Live Again. (Complete)

[Solomon Daenal]

Necreos, a tiny moon nestled safely in the far reaches of a forgotten solar system. Its barren, lifeless surface, riddled by constant meteor bombardment, suffocated beneath ages of dust. Whether by misfortune or design, this loathsome celestial body dangled in a most tragic manner; scorching one hemisphere with unrelenting heat and dooming the other to endless, freezing night. Axis and orbit did nothing to ease its torment, as speed and rotation allowed no life giving sunlight to one side, nor a cooling dip into darkness for the other.

The fingers begin to twitch.

Beyond the blistering sands, masked by the veil of shadows, and buried deep within the walls of a towering mountain lies K-12. Once an infamous Imperial prison reserved for high profile criminals, now converted to a expedient disposal for both the wanted and unwanted of countless races across the galaxy. The horrifying construct’s very foundation is little more than the flesh of those whom built it, giving birth to the rumor death itself was the architect.

The wrists contort.

The distinct honor of administration fell upon one man – Commodore Arion Drake. He had grown fat on the riches of his new enterprise, for shortly after the Emperor’s demise the warden seized the opportunity for profit; auctioning cell blocks off to the highest bidder. A man without shame or conviction, who may have very likely shared a cell with the scum he is sworn to guard, had he born to a lesser status.

The bones constrict.

At the facility’s heart there dwelt an unusual cell. A devilish motif the grasping tyrant composed, personally. The room was an enormous cylinder one hundred yards in diameter and was a staggering two miles from floor to ceiling. Its walls acted as magnets, one side positive the reverse, negative. The room’s occupant was fitted with metallic wrist cuffs, then suspended at its direct center; arms stretched to the breaking point and with no support for any part of the body. Here the prisoner would hang in mid air for days on end. An empty, void is the only accompaniment one could hope for. This merciless form of incarceration was set aside for only the most serious offenders or those who dared defy Drake. One such man qualifies as both and is the current tenant. A man by the name of Solomon Daenal.

The thumbs slide through.

Solomon had spent an unprecedented four weeks in the confines of this retched chamber, before the news of his apparent demise reached the warden’s desk. Drake despised the murderer in life and distrusted him even in death. Therefor, Arion set out to verify Daenal’s passing first hand.

The fingers follow.

The door opened with a mild hiss. Pale light from within the penitentiary’s corridors cast a sickly haze across the limp body still hovering in crucifix fashion. Though the entrance way was quite large in its own right it faded in comparison to the extensive arena.

The hands are free.

Arion stepped forward, halting just at the very edge of a lethal plummet into darkness. He stared at the ghostly figure, stern disbelief etched across a stone face.

“Lights.” He called out into the abyss summoning unseen lamps to illuminate its expanse.

“Bridge.” His second command brought forth an extending platform leading itself into the center of the room just below an assumed victim.

Drake moved forward, flanked on either side by armed guards, two at the front and two at his rear.

“Dead, eh? We shall see.”

He waits...

[Solomon Daenal]

The foremost guard spoke, though with more than obvious apprehension. “As you can see sir, Prisoner X97J453…”

“Cut the clerical garbage, Jenson.” Arion’s interjection was brutal, yet never wavered from a solemn calm. “Is he or is he not dead?”

Visibly shaken, the underling desperately tried to answer the warden’s inquiry. “According to all vital readings, sir, Solomon Daenal…..is dead.”

“Vital readings?” A twisted smile slowly crept along his thin lips. Drake’s right hand took hold of a small, rectangular remote fastened to the hip. “I’ll give you vital readings, Jenson.”

His words still hung in the stale air when Arion activated the small device. Low humming seeped from surrounding walls. Suddenly, the wrist clamps shifted, bringing their captor within a foot above the walkway. The corpulent dictator moved forward, only inches from Solomon.

“Your baton, if you please.” He said, an extended hand toward Jenson and in manner denoting the statement was a command rather than a request. The minion most graciously complied.

