AN: My apologies for the brief prologue last time. I'm hoping people like what they read although this isn't about any of the main OT characters - although they have brief cameos in this story. If they story strikes a cord - please let me know... : )

The Forgotten

2

The ancient battle cruiser cut a lone path through the dead stellar system, a small collection of planets hovering around a huge red sun that had yet to find that unknown spark, that magical chemical balance or the attention of some creative deity that would bring the planets life. Few ships passed this way; few beings knew of the system's existence. Those who did know of this route either ignored it or avoided it. It attracted only those who yearned for the adventure of discovery, those who were in need of a secluded hideaway, or those who were in dire want of quick money, for this little-known system was only one section of the infamous Kessel run.

The ship now travelling this road did so slowly, lumbering through cold space at sub-light speed like some deformed behemoth, its archaic engines incapable of greater swiftness. It had been built in an era when beings could only dream of the vessels which now criss-crossed the galaxy in a matter of days rather than months. In these enlightened times, however, the old warship was viewed with vaguely bemused smiles - unless you were to be one of its passengers, in which case you would be treated to a history lesson you could never forget, or escape. The once-proud fighting machine had, over the years, degenerated into one of the Empire's prison ships, carrying its pathetic cargo to the Spice Mines, its slow passage elevating the torment of those who suffered on board.

The huge cargo hold was only one of four and, like the others, it contained those who had found themselves on the wrong side of the Empire's laws. There were a variety of criminals here: petty and hard, those who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, those who had simply said the wrong thing at the wrong time. There were many species represented: Wookiees, Utapauns, Mon Calamari, Yuzzem, Humans, and more, from a variety of planets. Many ages were also represented, as the Empire had neither regard for youth nor respect for the elderly. The wide expanse of the hold was in constant movement as the tightly packed bodies shifted and writhed, fighting to find a moments comfort. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and blood and other body secretions and waste. The hold was never quiet; cries, screams, pleas and death rattles blended together to create a hellish chorus of some demon song. Many prayed their journey would end; many more who knew better prayed for death before port was reached, and most envied those who had already passed on.

Among this living definition of rank despair sat Jeft Lantaff. His now painfully thin teenage body was hunched up into a ball, as though he was trying to escape this place by creating his own private protective cocoon. His filthy tattered clothes clung wetly to his skin, moist with the slick sweat from which every prisoner suffered. He held his head in his hands; his wrists, like his ankles, were shackled; his usually light red hair hung limp and dull. If one had been able to see his face, it would have appeared gaunt, drawn, streaked with the heavy tears of self pity which now spilled from his vacant hazel eyes.

"You and your big ideas." Jeft was amazed to hear his own voice, shocked that the accusation has actually passed his lips. These were the first words he had uttered since the ship had departed the Cusrean System, several weeks before. Beside him, he felt his friend stiffen in response to those words.

Adan Colston stopped picking at the dried blood on his hand and looked up in surprise at the sound of his friend's voice. "What?" he asked, his own voice hoarse and dry, despite the amount of liquid dampening his body.

"I said, 'you and your big ideas,'" Jeft repeated, mumbling his quiet anger. "Look at us, Adan." he gestured as widely as he could with bound hands, indicating the entire hold and bringing its live decadence into sharp focus for them both, as if the younger boy was not aware of their true situation. The chains hanging from his wrists clinked almost musically. "We should be in class just now, learning some useless chemical formula - not sitting inside a cesspool headed for Kessel."

"You didn't have to come," Adan retorted, irked that Jeft was laying all the blame on his shoulders. He shifted his buttocks, wincing as his stiff muscles protested the movement. "I never asked you to come."

"Oh, and you think those stormtroopers with guns and sticks would've let me stay behind 'cause you never asked me to come!" Jeft's voice rose with his impotent fury. He and his friend were having a long over due fight, one borne from fear, anger, confusion, and the inexperience of their youth.

Adan's grey eyes flashed with his own rising temper. "That's not what I meant, and you know it! I was talking about the demonstration. You said you wouldn't go and yet..."

"I went to stop you from being killed, to stop you from becoming a martyr for a rebellion which doesn't even know you exist!"

Adan fell silent at those sudden, angry words. It was true. When the shooting had started, Jeft had pulled him down to lie among the increasing numbers of dead and injured. They had escaped the shots, but had fallen into the hands of a defensive Empire, one which did not consider their youth, their wealthy fathers, or their good academic standing when passing sentence.

