The Forgotten

Part 3

Adan Colston winced as his probing fingers finally succeeded in lifting from his wrist a large crust of hardened blood and serum. Beneath the scab, the new flesh was pink and tender. He watched as fresh blood swelled in the wound and spilled lightly over his skin. He raised his hand to mouth and delicately licked off the fluid; as he did so, he remembered a scolding he'd received from his mother as a child. She had warned him about the little bugs in his mouth which could dirty a cut and make it worse; being a gullible five-year-old, Adan had taken her meaning literally and had spent numerous hours in front of the bathroom mirror, looking for any lurking creatures. Only the intervention of his older brother - who had explained to him about microscopic germs - had curtailed his budding obsession with monsters in his mouth.

A shudder ran through the ship. Adan paused, arm still at mouth, when he felt the tremors vibrate the floor beneath him. He lowered his hands, watching the others in the hold as they, too, questioned the unexpected movement. Slowly, gradually, like the blood seeping from his cut, he became aware that something subtle had changed, that something from the background was missing. He listened intently, trying to pinpoint that difference. The prisoners still mumbled to and among themselves; the ineffectual air conditioner still thrummed its steady beat; the engines…

Adan started; a cold chill washed over him as he fought to keep his panic under control. The engines had stopped! The noise to which they had all become accustomed was gone. Adan felt an uncanny quiet descend over his prison, despite the continuing noise. The ship had stopped. Had they arrived? Was this Kessel? He turned to Jeft, still concentrating on the absent sound. "Jeft," he whispered frantically. "Jeft, listen…"

But Lantaff ignored him, still maintaining the renewed wall of silence he had thrown around himself. It was then that Adan heard the new sounds: a muted clamour of shouts, gunfire, and cries of pain. They were sounds that Adan had heard before, ones that would haunt him for many years to come. He nudged his sullen friend. "Jeft, listen," he repeated – needlessly now, for everyone had now noticed the growing din of battle.

Suddenly, the door to the hold opened, revealing the retreating backs of their caretakers. The imperials stumbled into the cargo hold, tripping over bound bodies, slipping in the ever-present mess, hampered by conveniently out-stretched arms and legs. The Imps were panicked, withdrawing without form and without care for their comrades. They fired their weapons wildly, without precision; blaster bolts flew in all directions, causing the prinoners to dive to the decks to avoid a quick death. Shots ricocheted from the walls and felled those unlucky enough to be caught in the bursts path – and, ironically, in some cases felling those who had pulled the triggers.

More shots spat from the open door as the Imperials' pursuers entered, crouched low and firing their weapons without haste, methodically and accurately.

Reflexively, Jeft dodged a shot that rebounded his way. He lay flat, hands over his head, hoping the fight would soon end. He winced as a cry sounded from a prisoner near him and he was reminded of a young girl he had seen cut down during the demonstration.

"Drop your weapons!"

Jeft peeked out from under the protection of his own elbow as the shout echoed within the hold. He watched with relief as the remaining Imperials threw their weapons to the floor. Khaki-uniformed soldiers then cautiously advanced to surround them and herd the defeated Imperials from the room. As they passed, Jeft heard another prisoner mumble, "Rebels." Jeft sat upright at this information, staring as more Alliance members entered. He smiled tentatively as he noticed the white patches gracing several of their sleeves: medics. Perhaps their suffering was finally over.

He turned to Adan. "Colston, d'ya think…" He stopped. Adan was lying still, curled on the deck. "Adan?" His burning questioned was asked silently, a mere inflection in his voice, but one that thoroughly conveyed his underlying fear. His friend didn't move.

Jeft hesitated, scared of what he might discover if he turned the boy over. Anxiously, he glanced around for a nearby medic, but all seemed occupied with those injured closer to the door. He fought to stand up, to gain their attention, but his movements were hampered by his shackles. He fell, tears of fright swelling and spilling from his eyes. He turned back to Adan, pulling the younger boy into a near-sitting position and resting the dark head against his shoulder.

