Chapter 15:
Leaving Pedducis Chorios
"Yes, absolutely, this time we will evacuate," the Emperor assured Aerom Flennic and several other officers as they prepared for the trip to Pedducis Chorios. Fortunately, the Vong temporarily turned their attention to the Hapes Cluster, gunning for Jedi hiding there, so that bought the Imperial Remnant enough time to make the exodus a diplomatic one. With the Vong distracted, Adrian and Typhani decided to travel to the Chorios system with Daala to seek the colony's support in staffing the new Sienar Death Star--or the "Vong Crusher," as it had been nicknamed.
The peace accord between the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant contained a provision that any Palpatine-era superweapons discovered would be jointly dismantled. However, with the current crisis, the New Republic found itself in far too much disarray to challenge the point. The best they could hope for was that the newfound station would be used for the mutual defense, but no such discussions had yet transpired. Adrian was, in fact, still formulating how he would respond to such a request should it come, which Imperial assets he would demand be returned for said protection.
He and Typhani knew that Daala would find leaving Pedducis Chorios behind quite difficult. Fortunately, Kormath and his team at Sienar finished a special project in time for the trip, a project that would undoubtedly make Daala's transition easier. Adrian turned to her.
"We'll be traveling to Pedducis Chorios in our new ceremonial flagship," he announced.
She drew her brows together in confusion. "New flagship? What new flagship?"
"You were still convalescing, so I arranged for the new ceremonial vessel. After all, we can't be seen traversing the galaxy in the likes of Han Solo's hooptie, now can we?" Everyone laughed at that jab at Solo's infamous Millennium Falcon, but Daala was still confused. Adrian and Typhani wanted her that way, and they made her sit in the rear of the shuttle as they disembarked so that she could not see clearly outside.
"Close your eyes," Adrian said as they docked with the new flagship.
"What?" Daala queried.
"That's a command, Admiral. Close your eyes and let us lead you." Daala did as she was commanded, entrusting one hand to Adrian and the other to Typhani as they exited the shuttle. Daala found maneuvering a bit awkward, as Adrian was on his hoverscooter, still not able to walk for long distances.
As they entered the lift to the bridge, Daala felt something strangely familiar. Things sounded vaguely familiar, smelled familiar, but not quite somehow.
"All right, Admiral, you may look now," Adrian said as they reached the bridge. Flennic and the other officers had already hurried ahead and assembled.
"Do you have any idea where you are?" the Empress asked, smiling kindly at her.
Daala looked around. Yes, of course she recognized that she stood on the bridge of an Imperial Class Star Destroyer. Then she began to realize, and she ran to the command terminal to check the ship's identification codes and to look out the forward viewport at the undeniable exterior markings--shining emblems on a fully restored and once-again gleaming white exterior. "By the stars, I can't believe this!" she cried, then suddenly forced herself to regain her military stance as she turned around to face the other officers.
"Yes. It's yours again, Admiral Daala," Adrian assured her warmly as the other officers, including Flennic, saluted her emphatically. Adrian had one more item of business to tend to before he and Typhani retired to their quarters for the duration of the flight. "All right, everyone, there are going to be a few changes. Daala, Aerom, a moment with you," he began. "Remove your insignias, please," Adrian directed them. Typhani took two small slipcases from her bag.
Daala hesitated for a moment, but then did as commanded. The insignia she wore had been hers since she arrived at the Maw, and it was also one of the very few possessions she'd managed to keep with her throughout her years of turmoil. She and Flennic then handed their insignias to Typhani, who had passed the new slipcases to her husband.
"It gives me great pleasure to promote each of you to the rank of Grand Admiral," Adrian told them triumphantly, handing each officer one of the new slipcases. Aerom knew it was coming, but Daala again momentarily flushed with excitement as she attached her new insignia to her uniform. Typhani then gave her back her old insignia, knowing what it meant to her, and Daala tucked it into the slipcase for safe keeping. "You will each find your new white uniforms in your quarters," the Emperor concluded.
The members of the bridge crew applauded, and then took their places. "Your orders, Grand Admiral Daala?" the navigator queried with a smile.
To give commands as an Imperial Admiral--as the Grand Admiral she thought she'd never become, and certainly the only female Grand Admiral--on the bridge of her beloved Gorgon again! The experience was so good it almost didn't seem real, but it was! It really was! Daala drew herself up as the memories came back and addressed her navigator, "Set course for Pedducis Chorios!"
"At once, Admiral!" the navigator responded.
"And all of you on highest alert! We have the Emperor and Empress on board! To your posts!" How supremely wonderful it felt to say "to your posts" instead of "to the lifepods!" And then she felt the surge of the new sublight engines through the bridge deck.
And yet all was not triumph for Daala that day. Adrian had decided that Daala would command his flagship and serve as Chief of Staff to him and the Empress. Aboard the new station, Daala would assume the role of tactical chief once held by Charlie Bast, but, unlike Charlie, would not be a member of the security detail. He and Typhani had made these decisions for the sake of Daala's health. Flennic, however, inherited the retiring Gilad Pellaeon's position of Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military, the title held by Darth Vader prior to Pellaeon.
So all in all, the day turned out to be bittersweet for Daala. On one level, she understood that, by his decisions, Adrian was protecting both her and the Imperial Remnant, but on another, she felt disappointed. It would have been easier if her colleague on the bridge that day had been a woman, she thought. If only Morgana . . .
After a moderate flight, the Gorgon exited hyperspace just outside of the Chorios system and then settled into orbit around Pedducis Chorios. Typhani had rejoined Daala on the bridge. She stepped up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, looking out the forward viewport at the dusty and forlorn world, not much better than Tatooine. "You could have come to Phelarion, you know. I wish you had."'
"Yes, I wish I had also. You know what they say about hindsight . . . "
A voice came over the bridge intercom, "Preparing shuttle for departure to the surface to disembark in 20 minutes."
"Ah, I'd better wake that husband of mine," Typhani mused. "He gets far too little sleep lately."
Daala radioed down to the surface to make sure the colony had assembled in the auditorium, that all security measures were in place, and that the projection equipment was working properly. On the way down, Daala gazed almost lovingly out the side viewports at her restored Gorgon, her hand over her new insignia, still hardly believing the reality of both.
As the three of them exited the shuttle, the Tarkins' six elite security troopers closed a tight and protective formation around them. Adrian looked up at Daala. "I almost subjugated the Silver Unifer and this place once."
"Aren't you glad you didn't waste your time or resources?" Daala queried disdainfully.
"Yes, since it allowed you refuge."
Daala smiled softly. Despite the rough nature of the world, it had indeed provided her a soft landing more than once.
The group quickly made its way to the auditorium, where the Company of Independent Settlers had once again assembled to receive what they were told would be "great news," this time given by the new Emperor himself.
All colonists rose to their feet when the group entered, and the thunderous applause seemed as if it would go on forever. This, many of the colonists reflected, is why they had sacrificed so much and held on for so long. Security troops lined the perimeter of the auditorium as the Emperor hovered behind the podium, carefully dismounted his scooter, and pulled himself up, Daala at his side. Adrian had always been a gifted speaker, having used his rhetorical abilities to sway many in the Senate to Palpatine's favor in the waning years of the Old Republic. The group presently before him would not be disappointed. The room fell silent at the slight raising of his right hand.
"Loyal Imperial subjects," he began, "it is my utmost honor to announce to you that the New Order has at last been restored, and in its restoration, we shall drive away both the remains of the rebellious New Republic as well as the alien invaders they have attracted to this galaxy." More booming applause rocked the auditorium. "All you have fought for here, all of the years of strife you have endured to uphold the values of the Empire, shall not be in vain, but rather shall be rewarded with victory at last. As you know, we have come here to transfer all of you to a safer location in the event the Yuuzhan Vong turn their attention in this direction. I have chosen to come here today to personally disclose to you the nature of that location, as its creator is unable to do so himself. We have recently made an incredible discovery in the Unknown Regions. It was created some years ago by my dear friend and colleague Raith Sienar for Grand Admiral Thrawn, who, unfortunately, was unable to take delivery. This."
The holoprojector hummed to life, revealing the image of the Sienar Death Star. Naturally, many in the audience were immediately skeptical, mindful of two very powerful explosions that occurred several years ago. Yet Adrian went on the allay those fears by explaining the differences in the designs, and vowing the be the first aboard.
"And one other feature of interest," the Emperor continued, "this station is equipped with a cloaking device." The room fell silent again.
Then, a few whispers rose from the floor. "Sienar did it! He really did it!"
Adrian then continued and concluded by outlining the plans to shuttle the colonists to the restored Gorgon and then transfer them to the station. As the audience began to dissipate, some of the colonists who knew Adrian, Typhani, or both came up to greet them. Adrian went to Daala's conference room to meet with some of the former and future officers as Typhani accompanied Daala though the breezeway into the house.
Dirty. Musty. Bare. Typhani wrinkled her nose and drew her dark brows together. This mess way beyond not saying anything. An Imperial officer, nonetheless, with such a mess! "Daala, don't you have anyone here to help you?" she asked. Daala looked away, embarrassed.
Typhani realized then, as Daala shook her head slightly. "There's nothing left," she admitted quietly. "It took almost everything we had to purchase the land and build the colony. This compound took what I had left. My military pension kept me going from month to month, but that's all."
Typhani had suspected as much. "It doesn't matter now," she reassured her.
Daala didn't respond to that, but instead walked over to the expansive living room windows, and stared blankly out them. Typhani took a couple of steps toward her. "What is it?"
"It's just that this is the only home I've ever had that was really mine. After nearly twenty years of living on ships, I was finally able to put my head down in my own bed, in my own home."
"Perhaps the Vong won't come here after all, Daala. Maybe their attention will be drawn somewhere else. And then you can keep this as a vacation home or even return here if you like. You've given enough of your life and yourself to the Empire. You need not feel obligated that you have to stay, not now that Adrian has nearly recovered. You just need to let us know what you want to do."
Daala turned around. "I don't ever want to be away from you and Adrian again. But I'd still like to be able to come here from time to time. I hope you're right."
"Well, for now, let's get the droids in here and get your things packed."
Adrian soon joined them, as he and Typhani had planned to return to the greater security of the Gorgon for the night. In light of the mess and the chaos of the packing, Daala decided to join them. They discussed the evacuation and its timing as they made their way back to the landing pad.
Typhani looked over at her husband as they approached the shuttle's boarding ramp. "At least the Jedi are good for something after all, if nothing more than distracting the--"
A blaster bolt that came out of nowhere cut Typhani's thought mid- sentence as a searing pain tore through her left leg just above the knee. Another bolt fired simultaneously grazed her husband across his left side. Their security detail closed in around them, but the firestorm only intensified as at least half a dozen snipers appeared on the rooftops along the left side of the landing pad and began to cut the guards down one by one.
In the instant it began, Typhani spun on her right leg. lost her balance, and fell toward Adrian, just as a bolt that would surely have struck him in the head seared into the back of her right shoulder instead. The scooter went over as another bolt caught the side of her chest in a glancing blow under her left arm. That final blow threw her away from Adrian and onto the walkway, rolling her several times. She finally came to rest face down.
"What--" Daala shrieked. Her military instincts immediately took over as the remaining three of their six guards moved in front of where Adrian had fallen while rapidly returning fire. Two snipers fell dead as a third staggered about from his injuries.
Daala retrieved a blaster rifle from one of their own fallen guards and also began to return fire, finishing off the wounded sniper, just as another of their own guards fell. She took aim again at one of the three remaining gunmen, hitting him once, but he didn't go down. Following Daala's lead, Adrian pulled himself from beneath his overturned hoverscooter and crawled to another fallen guard, taking his rifle. In the confusion, he hadn't seen Typhani go down. He thought instead that she had been pulled to safety.
"If I can just hold them off!" Daala thought as she heard the sounds of some of her colony's defenses coming to their aid. She raised her rifle again, and eliminated one more sniper just as the last of their own security detail fell to the ground beside her. That left two against her, one wounded. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder at Typhani, and seething hot rage coursed through every fiber of her being. It had been a mistake. She doubled over in crippling pain as a blaster bolt caught her in the lower left quadrant of her abdomen. Despite the pain, she knew that if she went down, it would leave Adrian exposed, but then a blast came up from behind her and struck the wounded sniper, knocking him off the roof.
The searing energy tore through Daala like a supernova. She knew she couldn't straighten up or raise the rifle again. Her newly-transplanted lungs throbbed and burned in her chest as she dropped her rifle, instinctively clutched the wound, and fell forward.
Unbeknownst to her, Daala's fall actually gave Adrian a clear shot at the last remaining sniper, but not before he got off another blast. Adrian tried to roll to one side to throw off the would-be assassin's aim, but he wasn't fast enough. The bolt struck him on the side of the right thigh, but he too would have taken a gut-shot had he lain still. He came out of the spin lying on his back. The sniper lowered his rifle, and for a brief moment, the two adversaries stared menacingly at each other. Then, the surviving sniper raised his rifle again, but turned his head slightly and aimed in a different direction. Adrian sought to take advantage of whatever distraction engaged the sniper. As he turned onto his left side and pulled the rifle into position, he then saw what the sniper was aiming at--a bloody bundle of ivory and lavender robes with a mass of dark hair that lay crumpled on the walkway a couple of meters away.
