AN: Please remember that I wrote this in the late 80s (and own a copy of the zine the story was in as proof) any physical resemblance of an original character (including her name) to Mara Jade is purely co-incidental!

Missing

III.

The huge yellow sun rose over the acres of woodlands and farmlands, spreading much needed warmth. Early morning mists, which covered the ground, dispersed in the growing heat of the day. Small mammals appeared from their dens and burrows to continue their everyday fight for survival. Birds took to the skies in search of nesting materials and food to feed their young. Their songs intermingled with the chirps of insects and the mating call of a large beast.

A lone crow circled over a small clearing in the woodland, its multicoloured wings glittering in the morning sunlight. It landed gracefully on the grass and spent a short time pecking at seeds and scuttling insects. It then noticed the piles of twisted metal and flew to perch upon the bent framework. It picked at the flaking red paint a few times, before deciding the substance wasn't nutritious. It fluttered back to the ground, cautiously landing upon a small gray mound. The bird hopped along the fallen creature's back to the exposed wound, and looked around several times, making sure there were no predators nearby to interrupt its breakfast, before plunging its beak into the seared flesh. Blood welled where pieces of tissue were torn off; it trickled down the body and dripped into the grass.

Somewhere in the forest, a twig cracked. The crow paused in its feeding and cocked its head, listening. After a few seconds, it assured itself that it was still safe, and continue with its bloody breakfast. A minute later it was high in the air, squawking in fright, as the sound of running footsteps became clear. The crow circled in the sky once more, cawing in disappointment at its interrupted meal before disappearing over the trees.

The cause of the bird's distress stumbled into the clearing and the sight of two destroyed X-Wing fighters stopped the young woman in her tracks. She had heard the fighting and the explosions from the night before, but had not expected to see any evidence of it. All thoughts of her mother's orders, to collect forest berries for preserving, were forgotten as her curiosity got the better of her.

Brushing back her red hair, she laid her basket down in the grass and walked slowly toward the nearest ship. She took hold of the structure and pulled herself onto a twisted wing. Climbing higher, she gazed into the ruined cockpit, half-afraid of finding the pilot, dead, inside. To her relief, it was empty. She wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of burnt plastics.

As she jumped back to the ground, she noticed something glinting in the morning sun. She knelt in the grass to pick up the object. It was a holo-picture of a dark-haired young woman; she didn't look much older than the girl who held her picture. She looked back toward the wrecked fighters, wondering if the picture belonged to one of the pilots. Was it a girlfriend, or wife, who now waited in vain for her lover to return? She placed it in her pocket; it was pretty, and she didn't have many pretty things of her own.

She crossed the clearing to the other pile of twisted metal. Wondering, as she did so, what had happened to the pilots; did they escape, or were they killed out in the forest somewhere? She shuddered as she peered into the second cockpit. They could have been killed here and their bodies taken away. Unsettled by her thoughts, she stood quickly as she spotted something else in the long grass.

As quickly as she could, she climbed down the other side of the fighter, catching and tearing her trousers leg in the process. Her mother wouldn't be too pleased. She walked cautiously toward the shape, which was partially concealed by the grass. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the twisted body as her legs took her reluctantly forward; part of her mind rebelling at the scene, the other part was morbidly curious to view something she had never seen before. She halted a few feet from the uniformed figure as a breeze blew the man's dirty blond hair, and she found this more disturbing than the festering wound in his side, which trickled blood.

She retched, gagged and turned from the body, trying to keep her stomach contents in place; she failed, and her breakfast landed on the ground at her feet. She gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks. She now knew what had happened to one of the pilots. Her stomach settled, having nothing more to expel. She looked back at the body as a small mammal moaned and, a cry escaped from her throat as the man's fingers twitched, and she realized the moan had come from him. She dropped to her knees by his side and with shaking hands she tentatively touched him, pushing him over onto his back. His uniform was damp and he was caked in mud; his face was streaked with dirt and covered with an assortment of scratches, some of which had bled profusely. He was also very young.

His eyes flickered open and tried to focus on her, but they never lost their glazed look. His hands weakly reached out for her, touching her arm. She jerked away, somehow afraid. A frown crossed his forehead and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Leia?" His voice was a dry, hoarse whisper. His eyelids fluttered as he fought to keep his consciousness; but he lost the battle, and his arm fell limply onto the grass.

The girl fell back, scrabbled to her feet and ran from the clearing - already shouting for her parents.

ooOOoo

Alex Lasjow cursed under his breath as thick black oil dripped onto his forehead. He lay under the family landspeeder, struggling to install a new part. The bolt had stuck fast, and he had spent the good part of a half hour straining to release it. It had given away suddenly, releasing the vile fluid. He slid out from under the belly of the vehicle and reached for a cloth to wipe his face.

