Yay, finally after trying to upload this for two days! I'm working on the next chapter as we speak, and I won't be spending quite so much time on the internet the next couple of days because our internet line is going to be worked on, so that will give me more time to write and type. On a side note, have any of you watched SciFi's Dresden Files? The season finale was tonight, and now my brain is trying to run away with plot ideas for that, but I've resorted to sitting on it for now. Must find out if they're doing a second season before mind can run off to play with Dresden and Murph. Or even Bob. Terrence Mann is SOOOO hot... mental smack Sorry, little tangent there. Anyway, I love hearing your thoughts and comments on my writing. I've updated my profile, too. Hugs, y'all, I'm off to write.. and play Sims 2. ;-) Oh, and when I say monkey-lizards, I mean the Kowakian variety, like the one at Jabba's palace that tried to pull out Threepio's eyes.

The Hero Strikes Back

Chapter 3

Deep in the embrace of the Living Force, Anakin was able to watch what was happening to and around his physical shell as though it were a holovid on fast-forward. He was intrigued by the intricate process that oxygenated his blood during the lung transplant. And then Taun We moved, and he was able to see the mangled mass that had been his original lungs. As the Kaminoan continued the delicate surgery, the Jedi saw just how bad his internal workings had become over the last twenty years. Nearly everything was being replaced with fresh, healthy cloned organs.

Talk about being a new man, Anakin thought to himself. He was a bit surprised by the speed with which the traces of incisions and laser sutures disappeared. Almost before he knew it, the cloner began to work on his oldest injury: his long-lost right arm, still equipped with the original metal prosthetic that he had received just before his wedding.

It would be rather odd to feel the things he touched after so many years. True bionic prostheses had only recently become available, even to the mighty Imperial Navy, at least those which were capable of transmitting sensation.

However, Taun We seemed accustomed to replacing destroyed limbs, for she worked with an easy grace and deft touch. Too, the cloned limbs knit themselves to his flesh even faster than the organs had, if that were possible.

Firmus was in the medbay often, as they had arranged. Though Anakin couldn't physically respond to his friend's presence or words, it comforted him to have someone there who really cared about his health. The man would, from time to time, read aloud, usually quoting from an amusing HoloNet article or a Rebellion report he'd dug up involving one or both of the Jedi's children.

Finally, Taun We began the tedious process of recreating his epidermis. He'd included no specifications referring to possible scarring during the re-skinning phase, but the cloner seemed determined to make his new skin flawless, without any trace of his earliest scars, especially his slave mark. In doing this, she was applying judicious amounts of some liquid to every seam between sections. Anakin eventually realized that it was a variant of bacta, somehow treated to increase its potency exponentially.

Once the last bit of skin had bonded to his body, he was transferred to the bay's huge bacta tank, wearing only a breathing mask and an intravenous feed.


Taun We gazed upon the human floating in the tank and allowed herself a small smile. Few knew that her folk kept secret copies of medical records from across the galaxy, and no one outside of their species had been entrusted with the secret since the clones were ordered to turn on the Jedi.

Thanks to smuggled copies of records from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and Kamino's sophisticated aging simulation programs, Anakin Skywalker now looked like a forty-three-year-old version of his younger self.

Now he is truly a Master Jedi, she thought momentarily. The door hissed open behind her, and she turned to see Captain Piett walk in. Of course, he was the only other being for whom the door would open, for now.

"How is the patient doing today, Madam?" the lean man asked once the door had closed.

"His progress has been extraordinarily swift, Captain. I believe he is ready to emerge from the tank and his trance today." The human gave her a wide, tooth-filled grin at this news.

"Let's decant the old boy, then. I wonder what he thinks of his new equipment?"

The Captain accompanied her to the lift, which raised them to the decking around the top of the bacta tank. As they knelt at the edge, one of her specially-programmed medical droids sent a buzz through the viscous liquid, causing Knight Skywalker to jerk for an instant before he calmed and drove himself to the surface with a few kicks. Once he was within reach, Taun We and Captain Piett caught his arms and pulled, bringing him completely out onto the decking.

As the Kaminoan withdrew the intravenous feed, Piett pulled off the breathing mask. As the Jedi drew in fresh air with great heaves, they reached for nearby towels and began to divest the patient of the little bacta that still clung to him.


He shivered for a few moments, but began to relax as warm cloth wicked away the remains of his bacta bath and encouraged more circulation into his skin. Anakin inhaled deeply through his nose, then blinked, trying to see despite the bits of goo dripping down his face. He lifted his right hand and flexed it, filled with wonder at the sticky feel of the bacta and being able to feel one knuckle pop.