Daala had managed to turn onto her back, and raised up enough to see the target as well. "No! Leave her alone!" she shrieked. Startled, the sniper's head jerked in her direction, but he did not realign his blaster. At that instant, in both utter shock and white rage, Adrian released a volley of laser bolts at the last assassin, nearly cutting him in half.
Then the pain engulfed him as well as he fell back to the surface of the landing pad. Despite his own injuries and Daala's painful cries as she lay to his right, he knew he had to get to Typhani. With his heart pounding in his throat and his ears, he finally managed to drag himself to her. Her body was still twitching from the electrical pulse of the blaster bolts. A whirlwind of anguish engulfed him as he gently turned her face out of the dirt. She was blue. Adrian blacked out as the rest of the colony's security detail stampeded in their direction, and a cluster of guards and medics surrounded them.
Stroma Veers called out to Daala as she ran up the walkway toward the landing pad. She reached her best friend just ahead of the medics and crouched down at her side. "Hang on, Daala," she encouraged her. "It doesn't look that bad."
The other medic crew carefully turned Typhani onto her back, despite the wound to her right shoulder, and ripped open the front of her robes. Her heart was not beating, but merely quivering, its rhythm interrupted by the electrical impulses of the three direct hits she'd taken. Everyone pulled back as a small droid hovered over her and touched a probe to her exposed chest. Nothing. The droid moved into position again . . .
The troops from the colony worked quickly to secure Daala and Adrian and get them aboard the shuttle, then returned to assist the medic crews with Typhani and the fallen guards. With their security breached, the shuttle lifted off as soon as the pad was cleared so as to get its surviving passengers to the safety of the waiting Star Destroyer as quickly as possible. The Gorgon made for the hyperspace jump point after everyone had been transferred aboard, headed for the trauma center in Eriadu City. One of the Tarkins' security guards had also survived, but his wounds were too severe to risk the longer flight to Lumin.
Silence permeated the bridge. The crew, everyone, was in shock after what had just happened. Aerom Flennic juggled two comm ports simultaneously as he already feverishly went about notifying Bastion and finding those responsible.
After all she'd just been through, Daala was lucky this time. The blow that struck her came from a lower-powered hand blaster, and had caught her at a glancing angle. Stroma sat next to her.
"Don't tell me it's just a flesh wound! It hurt too damned bad!" Daala insisted.
"The impulse nicked an ovary, dear," Stroma told her.
Daala just cringed at that, but then turned her head away, not even trying to hold back this time. Stroma knew that the tears were not the result of her own wound or pain. She took her hand. "I know, Daala. I know. I just . . . can't believe this has happened."
The medic crew thought it best to keep Adrian sedated until they reached Eriadu. When they arrived at the medcenter, Stroma walked briskly alongside Daala as the medic droids wheeled her in. Daala closed her eyes tightly and Stroma's stomach knotted as they passed a wailing Lyjéa ensconced in Valdemar's arms.
Typhani's condition was especially critical as another cluster of droids wheeled her into one of the trauma bays. Her left leg had been nearly severed in two by the first shot that hit her, and the other two blasts had burned deep into her chest cavity. Inflammation had already started to set in, choking off her lungs and constricting her heart, which continued to beat erratically. Then it stopped altogether once again. This time, a surgical droid hovered quickly into position above her and opened her chest.
Typhani stirred to find herself standing in a thick, white fog that seemed to be illuminated from within. She thought she had been injured, but then somehow that didn't seem real, nor did it seem to matter anymore. But the fog . . . something was not right about that. "Fog on Pedducis Chorios?" she wondered aloud as she looked around her for the others. "Adrian? Daala?" she called out. They weren't there.
"Mom!" came a small voice from behind her. She whirled around to see six young faces staring up at her, four boys and two girls.
"What?" she asked, baffled.
One of the dark-haired boys spoke up. "You can't come this way. Not yet."
"You children must be mistaken. Are you from the colony?"
"No," one of the girls said, a confused look on her face. "We're from . . . you. You're our mother."
Typhani took a step toward them. "You are mischievous little ones. My daughters are old enough to be your mother. Come now, who put you up to this?" she asked, smiling down at them.
"You did. You're not supposed to be here," another boy explained.
"We are your daughters," the two girls insisted in unison.
Typhani mused that she would get good whomever orchestrated this charade, but she started to feel a bit uneasy as well. "Really? What are your names, then?"
"I'm Lyjéa," one girl insisted.
"And I'm Lyscithea," the other followed.
"Ah! Well, at least you have the names correct, but there's just one little problem--my Lyjéa and Lyscithea are nearly forty years old, and Scythi has children of her own who are your age! Why, you youngsters can't be more than five or six years old!"
"We're not even that old," one of the boys insisted.
"How old are you, then?" Typhani inquired, beginning to have some inquisitive fun with the children.
Another boy spoke up. "We're not any age at all. We . . . weren't even born."
Typhani shuddered as she realized that she must be dreaming, but this felt like no dream. Still, something else was not right. She'd had five miscarriages, yet six children stood before her, blocking her path.
"See, I would have been Lyjéa if I had been born, and then she would be called something else," the first little girl explained.
"Same for me," the little Lyscithea added.
Typhani stepped backwards this time, and took a moment to continue. The children never took their eyes off of her. Finally, she addressed the remaining four children. "Boys, what are your names?"
Three of the boys looked at each other, and one of them answered for the group. "Us three, we're all called Wilhuff Adrian."
"Except me!" the fourth boy spoke up.
Typhani swallowed back the lump in her throat and drew a shaky breath. She noticed that this boy more closely resembled one of the other three--in fact, the two were identical. "And, what's your name?"
"I'm Nostremi--or, I would have been."
At that, Typhani fell to her knees and opened her arms to her lost children. "Come to me!" she cried.
"Only for a little while," Nostremi told her. "Then you have to go back." The other followed his lead into their mother's embrace, and she gathered them close as if to never let go.
"No! I want to stay with you! I want to know all of you!" she cried as the children came into her arms. But they didn't feel quite real, neither warm nor cold, they had no smell, and didn't quite move as children do. Still, she clutched them all to her, taking each of their small faces in her hands one by one.
"You will, someday, but it's too soon now," Nostremi explained.
She surveyed all of them again, running her hands through their hair. "I want your father to know you!" she cried.
"He will, too. We watched over him, while he was . . . asleep. Someday, all of us will be together, but you have to go back now."
She shook her head at them as tears began to streak her cheeks.
"But you have to! You have to go back to Father! He needs you! The Empire--he can't do it without you!" the girls insisted.
She knew she could never willingly leave Adrian behind, not after what had happened to him. But to find her lost children, only to have to leave them again so quickly--could she bear it? "You don't know how much I've grieved for you--each one of you!" She turned to Nostremi and took his head in her hands again. "And I never even knew about you!"
"But now you don't have to grieve for us anymore. Now you know we're here. We've always been here, and we'll be here waiting for you--for you and Father and our sisters. But now you must go back!" Nostremi pleaded.
The girls approached her then, and each of them took one of her hands. "Come," little Lyjéa said. "We'll walk with you as far as we can." Typhani only pulled the little girls close again.
Nostremi turned and called into the fog. "Grampa! Please come! She'll listen to you!"
Typhani lifted her head and rose to her feet as her father--or at least an image of him--came out of the fog toward her. "Papa!" she cried, and ran into his arms. "I never got to say goodbye to you!"
"Is no need, Typhani. Goodbye is final, but see, we're all here waiting for you. A fine woman you have become, an' a fine Empress you will make! You must go back to your Emperor now. You know how bad it was, when he was in da carbonite. You want him to suffer da same an' worse? Dis is no dream, Typhani, no carbonite. If you stay here, it means dat you die on da odder side. It's not time for you here yet. You go. I watch dese liddle ones for you."
Typhani stepped back to look at her father, and then down at her unborn children.
"Now you can tell Father about us," little Nostremi told his mother as he moved back to take his grandfather's hand. Typhani felt something pulling at her robes as her father and her children disappeared into the fog . . .
The next sensation she felt was like being slammed against a bulkhead during an aborted hyperspace jump. She was back in her body, and it convulsed at her arrival, much to the relief of the trauma center staff. To lose the Empress would be unthinkable, and unforgivable. A very much relieved young intern went to relay the news.
Stroma left the waiting room where she and other friends and family members had gathered and slipped quietly into the room where Daala was resting. She moved the back of her hand away from her eyes and looked up urgently at her best friend. The look on Stroma's face betrayed the news. "Daala, you need to be ready for this," she began somberly. "You may have to help with Adrian later. It's Typhani--they, well, they're putting her into a bacta tank now, but . . . " She looked away.
Daala winced, but she lay silently. Stroma thought she knew what was on her best friend's mind. "I suppose this could actually work out well for you in the long run, couldn't it?" she observed.
"What?" Daala asked, raising her head a bit.
Stroma sat down next to her. "Oh, come on, Daala! I see the way you still steal a lascivious glance at him every once in awhile. When you thought you were about to leave this universe, it was easy for you to play the martyr and not make waves. But now that you're not about to die anytime soon, it's not so easy anymore, is it?"
"Stroma, don't! Just don't!" Daala insisted.
"See? I knew it."
Daala turned to face her. "Stroma, Typhani has been like a mother to me--the mother I never had!"
"Yes, true, but if she's not going to make it and there's nothing they can do about it, well then?"
Now Daala came full up off the bed and spoke through a tight throat. "Did they say that?!"
"No, no, they said they don't know."
Daala lay back, staring at the ceiling. She loved Typhani, perhaps now as much as she loved and admired Adrian, though she still could not bring herself to say so. She knew that she could never do anything to break their bond. Still, Stroma had a point. If the unfortunate did become inevitable . . . She'd once thought of that before, she recalled. In that event, she knew, Adrian would likely need far more help than she or anyone else could give him. Still, she did not one bit appreciate Stroma's insinuations at a time like this. Yet Stroma knew the script well, Daala remembered, having once been an "other woman" herself who followed on quickly and aggressively after the death of a first wife. "How could you even bring this up now?" Daala accused. "Don't judge me by your own actions, Stroma."
This time it was Stroma who looked away.
"What has Typhani ever done to you?!" Daala continued.
"It's not her fault. It's just hard to watch. Why her and why not me?"
Daala blinked, then realized. "It's about Max, isn't it?"
Stroma bit the inside of her cheek. "Of course it's about Max!" She rose to her feet, walked to the window, and stared out at the smoggy Eriadu City skyline as she drew her beige and white robes about her. "My husband didn't come back. No one could flip a switch on a decarbonizer and turn my world right side up again. My husband is still out there somewhere, and I don't even have as much as the comfort or closure of knowing if he's dead or alive!"
Daala raised up on one elbow. "If there was anything they could do to change that, Stroma, I'm sure they would."
"Adrian should have never developed that damned thing to begin with! Then he wouldn't have been hurt in the first one and Max wouldn't be missing because of the utter chaos that has ensued since the loss of the second one!"
"Perhaps . . . perhaps not," Daala speculated as she stiffly sat up on the side of her bed.
"So are you denying you still have feelings for him?"
Daala steadied herself with her arms, and stared down at her feet. "It doesn't matter, because if Typhani dies, Adrian won't be far behind her. You don't understand the bond they have."
"Then how do you explain--no, how does he explain what happened between you two in the Maw?"
"We haven't talked about it."
"What?! Eight months, and you haven't said a word to each other?"
"Not those words, no. We've been so busy. I think we've both been avoiding it. I mean, I'm still coming to terms with why it started in the first place."
"Oh! And on that note, how can you possibly stand to be so close to them after what they did to you, Daala? He made a guinea-whore out of you, and then cost you eleven years of your life, stranded out in the Maw in the middle of nowhere!"
"Those were the best eleven years of my life--those and the five that preceded them, despite the Tarkins' intentions."
"He's brainwashed you, Daala, probably before he ever took you from Carida."
"I'd be dead by now if he hadn't taken me from Carida--and if Typhani hadn't taken me from Pedducis Chorios! Adrian and Typhani are the only people who have ever believed in me, cared about me, listened to me, trusted me, loved me, and treated me like something other than the piece of trash my mother obviously thought I was! If that's brainwashing, then I suppose I have a very clean brain indeed!"
"How do you know it was your mother who threw you away?"
Daala drew her brows together and stared hard at Stroma. She had never considered otherwise.
Stroma continued. "You may very well have a mother out there who has spent her entire life looking for you, and who knows all too well the pain of the loss of a child."
"Not now, Stroma! Not now!" Daala insisted, lying back down. It would be a long time before she would be able to sleep again, thanks to the elemental imps Stroma had awakened in the back of her mind.
