Signs of Life
By JalendaviLady
Chapter 6
----
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
If you recognize any characters, locations, or things in the following story, George Lucas owns them.
---- Author's Note: I began planning the AU universe for this fanfic before Episode 1 came out. While the events of the Star Wars movies are mostly intact in this fic, the backstory of the galaxy and that of some characters is different from that normally seen in canon. Declarations of fact in the movies are respected, and no statement not completely based on fact is immune from interpretation "from a certain point of view." That said, here's the next chapter.----
Piett
could feel nothing but pity and compassion for the human wreck before
him, even though he'd had some advance warning of Anakin's
usual physical state. After all, he had been called to Darth Vader's
chambers on more than one occasion, even seen the back of his head
once...
The first thing one noticed upon entering the room
was the sheer volume of cables, wires, and tubes going under the
sheets and into or onto the body lying weakly in it. There were at
least three stands for IV bags. Piett quickly noted that the medics
seemed to have grouped the drugs on the stands by the immediacy of
the ex-Sith's need for them—he could see that such things
as nutrient and saline drips were on the same stand. Counting out
what seemed to be non-essential therapy drugs, Anakin seemed to be on
at least 10 different drugs or substances. And he would have been
on most if not all of them before. How could he function as an
officer, let alone fight, with that many needles sticking into him?
After that, as one drew closer, one noted that the way the
sheets draped over the form beneath them suggested emaciation rather
than physical strength. Certainly Anakin's legs and arms seemed
muscular, as one would expect from a fighter, but his torso seemed
painfully thin for one so tall. Piett almost thought he could count
the ex-Dark Lord's ribs through the sheets. That explains
the multiple nutrient drips. He can afford to lose some muscle mass,
but he's already in trouble fat percentage wise. He'll
need fat to burn at some point during therapy, and right now he
hardly has any.
Finally, one could clearly see the face.
Piett heard Mon Mothma fight back a sob and Veers gasp.
Understandable. They alone among us here haven't seen
any of his head yet. There was the deep, striking scar across the
top of his head, carving a canyon through his ash-white bald scalp.
Next was the solid mass of scar tissue under his right eye. That was
followed by the deep recesses that were his eye sockets, accentuated
by the darker skin surrounding them.
Anakin was, completely
and undeniably, an utter human wreck. And that was to count out any
and all possible recent damage from the fight on the Death Star.
There were chairs scattered throughout the room. Each visitor
grabbed one and moved close to the bunk. The medic checked a few
readings on the life support equipment and excused herself from the
room.
Now, we wait.
...
Anakin could
feel himself slowly start to become aware again...
And drop
straight into one of the Force-visions that had plagued him most of
his life.
He mentally let out a long stream of Huttese, Sith,
and assorted other curses before settling down to see whatever he was
supposed to see.
Voices he had never heard, faces he had only
seen in the Jedi Archives if even then, all telling him one endless
refrain:
"Chosen One, fulfill thy destiny."
"No, it's not me. It can't be me, don't
you understand?" he cried into the Force. "I had a
father, Mom just never told anyone he existed. Our y-chromosomes
matched—I checked after he snuck into the Jedi Temple and told
me! I'm not the Chosen One. Oh great Jedi of the Past, surely
you know that!"
The voices and faces continued,
hairs changing from Late Republic to Middle Republic. They're
moving backwards in time. "Restore the balance."
"What balance? Dark and Light have been warring for as
long as anyone can remember! Even in your days! There never was a
balance!"
More voices and faces, gaining in variety of
features and hairs. Old Republic? The dawn of
the Jedi? The voices started speaking in a whole range of
languages, none that he could understand.
"What do you
want?"
Three spirits stood before him, ancient ones.
One was dressed in fine violet fighting robes, belt shining
with a brilliant purple jewel on the buckle and gold accents on
everything. His stance was that of a warrior, his saber rough-hewn
from the rock of the ground, his blade the shade of his robes.
Another was dressed in a mottled, worn old flight suit,
pockets filled to bursting with bits of circuitry and wiring and belt
hanging low, heavy with tools. His eyes had a wildness to them and
his hair was tied back in a scruffy ponytail. His stance was that of
a spacer, his saber made from a rough piece of coolant piping, his
blade the of a warm yellow sun.
The middle one was
taller than either of her companions. She was dressed in the clothing
of a peasant, rough-woven and hard wearing. There was hardness around
her eyes, but a twinkle in them. Her hair was elaborately braided
into a net that covered her shoulders and hung down to her waist. Her
stance was that of an accomplished diplomat. Her saber was in the
familiar Jedi , the blade the green of new leaves.
As
one, they said with thick accents: "Return the balance. Undo
our mistakes."
"How? I don't even know who
you are!"
They smiled. "You will understand, in
time. Fix what has long been broken."
They faded.
Another spirit, clad in loose Jedi-like robes, appeared. His
hair was short and jet black, his eyes an orange-red that seemed out
of place in his very human face. His fingers were long and delicate
and his bearing was that of a displaced noble. "Rebuild the
balance. And build a new balance, between new and old. Always
remember, to the Force we are all one. No mortal being is in the end
greater than any other."
He faded as well. He
reminds me of someone... Hannar? The eyes are the same, or almost so.
"Wait!"
The man returned for a moment. "Yes?"
"Was my friend Hannar by any chance related to you?"
He nodded. "As is Saman. And a good portion of the human
population of the galaxy, although less directly."
"'Is'?
Saman lives?"
"I can say no more, except that you
will find your answer within life rather than afterwards." He
smiled. "You still have a destiny, Anakin Simeon Skywalker,
whether you think the Force can still use you or not."
"Who
are you, anyway?"
"An old legend of a people nearly
forgotten. From long before the Republic was a gleam in someone's
eye."
"And the others?"
"Great
leaders and legends among the Force-users of the galaxy, from all
eras of their existence. The Jedi were only founded when the Republic
was founded. Before that... well, you'll find out."
"Planetary
governments. No hyperdrives meant no long distance space travel."
The elder smiled. "As I said, you'll find out. The
galaxy can lose a lot over a thousand generations. Even the Jedi
Archives lost things over the vast spans of time. They moved, you
know. Many times after many wars. The eldest texts were lost in Nomi
Sunrider's day, when the Sith moved on the Archives."
"Then
how am I supposed to find anything!?"
"You'll
find out. As I believe your daughter said some hours ago, 'the
world is a very strange place.' Things are not always as they
seem, nor should they be."
Anakin felt himself slowly
leave the vision and return to the waking world.
...