"It's sore, Jeft."

These three words, uttered quietly and tight with pain, brought relief and hope to Jeft's troubled young heart. There the feelings clouded together to create a thick sweetness that clogged the back of his throat. He spoke with difficulty. "It's gonna be okay, Adan. They have medics. It's okay."

"They… shot me!" Jeft wasn't sure if it was disbelief or panic he heard in the trembling voice.

"It's not bad, Adan, really." He struggled to reassure his friend as he glanced at the wound. He flinched visibly, unable to hide his reaction as he looked at the charred fabric that surrounded the angry red chest burn. "You'll be alright," he insisted, but Adan had seen the look on his face and had quietly begun to cry.

ooOOoo

A khaki-uniformed commander walked slowly through the holding area, stopping occasionally to help up a prisoner, to unlock painfully tight bonds, and to check those bodies that lay still. He stopped near the centre of the room, surveying the horror, shaking his head, marvelling that most of these poor wretches had survived for many months in these conditions. His searching eyes fell on two small figures huddled together in a far corner, seemingly oblivious to the activity surrounding them. He started forward, stopping only to check on a fallen Imperial; he moved on when he found the man was dead. As he approached the teenagers, his expression became on of concern when he saw that one of the two was injured.

He turned, searching for free medic. "Hey, Dakin!" he called to a medic who was rising to his feet, leaving his patient in the capable hands of the stretcher bearers. "Over here!" The commander crouched down to join the youths on the floor. "Help's coming," he told them softly, smiling to relieve their fear.

Jeft gratefully allowed Adan to be removed from his arms, but he stayed close, watching carefully as the medic worked and wincing every time his friend gasped. He didn't notice the commander removing his bonds nor did he hear him speak, such was his relief at seeing his friend in the medics care. This was what he was used to: adults taking the responsibility.

"Are you okay, kid?"

Jeft looked up into the concerned blue eyes that were watching him. "What?" he asked hazily.

"Are you all right?" The commander repeated, wary for any signs of shock.

Jeft nodded. "I'm, okay… sir." Unconsciously, he rubbed his scarred wrists, then looked back at Adan. "Is he…?"

Before the commander could reply, the medic cut in. "He'll be fine. The burn looks - and probably feels - worse than it is." He extracted a thin plastic sheet from his equipment case and with it he gently covered Adan's wound. "A few days in the medcentre and he'll be screaming to get out." The man grinned at his patient, who feebly smiled back.

"Would never have been hit if Jeft hadn't ducked,' Adan mumbled as the medic closed the final seal on his dressing. This unexpected statement drew laughter from the two Rebels.

Jeft, more accustomed to Adan's habit of cracking insane quips in humourless situations, retorted with, "You would never have been hit if you hadn't hid behind me." More laughter followed, accompanied by vague smiles from the two youths, who had begun to relax a little, finally realising their torment was over.

The commander shook his head, amazed how these children could still joke, inspite of what they had endured. "What brought you two here?" he asked, his interest sparked.

Jeft gestured to Adan. "A big mouth." Before Adan could protest, he continued. "He thought it would be a good idea to join an anti-Imperial demonstration." He didn't notice the shocked looks that passed between the two men. "But we got caught."

"You took part in the Cusrean Demonstration?" The commander couldn't hide his surprise when they boys nodded in unison. "I don't know whether to call you heroes or lunatics." He smiled at the puzzlement on their faces as they fought to figure out whether or not they should say 'thank you'; then, abruptly his face fell. A mixture of passive anger and sorrow coloured his eyes. He spoke hesitantly, unsure of his words, speaking the way one does when breaking hurtful news. "That demonstration was a set up." The boys' eyes narrowed, not completely understanding. "It was organised by the Empire itself."