He yawned and stretched as he gazed out of the garage window at his fields. The crops were growing nicely; it should be a good year. Good years meant more money, more money meant better machinery, better machinery meant a more efficient farm, and a more efficient farm meant more money. Perhaps he could trade in this old banger for a new model. His gaze went back to the stricken 'speeder and he sighed. For now, he would have to contend with it and mend it. Mhari had nagged him enough about having to walk into town for the groceries. He groaned when he thought about the amount of work he had to get through that day: first, the speeder; then the crop spraying; then the new storage barn's roof; feeding the animals; then... What he wouldn't give for a farmhand, or an agricultural droid. He thought about that for a moment before deciding the droid would be better; you didn't have to pay a robot.

He was just about to slide back under the 'speeder when he heard his teenage daughter, Tamara, shout for him from the yard. He cursed again, wondering what was so damned important for her to be screaming at the top of her lungs.

Tamara raced through the gate arch and into the yard, wondering whether to go to her mother first, or to her father. She shouted for both of them before bursting into the kitchen. Her mother was in the middle of preparing the lunch as she fell through the door, trying to calm herself before telling her parents what she had found. Her father appeared behind her, his face like thunder; but the darkness disappeared from Alex's face when he saw the state his daughter was in. Her face was pale, her body trembled, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mother hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron before sitting her daughter down.

"What is it? What's wrong, Tamara? "Mhari Lasgow questioned, fearful. "Is it Brett? "

The girl choked back her sobs, shook her head, and gulped down breaths, "In the clearing, there's a man!"

"A man?" Mhari was immediately concerned.

"He's hurt bad," Tamara pleaded with her parents. "You've got to help him!"

Alex's face coloured once more. The fighting of the previous night had him worried, had kept his family awake and afraid, and now this. "Imperial?"

Tamara shook her head. "I don't think so; he's not wearing any armour. Please," She looked at her father and mother in turn. "If we don't help him, he'll die."

Alex exchanged glances with his wife; neither of them wanting to get involved, both of them wanting their
simple life to stay that way, but both of them realizing they couldn't not help. "Okay." He conceded. "Mhari, find the medical kit; it's around here somewhere. Where's Brett?" He was referring to his young son.

Mhari gestured to the back yard. "Out playing."

"Let's keep him that way; we don't need him to know anything just yet. Tamara, show me where this man is."

It was with relief that Tamara lead her father into the woods.

ooOOoo

Alex took in the clearing and its contents in a single glance, but he could not see the injured man Tamara had spoken of. He recognized the type of fighter immediately: X-wings. That at once pleased and disturbed him. He was relieved the casualty was not an Imperial, but only because he held no love for the government. However, Alex was deeply concerned that he might be a Rebel; that would create a dilemma that the farmer did not wish to even consider. He dearly hoped that it was a local who had somehow gotten involved in the battle. "Where is he?" he asked Tamara.

Tamara pointed to the other side of the glade. "Over there."

Alex spotted him, lying face-up in the grass. He knelt beside the uniformed figure, picking up a limp wrist to feel for the pulse. Tamara watched, holding her breath, hoping he hadn't died in her absence. Her father unbuttoned the young man's jacket and laid his head on the chest, listening for the heartbeat. Alex felt the cool damp cloth of the under-shirt next to his ear; the rain of the past night had not yet dried from the thick material. He listened hard for the sign of life.

"Is he dead?" Tamara didn't know why she whispered.

Alex shook his head. "No, but he's very weak." And it was a wonder that exposure hadn't killed him. He turned his attention to the laser wound. He winced. "What a mess. Look's like every passing bird took a peck out of him." He picked a scuttling beetle off the ruined flesh in disgust.

"Who is he?" Tamara felt her previous sickness return.

"Rebel." He responded tightly, as he looked at the insignia on the uniform. "Lieutenant." He turned to her. "Run ahead and help your mother."

Tamara took to her heels once more.

Alex gently lifted the Rebel into his arms, and was rewarded with a low groan. The farmer grinned. "Atta boy." Sound meant life, but he very much doubted their ability to provide him with the care he needed. And this was where Alex's dilemma lay; conscience wouldn't allow him to turn the youth in, yet conscience also told him he was placing his family in terrible danger.

ooOOoo

Mhari tucked the last corner of the waterproof sheet under the mattress. She reached for the white cotton sheet lying on the bedside table. Gripping two corners, she threw it over the bed and spread it flat with the palm of her hand. Once she had it tucked in at all four corners, she fluffed a pillow and laid it at the head of the bed.

