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She is beautiful. I just did up her dress and now I’m standing there watching. She turns around to face me and jolts me out of reverie.
“I look like a cow. If anyone ever asks you how we would feel about being part of the wedding party when I’m 8 and a half months pregnant, ask me. Don’t just accept!”
“You look ravishing.” I tell her the truth, but she won’t believe me. The midnight gown pulls out the color of her deep blue eyes and contrasts wonderfully with her pale skin. I grab her purse and state, “But now we have to go,” and we head off to the wedding.
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It was a touching ceremony and I’m glad to have been there, but I must admit, I didn’t really think about it all too much. I was too busy staring at Nyche and thinking about him. A baby, what are we doing? The universe is so dangerous now and we’re bringing a child into this? He would be killed or worse if they know what he is and we’re going to have to protect him somehow. I don’t want to raise him in a lie, I don’t know how to raise him properly. But at the same time I am so happy.“Horn, ready to be a dad?” Derry asks me. He’s one of the older guys in the Smuggling unit and tends to watch out for the rookies or anyone he sees as “young.”
“Uhh…” I stutter, unable to answer him as much as I am unable to answer myself. Reaching over he slaps my back and with his booming voice announces to me, “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. So how far along is she?”
“Eight and a half months.” I answer automatically, although the little voice in my head amends the statement. She’s really 9 months pregnant. We decided that it may be too dangerous to have the baby in the local hospital, it's impossible to know if they do midichlorian counts, so we are going to go away for a weekend after the wedding so we can have a little time before he comes. Well that’s what we’re telling everyone, in reality Nyche is going to have the baby while we’re away, hopefully, so we can avoid the post-birth midichlorian count.
Really, how can we think of doing this, how can I raise a Force sensitive kid? My father, Nejaa, was reported to have said that parenthood, (and I assume that means me, as I’m an only child) was the hardest thing he ever did. I know he’s Force sensitive, just not how great. Yeah, I cheated, I felt him, I couldn't help it, but I did it so lightly that no one would know. Can we do this when I can’t even tell him the rudimentary stuff about the Force? How do you anchor a kid to the light side without even explaining what the light side is? Far from these philosophical worries are simple logistics: kids use the Force intuitively. What will I do to keep him from endangering himself? I can now, for the first time of my life, being happy that Halcyons lack telekinesis. I sincerely hope he’s a true Halcyon. If not, well, I remember what the crèche looked like when I once visited, well, they didn’t actually have repulsor balls, but you couldn’t tell.
“Did you pick out a name for him yet?” Derry’s asking me.
“No, but we have a list of oh, about 30 to decide on.” He laughs deeply. “Hard isn’t it.” He jibes.
“I’m not the problem, I don’t know what about pregnancy makes her this way, but Nyche’s considering the oddest names, like Byix, and for some reason she fell for the old Corellian name Wedge awhile back. I like the sound of it, but I couldn’t really name my kid after a simple machine.” Again I’m awarded with laughter and I start to relax. It will be ok.
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The hills passing by are beautiful. They’re known as the Phusis Range, referring to the amount of life in them. The trees and shrubs cover the ridges, a blanket protecting the many creatures residing in the rolling rocks. They are only green 3 months out of the year, the rainy season, which the area just entered. The color covering all is light green of buds glowing in the fading light.
While my attention is focused to the view outside my window, Nyche shifts her head. She’s sleeping in my lap. Lucky for us, we’re at the front of the “car,” so the seats are a bit bigger. After we left the reception in the late afternoon we went back to the apartment and changed for our journey. Our transport is a ground based tourist trap for people looking to “get away from it all,” but it's really the only way to get to the fairly remote province we are traveling to without piloting ourselves. Besides, I find the ride captivating.
As I look down at my sleeping beauty I get sentimental and think of when we met. It was at an art show at The Coronet City Art Museum. I was quite interested in seeing the work of Vetal Carak, however, in order to see his prized pieces one had to take the docent led tour. Unfortunately, or so I thought at the time, we were led through a circuitous path stopping in Abstract Art. The one piece that the docent found so interesting, prompting over 20 minutes of lecture, I could not discern. I stared and contemplated, but frankly it appeared to me that Ewoks with paint cans could create better “art.” Opening and closing one eye and then the other as if to find the hidden picture or a 3-D repeating pattern I must have looked quite odd. Although I knew that there is always more than you can see, as well as the fact that eyes deceive, I could make no sense of the piece.