Later, and in another part of the medcenter, Adrian struggled to pull himself from under the influence of the drugs he'd been given aboard the Gorgon. "Typhani!" he called out, and started to try to sit up. Morgana sat with him. "Calm down, it's all right," she reassured him as she eased him back. "She's in a bacta tank. Lyjéa and Scythi are with her."
His head seemed to spin as he tried to sort out the events of the last few hours. "Is she going to be all right?" he asked his sister urgently.
Morgana's cheek jerked. "She was pretty bad off for awhile, but she's a little better now. We just have to let the bacta work. There's nothing you can do for her right now. You know you can't get near the bacta. You just need to rest. You were hit twice yourself."
He wasn't concerned about himself. But if he had been hit multiple times . . . "Morgana, where did they hit her? I have to know!"
Morgana, as usual, saw no need to mince words with her brother. "Uh, above the left knee, the left side of her ribcage, and the back of her right shoulder. The shoulder wound is the worst. The blast that caused it would have struck you directly in the head if she hadn't fallen on top of you."
Adrian shuddered visibly, and Morgana reached over to steady him. "Oh, no! Not her! Not again!" His memory shot back to Eriadu, to the time when he'd jumped to conclusions, to the time a renegade faction of the Mining Guild had indeed targeted his wife, overturning the hovercar she was riding in with explosives made from her own megonite, and then made it look as if the assassination attempt had been of a political nature and meant for him instead. The truth came quickly to light that time, but the thought that she had endured blows this time that truly were intended for him made him recoil inside. Had she fallen on top of him, or thrown herself on top of him? "As soon as they get her out--"
She interceded. "Yes, yes, they'll put you together in the same room, we've already seen to that. Then we'll get you both to Villa Galaxia where you can be adequately protected. Aerom says you'll have to triple your security measures."
"Or sequester myself away like Palpatine?"
"Yes, if that's what it takes."
He remembered the other casualty. "Where's Daala? Is she all right?"
"Yes, she's resting. Stroma and Chantir have been with her since they brought you all in. Valdemar is assisting Aerom with security measures."
"They must see to it that Typhani is never exposed to this sort of danger ever again!"
Morgana smiled half-heartedly and shook her head. "You can't keep us in cages, Adrian. Besides, we've dealt with the Alderaan backlash all the while you were in the carbonite."
Adrian stared at his sister. He knew about the Rebel infiltration just prior to the Thirteenth Conclave, and about of couple of other incidents since then involving his wife, but nothing had been said of his sister. "Morgana . . . what haven't you told me?"
"It only happened to me once. It was about . . . about eighteen years ago, I suppose. I was still living on Corulag, and I wasn't home anyway. I don't think they intended to harm me personally, else they'd have been more precise in their planning."
"Planning for what? What did they do to you?"
"It's not important right now." She pushed her chair back a bit and looked away, biting her lower lip slightly.
"Morgana . . . " he pressed her.
"They--the Rebels--they . . . firebombed my compound and--" She had to catch a breath before continuing. "They shot my dogs."
Ever since she was a little girl, Morgana Tarkin had been a being of action. She always had to have something to do, never being content to simply lounge away the life of a privileged socialite. She'd always been an artist at heart, despite her affinity for the military. When the Rebels struck, she had just begun to make a name for herself with her intricately painted sculptures, and her dog breeding activities had won her accolades at top shows across the galaxy. Yet Morgana had not owned a dog or picked up a paintbrush since the incident.
She wiped at the corner of her right eye. "Well, as you can imagine, I nearly drowned myself in the liquor. That's how I ended up in rehab. If it hadn't been for Nolan, I'd have surely ended up like Mother. But you see, the Rebel bastards didn't get me. They didn't have the guts or the capability to strike directly at me. I suppose they thought I'd destroy myself instead, and the pathetic voyeurs would have had a game of a time watching me. They didn't know I had a secret--a secret that is now about to bite them back!"
Adrian knew she meant him. "Yes. And they'll soon rue what they've done to you."
"You know, I heard that it was Leia Organa herself who was behind the incident--her and her husband. Oh, the sordid things I wanted to do to them over the years! But it's so rather ironic--the things I wanted. They've gotten theirs! It's as if the Universe itself has avenged me. I wanted Solo's Wookiee dead, for one thing. And I wanted their personal home incinerated as well. It seems I got the entire seat of the New Republic. In a way, I wish the Vong could be trusted."
Adrian smiled at her. "They can't be," he told her. "But Leia's gotten even worse than that. I know what your dogs always meant to you, Morgana. They were the children you never had. It might interest you to know that Leia's youngest son was killed a few months back, and the Vong have captured her older son."
"That's . . . unfortunate for her. The death of her children I would have never willed upon her. But, even after all these years, and even after everything that has happened, somehow I still want retribution by my own hand."
"And you shall have it!" her brother assured her emphatically.
Just then, Rivoche put her head in the door, then opened it fully, followed by two medtech droids with a hoverchair. Rivoche addressed her uncle. "They've put a headset on Aunt Typi in case she can hear us. Come on." Adrian had already cast his blanket aside before she even finished the sentence.
The quasi-opaque nature of the bacta fluid made it difficult for Adrian to see her clearly, but, for the moment, that was the best circumstance. He moved as close to the bacta tank as he dared and took up the comlink, then glanced around at his sister, niece, and daughters. "Let's leave them alone," Lyscithea suggested.
Rivoche knew of the closeness between her aunt and uncle, as she had relayed it to the New Republic authorities. But some details evaded Rivoche, even Lyjéa and Lyscithea. When it came to "pillow talk" and other intimate types of conversation, Adrian and Typhani had, over the years, developed their own "language," a code of sorts made up of both of their native dialects with Basic intermingled. And so he talked her back from the brink, just as she had so recently done for him.
Slowly, over the next eighteen hours, Typhani's condition improved and then finally stabilized. The attending droids moved her from the bacta tank into a sonic bath to eliminate all remaining traces of the bacta, mindful of her husband's allergy. By mid-afternoon, the staff moved the Emperor and Empress into the same room, dropping the inner rails on the beds and pushing them together. "That's right," Lyscithea observed. "Now we just have to let them heal each other."
When Typhani stirred again, she felt a warm and gentle hand on the side of her face, and then familiar lips upon her own.
"Adrian . . . "
"Yes, I'm right here." He maneuvered around his own wounds and, being careful of hers, pulled her to him and cradled her close. They lay like that for hours, both of them in and out of a light sleep.
Finally, toward late evening, Typhani became a bit more coherent, and, as usual, most concerned for her husband's welfare. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, for the most part. It's you we've been so worried about. We thought we were going to lose you. You've been in a bacta tank for the last day and a half, and so I couldn't even get close to you until now."
Then she remembered--the first shot, at least--and her thoughts went to her immobilized left leg. "Who did this to us?" she asked weakly, painfully. He searched between them for the analgesic self-administrator that he knew would be somewhere in their covers and, locating it, tucked it into her hand.
"The Rebels, naturally. It was a group calling themselves the 'New Alderaan Movement.' All six of their snipers died, though."
"Where's Daala? Is she all right?"
"Yes, she'll be fine. She just took a slight flesh-wound. We got the worst of it, I'm afraid, other than our own security detail. The Rebels got all but one of them."
"We have to stop this carnage . . . "
"We will, rest assured, we will. So much for a flimsy peace accord. I told Gilad it wouldn't last. Aerom is presently bringing the station in to Bastion, and he and Delta Crowal will complete the evacuation of the colony. Now all we have to do is wait for the Rebels to regroup and light somewhere, and, as I've said before, we'll crush the pathetic vermin with one swift stroke, and this time we shall succeed."
"What about the Vong?"
"The Rebels are the reason why they're here. We'll give them the new Jedi--that's what they seem to want the most. And then we'll see what they do. One way or another, we'll make this galaxy safe for order once again-- safe for us and our children and grandchildren."
That sparked her memory, and she looked up urgently at him. "Adrian, the rest of our children, they're all safe."
Somewhat taken aback by the comment, he gently brushed her hair back out of her face, noticing that it shone with an uncommon luster, the effect of the bacta. "What are you talking about?"
"I had the strangest experience . . . they were there! They're with my father. They're all right, and they're waiting for us."
He pulled her close again. "Oh, you were just dreaming. You've been under some very powerful medication, Typhani. I know the effects. I've been there myself, remember?"
"It didn't seem at all like a dream . . . the best part of it was learning that they're all safe, but--" She started to choke up.
"What? What is it?" he asked softly, lightly tracing her cheekbone.
"There weren't five of them. There were six. We would have had twin boys at one point if things had gone better for us . . . "
Now he believed her as he enveloped her in a protective embrace. "I know."
"What?"
He hesitated for a moment. "It was the last time, right before Scythi was born. You were too upset. The loss had been far too great for you. I didn't think you could stand it, so I saw to it you were never told. I only wanted to protect you." She just turned her head into his embrace, pressing her face against his chest, touched by the knowledge that he'd borne that burden alone. And now she truly did need him to protect her, and needed the tender intimacy that always came with it.
As for the scraps of the New Republic, they had in fact already regrouped in a very familiar place--Yavin IV, having been forced to backtrack there from the Shelter base at Maw Installation. The New Republic had been using the remains of the lab to hide Jedi from the Vong, but when the announcement of Tarkin's return came, they decided that it might be safer to risk discovery by only one enemy than two. The Vong, by that point, held the impression that the Jedi had already evacuated and abandoned the Massassi base.
At the Jedi Academy headquarters, Han Solo hurriedly tore a communiqué printout from a newsfeed printer and ran to find his wife. "Leia! We're gonna have company!" he shouted urgently.
"Now what?" she asked wearily.
"New Alderaan just struck on Pedducis Chorios. They hit Tarkin and Daala. Their conditions are unknown, but Lady Tarkin is dead--multiple blaster wounds from the sniper fire."
The first thought that flashed through Leia's mind upon hearing the news was, "My, how convenient for the Admiral!" Still, the New Republic had long since renounced the New Alderaan movement as zealous terrorists. Leia herself had turned its leadership away a decade ago when the group approached her with a plan to find and murder the designers of the first Death Star. And, while she wanted all associated with that project to suffer greatly for their misdeeds, she did not want their blood on her own hands.
Naturally, she wished that the score could have been the other way around, not yet knowing that they'd received misinformation. Or, perhaps not. She knew Tarkin's weak spot--his family--and particularly his wife. She'd always mistrusted all the rumors about Daala somehow. Perhaps this blow would crush him as Alderaan had crushed her.
Leia rubbed her hands over each other as she recalled the two weeks she spent on Phelarion under the harsh influence of the would-be Empress. She recalled also all of the Alliance ships and personnel lost to powerful Imperial weapons loaded with megonite from Lady Tarkin's facility. She wanted to gloat, but with Fey'lya dead, she knew she would have to take the helm of the New Republic again. As such, she could not afford the luxury of gloating and thus have the assassination attached to her name. So, although in her heart she wanted to proclaim congratulations to the terrorists, she knew she would have to act quickly to renounce the act and disassociate herself form the perpetrators, thus again sacrificing her own convictions for the sake of duty.
She looked up at Han. "We better get out of here, fast! We don't want to draw their fire to the Jedi." she said. "I'll prepare a response aboard the Falcon."
No, Typhani Tarkin was by no means dead, but she did lay wounded and shaken by her latest ordeal. She'd gotten a bit warm, and so Adrian had eased her back onto her bed, but still held her hand. He awoke sometime deep in the night to her quiet sobs. He moved over to her, nearly on top of her, slid one hand behind her head and the other behind the small of her back, resting his cheek upon her forehead such that he could easily kiss the tears away. "Why do things like this keep happening to us, and they're getting worse!" she cried. He noticed that she was trembling slightly.
"No, no," he reassured her. "See, we're both here this time. You'll be all right now. And I'm here. I'm still right here." He gently ran one hand up and down her back, mindful of her right shoulder, and poignantly recalled similar comforts he had received not too long ago.
"What are we going to do? How are we going to keep them away from us?"
"Are you that terribly frightened, dear one?" he asked tenderly.
"There are so many of them now! It's just like before, right after Yavin. I told Darth that I was afraid the Rebels might come after me and the girls. He didn't listen, and look what happened at the Conclave! And now they outnumber us so! They've three-quarters of the galaxy! It's just a matter of time before they--they--" She broke away sobbing, and clutched at the pain it caused in her injured chest wall.
Adrian pressed her head to his shoulder. "You don't have to be afraid, Typhani. Thanks to Raith, you don't have to be afraid. We can go aboard the station."
"But they already destroyed two--"
He silenced her with a gentle kiss. "No, not this one. The core design is different. The station is complete, and fully shielded. And, we have a bit of technology the Rebels only dream of--the cloaking device. We can make ourselves invisible to them, indefinitely if we must."
"What about our coronation next month?" she asked.
"We'll just postpone it again if you're not up to it," he told her assuredly.
"No, I don't want to postpone it," she said. "Everything is planned already, and we've already postponed it once. But what if neither one of us can stand?"
"Then we'll sit on our respective thrones just like Palpatine did all those years."