Drawing the solid metal rod back, Arion delivered a viscous blow along side the prisoner’s ribs, yet Daenal never moved. Drake appeared stunned and desperately disappointed; letting his weapon slip down and away. It would seem his cruelty knew no bounds, taking no satisfaction in the death of a hated enemy but rather misery in the fact his foe did not live to endure greater suffering.

His smile faded, “Take him down, bag him, and get him out of here.”

As instructed, all four guards stepped forward to prepare the cadaver for burial. Humming returned and the corpse flitted to the platform. The bonds hand not been broken and thus the body appeared to be standing by his own power. Each soldier took their well rehearsed positions; two lay hold of the arms, one steadied the ankles, the last readied a dark body bag at the feet. The magnetic field dropped, allowing for disposal into the sack.

Drake waited in the doorway, watching his troops begin the dreary task before them. “I never thought it would end this way, Daenal.” His tone boasted triumph, tainted by regret. “I always believed you were a strong willed man, but I guess I was wrong.”

Everything stopped. Paralyzing fear gripped all present, even the soulless Arion. The only sound which pierced the deafening silence was the very action which instigated it. A lone voice, coming from the dead man’s lips.

“I never knew you cared.” Solomon’s eyes opened.

“He’s free!” came Jenson’s horrified cry, for indeed Daenal’s hands had slipped from the confines of the metallic braces.

His warning was too little, too late. Once liberated, Solomon slammed the restraining cuffs into the chest of those guards misfortunate enough to be at either side of him, then violently pulled them together.

Drake, startled by the revelation, reactivated the rooms magnetic field unaware his prisoner was no longer bound. In turn, when the field reawakened both guards, who now possessed the arm bands, were wrenched from the bridge into the waiting abyss below.

Jenson froze, unable to act and still attempting to rationalize the living dead. However, the other surviving guard moved for his blaster only to have Daenal kick it off intended course. The veered gun shot two bolts into a helpless Jenson.

Solomon wasted no time in dealing with the final guard. Taking the gun by its barrel, he whipped around performing a precise almost graceful rotation; procuring the weapon as well as slamming the butt into an ill fated owner. The blow’s force sent the sentry tumbling over the edge to join his comrades.

“Good to see you again, Arion.” He trained the gun on the terrified superintendent, motioning for him to move away from the exit, and a failed attempt to flee.

Daenal moved closer. “My, you look like you seen a ghost.”

Mustering all his courage after a brief stillness, Drake spoke, “Give it up Solomon. No one has ever escaped from my prison. You can’t open that door from inside and even if by some miracle you make it out of this room, into the corridors, you can’t leave this building. Exposure to Necreos’ dark side will cause instant death.”

“Save your breath, you’re going to be need every bit of air you can get. Now as for my escape plan……you just leave that for me to worry about. If you want something to concern yourself with – think about what I’m going to do to you when this is all over.”

Solomon seized the warden’s collar, forcing him to his knees. He pressed blaster’s icy barrel hard against the base of Drake’s skull.

“Oh…” Daenal continued, “…before I forget.” Raising the gun above his head, he brought the weapon down hard. The attack came to rest along the tyrant’s ribs, resulting in the man falling face first to writhe in pain.

“There, I feel much better now.”

“What……are you…..going to do?” Arion gasped.

“Patience, my dear man.” Venomous laughter answered him. “Patience.”

[Brask]

Drake's comlink began to beep an insistant chirp which demanded an answer.

Lying on the floor, his head afire with pain, Drake heard the beep- it offered hope. Hope of salvation. If he did not answer then several squads would come down and block every exit from the chamber. If he answered he could give the code signal and be free.

The beeping continued...

[Solomon Daenal]

"Answer it, Drake." The muffled groan of metal could be heard as Solomon tightened his grip around the blaster. "You're an intelligent man, so I think you'll avoid saying or doing anything that may force me to put a bolt in the back of your skull."