"Flesh and blood," he muttered to himself. Firmus' smaller hand, holding a towel, closed over the pinkish new skin, and the sticky feeling lessened.

"Yes, sir. Completely flesh and blood. Do you have anything put away that you'd like to wear, or shall I have one of the civilian clothiers make something up for you?"

Anakin thought for a very long moment. He didn't have anything stored away, of course, but he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to wear, now that he could actually use normal clothes. "Just get a few basics for now, and I'll draw something out later."

"Understood. Madam We will probably want to have you confined to quarters for a while yet, anyway, which gives you time."

"I… I need to make a new lightsaber, too. I know I have a parts list in my logs, I'll find it for you when I'm cleared to use a datapad." He shot a wry glance at Taun We, who gave him a smirk in return. "If you can, I'd prefer dark blues for now." Firmus would understand that he meant whatever clothing he was going to receive today.

"Yes, sir. Take me maybe a standard hour." Anakin maintained a calm demeanor until the door closed behind Piett, then began to shake uncontrollably.

Thinking about colors had reminded him of a vague glimpse of Padmé's funeral. He could remember his beloved lying in state as she was carried through the streets of Theed, clothed in a beautiful dark blue dress, her hands clasped over the swollen belly where he'd thought his unborn child rested…

"There is no shame in expressing grief, Sir Knight." Slim, white-skinned arms wrapped him in a warm towel, and held him close to a body that pulsed with life through the Force. "It is needful so one may heal the wounds of the mind." Something in Taun We's words released a pressure valve inside him, and he could no longer hold in the tears.

He wept, and then howled his sorrow at the top of his new lungs, held tight by the Kaminoan. Exhaustion overcame him sometime before Piett returned. He slept then, and knew no more.


Two weeks passed, and he couldn't bear the confinement any longer. He was ready for "Darth Vader" to return to ship life. According to Firmus, almost every Navy man aboard, especially the command crew, were getting rather nervous as far as the Sith Lord concerned them. Piett was taking the opportunity to quietly feel out the crew, determining who would side with the Emperor and who would remain loyal to the immediate authority of the former Dark Lord when the inevitable parting of ways occurred.

Anakin had spent much of his convalescence working on the armor that had imprisoned him for so long, stripping the life-support systems from the suit. He'd given special attention to both the chestplate and the helmet. There were several lights and readouts on the chestplate that needed to appear functional, and the helmet contained a chipset that modulated his voice to a hair-raising, bone-shaking depth, the voice that set green ensigns to quaking in their boots.

Now he was donning the blasted suit again.

"It's so fragging hot in this…" he mumbled. "Darkness take you, Sidious, I could kill you just for this thing. All that kriff that came out of it, and it's still so farkled heavy!"

Of course, Taun We would rather he were flat on his back yet, under her watchful eyes. However, Anakin was on the verge of going stir-crazy, and he had to get out of his quarters. Besides, none of the crew had seen so much as a flicker of black cloak for over two months. He needed to make an appearance before the rumors began to get any more wild.

The disguise—for that was all that was left of the Sith Lord, a name and a reputation tied to the suit—worked flawlessly. Ensigns and junior lieutenants either fled or shakily came to attention when he neared them, and the more senior officers, especially Admiral Ozzel's group of flunkies, sweated durasteel ingots. Even General Veers, commander of the stormtroopers on the vessel, had been nervous on encountering the black-clad figure, and he had long been on Vader's good side.


Another two weeks passed before Firmus cornered him in his office.

"Sir, you need to take a personal day," the Axxilan insisted. "You're going to run yourself through the decks if you keep this up." In truth, Anakin was about ready to burn the stripped life-support suit, disguises be farkled. Between the weight and the heat that built up inside over the course of a duty shift, he virtually collapsed onto his bed after he took the armor off each day. It seemed to completely sap his energy.

Instead of answering Piett, he pulled off the helmet and began to wriggle out of the suit.

"The crew's loyalties have been rather easy to define so far," Firmus stated a moment later. "General Veers spoke with his colonels, and told me that every single man in the ground troops would stick by you, even if they had to march naked through vacuum. The Navy men are another crate of monkey-lizards entirely. There's barely enough to run three duty shifts who would choose you over Sidious. Most of them are ensigns or very junior lieutenants." The captain paused, considering something. "Could the ground troops be trained up to a level where they could assist in running the Lady Ex and relieve the boys who will stay once in a while?"