Then a resonant alto voice spoke behind me. “She’s renowned for being difficult to understand.” I quickly turned around to see a beautiful, petite woman with luminous blue eyes. Again she spoke, “I may be wrong, but I think part of the meaning of it is about the propagandistic quality of much art, so she rebels against these common practices, creating this.” She gestured to the painting. After this introduction we talked the rest of the tour and at the end, as I stood before the Carak pieces that I had so anticipated I asked her to join me for dinner the next night. She agreed. The next night we went out to a small cafè and then walked along the streets together. Before going on the date I had met Rostek to drop off something, I can’t remember, and we spoke about my date. I asked if I could take one of his Corellian roses to her, but instead he led me though his greenhouse to a secluded spot in the back where one type of his hybrid orchids grew. He presented me with the flower to give her. It was a striking mix of blue and silver that seemed to shimmer, and much to my joy she carried it the whole night when we walked about. It was the same type of flower she brought down the aisle six months later. I still wonder why he chose to give me one of those unique blooms instead of a traditional flower.
From the music of my memories the sound of water emerges as it begins to rain outside. I move my hand to cover her swollen belly almost as protection against the steadily increasing fall of the water. He kicks. That simple action causes a return of the worries which plague me in addition to an apprehension that fills my gut. I really should relax. I need to stay calm. Millions of other people are raising children right now. Nothing should prevent us from being able to accomplish such a task too. I lay back my head, close my eyes just prior to a flash of light and banish all thoughts as a way to deal with the tension that continues to grow. This trip indicates to my mind that she will have the baby soon, and this realization is sobering.
Screech!
Crack!
I hear a crash and an odd ring sound, then I realize that it was my head connecting with the seat in front of me. As everything starts to go black I grope around to find Nyche in the dark. What if something happened to the baby?
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I come to but the dark remains; the lights are all out, I assume. It is pouring outside and the moon’s light is insufficient to fill the darkened car. I must have only been out for only a few minutes.
“Hal?” Her voice calls out, much too small for my liking. She sounds in pain. I go to sit up and discover that it wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made.
“Hal, are you there?” Breathe, I command myself, breathe through the pain. Let it flow out with the breaths.
“Nyche, are you all right?”
“Hal, I think my water broke,” she says, her voice quivering with pain and worry.
“Ok, its alright, um, it’s about time for him to come anyways. Just stay there, uh, I’ll get the glow torch I keep in the bag. Then I’ll get down on the ground and I’ll check you out.” I give her reassurance but it’s a little hard to think with my concussion-addled brain, and the difficulty I’m having breathing suggests broken ribs. Ok, gotta center myself. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Alright, I can do this.
Umpf. I clutch the bag, groping around in the darkness until I find the light. There it is. I turn it on. She’s lying on the ground. Her water having broken is the least of my worries. The seat in front of her has pinned her to the ground. It was shoved back by the seat in front of it, which now has absolutely no leg room, is now part of the wall. There must have been something on the tracks that caused the crash, I decided.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” I ask, as I can’t see from here if she’s injured or just stuck.
“If you mean from contractions, yeah, otherwise I don’t think I’m injured.” Pause “Hal, they’re coming really fast. I think the labor has been sped up by the jolt.” Nyche answers me, her voice trying to stay strong despite the worries I know she has about the baby. What if something happened to him? I really need to get her free, but I don’t want to injure her if something’s broken that she can’t tell. Breathe in, out.
Move her, that’s what I should do. My gut agrees. I walk over, ignoring the pain in my chest and head. It’s immaterial now. I grip the mangled plastic- these weren’t well-made seats. One, two, three, lift! My left palm is sliced by a piece of metal sticking out of the upholstery, but I have it off her. “There, that better?”
“Yeah…uhnnnnnnnnn.”
“Contraction?” I worriedly ask. I hear her breathing, staccato pushes from her lungs that make my own groan with sympathy. Her breathing slows and she confirms my question.
“Yeah.” She sounds so tired. I lean carefully walk around her to fetch the glow torch and then wave it around to ensure she’s alright.
“I’m fine.” She seems to read my mind, however I set my hand down on her belly to reassure myself. She really is ok. Breathe. I glance around to survey the damage.
“Nyche, would you be ok if I go to summon some…”
“Go.” With that command I nod, bend over, and kiss the top of her head.
“I’ll be right back. Shout if you need me, I won’t go too far. I love you.” I set off.
As I look about, I am so glad that the car wasn’t too full, otherwise, however many casualties there are, there would be many more. Walking carefully, swinging the lantern to help me find a path, I see an arm. I bend down and place my two fingers on the wrist. There’s a pulse. So I call out “Hello, you there?” No answer. Covering all but the appendage is rubble so the sensible thing to do would be to remove it, which I do. Pulling it off one by one I’m conflicted. I can’t not help this person, but my wife is in labor. Where is the rescue squad? Do they know to come? Has anyone been able to contact them? A voice from underneath the pile alerts me to the victim's return to consciousness.
