The Lady of Ren

Eleutheromania

The conversation immediately ended after that. The general, very abruptly, stood from her seat, watched you with solemn eyes, and finally sauntered out of the room. You were left staring into an empty window of a taciturn and foreign base. Your body was lacking the energy to be angry now, as her presence had taken a toll on your mental capacity.

Leia Organa is a difficult woman; you've known this for as long as you can remember. But the stories you've heard from whispers of your elders could never prepare you for the incubating effect she had. The energy that seethed from her was something familiar – an energy you've felt, occasionally, pulsate from your husband.

Her snark is something to behold. She's kind, it's true, but you know she throws a mean punch when necessary. You'd always assumed Kylo got his cynicism from his father, and while this may still be true, it's also becoming very apparent that Leia has something to do with his dry sense of humor and (dare you say it?) poise.

You're staring at the ceiling, sitting cross legged on the durasteel floor, when the doors open with a loud clatter. In walks two men, one of them is the burly guard from before.

"You're due for a physical examination," the unfamiliar one says. He's fair-haired and lanky with pretty, clean, blue eyes.

Refusing to budge from your positon, you ask, "Why?"

The man beside him retorts in a harsh tone, "It's required for all arrivals on the base."

Ah, right. In case you'd contracted an alien disease that could very well spread throughout the base. How convenient would it be for the enemy to distribute an infection that could hinder, or kill, half the Resistance?

You supposed you couldn't blame them. The First Order really should do the same; it's been a practice for eons and a reliable one too. You recall your father signing the executive order that civilians and visitors be tested of fatal diseases. It worked. The death toll in Baleine plummeted afterwards and cinched a second term for your father.

The thought of home puts a tangled mess of feelings into your belly. To ignore it, you stand and follow the two guards.

The medbay is just as bright as the interrogation room was. You're convinced they're trying to blind you.

Your doctor is female – human. She's a brunette with black eyes and freckles sprinkled along her rosy cheeks. Her mouth is in the shape of a tulip and she bears the privilege of long lashes. She introduces herself as "Doctor Joi".

You immediately notice that Dr. Joi is very good at her job because you don't feel a thing when she jabs you with a needle. She explains, in science, what the pink liquid now inoculating through your veins was. You didn't catch any of it.

Now awaiting results from a urine test, you cross your ankles around each other and situate the itchy, hospital gown around your chest.

A timer beeps and Dr. Joi heads towards something that looks somewhat like a favia machine. She takes out the beaker sample of your urine (gross) and tosses it into a sterilization tub.

She purses her lips and raises an eyebrow, inspecting the results on the screen of the machine. You can't see it, and even if you could, you wouldn't know where to begin to make sense of it.

"Looks like you're pregnant," she says frankly.

Your body becomes warm. The feeling in your legs has dissipated with your grasp on reality. You blink a couple of times. "What?"

"You're actually very pregnant. I mean, you're not far along at all but..." Dr. Joi turns off her 'pee machine' and faces you with serious caution. "When was the last time you had unprotected sex?"