Subdivisions

Chapters

Prologue
Contact Light Disengaged (Part I)
The Unthinkable (Part I)
Like Captain, Like A.I. (Part I)
Contact Light Engaged (Part I)
Aftermath (Part I)
'Take Me to Your Leader' (Part I)
Dagny (Part I)
Call Him an Idiot (Part I)
Captivity (Part I)
The Quartz Distrct (Part II)

Prologue

I have made interest in logging these events In my memoirs, for from what I have seen, it will be little remembered otherwise. As You may have guessed from my previous entries, I am not the most powerful of writers, but seeing as many don't find this a significant event to chronicle, I will try my hoof at relaying what I believe to be one of the most serious and life-changing events in our race's history. As a personal annotation and usual ranting, I have to say that I find it hard to believe that this event has fallen so far into the depths of obscurity. But of course, I can easily see why. For the life of her, and I take great caution and risk in writing these words, Celestia would never admit to the exact details of these years, that I am only sure of. Not to discredit the Princess by any means, for if the situation had fallen out of my hooves like it had hers, I would know empathy with her actions to date. But that doesn’t matter now; the story ahead is of much more pertinence that my own opinions.

As with any entity it seems that befalls this land, they came in the dead of night. Like the rising of the morning sun they came, falling from the sky in a thundercloud, and finding rest in the frozen wastes at the feet of the crystal mountains. Though through its intensity, few saw the event itself unfold, as the final hour of the summer solstice celebration had come and passed, and for few an eye was open. But assuredly, by the morn it was certain that nearly all had heard the news of their coming, as now I know that word had even spread on that first morning from Canterlot and all across the empire to Dodge junction. We were sure of impending doom by this new omen. The day passed, and fear was in our hearts. Such a thing was unheard of, and was thought to be a new, dark magic coming to descend upon Equestria. But the day was silent, without danger or disturbance all across the land, even in my crystal empire, which was closest to where they had fallen. By Luna's rise of the next moon, it was determined that I would go with a party of my finest guardians to locate the place of impact, and learn the secrets of its mysterious apparition.

When we found it, the sight was impeccable. The hulking mass of smoothed and refined metal rested in the snow, far into the wastelands and in the teeth of a powerful blizzard. It stretched for what seemed oblivion, going so far that I am sure that even on a clear day, one end could not be seen from the other. The smooth blue-grey metal on its outside sat cold in the blizzard, but no snow would pile on it. For hours, we scoured the perimeter of the Object, unsure of what to make of it. It seemed more than a space rock, no, it was something much more ingenious. The way it crashed had looked maneuvered, almost controlled. The more fantastic minds of the party even imagined that there were some ponies inside it. After a time, even I admit to entertaining that conclusion. Of course, what we found was something far beyond what we could ever have anticipated.

In our time of patrolling the metallic beast, some days into the exploration, a breakthrough. About noon of the third day on site there was at once a brilliant flash of light through the blizzard, that left everypony in a blinding daze. Once my eyesight had recovered, I found myself confronted with yet another unimaginable development. All across the massive metal rock, rows of lights had come to life, as well had a low droning sound that rumbled the ground beneath our hooves. Slow as I may be, It was here that I came to fully accept that the was more than a rock, this was a machine, and that it had not come from Equestria. A hissing sound louder than the howling wind around us broke the air, as far ahead of my party's camp, a massive slab of the blue metal fell away from the whole, and lay with the ground. With minimal investigation, we found this to actually be a large doorway into the machine, which was as well to our surprise, lit from the inside. We had not gotten less than steps into the belly of the beast, when the echo of a commanding but shrill voice came from an unknown place. To this day, I still remember the words, as to my disbelief they were spoken in Celestian Equestrian, just like us. The voice said;

"All federation units and crew still intact in hull sectors C through L excluding G, connection with primary power grid has been re-established, and life-support systems are back online. I repeat All Judgment of Syrinx Crew and personnel still alive, connection with power grid has been re-established. "

It was within minutes of this that we saw them for the first time. When the voice had finished, a wall slid open with an angry droning noise, and out stumbled a beast that I can only describe as one of the most disturbing creatures I have ever seen, even in my travels into the Everfree forest. It stood, or rather tried to stand, upright on two long legs, with long extended feet that came out far in front of its center, all covered by a strange clothing that fully cloaked every inch of its body save what I guessed was its head. It had two more legs, but it did not stand on them, letting them hang down by its lower waist, and each with five long and disgusting growths from the ends. Almost like the arms of a monkey. Its face also resembled that of a hairless monkey, with two ears low on the sides of its head, and an area of particularly long hair growth atop its head, black as night.

It saw us as we saw it. For a time, we both sat in silence, staring at one another intently, both obviously eyeing each other up. It had minuscule eyes, and an oddly shaped nose that was the only thing that made me sure It wasn't actually an ape. After this long moment of silence, The creature made an obvious glare at our weapons, and with a sense of urgency, scrambled back through the doorway it came from, the wall once again closing behind it with the same droning noise. In shock, we all exchanged glances, and galloped towards the place the wall had opened and closed. When we approached, the door once again slid open, and a smell like no other hit us like a wall. Inside the room, At least thirty of these creatures stood staring at us, eyes squinted, and pointing at us strange objects they held with their arms. The floor lay ridden with vomit, and many of the creatures shook as they stood. The one I had recognized from the hallway stood in front of the crowd, his obviously threatening object in his hands held steadily on me. Here it spoke to me, and with all my might I kept my mouth from falling agape, as I heard from its mouth come words that I understood so loud and clear, I had to obey.

"Drop your weapons, or you may die." It had commanded.

I was the first to relinquish my drawn sword. Obviously there was something dangerous about what the creature held, but just what that danger was, was something I did not wish to know. After I had done so, and so had my companions, one of the upright creatures on the far right lowered its own weapon, and fell to its knees vomiting upon the floor violently. I specifically remember it looking faint afterward, as it proceeded to suddenly slip from its knees to its stomach, and lie with its face down in the vile mixture. Although still threatened I worried, but said nothing as it was dragged with extreme effort from its own vomit by two more of its kind. Even now, It almost brings me to tears to remember the sight. Perhaps it was because I saw the markings on their clothing and recognized them to be some form of soldier like me? Whatever the case, There I wept. Silently, but nonetheless I wept. The creature ahead of the group lowered its weapon, and with an emaciated yet dedicated arm, raised its hand into a salute. Obliged by amazement, I did the same.

We learned they were called humans. They came from a land far different from ours, in fact many lands they emphasized. They asked for food, we gave it to them. They asked who we were, we told them. They asked how we understood them, if we could have told them we would. There were thousands of humans on that ship, which they said had been forced to flee from battle after taking major damage, and crash landed here. All of them were soldiers, and all of them were hungry. So we did what we could, what we thought was right. We gave them a home. We set aside a section of the city for them to live in until something developed, and helped them where we could. Their peculiar eating habits slightly disturbed us, as they were very fond of the flesh of other creatures, but we kept them fed nonetheless; if with an adjusted diet. The neighborhood of the crystal city we gave to them was renamed from its former ruby district to the new name of the Quartz district as the redness of a ruby admittedly gave too much insight of the nature of these creatures in their dealings with one another. But through all the changes, I approved all of it. It made me feel good.

But I could not foresee the future. I could not foresee what we would do to them, and I still cannot see why. They knew why, and that's why they did what they did. But I still cannot find it in my head to know why. I knew they were warriors, but I had no idea what it meant to them.

Contact Light Disengaged (Part I)

A heaving droning likened to the sound of a bullet carving down a barrel sheared into Ezekiel's ears. It was the kind of noise that sent shivers down the spine of even the most battle-hardened Federation marine, and seemed adamant on driving him to insanity. Ears ringing loudly in the aftermath of the noise, he shook off the headache and put his mind to ease. The horrible sound of searing metal had repeated itself every hour or so since he had awoken, and had become the day's method of telling the time.