"I wanted it to be so grand . . . "
"And it can still be."
"I hope so," she yawned, finally able to sleep again in her husband's protective embrace, turning her face into the soft folds of his bed robe.
In the morning, Daala slipped quietly into their room and stood with her back to the door, relieved to see for herself that Adrian and Typhani were all right. She felt responsible. The hit happened at her colony. The security should have been better. In her case, though, she thought, everything should be better. She was getting used to falling short of others' expectations, as well as her own. She knew deep down that her new title meant merely a reward for her struggles, restitution for her pain, rather than the caliber of future command it would mean for Flennic, and perhaps Valdemar.
Later that afternoon, Aerom, Valdemar, and a very much enhanced security force arrived to transfer the Emperor and Empress to Villa Galaxia. Daala had been astounded by the estate on Phelarion, but this was perhaps the grandest home she had ever been in--the grand palace of a Grand Moff. Or was it, she reminded herself as she glanced over at Valdemar, who had stayed right by her side during the transfer. She recalled then the strange way he had looked at her on Phelarion right after Adrian came home.
The security relaxed a bit once they were fully inside, and Valdemar escorted Adrian and Typhani to their apartments as the servants appeared to help them settle in. With her left leg in a brace, Typhani found herself using Adrian's walker to get around, as he had reverted to his scooter. Their wounds would heal, they knew, Adrian's on their own, perhaps with the help of traces of the cell regeneration formula still in his system, and Typhani's perhaps a bit faster with regular application of bacta patches.
Valdemar turned to Daala then, offering her his arm. "It would be an honor to escort the Grand Admiral to her quarters." Daala sensed something then, that same warm, guiding, charismatic radiance that she now presumed must emanate from all of the raven-haired, blue-eyed Eriaduan beings known by the name of Tarkin. Tentatively, she took the arm offered her, and leaned slightly upon the offerer, as her own wound had begun to smart again with the agitation of movement.
"You would have been welcome to come here, you know," Valdemar told her as he led her into her luxurious guest suite and eased her into an oversized lounge chair near the door to the balcony. "We would not have turned you away had you come."
"Thank you, Valdemar. That's very kind of you. Naturally, I wish many events had turned out differently."
"Daala, never hesitate to let us know how we can help you. You've helped us in such monumental ways, after all."
She met his gaze. "By failing you?"
"No, no, not at all. By fighting. By standing up for the Empire and what it stands for. By defending and validating my cousin's legacy--my family's legacy. And, by simply being who you are. I could not have asked for a finer female role model for my youngest daughter."
"No, Valdemar. I pale to nothing in Typhani's shadow."
"On the contrary, my dear. Grant me, Typhani is a fine woman, among the finest, and we could not ask better for an Empress. But our family is very deeply rooted in the military. So it is military role models we seek for our children. And, my esteemed Grand Admiral, your career is far from over. May your future brilliantly overshadow the mere setbacks of your past."
"You . . . are entirely too kind," Daala said softly as she looked up at him. She had never before paid attention to Valdemar physically, but now she felt moved to do so. He stood not quite as tall as Adrian, but held a sturdier build, broader in the shoulders, stronger in the chest, equally lean in the midsection. To look at them both, one could see the evidence of blood relation, yet Valdemar manifested a bit stronger jaw line, and his face appeared fuller, his cheekbones not quite as prominent, but with those same piercing blue eyes. Now that she looked at him in that way, Daala found Valdemar to be quite handsome, with a presence like Adrian and a kindness like Liegeus.
A petite figure appeared in the doorway then, and her father motioned for her to enter. "I'm glad you're going to stay with us for a few days," Chantir greeted. Daala smiled at the teenage girl, who was not at all unlike one she used to be.
"Adrian and Typhani are going to be fitted for their coronation robes tomorrow! Isn't that exciting! Did you think the day would ever come!" Chantir sat down on the ottoman opposite Daala's chair as Valdemar excused himself and left them.
"No, I didn't, but I'm glad it's come."
"I heard what Daddy said, but I think you'd make just as good an Empress as Typhani. She was never in the Army or the Navy. Besides, you're prettier and nicer, and you're not so scary."
Surprised by the comment, Daala asked, "Chantir, are you afraid of Typhani?"
"Yeah, I am. She can be really mean. When my mom moved back to Muunilinst when she and my dad got divorced, Typhani and my dad did something really mean to her. No one will even tell me what it was because it was so mean! But whatever it was, I know it really hurt my mom. She cried a lot, and still does sometimes. And she's just terrified of Typhani!" "That's odd. I can't imagine Typhani being cruel to anyone."
"Tell that to Lady Ismaren!"
"Well, that's one exception, and she deserved it."
"Yeah, she did," Chantir agreed, then glanced down at her chronometer. "Eeeks! I have to go for my protocol lesson now! But I'm glad you're staying. Can I come talk to you again later?"
"I'd like that," Daala told her kindly. She was beginning to enjoy the company of children. With that thought, she put her head back and soon dozed, waking at dusk. She decided to go look in on the Emperor and Empress.
Daala stepped out onto the balcony, looking past Adrian at the Eriadu City lights reflecting in the dark water of the bay. He glanced around to acknowledge her. "Are you out here alone? Where's Typhani?" she asked as she sat down next to him.
"Shayla is helping her set her hair. She was having a bit of trouble with that shoulder wound."
"Has Ysanne said anything about why she didn't detect the attack?"
"There's so much disruption with the loss of Coruscant that no one could have possibly foreseen this one. We had adequate security measures in place for the intelligence we had. In the current galactic situation, however, nothing is certain anymore."
"Do you remember how we once thought that we could rule the Empire?"
"Oh, yes," Adrian remembered fondly. "Back when logic and order ruled the day."
"And now?"
"We shall rule all that remains of the Empire. As for the rest, we shall simply do all we can."
"I . . . used to have daydreams about what would happen when you became Emperor."
"Not at all what you dreamed, no?"
"No."
"Then let the excitement and adventure of the unknown await us!"
She laughed slightly. "You still see everything as an adventure, fodder for a conquest."
"To conquer chaos. Think of it, Daala! To reimpose order where there is none."
"You never cease to motivate, either." she observed. She had missed so many wonderful things about him. It was time he knew, she resolved. "Adrian, I . . . I missed you so much. And then when the Rebels told me you were dead, well . . . When I was in the lifepod at Yavin after the loss of the Knight Hammer, and when it didn't look like I was going to get picked up in time, I kept thinking of what an honor it was, what a fitting end for me to die where you had died. I . . . I imagined my pod--myself--being cradled in your essence, and--and I so longed for you to come for me." She looked away, blushing slightly.
He put an arm around her shoulders, as he used to do so often all those years ago. "I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you all those years with no word. I never fathomed that the station could be vulnerable. Daala, I know I told you not to leave the Installation, but after a year or so, let alone eleven! Didn't you ever suspect that something might be wrong?"
"You commanded me never to leave," she reminded him. "I know we were close, but I also knew you. I--uh--I had concerns that you were testing me, my loyalty, my resolve, and my obedience, and possibly that you might have set some kind of trap for me if I disobeyed you. We--Tol and Qwi and I--we were unclear about your instructions to Qwi to develop another superweapon within nine years. Initially, we never thought that it would be nine years before you would return, but after several months passed, that scenario started to look more and more plausible. Tol sent out coded drones for you a couple of times, but when we didn't hear back, it reinforced my suspicions of a trap."
"Oh, Daala . . . I would have never done that to you, but I can see how you were confused. I should have stipulated a time frame. Typhani gave me quite the tongue-lashing for not leaving you some sealed instructions. Darth could have used your help at Endor. Perhaps events would have turned differently."
"The Galactic Empire--the mournful saga of 'if only,'" she mused, leaning her head on his shoulder. They sat like that in silence for several minutes.
"A stolen moment, this," she observed.
"No, Daala, we don't have to steal moments anymore, not just to be close. Typhani and I both want you to be close to us--you're a part of our family now. And as you can tell, we're a very tactile bunch." He reinforced that with a tight squeeze on her shoulders.
"Yes, I know."
Perhaps the time had come for a particular discussion. "Daala, are you feeling something else?"
She knew immediately what he meant. "No, no, not that, not anymore. I didn't know it at the time, but all I ever really wanted was just to be close to you." She thought back to the first time their relationship had overstepped its mark.
* * *
Their first time came right after they returned from the inspection of Daala's destroyers at the Kuat Drive Yards. They'd gone back to Adrian's Victory class Destroyer, arriving in the middle of the night, shipboard time. They strolled through the corridors to the officers' quarters, hands behind their backs, discussing the day's events. They stopped outside the door to her quarters and stood facing each other in the empty corridor.
Daala had been disappointed before. She knew something was going to happen--eventually--but she no longer wanted to wait until eventually happened. He had comforted and provided for her in every possible way since taking her from Carida, every way but one, and she needed that one to feel complete, the implications to their professional relationship be damned, as well as the fact of his marriage. At that time, Lady Tarkin was merely a distant figure she'd seen only in holograms--stately, reserved, and not quite real in that medium.
She had barely managed to contain herself in the inspection shuttle when he had put a hand on her back and said, "Daala, I am giving you enough power to turn any planet to slag."
"All that power, it makes me, well . . . " She blushed.
"Does it, now?" he teased. He tucked a hand under her chin, then traced down her neck to the top of the collar on her uniform.
She shuddered, and her breathing increased, but she didn't care anymore if he noticed. She ached for him; she wanted him to take her so badly now. Every part of her body and soul screamed out, reached out to him. "Yes . . . and the thought of using it. I've had a good teacher," she breathed softly.
He smiled down at her. Their gazes met, an this time she wouldn't break it, not until she put her chin out a bit and allowed her eyes to flutter closed indicatively. Then at last she felt a hand behind her head as he pulled her to him, and their lips met for the first time. She reached up and locked her arms behind his neck. He then reached down to open the door, and they slipped into her quarters before someone noticed them.
She never wanted to let go of him. As the experience moved into its next phase, he asked her, "Daala, is this your first?"
"No," she told him, "but it's been a long time."
In response to that, he'd been kind and careful, and yet so compelling, so intense--and so utterly fulfilling. Or so she thought. Something was still missing. Afterwards, as she would do many times in the months to come, she drew very close to him, tentatively at first to see if he would allow her. He did, and then she discovered what is was she truly wanted and needed from him in the gentle yet protective way he held her.
* * *
And yet it was all for his own gain, she recalled, for him and the woman in the holograms, the woman he really loved. In a way, she reflected, Stroma was so right. How could she once again affiliate herself so closely with a man who had done such to her, deceived her so? Perhaps it was because she wanted his attention at the time. Perhaps it was also because she would have willingly agreed to help Adrian and Typhani if they had they only asked her. And also perhaps it was because of who he was. Any other man she would have forsaken, even killed, for his treachery, but not Adrian. It was that something about him, that mysterious and unexplainable charisma that rendered him irreproachable in her eyes, and those of so many others as well.
And so she sat there, close to him again, close, but no longer intimate. She had heard Typhani's explanation, but not his. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Adrian, why didn't you just tell me what was going on? I'd have done anything to help you."
"I know," he said, tightening his grip on her shoulders again. "There's not a good answer for that, Daala. Part of it was because we didn't want you to feel obliged or exploited. Part of it was because we didn't want any publicity, and part of it was because, well, because we were just too damned arrogant to ask for your help. We were very wrong for what we did to you, and we're very sorry for it."
"That's really all it meant, then? I was just an incubator."
"No," he continued, putting a hand to her head. "At first, perhaps, perhaps that and genuinely a very good military officer. But then as things progressed, well . . . You see, Daala, you allowed me to reach you in ways that Typhani . . . ways that weren't in her nature--or, at least I didn't know that they were."
"What . . . ways?"
"Oh, Daala . . . it, well, selfish ones. In a way, I suppose it was about control. You see, it appealed to me that you were dependent upon me for everything--for your command and everything it brought you. My wife, on the other hand, had an independent nature and birthright before I ever came into her life. Why, she could have tossed me out on my backside at any point in our marriage and continued to do just fine. At some points, I wouldn't have blamed her if she had! And you allowed me to protect you. When we were on Lumin, though, Typhani and I had a great deal of time to communicate, perhaps more so than ever before. As it turns out, she desperately wanted me to smother her at times, but, because of the war, she felt it would burden me further if she made those needs known, so she never did."
"And if you'd told me of your needs and asked for my help, then that would have meant giving up control of the situation, giving the control to me," she observed.
"I'm afraid you've got me there, Daala. You are as perceptive as ever."
"But you gave me control of the lab--control of your greatest secret. What's the difference, Adrian?"
He shook his head. "I don't know."
"I think I do," she told him. "As much as your career--as much as the Empire--meant to you, your family meant more."
He smiled down at her. "Yes, I think you're quite right. And you're a part of that now, perhaps more than you know." He thought it time she knew something else as well. "It seems you have a secret admirer."
"What?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Valdemar is quite fond of you, Daala. He just isn't quite sure how to approach you."
"I know," she admitted, smiling softly at the thought.
