08-16-2009, 09:52 PM
Durante screamed as his body writhed in pain, thrashing madly against the cold metal clasps binding his limbs to the table. His cries were animalistic and primal, a horrible din of anger and fear that echoed throughout the laboratory. There was not much light, but Durante saw splashes of color across his vision regardless, explosions of white and red that blinded him and almost cast him into the black abyss of unconsciousness. Through gritted teeth he strained to breathe, gasping his body, drenched in sweat and naked, continued to spasm.
He continued to struggle as he endured the sensation of his skin bursting into flame, twisting in agony and anguish. Durante writhed as darkness started to encompass him, images of the past burning in the eye of his mind with stunning clarity. He saw men wearing masks ripping him, a weak and young boy, from the bloody arms of his mother. He saw fields of orange that stretched for miles, tasted the sweat of his brow dripping in his mouth, heard the angry shouts of a drunken master, and smelled the blood gushing out of a broken nose. He remembered open books stashed away in a secret compartment in an attic with nothing but candlelight to illuminate the pages. He recalled the soft touch of silk bedding and the softer touch of the woman he loved.
The visions started to blur together. There was an image of a planet, Malta, fading out of focus as he was shoved around in a cramped and dirty ship. There was the horrible din of claxons and screaming, a whirlwind of chaos and death around him, a shadow surrounding him as he screamed in his mind for salvation, for freedom, at any cost. He remembered bursts of blue, of purple… a brilliant and sudden flash of light, the sensation of weightlessness and warmth.
Durante, breathless and exhausted, crumpled into a lifeless heap as his bonds were suddenly gone and he rolled off the table. The flames of pain subsided, replaced by dull aches everywhere within his limp form, flicking on like dying embers. He coughed as his lungs strained for air and shivered as a puddle of sweat formed around him. Durante felt his mind slide into the haven of unconscious, fleeing from the world in case the pain returned. Yet he knew the worst was over.
He knew he was finally a free man.
*****************************************
Humanity thought he was dead, a charred corpse floating listlessly through space. They would find the destroyed slave liner and claim no one could survive such a disaster; the wreckage would be hauled away to be turned into scrap metal and the remnant of slavery in Durante’s life would be gone forever. He was a ghost, an unknown soul wandering the universe. No one knew who he was, and if they did, they would not care anyway.
He was truly a free man.
Durante waited in the bar of Freeport 11, one of the few silent patrons that haunted the establishment. Not many people would visit frequently, he imagined; the war between the Order and the bounty hunters continued to escalate, and Omicron Delta was a wild and dangerous system. In fact, the Zoners seemed fairly surprised to find him roaming the corridors of the station, but they did not ask many questions. All were welcome in Freeport 11, as long as they had credits to spend.
Durante glanced up as three men strolled into the bar, briskly walking over to the bartender. He did pay them much attention, though he noted they seemed very irritated. He turned his thoughts inward instead, pondering his future. His purpose was clear, his intentions noble, and his determination resolute. The only problem was finding a way to go about his business unnoticed and scratching out a living for himself while doing it.
He looked up to see the three men glancing his way. Remaining expressionless, he returned the stare tenfold. As he did, Durante surveyed what could soon be enemies; each seemed armed, alert, and arrogant. They lacked the masks of the Outcasts and the swagger of Corsairs, so he decided that they must be bounty hunters. Durante was unarmed and the closest weapon was a knife on a dirty table a few feet away. They blocked the path to the exit, and his sense of danger screamed louder with each passing second.
Durante thought about trying to brush past the men and hopefully escape. While Freeports were supposedly safe for everyone, he placed little faith in these men to honor Zoner neutrality. Yet as he moved to leave, two of the men left the bar. Durante grinned in relief, but froze as he saw the remaining man start walking toward him.
“Take a seat, sir,” the man said curtly, “You aren’t going anywhere,” With a hand on his gun and a threatening tone, Durante had no choice but to grudgingly slide back into his chair. Perhaps time and patience would present an opportunity to slip past the man. For now, he looked up into the cold sneer of the enemy and gritted his teeth, resisting the temptation to wipe the smirk off the bastard’s face. “What is your affiliation?” he barked.