The sound was that of the port bow mass driver accelerating a condensed piece of some classified metals down a mile-long barrel, and hurdling it through space, where it may or may not hit its target in a few hours. The marine secondary combat quarters rested just below the mid section of the mass driver's barrel, and seemed the perfect place for catching an earful of the action. Confined to the collection of crew quarter complexes since the engagement had began, Ezekiel was aware that they were most likely near the end of the day. Unless there was a dramatic shift in the tide of the battle, this engagement would go as every other had in the past. The two picket Battlecruisers, the Atrix Nautica and the Judgement of Syrinx, of which he was stationed on, would provide covering fire for the core fleet of ships, while astro-naval commanders on board would bicker and bark at one another for hours before deciding which direction to retreat, and setting the fleet on a warp-space course toward the coordinates. The Atrix Nautica and the Judgement of Syrinx would be the last to enter warp-space, following the trail of the rest of the retreating fleet to wherever they had finally decided on.

Of course, no crew members Ezekiel knew could find place to complain about being the last to leave, as their battle cruisers were more than capable of the job assigned to them. The vindicator class Battle cruiser, of which both ships were a model, was an enormous ship, with a total crew capacity of both marines and naval personnel reaching nearly twenty-thousand, and a hull size reaching over the area of twenty-four cubic kilometers. They were entirely secure in their positions, with defenses and weapons that he liked to think would make a Silician Drophakov duck for cover. Another rattling of the crew compartment coupled with a more distant screeching sound confirmed his thoughts to himself, and let come a smile over his tired expression. That was the sound of the far starboard bow mass driver firing. The sound of the main weapons was so unimaginably loud that It could be heard from where he was, literal miles away. The more and more Ezekiel thought about the ship, the more he became proud to be a human. Of course he had never seen an Arcean enemy starship, and probably never would, but considering that the recon fleet he had been serving with for the past decade was made up of only seven ships and had never lost an engagement was something to consider, at least in his eyes.

The command had come just minutes beforehand that the core of the fleet had decided on a destination, and had set its engines to engage warp-space. This usuallly meant that within minutes, the ships from the core fleet would be Terran light years away from them, and the final hour or so of battle stations order would come to a close. The concept came light to Ezekiel's heart, as he felt as though nothing would bring him greater joy than to return to standby quarters again. War quarters for Federation Marines were infamously Spartan, with little space for each man, and a but slot in the wall for a bunk. The stress of the Marine Quarters were also more than could be borne by most people, for at any moment, room could flush with a deep violet light, and the call to arms sounded. From there would be no return, as one would be funneled with the crowd into a short-range transport, and shot off into the depths of space at the enemy ship to either hit or miss, or be blown to scrap metal on the way there. Instead of smiling, Ezekiel now shuddered. What a way to die such an honorless death, He thought sadly. Surely he would not go in such a way. After all, he was an Ilearsian Marine, and it was his divinely given ability to survive long enough to give reckoning to at least one before he was sent back to God. Though he had already completed that assignment, he felt he was meant for many more killings.

Stretching himself out to relieve his weary muscles, Ezekiel stared at the reflective ceiling just inches above him. His cot-slot, as they were called among the ships' crew, was one on the top layer of the room, and strayed dangerously close to somehow providing the cot with an even lower degree of comfort. Another curse of being an Ilearsian; he supposed. It was common practice, and he knew this from observation, to organize the quarters with the Ilearsians and Silicians in the top bunks, as they were naturally smaller than other humans. A smirk besmirched Ezekiel's face as he reviewed his own thoughts. Damn right Ilearsians were smaller, he thought, but they were natural born killers. Built for war.

The smile faded as he studied the face now eyeing him up through the alternate dimension that resided on the other side of the ceiling. He certainly didn't look like a born war machine. A long face and large nose marred an already unusual facial structure, contrasted from behind by sprawling black hair that strewn about the cot like a weaving of tentacles. Dark tan skin made its mark by obscuring most of his facial curves and features, save the large nose that protruded out from his face. Though he was trademark Ilearsian by all physicality, the thought lingered in Ezekiel's mind of the photogenic human warrior. Federation recruitment posters often bolstered themselves with a watermark of a well-built Terran human with a square jaw and clad in full federation armor, saluting powerfully to the Federation flag, rifle at his side, and helmet in arm. The grin returned, as Ezekiel assured himself with doubt absent that if he went toe to toe with that human in the picture, he would put him down flat in minutes.

Ezekiel was startled from his thoughts, as a tapping on his left shoulder commanded him to crane his neck to look to the bunk below. The tapping had come from the finger of the marine in the cot directly below him, a man he knew as Kenneth Sampson.

"Yes?" Ezekiel confronted.

The dull blue eyes of the Rhodian reflected a pre-determined question. "Hey jungle runt, what time you reckon it to be? You think core's gone and left us yet?"

"I think we will be leaving soon." He replied heartily, hoping that he had truly understood what he had been asked. "But sleep would be the best thing now. Late sleep is for the late heart, and a late heart is for the ones soon to be under six legs."

Kenneth stared back at him in short silence. Apparently he was confused. "You mean, six feet under? Man, you lost me on that one."

"Yes, of course. Sorry my friend." Ezekiel grinned, and retreated merrily from the glare of the confused man to again lie on his back. Damn the Terran language. Confusing terms and words, too many of them to count. It was after all, not his first language, but merely one adopted out of necessity. What could an Ilearsian do? Any and all official business, primarily military ordering, was spoken in Terran, and very few humans off of Ilearsi knew how to speak his ancient language. But what purpose would it serve to study so deeply a language he felt held little meaning other than formality? His thoughts were his own, and therefore he would keep them to himself. A shrug from his awkward position, and Ezekiel reached to press a large button on the side of his cot.

"Clear hands." He warned as he pressed the button with a lazy slap, and slid into his slot in the wall, wherein the lights darkened, and a strange smell that forced drowsiness filled the compartment. Oh, the wonderful joys of battle stations, Ezekiel recapitulated, nodding off into unconsciousness.

The Unthinkable (Part I)

A sudden jolt of physical shock awakened Ezekiel with a violent contraction of his muscles. Within seconds the contraction ended, and his muscles relaxed with him back to near-unconsciousness. As the first finished another came, again confining him to a fetal position within his cot compartment. Another relaxation of his muscles, then again another shock. Forced awake by the repetitive torture, slowly Ezekiel gathered that it was time to wake up. The cot slid out from its compartment with an automated motion to accompany others that also held once-sleeping marines. Sweating from the convulsions and shorter than usual of breath, Ezekiel slid off of his slab and dropped the some seven feet that took him to the floor. With pleasurable force he stretched his arms above his head, and rolled his head about his neck. Around him the feeling was no different for the others of the war quarters. Whether they had slept for hours or mere minutes, little satisfied the newly-awakened marine like a good stretch.

Above the grunts of exasperation and cringes of men still seizing in their wakeup calls, a voice over the intercommunications speaker resonated through the cramped room with impressive efficiency.

"All units in war quarters, please exit your sleeping compartments. Navigation has received warp coordinates and are communicating with engineering to commence the jump to warp space. Repeat, all marine units in war quarters, please exit your sleeping compartments. We are beginning the jump to warp-space."

A cumulative sigh of relief seemed a subtext to the air in the room, as elation sprang silently into Ezekiel's mind at the news. It had never been a question to him of how long he had slept, for he had expected to be awoken at their time of impending departure. He knew this, for as well as having experienced this same order many times in the past, a short conversation Ezekiel had had some time ago with a naval man from engineering informed him of why they had been awakened. Though he had understood little of the conversation, for the engineer had been so verbose in his wording, Ezekiel had come to understand that entering into warp space had an unusual effect on the mind while unconscious, and usually led to vomiting upon awakening or even in rare cases a semi-permanent comatose state. The engineer had continued to explain his fact with the inner-workings of the ships warp core, but from there Ezekiel had found himself at a loss. He remembered that conversation very particularly, for Ezekiel still chuckled to himself at the memory of the look the engineer gave when he had told him how little he cared why the engines worked. The expression upon the clearly Atrixian face was something like a broken heart, he recalled. But what did he care? It was not his duty to control the ships engine, only to protect it. None the less though, he had been awakened beforehand, and they were now about to leave this relatively short battle. A wry smile broke through his thoughts and onto his face as he imagined how many ships the main cannon just above them must have destroyed in the fight. The rapture of the moment was enunciated by a marine who had heard the speaker, and had just finished convulsing on his cot.

