Chapter 16:
Coronation
Emperor Wilhuff Adrian Tarkin stood tall, regal, and once again ever confident, carefully inspecting his official coronation attire, the flowing velvet robe cascading over a well-tailored new uniform. Having been a military officer accustomed to such all of his adult life, he had not wanted full robes as his predecessor had worn. The new design suited him well; the heavy, jet-black fabric of the new uniform design bore the texture of brushed cotton with a slight sheen if the light struck it just so, durable, yet elegant, with tailoring similar to that of the standard olive green variety he had worn so well for decades. In addition to being black instead of green, the Emperor's new uniforms also bore other distinctions, such as two thin, gold bands about each cuff and a gilt belt buckle engraved with his family crest.
The thick, velvety fabric of the overlying cloak rippled and also shone with a soft luster as he moved. The base fabric and lining were a deep crimson red, almost a burgundy, much deeper and richer than the bright red Palpatine had preferred. The raised black fibers of the velvet gave his cloak, and that of the Empress, an almost iridescent black and red effect. The cloak fastened about the neck with a gold chain with jeweled clasps.
Perhaps the most striking detail of the ensemble, the Emperor's new insignia, glittered brilliantly in its customary place just below the left shoulder. Prominent as the focal point of the golden insignia, the Imperial emblem contained marquis diamonds at the six points of the inner ring, and at its very center an engraving of the first Death Star honored its creator. Two strong yet intricately carved wings flanked the Imperial emblem, and three small but distinct lightning bolts emanated from the underside of each wing. In all, the piece symbolized the Empire soaring to power once again, rising out of the ashes of the Battle of Yavin.
As a military leader, Adrian would not wear a crown, although the Empress would. Instead, his coronation, at the hands of Gilad Pellaeon, would involve a separate black hood, similar to that which Palpatine wore so often, but with sashes bearing the Imperial emblem, embroidered in fine thread of the same crimson-burgundy, that would overlay the front of his cloak.
The Empress' tiara, recently officially named "Reflection of Coruscant," shone regally in its purple velvet-lined case. Brilliant and beautiful, it now stood as the premier crown jewel of the Empire, also gold, of the most intricate filigree and jewel work, with the Imperial emblem at its center done in the deep blue stones of which she was so fond. He smacked her hand playfully as she reached for it, teasing her. "Not until coronation night!"
Typhani only smiled lovingly at her husband, and continued to check the fit of her own gown and cloak. The smartly-tailored gown was made of the same lush black fabric as his uniform, with gold trim at the sweeping cuffs and about its squared neckline, the design also being a favorite of the tall, broad-shouldered Empress. About her neck she wore a heavy gold rope choker, from which hung a rare and quite priceless multifaceted black diamond, emerald cut, set in a gold rectangular mount and surrounded by even more rare inlaid crimsonspar with a starburst of clearest diamonds in each corner. Adrian did not recognize the piece, but he did recognize the style as he lifted it from his wife's chest to inspect it more closely.
"Cos?" he asked.
She nodded. "It . . . was the last gift I ever received from him, just before Endor," she explained unenthusiastically. She would wear it as a tribute to the fallen Emperor.
The full magnitude of their new roles became almost overwhelmingly real to them as their official coronation date--and their fifty-fifth wedding anniversary--loomed only two weeks away. Adrian thought of Palpatine as he turned the stone into the light. How wonderful, and yet how precarious, their relationship had been, the three of them, the four of them including Darth Vader. Only once, very early in their relationship, had Cos Dantius Palpatine ever overstepped his bounds to encroach upon the Tarkins' marriage, and yet the tension always remained.
Twenty-five years is an awfully long time, Adrian thought, especially for someone who had been accustomed to marital comforts for the three decades prior to his absence. He had not allowed himself to think about the possibility, especially not after what he had allowed to transpire in the Maw. At first, he felt he had no right. Yet as usual, once the thought had come to the forefront of his mind, he had to know. He had learned that his wife had spent a great deal of time with the ailing Emperor in the months prior to his death.
"He didn't try it again, did he? After Yavin?" he asked.
