Chapter 9:

The Way Home

The physical therapy droid finally relented, and allowed Adrian a few moments of rest. Already exhausted with sharp pains thrashing throughout all four limbs and his lower back, he though back to Carida, and before that to Eriadu, about how his governesses could never keep him in the house, how no adverse adventure ever seemed to phase him, despite such a lean build and only mediocre athletic ability. At the Academy, training exercises that drove some of the other men completely out of the military had struck him merely as exhilarating and invigorating--even the dreaded cold-weather survival training that commonly resulted in a few deaths. He loved watching the others fail. Rarely did he find himself physically stronger than either companion or opponent, but he had been so much smarter and keenly resourceful. As such, he "worked smarter than harder," as the saying goes, often avoiding the worst of the physical circumstances and "traps" set up by the instructors through quick yet careful strategy and sometimes manipulation. And so a master tactician he became.

But this current experience was different, something he could not avoid or manipulate, something that no amount of tactical intelligence could circumvent, and something that he did not at all find enjoyable--the devastating effects of his massive injuries and protracted carbonite encapsulation. He would have found his present circumstances unthinkable at any point in the life he knew before Yavin--to be on the floor, on an exercise mat, completely unable to get up with his broken bones, stiffened joints, and weakened muscles, and totally dependent upon others for his every need. He found the dependence and the lack of control over his own body and activities utterly contemptuous, and this only served to elevate his already high stress levels.

And then there was the pain. Pain was something he inflicted on others; his duty was to inflict pain--and fear--on whomever Emperor Palpatine decreed, and quite often on whomever he pleased. Now the other edge of that proverbial knife had been turned sharply on him by one Rebel farm boy and two proton torpedoes--or perhaps his own lapse in judgment.

The droid approached again. "I can't do this, but neither can I let them know," Adrian thought as the masochistic metal monster moved menacingly toward him. Now he knew what his prisoners must have felt like at the approach of an interrogation droid. The purpose had been different, of course, but the pain was largely the same.

It wasn't working. No matter how many exercises he tried to do, no matter how far he tried to push himself--to invoke that spirit he once felt on Carida--the physical therapy was doing him no good. The injuries had been too severe, and the encapsulation too long to offer a recovery speedy enough for him to accept the reins of the Empire in a timely fashion. Nor did the prospect for long-term substantial orthopedic recovery look good. Still, he reasoned with himself, he was a military man from a long-respected military family who bore their military mishaps with strength and courage. So, to keep up appearances, he stoically struggled through the daily regimen for a while longer.

More and more they demanded, every day. Longer durations on the routines. Heavier weights strapped to his arms and legs. More tension on the exercise equipment. Then the therapy droids attempted to get him to stand. His spine seemed to turn into a lightsaber, and he felt what must have been blaster bolts in his hips and knees. The droids overestimated him, and pulled away too soon. His long-unused muscles simply could not hold him, and he fell. With that, his guard finally fell as well.

No more.

Typhani put down her magvid reader in surprise when the door to their room opened an hour early. Tierra accompanied Adrian, and the droids had placed him on a gurney instead of in a hoverchair.

"What happened?" Typhani asked in concern as she rose to go to him. When the medic droids transferred him into bed, he drew up into a ball, and into himself.

"It's been getting worse, as I told you the other day, but he had a really bad time of it today. He fell from a near-standing position, but he hit the mat, so it didn't hurt him. He got pretty upset, though, so they called me and we decided that he'd had enough for today," Tierra explained as she and Typhani pulled the covers over him. One of the medic droids moved to Adrian and touched the side of his neck with an infuser containing a large ampoule of analgesic mixed with sedative. Typhani only nodded to Tierra as she left the room.

"Adrian, are you all right?" she asked as she sat down next to him. He pressed against her as she reached over to rub his back reassuringly, and she realized that he was trembling. She'd known him to tremble from anger and frustration before, but never from fear and pain. But things were different now. "What is it?"

He made several false-starts to answer her. "It's not . . . I can't stand the . . . They won't . . . " She understood. "Now I know what it's like . . . to be tortured. I can't let them know, though! I can't let anyone perceive me as . . ." She finished his thought in her mind. Weak. Vulnerable. A failure. Broken. "But I can't go on like this either."