"Hell yeah! You know what that means? It's out of here with all you smelly bastards and back to gettin trashed in standby!" He wailed, a bit louder than what Ezekiel thought was necessary.

Laughter of agreement swept the room, as one man approached the door on the far side of the quarters from Ezekiel. He rapped loudly on the door until it opened with a hydraulic droning, and an armed Naval guard slid around the corner. The marine who knocked on the door spoke anxiously to the guard.

"Hey man, we get to get outta here yet?" He pleaded in a laughing tone. His question was mirrored by others who awaited leaving.

The guard shrugged, and put on a friendly smile. "I say I wouldn't know about it guys. I didn't hear anyone over the intercom say anything about going back to standby yet, did you?"

"Come on brother, what are you talkin about? You know you want to get off guard duty too. We stay here, you gotta stay here." The marine spoke in a Varkan accent, and his dark skin tone did not contradict.

"You guys get me all the time with that one." The guard said, shaking his head reluctantly. "I say you know what? You're right. Go on get outta here. It's not like the ship's gonna blow up if you leave while we're making the jump." With the words, he stepped aside as the whooping and hollering marines began to file out of the room, trying two at a time through the minuscule door. Unquestioning, Ezekiel followed the mass though the doorway and into the much larger arched guard hall. It was an almost awe-inspiring experience, going from the confinement of the war quarters to this open expanse. The walls seemed to tower into infinity, meeting at the center at what Ezekiel guessed to be some two-hundred feet above. Archways spanned the length of the hall in increments, and were synchronized in inverse order with guard catwalks that strode up and down between the total five levels of crew quarters it patented access to. Ezekiel smiled to himself as he took in the marvelous feat of architecture as though for the first time.

"But just be knowing that If you all get caught here and in some kind of trouble, I'm tellin them you forced your way through." The guard added as Ezekiel passed. His sight then fell on Ezekiel, and a more genuine smile came over his face. "Hey there Ezekiel. How's it goin? You glad I let you outta there early?"

"Yes, Axle. I am very thankful. I was beginning to feel like the room was too small." He answered. He was trying what he knew was called sarcasm in Terran, and wondered if he had done it right. Just to make sure, he added a smile.

"Too small? For you? I say you crack me up Ilearsian." Axle answered, perhaps also using sarcasm. Ezekiel couldn't tell, the idea was too new to him. He had heard it often before, but had never truly realized that they were not being literal, let alone tried it himself.

"Yes, yes that was sarcasm." Ezekiel admitted with a smile that awaited approval.

The guard Axle almost seemed shocked. "Oh really? You're doing sarcasm now? Maybe I'll try and learn how to fly now. I say you go on and get out of here with the rest of everyone. Enjoy yourself."

"I will. Thank you, Axle." Ezekiel grinned, and turned around. Suddenly, he turned back to face his friend. "And Axle, my friend. I don't want to sound mean, but I think you might not be able to fly." Again Ezekiel smiled, and Axles' face turned red. The smiled faded as he began to wonder if had really made Axle feel that embarrassed. If he had, then he would have to make it up soon; he liked Axle. There was something of him that he drew a sense of safety from, safety to learn how to speak like a Terran without being called stupid. After all, Axle himself was a Terran. Though it did seem sometimes that he thought of Ezekiel as stupid, at least in tone. Maybe it was because he didn't know enough about Terran language yet? Maybe that tone meant something else when he used those words? Ezekiel shook his head in confusion. He was not stupid because he didn't know Terran very well, he just didn't find it a necessary thing. He had managed living over a Terran Century without knowing it like they did, and would continue until he was one day dead. But in either sense, Axle made him feel safer, like he could be talked to; like he could be trusted.

Falling in line with the crowd of his crewmates climbing the main stairwell to exit the guard hall, Ezekiel stopped short at the sight and sound of the main blast door opening at the top of the stairwell, before anyone had reached it. The door opened to reveal the figure of a short man in the clothing of an officer, one whom Ezekiel found himself slow to recognize. From his distance at the bottom of the stairs, he could make out that the man was a Silician, baring the usual large eyes and pale skin of the like. As well, the face of the man reflected an expression of astonishment as the door opened, as he looked down upon the platoon ascending the stairs, who had come to a grinding halt at his arrival. The gaze of the Silician strayed from the men below him and shot to Axle, who now stood erect by the doorway to their war quarters. A sudden influx of memory came to Ezekiel, as he immediately recognized the face of the man. It was Lieutenant Colonel Urich Straka, the newest member of the senior officers on board the Judgment of Syrinx, and more importantly, the marine commanding officer on board.

The look of astonishment on Lieutenant Colonel Straka's face faded, and was replaced at once with one of stern coldness. He strode slowly down the stairs, his sharp black boots clicking softly against the metal steps. Three strides down, he stopped suddenly, and stood like a ramrod. He bitterly glowered at the men before him, many of whom had taken a step or two back, some even retreating from the stairs entirely. He bit his lip with his eyebrows narrowed, and spoke with a bladed tongue.

"This had better be a mutiny." He began, laying his voice over the stairwell like an iron curtain. "Because right now I feel like I could do well with having all of you ejected out of the airlock. So please answer me, am I right? Is this a mutiny of thirty?"

The crowd of marines remained silent, their eyes fixated on both the Lieutenant Colonel and one another. Slowly, the varkan who had asked for their release stepped forward, and uttered a pre-recorded reply.

"No sir. This is not a mutiny sir." He said professionally.

Warrant officer Straka glared deeply at the varkan, and strode heavily down the stairs to stand directly in front of him, at eye level even at two stairs high. He leaned in closer to the forward marine, and spoke in his same stern voice, as if not solely addressing his eyes' target.

"It's not a mutiny? Well then what is it?" He asked, his tension in an almost overly-obvious ascension.

The varkan marine opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short as a scream like the roar of a terran lion erupted from the warrant officer in his face. "What is this?! If not a mutiny, then what exactly the hell are you all doing here, leaving your posts?!"

The varkan stepped back, stumbling over a few of his comrades. At the shock of the officers' tone of voice, Ezekiel stepped further back as well, almost ready to retreat into the war quarters. They were obviously in some sort of trouble.

"Tell me, you dim-witted lead heads, what the hell is this? He told me it's not a mutiny, so what is it? You aren't disobeying orders are you?" Colonel Straka continued to the entire platoon before him. "From what I see, It looks like you are all disobeying orders and breaking protocol! Do you know what a direct disobedience of orders on board of a Terran Naval ship is called?" His eyes centered on no one in particular, but his stare could be felt in the entire hall. Guards from other war quarters and balconies had taken notice of the action, even on the second and third deck levels, and now peered for a glimpse of the berating.

"Tell me, do any of you idiots know what that's called?" He paused for little more than a moment. "It's called mutiny! Bloody damned mutiny! And if you aren't all back inside that cage in less than a minute, then I will personally have each and every one of you hung in the central court, so that everyone can see what happens to mutineers on the Judgment of Syrinx!"

There was a collective rotation, as the entire platoon of some of the most physically strong and haughty Rhodians and varkans Ezekiel had ever known in his life turned to flee from the five foot, three inch tall Silician on the stairwell. Not daring to question the irony of the moment, Ezekiel made himself the first to enter the quarters, and was forced to the far corner of the room by the flood of entrees following him. The room packed beyond normal density with the cots locked in an outward position from the wall, Ezekiel struggled to understand what was going on. above the sound of rustling and cursing bodies trying to fit their ways into the under-sized quarters, the voice of Lieutenant Straka hissed at its rant's climax.