She tossed her head in mock-exasperation. "Oh, yes, he tried! Of course, he tried!" She met his gaze then. "But he couldn't by then. I used to talk to him, read to him, and keep his nightcap glass full until he fell asleep. I'm glad you weren't here to see the end. He'd gotten so much more ill and so weak. Mara told him not to go to Endor, but of course that only enticed him further. I think he went because he was afraid that if he didn't, he wouldn't live long enough to experience one of the stations. He was down to his weakest remaining clones, and those, well, those just weren't Cos."
Adrian thought back to the Battle of Geonosis--to the start of the whole disastrous cloning debacle. "I can understand that," he commented. "With Bevel, I don't know whether to attribute it to the time we've spent apart or to the cloning, but he's not the same either. Cos never quite learned his lesson in that respect."
"I'd have to attribute the difference to the cloning. Dwyll told me once that she fell in love with two different men in the same form."
"No one ever thought of trying it with me?"
"Darth wouldn't let them! He was so fiercely protective of you, considering all we'd done for him after that fight with Kenobi. He knew. He knew about all the trouble Cos was having with his clones."
"And you?"
She stared out the window for a moment. "Oh, I was tempted at times. Of course I was. The girls asked me about it several times. But to do it would have meant bringing you prematurely out of the carbonite before there was any chance of saving you--essentially letting the real you go in order to harvest enough to implant in the cloning cylinders. There was no way I could have ever done that to you. And, it also quickly became evident to me that there was no chance of you being brought out of the carbonite as long as Cos was alive--or as long as he believed there was a chance he might have me for himself, that is."
"That . . . must have been terribly awkward for you."
She looked away again. "I encouraged him to go to Endor. I let him pore for days on end over his Sith books without proper food or sleep. I gave him too much to drink. I didn't insist when he'd refuse to take his medicine. Great stars, how I pushed him toward the edge! I wanted Darth on that throne so badly. He would have needed you. He would have ridden Viorska and the rest of the medical community with that iron fist of his until they found a solution. And then he would have figured out that he couldn't handle the Empire. He would have wanted to find his son instead. That would have been so much more important to him. And, we would have been doing this decades ago," she speculated as she checked the bodice seam of her gown.
He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "We're doing it now. We can't lament over what might have been. We don't have the time, and can't spare the energy."
"Yes, yes, I know. You're right. But it just took so long . . . "
He drew her closer. "Yes, Typhani, it did. But had it not, we would have spent those years fighting all the chaos that transpired, and now--by now, I'd be something like Raith, or worse, or dead." He tucked a hand under her chin. "But now, with circumstances the way they are, we shall quickly take back as much of this galaxy as possible and spend the rest of our time together in victorious peace and order."
With their coronation the first point of that order, the plans seemed never-ending, and only seemed to grow in complexity as the date approached. Lyjéa lent her rhetorical expertise as she helped her parents plan some of the announcements.
"And then, before we raise the seal, Gilad will activate the microphone and announce, 'I now present to you Their Excellencies, the Emperor and Empress of the Imperial Remnant!'" Adrian suggested.
Lyjéa turned up her rounded Motti nose. "I hate that!" she proclaimed. "I've always hated it! Imperial Remnant! Besides, we're not a remnant, and haven't been one since Gilad's peace accord!" She began then to tap her stylus on the table forcefully with each word. "Since that time, we have been a separate entity, a new nation! We are not and are no longer the 'Imperial Remnant!' We are . . . we are . . . " The Empress Apparent then paused, realizing that she had not thought of something better. Then it came. She grasped her father's hand. "We are New Impyria!"
Adrian looked admiringly at his daughter. "Indeed we are."
The list of delegates became the next object of their attention. Problems, problems, problems! Lady Theala Vandron and Lady Chalice Valorum. Invited to the coronation, but not the ball afterward. Protests abounded. The New Republic initially refused to send a delegate, but diplomatic etiquette ultimately prevailed. After many submissions, rejections, and changes, Ponc Gavrisom finally became the official New Republic delegate. At last, all of the details seemed to be in place.
In a few days, the Tarkins went to Bastion, where they would stay through the conclusion of the event, along with their family and many of their principal colleagues--Ysanne, Aerom, Daala, Valdemar, and others. Bastion had fortunately been spared the scars of the past two decades, and the capital city, now renamed Imperial City after its predecessor on Coruscant, appeared very much like a respectable Imperial metropolis of the Palpatine era. The Imperial Capital Complex, not quite an Imperial Palace but spectacular nonetheless, contained office buildings, conference centers, living quarters, its own small spaceport, and several large assembly halls, the largest of which being the five-sided Pentastar Gallery. It is in this chamber that the coronation would take place. Their security detail gave them a bit of space as the Emperor and Empress entered to preview the arrangements for the impending event.