Typhani realized then that he seemed closer to actual tears than he had been since the death of his father. He had never completely broken down, though, not even then, although she wished he would. She thought it would be good for him, even just once, to let out all of the fear, pain, frustration, and grief that he had faced since emerging from the carbonite. She would hold him, cradle him, hide him, and no one would know.

But no. He forced a facade of quick recovery and resolve over the fall, and somehow managed to put up a strong front until the doctors finally figured it out for themselves and approached him about the matter. Fortunately for Adrian, it didn't take them too very much longer.

On the day that began the twelfth week, Typhani raised her head at the awareness of bright morning daylight, and realized that no one had come in to wake them and to help her get Adrian ready to go down to therapy. "I wonder where Tierra and the droids are," she said as she sat up. "We're going to be late getting you downstairs today."

"I'm not going," he said quietly.

"What?" Typhani asked, surprised, and she sat back down next to him.

"Physical therapy isn't working for me, Typhani," he told her. "They told me yesterday. It's . . . far too uncomfortable anyway, especially for a regimen that offers no gain. And, it's taking too much of my strength away from where it is most needed. They said I may make some modest improvements over the long run, but for the immediate future, I shall have to learn to use a mobility assistance droid and a hoverscooter."

She had thought he seemed too quiet last night. But, they were both quite thankful that the cell regeneration technology had succeeded in repairing all of his internal organ systems and such. The formula was apparently less effective, though, for orthopedic musculoskelital strength recovery, but perhaps there would be something in the future. Still, she realized, looking down at him as she attempted to digest what he had just told her, he must be devastated, although less so than if circumstances had been reversed. She knew he would much prefer his mental capacities over the physical if the choice had to be made.

She lay back down and moved very close to him. "It'll be all right," she said softly. "We'll make do. Bevel will be able to help you. He has to use a hoverscooter now, too." And, she thought, Dwyll would have to teach her how to care for a restless, active-minded invalid.

"Speaking of Bevel, we need to go home, Typhani, where we can work on putting the Empire back together again. I need to see that core dump from the lab. And . . . I just need to be home," he said weakly. "I don't like this place."

"I know," she comforted, slipping her arms around him.

They spent the next two days in occupational therapy trying out various hoverscooters and being fitted for the one that worked best for him. And, although a mobility assist droid would be fine for a backup system, everyone in OT could tell right away that Typhani, and that other tall, redheaded lady who came in for brief periods and whom they thought might be one of their daughters, would be the primary assistors. They had to learn how to help him around without hurting him or themselves. Daala in particular had to mind her back, although she had said nothing to anyone about the injury.

That accomplished, the medcenter staff began to look at Adrian's readiness for space travel. The trip home to Phelarion would take several hours, but, as long as he was quiet and the pilot took extra precautions to ensure a smooth transition into and out of hyperspace, he should be all right. So, at the end of the twelfth week, they began making plans to go home. Morgana would stay on Lumin with him for a few more days at the Andromeda Center, days devoted mostly to strength-building activities, while Typhani, Daala, and the girls made ready on Phelarion. Now that Typhani knew that Adrian was going to be all right, she could at last bring herself to let go briefly, although leaving him for that first time was, of course, quite difficult for her. Still, there were plans and arrangements only she could make.

When they landed, Typhani and Lyscithea had to tend to some business at the mine's distribution center in Port Tarkin. When they were alone, Lyscithea asked her mother, "Daala doesn't smoke, does she?"

"No, I don't think so. Why?" Typhani asked.

"She always has the worst cough when she wakes up in the morning, and I know how you are about people smoking in the house," Lyscithea explained. They said nothing further about it, but Typhani tucked the knowledge away should it be needed later.

Daala and Lyjéa had gone ahead to the house. "Oh, what a gorgeous dragon fountain!" Daala commented as they approached the main house. Lyjéa smiled over at her.

"There are four of them," she said. "They were gifts to my grandfather many years ago, and he called them his Gatekeepers.' I think you'll recognize them. The larger one in the front of the house is called Gorgon, and Basilisk, Manticore, and Hydra are at the points of the directions around the house."

Daala was delighted. "So that's where the names of my ships came from! Gatekeepers indeed!"

"And you were the Guardian of the Gatekeepers!"