Leaving Pedducis Chorios
"Yes, absolutely, this time we will evacuate," the Emperor assured Aerom Flennic and several other officers as they prepared for the trip to Pedducis Chorios. Fortunately, the Vong temporarily turned their attention to the Hapes Cluster, gunning for Jedi hiding there, so that bought the Imperial Remnant enough time to make the exodus a diplomatic one. With the Vong distracted, Adrian and Typhani decided to travel to the Chorios system with Daala to seek the colony's support in staffing the new Sienar Death Star--or the "Vong Crusher," as it had been nicknamed.
The peace accord between the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant contained a provision that any Palpatine-era superweapons discovered would be jointly dismantled. However, with the current crisis, the New Republic found itself in far too much disarray to challenge the point. The best they could hope for was that the newfound station would be used for the mutual defense, but no such discussions had yet transpired. Adrian was, in fact, still formulating how he would respond to such a request should it come, which Imperial assets he would demand be returned for said protection.
He and Typhani knew that Daala would find leaving Pedducis Chorios behind quite difficult. Fortunately, Kormath and his team at Sienar finished a special project in time for the trip, a project that would undoubtedly make Daala's transition easier. Adrian turned to her.
"We'll be traveling to Pedducis Chorios in our new ceremonial flagship," he announced.
She drew her brows together in confusion. "New flagship? What new flagship?"
"You were still convalescing, so I arranged for the new ceremonial vessel. After all, we can't be seen traversing the galaxy in the likes of Han Solo's hooptie, now can we?" Everyone laughed at that jab at Solo's infamous Millennium Falcon, but Daala was still confused. Adrian and Typhani wanted her that way, and they made her sit in the rear of the shuttle as they disembarked so that she could not see clearly outside.
"Close your eyes," Adrian said as they docked with the new flagship.
"What?" Daala queried.
"That's a command, Admiral. Close your eyes and let us lead you." Daala did as she was commanded, entrusting one hand to Adrian and the other to Typhani as they exited the shuttle. Daala found maneuvering a bit awkward, as Adrian was on his hoverscooter, still not able to walk for long distances.
As they entered the lift to the bridge, Daala felt something strangely familiar. Things sounded vaguely familiar, smelled familiar, but not quite somehow.
"All right, Admiral, you may look now," Adrian said as they reached the bridge. Flennic and the other officers had already hurried ahead and assembled.
"Do you have any idea where you are?" the Empress asked, smiling kindly at her.
Daala looked around. Yes, of course she recognized that she stood on the bridge of an Imperial Class Star Destroyer. Then she began to realize, and she ran to the command terminal to check the ship's identification codes and to look out the forward viewport at the undeniable exterior markings--shining emblems on a fully restored and once-again gleaming white exterior. "By the stars, I can't believe this!" she cried, then suddenly forced herself to regain her military stance as she turned around to face the other officers.
"Yes. It's yours again, Admiral Daala," Adrian assured her warmly as the other officers, including Flennic, saluted her emphatically. Adrian had one more item of business to tend to before he and Typhani retired to their quarters for the duration of the flight. "All right, everyone, there are going to be a few changes. Daala, Aerom, a moment with you," he began. "Remove your insignias, please," Adrian directed them. Typhani took two small slipcases from her bag.
Daala hesitated for a moment, but then did as commanded. The insignia she wore had been hers since she arrived at the Maw, and it was also one of the very few possessions she'd managed to keep with her throughout her years of turmoil. She and Flennic then handed their insignias to Typhani, who had passed the new slipcases to her husband.
"It gives me great pleasure to promote each of you to the rank of Grand Admiral," Adrian told them triumphantly, handing each officer one of the new slipcases. Aerom knew it was coming, but Daala again momentarily flushed with excitement as she attached her new insignia to her uniform. Typhani then gave her back her old insignia, knowing what it meant to her, and Daala tucked it into the slipcase for safe keeping. "You will each find your new white uniforms in your quarters," the Emperor concluded.
The members of the bridge crew applauded, and then took their places. "Your orders, Grand Admiral Daala?" the navigator queried with a smile.
To give commands as an Imperial Admiral--as the Grand Admiral she thought she'd never become, and certainly the only female Grand Admiral--on the bridge of her beloved Gorgon again! The experience was so good it almost didn't seem real, but it was! It really was! Daala drew herself up as the memories came back and addressed her navigator, "Set course for Pedducis Chorios!"
"At once, Admiral!" the navigator responded.
"And all of you on highest alert! We have the Emperor and Empress on board! To your posts!" How supremely wonderful it felt to say "to your posts" instead of "to the lifepods!" And then she felt the surge of the new sublight engines through the bridge deck.
And yet all was not triumph for Daala that day. Adrian had decided that Daala would command his flagship and serve as Chief of Staff to him and the Empress. Aboard the new station, Daala would assume the role of tactical chief once held by Charlie Bast, but, unlike Charlie, would not be a member of the security detail. He and Typhani had made these decisions for the sake of Daala's health. Flennic, however, inherited the retiring Gilad Pellaeon's position of Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military, the title held by Darth Vader prior to Pellaeon.
So all in all, the day turned out to be bittersweet for Daala. On one level, she understood that, by his decisions, Adrian was protecting both her and the Imperial Remnant, but on another, she felt disappointed. It would have been easier if her colleague on the bridge that day had been a woman, she thought. If only Morgana . . .
After a moderate flight, the Gorgon exited hyperspace just outside of the Chorios system and then settled into orbit around Pedducis Chorios. Typhani had rejoined Daala on the bridge. She stepped up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, looking out the forward viewport at the dusty and forlorn world, not much better than Tatooine. "You could have come to Phelarion, you know. I wish you had."'
"Yes, I wish I had also. You know what they say about hindsight . . . "
A voice came over the bridge intercom, "Preparing shuttle for departure to the surface to disembark in 20 minutes."
"Ah, I'd better wake that husband of mine," Typhani mused. "He gets far too little sleep lately."
Daala radioed down to the surface to make sure the colony had assembled in the auditorium, that all security measures were in place, and that the projection equipment was working properly. On the way down, Daala gazed almost lovingly out the side viewports at her restored Gorgon, her hand over her new insignia, still hardly believing the reality of both.
As the three of them exited the shuttle, the Tarkins' six elite security troopers closed a tight and protective formation around them. Adrian looked up at Daala. "I almost subjugated the Silver Unifer and this place once."
"Aren't you glad you didn't waste your time or resources?" Daala queried disdainfully.
"Yes, since it allowed you refuge."
Daala smiled softly. Despite the rough nature of the world, it had indeed provided her a soft landing more than once.
The group quickly made its way to the auditorium, where the Company of Independent Settlers had once again assembled to receive what they were told would be "great news," this time given by the new Emperor himself.
All colonists rose to their feet when the group entered, and the thunderous applause seemed as if it would go on forever. This, many of the colonists reflected, is why they had sacrificed so much and held on for so long. Security troops lined the perimeter of the auditorium as the Emperor hovered behind the podium, carefully dismounted his scooter, and pulled himself up, Daala at his side. Adrian had always been a gifted speaker, having used his rhetorical abilities to sway many in the Senate to Palpatine's favor in the waning years of the Old Republic. The group presently before him would not be disappointed. The room fell silent at the slight raising of his right hand.
"Loyal Imperial subjects," he began, "it is my utmost honor to announce to you that the New Order has at last been restored, and in its restoration, we shall drive away both the remains of the rebellious New Republic as well as the alien invaders they have attracted to this galaxy." More booming applause rocked the auditorium. "All you have fought for here, all of the years of strife you have endured to uphold the values of the Empire, shall not be in vain, but rather shall be rewarded with victory at last. As you know, we have come here to transfer all of you to a safer location in the event the Yuuzhan Vong turn their attention in this direction. I have chosen to come here today to personally disclose to you the nature of that location, as its creator is unable to do so himself. We have recently made an incredible discovery in the Unknown Regions. It was created some years ago by my dear friend and colleague Raith Sienar for Grand Admiral Thrawn, who, unfortunately, was unable to take delivery. This."
The holoprojector hummed to life, revealing the image of the Sienar Death Star. Naturally, many in the audience were immediately skeptical, mindful of two very powerful explosions that occurred several years ago. Yet Adrian went on the allay those fears by explaining the differences in the designs, and vowing the be the first aboard.
"And one other feature of interest," the Emperor continued, "this station is equipped with a cloaking device." The room fell silent again.
Then, a few whispers rose from the floor. "Sienar did it! He really did it!"
Adrian then continued and concluded by outlining the plans to shuttle the colonists to the restored Gorgon and then transfer them to the station. As the audience began to dissipate, some of the colonists who knew Adrian, Typhani, or both came up to greet them. Adrian went to Daala's conference room to meet with some of the former and future officers as Typhani accompanied Daala though the breezeway into the house.
Dirty. Musty. Bare. Typhani wrinkled her nose and drew her dark brows together. This mess way beyond not saying anything. An Imperial officer, nonetheless, with such a mess! "Daala, don't you have anyone here to help you?" she asked. Daala looked away, embarrassed.
Typhani realized then, as Daala shook her head slightly. "There's nothing left," she admitted quietly. "It took almost everything we had to purchase the land and build the colony. This compound took what I had left. My military pension kept me going from month to month, but that's all."
Typhani had suspected as much. "It doesn't matter now," she reassured her.
Daala didn't respond to that, but instead walked over to the expansive living room windows, and stared blankly out them. Typhani took a couple of steps toward her. "What is it?"
"It's just that this is the only home I've ever had that was really mine. After nearly twenty years of living on ships, I was finally able to put my head down in my own bed, in my own home."
"Perhaps the Vong won't come here after all, Daala. Maybe their attention will be drawn somewhere else. And then you can keep this as a vacation home or even return here if you like. You've given enough of your life and yourself to the Empire. You need not feel obligated that you have to stay, not now that Adrian has nearly recovered. You just need to let us know what you want to do."
Daala turned around. "I don't ever want to be away from you and Adrian again. But I'd still like to be able to come here from time to time. I hope you're right."
"Well, for now, let's get the droids in here and get your things packed."
Adrian soon joined them, as he and Typhani had planned to return to the greater security of the Gorgon for the night. In light of the mess and the chaos of the packing, Daala decided to join them. They discussed the evacuation and its timing as they made their way back to the landing pad.
Typhani looked over at her husband as they approached the shuttle's boarding ramp. "At least the Jedi are good for something after all, if nothing more than distracting the--"
A blaster bolt that came out of nowhere cut Typhani's thought mid- sentence as a searing pain tore through her left leg just above the knee. Another bolt fired simultaneously grazed her husband across his left side. Their security detail closed in around them, but the firestorm only intensified as at least half a dozen snipers appeared on the rooftops along the left side of the landing pad and began to cut the guards down one by one.
In the instant it began, Typhani spun on her right leg. lost her balance, and fell toward Adrian, just as a bolt that would surely have struck him in the head seared into the back of her right shoulder instead. The scooter went over as another bolt caught the side of her chest in a glancing blow under her left arm. That final blow threw her away from Adrian and onto the walkway, rolling her several times. She finally came to rest face down.
"What--" Daala shrieked. Her military instincts immediately took over as the remaining three of their six guards moved in front of where Adrian had fallen while rapidly returning fire. Two snipers fell dead as a third staggered about from his injuries.
Daala retrieved a blaster rifle from one of their own fallen guards and also began to return fire, finishing off the wounded sniper, just as another of their own guards fell. She took aim again at one of the three remaining gunmen, hitting him once, but he didn't go down. Following Daala's lead, Adrian pulled himself from beneath his overturned hoverscooter and crawled to another fallen guard, taking his rifle. In the confusion, he hadn't seen Typhani go down. He thought instead that she had been pulled to safety.
"If I can just hold them off!" Daala thought as she heard the sounds of some of her colony's defenses coming to their aid. She raised her rifle again, and eliminated one more sniper just as the last of their own security detail fell to the ground beside her. That left two against her, one wounded. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder at Typhani, and seething hot rage coursed through every fiber of her being. It had been a mistake. She doubled over in crippling pain as a blaster bolt caught her in the lower left quadrant of her abdomen. Despite the pain, she knew that if she went down, it would leave Adrian exposed, but then a blast came up from behind her and struck the wounded sniper, knocking him off the roof.
The searing energy tore through Daala like a supernova. She knew she couldn't straighten up or raise the rifle again. Her newly-transplanted lungs throbbed and burned in her chest as she dropped her rifle, instinctively clutched the wound, and fell forward.
Unbeknownst to her, Daala's fall actually gave Adrian a clear shot at the last remaining sniper, but not before he got off another blast. Adrian tried to roll to one side to throw off the would-be assassin's aim, but he wasn't fast enough. The bolt struck him on the side of the right thigh, but he too would have taken a gut-shot had he lain still. He came out of the spin lying on his back. The sniper lowered his rifle, and for a brief moment, the two adversaries stared menacingly at each other. Then, the surviving sniper raised his rifle again, but turned his head slightly and aimed in a different direction. Adrian sought to take advantage of whatever distraction engaged the sniper. As he turned onto his left side and pulled the rifle into position, he then saw what the sniper was aiming at--a bloody bundle of ivory and lavender robes with a mass of dark hair that lay crumpled on the walkway a couple of meters away.