“Who's there? What happened?” he asks.
“My name’s Hal and I’m pulling the pile off you. Lay still.” I reassure him and continue the rescue effort. My head is really pounding now. I’m worried about Nyche and the baby. Suddenly another voice enters the cacophony of sound from the storm and the movements of the car.
“Anyone there? This is Emergency Rescue.” Perhaps it’s just me but the clear tones cut straight through to my brain, disregarding all else around me.
“Here,” I call out, and finally gathering my control, I amend my statement as I lift the glow torch. “There's a man underneath the rubble here. I’ve begun extracting him, but it will take more time. My wife is back near the front, she’s in labor. If someone would come attend to this man, I’ll lead you to her.” Atta-boy, I congratulate myself on functioning. Years of training in how to deal with stressful situations has paid off. One of the rescuers has entered my line of sight. She’s a tall Selonian wearing the blue uniform of rescue personnel. I gesture her over as I quickly think through what to say. “Here he is. I suspect he’s in shock, his hands clammy. He’s slightly lucid so you might want to talk to him.” She nods and I begin trekking back to my wife, only to hear her moan. I need to get there now but I’m still at least a minute away. I call to her nevertheless . “Nyche, sweety, rescuers are here. There’s someone coming back to help. I’m coming.”
“ ’k ” was her succinct answer. I’m finally there with her. She looks tired and is sweaty but I don’t see any injuries I may have missed. I bend down, placing one hand on her stomach and the other on her brow, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Shhh,” I whisper for no reason whatsoever, and we wait for the medics.
He arrives and after checking her vital signs, he secures her to a repulsor backboard. I feel rather confused as what to do, so I just stand there holding her hand, not even wincing when she squeezes it during a contraction. Ow, here we go again…
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We were brought to a hospital along with several victims of the accident. Luckily for us, it was the same hospital that we were trucking out here for and incidentally the obstetrician that is in the room with Nyche now has known Rostek for over 30 years. Luckily and incidentally. They kick the fathers out for a couple minutes during the exam, which is why I’m sitting here in the hall, waiting. They patched me up and now I’m waiting. I’m going to be a dad today. Not some time in the future but today. I can’t fathom it right now, and all I want is to be in there.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. I force myself into the breathing exercises that I’ve been doing as long as I remember only to return to my state of nervousness with the nurse’s statement, “You can come in now, Mr. Horn.”
I go in.
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He’s beautiful. He’s perfect. He’s sleeping in my arms. It was only an hour after I re-entered the room that he first cried out, but it seems like so much longer. I held her hand and couched her through as I had been taught, but I felt so useless, standing there as her pain reached me in waves coinciding with her vice grip. She was so tired near the end but she kept it up, pushing as hard as she could, and then suddenly he was crowning. Then I was cutting the cord. And he was in my hands.
They tell me he’s a little small for a boy of full gestational period, but I can’t tell. What I see is more important. His full head of hair is a dark brown between my own and Nyche. His fingers and toes are so small. He just looked up at me. Green, striking green, his eyes are beautiful. They’re perfectly clear, not a muddy blue like most newborns. I’m spellbound.
I’ve thought so much of my worries about raising him, but now all I can think is how overcome by love I am. He’s here and he’s mine and he’s perfect. Nyche just awoke to join her son and me. She’s obviously exhausted but at the same time she poses this glow.
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“Hi, Daddy.”“Well, good morning, Mommy. How are you feeling after your little nap?”
“Better. What did you two do?” she asks me.
“Well, he slept and I thought, then I explained to him how the universe works.” Laughter erupts to my right, punctuated by a high pitch giggle. “However, Mommy, I do think this little one needs a name. What do you think, which one will work?” She doesn’t know so we go over our final five, but none really seem to fit him. Out of nowhere she suggests a name I haven’t heard since, well, a long time.
“Keiran, how about Keiran? I like the sound of that. Strong. Sounds good with Horn.”
Keiran Horn, Keiran Horn, my brain chants. It fits him but I worry. It’s too obvious, too much of a link.
“Corran,” I say without a thought. I summon it from my mind somewhere. Alike enough to Keiran, but not connectable.
“Corran. Corran Horn,” she repeats, her voice flowing over the words, cementing them in my mind. She pauses, then nods her head with a smile. We found his name. We can do this. It will work. We have a son.
“Corran Horn.”
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Author's Note: I couldn’t seem to figure, using a couple of timelines, out how Hal Horn could have been 10 when the Clone Wars ended and then Corran be only a couple of years younger than Wedge and Luke. Thus I made Hal a few years older and Corran a little younger in my mind, but it doesn’t really matter for this.
Copyright July 2003 by Rosy Red Fingured Dawn.
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