Emotions were running high. Here was the first step to completely throwing out the Empire, and bringing democracy. But it stood on the opposite side of the line, which they'd have to cross delicately to ever get through. Having Anakin Skywalker, previously Darth Vader, on their team was not something that made the tension any lower.

Nevertheless, Wedge, Tycho, Wes, Hobbie and the others all took deep breaths before exiting the cabins and making their way to the briefing.

"Well, here we go, right? Into the Sarlacc's pit."

As Wedge glared at Wes, Hobbie commented, "No, it's worse than that."

"What could be worse than being digested for over a thousand years, Hobbie? Oh, just shut up - let's get this over with."

They entered the room to find everyone assembled in a circle, with Ackbar, Mothma, and Anakin Skywalker in the middle of it. Skywalker was speaking to everyone with a sound device, his voice booming sonorously.

"If I can procure my helmet and suit, I'll be able to send a transmission to the Palace, convince them that I have taken over your ship, and we will be granted safe passage. Once there, we will apprehend them and take over the Palace. I still have the authority as second-in-command, of course.

"Once we have completed our plan, I will resign the whole of the Empire to your Rebellion and you may carry on with your revolution."

At the end of his small statement, the Rebels cheered. Luke and Leia were smiling at their father, in full acceptance of everything that had just occurred in the past few days.

Anakin raised his hand to silence the whoops. "I tell you that this might not be easy. But," he smiled a bit, "with my…reputation I doubt they will refuse my orders."

Ackbar let the silence linger for a moment until clearing his throat. With the voice that sounded as if it always was ill, he spoke, "All right. This seems to be in order. We will lay our trust upon you, Anakin Skywalker, because of your son's word. If all goes well…well, we thank you." The Mon Calamarian finished awkwardly.

Anakin seemed to take the hint, and dissented into the circle. Mon Mothma announced preparation and all scattered to their respective posts.

Once the Alliance had broken up, Luke pat his father on the back proudly, saying, "Good work, father. I'm happy that things have turned out so well. It's such a—"

"Change?" His father suggested, acknowledging to himself it was indeed a change of pace. He just hoped that this would be for the better, and that it would last. He didn't need to be separated from family again. It had happened too many times and he already held so much regret.

But not this time, Luke told him through the Force, reading his thoughts.

"No, not this time. I think we've had our fair share of losing loved ones, haven't we?"

Leia shoved herself between her brother and father all of a sudden, grinning mischievously. "Yes, we have. And it's not going to happen any longer. Hopefully flyboy here will come to his senses once all this is done." The Princess took a brief glance at Han, who was chatting with Lando.

Oh, Force. Anakin knew that wasn't a good sign. He was going to need to have some time with his children; to put down some fundamental...rules. And hopefully it would not require such dire measures as a prison cell and torture chamber.

Trying to disillusion his daughter, Anakin rushed forward. "Well, children. We've certainly got some catching up to do!"

------------------------

There it was. That mask. The physical representation of his Dark Side; something he thought he would have shed permanently.

After this, it's getting burnt.

Anakin inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes before replacing the dreaded black covering.

Strangely enough, it felt like it might not fit anymore. Though he had never trul believed in signs of any sort, he had to admit that such a fact was in some way reassuring.

With his old suit and armor back on, Anakin strode from his private room into the main conference hall of the ship, feeling as awkward as ever. Those few that he passed in the hall gave him stares of fear, and others avoided looking at him for fear of acting irrationally. He himself was feeling intimidated by the reaction he caused. This was not the mind of thing he had intended the first week of his "rebirth."

Nonetheless, Anakin held those insecurities at bay; he had done so for the past twenty-four years, and he wasn't going to let them return now.

"Skywalker."

For the barest second, Anakin didn't register with that word. It contained no formal salutation or stiff bow.

"Yes," he finally answered, turning to see Mon Mothma.

With her ever-calm and cool nature, she said, "We are almost ready for the operation to begin." Then, looking as if she wanted to say more, she finished, "May the Force be with you."

For Anakin, it had always been hard to sense politicians. But as he saw Mon Mothma essentially glide back to whatever might have been next on her agenda, he remembered. She had been a friend of Padmé. Now that she knew his true identity, did she resent him? And even if she did, could he really blame her?

He knew the answer to both questions would be the same: No.

Padmé had liked Mon Mothma because Mon Mothma held strong to her beliefs, but was open-minded for debate. If that was true, which Anakin was sure that it was, Mon Mothma was big and good enough to try and learn to forgive him. And even if she carried resentment, Anakin also was sure that if their places were switched, his reproach would be a hundred times worse.