Daenal continued to leer at his new captive, who had yet to recover from the devastating chest blow.

The warden did his best to compose himself, heaving out several deep throated coughs. At last, lifting the intercom to his quivering lips, he spoke, "This is Drake. Go ahead."

[Brask]

"Sir, there is a private message comming in for you. We need voice recognition codes for you to hear it." the voice was that of one of Drake's comm officers.

"Drake two-nine omega" siad Drake, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Please stand by..."

Up above Necreos, beyond sensor range and operating in stealth mode, was a Correlian Corette. On her bridge Admar Brask smiled as Drake's voice came over the comm.

"Prepare to play back that transmission, ensign."

"Aye aye, sir" said the ensign manipulating the controls on his board.

Brask turned to one of his slicers, "Are we in?"

"Yes, sir. The commands are ready to go."

"Send it." said Brask his lips twitching into a smile.

At the other end of the line, Drake and Solomon's earswere assualted by the screach of computer signals. To them it was jibberish but to the prison computer it made perfect sense. In one fell swoop Brask's vessel had disabled all security systems along a path to the hangers. The door out of the chamber swung open- the path to freedom beyond it.

[Solomon Daenal]

A familiar hiss, and the door slid open. Foreboding, ashen light bid Daenal enter the corridor without. Yet, the invitation was met at gun point. Solomon clenched his blaster, chest high and level; more than willing to end the life of any armed personnel bold enough to try and subdue him.

“What’s this Arion!” he roared.

Despite the man’s injuries, Drake lifted himself up. “I had nothing to do with it! I swear to you.” His defense echoed on cold, dura-steel. The proud commodore’s visage was ghastly, fear sapping all its color and seizing his trembling voice.

Moments lingered as hours, but the anticipated onslaught of guards never came. The halls beyond stood empty and silent. Daenal lowered his weapon. Then, faded cries of distant warfare prevailed.

Solomon looked on, an odd blend of mistrust and confusion etched his features. However, the shrewd villain had not begun to enjoy the sweet taste of freedom and entertained no thoughts of recapture. Whether it be trap or fortune, he intended to find deliverance outside these accursed walls; in either life or death.

“On your feet!” He turned to face the feeble warden, quickly snatching him up by the neck. “I assure you, Drake. If this is a setup, you will be the first man dead.”

The pair moved from within the room, Daenal violently forcing his former captor along every step of the way. Putrid fumes of death and decay flooded their nostrils, a poignant reminder of the overseer’s lack of care. The once faded cries had grown to a fever pitch, as the two approached enormous twin gates; the entrance to the main detention center.

Stepping through, lead them into a world of conflict. A host of bodies lay strewn about the ground, being trampled by those still locked in battle. Every door in the facility, agape, and their tenants, free, waged war against the guards.

It was a difficult thing for either Solomon or Drake to simply pass by this spectacle, each taking a few several precious seconds in an attempt to put some reason to it.

“What’s going on here, Drake.” Daenal questioned, staring in awe.

“Someone accessed our security systems, but that’s impossible! We used old Imperial codes that only the most high ranking officers could have possibly known. Officers who are supposed to be dead.”

The mystery went deeper, but for the time being Solomon had no time to question fate. He continued on, keeping Drake in tow with several fierce jerks.

From there, their journey through K-12 went largely uninhibited. The mass riot acted as a perfect diversion, only a handful of guards and the occasional prisoner attempted to assault them, but they met a swift death at the wrong end of Daenal’s blaster.

At last, with the warden’s forced assistance, Solomon made his way to the subterranean hangars. There were but two vessels. One large cruiser meant for the transportation of prisoners, to and from Necreos; though only the dead were allowed the luxury of leaving. The second, was Drake’s personal yacht, adorned with all manner of extravagance; soon to be the escape vehicle for a different passenger.

“This way, Drake!” Daenal drug the unwilling superintendent into a small room, marked by the words “Waste Disposal”, and shutting the door behind him.

