Chapter 45

6 months later

The heartbeat was steady, rhythmic, pulsing through the both of them, making two into one. Jaina breathed deeply, following the oxygen cells into her lungs then to her veins. It flowed through the labyrinth of passageways, into her aorta and through her heart, where it was pumped into the rest of her body. Eventually it found her reproductive organs, and streamed into her placenta and through the umbilical cord to Hanna.

Hanna was just as alive as Jaina, the umbilical nourishing her like a feeding tube through their shared blood. Jaina let the held breath out, but kept her focus on Hanna. She had grown so big and strong in the past months, now fully developed and simply waiting until the right moment to leave her protective haven and join the outside world.

At the present, Hanna was content where she was. That is, squeezed uncomfortably against Jaina's kidneys.

But she was hungry. What are you craving today, my darling? Jaina thought, though not in words. Jaina sifted through a list foods, some so disgusting in her current state she could have vomited, and some more tantalizing than she ever thought food could be. Finally she found one that struck her, apparently what Hanna was craving.

Then there was the point that all this led up to: she was going to have to get up. She sighed, running an affectionate hand over the soft, plushy chair holding her very pregnant form. Trying to muster up the strength of will and body, she gripped the arms tightly and strained to hoist herself up.

"What are you doing?"

Jaina fell back with a rush, breathing heavily at her struggle. "Trying to get up."

Mara looked over from her own chair, appraising Jaina's predicament. "What do you need?"

Jaina cocked her head, considering. "Besides the fact that I have to use the 'fresher every half hour? We're hungry."

Mara nodded solemnly, turning back to the Holonet report scrolling in front of them. Mara had made a spectacular recovery in the past six months, and Ben—as they had decided to name their son—had grown strong and healthy with her, as was apparent by the huge expanse of her abdomen. She had the pregnant woman glow about her, her red hair restored to its full golden sheen from the dullness it had gained during her disease. Her cheeks were full, emerald eyes had regained their sly glint, and Jaina couldn't have been happier for her. "Us too. Get us something while you're up, will you?"

Jaina scowled, fighting the snappy retort that rose instinctively to her tongue. "If I can get up," she grumbled instead.

Mara used the remote to flip to another channel, this time a holodrama. "Why don't you get Jag to get it for you?"

Jaina waved the suggestion off, dismissing it out of hand. "He's busy. He's been working so hard the past few weeks, months really. I think he's afraid of what will happen in the Maw. Danni and Jacen are almost done there, you know."

Mara nodded, switching channels once again. "I'm worried, too, so's Luke."

"Yeah, but I think there's more to it. His brother could be there with the Vong when we spring the trap, Mara. We could actually kill him inadvertently," the younger Jedi explained, troubled.

Mara winced at the implications. "Not a good thing. What's he going to do about it?"

Jaina shook her head slowly. "There's not much he can do."

"Then just ask him anyway. I do it with Luke all the time. I hardly get off the couch."

Jaina laughed at this, giving her aunt a mock-admonishing look. "And I thought you were so independent."

"I am, and will be, once Ben is born. I see it like this: I've done a lot of difficult things in my life. I've been in lightsaber fights and shootouts, faced a lot of Sith and killed a lot of people. But none of that is as hard as trying to haul this," she gestured to her swollen abdomen, "out of a chair."

Jaina laughed loudly then, and Mara joined in. "Besides," she added after a moment, "it's his son that's hungry. If I have to carry him around in my uterus for nine months the least he can do is bring me some food every once and a while."

Jaina giggled again, but was reminded once again of the fact that she needed nourishment, preferably a heaping bowl of Corellian shrimp salad. Sighing she said, "I just don't think I have the heart to interrupt him."

Mara turned back to her Holonet program, then said with a leading air, "I guess you'll just have to get up and go all the way to the kitchen and get it yourself, then."

Jaina looked doubtfully at the seven meter trek to the kitchen, one in which she would have to leave the comfort of her chair to make. For a moment she chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, then smiled mischievously. In her sweetest voice she called out, "Jag?"