Almost as vast as the former Republic Senate Hall on Coruscant, the Pentastar Gallery also bore similar design features, with hoverpods stacked several hundred meters high lining the walls with a central platform that could be raised and lowered as needed. The sleek black, red, and gold decor marked the gallery as distinctly Imperial.
"Ardus built this," Typhani commented as they entered, not sure of how much of the history her husband had assimilated.
"Yes, I know. Paleb and Gilad gave me the 'grand tour' when I first came here, while you stayed with Daala. Ardus did such a good job--with everything. He held my place well for what brief time he had it. I only wish he could be here for some proper recognition." But then he seemed to take in the surroundings less enthusiastically.
"What?" Typhani asked.
"Oh, it's just that I would prefer this event transpire in Seswenna Hall instead."
"I know," Typhani empathized. "But it won't hold everyone. And with the parameters of our territory the way they are now, this is the best location for our capital."
"Well, yes, but perhaps with some territorial expansion, I can at last bestow upon Eriadu its full worth. 'The Coruscant of the Outer Rim,' they used to call us. Now with Coruscant gone, well, that just leaves Eriadu, then, doesn't it?" the Emperor commented, a bit more upbeat.
"Of course we will have a direct live holofeed to Seswenna Hall, Your Excellency," came a young voice from behind them. Ephin Saretti had come to brief them on logistics, having served as the Chair of the Coronation Planning Committee. "The perimeter of the central platform will be ray-shielded for your protection, of course," Saretti continued. "The central part of the platform itself lowers to allow you to rise from below, so that neither of you will ever be openly exposed within the gallery." But with both of them still recovering from recent injuries, Saretti had to find a way to prevent them from having to stand through the entire event. He worked out a successive raising and lowering of the central platform, with the coronation addresses being delivered from a sitting position on a replicas of Palpatine's Imperial throne while the platform slowly rotated so that everyone in the gallery would at some points enjoy a frontal view. The coronation ball to follow that evening was planned to be a throwback to the extravagant events Palpatine used to host. Indeed, many vestiges of those who had given rise to the Galactic Empire would manifest in the upcoming national events. Then at last, the day arrived.
Security had never been higher at any Imperial event, other than perhaps the transport of Palpatine aboard Death Star II. Delegates found themselves subjected to hours of multiple screenings before being escorted to their assigned pods within the gallery. The Imperial Navy then sealed the entire facility one hour before events officially began. A fleet of twenty Imperial-class Star Destroyers, led by Grand Admiral Aerom Flennic aboard the Chimaera, protected Bastion itself.
Adrian and Typhani stood arm-in-arm below-stage, dressed in their finest at their finest hour. "I was wrong about something else at Yavin," Adrian mused. Typhani cocked her head questioningly at him. "When Charlie first came for me," he continued, "I told him we could not possibly think of evacuation at our moment of triumph. It wasn't, of course. This, my dear, is our moment of triumph."
"I couldn't agree more," she said with a bright smile.
They listened, as above Ephin Saretti gave some opening announcements. Following that, the Imperial Navy Band played "The Imperial March," a piece that had always been a favorite of Vader's. In tribute to him, the Emperor and Empress had selected it as New Impyria's national anthem.
The platform then descended, and Gilad Pellaeon mounted it to deliver his farewell address, offering the Emperor and Empress a quick salute as the platform began to rise again. Typhani looked over at her husband. "I don't know what we would have done without him," she commented.
"I know," he agreed. "Try as I might, I can't quite think of a reward commensurate with what he has done to preserve the New Order and protect Imperial citizenry. He shall not want for anything during his retirement." Pellaeon's audience, however, recognized him with a standing ovation.