Leaving the bedroom, she crossed the hallway into the kitchen. After searching through various cupboards, she finally found what she was looking for: the medical kit. Opening it, she found it virtually intact, missing only the thermometer. Brett had broken it when he was three. She placed the kit on the table along with sponges, cloths, soap and the basin to hold the hot water when it was needed. Mentally, she went over her list; she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth as she remembered she had forgotten to lay out blankets and more clean sheets. She returned to the bedroom.

As she placed the extra covers on a stool near the bed, she heard Tamara return. Mhari shouted that she was in the spare room. Tamara was breathing heavily after her second sprint of the day. She rested against the door post, catching her breath."Dad told me to run ahead, to help out."

Mhari nodded. "I'm almost done. What did your father say?"

"Says he's a Rebel lieutenant."

Mhari didn't show any reaction. "Did you see Brett on your way in?"

It was Tamara's turn to nod. "He's still out back. I think he's found a mud puddle that suits him."

"Good." Mhari looked around the room. "I think that's all we need."

Together they went back to the kitchen to wait Alex's return. Mhari looked at the items on the table, suddenly remembering one more thing. "Tamara, go into your father's closet. Find some of his old bed clothes; they should be at the back somewhere." She handed her daughter the medical kit. "And put that in the room, please."

"Okay." Tamara was amazed at her mother's calm; but then her mother hadn't seen what he was like, how badly injured he was.

Mhari watched her leave the room. She was worried; a Rebel officer. An injured stranger was not the most welcome of guests at the best of times; no one enjoyed the responsibilities of caring for a sick person. But a Rebel. Anxious questions raced through her head. What would they do if he died? What would they do if he lived? What would happen if they were discovered? Would they be shot as traitors? He was putting her entire family at risk. She tried to shrug off her thoughts; if he were her son, she would want someone to care for him.

"Mhari!" Alex shouted from the yard.

She held the door open for him as he entered with his awkward burden. Mhari was surprised and how small and delicate the Rebel was. His head hung limply over her husband's arm; his entire body was filthy, and his hair was matted with blood and dirt. To Mhari he already looked and smelled dead.

She directed Alex into the bedroom she had prepared. Following behind him, she carried a basin of hot soapy water with a couple of sponges. Entering the room, she noticed Tamara had obeyed her request; the medical kit sat upon the extra blankets. The girl was obviously now hunting for the bed clothes.

Alex placed the injured officer on the bed. Mhari held him in a sitting position as Alex removed his jacket and T-shirt. "He's so cold," Mhari commented.

"We'll need the thermal blanket," Alex responded as they laid him on his back and Alex pulled the left boot off. He dropped it and frowned at the odd position of the right ankle; it was twisted to the side. Gently, he eased off the boot. The sock was thick with drying blood. He carefully removed the sock, starting a new flow of blood as the scab came away with the material. Alex winced at the sight of the shattered bone sticking through the swollen, purple flesh. "We'll see to that once we've washed him and dealt with his blast wound."

Tenderly, not wanting to aggravate his wounds any more than they already were, they pulled off his combat trousers and threw them on the floor, along with the rest of his uniform.

"I think this is beyond us." Mhari gazed at the Rebel's wounded left side. "It's a deep burn, full of infection and made worse by the birds. How can we possibly do him any good with a home medical kit?"

Tamara entered with the requested bed clothes, as her father threw the last piece of Rebel clothing onto the floor. She stood in the doorway, trying to avert her eyes from the naked form on the bed. His discoloured wounds stood out against the rest of his pale skin. Her father looked over at her. "Bring the thermal blanket," He told her and gestured to the Rebel uniform. "And take those out and dispose of them. Somewhere they can't be found"

Tamara did as she was asked and then fled from the room, clutching the filthy uniform.

Mhari dipped her sponge into the basin, lifted it out, and squeezed off the excess water. She wiped the mud and blood from the young man's face. "He's so young, Alex. He shouldn't be here, fighting for his life; he should be at home with his own parents, enjoying his final years as a child. He's barely older than Tamara." As she spoke, the boy mumbled incoherently in his unconsciousness. Mhari placed her hand on his forehead and cheeks. "He's so cold, "she said again. She reached into the medical kit and withdrew a bottle of antiseptic; after pouring a measure onto a piece of gauze, she cleaned his facial abrasions. "He'll need fluids."

Alex washed down the Rebel's legs and feet, carefully avoiding the open wound in his ankle. Mhari cleaned his chest and arms. Gently, they turned him onto his right side and washed his back and around the seared flesh. Mhari threw down her soiled sponge; picking up a comb, she cleaned as much dirt as she could from his hair. They would wash it properly when he recovered.