"Yes, I suppose I was. Some guardian . . . " She sighed, and sought to change the subject quickly. "So this is your mother's estate?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, and the company as well," Lyjéa told her. "She had all of this in her own right before she ever met my father." At that, Daala gained a deeper understanding of Adrian's acceptance and open-mindedness, if not attraction, toward competent, independent women, something Palpatine certainly lacked.

"I was going to ask you something," Daala continued, "but with everything that has been going on, I never got to it. What's the history between your Aunt Morgana and Admiral Pellaeon?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Lyjéa asked, surprised. "She saved his neck once, in battle. It was back during the Clone Wars. She was a Captain. You know, if she could have just laid down the liquor, she could easily have been a prehistoric Daala!"

"No!" Daala exclaimed, surprised.

"I thought you knew. You two really have a lot in common. You should get to know each other better," Lyjéa suggested. At last they reached the house, and Lyjéa seemed excited to be there.

Inside, Daala marveled at the beautiful ivory and white décor, high cove ceilings, and polished marble floors. "Your mom has really good taste," she commented to Lyjéa.

"I'm glad you think so," Lyjéa said, as if something was up.

Daala had always wondered what it would have been like to go home with Adrian. Of course, she had heard other staff members and military personnel who had attended official events speak of the Tarkins' beautiful homes on Eriadu and Phelarion, and of the stately and indomitable Lady Tarkin. Daala had never once even remotely entertained the fantasy that Adrian would leave Typhani for her, although she had once wondered fleetingly what might transpire if something unfortunate happened to Typhani. Daala had shrunk from that speculation as well, sensing somehow that Typhani was actually the stronger of the two, and that Adrian would never be able to survive her for long.

Lyjéa showed Daala around the lower floor of the house and introduced her to Raycellna and some of the other staff until her mother and sister caught up with them. The music room's sophistication surprised Daala, certainly not "regulation" in Imperial terms. But, she surmised, regulations had never applied to the Tarkins. "This is interesting," she commented to Lyjéa, "Who plays all these keyboards?"

"We all do. We'll show you how if you like," Lyjéa said congenially.

When Typhani and Lyscithea arrived, they all headed upstairs, ascending the central marble staircase with its white metal railings. "What are we going to do about the stairs?" Daala asked.

"Oh, I forgot to show you. There's a lift off the kitchen," Lyjéa explained.

Upstairs, Lyjéa and Lyscithea went to their respective rooms to investigate the wonderful new things that they knew would be on their beds, as it was their mother's custom to make sure their beds were well endowed upon special occasions, which was just about any occasion. One standing joke about Typhani was that she could boost the entire Imperial economy by a couple of points with nothing but a laptop computer, and, as one of if not the wealthiest women in the galaxy, she had the funds to do it plus some.

Typhani put an arm around Daala's shoulders and led her on down the hall, past two of the guest rooms and her daughters rooms, to the second door from the end of the upstairs main hall. "Here we are," she said, and opened the door just as one of the servants came up behind them with Daala's dingy military-style duffle bag with her drab clothes wadded inside it.

The room looked like a department store, the plush, queen-sized bed piled high, the closet doors open to reveal racks and shelves of wonderful new things with the protective plastic bags still over them. Daala stood frozen, a little embarrassed, a little elated, and a little uneasy. "Come on," Typhani urged her, and led her into her room. "This one's yours, see?" she said, holding up another of those wonderful Phelarian faux fur throws, this one with emerald green lining with gold flecks in it. Daala seemed reluctant to reach for it, and so Typhani cast it around her shoulders. "When I first met Adrian," she said, "he had known nothing but the military all of his life as well. I had to get him used to having warm, soft things around him." Daala finally took the corners of the throw and pulled it tightly around her.

"Thank you, Typhani, but all this--I--um--" Daala began without knowing how to finish. She simply was not used to people being kind to her.

"You went for over eleven years without anything new at all, didn't you?" Typhani asked. Daala just nodded. "Well, we've got some lost time to make up then, don't we? Listen, I have to go take care of some things. Why don't you go exploring, and get settled in." Typhani closed the door on her way out.