In a moderately brief speech, the Grand Admiral likened the Empire's struggles to one great battle, chaotic at times, well orchestrated at others. "We have won because we have survived," Pellaeon declared. "The Rebel leaders and the Imperial High Command of the Hoth-Endor era considered the Galactic Civil War to be a battle to the death. And yet we stand today and deliver the ideal of the New Order to its rightful ruler." As more applause thundered through the gallery, Adrian thought about how easily Pellaeon could have taken power, title, and all for himself, could have named himself Emperor, yet never did so. Pellaeon's very strength seemed to stem from humility, Adrian realized, a brand of strength he certainly did not possess. And yet he was thankful that Pellaeon did. The Grand Admiral concluded his address by recognizing several people who had helped him hold the Empire together, foremost among them Grand Admiral Daala, who stood tall and proud within her shielded pod in her bright white uniform and new insignia, long, red hair still cascading in defiant triumph about her shoulders. Pellaeon also acknowledged the efforts of others including Sate Pestage, Ysanne Isard, and Thrawn.
Adrian and Typhani both twitched a bit as they heard the platform begin its descent. Their moment had come. Hand in hand, they stepped aboard, exchanging only victorious glances.
As the coronation platform began to rise again, Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon thought back to the day Paleb Viorska came aboard the Chimaera and disclosed to him perhaps the Empire's greatest secret. Still reeling from the Thrawn imitation scam Moff Leo Disra had orchestrated, Pellaeon didn't initially take Viorska seriously . . .
* * *
Viorska sat down at the conference table across from Pellaeon--the same conference table that had borne the peace accord between the Imperial Remnant and the New Republic. He folded his hands in front of him and met the Grand Admiral's gaze squarely. "You'll have to hear me out, Pellaeon," Viorska warned.
Pellaeon nodded. "I've grown accustomed to hearing people out lately," he commented dryly.
"Very well, then." He leaned slightly across the table toward Pellaeon, and continued in a low but matter-of-fact voice. "Wilhuff Tarkin is alive."
Pellaeon became immediately incredulous. "That's impossible! How can you even suggest such after what we just went through? We can't possibly get away with such a resurrection scheme twice! The populace will never fall for it!"
"You don't understand, Admiral. A command shuttle from the Death Star actually did crash at the Tallaan Shipyards. Tarkin was the only survivor. But . . . back then, there was nothing we could do for him in light of the severity of his injuries and his allergy to bacta. Vader and I froze him in carbonite. If you don't believe me, we can consult with Lady Tarkin. She was present in the room aboard the Avenger when it happened."
Pellaeon's skin paled. He, like everyone else, had believed the Tallaan story to be a mere cover-up for any perceived indiscretions at Yavin. That's what he was supposed to believe, his duty as a military officer to believe it. Now Viorska expected him to believe otherwise.
Pellaeon cleared his throat. "How do we proceed? Can you save him now?"
"My people are still working on it, but yes, I believe we can."
* * *
With a swell of pride he had not felt since the former glory days of the New Order, Pellaeon saluted his audience. With the drop of his hand, the cheers and applause within the auditorium ceased. Without further delay, Pellaeon proceeded to the small, clear plasteel side table and took up the Emperor's hood, then turned to face him. The two men beamed at each other in triumph.
"You've done well, Gilad," Adrian said warmly. "I know I've told you that many times, but you deserve to hear it here."
"Congratulations, my Emperor!" Pellaeon returned. "It's about time." With that, he raised the black hood over the Emperor's head and set it in place, its embroidered sashes cascading down the front of his cloak.
Adrian shuddered with exhilaration, but in his mind, the pinnacle of the event was yet to come. With a loving glance at his wife, he then stepped over to the side table and took up the Empress' tiara. Returning to her, he set the crown tenderly and triumphantly upon her head, securing the jeweled combs into the twists of her lustrous ebony hair. For a long moment, they gazed at each other with unconditional devotion. They had agreed not to display public affection during the ceremony due to its extreme formality. There would be time enough for that later at the coronation ball. Still, the power and energy of their connection at that moment seemed to fill the entire auditorium.
Pellaeon returned to them and presented the Emperor with his official seal. Moving again to the table, he retrieved the last implement needed to complete the ceremony. From its intricately carved and bejeweled box, Pellaeon removed the famous and spectacular House Tarkin marriage binder, a veritable ribbon of gold and jewels more than a meter long. Returning to the Emperor and Empress, he then wrapped the binder three times around their right wrists as they both held the shaft of the seal. Of course, it was not the first time the binder had been around their wrists, and the feel of it brought back both pleasant and poignant memories for both of them--memories of their youth, of their dreams now made real, and of Palpatine.