After gorging herself unashamedly on the shrimp salad her husband had so graciously prepared, Mara had informed her of an acquired and insatiable craving for Chrandrillan salt taffy. Since Jag had left to go check matters on the Valorous, they had been forced to call Luke from the Skywalker apartment—which adjoined Jaina and Jag's by a locking door—sending him to fetch the much-needed treat.

"We're going to need some serious training time after this," Mara said, taking the last bite of her shrimp.

Jaina nodded, resisting the urge to lick the plate. "I feel like a sail barge. I hate to think of all the exercising I'm going to have to do to get back in shape before the final push."

Mara groaned softly, holding her belly. "I don't think Ben likes shrimp as much as Hanna. My stomach's cramping. Ah!"

"What is it?" Jaina asked, concerned.

"He just kicked me."

Jaina smiled knowingly. "Hanna likes to do that about 0200 in the morning, right when I've really started to sleep good."

Mara winced, rubbing her rounded abdomen. "He just did it again." Then to her stomach itself, "Why do you want to go and hurt Mommy like that?"

"I hope Uncle Luke gets back with that taffy soon. I think Hanna is liking the idea as much as Ben," Jaina said. "My mouth is watering just thinking about it."

"Ah!" Mara exclaimed, her back arching with the pain.

"Mara, are you okay?" Jaina asked, concerned. "He can't be kicking you that hard."

"No," she gritted through clenched teeth, "it's these kriffing muscle cramps. Its like my whole lower torso is spasming out of control. Oh, sith spit! Damn it..."

A light blinked on inside Jaina's head. "Aunt Mara, I think you might be going into labor."

"Nonsense," she said, the pain easing off, "my due date is almost a week away."

Jaina gritted her teeth and pushed, forcing her lumbering form out of the chair. "Come on, we have to get you to the MedCenter."

"But I'm supposed to be dead, remember?" Mara said.

"I don't think Ben cares about the charade. Don't worry, it's mostly droids, and Cilghal will be your healer. And my staff wouldn't rat you out anyway."

Staunchly Mara shook her head. "No, I'm fine, really; the pain is all go—oh...blast!" She bit down on her lower lip hard, hands gripping the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. When the contraction ended she said, "Okay, you better get me to Cilghal quick. I have a feeling my son is in a hurry."

Jaina nodded, doing her best to waddle quickly to the door connecting her and Jag's suite to the one the Skywalkers and Anakin stayed in. "Anakin!" she called.

"What?" he yelled back distractedly.

"Mara's going into labor."

"What?!" this time considerably more interested.

"Comm Uncle Luke and Cilghal, then the bridge. Tell them to comm the Valorous and tell Jag what's going on. I'm taking Mara to the MedCenter."

Anakin appeared in the doorway as she was speaking, eyes wide and panicky. "Okay, whatever you say. I'll be right behind you."

Jaina nodded her thanks and went back to Mara, who had managed to pull herself out of her own seat. "Let's go, Aunt Mara. Or should I call you Mama?"

A wail echoed through the chambers, followed by a painful rush through the Force. Jaina grimaced, not looking forward to the day she would endure the same thing. Anakin sat across from her, his elbows resting on his knees, leaning over anxiously. Luke had arrived shortly after Jaina and Mara, and he was currently in the delivery room with her and Cilghal.

"Did you tell the bridge officers to call Jag?" she asked Anakin again.

"Yes," he responded. "Do you think she'll be okay? I'm sensing an awful lot of pain."

"She'll be fine, Anakin," Jaina said softly. "Millions of females go through this every day."

"If you say so," he said dubiously.

Jag rounded the corner suddenly, breathing hard as if he had been running. "Is everyone okay?" he panted.

"Yes," Jaina answered, "Mara's just gone into labor."

Jag let out a huge sigh of relief, leaning heavily against the door jam. "Thank the Force. All they told me is that you had to run to the MedCenter, and that I should come back as soon as possible."