Daala did settle, into the large, plush wing chair next to her bed. She kicked her shoes off and put her feet up on the ottoman. She sank back, pulling her throw over her lap. She had always liked unupholstered furniture because she felt that it kept her strong and alert. She realized that she had needed something artificial and outside of herself to keep her strength up, and that she had done it for too long. She began to stroke the soft faux fur side of her throw, and also the smooth, satin lining, two wonderful sensations in one. And, she realized, the deep cushion of the chair nourished her weary and wounded spirit. She had always like the processed air and metallic smell of good Imperial ships for the same reasons that she had liked unupholstered furniture, but now she noticed the faint floral scent rising from the potpourri bowl on the night table. The experience was far different from what she was used to, but good . . . so very good. For perhaps the first time since leaving the Maw, Daala felt safe, relieved, and in a place where she felt centered. As she put her head back into the soft cushion of the chair, Liegeus' words echoed in her ears, "Go back to the Tarkins, Daala. You belong with them."

Typhani had just finished returning some comm and holonet messages when Kormath arrived with the boys. "Gramma!" they shouted, running to her with open arms, having not seen their grandmother in weeks--something they were certainly not accustomed to. Lyscithea came downstairs then, and the adults asked the boys to come sit down with them.

"Come on, boys, and settle down now. Gramma Typhani has something very important to tell you," Kormath admonished his sons. Although Lyscithea had alerted her father that the boys couldn't wait to see him, they had actually not told the children yet, waiting until they were sure their grandfather was out of the proverbial asteroid field and indeed coming home. For their own protection, the boys had been told over the years that their grandfather had died in a shuttle accident. The adults knew that the children, Bevel and Taeodor in particular, would not understand carbonite encapsulation, so Typhani sought to explain the forthcoming events in terms they could understand. Taeodor walked over to sit in his grandmother's lap as she began.

"I have some wonderful news for you, boys. Do you remember what happened to Grampa Adrian?" she asked, trying to make them interactive participants in the discussion.

"Yeah, sure." Wilhuff said, "You and Mom said he got killed in a shuttle crash when Mom was eleven."

"Well, as it turns out, he didn't get killed in the shuttle after all. He's just been in the medcenter for a very long time. Hes gotten better now," Typhani continued, drawing her grandsons close, "and he's coming home soon."

"Aw, cool!" Wilhuff exclaimed.

"Awesome!" Bevel agreed.

"When?" Wilhuff asked eagerly.

"In just a few days," Typhani said.

Of course, Taeodor was still too young to fully understand, but he sensed that something good was about to happen to him and his brothers.

Just then, Daala came down, and Lyscithea introduced her to her family, "Boys, this is Admiral Daala, and she works with Grampa Adrian."

"Oh, wow, a real Admiral! Just like Uncle Gilad?" Wilhuff asked.

"Yes, just like him," Daala confirmed. "You, um, don't notice anything different, do you?"

"Huh?" Wilhuff asked.

"Well, I'm a girl," Daala said, baiting the child.

"So what?" Wilhuff said. "Mom's a girl, and she runs a big company." he continued, and went into the playroom to join his brothers.

"Lyscithea, I like the way you raise your kids," Daala complimented as the adults went into the family dining room for dinner. After dinner, they proceeded into Adrian's study, to prepare it for his return. One of the few rooms with darker décor in the house, it was done in the typical Imperial black and gray scheme with red accents. Typhani had sealed the room shortly after the Battle of Yavin, just after Ardus Kaine had visited to retrieve what he needed, but then she re-opened it some years later, using it as a place to reflect and nurture her bond with her husband. The staff had already removed the tarps and drapes from everything, cleaned the furniture, and vacuumed the floor. Of course, like any unused room, a few storage items had accumulated in there, and so Typhani called for them to be taken to the basement.

"Mom, didn't you say this audio system doesn't work anymore?" Lyscithea asked, preparing to clean out a cabinet.

"Yes, something's wrong with it. Kormath, would you mind taking a look?" Typhani asked. Lyscithea and Kormath both tinkered with the stereo system, trying to make it work again, and Kormath figured out that it had simply lost its programming, probably from non-use.

"Well, Scythi, reprogram it, then." Typhani said.

"I don't know how. We were never allowed to touch it, remember?' she said.

"Who set it up?" Kormath asked.

Typhani and Lyscithea answered in unison, "Ackbar!" They both stopped to look at each other then.

"Mom, do you think he'll come see us," Lyscithea asked.

"I hope so," Typhani said, with a soft smile of fond memories.