Silence fell over the small group; the commander's words hung in the air, waiting to be absorbed by the listeners. Adan was the first with a question, his voice tinged with pain and confusion. "I don't understand, sir."

The officer shifted uncomfortably, knowing any explanation would seem cruel. "They set you up. They wanted you to demonstrate."

"Why?" Although Jeft hadn't been the most willing of participants, he still felt a s sense of crawling horror at this news. Though the demonstration hadn't been a success, he had secretly hoped that some good may have come from it to give meaning to the slaughter, to their suffering – and now, this hope had been crushed. "Why would they do that? All those people…" he left the sentence unfinished.

"It was intended to root out all the local dissidents, when they then massacred as an example to the masses, to reinforce the Empire's control in that system." He exchanged a glance with the medic, one of sadness and impotency, then he answered the silent question he could feel burning within the youths. "Our sources on Cusrean found out – too late. By the time we knew it was a set-up, there wasn't anything we could do to stop it." His voice was heavy with apology. "And, we don't… didn't have enough resources to physically intervene to stop the killing."

"There we go!" The medic's deliberately cheerful voice broke the pall of anger and sorrow that was threatening to smother the boys. He had completed his patch-up job, and was now lifting a small syrette of painkiller. "This should keep the pain at bay until you get to the aid station."

"Thanks," Adan whispered his gratitude while trying to comprehend how he and Jeft and thousands of others could have been so easily suckered by the Empire. Could the galaxy's government be so devious, so crooked – so desperate?

The medic collected his instruments. "I'll send over a stretcher team, she said, lifting his case. "And I'll see both of you in the medcentre." He then ran off in response to another shout for help.

The rebel commander gazed at the two boys in turn, assessing what he could of their strengths and abilities. They were young, angry at the way they had been tricked and mistreated. They were inwardly strong, though their physical strength would need to be repaired and they had already publicly denounced the Empire – something he himself had never done. They could not go home, but perhaps they could find themselves a new one as he had.

"How old are you?" he asked, the question seeming out of context.

Jeft and Adan swapped suspicious glances, understanding was the rebel was asking, and why. "Nineteen," Adan said immediately.

"Seventeen," Jeft corrected with a wilting look for his friend.

"Seventeen," Adan amended. "Almost."

The officer smiled. It was obvious which of the two was more enthusiastic over the prospect of becoming a part of the rebellion.

"What if we don't want to join up?" Jeft had to ask, to Adan's irritation.

He was answered with the truth. "You're under no obligation, of course. We'll take you to one of the rim worlds, to one of the refugee camps and from there you'd be on your own. But you couldn't contact your home, or your families. You'd be picked up again - along with your family and you would all be executed. You are after all escaped traitors."

Jeft weighed up the blunt words. "We won't be any safer with you, though, will we?"

The commander smiled. "No. This is a war, and we are a military organization. You'd be contributing to the fight against the Empire, and your families back home may be better off unless you are discovered among us." His eyes flicked briefly to the floor, and for a moment a heavy sadness seemed to fill him and Jeft knew that the officer himself and lost everything. "There are no guarantees of anything, I'm afraid."

Adan's stretcher arrived. The commander helped Jeft to his feet as his injured friend was lifted onto the gurney; another soldier's arms reached for Jeft and supported him. It was then Jeft noticed the weapon hanging from the officer's belt, a weapon he had only ever seen in his history classes. His eyes met the rebel's once more, this time with recognition. "We can win," he said.

Luke Skywalker smiled and nodded, "We have a chance." His only reply was a silent nod. He watched the youths and their escorts leave the hold. Two seventeen-year-olds, one on his back, the other in need of steadying help. He regretted their loss of innocence at an age when naiveté should be the bouncing board for their emotions, and he thought of his own youth, his own seventeenth year. He remembered the yearning that had possessed him whenever he imagined the excitement of space battles, the burning desire to leave the drudgery of the farm and now, four years later, he sometimes wished to be back home on Tatooine with his friends and his family.