"And what do you all believe gives you damned fools the right to think you can just excuse yourselves from war quarters?" He screamed, his sharply pitched voice piercing the ears. "You may absolutely all be the most ignorant, insubordinate group of marines that the Omak has ever had the audacity to spit in the direction of any marine warrant officer! And to think that I was coming here to personally commit you all to standby quarters, and then find an entire platoon directly insulting me! Why, If you were all Silicians, then you all would have waited for me until you were nothing but rotten flesh and bones in your quarters! But instead you are all a trash can of mutts and mares that I have to somehow contain myself to not have ejected into dead space!"

Though he almost felt himself afraid, Ezekiel was not in fear of Colonel Straka; only of the punishment he threatened. Treason to the human race was more than a mortal crime in Ilearsian culture, but instead was believed to give cause to ultimate damnation by God himself. To be hung for mutiny was the greatest of dishonors imaginable, and he imagined its sting with a chill racing over his whole body. He was barred from thought by the dreaded hollering of his unseen C.O.

"You are all lucky that we are about to enter warp space, otherwise I would not even hesitate for a second to have you all killed. Even now, and If I were to not catch so much hell for it, I would still-"

A massive booming sound rattled the entire ship, and Ezekiel was forced to the floor. A collective group of curses and grunts echoed through the room, and out from the hallway. Lieutenant Colonel Straka was as well thrown off of his balance, and fell hard against the doorway. The rumbling of the ship slowly dissipated, as men who had not been knocked unconscious by colliding with cots stood themselves to their feet, Ezekiel among them.

"What In the name of Atix?" Colonel Straka began, but was cut short by the voice of the emergency intercom.

"Attention all crew members, hostile projectile damage on the starboard bow. All Damage control units rendezvous at hull sector G to assess the situation." The official voice of the intercom stopped, but ambient panic could be well heard in the background. All was silent in the quarters as men looked up in vain at the ceiling to listen to what was being said. Ezekiel heard the voice of a man in the background, who spoke quickly in a panicked voice, and sounded like an engineer. Within seconds, the official voice returned. "Attention all crew members and damage control. Beyond our control, the ship has already begun the process of entering warp-space, and will commence in thirty seconds. Communication with the warp coils has been disabled by the impact, and must be manually re-established. Power has been rerouted away from the engine compartment hull sectors."

Ezekiel found himself at a loss for thought. Had that really just happened? Had they actually just been hit? It seemed impossible; it seemed entirely unthinkable. The voice of the intercom reiterated its last, and ended with a solemn word.

"The Judgment of Syrinx will be confined to warp-space in an unknown direction until communication with warp-coils is back online. All Federation marines stationed in war quarters may return to standby quarters at this time. Damage control, your orders still stand in Hull sector G."

Like Captain, Like A.I. (Part I)

Lieutenant Colonel Straka forced himself from the doorway, and stood himself at authority in its entrance. Behind his silent pause of obvious disturbance could be heard the dull roar of panic echoing through the guard hallway. Ezekiel could now see through the crowded room to its end, where the rather miniscule officer stood in deep thought. Colonel Straka turned, and whispered something to his right outside of the doorway. Perhaps he was speaking to Axle? It was the most he could gather, as his complexion seemed to have softened from its prior rage, and then looked to listen for a response. Seconds later, he strode from the entrance to their quarters, and could be heard barking orders down the hall.

Quick to replace the Colonel out front of the door was Axle, who was quickly obscured by the now standing crowd of newly-awakening marines. Above the dull murmur of confusion among the room, Axle spoke. "Alright, You heard that comm. It's time for you to all get outta here. Nice and orderly like usual."

Without a word of particular direction, the quarters began to slowly clear out, a dull buzz of light conversation among the leaving marines, which would go on to join the louder droning from the hall. dragged along by the wake of the shifting human tide, Ezekiel fell into line out the doorway and into the massive main hall, himself a silent bastion against the echoing throng. Looking up, he observed the massive crowds of people filing across extensive catwalks above him like flows of viscous liquid through giant grated-metal pipes. Again Ezekiel marveled at the engineering of his ship, for he knew that within minutes, this entire hall now crowded by some three to four thousand men would soon be cleared of all traces of life save the small force of dedicated janitorial teams that cleaned and repaired each individual room until spotless. This very size and scope of what he was witnessing reminded Ezekiel of his confusion. How could a machine of such impressive and edificial standing have been damaged by an enemy vessel? And further, so terribly as to disable her engines and leave her blind in space? A sudden rage seeped into Ezekiel's mind as he began to reason the situation. He at once became overwhelmed with the desire to kill their attackers; How dare they even make an attempt to damage so prestigious and mighty a ship? Even after a thousand year of service, the ship would still be worth more than they were.

To abate his anger, Ezekiel tiredly shook his head, and followed the swarm of men up the first-story staircase. It was not his job to retaliate, and even if it was, what could he do from inside the ship? He could hate them all he wanted, but that was nowhere near as justifying as killing them. As the mass split at a crossroads in the grand pedestrian highways that made up the arteries of the ship, he melded himself with the group flowing to his left; to the commercial plaza. It had been long since Ezekiel had eaten a truly inviting meal, and he had plenty of naval credits stored in the system archive. His mouth recovered from the dryness of stress at the thought of an Ilearsian dish of boiled moliossa bones. Above the sound of his own casual thoughts though, Ezekiel began to detect a subtle panic around him. People were walking faster than they usually did, cramming together and trying to softly force themselves passed one another. What was the matter? Were they all beginning now to feel the desire for revenge that he had earlier? Or was it something else? The air about him tasted less of bitter resentment, and more and more he began to recognize it as a type of fear. Feeling left out and confused, Ezekiel listened intently to the conversation of two men ahead of him. Both spoke with almost shaky tones.

"Hey man, I just thought of something." The man on the left said suddenly. His attention obtained, Ezekiel leaned in behind them further.

"What?" The right man asked, considerable concern in his voice.

The man on the left was silent for a while, looking as though he was trying to speak. "Warp means were going really fast, right? And they said we are going on an uncharted course. What if we hit something? Like, a planet or something? I mean, they said that they don't have connection to the engines. Doesn't that mean we can't stop?"

The face of the man on the right looked to suddenly flush white, and at the words, Ezekiel felt a sudden chill of his own crawl over his skin. "Oh my God you're right. Shit, we'd die before we knew it if that happened!"

So this was what the air of fear was about? Everyone surrounding him feared death? What sort of treason was it to be a marine of the Terran Federation and fear dying? Against the sudden chill he had felt at the revelation, Ezekiel still did not share their concern. He felt himself obligated to ease their fears. Moving himself closer, he spoke up suddenly and soothingly.

"I do not think we will die on this ship, friends." He said above them. Both turned their eyes to him, now considering him as he had beckoned.

"And what makes you so sure? You do know we were hit, right?" The man on the right questioned. "They ain't tellin us, because they don't want us flipping our shit. But I'll bet you everything that navigation is shitting their pants praying we don't hit nothing."

"I don't think so. I think we will be fine, because I know there are some Ilearsian youth on this ship that have not killed yet." Ezekiel ended with a content smile, feeling accomplished. With such logic as his, they would have to believe him. There would be no justice in allowing the many young Ilearsian marines who had recently joined the crew to die without the honor they were born to fulfill. And of course, no just God would allow so dishonorable and obscure a death to even one purpose-born Ilearsian.

The expressions upon the faces of the two men were a confusing contradiction to the logic he had provided them.

Captain Jethro Meisentov glowered pensively into the eyes of the his assigned engineering officer. The young boy fumbled his words, pausing nervously in his speech, and excusing his excuses. As the man little more than a child muttered on about the difficulties of manually connecting the warp coils to the engineering department, Jethro quickly began to lose interest. Clearly the young man did not realize that his captain had not attended the Atrixian Engineering college for a reason. Placing his hand on the living fountain of meaningless words, Jethro recited again his demands in a slow tone to ensure that he was understood.

"Little of what you're saying means anything to me, so I suggest you shut up while I repeat my question." He started. The Atrixians mouth fell silent, and he was suddenly stricken with apparent fear. "How long until we can fall out of warp?"

"Well captain," The engineer began "Technically we can fall out of warp any time we want, just that the decompression will without a doubt rupture the whole of the ship's hull, and we'll all die."

