TWENTY-TWO
It was hard to read a Mon Calamarian. With their bulging, fishlike eyes and wide lips, they looked, to the untrained human eye, perpetually surprised or amused. They lacked the same complex facial muscles that humans had evolved for nonverbal communication, their species being possessed of another set of semiotic tools for that purpose.
Nonetheless, Mara somehow saw the horror on Cilghal’s face when the healer entered the medical chamber Booster had allowed her to set up.
“Oh, no,” Cilghal murmured. Her partially webbed digits fluttered in agitation. “Please, Mara, recline.” She indicated an adjustable medical bed.
“No problem,” Mara said. Her knees had gone flimsy on the short walk over from her quarters. Her mental image of herself had morphed into a huge bloated thing balanced on ridiculous, straw-thin legs.
What she saw in Cilghal’s clinical mirror fit no image of herself at all, past or present. Her eyes were sunken into gray pits, their emerald color faded to a sickly yellow. Her cheeks were hollow, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Her skin was so pale the vessels stood out like topographic maps of a river delta on Dagobah.
What a beauty, Mara thought. I could dance in Jabba’s palace again, if I could dance. Of course, I’d attract a different type of admirer than I did last time …
Wait’ll Luke sees this. He’s going to have a meltdown. Unwilling to run the risk that some slicer could trace a HoloNet communication back to the Errant Venture, Luke had taken his X-wing out to contact several eminent physicians and transmit Mara’s latest test results. He’d been gone three days.
“I need to know what it means, Cilghal.”
“How do you feel?”
“Hot, cold. Nauseated. As if nanoprobes are trying to carve my eyes out from behind with microscopic vibroblades.”
The healer nodded and placed her webbed hands so gently on Mara’s abdomen that it might have been sheets of flimsiplast that floated there.
“Three days ago, when you went into meditation, how did you feel?” Cilghal asked.
“Sick. I already knew it was coming back. I thought if I was alone, in total concentration and without distraction, I might be able to control it like I did before.”
“This is not like before,” Cilghal said. “Not at all. The rate of molecular mutation has increased fivefold. It’s much worse than before you began taking the tears. It might be because so many of your body’s resources are tied up in the pregnancy; it might be because the serum weakened your ability to fight without it.” She closed her eyes, and Mara felt the Force in motion, within and about her. “It’s like dark ink, staining your cells. Spreading.”
“The baby,” Mara demanded. “Tell me about my son.”
“The Force burns bright in him. The darkness hasn’t reached there. Something keeps it at bay.”
“Yes!” Mara whispered, clenching her fists.
Cilghal’s eyes wobbled together so her gaze met Mara’s. “It’s you, isn’t it?” the healer said. “You’re putting everything into keeping the disease from entering your womb.”
“I can’t let it,” Mara said. “I can’t.”
“Mara,” the healer said, “you are declining at a terrifying rate.”
“I only have to last until the birth,” Mara pointed out. “Then I can start taking the tears again.”
“At this rate, I’m not sure you will survive the birth,” Cilghal told her. “Even if we induce it, or do it surgically. You’re already that weak.”
“I don’t lose,” Mara told her ferociously. “I’ll be strong enough when the time comes. It can’t be much longer, can it?”
“You aren’t listening to me,” Cilghal said. “You could die.”
“I am listening to you,” Mara replied. “It’s just that what you’re telling me doesn’t change anything. I’m going to have this baby, and he’s going to be healthy. I’m not going back on the serum. I’ve come through tougher things than this, Cilghal.”
“Then let me help you. Let me lend you some of my strength.”
Mara hesitated. “I’ll report every day for monitoring and whatever healing you can accomplish. Is there anything else I can do?”
“More than once a day,” Cilghal said. “I can strengthen the power of your body to fight. I can cleanse it of some toxins. I can fight the symptoms. But the disease itself … there’s nothing. No, I can think of nothing else to do.” Despair and failure seemed to drift from the healer.
“I need your help, Cilghal,” Mara said. “Don’t give up on me yet.”
“I would never, Mara.”
“Good. I need to eat, but I’m not hungry, and I can’t keep anything down. I’m sure you can help me with that, right?”
“That I can help with,” Cilghal replied.
“It’s one thing at a time, old friend,” Mara said. “Every parsec begins with a centimeter.”
Cilghal nodded and went off to gather some things from storage. Mara lay back, suddenly dizzy, wishing she felt half of the confidence she espoused.