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“For my sake?”

He raised his chin, and she felt a wordless caress.

She twisted her mouth sideways. “For two people who know each other so well, somehow we missed something.”

“No,” he said. “Something just changed. In me, maybe. Maybe you. Maybe in the Force itself. All I know is … this is the right risk to take. And that,” he concluded, shaking his head, “makes me happy.” He looked up again, wearing a foolish grin she hadn’t seen in months. “It could make me very happy, actually—”

Mara balled her fists. “Listen, Skywalker. Nobody finds out about this. Nobody.”

Still kneeling beside her chair, he slid his hands around her waist. “I agree, Mara, with one exception. You should have at least one good medic. They—”

“No. Even Cilghal really couldn’t help me fight this disease. If she couldn’t help me, she couldn’t protect our child. That’s going to be my job.”

“Other things could go wrong—”

She silenced him with a glare.

He frowned, then nodded solemnly.

“And you can get that out of your mind, too,” she snapped. “I am not going to lie down and keep watch on my symptoms, waiting for something to go wrong.”

She marveled, though, at how suddenly and how completely she wanted to protect this child that didn’t even vaguely resemble a child yet. Maybe, her conscience whispered, this sudden protectiveness was like the way Luke felt about her—a love so fierce and uncontrolled that sometimes it threatened the beloved’s independence.

Maybe there was no such thing as real independence. Not with contentment.

This child, though, could already be under the influence of Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology. It—no, a child was not an it—he could die before he ever saw daylight. He could deform in a thousand deadly ways. He could …

“Are you all right?” Luke’s hands caressed her shoulders. “Mara, we should at least have Cilghal do a few basic tests.”

“No,” she muttered. “No one, Luke. Not Leia, not the Solo kids.”

“Just how do you expect to keep this from Anakin?” he demanded.

She laughed shortly. “The last thing a boy his age even considers is an old woman getting pregnant. Keep a lid on your feelings, and he won’t suspect.”

“He does expect me to be concerned for you—”

“Then I’m sure you won’t disappoint.”

Luke exhaled slowly, and she felt some of the tension leave him. “You’re right,” he said. “There are people who would pin hopes on this child that maybe they shouldn’t have. He—or she … can you tell?”

Mara fell into the Force again, absorbing everything it would tell her. She had extraordinary powers to communicate with certain people. She’d been able to sense Palpatine from anywhere in the galaxy. So far, though, this sense was utterly primitive. Caressing the life-signature, she felt again those faint echoes—of her own savor in the Force, and Luke’s.

A new thought distracted her. Her mind worked backwards, counting days, wondering … when?

She half smiled and answered Luke’s question. “No. I can’t tell. But I don’t want to say it.”

“Then, for now … she?”

“He,” Mara said firmly, though she honestly couldn’t tell. Then she finished the sentence he’d interrupted with his own question. “If he survives, he could be truly great—or greatly evil. Or,” she added grimly, “greatly damaged, by this disease. I won’t let that happen, Luke. I swear.”

“This is my child, too.” He seized her other hand. “Mara, you’re going to have to make an allowance for that. If I get protective, please don’t take it personally.”

“You’d better not,” she growled.

Then she folded around Luke, embracing his shoulders. He struggled up off his knees, then pulled her to her feet. His arms tightened around her back and her waist. His lips pressed hard against her mouth, his breath tasted sweet and musky, and at the back of her mind, she could feel him rejoicing.

Some hours later, Mara sat staring out the transparisteel window, watching traffic lights flow across the skyline. Flaming auroral veils framed the traffic lights.

She’d wrenched her thoughts back to Duro—and Centerpoint Station,