If it were not against federation law under military code of conduct, Jethro reasoned that he would waste not even a second in tanning this boy's hide. Since the beginning of their voyage, he had done little but make himself the implied court jester. Jethro had never even bothered to remember his name. "I meant safely, tech rat. When will we be able to safely disengage the warp coils?"

The engineer cleared his throat, and stood himself up straight. "Sorry sir. Engineering and drive operators will have connection to the coils reestablished before they overheat."

"And when in the hell will that be? Dammit boy just give me one straight answer before I write you for operational endangerment." Jethro stabbed at the poor boy with the words.

"I'm, I'm sorry sir. It takes about forty-eight earth hours to overheat standard Vindicator class warp coil systems. It shouldn't take us more than half that time to rebuild the connection, assuming that the damage was minor as reports from hull J are telling me." He now took a moment to breath and showed the first sense of maturity Jethro had seen from him since their first meeting; silence.

"Good." Was all he allowed himself to answer. Turning away with his satisfaction acquired, Captain Jethro now addressed his navigational officer aloud, the ships A.I. database and directive manager. She was the only female of the upper-echelon of officers.

"Luna, how's our course? Are the sensors reading anything up ahead?" He spoke to the ceiling. Now that he considered it, could this machine be considered female? Or was her voice just the best way to make bad news sound better? He had personally named her Luna, preferring the name over the original NA, that meant nothing more than 'Navigational artificiate'. It was just one more way of staving off the loneliness that came with being imprisoned for years on end within this ship.

"Sensors have contacted and established the locations of five near-miss debris in the past hour since our jump, captain. None have required adjustment to course, and further sensor reading scans nothing ahead until I predict my engines to be repaired." The voice of Luna echoed over the bridge from unseen ports, but was very clearly enunciated. At her words though, a slight smirk came to Jethros face.

"You're engines, ma'am?" He began comically.

"Yes Jethro, My engines. I reason that since I was built with them, and that they and I are one, that they must have some sort of ownership and property directed to me." Luna's voice changed to a logically stern tone. The phase to conversation mode was subtle, but to Jethros trained ears, it was evident.

"Well then I will be sure to have them fixed for you as soon as possible, M'lady." Jethro smirked. He noted the additional grins about the bridge's other officers. They were often fond with his public banter with the computer.

"Thank you, Jethro." Luna ended, to his surprise continuing his previous statement's sarcasm. "Captain, there is one more thing I would like to discuss. It is about my engines."

"Yes? You may elaborate." Jethro permitted.

"I am calculating that from their previous fuel-supply, the Contra-terrene drive engines are low on Anti-matter fuel, and will require refueling by the automation process located beyond our ability to influence them."

Jethro was confused at the relevance. "And what does this mean, Luna? Why are you telling me this?"

"It is relevant sir because though the process of beginning refueling is in automated and in-tact, my sensors are indicating that my programs capable of re-sealing the fuel cells after their refueling have been damaged beyond functionality in the blast. This means that when the engines go to automatically refuel, they will overflow their anti-matter supplies, and in a direct fusion, all of the available fuel for the ships engines will be used, causing us a large increase in velocity, and depleting all of our fuel resources. As well this velocity will most likely over-strain the Q field around the ship, and lead to catastrophic self-destruction."

"How long until the ship needs to refuel?" Jethro at once snapped, his attention obtained. This may be a new development.

There was a short pause from Luna, a strange silence that coaxed him to consider what he had heard. "Fuel supplies will be at their refuel mark within the next eighty-three and one half hours, sir. And considering that engineering will have the ship stabilized within the next twenty-four, my previous information has been established as irrelevant. I am very sorry, Captain Jethro."

"That's alright, Luna. See if you can monitor damage control crew progress for the time being. Management of the operation is apparently lacking." He attempted the words to be devoid of emotion to hide their intent, though cast his eyes warily to the Atrixian engineering officer seated at his post.

"Yes Captain. I as well have observed Lieutenant Harrison to be lacking in his ability to command and organize his peers."

Jethro sighed to himself. As intelligent as Luna was, she still had not learned the art of lying. He could not find it in himself to care to look at the young man she had insulted. Perhaps if he were able to keep tensions to a minimum and focus on navigating the ship safely, they may make it out of this alive, If in uncharted space. Jethro bitterly weighed the inevitable situation to come. This was a war vessel, not an exploration ship.

The radiant overarching pillars that hid within them elevators to the upper stories of the courtyard towered precariously above its open lower grounds, and almost looked to rise beyond the clear electron-shield ceiling, continuing into space itself. Ezekiel paid little mind to it, as he picked lightly at the boiled bone he had earlier savored himself over. He now realized that there was a reason it had been long since he had eaten an Ilearsian dish, and laid his fork to rest in the stew. That meal had cost him thirty-five naval credits, the equivalent of three days of work in the organics greenhouse shucking wheat with simple machines. And now unsatisfied he stared at the fruition of that work, bitter only with himself. In the hour or two he had taken to lose interest in the soup of softened bone, It had gone cold with the chill of the courtyard's artificial breeze, some pieces of bone again hardening themselves to the edges of the bowl, and forced a loss of appeal.

Ezekiel shrugged to himself, and stood from his seat at the park bench he had resided at. Along with the food, the courtyard itself had lost its appeal, and no longer beckoned his presence. Perhaps he would go to the firing range? It was rather nearby, and he hadboth the necessary credit and required practice hours remaining. He could finish his required battle rifle practice in the next three hours, then go to the training dock to also finish out his required XCR-21 melee combat sessions for the week. Suddenly, Ezekiel found himself invigorated by the prospect of the new activities, and swiftly concluded to follow through with the idea. After all, it was more productive than sleeping, wasn't it?

Contact Light Engaged (Part I)

A subtle thump rattled Ezekiel's ears, as his finger depressed the trigger it so snugly clenched. Downrange, a hole appeared in the block of grey mass that had been his target, joining the grouping of some ten or twelve holes that found themselves on the lower-left of the target's center. A metallic sound echoed from beneath him, as the ejected magazine fell from the side of the weapon and clattered noisily to the floor. He paid no mind to the sound as he stood, eyes fixated on the bullet-riddled block that sat at least fifty meters away. His grouping meant that he was obviously holding the weapon too high on his shoulder, and trying too hard to align the sight with the front of his face. It was an all too familiar pattern, Ezekiel thought spitefully, and gazed about himself to his neighbors. The loud crack of the man to his left firing drew him to gaze at the target. Directly adjacent to his block was a target so well grouped with bullet holes, that the center had at least a ten centimeter crater bored through it.

A sudden wave of Embarrassment flooded Over Ezekiel as he saw the impressive accuracy. He was an Ilearsian dammit; how could he be so easily outshot by another human? Another insult, as the rifle cracked again, and the tracer slipped straight through the hole. His eyes returned to the shooter as the sound of an ejected magazine recurred. His embarrassment subsided immediately, as he made note of the shooter's identity. It was a short man with dark skin and a rather prominent nose, a bald head of shaven hair completing his physique. Ezekiel was aware that this man was another Ilearsian like him, and immediately stepped to approach him as he placed his rifle on the bench; there was no shame in asking another of his kin for teachings. The Ilearsian man noticed his approach, and ceased loading his weapon. Looking at the number on the man's headset, Ezekiel switched his to the corresponding frequency.

"Bru Spe-Dah, Hello." He said into the microphone of his earmuffs, the traditional greeting quick on his tongue. The man gave a slow customary reply. The tempo of the reply immediately hinted Ezekiel to the standing of this warrior. In respect, He bowed his head to the man. He was evidently much older and wiser than Ezekiel, and had tried to make that as obvious as possible. "I am sorry, my Elder. Should we continue in Terran?"

"It would be for the best. Why do you approach me?" The Elder asked harshly.

"I would like to know your name, my Elder." He answered in a subtle tone. "And I desire to share in your understanding of your weapon."

The Elder Ilearsian eyed him with striking emerald eyes. The look was cold, but deserved. "I am Absalom. How many have fallen to you?"