“What are you doing!” came Drake’s subdued protest.

“A little house cleaning, Arion.” With these words, Solomon pressed a small green control panel on his right.

“Nooo!” Drake’s plea was cut short, as the rear wall of his chamber opened an inlet into space, forming a vacuum within its confines and ripping the warden into an icy tomb.

The escapee had little time left, bolting for the yacht. Once at the ship’s helm, Solomon piloted his way up and out of the mountain side; into the waiting arms of the galaxy.

[Brask]

"Ship coming up, sir!" the shout rang across the bridge.

"Where?" asked Brask moving to look over the sensor officer's shoulder.

"Grid fourteen thirty, sir. She's a small private vessel." the officer cycled through screens displaying a variety of data on the ship.

There you are. Didn't waste much time did you.

"Pilot, plot an intercept course. Prepare the tractor beam." The crew sprang into action while Brask dropped into the command chair and tapped a switch.

The tiny private yacht was racing into space as the Shadow bore down on her. The little vessel junked left and right in an effort to avoid the larger vessel, but could not escape. The tractor beam snagged her before she had really reached orbit.

"Attention Solomon Daenal. This is Admar Brask please do not try to resist. Yoou will only harm yourself. I have a proposition for you..."

[Solomon Daenal]

Solomon gazed longingly into the reflective dials; each one aglow and merrily buzzing about its work. He ran his fingers through the matted patch of hair blanketing his face, then lowered his head to examine a fire, red mane damp with sweat. The inspection continued, flowing down a burly frame ribbed with muscle and masked by torn cloth and scars.

“You look terrible.” He mused with a chuckle.

His mind began to wonder, blissfully lingering on thoughts of wealth awaiting him far from this dismal place, but the dream was quickly shattered. A violent shudder and the small cruiser came to an abrupt halt. Solomon took the helm, swiftly veering right then left in a desperate yet vain attempt to free himself. The ship’s communications system sprang to life in a flurry of ear piercing static before clearing itself. Through the turmoil, a distinctly masculine voice could be heard.

“Attention Solomon Daenal. This is Admar Brask please do not try to resist. You will only harm yourself. I have a proposition for you...”

He scowled in obvious disdain; scanning the vast ebony horizon for his assailants. It was not a difficult task, for The Shadow greatly dwarfed his own vessel and its close proximity only served to amplify this size difference.

Daenal sat motionless and silent, fuming in his own anger while meticulously analyzing the situation. Finally, pressing a small button adjacent to the intercom, Solomon answered the Admiral.

“You will have to forgive my lack of interest in your offer, Admiral. I was condemned to that hell hole by Imperial law more than ten years ago. I have no intentions of returning. So if you fancy losing a good many troopers, by all means, try to arrest me.”

[Brask]

"Mister Daenal, this proposal will benefit both of us." The only response was the yacht's engines increasing power. Locked in the tractor beam it was a futile gesture. "Mister Daenal, please power down."

Brask sighed with vexation. Time to put a little more bait in the trap.

"Mister Daenal, I have information, information which you will want..."

Nothing

"I know who put you in prison!"

[Solomon Daenal]

The small vessel’s engines slowed to a dull roar, accompanied by long, tense silence.

“I’m listening…” came Solomon’s simple reply.

[Brask]

Brask smiled, a thin smile which did not extend to his eyes. Daenal was listening.

"Well you see I used to be in the employ of IMP INTEL. I was highly placed and I saw a lot of files. You my friend featured in a number of those files.

"Your exploits make for interesting reading. Multipile homicides, robberies, arson, treason- the list goes on. Then you disappeared. A man like you, normally so shameless in committing crimes, does not disappear. I sought you out, from curiosity mainly, and came across the orders to confine you."

Brask allowed the silence to hang there, perfect and unbroken. Daenal would be waiting to hear the offer, the names any thing. Brask chose to wait.