“Civilian,” replied Durante, feigning disinterest.
“The Zoners have no record of you boarding the station,” remarked the man. “That makes you quite a suspicious civilian.”
“It is obviously a simple mistake, my friend. There must have been a careless error and I was not entered in the database.”
“Such possibilities do not place you above suspicion, civilian. In fact, I doubt you are even civilian.”
“Excuse me?” questioned Durante incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”
The man chuckled. “Do you know why I am even wasting my time with you?”
“You obviously enjoy being an *******, but I doubt that is your prime motive,” Durante replied, growing agitated. “You also seem to forget that you will rot in prison for a long time for an unprovoked murder of an innocent civilian. I would take your itching hand off your blaster. I have done nothing wrong.”
He spoke loudly, hoping that the possibility of attention and eyewitnesses would make the man back down.
The man only seemed to grow bolder, however, openly laughing before saying, “If my hunch is right, you might soon be dead or worse, and I’ll be a long way from here, counting the credits as I go.”
“Who the hell are you, stranger?” questioned Durante, a chill sending a shiver though his body.
“Us hunters help keep the Freeports safe, you see. It gives us a little liberty to operate how we please as long as we are discrete,” Durante was right; he was a bounty hunter.
“What do you want with me?” spoke Durante calmly, continuing to feign ignorance. “You are a bounty hunter?”
“I am one of the best bounty hunters around,” remarked the man. “And you? Well, I particularly enjoy the thrill of chasing down fugitives… especially runaway slaves.”
Durante answered blankly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir. I am a free man.”
“So where have you been since you escaped the slave liner? Did you take a vacation with those blue friends of yours?”
The man laughed, and as he laughed, he blinked. It was the last mistake of his life before screaming in pain as a knife, suddenly in Durante’s hand, slipped into his side and ruptured his kidney. His cries of agony did not last long before the knife neatly slashed his throat. As the bounty hunter crumpled to the floor, Durante was already at the exit, a startled and shouting barroom behind him.
In the corridor in front of him, Durante spied the other two bounty hunters approaching, weapons drawn and moving to fire. Without easing his stride, he flung the knife with a flick of his wrist before breaking into a forward roll. The knife pierced the hand of the closest man, causing him to howl and drop his weapon through bloody fingers.
The other man fire, but the bolt sailed over Durante’s head as he rolled. Snapping to his feet and scooping up the dropped weapon with one hand, Durante brought his free fist into the disarmed man’s groin while firing the blaster into the face of his companion. Ignoring the new gore splattered over his form, Durante turned, kicked the struggling and dazed bounty hunter to his knees, and shot him clean through the back of the skull.
Despite the lack of imminent threats, Durante sprinted through hallways and down stairwells, making all haste to the hangar. He refused to be captured; he would shoot himself first and die a freeman before becoming a prisoner. Covered in blood and a security probably in pursuit, time was the enemy as he raced to leave the station before it became his tomb.
Reaching the hanger, the big metal doors slid aside with creaks and complaints. Rushing inside, Durante looked for a swift vessel, a small and agile ship that could dodge Freeport 11’s defenses. Sadly, he did not spy any Eagles so familiar to the Zoners, but did spot three Mantas towards the front of the hangar. Smiling at the irony of his means for escape, Durante crossed over to the ships.
Ascending the ladder to the cockpit, the ship prompted Durante to input the Manta’s access codes. Convincing the vessel otherwise took only a bit of focus, and soon Durante was sitting comfortably inside the ship, entering the launch codes that would have him soaring off through space. The ship moved forward into the launching bay and a large metal door slid down behind the Manta, allowing the stability of the hangar’s atmosphere to be maintained while the area around the ship was depressurized before being exposed to the outside.