"I am Ezekiel, and I have killed four." He took a deep inward breath. The smell of gunsmoke left a bitter taste in his mouth, or perhaps it was some other kind of force?

"Then I am your elder by three, Ezekiel." Absalom said smartly. "Now, what is it that you wish to learn from me?" His eyes drifted to Ezekiel's target, and he looked to understand. "I see what you are doing. Watch as I do."

Ezekiel Stared Intently as Absalom loaded his weapon, and raised the sights eye level. He fired seven shots in rapid succession, each landing in or near the center crater he had created. Placing the weapon down, he returned to Ezekiel. "Did you see what I did? I let my eyes go to the sights. I didn't make them come to me. You are too tense when you fire. You expect the weapon to serve you, but in fact, it is you that serves the weapon. Understand that, and I guarantee that you will hit the center of the target. Loosen up and become the servant of the weapon."

Ezekiel nodded his head subtly, and extended his hand to Absalom. "Thank you, my friend. May many more learn from your wisdom."

A strange burning feeling came over Ezekiel's face, as his hand remained suspended in the air. Instead of meeting the gesture, Absalom instead only stared shortly, looking suspiciously at him. Ezekiel at once let his hand fall to his side and waited for something to say.

Absalom opened his mouth to speak, a frown augmenting the movement, when Ezekiel heard the sound of a female voice in his ears. "Attention all crew and personnel of the Judgement of Syrinx. Emergency engine disengagement has been authorized. Please secure yourself to the nearest stationary object and await further instruction. Immediate Emergency engine Disengagement authorized."

Ezekiel Looked to Absalom in instinctive expectation. He found only eyes staring back at him in the same confusion; he had obviously as well heard the announcement. The subtle thumps of gunfire around Ezekiel had ceased, and men began to drop their rifles in search of a secure object. Ezekiel removed his headpiece, and let it clatter to the floor. A single moment allowed him to lock eyes with his elder, who met him with hostile tone. It was clear in The eyes of his kinsman that there was an issue to settle. The moment was cut short in an instant as the overhead lights of the room suddenly went dark, and the entire room went impossibly black.

Ezekiel's feet left the floor, and he was involuntarily bound to mid-air. The emergency engine shut-off must have also shut off the lighting and artificial gravity. Suddenly, a blunt object Struck him in the face, and he fell across to the floor. A stinging sensation coupled the trauma to his brain as it struggled to regain its senses. Without a sense of sight and afflicted with vertigo suspended in the air, Ezekiel felt a sick feeling begin to rise in his chest, and vomited painfully into an unknown direction. He swung his hands out in a frenzy to find an object to grab hold off, but was futile in his efforts. There was nothing within arm's reach, and Ezekiel could not tell if he was moving or not. Curses and shouts of confusion and fear echoed through the dark space, as men who had also failed to find a secure place floated about aimlessly.

The seconds became minutes, and Ezekiel began to fatigue. He had unfortunately found the weightless mass of his vomit with a flailing arm, but otherwise could find nothing to root himself to. How long would it be until at least the lights were back on? The blight of the situation was coupled with slight relief, as the news of the emergency disengagement meant that power must have been restored to the engines. Sure enough once power to the whole of the ship was restored and the emergency disengagement over, they would be back on course, or at least now know where they were. But until then, he floated aimlessly in a room entirely devoid of light. The air developed an icy chill, as the smell of the heavy gun smoke that was no longer being circulated by the ventilation system settled to the ground, and choked Ezekiel's lungs. At least he was sure he was close to the ground, and his height hinted that he would not have far to fall.

A terrifying falling feeling at once overcame Ezekiel's entire body, and with a painful crack he struck the cold metal floor. A stinging pain pulsated from his neck, and with a cry of agony his hand sought to find his collarbone. Without sight, he felt the disconnect of an obvious break in the bone. He groaned bitterly at the injury, and curled himself to rest on his forearms and knees. His eyes were suddenly blinded by a flash of bright white light that burst through the pure darkness to illuminate the room. Ezekiel shut his eyes tightly to protect them, and stood himself up, arm shielding his eyes. As his eyes adjusted to the light, they drifted over scenes of himself in the third person. Around him other men and women struggled themselves to their feet, forcing their eyes to forget the darkness that had enthralled them seconds ago.

Just as Ezekiel had felt sure of his footing, the floor again retreated from beneath his feet as the entire room rattled with a violent quaking. Landing on his shoulder, the breath was taken from his lungs at the shock of pain that coursed from his broken collarbone. This was bullshit! Why couldn't he catch a break? He sucked in a breath of metallic-tainted air, and pushed himself again to a standing position. Where had that quake come from? He concluded with a sudden flush of his face that one of the engines must have blown up. Did that mean they were dead in space? No. The ship had to be able to run with one of its engines disabled. He waited for a voice to sound over the speakers. The bridge would without a doubt know what was going on.

Sure enough, within seconds the voice of the ship's communications officer sounded through the room. "Attention All crew in decks D to engine compartments, please remain secured to the nearest stationary object. We are experiencing extreme turbulence in our entry into the atmosphere of an unknown planet, and navigation will be attempting a port-stern rotation to try and soften inevitable surface impact. After impact, all crew remain at station until ordered." The voice paused, as though forgetting its words, then continued in an uncharacteristic tone. "Good luck." The speakers went silent.

Ezekiel had wasted no time in doing as the bridge officer had commanded, as acting on instinct he threw himself at a rifle, and grabbed hold of the tie that loosely held it to the weapon rack. Swiftly Ezekiel wrapped the tie about his shoulders, and hastily wrapped the tie around itself across his chest. In a panic, he searched for a part of the wall to hold onto with his hands. Jutting from the otherwise flat surface of the wall was a small bolted down seat; it was his only chance. He dove for the chair, but was thrown to the ground as the room again rattled violently, and began to tilt sideways. A mighty force dragged Ezekiel away from the chair and along the floor into a far wall. The tie had done little to secure him to his place, and He regretted wasting the time to tie himself with it. From his pinned position on the wall, he watched others struggled to keep hold of objects they had latched themselves to. The force holding him to the wall grew stronger, as Ezekiel's vision began to blur and tunnel, and his arms go numb. He tried to let out a cry of agony as the pain in his collarbone spouted through his whole body, but it was to no avail. The air had been stolen from his lungs, which could not find the strength enough to fight the G forces compressing them. Near blindness, Ezekiel felt his eyes begin to fall backwards, and struggled to stay awake. A thumping sound rattled the wall beside him, and he could stay awake no longer. Blackness overcame his sight, and his mind fell to unconsciousness.

Aftermath (Part I)

An obtuse odor overwhelmed Ezekiels nose, his eyes stinging from the very choking intensity of the stench. The rancid smell of rotting food dreadfully coupled itself with the fragrance of intermingled feces and vomit, and had forced in him the necessity to add some substance of his own to the vile mixture, the aftermath of one such incident still stinging his nostrils. Hunger pangs rattled through his entire body, and would have forced him to lie on his side had he not remained subconsciously braced on the wall. Faintly evident among the other scents assaulting his nostrils was a painful smell that triggered in his mind a fearful and alarming chemical reaction. It was a recognized and instinctually feared odor that Ezekiel knew well from somewhere in his head. Someone, or some people, had died in that very room during the impact on the planet's surface, and were now laying about somewhere on the floors, not to be found in the pitch black that his eyes had worked for so long to adjust to.

It had been long since the impact, and the power had still not been restored when it was lost during the crash. Little had been said before the failure, other than that all crew were to remain within the rooms they were until internal security crews arrived, and power was restored. Time, up until now, had been an illusion to Ezekiel, but he estimated that he had been sitting in the rotting air and darkness for at least a full thirty hours. Still no help had arrived, and seemed no closer than it had during the first hours of the aftermath. Tempted though he was to leave, he knew he could not. No power meant no open doors, and there was little to no chance of him even finding the door in the first place. Ezekiel had not moved from the spot that he had awoken in after the crash, save an occasional shift along the wall he lie against. He had resolved no longer move along the wall to find a new location, as the last time he had done so, he found himself faced with an immobile squishy object, which would not answer him when he spoke to it. He still silently prayed to himself the man was just unconscious. Now he sprawled himself across the oddly damp metal floor, repeating to himself prayers he had been told from his youth.