"Of course they can. They're still mostly clones. They were the whole army and navy during the Clone Wars, you know. They'll only need a bit of a refresher and instruction on our Lady's quirks." His torso finally free of the suit, Anakin rolled his neck, feeling something pop and an ache ease. "The only reason that you Navy boys don't have any of them among you is because they all look alike. Sidious wants to be able to see faces rather than helmets when he's ordering people around, and you can't exactly have all those identical faces running around in plain sight."

Firmus chuckled. "That's true. As for the civilians and menial workers, they don't give a womp rat's tail for who we're fighting for, as long as they're not kicked off or put out of work."

"That's because they're survivors." Anakin moved to his bed and sprawled across it to stare at the ceiling. "We'll wait for Sidious to call his pet to heel and make a personal report. Then we can stuff the uncooperative ones in the brig and surprise the old worm."

Firmus was quiet for a bit, and the Jedi could feel him relax. It felt rather good to drop the "I'm an evil Sith" act for a while.

"Have you sent them a vid yet?" Firmus asked, making another of his typical leaps to another subject. Anakin groaned in response.

"I haven't even opened what came while I was in surgery. I was too busy with the fragging thing." He just didn't have the energy left when he came off a duty shift, either, thanks to the suit. He heard the Axxilan move around his quarters, but he still jumped when a datapad was almost shoved in his face.

"I hope I don't see anything black lurking in the corridors for at least twenty-four hours." The sandy-haired man strode away, and the hissing of the door moments later told Anakin that he'd left.

Well, spast. He's almost as bad as Artoo was during the war. "Don't forget about this, take time for that, the act is slipping so fix it now…" The little droid had had a talent for nagging. Of course, the astromech was smart and savvy, too. He'd been a loyal friend for Anakin to count on.

When he'd read the first pair of replies from his younglings, he'd been surprised to find out that Artoo wasn't just looking out for Luke: apparently he'd been with the Organas since the twins were born, only separated when Leia had sent him off with the plans for the battle station. Thank the Force that the droid had been purchased from the Jawas by Lars. Even better, Artoo's memory had never been tampered with, so he still had many hours of recordings that the twins could watch to learn about who their parents had been.

Anakin relaxed for the next few hours, reading and rereading the missives that had been waiting for him. He changed into a dark blue set of robes, patterned after the ones he'd favored as a Knight during the Clone Wars. After all, no one but Firmus would dare to enter his quarters without notifying him well in advance. Taun We had returned to Kamino a week earlier.

After eating, Anakin sat down at the console to record his message. He ran a hand through the very short hair that had grown since the operation, oddly reminded of a padawan's traditional cut. He was eager for it to get longer, the way he'd worn it when he was married, after being knighted.

Taking a deep breath, he turned on the recorder and began to speak.

"Hello, my younglings. As you can probably tell, I made it through the surgery without a problem. In fact, the medical team was impressed with the speed of my healing aided by a Jedi healing trance. My hair is much too short right now, but only time can remedy that minor problem. I'm just glad to have all my senses functioning again, as good as new.

"I'm in the first stages of what Obi-Wan and Padmé would have called one of my 'crazy schemes,' in the hopes that I can ambush Darth Sidious at some point in the near future. I'm not worried about Vader anymore; he's all but destroyed. Even if Sidious realizes that I'm back and coming for him, and manages to evade my trap, I'll have an Imperial vessel to bring to the Alliance when I join you.

"My friend Firmus has nagged me into taking it easy for a day or so…"


The twins glanced at each other as the holovid ended.

"Why am I getting a bad feeling about this 'crazy scheme' of his?" Leia asked her brother. There was a note of something akin to fear in her voice.

"Probably because it's likely to go horribly awry, though he'll make it away practically unscathed, if I'm reading what I sense correctly," Luke replied, trying to stretch out further in the Force for more information.

"Just what we need. Someone else who thinks like Solo." He couldn't help but smile knowingly at his sister, though she was turned away and couldn't see him. She hadn't a clue about the pool on when she and Han would finally admit that they were interested in each other. For the sake of the Rebels with money on the line, he hoped neither of them found out. Ever. He'd rather not open that crate of monkey-lizards.

"I'm surprised at how quickly he's gotten back on his feet," he said, changing the subject. "Two weeks out of the bacta for Father looks like a month and a half out for most anyone else." Privately, the young pilot was awestruck by the physical similarities between Anakin and himself. On top of that, the Jedi Knight looked way too good to be forty-three. Not that Luke would ever admit it.

