I manage to convince the medic who has been assisting in my care to procure me some suitable clothing – not exactly Jedi issue, but anything is better than sickbay garb. It has been 24 hours now since Luke stormed out of my room, confused and hurting, and he has not returned. Judging by the way things were left between us, I have serious doubts that he ever will. I feel awful that he has been so disappointed; he had such high hopes, such faith in my humanity. It was devastating to watch that faith dissolve into utter contempt and disillusionment in a matter of moments. But I really can't expect otherwise; I deserve his scorn, his hatred, as well as that of my daughter, who has not even managed to face me since she learned of her true paternity.

I find my way to the docking bay where Luke brought me weeks earlier, and I am grateful and relieved to find that the Imperial shuttle is still there. I steal aboard, not even sure where it is that I am bound, knowing only that I must leave, that I need to be alone now, and perhaps for whatever is left of my life.

It is rather easy to leave the collection of Rebel ships; no one questions me or my destination. Of course, my ability to affect the minds' of others is just as powerful as it ever was which is quite helpful at this point. The fact that the war is over has made my escape easier as well. Escape... is that what I am doing? Perhaps…in a manner of speaking I am...at least trying to escape. I am sure that I will never completely escape from my past, for it has haunted me for the past 22 years, and will undoubtedly do so until the day I die.

Once I am clear of the Endor moon, I check the comm. Scan for any other imperial ships in the vicinity; there are none. There were at least a dozen star destroyers ready to do battle with the Rebel Fleet, and now they are gone. Thousands of men, no, hundreds of thousands, not to mention the men on the Death Star, all dead now. I never actually considered any of those men my friends, nor even my equals; but still, the death of so many thousands is staggering. I scan the neighboring systems for any sign of Imperial activity. Is no one left alive? Surely there must be someone left, after all the fleet was enormous. Did the death of the emperor release the thousands of officers and men from their obligation? Are they now in hiding, fearing retribution from whatever new government will eventually emerge from the bedlam that the galaxy has now been thrown into?

I make my heading for Coruscant, feeling that if there was anyone left alive it would be there that I would find them. I have spent very little time at the Capital in the past two decades, leaving the political socializing and public relations to Sidious. He never tired of the fawning of sycophants, the intrigue of political life; something I have always hated.

As I approach what used to be my home, the memories of a former lifetime flood my mind. I remember the first time I saw the capital, when I was a boy of only 9, brought here by Qui-Gon Jinn. I remember standing on a landing platform surrounded by dignitaries as then Senator Palpatine greeted Queen Amidala, or who I believed to be her. I remember Padmé peeking over at me to give me a smile, knowing no doubt how overwhelmed I was by all that was happening. Padmé…my beloved Padmé..if only things had been different…how I wish I could go back in time and make them so…

The Galactic Senate once sat in the massive domed building that predominates the Coruscant skyline; but no more. Sidious dissolved the senate years earlier, eradicating what was left of the old Republic once and for all. My Padmé would have been outraged by such a move; in some ways it is perhaps best that she did not live to see what had happened to the galaxy. She had always been so devoted to the cause of democracy, of justice and equality; Sidious' rape of the galaxy would have broken her heart. No doubt she would have fought along side our children to change things…how ironic that would have been.

The Jedi Temple is still standing, never having been torn down, never having been repaired after the attacks so many years ago. Attacks lead by me…I remember the screams of the younglings, their utter shock and confusion by my actions as I slew them one by one without a second's hesitation. That was the day I lost my soul...I can't help but wonder if my actions on the Death Star, my hand in the destruction of the Empire, are truly enough to redeem me. There is so much blood on my hands, so many lives, so many souls...

I know the layout of this building so well, having spent much of my youth in these halls. It is eerie to walk through them alone now; the ghosts of the slaughtered Jedi seem to hover everywhere.