Lyscithea found the instruction guide for the audio system as staff members removed the old, outdated computers and replaced them with new terminals that Daala had ordered. She then took over at the computer station, entering codes and bringing up the systems, transferring files from her laptop and downloading more from Bastion. Typhani rearranged the things on the shelves, moving the more important items to the lower shelves and putting the obviously outdated material and the knick-knacks on the upper shelves. They finished by rearranging the furniture a bit, with Kormath's input on what his father's scooter would clear.

That done, Lyscithea and Kormath left with their children as Typhani, Lyjéa, and Daala proceeded upstairs for the night. Lyjéa went to bed, fearing that she was about to get one of her infamous excruciating migraines, and Typhani walked Daala back to her room.

Daala had noticed that there were two more doors at the end of the hall, a corridor that contained mainly the family's private quarters and only two guest rooms, or was it four? She looked questioningly at Typhani.

"That one was Darth's room. He stayed with us quite a bit, you know. We had to put him at the end of the hall on the other side of these guest rooms, else we heard that respirator of his all night." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "We had our disagreements, but I miss him sometimes." She indicated the other door. "And, that is Rivoche's room."

"Who's Rivoche?"

"Oh, I thought you knew. She's Adrian's niece."

Daala understood then, recalling conversations back at the lab. "The 'adopted' child you had to send away. Where is she now?"

Typhani looked away. "Coruscant," she muttered.

"Oh . . . "

The two women then proceeded into Daala's room. The staff had come in to clear and turn back her bed. She had never slept with so many pillows or on such an overstuffed mattress, a giant pillow itself. "Let's see what you've discovered so far," Typhani said as they entered the room.

"Oh, I fell asleep," Daala told her, and walked over to the well-stocked vanity table. She seemed to look perplexed by the vast array of small bottles and jars.

"You've never worn cosmetics, have you," Typhani asked.

"No," Daala said quietly.

"Not exactly regulation, is it?" Typhani continued.

"No," Daala said quietly again.

Typhani put a hand on her shoulder. "Daala, regulations don't apply to you anymore. You will never have to deprive yourself again," she reassured. Then she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Daala's duffle bag was unzipped on the luggage rack, and Typhani noticed a small assortment of prescription bottles and two different inhalers. She didn't say anything. If there was a problem they needed to know about, surely Daala would tell them, she thought.

When Typhani left to go to bed, Daala stepped into her bathroom, to find it equally well-stocked with wonderful things to pamper herself in every way, most of which she had never experienced before. And a steam shower with a rain head! All of the bathrooms had them, but this too was a novelty for Daala. She quickly found that the moist steam vapors eased that persistent, burning ache deep in her chest. She took the plush, sea-green loofah out of its basket and a bottle of lightly scented herbal shower gel from the shelf, and, after nurturing herself with handfuls of thick, fragrant, creamy lather, she vowed that she would never use another hard and abrasive cake of military-issue soap that left her skin dry and burning ever again. And, after her hair shone with bounce, body, luster, and control it had not known since before Carida, she forsook detergent shampoo as well. Typhani had put out a new nightgown for her, something that looked more like a ball gown to Daala. She had nothing to prove to anyone now, no troops to impress with a harsh demeanor, no bureaucrats or prima donna scientists to placate, and no Rebels to intimidate. She had only herself to heal. That night, she slept better than she had since leaving the Installation.

A couple of nights later, Typhani lay down alone in her own bed for what she hoped would be the last time. Tomorrow, she would do what she had longed to do for so long. She would return to Lumin and bring her husband home.

Typhani and Morgana had spoken by comm at least once every day, and usually two or three times. Morgana had reported steady progress, but was definitely upbeat by the time Typhani and Daala returned for the trip home.

"Just look at you!" Morgana commented when she saw Daala in a stylish new outfit with a full face of make-up and her hair up in a neat, braided twist.

"Yes, we've been working on a few transformations of our own," Typhani said with a smile. Adrian was already up, dressed, on his scooter, and more than ready for departure. He called Daala in to ask her about something he had just seen on the holonet.

"Aren't you making her a little too attractive for your husband?" Morgana warned.

"Morgana, I very seriously doubt that is a considerable issue anymore. After what has transpired between us all, I know that there will be some close moments between them, but I now have her very well placed where I can watch her closely," Typhani assured her. Morgana nodded in understanding, ever intrigued by her sister-in-law's cunning methods.