Jaina smiled fondly, holding out her hand to him. He came and sat beside her, squeezing her hand tightly. "Hanna?" he asked simply, the fear evident in his voice and eyes.

She took his hand and placed it over her stomach. After a few seconds their daughter kicked, and Jag smiled gratefully. He leaned over and kissed her tightly, holding her head gently with one hand.

The moment was rudely interrupted as Mara wailed again, her cries half-scream half-moan. Jaina winced, unable to shut out the suffering through the Force. "You know," she said as it subsided, "I'm starting to think we're not ready for this baby thing. Yeah, I'm just not having one, okay?"

Both Jag and Anakin smirked at this, but their smiles fell as another pitiful cry from Mara sounded. "Maybe I should go let Uncle Luke have a break for a while," Jaina mused while trying with marginal success to pull herself out of the chair. Jag stood and helped her to her feet, and she tottered into the delivery room. Mara lay on the hospital bed, hair plastered to her head with sweat. She held the rails on either side in a death grip, and her breathing came out in ragged gasps. Luke, who sat beside her, poured concern and distress through the Force, and from the looks she kept shooting him Jaina could understand why.

"I was wondering if maybe I could keep you company while Uncle Luke rested," she said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Yes, get him out of here, he's driving me crazy," Mara snarled.

Luke looked injured, but he gained no sympathy from his wife. Jaina smiled comfortingly as he rose and went outside into the waiting room. "How are you doing?" she asked as she sat in the chair he had recently vacated.

"How the hell does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped.

Jaina decided to ignore the jibe. "How far are you dilated?"

Mara gestured to Cilghal, who was bustling around the foot of the bed with a troupe of Emdee droids. Jaina repeated the question to the healer.

"About ten centimeters. It shouldn't be long now," the Mon Cal Jedi answered.

"Here comes another contraction," Mara whispered. Her voiced trailed into a strained gurgle, and she groaned in anguish as the baby moved itself a little bit further down the birth canal. Jaina didn't think Mara could have been any more tense, but she was wrong. The muscles in her neck and arms bulged, and by the way she gripped the metal rail Jaina could have sworn she could have lifted a speeder bike straight over her head. "Oh," she gasped when it was over, and it was the weakest sound Jaina had ever heard her utter. "Where's Luke?" she whimpered, tears squeezing in between her closed eyes. "Where is he?" she sobbed again.

Jaina took that as her cue to leave. "I'll go get him." She hadn't even stood yet when he burst into the room, sensing Mara's need for him. She patted his shoulder sympathetically before shuffling quickly back into the waiting room.

Jag took her arm in an attempt to help her sit, and Jaina resisted the urge to tell him to go bugger himself. Sometimes she was extremely thankful he wasn't Force-sensitive, otherwise he would be subject to all her numerous and occasionally lurid mood swings.

"Push, Mara, just a little bit more!" Cilghal's voice echoed from the delivery room. Jaina could feel the pain of her parturition, and she sent her as much soothing feelings as she could. Outwardly she cringed, and Anakin buried his face in his hands. Mara was strong in the Force, and such intense emotions were like tidal waves of suffering washing over them.

Another anguished scream from Mara, then another, smaller cry. Jaina closed her eyes and smiled, reaching out to her newly born cousin. He was so small but so alive, afraid and excited and tired all at the same time. She caressed him gently, her silent hello, a welcome into a new world. She touched Luke and Mara, full of love and pride for each other and their son. Soon though she retreated, granting the new family their privacy. She and Jag would have their own soon enough.

The anonymous lower-caste worker slipped back into the darkness, careful to be utterly silent. Avoidance of detection was essential, and all those Nen Yim had spoken to so far had been instructed thoroughly in the procedure. It was follow her rules or die, there were no other options.

Nen Yim turned her back on her newest convert, watching the stars spin above her. Things had gone well in the months since she had returned to her people. They had been reluctant to believe her at first, Nom Anor not the least among them. It had been the message Anakin had sent Jaina that had been her saving grace, the proof she needed to gain their trust.