"It could be worse," Colston whispered, not knowing what else to say. He was beginning to believe it was all his fault.

Jeft laughed derisively, cruelly. "Worse? How?"

Adan shrugged, surprising himself with the lightness and humour he felt. "We could've been sentenced to ten years and not five."

Before Jeft could think of an appropriate retort to that insane statement, he was interrupted by the chuckles of an older prisoner beside them. He had taken no notice of the man until now, having been oblivious to everything but his own pain. Both youths turned at hearing the laughter. The man grinned toothlessly at the scared faces. "Boys," he crooned in obvious delight at their naiveté, "once you're on Kessel, you're on it forever. Five, ten, fifteen years all mean the same..." He leaned closer to them, blasting them with his stinking breath as he hissed his last word. "...life!" he giggled, and then broke into mad sobs as he realised the he, too, shared this fate.

The teenagers stared in terror at the wretched human, their unspoken fear now finalised. Jeft trembled, his rage reaching a sudden climax; he punched the floor with his fist, splashing both himself and Adan with filth.

"Jeft?" Adan began tentatively, scared by the man's laughter and his companion's reaction.

"Don't talk to me, Colston - not a word!" Jeft shouted. He was crying, frightened and furious. Again, he hugged his legs and wept, oblivious to the friend who sat beside him, doing the same.

ooOOoo

On the bridge of this death ship, conditions were vastly different. It may not have been as metallically clean nor as geometrically perfect as a new Imperial cruiser, but it possessed a certain character all its own. The bridge was tiny in comparison with the whole vessel, its outdated equipment fought vainly to blend in with the newer technology which had been used to patch and replace those items that had broken down with the passage of time. The men who manned this odd assortment of controls belonged to the dregs of the Empire; the men who could not or would not fit in with the strict military rule, but who possessed the correct traits which would enable them to survive the long arduous months onboard a prison ship. In a way, it was their punishment for not being of the exact material from which proper Imperial personnel could be forged. They were slack, unkempt, undiscipled and susceptible to temper bursts and fights at the least provocation.

All this streamed through the thoughts of their captain as he sat, brooding, above them. He slouched in his chair, head resting upon hand, watching his sullen company. Gil Trayner had recently been promoted to captain, and his high expectations of his first command had been wickedly dashed when he had been assigned to this duty; his mood during this journey had never been the best. His first trip out, his first Kessel shipment - and, he hoped, his last. Thus far, the passage had been boring, the men unpredictable, and the ship a mess. Trayner laughed silently to himself, sarcastically. It was nothing short of a miracle that this rust ridden boat hadn't yet fallen apart at the seams. But then, the Empire didn't consider safety important when it came to deviants, and Trayner knew that both he and his crew - not to mention their cargo - were expendable; which dragged his mood ever further into the muddy depths.

"Uh, sir?"

Trayner fought the urge to ignore the nervous, girlish voice of his First Mate. Its squeaky sound grated on his ears and set his teeth on edge. He glanced up into the young face, wincing almost visibly at the wide spread of acne covering the features. Although Kinley was tottering on the brink of his mid-twenties, his persistent skin affliction made him appear almost adolescent; he was, therefore, the constant butt of jokes among the crew. Tryner sat straighter. "What is it, Kinley?"

The First Mate's eyes flitted skittishly to the now muttering bridge staff. "The scanners...uh... have picked up what look like...eh...fighters."

"Fighter's?" Trayner scowled and pulled himself from his chair, puzzled. It was unthinkable that the ship was about to be attacked. Pirates generally gave prison ships plenty of room, unless word was out they were also carrying some valuable goods along with their living cargo. "TIEs?" he asked, concluding that he was being sent an escort for some reason.

"No...Sir," Kinley stuttered, seemingly frightened. "S…snubs. X- and Y-Wings."

Trayner brushed past his First Mate as he headed for the scanners. Quickly, he viewed the forward screen and counted at least fifteen tiny ships in their path. He switched to the aft view in time to see more ships converging and, behind them, two larger carriers. It was definitely an attack, but not by the pirates who usually haunted this part of space. Trayner could scarcely believe his own eyes as the rebel ships broke formation and dove toward his cruiser, spitting crippling laser bursts.

"Battle stations!" he yelled, knowing that his own out dated weapons would be totally useless against these swiftly darting attackers, and that boarding was inevitable. He lifted his blaster from its holster, knowing the ship was lost - but it wouldn't look good on his record if he didn't even try to resist.