothing if not encouraging to me. And off into the galaxy I went.
Life doesn't always begin at the moment of your birth. For me, my life, the life that's become all I know began with death. I was on Zeltros, which was probably a very terrible idea to be getting on with. But what did I know. I had barely seen ninety years, and I fancied myself an explorer of other cultures and other customs. Well, that's childish optimism for you. The slavers that raided the encampment we were at had other ideas. And the world was, as I found myself locked in a cell, not quite so bright as I thought it would be. We were only hours in hyperspace, but weeks in the slave pens, waiting to be sold to whomever or whatever wanted us. It was weeks of watching and waiting, trying to time things just right, to be able to shift into a form large enough to overpower one of the guards. And more than that, time enough to replace him. And I did, though, I think I'd rather not revisit what I had to do to dispose of his body. Or worse, what I had to do to the slaves to keep the disguise in place. I'm still not sure how long it would have taken for me to escape, really escape, if the slavers had not been raided and the operation broken up. I suppose I should count myself lucky, that when I finally revealed myself, I found myself on the side of the door that lead to the life I have now. And if you asked me why me? Well, I still wouldn't be able to tell you. But the Corporation wanted me, and they got me in the end. Useful things, Shi'ido. And I was. My speciality was data infiltration. Securing entry into systems and retrieving information. And the galaxy is full of information.
Values? What is there to value besides knowledge. There's no home I can go back to, and no bright shining future ahead. At least, not in the way I once thought. I've done too much, seen to much, and been too much to look ahead with hope. But now? Now is everything. And knowledge is a currency that never decreases in value. The more I know, the more I collect, the more I am worth. I see the galaxy around me. Empires rising, empires falling, the battle between good and evil and neither seems to think they are the enemy. It's all just data. A web to be spun, twisted this way and that when some bit of useful information gets caught there. I'm an information broker. And information has no morals and no master.
I gave the best years of my life to the Corporation. And perhaps, in the end, they took the best years. Now, I'm happy to live in the shadows. Searching the datastreams, the holonets, the backdoors and byways of information to bring in the information that I need. And, perhaps, if I'm in the mood, or I feel the need, to sell it on again. It will cost, of course. Selling a bit of yourself always does.
I paid nearly everything, to escape the Corporation. All of my assets, nearly everything I had of value. The cost of doing business, I suppose. I wanted my freedom, and they made certain I would be free, but only after they had taken their pound of flesh. How very kind of them. And so, I've returned to Nar Shaddaa, to the center of a web that's hanging in tatters. But I have the skills, I have the knowledge. I can rebuild. I always do.