Alex rummaged in the medical kit for the burn lotion and a clear synthetic dressing. Asking Mhari to help him, he gently spread the clear, cool liquid over the burn areaTheir patient moaned in protest at the pain caused by the thick lotion. Alex drew the clear bandage over the injury and sealed it with the tape provided.

Neither of them knew how to straighten the boy's ankle, so they could only administer first aid. Alex covered the wound with a clean piece of lint and placed a gauze ring-pad over the protruding bone. He then bandaged the area to the best of his ability.

They changed the sheet under the youth, as it was now soiled with blood and dirt, and dressed him in the pair of Alex's bed trousers. They made him as comfortable as they could, and covered him with the thermal blanket. What was in their power to do for him had been done. All they could do now was watch him. The effort of staying alive was entirely up to him.

ooOOoo

Five-year-old Brett Lasjow stood on his tiptoes to peer through the kitchen window. He was looking for his mother. He thought it strange that he hadn't been called in for lunch yet; his stomach growled hungrily. He wondered why today didn't feel right. What was different? Where was his father? Where was Tamara? Why wasn't she here to play with him? Why weren't things the way they should be?

He watched his elder sister enter the kitchen, carrying a bundle of old clothes; he could see the leg of the trousers hanging down. She opened the flap of the household waste disposal, stuffed the clothes in, and turned up the heat. Still carrying an object, she crossed to the yard door. Brett dropped down from the window and hid around the corner of the house as she stepped into the yard. He wasn't sure why he hid; he only knew, somehow, that what she was doing he wasn't meant to know about.

He spied on her as she entered their father's tool shed. What was she doing in there? Seconds later, she emerged with a spade. Did Dad know what she was doing? Should he tell on her? He decided to wait to see what she was up to; then he would tell on her!

Brett followed Tamara to the very edge of their father's property. There she dropped the object she had been carrying. Taking up the spade, she began to dig near a hedge. Brett was intrigued as he watched from among the growing crops. What was she doing?

It didn't take Tamara long to reach her desired depth. Picking up the object, she dropped it into the hole and covered it over with the soil. She then scattered dead leaves on the area to hide it. As she headed home she was blissfully unaware that her little brother had witnessed her every move, and was now in the middle of digging up what she had buried.

Brett's fingers scrabbled in the dirt, digging down. His hand closed around the prize and he pulled it out. His eyes bulged in surprise. A gun belt! Oh wow! His excited fingers pulled open the belt pouches, but he was disappointed to discover that they were all empty. But a real gun belt! He couldn't wait for the school recess to end—he would be the envy of the class. Everyone would want to be his friend, because no one else had a real gun belt.

He stuffed the belt back into the hole; he'd leave it here for now. He marked where it was hid with a stick, and headed off home, wondering why Tamara was hiding something like that.

Alex watched Brett climb over the small fence which separated the dairy animals from the yard. He reminded himself he still had to feed them. So many things had been forgotten that morning because of the young Rebel; also, many things would have to change because of him. There was cold pool of fear in the pit of his stomach and the farmer had to keep reminding himself that he had done the right thing.

He shouted to his son, "Brett, have you been bothering the herd?"

"No." Brett shook his head, telling the truth for once. "Is lunch ready?"

"Almost," Alex took Brett by the hand. "I've got someone you have to meet." He chose his words carefully. "But we must be very quiet, as he's not very well."

"Is he sick, like I was?"

Alex remembered that episode of his son's life vividly. Brett had almost died from the viral infection. Thankfully, they had one of the best doctors in the system living in their area. They owed Denrick Janis a huge debt for saving their son's life. "Yes, just like you were."

The window of the room had been darkened and Alex had to switch on the lights. He took Brett to the side of the bed. Their patient seemed to be sleeping peacefully; though his breathing was slightly hoarse.

"Who is he?" whispered Brett.

"Your cousin Ryder," Alex lied. He dearly hoped that everyone in the surrounding area would believe the fabrication. He hoped that no one knew his nephew Ryder had died as a child. "From the south; you remember, we told you about him?"

Frowning, Brett stared at the figure on the bed. Was this why things were different? Because of a sick cousin? Was this why Tamara was hiding a gun belt? Was this why his father wasn't working? Was this why lunch wasn't ready? If so, he hoped his cousin wouldn't be ill for long; he was hungry. "Can we eat now?"

Alex smiled. "I think Mom'll have it ready by now." He turned out the light and both of them left the Rebel to sleep in peace.