[Solomon Daenal]

“I can see you’ve done your homework.” He made no attempt to disguise the mounting annoyance in his voice. “Then I’m sure you know I’m not the type of man you want to cross. So I suggest if you have a point, you make it now.”

[Brask]

"Ah yes I forgot. Your short temper is what got you into trouble on Eriuda. There was barely enough of that officer to find let alone identify."

Daenal's voice spat down the line "Get on with it!"

"Easy, Daenal. Is this any way to treat the man who got you out of prison?" said Brask in his silkiest voice.

Silence

"Well then to the point. I have the names and locations of the men and women responsible for your imprisonment. In exchange for those names ,and a little help from me and my forces, you will assist me in carrying out a number of missions. I like your style Daenal, it lacks subtlety but its sheer ferocity makes up for that. What do you say?"

[Solomon Daenal]

Solomon settled into his seat, thoughtfully running fingers through damp locks tainted by crimson. His eyes, though fixed on the endless void of space, appeared unfocused echoing the mind’s preoccupation. His visage was strangely out of place, caught somewhere between scowl and smirk.

Daenal inwardly battled with a great quandary. He was a loner, in every sense of the word. His spirit balked at any attempt to control or bend it to the will of another. Yet there remains the simple truth, every man has his price. Brask found that price – vengeance. Now with the question before him, he must choose to give up one mistress for the other.

“I'll need supplies.” Solomon’s voice softened, but teetered on the brink.

[Brask]

"Excellent. It will be a pleasure working with you no doubt. Please manouver ro dock on the port side of my vessel. Brask out."

Brask turned to his second-in-command Leiutenant Wern, "Take a squad of stormtroopers and position them near the airlock- out of sight so they won't upset our guest. I shall greet Daenal when he boards while you prepare the briefing room."

"Aye, aye, sir." Wern was one of those people whose features are as bland as the taste of military rations. He rarely smiled and followed orders well, on top of that he blended into the background with ease making him the perfect operative.

As he was leaving the bridge Brask turned round and said nonchalantly, "Oh! Before I forget would you mind destroying that penal colony? We don't need people knowing that Solomon Daenal is loose. Better wait till he's on board, we don't want to scare him off."

As Brask stepped through the doors he heard Wern's voice saying, in its bland tones- "Target the prison complex. The gunners need a little practice."

[Solomon Daenal]

Solomon groaned, stepping into the radiance of The Shadow's inner hull. His eyes had been deprived of light's warm embrace for more than a month; thus even the slightest rays were now blinding.

Through the varied, mobile blurs Daenal noticed a particular one steadily approaching. A few moments later and he could depict a tanned uniform about the man, a staunch contrast to the white shadow majority. Once within a few feet of the disheveled convict, the officer's cold emotionless face could be seen.

"Let me guess..." Solomon proposed with a grin. "...you're my tour guide."

[Brask]

Brask watched Daenal stepping through the airlock, trying to sixe him up. Daenal was a desheveled looking man with tangled hair and pale skin which was stretched thinly over a large frame. Brask noticed that he was blinking quite a bit, clearly his confinement on Necros had note included out door sports.

"Let me guess..." Solomon proposed with a grin. "...you're my tour guide."

"Pleased to meet you Solomon," said Brask offering a hand which was not taken, "I see that you are some what unwell, perhaps you would like to vist the ship's surgeon? Or would you prefer a sonic shower and something to eat?"

[Solomon Daenal]

“A shower and food will be fine.” The half-hearted answer masked his true elation at the prospect of a decent meal and a chance to bathe. Two basic needs he had long since been without.

“However, I’ll decline the offer of a doctor.” Solomon continued, sneering at several troopers stationed throughout the room. The affects of weeks in darkness were fading quickly and now almost nonexistent. “I find it difficult to trust anyone that much.” His eyes settled on Brask once again. “Now, if you will point me in the direction of your galley...”