Daala had managed to turn onto her back, and raised up enough to see the target as well. "No! Leave her alone!" she shrieked. Startled, the sniper's head jerked in her direction, but he did not realign his blaster. At that instant, in both utter shock and white rage, Adrian released a volley of laser bolts at the last assassin, nearly cutting him in half.
Then the pain engulfed him as well as he fell back to the surface of the landing pad. Despite his own injuries and Daala's painful cries as she lay to his right, he knew he had to get to Typhani. With his heart pounding in his throat and his ears, he finally managed to drag himself to her. Her body was still twitching from the electrical pulse of the blaster bolts. A whirlwind of anguish engulfed him as he gently turned her face out of the dirt. She was blue. Adrian blacked out as the rest of the colony's security detail stampeded in their direction, and a cluster of guards and medics surrounded them.
Stroma Veers called out to Daala as she ran up the walkway toward the landing pad. She reached her best friend just ahead of the medics and crouched down at her side. "Hang on, Daala," she encouraged her. "It doesn't look that bad."
The other medic crew carefully turned Typhani onto her back, despite the wound to her right shoulder, and ripped open the front of her robes. Her heart was not beating, but merely quivering, its rhythm interrupted by the electrical impulses of the three direct hits she'd taken. Everyone pulled back as a small droid hovered over her and touched a probe to her exposed chest. Nothing. The droid moved into position again . . .
The troops from the colony worked quickly to secure Daala and Adrian and get them aboard the shuttle, then returned to assist the medic crews with Typhani and the fallen guards. With their security breached, the shuttle lifted off as soon as the pad was cleared so as to get its surviving passengers to the safety of the waiting Star Destroyer as quickly as possible. The Gorgon made for the hyperspace jump point after everyone had been transferred aboard, headed for the trauma center in Eriadu City. One of the Tarkins' security guards had also survived, but his wounds were too severe to risk the longer flight to Lumin.
Silence permeated the bridge. The crew, everyone, was in shock after what had just happened. Aerom Flennic juggled two comm ports simultaneously as he already feverishly went about notifying Bastion and finding those responsible.
After all she'd just been through, Daala was lucky this time. The blow that struck her came from a lower-powered hand blaster, and had caught her at a glancing angle. Stroma sat next to her.
"Don't tell me it's just a flesh wound! It hurt too damned bad!" Daala insisted.
"The impulse nicked an ovary, dear," Stroma told her.
Daala just cringed at that, but then turned her head away, not even trying to hold back this time. Stroma knew that the tears were not the result of her own wound or pain. She took her hand. "I know, Daala. I know. I just . . . can't believe this has happened."
The medic crew thought it best to keep Adrian sedated until they reached Eriadu. When they arrived at the medcenter, Stroma walked briskly alongside Daala as the medic droids wheeled her in. Daala closed her eyes tightly and Stroma's stomach knotted as they passed a wailing Lyjéa ensconced in Valdemar's arms.
Typhani's condition was especially critical as another cluster of droids wheeled her into one of the trauma bays. Her left leg had been nearly severed in two by the first shot that hit her, and the other two blasts had burned deep into her chest cavity. Inflammation had already started to set in, choking off her lungs and constricting her heart, which continued to beat erratically. Then it stopped altogether once again. This time, a surgical droid hovered quickly into position above her and opened her chest.
Typhani stirred to find herself standing in a thick, white fog that seemed to be illuminated from within. She thought she had been injured, but then somehow that didn't seem real, nor did it seem to matter anymore. But the fog . . . something was not right about that. "Fog on Pedducis Chorios?" she wondered aloud as she looked around her for the others. "Adrian? Daala?" she called out. They weren't there.
"Mom!" came a small voice from behind her. She whirled around to see six young faces staring up at her, four boys and two girls.
"What?" she asked, baffled.
One of the dark-haired boys spoke up. "You can't come this way. Not yet."
"You children must be mistaken. Are you from the colony?"
"No," one of the girls said, a confused look on her face. "We're from . . . you. You're our mother."
Typhani took a step toward them. "You are mischievous little ones. My daughters are old enough to be your mother. Come now, who put you up to this?" she asked, smiling down at them.
"You did. You're not supposed to be here," another boy explained.
"We are your daughters," the two girls insisted in unison.
Typhani mused that she would get good whomever orchestrated this charade, but she started to feel a bit uneasy as well. "Really? What are your names, then?"
"I'm Lyjéa," one girl insisted.
"And I'm Lyscithea," the other followed.
"Ah! Well, at least you have the names correct, but there's just one little problem--my Lyjéa and Lyscithea are nearly forty years old, and Scythi has children of her own who are your age! Why, you youngsters can't be more than five or six years old!"
"We're not even that old," one of the boys insisted.
"How old are you, then?" Typhani inquired, beginning to have some inquisitive fun with the children.
Another boy spoke up. "We're not any age at all. We . . . weren't even born."
Typhani shuddered as she realized that she must be dreaming, but this felt like no dream. Still, something else was not right. She'd had five miscarriages, yet six children stood before her, blocking her path.
"See, I would have been Lyjéa if I had been born, and then she would be called something else," the first little girl explained.
"Same for me," the little Lyscithea added.
Typhani stepped backwards this time, and took a moment to continue. The children never took their eyes off of her. Finally, she addressed the remaining four children. "Boys, what are your names?"
Three of the boys looked at each other, and one of them answered for the group. "Us three, we're all called Wilhuff Adrian."
"Except me!" the fourth boy spoke up.
Typhani swallowed back the lump in her throat and drew a shaky breath. She noticed that this boy more closely resembled one of the other three--in fact, the two were identical. "And, what's your name?"
"I'm Nostremi--or, I would have been."
At that, Typhani fell to her knees and opened her arms to her lost children. "Come to me!" she cried.
"Only for a little while," Nostremi told her. "Then you have to go back." The other followed his lead into their mother's embrace, and she gathered them close as if to never let go.
"No! I want to stay with you! I want to know all of you!" she cried as the children came into her arms. But they didn't feel quite real, neither warm nor cold, they had no smell, and didn't quite move as children do. Still, she clutched them all to her, taking each of their small faces in her hands one by one.
"You will, someday, but it's too soon now," Nostremi explained.
She surveyed all of them again, running her hands through their hair. "I want your father to know you!" she cried.
"He will, too. We watched over him, while he was . . . asleep. Someday, all of us will be together, but you have to go back now."
She shook her head at them as tears began to streak her cheeks.
"But you have to! You have to go back to Father! He needs you! The Empire--he can't do it without you!" the girls insisted.
She knew she could never willingly leave Adrian behind, not after what had happened to him. But to find her lost children, only to have to leave them again so quickly--could she bear it? "You don't know how much I've grieved for you--each one of you!" She turned to Nostremi and took his head in her hands again. "And I never even knew about you!"
"But now you don't have to grieve for us anymore. Now you know we're here. We've always been here, and we'll be here waiting for you--for you and Father and our sisters. But now you must go back!" Nostremi pleaded.
The girls approached her then, and each of them took one of her hands. "Come," little Lyjéa said. "We'll walk with you as far as we can." Typhani only pulled the little girls close again.
Nostremi turned and called into the fog. "Grampa! Please come! She'll listen to you!"
Typhani lifted her head and rose to her feet as her father--or at least an image of him--came out of the fog toward her. "Papa!" she cried, and ran into his arms. "I never got to say goodbye to you!"
"Is no need, Typhani. Goodbye is final, but see, we're all here waiting for you. A fine woman you have become, an' a fine Empress you will make! You must go back to your Emperor now. You know how bad it was, when he was in da carbonite. You want him to suffer da same an' worse? Dis is no dream, Typhani, no carbonite. If you stay here, it means dat you die on da odder side. It's not time for you here yet. You go. I watch dese liddle ones for you."
Typhani stepped back to look at her father, and then down at her unborn children.
"Now you can tell Father about us," little Nostremi told his mother as he moved back to take his grandfather's hand. Typhani felt something pulling at her robes as her father and her children disappeared into the fog . . .
The next sensation she felt was like being slammed against a bulkhead during an aborted hyperspace jump. She was back in her body, and it convulsed at her arrival, much to the relief of the trauma center staff. To lose the Empress would be unthinkable, and unforgivable. A very much relieved young intern went to relay the news.
Stroma left the waiting room where she and other friends and family members had gathered and slipped quietly into the room where Daala was resting. She moved the back of her hand away from her eyes and looked up urgently at her best friend. The look on Stroma's face betrayed the news. "Daala, you need to be ready for this," she began somberly. "You may have to help with Adrian later. It's Typhani--they, well, they're putting her into a bacta tank now, but . . . " She looked away.
Daala winced, but she lay silently. Stroma thought she knew what was on her best friend's mind. "I suppose this could actually work out well for you in the long run, couldn't it?" she observed.
"What?" Daala asked, raising her head a bit.
Stroma sat down next to her. "Oh, come on, Daala! I see the way you still steal a lascivious glance at him every once in awhile. When you thought you were about to leave this universe, it was easy for you to play the martyr and not make waves. But now that you're not about to die anytime soon, it's not so easy anymore, is it?"
"Stroma, don't! Just don't!" Daala insisted.
"See? I knew it."
Daala turned to face her. "Stroma, Typhani has been like a mother to me--the mother I never had!"
"Yes, true, but if she's not going to make it and there's nothing they can do about it, well then?"
Now Daala came full up off the bed and spoke through a tight throat. "Did they say that?!"
"No, no, they said they don't know."
Daala lay back, staring at the ceiling. She loved Typhani, perhaps now as much as she loved and admired Adrian, though she still could not bring herself to say so. She knew that she could never do anything to break their bond. Still, Stroma had a point. If the unfortunate did become inevitable . . . She'd once thought of that before, she recalled. In that event, she knew, Adrian would likely need far more help than she or anyone else could give him. Still, she did not one bit appreciate Stroma's insinuations at a time like this. Yet Stroma knew the script well, Daala remembered, having once been an "other woman" herself who followed on quickly and aggressively after the death of a first wife. "How could you even bring this up now?" Daala accused. "Don't judge me by your own actions, Stroma."
This time it was Stroma who looked away.
"What has Typhani ever done to you?!" Daala continued.
"It's not her fault. It's just hard to watch. Why her and why not me?"
Daala blinked, then realized. "It's about Max, isn't it?"
Stroma bit the inside of her cheek. "Of course it's about Max!" She rose to her feet, walked to the window, and stared out at the smoggy Eriadu City skyline as she drew her beige and white robes about her. "My husband didn't come back. No one could flip a switch on a decarbonizer and turn my world right side up again. My husband is still out there somewhere, and I don't even have as much as the comfort or closure of knowing if he's dead or alive!"
Daala raised up on one elbow. "If there was anything they could do to change that, Stroma, I'm sure they would."
"Adrian should have never developed that damned thing to begin with! Then he wouldn't have been hurt in the first one and Max wouldn't be missing because of the utter chaos that has ensued since the loss of the second one!"
"Perhaps . . . perhaps not," Daala speculated as she stiffly sat up on the side of her bed.
"So are you denying you still have feelings for him?"
Daala steadied herself with her arms, and stared down at her feet. "It doesn't matter, because if Typhani dies, Adrian won't be far behind her. You don't understand the bond they have."
"Then how do you explain--no, how does he explain what happened between you two in the Maw?"
"We haven't talked about it."
"What?! Eight months, and you haven't said a word to each other?"
"Not those words, no. We've been so busy. I think we've both been avoiding it. I mean, I'm still coming to terms with why it started in the first place."
"Oh! And on that note, how can you possibly stand to be so close to them after what they did to you, Daala? He made a guinea-whore out of you, and then cost you eleven years of your life, stranded out in the Maw in the middle of nowhere!"
"Those were the best eleven years of my life--those and the five that preceded them, despite the Tarkins' intentions."
"He's brainwashed you, Daala, probably before he ever took you from Carida."
"I'd be dead by now if he hadn't taken me from Carida--and if Typhani hadn't taken me from Pedducis Chorios! Adrian and Typhani are the only people who have ever believed in me, cared about me, listened to me, trusted me, loved me, and treated me like something other than the piece of trash my mother obviously thought I was! If that's brainwashing, then I suppose I have a very clean brain indeed!"
"How do you know it was your mother who threw you away?"
Daala drew her brows together and stared hard at Stroma. She had never considered otherwise.
Stroma continued. "You may very well have a mother out there who has spent her entire life looking for you, and who knows all too well the pain of the loss of a child."
"Not now, Stroma! Not now!" Daala insisted, lying back down. It would be a long time before she would be able to sleep again, thanks to the elemental imps Stroma had awakened in the back of her mind.