He was cut short in a whispered prayer of protection, and was blinded by a flooding light that slowly grew in its intensity, soon coming to illuminate the entire room in an even saturation of white light. Ezekiel squinted his eyes and gazed about, careful to avoid the ceiling and the bright pockets of white that dotted it. A gruesome scene like a landscape painting from a depraved artist came into slow focus through his eyes, and at once mad everything clear to him. Not only one, but many lie in lifeless positions around the room, faces stricken with the pain of departure, and bodies mangled by rigor. Ezekiel shied his face away from the sights, and hid his face in his arms. No, he thought, he couldn't just sit like that. Others would think he was dead too. He had to stand up and look alive.

Opening his eyes widely against the glare of the stinging lights, Ezekiel emitted a grunt of pain, again being reminded of his fractured bone. He forced off the weight of the pain, and stood frankly, stepping away from the wall and into a curiously stomach-churning mixture of unknown content. Taking in a deep breath of foul air, he strode onward across the room to the nearest live and conscious person he saw. The man was a Varkan, and was lying passively on the wall of the weapons rack. His clothing was stained with feces, and his eyes reflected sub consciousness. The eyes rose to meet Ezekiel, and seemed to acknowledge him.

"Are you alright?" Ezekiel asked blatantly. It was a rather stupid question, but conversation, he felt, would lead to something getting done.

The lips moved, but nothing audible followed save a faint whisking of air. This man was obviously in serious distress, and needed immediate help. Ezekiel looked about but could find no one available to save the situation, until his sight fell to a wide-eyed man lying on his side on the floor some five feet away, trying to bring himself to sit. Ezekiel strode toward the man, and knelt down to help him up. Taking the man by the shoulders, he dragged him to the ailing Varkan, and spoke softly to them both.

"I am going for help. The power is on, so the doors will open. I hope you may stay with our friend here and keep him awake. Do you understand me?" He was looking at the wide-eyed man. A short reply of a nod came as the only answer he needed, and again Ezekiel stood. the hunger pangs still deviously rocked him, as he bent in pain.

Somewhat awkwardly, Ezekiel hobbled to the nearest exit, and lie against the wall near the door, building up his strength. As he remembered, the nearest medical bay on the ship was at least some two-hundred meters down the main artery tunnel. He would have to go; for the dying Varkan he had left leaning on the wall. For the other pained and struggling men he had sat with in the dark, unaware of their plights.

If he we're capable, Ezekiel would have jumped from the floor and landed on his back, as the sound of the comm. suddenly shattered the dull droning of agony. "All Federation units and crew still in hull sectors C through L excluding G, connection to primary power grid has been re-established, and life-support systems are back online. I repeat all Judgment of Syrinx crew and personnel still alive, connection with power grid has been re-established."

Ezekiel breathed a sigh of distress over the announcement. Life support had been off this whole period? How had they survived without any life support for this long? Ezekiel's vision broke as he took in another deep breath, and stepped towards the door. As it should have, the lowing of the hydraulics sounded as he approached, and the door swiftly slid open. In more of a tripping that walking fashion, Ezekiel entered the outside hallway, and was immediately met with a bombshell of freezing air. The chilled breath traveled down his throat and into his lungs, spreading to his spine, and completing the journey at his brain. He spun his head to face where the frozen wind seemed to originate. Sure enough, the blast door that ended at the hallway had fallen open, and just outside, a blizzard raged like torrent. For a moment Ezekiel feared for his life. Was the air of the outside breathable? Was he about to die of asphyxiation, as well as everyone else he had just doomed by opening the door?

These thoughts were cut as insignificant when he made out of the rest of the scene. There, standing in the entrance to the blast door some ten feet inside the ship, was a small group of creatures standing on four legs, and wearing exquisite gold-clad clothing. It was at once apparent the Ezekiel that these creatures reminded him of something. Their four legs and long faces drew him in immediately, and he at once recognized them, They were like some sort of horse.Smaller and more stockily built around the legs, but like a horse no less. He then came to acknowledge their enormous eyes, and then realized the gold clothing they wore to be a sort of armor.

Most immediate to catch his eye was the white one at the front of the pack, as protruding from its forehead was a small and softened growth of bone like a horn, parting between a purposely styled mane of blue hues. A sudden drop in Ezekiel's stomach, and his face followed. He spun around on the heels of his boots, and with a sudden and unrealized burst of energy, he scampered back inside the door. Exiting the open zone, Ezekiel let the door slide closed, and shouted in a cracked and muffled slur.

"There are Sapients! There is something alive on the ship and they are outside! Take a weapon! I think they are coming here. Please go fast. I do not know what they are." He slushed his words, but the meaning was grasped rather firmly. Those capable, some thirty men, shuffled and limped for the weapon rack, and Ezekiel followed. He retrieved himself a rifle from the wall, and returned to stand at the entrance to the door, weapon at the ready. He remembered the things looking at him too. their eyes, so large. Staring directly at him. He would kill them if they so much as thought about putting up a fight.

The sound of boots squelching on the vomit-covered floor filled Ezekiel's ears from behind, and against the pain of his broken bone, held tighter the butt of the rifle to his shoulder. It was here. They were bound to follow him in. They were destine meet him here.

The door droned, and retreated into the ceiling. In stepped the five simple horse-creatures, all of whom immediately stopped in their tracks. They had come into the room with crude and edged weapons raised. Unbenounced to him earlier, the front and third of the creatures were apparently telepaths. For the better, he should have killed them then, he thought inwardly. Such abominations were obviously a threat to every sick man and woman in that room, and deserved to die in protection of his crew members. Instead, his finger would not depress the trigger of his rifle. He could not find the strength to fight something inside of himself that held him back from shooting them on sight.

Instead of his finger that moved, it was his mouth, which spoke as though outside of his control, though he was completely aware of his negotiation. "Drop Your weapons, or you may die." It seemed a hopeless thing to say. How could he expect them to understand him? They probably could not even form words in any human language, just as an Arcean.

The eyes of the five creatures looked to widen slightly, and with a sharp clattering sound of metal striking metal, the blade held by the front telepathic creature fell to the floor. Following their surrender, from the corner of his eye Ezekiel watched the wide-eyed man slip to his knees, vomit, and collapse. A most interesting of situations.

'Take Me to Your Leader' (Part I)

Ezekiel held his rifle's sights transfixed on the neck of the lead horse creature, awkwardly standing at his full height. He would not be the first to shoot. He refused out of the purest of embarrassments to be the first to fire a shot, and kill the sorry creature. They had, after all, lowered their weapons and surrendered. There was no honor in killing them unarmed. He noticed the eyes of his target fall to the man who had collapsed in his vomit, and was now being retrieved from it by two other men. Ezekiel's heart failed at two beats, when forming from the corners of the creatures eyes, were pools of clear liquid that resembled tears. As well, never once did it take its eyes off of the collapsed man. A vague sensation of disturbance flooded his mind as he realized that the damned thing was crying over the fallen man. What sort of weakness was this creature so prone to that It would be brought to tears over the sight of an alien creature collapsing from exhaustion?

He then came to recognize something else about the creature. In a slight glint that made itself evident as it craned its neck up to look at him once more, Ezekiel noticed among the gold plating a plethora of brass symbols that covered the clothing beneath the armor in an orderly and organized fashion. It at once became evident that this creature, no matter how alien and disgusting, was an officer in the military of its people. Compelled by instinct, Ezekiel at once lowered the muzzle of his weapon to face the floor, and turned the safety on. A hand retreated from the rifle, and rose to nearly meet his temple in a compulsive salute. Now Ezekiel noticed that brazen upon the breasts of all of the creatures were indiscernible badges of rank and accomplishment, all worthy of recognition. As he did so, he felt the air of tension ascend into space from behind him, and guessed that upon his doing so, the others had also lowered their rifles, and were following his salute. The tears in the eyes of the horse creature grew to begin their path down his unnaturally curved face, and with a slow and innocent rising of its hoof and leg, shocked Ezekiel by returning the salute to them all.