"I certainly hope so, dear, for your sake," Morgana said.

"She's not going back with us," Typhani alerted her sister-in-law. "She wants to run home this evening to make the announcement to her colony herself, and she'll meet us on Phelarion in the morning. She just wanted to go over her announcement with us, and so that's why she came along. So where do we stand on progress?" she asked, stepping a bit further down the hall so as not to be overheard.

"He's actually doing better than they thought--sitting up more, staying on the computer a little longer, and he's got enough strength to hang on to us now when we help him on and off the hoverscooter. I know what the doctors said, but I also know Adrian. I don't think he'll stay on that thing for long. I've been insisting that he will stand for his installation as Emperor, and I think I've managed to instill that as a goal," Morgana reported.

"I don't know. I just don't want to push him too hard," Typhani said, concerned.

"You can't baby him either, Typhani. It'll only make it worse for him, physically and politically," Morgana warned her. Typhani knew Morgana was right, but her instinctive protectiveness still prevailed. The elevators nearby opened, and a neat squad of elite security stormtroopers came marching down the hall toward them. "Well, here we go," Morgana continued. "They said they want him on the oxygen inflight, and they've also mixed it with a pretty powerful sedative. He should sleep all the way home."

When they boarded the shuttle, Typhani was concerned that the experience might trigger bad memories of leaving the station, memories Adrian still hadn't recovered. The last thing he had remembered prior to the explosion was the daily staff meeting at which he had first announced Palpatine's dissolution of the Senate, and also during which Darth Vader and Raolf Motti had gotten into an argument, and Vader nearly strangled the admiral. Adrian remembered defusing that disaster, but he as of yet did not remember creating another one--Alderaan. Typhani hoped that he would never remember that, or the stations destruction, for that matter.

"Hold on to me," Typhani said as she transferred him into the front center passenger seat in the shuttle so that she and Morgana could be on either side of him. "All right, back you go, and you need this," she said, pulling the pressurized oxygen mask into place. "And when you wake up, we'll be home." How she had longed to have been able to say those words during the trip home from Tallaan, but instead, it was Darth Vader who had said similar ones to her.

On the way home, Morgana commented, "You know, despite that I wish the circumstances were different, I've really enjoyed the past few days. That's the most time we've spent alone together since we were teenagers."

As soon as they exited hyperspace, Typhani took the oxygen away. "Adrian, you need to start waking up now, we're almost home," she told him. It took him several minutes to shake the effects of the medication, but by the time they put down in Port Tarkin, he was alert enough to get back on the scooter and to be a bit concerned about security. "No one knows we're coming in," Typhani assured him.

The security troops escorted them into an overland transport. "Things certainly have changed," Adrian commented on the way home.

"Yes, but a lot of things are still the same as well," she assured him. And then, at last . . .

Home.

The house had not changed much at all, as he remembered it. Typhani had kept it that way, for him. Lyscithea and Lyjéa were waiting for them, and welcomed their father home with open arms and open hearts, camcorder rolling. It was early evening on Phelarion by the time they reached the estate, and so Lyscithea asked her father, "Are you up to meeting Kormath and the boys tonight?"

"Oh, Scythi, I don't know. I'm still a little out of it," he said.

"I don't think it would be good this evening. We need to get you into bed. Surely we'll have lots of visitors tomorrow, though," Typhani speculated. "The rest of the Council and a few other higher-ups were informed today, and Gilad said the first public communiqué goes out tonight." Security troops already sealed the perimeter around the house and set up a command post in the ballroom to help screen calls and messages. Three separate welcoming events were being planned, one for family and close friends to be held at their vacation home on Lake Phelarion, one for the Imperial Remnant "Inner Circle" to be held at Villa Galaxia, the Tarkin family compound on Eriadu, and a more open one to be held on Bastion--three welcome back celebrations to counteract the three memorial services. Then would come the official installation of the Emperor and Empress. There had never been a question that they would ascend together.