Later, and in another part of the medcenter, Adrian struggled to pull himself from under the influence of the drugs he'd been given aboard the Gorgon. "Typhani!" he called out, and started to try to sit up. Morgana sat with him. "Calm down, it's all right," she reassured him as she eased him back. "She's in a bacta tank. Lyjéa and Scythi are with her."
His head seemed to spin as he tried to sort out the events of the last few hours. "Is she going to be all right?" he asked his sister urgently.
Morgana's cheek jerked. "She was pretty bad off for awhile, but she's a little better now. We just have to let the bacta work. There's nothing you can do for her right now. You know you can't get near the bacta. You just need to rest. You were hit twice yourself."
He wasn't concerned about himself. But if he had been hit multiple times . . . "Morgana, where did they hit her? I have to know!"
Morgana, as usual, saw no need to mince words with her brother. "Uh, above the left knee, the left side of her ribcage, and the back of her right shoulder. The shoulder wound is the worst. The blast that caused it would have struck you directly in the head if she hadn't fallen on top of you."
Adrian shuddered visibly, and Morgana reached over to steady him. "Oh, no! Not her! Not again!" His memory shot back to Eriadu, to the time when he'd jumped to conclusions, to the time a renegade faction of the Mining Guild had indeed targeted his wife, overturning the hovercar she was riding in with explosives made from her own megonite, and then made it look as if the assassination attempt had been of a political nature and meant for him instead. The truth came quickly to light that time, but the thought that she had endured blows this time that truly were intended for him made him recoil inside. Had she fallen on top of him, or thrown herself on top of him? "As soon as they get her out--"
She interceded. "Yes, yes, they'll put you together in the same room, we've already seen to that. Then we'll get you both to Villa Galaxia where you can be adequately protected. Aerom says you'll have to triple your security measures."
"Or sequester myself away like Palpatine?"
"Yes, if that's what it takes."
He remembered the other casualty. "Where's Daala? Is she all right?"
"Yes, she's resting. Stroma and Chantir have been with her since they brought you all in. Valdemar is assisting Aerom with security measures."
"They must see to it that Typhani is never exposed to this sort of danger ever again!"
Morgana smiled half-heartedly and shook her head. "You can't keep us in cages, Adrian. Besides, we've dealt with the Alderaan backlash all the while you were in the carbonite."
Adrian stared at his sister. He knew about the Rebel infiltration just prior to the Thirteenth Conclave, and about of couple of other incidents since then involving his wife, but nothing had been said of his sister. "Morgana . . . what haven't you told me?"
"It only happened to me once. It was about . . . about eighteen years ago, I suppose. I was still living on Corulag, and I wasn't home anyway. I don't think they intended to harm me personally, else they'd have been more precise in their planning."
"Planning for what? What did they do to you?"
"It's not important right now." She pushed her chair back a bit and looked away, biting her lower lip slightly.
"Morgana . . . " he pressed her.
"They--the Rebels--they . . . firebombed my compound and--" She had to catch a breath before continuing. "They shot my dogs."
Ever since she was a little girl, Morgana Tarkin had been a being of action. She always had to have something to do, never being content to simply lounge away the life of a privileged socialite. She'd always been an artist at heart, despite her affinity for the military. When the Rebels struck, she had just begun to make a name for herself with her intricately painted sculptures, and her dog breeding activities had won her accolades at top shows across the galaxy. Yet Morgana had not owned a dog or picked up a paintbrush since the incident.
She wiped at the corner of her right eye. "Well, as you can imagine, I nearly drowned myself in the liquor. That's how I ended up in rehab. If it hadn't been for Nolan, I'd have surely ended up like Mother. But you see, the Rebel bastards didn't get me. They didn't have the guts or the capability to strike directly at me. I suppose they thought I'd destroy myself instead, and the pathetic voyeurs would have had a game of a time watching me. They didn't know I had a secret--a secret that is now about to bite them back!"
Adrian knew she meant him. "Yes. And they'll soon rue what they've done to you."
"You know, I heard that it was Leia Organa herself who was behind the incident--her and her husband. Oh, the sordid things I wanted to do to them over the years! But it's so rather ironic--the things I wanted. They've gotten theirs! It's as if the Universe itself has avenged me. I wanted Solo's Wookiee dead, for one thing. And I wanted their personal home incinerated as well. It seems I got the entire seat of the New Republic. In a way, I wish the Vong could be trusted."
Adrian smiled at her. "They can't be," he told her. "But Leia's gotten even worse than that. I know what your dogs always meant to you, Morgana. They were the children you never had. It might interest you to know that Leia's youngest son was killed a few months back, and the Vong have captured her older son."
"That's . . . unfortunate for her. The death of her children I would have never willed upon her. But, even after all these years, and even after everything that has happened, somehow I still want retribution by my own hand."
"And you shall have it!" her brother assured her emphatically.
Just then, Rivoche put her head in the door, then opened it fully, followed by two medtech droids with a hoverchair. Rivoche addressed her uncle. "They've put a headset on Aunt Typi in case she can hear us. Come on." Adrian had already cast his blanket aside before she even finished the sentence.
The quasi-opaque nature of the bacta fluid made it difficult for Adrian to see her clearly, but, for the moment, that was the best circumstance. He moved as close to the bacta tank as he dared and took up the comlink, then glanced around at his sister, niece, and daughters. "Let's leave them alone," Lyscithea suggested.
Rivoche knew of the closeness between her aunt and uncle, as she had relayed it to the New Republic authorities. But some details evaded Rivoche, even Lyjéa and Lyscithea. When it came to "pillow talk" and other intimate types of conversation, Adrian and Typhani had, over the years, developed their own "language," a code of sorts made up of both of their native dialects with Basic intermingled. And so he talked her back from the brink, just as she had so recently done for him.
Slowly, over the next eighteen hours, Typhani's condition improved and then finally stabilized. The attending droids moved her from the bacta tank into a sonic bath to eliminate all remaining traces of the bacta, mindful of her husband's allergy. By mid-afternoon, the staff moved the Emperor and Empress into the same room, dropping the inner rails on the beds and pushing them together. "That's right," Lyscithea observed. "Now we just have to let them heal each other."
When Typhani stirred again, she felt a warm and gentle hand on the side of her face, and then familiar lips upon her own.
"Adrian . . . "
"Yes, I'm right here." He maneuvered around his own wounds and, being careful of hers, pulled her to him and cradled her close. They lay like that for hours, both of them in and out of a light sleep.
Finally, toward late evening, Typhani became a bit more coherent, and, as usual, most concerned for her husband's welfare. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, for the most part. It's you we've been so worried about. We thought we were going to lose you. You've been in a bacta tank for the last day and a half, and so I couldn't even get close to you until now."
Then she remembered--the first shot, at least--and her thoughts went to her immobilized left leg. "Who did this to us?" she asked weakly, painfully. He searched between them for the analgesic self-administrator that he knew would be somewhere in their covers and, locating it, tucked it into her hand.
"The Rebels, naturally. It was a group calling themselves the 'New Alderaan Movement.' All six of their snipers died, though."
"Where's Daala? Is she all right?"
"Yes, she'll be fine. She just took a slight flesh-wound. We got the worst of it, I'm afraid, other than our own security detail. The Rebels got all but one of them."
"We have to stop this carnage . . . "
"We will, rest assured, we will. So much for a flimsy peace accord. I told Gilad it wouldn't last. Aerom is presently bringing the station in to Bastion, and he and Delta Crowal will complete the evacuation of the colony. Now all we have to do is wait for the Rebels to regroup and light somewhere, and, as I've said before, we'll crush the pathetic vermin with one swift stroke, and this time we shall succeed."
"What about the Vong?"
"The Rebels are the reason why they're here. We'll give them the new Jedi--that's what they seem to want the most. And then we'll see what they do. One way or another, we'll make this galaxy safe for order once again-- safe for us and our children and grandchildren."
That sparked her memory, and she looked up urgently at him. "Adrian, the rest of our children, they're all safe."
Somewhat taken aback by the comment, he gently brushed her hair back out of her face, noticing that it shone with an uncommon luster, the effect of the bacta. "What are you talking about?"
"I had the strangest experience . . . they were there! They're with my father. They're all right, and they're waiting for us."
He pulled her close again. "Oh, you were just dreaming. You've been under some very powerful medication, Typhani. I know the effects. I've been there myself, remember?"
"It didn't seem at all like a dream . . . the best part of it was learning that they're all safe, but--" She started to choke up.
"What? What is it?" he asked softly, lightly tracing her cheekbone.
"There weren't five of them. There were six. We would have had twin boys at one point if things had gone better for us . . . "
Now he believed her as he enveloped her in a protective embrace. "I know."
"What?"
He hesitated for a moment. "It was the last time, right before Scythi was born. You were too upset. The loss had been far too great for you. I didn't think you could stand it, so I saw to it you were never told. I only wanted to protect you." She just turned her head into his embrace, pressing her face against his chest, touched by the knowledge that he'd borne that burden alone. And now she truly did need him to protect her, and needed the tender intimacy that always came with it.
As for the scraps of the New Republic, they had in fact already regrouped in a very familiar place--Yavin IV, having been forced to backtrack there from the Shelter base at Maw Installation. The New Republic had been using the remains of the lab to hide Jedi from the Vong, but when the announcement of Tarkin's return came, they decided that it might be safer to risk discovery by only one enemy than two. The Vong, by that point, held the impression that the Jedi had already evacuated and abandoned the Massassi base.
At the Jedi Academy headquarters, Han Solo hurriedly tore a communiqué printout from a newsfeed printer and ran to find his wife. "Leia! We're gonna have company!" he shouted urgently.
"Now what?" she asked wearily.
"New Alderaan just struck on Pedducis Chorios. They hit Tarkin and Daala. Their conditions are unknown, but Lady Tarkin is dead--multiple blaster wounds from the sniper fire."
The first thought that flashed through Leia's mind upon hearing the news was, "My, how convenient for the Admiral!" Still, the New Republic had long since renounced the New Alderaan movement as zealous terrorists. Leia herself had turned its leadership away a decade ago when the group approached her with a plan to find and murder the designers of the first Death Star. And, while she wanted all associated with that project to suffer greatly for their misdeeds, she did not want their blood on her own hands.
Naturally, she wished that the score could have been the other way around, not yet knowing that they'd received misinformation. Or, perhaps not. She knew Tarkin's weak spot--his family--and particularly his wife. She'd always mistrusted all the rumors about Daala somehow. Perhaps this blow would crush him as Alderaan had crushed her.
Leia rubbed her hands over each other as she recalled the two weeks she spent on Phelarion under the harsh influence of the would-be Empress. She recalled also all of the Alliance ships and personnel lost to powerful Imperial weapons loaded with megonite from Lady Tarkin's facility. She wanted to gloat, but with Fey'lya dead, she knew she would have to take the helm of the New Republic again. As such, she could not afford the luxury of gloating and thus have the assassination attached to her name. So, although in her heart she wanted to proclaim congratulations to the terrorists, she knew she would have to act quickly to renounce the act and disassociate herself form the perpetrators, thus again sacrificing her own convictions for the sake of duty.
She looked up at Han. "We better get out of here, fast! We don't want to draw their fire to the Jedi." she said. "I'll prepare a response aboard the Falcon."
No, Typhani Tarkin was by no means dead, but she did lay wounded and shaken by her latest ordeal. She'd gotten a bit warm, and so Adrian had eased her back onto her bed, but still held her hand. He awoke sometime deep in the night to her quiet sobs. He moved over to her, nearly on top of her, slid one hand behind her head and the other behind the small of her back, resting his cheek upon her forehead such that he could easily kiss the tears away. "Why do things like this keep happening to us, and they're getting worse!" she cried. He noticed that she was trembling slightly.
"No, no," he reassured her. "See, we're both here this time. You'll be all right now. And I'm here. I'm still right here." He gently ran one hand up and down her back, mindful of her right shoulder, and poignantly recalled similar comforts he had received not too long ago.
"What are we going to do? How are we going to keep them away from us?"
"Are you that terribly frightened, dear one?" he asked tenderly.
"There are so many of them now! It's just like before, right after Yavin. I told Darth that I was afraid the Rebels might come after me and the girls. He didn't listen, and look what happened at the Conclave! And now they outnumber us so! They've three-quarters of the galaxy! It's just a matter of time before they--they--" She broke away sobbing, and clutched at the pain it caused in her injured chest wall.
Adrian pressed her head to his shoulder. "You don't have to be afraid, Typhani. Thanks to Raith, you don't have to be afraid. We can go aboard the station."
"But they already destroyed two--"
He silenced her with a gentle kiss. "No, not this one. The core design is different. The station is complete, and fully shielded. And, we have a bit of technology the Rebels only dream of--the cloaking device. We can make ourselves invisible to them, indefinitely if we must."
"What about our coronation next month?" she asked.
"We'll just postpone it again if you're not up to it," he told her assuredly.
"No, I don't want to postpone it," she said. "Everything is planned already, and we've already postponed it once. But what if neither one of us can stand?"
"Then we'll sit on our respective thrones just like Palpatine did all those years."