The launch bay doors opened, and Durante grinned triumphantly as he zoomed away from the station. The weapons platforms were slow to track him, and he dodged any incoming fire easily. As soon as he was out of range, he clicked the cruise engine and made all haste away from Freeport 11, wary that he had been recognized and determined to disappear like a ghost into the night as soon as possible.
He continued to struggle as he endured the sensation of his skin bursting into flame, twisting in agony and anguish. Durante writhed as darkness started to encompass him, images of the past burning in the eye of his mind with stunning clarity. He saw men wearing masks ripping him, a weak and young boy, from the bloody arms of his mother. He saw fields of orange that stretched for miles, tasted the sweat of his brow dripping in his mouth, heard the angry shouts of a drunken master, and smelled the blood gushing out of a broken nose. He remembered open books stashed away in a secret compartment in an attic with nothing but candlelight to illuminate the pages. He recalled the soft touch of silk bedding and the softer touch of the woman he loved.
The visions started to blur together. There was an image of a planet, Malta, fading out of focus as he was shoved around in a cramped and dirty ship. There was the horrible din of claxons and screaming, a whirlwind of chaos and death around him, a shadow surrounding him as he screamed in his mind for salvation, for freedom, at any cost. He remembered bursts of blue, of purple… a brilliant and sudden flash of light, the sensation of weightlessness and warmth.
Durante, breathless and exhausted, crumpled into a lifeless heap as his bonds were suddenly gone and he rolled off the table. The flames of pain subsided, replaced by dull aches everywhere within his limp form, flicking on like dying embers. He coughed as his lungs strained for air and shivered as a puddle of sweat formed around him. Durante felt his mind slide into the haven of unconscious, fleeing from the world in case the pain returned. Yet he knew the worst was over.
He knew he was finally a free man.
*****************************************
Humanity thought he was dead, a charred corpse floating listlessly through space. They would find the destroyed slave liner and claim no one could survive such a disaster; the wreckage would be hauled away to be turned into scrap metal and the remnant of slavery in Durante’s life would be gone forever. He was a ghost, an unknown soul wandering the universe. No one knew who he was, and if they did, they would not care anyway.
He was truly a free man.
Durante waited in the bar of Freeport 11, one of the few silent patrons that haunted the establishment. Not many people would visit frequently, he imagined; the war between the Order and the bounty hunters continued to escalate, and Omicron Delta was a wild and dangerous system. In fact, the Zoners seemed fairly surprised to find him roaming the corridors of the station, but they did not ask many questions. All were welcome in Freeport 11, as long as they had credits to spend.
Durante glanced up as three men strolled into the bar, briskly walking over to the bartender. He did pay them much attention, though he noted they seemed very irritated. He turned his thoughts inward instead, pondering his future. His purpose was clear, his intentions noble, and his determination resolute. The only problem was finding a way to go about his business unnoticed and scratching out a living for himself while doing it.
He looked up to see the three men glancing his way. Remaining expressionless, he returned the stare tenfold. As he did, Durante surveyed what could soon be enemies; each seemed armed, alert, and arrogant. They lacked the masks of the Outcasts and the swagger of Corsairs, so he decided that they must be bounty hunters. Durante was unarmed and the closest weapon was a knife on a dirty table a few feet away. They blocked the path to the exit, and his sense of danger screamed louder with each passing second.
Durante thought about trying to brush past the men and hopefully escape. While Freeports were supposedly safe for everyone, he placed little faith in these men to honor Zoner neutrality. Yet as he moved to leave, two of the men left the bar. Durante grinned in relief, but froze as he saw the remaining man start walking toward him.
“Take a seat, sir,” the man said curtly, “You aren’t going anywhere,” With a hand on his gun and a threatening tone, Durante had no choice but to grudgingly slide back into his chair. Perhaps time and patience would present an opportunity to slip past the man. For now, he looked up into the cold sneer of the enemy and gritted his teeth, resisting the temptation to wipe the smirk off the bastard’s face. “What is your affiliation?” he barked.
“Civilian,” replied Durante, feigning disinterest.