After that it had been a process, a slow and agonizing trek to wheedle out possibilities, people she could trust enough to unveil her plan to. First she had spoken to one, a Shamed One who had been thrilled with her idea, the future she revealed. He had promised to tell others, and slowly, by word of mouth, practically the entirety of the lower castes knew their purpose.

Revolt.

It was a simple word, but a loaded one. The implications were evident to anyone. She was asking those who had known nothing but degradation and shame to rebel, to tear down the power structure and destroy the Yuuzhan Vong from the inside out.

Destroy it so that it could be saved.

Nen Yim sighed heavily, the sigh of a being tired of soul. She hated herself as much as she took pride in her accomplishments. It wasn't easy, bearing the burden of her deceit. She was doing the best thing for them all, of that she was sure, but all doubts could not be kept at bay. What if, just what if, the Yuuzhan Vong could have won this war?"

Ah, but it was too late now. She had sown the seeds of resistance, watered them until they had taken root, and soon she would reap the fruits of her labor.

Carefully she slunk through the darkness back to her grashal where she would return to her role of loyal shaper, hiding her betrayal behind a mask of civic pride. The gravel road she traversed was empty, much to her relief and chagrin. Being unseen was much desired, but seeing no one was cause for concern. Deciding it would be best to slow her pace and take her time to be careful, Nen Yim dropped off the edge of the road into the underbrush.

The briars scraped at her face, letting tiny rivulets of blood trickle down through her hair and under the collar of her cloak. She ignored him, having long ago thrown off the chains that pain held most people in. She crept as quietly as she could, hoping against hope that she wasn't walking into a trap.

A branch appeared out of nowhere, jutting into the path of her stride, catching her leg at the ankle. Unbalanced, she toppled heavily onto the ground, sticking her arms out to break her fall. She hit hard, a bone in her right wrist shattering. That arm gave way and she rolled to her right, finally coming to rest on her back. Cursing the luck and whatever gods existed, Nen Yim clambered unsteadily to her feet, wishing with all her heart that there had been no one around to hear her blundering around.

She had barely made it to her feet when she was struck, the blow coming from behind her. It caught her in the left side of her back, a coufee sliding easily in between her true ribs and puncturing her lung. Nen Yim gasped against the exquisite pain, jerking away from her attacker with all her strength. The coufee twisted from their grasp but scraped tortuously against her ribs in the process, eventually being slung from her flesh and into the brush it a spurt of black blood.

Such grievous wounds would have crippled a human, but to Yuuzhan Vong it was little more than a nuisance. Nen Yim scanned the darkness for her assailant, readying her shaper's hand for attack. It didn't come.

Her breathing ragged and pained, Nen Yim turned, hoping whoever it was had been scared off, or expected she had been killed by the blow. Finding no reason to wait, she continued on her way back to the grashal.

No sooner had she turned than a hand shot from the air, wrapping around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. The coufee that had been plunged into her back was then placed at her throat, but made no move once in place. "Out for a stroll, Master Shaper?" a voiced chuckled at her left ear.

Nen Yim swallowed hard, but fear wasn't what she was feeling. It was a seething anger, a desire for revenge. She would not die here, tonight, and she would not die at Nom Anor's hand. "Am I not allowed to want for the night air?"

"Not when your want leads to plotting against the Supreme Overlord," Nom Anor rasped. "I knew, I knew you would have never survived an escape from the Jeedai. Your return could only be explained by them releasing you. How grievously have you betrayed us, Nen Yim?"

"I have saved us all," she whispered. "If it is a crime to love your people enough to give everything for them, then it is a crime I commit with pride."

"There will be no repentance, then?" he asked.

"For rescuing us from our doom? Never."

The blade cut sweetly through her flesh and arteries, her life's blood pouring onto his hands as he released her, pushing her to the ground where she lay, twitching in her death throws. "Pity."