Pellaeon walked over to the table and activated the microphone. Realizing the magnitude of what he was about to say, he hesitated a moment, then spoke clearly and decisively. "I now present to you Their Excellencies, the Emperor and Empress of New Impyria!" Cheers and applause thundered through the gallery.
Facing each other, their right wrists once again bound in marital reaffirmation, the Emperor and Empress raised the seal high into the air. Holocams flashed madly as the jeweled Imperial emblem caught the lights such that it sparkled brilliantly. They held the pose as the platform slowly rotated until the flashes and noise ebbed, an image that for decades to come would signify the resilience of the Galactic Empire and grace commemorative plates, medallions, coins, calendars, and sculpture. The platform descended again momentarily, and the next time the audience saw their leaders, they sat perched proudly on their thrones.
The raising of the Emperor's right hand brought silence again as he began his coronation address, "From Visions of the New Order to Victory for New Impyria." No one in the gallery had heard a speech like that since Palpatine was alive, and they all knew who wrote Palpatine's speeches. Adrian outlined his plan for the government, and in carefully worded diplomatic terms, plans for expansion. He spoke vehemently against the Vong, explaining how New Impyria would protect itself, and more so against the New Republic, blaming outright the New Jedi Order for the invasion. He outlined plans for a very distant relationship with the New Republic, referring deliberately to the entity as "the Rebels" on numerous occasions. Sharp-eared listeners, those familiar with Tarkin and his rhetoric, could clearly hear the interlaced undertones of possible galactic redomination. He then turned to fiscal matters, detailing plans for funding the military and putting the economy back on track, claiming openly that he had "put aside much during his administration for the future of the Empire." Like Pellaeon, he concluded his address with recognitions, also citing Daala for maintaining the Maw Installation and preserving its work. He spoke highly of Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, who had taken over for him, and of his dear friend Raith Sienar who had unwittingly provided their new nation with protection, and perhaps most favorably of Pellaeon. Then came a moment of silence for Vader and Palpatine. Some posthumous awards followed, including the rank of Grand Admiral to Raolf Motti. Finally, he presented the Empress Apparent in her shielded pod and acknowledged both of his daughters for the sacrifices they made growing up during a war without a father, emphasizing what fine women they had become. And then he gave the floor to one he called "the finest woman in the galaxy," acknowledging his wife's sacrifices and her role in keeping the Empire alive.
With "Reflection of Coruscant" upon her head, Empress Thanyphania Aradia Tarkin began her own address, "A Tribute to the Women of the Galactic Empire," a treatise of the sacrifices and resilience of Imperial women. In a surprising move, she asked every woman in the gallery and within earshot of her voice who had laid a husband, father, grandfather, brother, son, uncle, cousin, friend, or mentor upon the altar of the Empire to stand. Nearly every female in the gallery stood. The Empress then lauded the accomplishments of businesswomen in the Corporate Sector who kept the economy going while the men fought. Next, she turned to the women who had fought, and for the third time, Daala basked in the spotlight, along with Ysanne Isard, Delta Crowal, Morgana Tarkin, Yasinda Bardak, and Sandrex Olotho. The Empress then turned to matters of education, literacy, and the welfare of children, concluding with an emphasis on the importance of keeping families together. Her address would be forever tied to and equated with a family portrait including herself and her husband at center, surrounded by their daughters and grandsons, Rivoche, Kormath, Bevel Sr. and Dwyll, Morgana, Nolan, Shayla, Valdemar and his children, Raine, Daala, and Sabine. The photo would be broadcast across the holonet with the caption, "The Tarkins: An Imperial Family."
Another photo that would circumnavigate the galaxy became the one of the Emperor and Empress sitting on their thrones atop a raised platform flanked by crimson-clad Royal Guards at the head of the Grand Ballroom within the Imperial Capital Complex. Not until all guests had been accounted for and the room sealed would they mingle, their platform also ray-shielded. Guests could leave the ball at their discretion, but once out, they could not get back in. Among the many comers included Drost and Marielle Elegin, Nasdra and Elizie Magrody, Irek and Shenna Ismaren, with Shenna visibly pregnant, Rodin Verpalion, Domima Tagge, Stroma Veers, and Retired Admiral Kenneth Firmus Piett, whom Adrian hoped to talk out of retirement and back into service, enticing him with one of the remaining Grand Admiral posts if he must. Piett had been a good tactician, level-headed, and competent in all areas. He had already emerged from retirement once, to assume Daala's post by Pellaeon's side after the Grand Admiral's misfortune at the hands of Garm Bel Iblis.