"I wanted it to be so grand . . . "
"And it can still be."
"I hope so," she yawned, finally able to sleep again in her husband's protective embrace, turning her face into the soft folds of his bed robe.
In the morning, Daala slipped quietly into their room and stood with her back to the door, relieved to see for herself that Adrian and Typhani were all right. She felt responsible. The hit happened at her colony. The security should have been better. In her case, though, she thought, everything should be better. She was getting used to falling short of others' expectations, as well as her own. She knew deep down that her new title meant merely a reward for her struggles, restitution for her pain, rather than the caliber of future command it would mean for Flennic, and perhaps Valdemar.
Later that afternoon, Aerom, Valdemar, and a very much enhanced security force arrived to transfer the Emperor and Empress to Villa Galaxia. Daala had been astounded by the estate on Phelarion, but this was perhaps the grandest home she had ever been in--the grand palace of a Grand Moff. Or was it, she reminded herself as she glanced over at Valdemar, who had stayed right by her side during the transfer. She recalled then the strange way he had looked at her on Phelarion right after Adrian came home.
The security relaxed a bit once they were fully inside, and Valdemar escorted Adrian and Typhani to their apartments as the servants appeared to help them settle in. With her left leg in a brace, Typhani found herself using Adrian's walker to get around, as he had reverted to his scooter. Their wounds would heal, they knew, Adrian's on their own, perhaps with the help of traces of the cell regeneration formula still in his system, and Typhani's perhaps a bit faster with regular application of bacta patches.
Valdemar turned to Daala then, offering her his arm. "It would be an honor to escort the Grand Admiral to her quarters." Daala sensed something then, that same warm, guiding, charismatic radiance that she now presumed must emanate from all of the raven-haired, blue-eyed Eriaduan beings known by the name of Tarkin. Tentatively, she took the arm offered her, and leaned slightly upon the offerer, as her own wound had begun to smart again with the agitation of movement.
"You would have been welcome to come here, you know," Valdemar told her as he led her into her luxurious guest suite and eased her into an oversized lounge chair near the door to the balcony. "We would not have turned you away had you come."
"Thank you, Valdemar. That's very kind of you. Naturally, I wish many events had turned out differently."
"Daala, never hesitate to let us know how we can help you. You've helped us in such monumental ways, after all."
She met his gaze. "By failing you?"
"No, no, not at all. By fighting. By standing up for the Empire and what it stands for. By defending and validating my cousin's legacy--my family's legacy. And, by simply being who you are. I could not have asked for a finer female role model for my youngest daughter."
"No, Valdemar. I pale to nothing in Typhani's shadow."
"On the contrary, my dear. Grant me, Typhani is a fine woman, among the finest, and we could not ask better for an Empress. But our family is very deeply rooted in the military. So it is military role models we seek for our children. And, my esteemed Grand Admiral, your career is far from over. May your future brilliantly overshadow the mere setbacks of your past."
"You . . . are entirely too kind," Daala said softly as she looked up at him. She had never before paid attention to Valdemar physically, but now she felt moved to do so. He stood not quite as tall as Adrian, but held a sturdier build, broader in the shoulders, stronger in the chest, equally lean in the midsection. To look at them both, one could see the evidence of blood relation, yet Valdemar manifested a bit stronger jaw line, and his face appeared fuller, his cheekbones not quite as prominent, but with those same piercing blue eyes. Now that she looked at him in that way, Daala found Valdemar to be quite handsome, with a presence like Adrian and a kindness like Liegeus.
A petite figure appeared in the doorway then, and her father motioned for her to enter. "I'm glad you're going to stay with us for a few days," Chantir greeted. Daala smiled at the teenage girl, who was not at all unlike one she used to be.
"Adrian and Typhani are going to be fitted for their coronation robes tomorrow! Isn't that exciting! Did you think the day would ever come!" Chantir sat down on the ottoman opposite Daala's chair as Valdemar excused himself and left them.
"No, I didn't, but I'm glad it's come."
"I heard what Daddy said, but I think you'd make just as good an Empress as Typhani. She was never in the Army or the Navy. Besides, you're prettier and nicer, and you're not so scary."
Surprised by the comment, Daala asked, "Chantir, are you afraid of Typhani?"
"Yeah, I am. She can be really mean. When my mom moved back to Muunilinst when she and my dad got divorced, Typhani and my dad did something really mean to her. No one will even tell me what it was because it was so mean! But whatever it was, I know it really hurt my mom. She cried a lot, and still does sometimes. And she's just terrified of Typhani!" "That's odd. I can't imagine Typhani being cruel to anyone."
"Tell that to Lady Ismaren!"
"Well, that's one exception, and she deserved it."
"Yeah, she did," Chantir agreed, then glanced down at her chronometer. "Eeeks! I have to go for my protocol lesson now! But I'm glad you're staying. Can I come talk to you again later?"
"I'd like that," Daala told her kindly. She was beginning to enjoy the company of children. With that thought, she put her head back and soon dozed, waking at dusk. She decided to go look in on the Emperor and Empress.
Daala stepped out onto the balcony, looking past Adrian at the Eriadu City lights reflecting in the dark water of the bay. He glanced around to acknowledge her. "Are you out here alone? Where's Typhani?" she asked as she sat down next to him.
"Shayla is helping her set her hair. She was having a bit of trouble with that shoulder wound."
"Has Ysanne said anything about why she didn't detect the attack?"
"There's so much disruption with the loss of Coruscant that no one could have possibly foreseen this one. We had adequate security measures in place for the intelligence we had. In the current galactic situation, however, nothing is certain anymore."
"Do you remember how we once thought that we could rule the Empire?"
"Oh, yes," Adrian remembered fondly. "Back when logic and order ruled the day."
"And now?"
"We shall rule all that remains of the Empire. As for the rest, we shall simply do all we can."
"I . . . used to have daydreams about what would happen when you became Emperor."
"Not at all what you dreamed, no?"
"No."
"Then let the excitement and adventure of the unknown await us!"
She laughed slightly. "You still see everything as an adventure, fodder for a conquest."
"To conquer chaos. Think of it, Daala! To reimpose order where there is none."
"You never cease to motivate, either." she observed. She had missed so many wonderful things about him. It was time he knew, she resolved. "Adrian, I . . . I missed you so much. And then when the Rebels told me you were dead, well . . . When I was in the lifepod at Yavin after the loss of the Knight Hammer, and when it didn't look like I was going to get picked up in time, I kept thinking of what an honor it was, what a fitting end for me to die where you had died. I . . . I imagined my pod--myself--being cradled in your essence, and--and I so longed for you to come for me." She looked away, blushing slightly.
He put an arm around her shoulders, as he used to do so often all those years ago. "I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you all those years with no word. I never fathomed that the station could be vulnerable. Daala, I know I told you not to leave the Installation, but after a year or so, let alone eleven! Didn't you ever suspect that something might be wrong?"
"You commanded me never to leave," she reminded him. "I know we were close, but I also knew you. I--uh--I had concerns that you were testing me, my loyalty, my resolve, and my obedience, and possibly that you might have set some kind of trap for me if I disobeyed you. We--Tol and Qwi and I--we were unclear about your instructions to Qwi to develop another superweapon within nine years. Initially, we never thought that it would be nine years before you would return, but after several months passed, that scenario started to look more and more plausible. Tol sent out coded drones for you a couple of times, but when we didn't hear back, it reinforced my suspicions of a trap."
"Oh, Daala . . . I would have never done that to you, but I can see how you were confused. I should have stipulated a time frame. Typhani gave me quite the tongue-lashing for not leaving you some sealed instructions. Darth could have used your help at Endor. Perhaps events would have turned differently."
"The Galactic Empire--the mournful saga of 'if only,'" she mused, leaning her head on his shoulder. They sat like that in silence for several minutes.
"A stolen moment, this," she observed.
"No, Daala, we don't have to steal moments anymore, not just to be close. Typhani and I both want you to be close to us--you're a part of our family now. And as you can tell, we're a very tactile bunch." He reinforced that with a tight squeeze on her shoulders.
"Yes, I know."
Perhaps the time had come for a particular discussion. "Daala, are you feeling something else?"
She knew immediately what he meant. "No, no, not that, not anymore. I didn't know it at the time, but all I ever really wanted was just to be close to you." She thought back to the first time their relationship had overstepped its mark.
* * *
Their first time came right after they returned from the inspection of Daala's destroyers at the Kuat Drive Yards. They'd gone back to Adrian's Victory class Destroyer, arriving in the middle of the night, shipboard time. They strolled through the corridors to the officers' quarters, hands behind their backs, discussing the day's events. They stopped outside the door to her quarters and stood facing each other in the empty corridor.
Daala had been disappointed before. She knew something was going to happen--eventually--but she no longer wanted to wait until eventually happened. He had comforted and provided for her in every possible way since taking her from Carida, every way but one, and she needed that one to feel complete, the implications to their professional relationship be damned, as well as the fact of his marriage. At that time, Lady Tarkin was merely a distant figure she'd seen only in holograms--stately, reserved, and not quite real in that medium.
She had barely managed to contain herself in the inspection shuttle when he had put a hand on her back and said, "Daala, I am giving you enough power to turn any planet to slag."
"All that power, it makes me, well . . . " She blushed.
"Does it, now?" he teased. He tucked a hand under her chin, then traced down her neck to the top of the collar on her uniform.
She shuddered, and her breathing increased, but she didn't care anymore if he noticed. She ached for him; she wanted him to take her so badly now. Every part of her body and soul screamed out, reached out to him. "Yes . . . and the thought of using it. I've had a good teacher," she breathed softly.
He smiled down at her. Their gazes met, an this time she wouldn't break it, not until she put her chin out a bit and allowed her eyes to flutter closed indicatively. Then at last she felt a hand behind her head as he pulled her to him, and their lips met for the first time. She reached up and locked her arms behind his neck. He then reached down to open the door, and they slipped into her quarters before someone noticed them.
She never wanted to let go of him. As the experience moved into its next phase, he asked her, "Daala, is this your first?"
"No," she told him, "but it's been a long time."
In response to that, he'd been kind and careful, and yet so compelling, so intense--and so utterly fulfilling. Or so she thought. Something was still missing. Afterwards, as she would do many times in the months to come, she drew very close to him, tentatively at first to see if he would allow her. He did, and then she discovered what is was she truly wanted and needed from him in the gentle yet protective way he held her.
* * *
And yet it was all for his own gain, she recalled, for him and the woman in the holograms, the woman he really loved. In a way, she reflected, Stroma was so right. How could she once again affiliate herself so closely with a man who had done such to her, deceived her so? Perhaps it was because she wanted his attention at the time. Perhaps it was also because she would have willingly agreed to help Adrian and Typhani if they had they only asked her. And also perhaps it was because of who he was. Any other man she would have forsaken, even killed, for his treachery, but not Adrian. It was that something about him, that mysterious and unexplainable charisma that rendered him irreproachable in her eyes, and those of so many others as well.
And so she sat there, close to him again, close, but no longer intimate. She had heard Typhani's explanation, but not his. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Adrian, why didn't you just tell me what was going on? I'd have done anything to help you."
"I know," he said, tightening his grip on her shoulders again. "There's not a good answer for that, Daala. Part of it was because we didn't want you to feel obliged or exploited. Part of it was because we didn't want any publicity, and part of it was because, well, because we were just too damned arrogant to ask for your help. We were very wrong for what we did to you, and we're very sorry for it."
"That's really all it meant, then? I was just an incubator."
"No," he continued, putting a hand to her head. "At first, perhaps, perhaps that and genuinely a very good military officer. But then as things progressed, well . . . You see, Daala, you allowed me to reach you in ways that Typhani . . . ways that weren't in her nature--or, at least I didn't know that they were."
"What . . . ways?"
"Oh, Daala . . . it, well, selfish ones. In a way, I suppose it was about control. You see, it appealed to me that you were dependent upon me for everything--for your command and everything it brought you. My wife, on the other hand, had an independent nature and birthright before I ever came into her life. Why, she could have tossed me out on my backside at any point in our marriage and continued to do just fine. At some points, I wouldn't have blamed her if she had! And you allowed me to protect you. When we were on Lumin, though, Typhani and I had a great deal of time to communicate, perhaps more so than ever before. As it turns out, she desperately wanted me to smother her at times, but, because of the war, she felt it would burden me further if she made those needs known, so she never did."
"And if you'd told me of your needs and asked for my help, then that would have meant giving up control of the situation, giving the control to me," she observed.
"I'm afraid you've got me there, Daala. You are as perceptive as ever."
"But you gave me control of the lab--control of your greatest secret. What's the difference, Adrian?"
He shook his head. "I don't know."
"I think I do," she told him. "As much as your career--as much as the Empire--meant to you, your family meant more."
He smiled down at her. "Yes, I think you're quite right. And you're a part of that now, perhaps more than you know." He thought it time she knew something else as well. "It seems you have a secret admirer."
"What?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Valdemar is quite fond of you, Daala. He just isn't quite sure how to approach you."
"I know," she admitted, smiling softly at the thought.