“The Zoners have no record of you boarding the station,” remarked the man. “That makes you quite a suspicious civilian.”
“It is obviously a simple mistake, my friend. There must have been a careless error and I was not entered in the database.”
“Such possibilities do not place you above suspicion, civilian. In fact, I doubt you are even civilian.”
“Excuse me?” questioned Durante incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”
The man chuckled. “Do you know why I am even wasting my time with you?”
“You obviously enjoy being an *******, but I doubt that is your prime motive,” Durante replied, growing agitated. “You also seem to forget that you will rot in prison for a long time for an unprovoked murder of an innocent civilian. I would take your itching hand off your blaster. I have done nothing wrong.”
He spoke loudly, hoping that the possibility of attention and eyewitnesses would make the man back down.
The man only seemed to grow bolder, however, openly laughing before saying, “If my hunch is right, you might soon be dead or worse, and I’ll be a long way from here, counting the credits as I go.”
“Who the hell are you, stranger?” questioned Durante, a chill sending a shiver though his body.
“Us hunters help keep the Freeports safe, you see. It gives us a little liberty to operate how we please as long as we are discrete,” Durante was right; he was a bounty hunter.
“What do you want with me?” spoke Durante calmly, continuing to feign ignorance. “You are a bounty hunter?”
“I am one of the best bounty hunters around,” remarked the man. “And you? Well, I particularly enjoy the thrill of chasing down fugitives… especially runaway slaves.”
Durante answered blankly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir. I am a free man.”
“So where have you been since you escaped the slave liner? Did you take a vacation with those blue friends of yours?”
The man laughed, and as he laughed, he blinked. It was the last mistake of his life before screaming in pain as a knife, suddenly in Durante’s hand, slipped into his side and ruptured his kidney. His cries of agony did not last long before the knife neatly slashed his throat. As the bounty hunter crumpled to the floor, Durante was already at the exit, a startled and shouting barroom behind him.
In the corridor in front of him, Durante spied the other two bounty hunters approaching, weapons drawn and moving to fire. Without easing his stride, he flung the knife with a flick of his wrist before breaking into a forward roll. The knife pierced the hand of the closest man, causing him to howl and drop his weapon through bloody fingers.
The other man fire, but the bolt sailed over Durante’s head as he rolled. Snapping to his feet and scooping up the dropped weapon with one hand, Durante brought his free fist into the disarmed man’s groin while firing the blaster into the face of his companion. Ignoring the new gore splattered over his form, Durante turned, kicked the struggling and dazed bounty hunter to his knees, and shot him clean through the back of the skull.
Despite the lack of imminent threats, Durante sprinted through hallways and down stairwells, making all haste to the hangar. He refused to be captured; he would shoot himself first and die a freeman before becoming a prisoner. Covered in blood and a security probably in pursuit, time was the enemy as he raced to leave the station before it became his tomb.
Reaching the hanger, the big metal doors slid aside with creaks and complaints. Rushing inside, Durante looked for a swift vessel, a small and agile ship that could dodge Freeport 11’s defenses. Sadly, he did not spy any Eagles so familiar to the Zoners, but did spot three Mantas towards the front of the hangar. Smiling at the irony of his means for escape, Durante crossed over to the ships.
Ascending the ladder to the cockpit, the ship prompted Durante to input the Manta’s access codes. Convincing the vessel otherwise took only a bit of focus, and soon Durante was sitting comfortably inside the ship, entering the launch codes that would have him soaring off through space. The ship moved forward into the launching bay and a large metal door slid down behind the Manta, allowing the stability of the hangar’s atmosphere to be maintained while the area around the ship was depressurized before being exposed to the outside.
The launch bay doors opened, and Durante grinned triumphantly as he zoomed away from the station. The weapons platforms were slow to track him, and he dodged any incoming fire easily. As soon as he was out of range, he clicked the cruise engine and made all haste away from Freeport 11, wary that he had been recognized and determined to disappear like a ghost into the night as soon as possible.