I find my way to the workshop, hoping that I will find what I need. It has been many years since I have built a lightsaber, but the knowledge is something that anyone who has ever studied the Jedi arts never loses. My only concern is will I find the materials I need? Most important of all in the construction of a lightsaber is the crystals; they are the heart of the saber, and primarily responsible for both the conversion of energy from the power cell, and for the transfer into the arc wave. Before my fall to the Dark Side, I had always preferred the blue crystal, which represents the role of guardian, specializing in the in the use of the lightsaber and Force fighting techniques. I had always seen myself as a warrior, even though my master tried to curb these tendencies in me. I noticed that my son chose green for his own saber, after losing the one I had left behind on Mustafar. Mediation over combat; that seems more Luke's style, I reflect. The thought of my son creates an ache in my heart, as I wonder if I will ever see him again. I push the thought from my mind and concentrate on the task at hand.

I find the materials I need, stored away in the same neat orderly fashion I remember. The ancient art that was taught to me so many years ago comes back to me so easily; the construction is almost effortless for me. Somehow the construction of a Jedi saber, rather than a Sith saber soothes me, almost as though I am rebuilding a part of myself.

Aligning the crystals is the critical part of the construction, and to do it I call upon the Force to guide me. There are no droids around to test its activation, so I must make sure that I am absolutely accurate, or the immense power housed within the chamber could detonate, blowing me to bits.

After nearly three hours, the saber is complete. I hold it in my hand, liking the feel of the grip. Somehow this saber is like me, representative of my rebirth. I muse over this metaphor as I examine my new weapon. With trepidation I bring my finger to the activation matrix, summoning my nerve. I slide the switch upward, and watch with relief and pride as the bright blue blade emerges from the energy channel. I smile, the satisfaction I feel reminiscent of the occasion when I had built my first saber, 35 years ago, under the watchful eye of my master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I frown as I remember the conversation back at the medical frigate, at the rush of anger and hatred I felt under the assault of his accusations. I push the thoughts of him from my mind, knowing they will only lead me to feelings of anger, of darkness.

I deactivate my new saber, and, without thinking, move to hook it onto my belt. I don't have a belt…I frown, thinking for a moment how I can solve this new dilemma. An idea strikes me, but I know it is a long shot. Still, the facilities here seem to have been left intact- I may be in luck.

I leave the Jedi Temple, a true Jedi once again. The familiarity of the Jedi cloak is a comforting feel, one I didn't expect to ever experience again. I am met on the steps by an imperial officer, who is flanked by a group of stormtroopers. They train their weapons on me, stopping me in my tracks.

"Put your hands where we can see them," orders the officer. I comply, not wishing to draw them into a skirmish.

"What are you doing here?" demands the officer. "How did you get into the temple?"

I smile. "Why captain, don't you recognize the commander of the fleet out of uniform? Or maybe it's the absence of the mask that has thrown you off."

The man's eyes narrow. "Darth Vader is the commander of the Imperial Fleet," he replies. "And he was killed along with the Emperor on board the Death Star. What kind of a sick joke are you trying to pull, anyway?"

I walk up to him, ignoring the troopers who prepare to fire their weapons at a moment's notice.

"I never joke," I tell him, looking him straight in the eye. "If you know Vader at all you would know that is the truth."

The officer looks confused for a moment, not sure what to believe.

"How many troops are stationed here?" I ask him, bending his mind easily with the Force.

"Three legions," he replies immediately. "Most were sent to the Endor moon, but we've heard that they were all lost."

I nod. "Yes, they were," I reply. "None were left alive after the Death Star was destroyed."

The officer frowns, the cloud of confusion starting to dissipate. "How do you know?"

"I was there," I reply simply. "Now step aside; I have more important things to do than answer questions from a simple minded subordinate."

The officer lets me go, his mind utterly confused by what has just transpired. I have no interest in issuing orders to imperial peons any more; half of my life has been spent doing so. I have personal matters that need my attention; what's left of the once mighty Empire can go to Hell for all I care now, I've done my part.