On Pedducis Chorios, the Company of Independent Settlers had gathered in the main auditorium of their administrative facility by the time their president arrived. No one had ever seen her look like that--had never seen her look better, and had certainly never seen her in a dress, hose, and pumps! Whispers rose from the crowd as Daala walked down the center aisle to take the podium. She had full color in her face again, and strength and resolve in her bright emerald eyes. Only those very few who had known her in the Maw had ever seen such before. Daala scanned the crowd with a smile before she began to speak, and, at least for that moment, her chest swelled with pride instead of pain.

"As you all know, I've been gone for awhile, on my most important mission ever, and I am most pleased to report that this time it has at last been a success," she began. Some people in the crowd took her comments literally, thinking she had perhaps gone back to the Core Worlds or the like. The magnitude of the mission was as yet lost on them. "But with success comes change. We may all be leaving Pedducis Chorios soon--to go to Bastion. It seems, my friends, that the Empire--our Empire--is about to rise again." This time, gasps and comments rose from the auditorium floor.

"A quarter century ago," Daala continued, "the Rebel Alliance took our greatest leader from us at the Battle of Yavin. I can say this with confidence because, as you all know, I worked directly with Grand Moff Tarkin for a number of years, and maintained his research facility for over a decade following the destruction of the first Death Star." At this comment, more whispers and some snickers rose from the floor. "Yean, okay," Daala continued with a wry smile. "You've all heard the rumors, and I will address those in a few minutes. However, there is something of much greater importance. I know that you were all told that I was away because a friend of mine was ill and that I had gone to stay with him and his family. That was quite true. Now my friend is well on the road to recovery, and we will soon have the new Emperor we have needed for so long. You see, there really was a shuttle crash at the Tallaan Shipyards on the same day as the Battle of Yavin, but, contrary to what you may have read, it occurred after the first Death Star exploded. That shuttle, my friends, came out of the ruins of Death Star. There was one survivor, but we were never told about it because the magnitude of his injuries and an allergy to bacta prevented effective medical intervention at that time. So, this survivor was placed in long-term carbonite encapsulation until medical technology caught up with him. It did so three months ago." She paused again, and she could tell by the looks on their faces that the realization was beginning to hit her audience. This time, she could make out the whispers.

"By the stars, he's alive!" they came.

"Yes, everyone, it's true," Daala continued, smiling widely and speaking exuberantly. "Grand Moff Tarkin is very much alive, on his way home to Phelarion as I speak." Massive, thunderous cheers filled the auditorium as many of the colonists rose to their feet, many of them hugging each other and offering quick explanations to their children. "At last," Daala continued to try to get their attention again. "At last, we will have not only an Emperor, but an Empress as well, and, no, it's not me!" That succeeded in getting the crowd's attention again. Daala then offered what would become the official explanation of her relationship with the Tarkins, as she, Adrian, Typhani, and their new public relations committee had agreed would be for the best.

"As I mentioned earlier, for years, you've all heard rumors about an inappropriate relationship that supposedly took place at the Maw Installation. I never publicly addressed those rumors because of the very personal nature of what actually happened, and out of my deep respect for one thought lost. Quite frankly, it was nobody's business but ours, and by that I mean the three of us--me, the Grand Moff--and Lady Tarkin." More gasps and whispers rose from the seats. Daala moved on. "Now, however, circumstances dictate that the truth is better than the rumors. I will not disclose the specific details, but the Tarkins experienced a great deal of difficulty in building the large family they always wanted. After their youngest daughter was born, they were unable to have any more children. A few years later, after they had exhausted all of their other options--and well after I had attained the rank of Admiral--I agreed to be a surrogate for them. Unfortunately, the events at Yavin intervened." Silence filled the auditorium this time. But then, one woman with a toddler on her lap began to applaud, then another, then another . . .

Back on Phelarion, as dusk fell, Adrian and Typhani exited the lift on the second floor of their home and proceeded down the wide upstairs hall to their master suite. They went directly into their sitting room. Raycellna had waited patiently a quarter century to stand proudly with a tray of tea and wafers. She remembered bringing one that awful night Lord Vader brought Lady Tarkin home, but Typhani had told her to take it away. The memories were just too painful. Now, though, Adrian and Typhani settled onto their settee and into each other's embrace, and savored the bliss of finally being home and being alone together.

And then, as it grew late, Typhani at last fulfilled her dream as she helped her husband into their bed and sank down next to him. The feeling itself, the connection between them, was too powerful for words, and so they just held each other deep into the night.

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