"You know, I can see why Mother fell for him when they met. I feel like I should be sent to Kessel just for looking at him, and he's our father." He had to stifle his laugh as he watched his blushing sister.

"You just feel guilty that you're looking at him and feeling that way, rather than looking at—" He ducked and threw up his arm just in time to catch Leia's swat on his bicep rather than the back of his head.

"Shut up, you! Or I'll get Rieekan to put your hotshot squadron on kitchen duty!" Despite the laugh in her tone, Luke knew the princess was at least half-serious.

"I surrender!" He held up his hands, only to have his sides assaulted by nimble fingers. Their 'meeting' then devolved into an all-out tickle war.


The slim girl kept her eyes moving as she slipped through the dark corridors of the Palace. She knew now that she was more a pawn than a Hand, and she was sick to death of being used. It was most definitely time to skip the planet.

She'd collected her meager belongings and packed then into the black knapsack she was now wearing. Every hard object was wrapped with clothing to prevent noise. She wore very little; her black body glove, soft leather boots that made no sound as she moved, gloves, utility belt, and a long black scarf. With the filmy scarf, she had covered her distinctive fiery hair and the paleness of her face without impeding her own sight.

She still wasn't quite ready to leave, though. She knew how to get to the Emperor's hidden 'playground,' and she wanted to take as much from those long-sealed rooms as she could carry.

Even if the Jedi had been as evil as he claimed—and that was something she doubted was true at all—they still didn't deserve the treatment that had been doled out to the artifacts they'd left behind.

Besides, they'd had some tools and weapons that she would find very useful.

The Palace was virtually deserted tonight, which was why she was leaving now. There was a new opera premiering several klicks away, and everyone who was anyone knew that the Emperor loved opera. They would all be there, trying to curry favor. It worked in her favor, because it didn't take her very long to get to the Jedi museum, and no one saw her.

Safely away from areas where anyone could walk by and among the mutilated statues and mannequins of the deserted wing, she set down her knapsack and pulled out an elaborate ballgown. It only took a few minutes for her to gather every lightsaber and small weapon in the museum, and she began to carefully roll them up in the fabric. The fat, solid roll went back into the bag, and she took out a large pouch for the remaining portable mementoes. Most of these were holo displays, though there were a few JedCreds from Corellian Jedi Masters.

Though she regretted it greatly, there was nothing she could do about the defaced figures standing around the rooms. Most of them were larger than she was; even the smallest was too heavy for her to carry. At least she was saving what she could.

When she finished clearing the museum, she fit everything tightly into the knapsack again, adjusting straps on the outside of the bag to increase its capacity. It was almost triple the size it had been when she entered, but it was not nearly as heavy as it might have looked.

She hefted the knapsack and secured the buckle across her chest, then checked her chrono. One hour gone, out of the four hours she'd allowed herself to escape. It was time to go.

She'd been scrutinizing the Palace schematics for years, first as a hobby, then with this plan in mind. It was paying off now. She used small, out-of-sight corridors to descend through the massive structure. No tracks marred the layer of dust on the floors. She used one of the first Force tricks she'd been taught to stir the air behind her and wipe away her own footprints.

She eventually emerged from a hidden door in the lower reaches of the planet-city. While she was still concealed by the shadows around the door, she began to modify her garb, adding bits of light and colorful fabric in strategic locations so that she could blend into the festive crowd as she headed for Invisec. Someone was always celebrating something down here, and the non-humans in the Alien Protection Zone would look the other way if a human sought transportation off-world. There was bound to be someone headed in the direction of Kalarba and that end of the Corellian Run, and she had cold, hard credits to offer in exchange for a bunk onboard.

Once she got beyond the Inner Rim or, better yet, the Expansion Region, she would have no problem locating a Rebel cell or, Force willing, the Alliance's command group. She knew there was a miniscule chance that Leia Organa or Mon Mothma might recognize her, but it was negligible; her normal appearance was quite a departure from the young courtier the Senators might have seen at Court. She had always hated wearing all that makeup and the other symbols of her fictitious status in the Imperial Court.

The most risky segment of her escape plan was over. She methodically reinforced her mental shield to prevent the Emperor or Vader from tracking her—not that Darth Vader knew she existed, since the Emperor preferred to keep his Hands as hidden weapons—and stepped into the mass of sentience that filled the lower levels of Coruscant.