[Brask]

"No please, Solomon, my private dining room is at your diposal. We shall talk things over during lunch. This way."

Brask started walking along the corridors of The Shadow at a brisk pace. Six stormtroopers formed up behind Daenal and Brask as they moved along the portside corridor to the stairwell.

"Forgive my guards, but security is a great concern at the moment and you will understand if I prefer to have some men near by." They were climbing the stairs to the upper deck, at the top they turned right towards the wardroom. "Here we are," said Brask keying the door.

The room they entered was filled by a long table which could seat eight to a side. A steward pulled back a chair for Daenal then Brask. Wern sat down opposite Daenal and two stewards entered with platters of food.

"Help yourself," said Brask benevolently gesturing to the food, "The Fenfowl is particularly good."

[Solomon Daenal]

Solomon made short work of his first plate, ravenously tearing at each morsel. In a huddled position he lorded over his food, looking neither to right nor left. Momentary pauses were taken to wipe collecting excess from around the mouth. Turning to his cup, Daenal hastily drained its contents before pounding it back to rest. The famished villain completely finished his initial portion and signaled for a second before the other guests had even time enough to enjoy their own meal.

Taking the brief interlude between dishes, Solomon glared across the lavish dining table to his host.

“You know…” He chuckled. “…I can’t help but wonder. Why would a prestigious officer of the Empire go to such great lengths to free a devil like me? Was it not the very government you serve that damned me to rot away in that forsaken place?”

His inquiries were cut short by the arrival of another portion, which he gladly feasted upon in much the same fashion as before.

[Brask]

Brask felt slightly nauseous as he watched Daenal wolfing down the food before him but contrived to appear unfased by his guest's behaviour.

"Oh, I'm far from a prestigious officer of the Empire. I got out when the Empire began to crumble. The Diktats ruined the Empire with greater skill than any rebel. I work for myself now." he paused to sip his drink. "As for my involvment in your liberation, it was motivated by self interest. You, Mister Daenal, are a man with a unique talent for cruelty- something I need at the moment.

"To be honest freeing you wasn't the greatest challenge for me. Drake was a cruel man with an ego larger than a stardestroyer. He was also extremely paranoid. We discovered that he made sure even routine operations needed security codes. We copied his code over the commlink and used it to open the door. I take it you killed Drake."

[Solomon Daenal]

Daenal looked up from his food. Vile pleasure of murderous deeds seeped through a twisted grin.

“Drake always wanted to get out more.” The smile broadened. “You might say I simply showed him the door.”

Solomon quickly polished off the rest of his meal, then pushed the plate away.

His face hardened, “Which brings me to the big question.” Leaning back as far as the chair would permit, he continued. “What kind of missions are we talking about?”

[Brask]

Brask settled back in his chair as a steward brought round more drinks. He considered his next words carefuly.

"Straight forward missions for me, ones needing cunning and brute strength. Your first task would be to kill a man who has been getting in my way- he is also the first man on the list of people who put you in prison. I feel that it would be a nice gesture of good will if we both got something out of your first job.

"We are en route now to Nar Shadda now. There you will get your revenge. Our target is a free lance security chief for a private ship yard. I'm planning a raid there and this chap is too good by far. Once he is out of the way we the raid will be easy."

[Solomon Daenal]

His fingers strummed along the chair’s arm, beating out a rhythm of hollow taps.

“How long until we arrive?”

[Brask]

"Oh, a few days. The journey would be less but I have a few people who aren't in place yet. In the mean time enjoy the facilities the ship has avaliable- we're well equipped for long term missions. Yor quarters are on the main deck for'ard and there is a rec room on the lower deck- get some exercise." Brask rose to his feet and smiled.

"I have a feeling this will go very well indeed, Solomon."

[Solomon Daenal]

Ignoring etiquette, Solomon kept his seat; allowing only his eyes to move as they followed Brask.

"I'm sure it will." He returned the admiral's smile. "I'm sure it will."