Throngs more hoped to gain the Emperor's ear, however briefly, many by first approaching an Imperial Council member or Tarkin family member. One such guest quickly linked up with Lyscithea, as the pair had known each other as children. Of course, Adrian did not recognize the young black man, a military commander, his uniform impeccable. "It's Saedrek Darre," Lyscithea revealed with a smile.
"Good gracious, I remember the day you were born!" the Emperor recalled fondly. "What a fine young man you have become! How is your mother?" he asked of his dedicated former secretary Friedra Darre.
"She couldn't attend because she can't get around much these days, but she sends her love and congratulations. Also, I just wanted to thank you personally for all you did for my mother and me when I was young," Saedrek replied. Friedra had been a single mom, raising her son alone, and Adrian had always made sure she had the time to do it properly. She had returned the favor with unquestioning loyalty, dedication, and hard work. Looking at the young officer who stood before him, Adrian realized that his actions on Friedra's behalf had paid off.
"Oh, Adrian, look!" Typhani prompted him as Lyscithea and Saedrek stepped away. It seemed that Valdemar was trying to teach Daala to dance. The two had been inseparable in recent days.
"That's encouraging," Adrian said softly to his wife. The sight of two Grand Admirals arm-in-arm in their white uniforms made for a classic Imperial moment.
The Empress and her daughters continued to work the room, meeting briefly with influential people they knew. The Emperor, meanwhile, had taken Piett aside, and the two seemed to be "talking technical." Daala, Valdemar, and Pellaeon watched pensively, and when they saw Piett salute, they both made affirmative sounds. "Yes!" Daala exclaimed. "We need him! He'll be excellent against the Vong."
"It doesn't surprise me," Pellaeon commented. "It's his preservation instinct. He has something to protect now. He finally married recently. Apparently, Piett took in his flagship to propose toher. She wasn't expecting a Destroyer."
"My, that must have been quite an escort," Valdemar commented.
"Not quite," Daala said, glancing over at Adrian. "I had someone come to Carida with a whole fleet of Victory-class Destroyers to rescue me."
"That's right, you did, didn't you?" Valdemar remembered, patting Daala on the back. "He should have brought you to me straight away."
As the evening progressed, guests fell into their own chosen groups by relationship or political affiliation. Raine, her partner Xanadira, Lyjéa, and Sabine had established a corner of their own. And then, some began to leave. Daala and Valdemar had already disappeared. Adrian and Typhani smiled curtly at each other when they realized the pair had gone.
In all, everything had gone extremely well. Ysanne reported only a couple of security issues, and there had amazingly been no assassination attempts. Even Ponc Gavrisom had been civil.
As the last of the guests departed the ballroom, the squad of eight crimson-clad Imperial Royal Guards closed rank around the Emperor and Empress and escorted them to their luxurious private quarters within the Imperial Capital Complex. Because the guards completely surrounded the couple, no one could see that two of them had been assigned to help Adrian along the walk back through the auditorium to his scooter.
Once inside their private quarters, they each seemed to let their guard down, releasing the high formalities of the day. Adrian dismounted his scooter, unclasped his cloak, and cast it over the back of a chair. Remarkably, though he was a bit stiff, he didn't seem as tired as Typhani thought he would be. She attributed it to the exhilaration and triumph of the day's events.
According to their mutual Outer Rim customs, they had reaffirmed their wedding vows, or, in their case, vow, each year on the occasion of their anniversary, a simple yet sacred vow to support and nurture one another through whatever the coming year may bring. During "the carbonite years," as they had come to call them, Typhani had renewed her commitment to her husband every year in the journals she kept for him. The coming year would bring a dark terror indeed, one that could destroy the Tarkins and their new Empire.
"Whatever the year may bring," they repeated to each other, folding together as their passions began to consume them. Typhani reached up to embrace Adrian and put her head back as he lifted her cloak from her shoulders and allowed it to drop behind her.
"Take me, Adrian. The way you used to . . . "
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