Both stunned and taken aback by the familiarity of the response, Ezekiel lowered his hand abruptly, and strapped it tightly to his side. The military traditions these creatures shared with humans were uncanny in their likeness, and assaulted him with their similarity. Were the terms of honor that universal? Ezekiel had almost forgotten the disgust with which had previously regarded the horned beast, and opening his mouth again, spoke up to break the devious silence.

"Do you understand the words that I speak to you?" He said, and held his breath. The creature seemed to choke back more tears, and instead of replying in speech, nodded slowly. Ezekiel pondered the answer for a moment. He spun his neck around with brutal agony to his collar to gaze at the faces of the men behind him. They were solemn, with bag-eyed faces that suggested thoughts and feeling close to those that he knew he felt at the moment. He returned to the miniature horses, which only stood to his middle torso, and answered with a slight nod of his own. "I think It would be best if we took you to see our leaders. If you would follow us, please." Ezekiel motioned to five of the most conscious-looking men in the bunch, and made his way around the group of natives through the doorway. As he had commanded, the followed him out the door, and were gradually surrounded escort-style by the men he had chosen. By personal choice, Ezekiel decided he would relinquish his foremast position, and strode near the back of the encirclement. His boots still slipped on the polished metal floor from the solution of vile substances that caked it, while oddly coupling the odd sound of hooves clacking in a slow walk. Within the group, he thought he heard the whispering of two of the creatures to one another in plain Terran.

"I thought they were supposed to ask to see OUR leaders."

The bulkhead minor door to hull sector A slid open with the same hydraulic droning, as the entourage of men and horse entered the bridge hallway divide. A guard posted on the other side of the door raised his weapon on sight, and commanded them angrily.

"Hold up right there. Drop your weapons and step away from the- the ponies." He stuttered. Now that Ezekiel thought of it, they did resemble some sort of pony. Horse breeding was a rather prevalent business on Ilearsi, still practiced for the purpose of selling the animals off.

The marine leading the escort detail addressed the guard. "Listen, we just came from the starboard firing range some ten kilometers away. We need these natives to speak to captain and the others. This one here is an official of military rank from this planet, and I think it more than necessary that they talk as soon as possible."

"Listen marine. I don't have to take shit from you right now. Command is in there getting its shit together after the lights turned back on, and they don't have time for talking horses." The guard growled back. The marine took a step back, and dropped his weapon. At the drop, Ezekiel flinched for fear that it would discharge in the hallway. To his relief it only clattered to the floor with a series of ear-splitting cracks.

The marine raised his hands, and began to spit back at the guard. "Listen asshole. We got a whole ship full of busted up navy and marine men and women here, and I frankly don't think we have the medical people to treat them. If we can get any help whatsoever from anyone whatsoever, then that is more than fine by me, should be more than fine by you, and will be more than fine by the captain himself. You know how I know that? Because unlike your sorry ass who couldn't think their way out of a plastic bag, command is probably all up in there discussing what to do to try and save everyone on this ship before they die like animals. You hear me?"

Had the guard not been wearing a helmet, Ezekiel would have been sure that he would have been witness to one of the most furious and putrid expressions he had ever seen in his life, as with the obvious sound of speaking through gritted teeth, the guard gave a slow reply. "Fine. I'll take 'em in. Just get off the damn bridge hull you cocky wastes of space." He lowered his rifle tensely, and the marine ahead retrieved his from the floor. Doing as he had been commanded, Ezekiel was the first to turn around, and exit the hallway in haste. On his heels were the other men, a dull murmur of conversation buzzing among them. A hand placed on Ezekiel's shoulder spun him around, as he realized that he was being spoken to. The group had come to a stop, and spoke in an lenient huddle.

"Hey, get back over here man." The marine commanded him. Reluctantly Ezekiel followed. It was now that Ezekiel recognized the marine as a Gault. The Gaultic man turned back to the group, and seemed to continue his conversation in a low voice. "Yeah, can you believe that asshole? We just found a bunch of native alien horses that speak our same language and he thinks that that's not important enough."

Another man in naval attire added to the remark. "Hey what about those things? What's the deal with them speaking Terran? I heard a couple of them whispering to each other here and there while we were on our way. They spoke it like they were born knowing it, and I've never heard of anything like them before in Federation territory. And I'd know, I watched the news."

A third voice joined in. "Okay first off, I don't think they'd talk about some creatures like these on GNN. They use swords and spears for God's sake. If you ask me, I'd say they're a Federation Experiment to grow a smart species on another planet. Genetic Reconstruction and all that Godless shit. And two, You know how long we were in warp? I'd say at least a day and a half. that's enough time to get half way across Federation space, and my gut's telling me we're not in Federation space."

Ezekiel was surprised at how extremely opinionated his comrades were. To him they were just another species of alien that they just happened to run into by accident. What else was there to consider? The only other thing that nagged his mind was the similar way in which they salute one another within the military. The marine did have a point though. With the power having been knocked out for so long, there was little chance many of the food supplies they would need to survive had stayed intact during and after the crash. They would need the help of these creatures, no matter the circumstances and his individual thoughts on them.

"Whatever the case man, I got a feeling that we're gonna be stuck with 'em for a while." The Gaultic marine said. "I remember hearing that ships that crash into planets from space don't tend to be able to fly for a very long time, and that's if it's a federation planet. The spears and metal plates they worse don't give me a lot of hope that they'll be able to repair a Battlecruiser."

"I don't know about you," one of the navy men said, "but I'm going back to my quarters and packing anything I feel like taking with me. I'd say they're gonna take us all off the ship soon and send us somewhere. Check us for disease and what not." With the words, the man left the group, and strode hurriedly down the hallway. Another of the men followed close behind him, probably taking the idea and with similar intent.

The last navy man smirked, and chuckled to himself. "Disease, yeah right. Hey guys, I had a cough before the crash. You think they're gonna put me in a bubble?"

Ezekiel was confused. "I do not know. I do not think A cough is enough to warrant a biohazard. Maybe if they speak our language, they are immune to our same diseases?"

The Gaultic man stared at him speculatively, then looked at the navy man. "I don't know about you, but I think I'd put him in a bubble to make sure I don't catch whatever kind of stupid he's got." At the remark, both burst to laughter.

Just to be sure he wasn't missing out on good fun, he joined in with the cackling.

Dagny (Part I)

Ezekiel's feet shuffled lazily across the floor, as they approached the entrance to the food courtyard. He had remembered his hunger after his conversation with the other men, and since it had not left him. The pangs of stabbing pain radiated from his lower abdomen, and cried out for satisfaction. His hopes rested on the idea that the food courtyard had remained intact during the crash, and that he would soon be relieved of his famishing. But of course the courts would be open. They were always open, even during war quarters; even if no one went there.

Slipping around the corner in a soft silence, Ezekiel Made note of the invariable changes that the courtyard had undergone. Uprooted trees of smaller stature lied on their sides, while bulkier plants remained stationary with lost limbs. Unbolted tables were scattered about, and along with them, people. Just as in the firing range, the smell of death and various other disgusts shocked the air with their tainted taste, and were it not on account of his stomach being already empty, Ezekiel would have had no chance at holding back another round of vomiting. Semiconscious and immobile figures braced themselves on whatever they could find, or merely lie on the floor helplessly. As well, the usually open Electron field ceiling was now replaced by a roof of solid metal that had apparently automatically slid into place at some point. Driven by courtesy at the sight of a woman lying on her side some feet away, he at once bent down to help her to a sitting position. wrapping his arms beneath her shoulders, he forced himself to drag her across the floor to a nearby fallen tree, leaning her gently against the trunk. She said nothing to him, but only stared with a glazed-over complexion at him while he spoke soothingly to her.

"Are you alright ma'am?" He began. The seemingly useless question had now seemed to gain in itself a sort of calming sensation in his heart. The women shook her head without a word, and clutched at her stomach in obvious suffering.

"Are you hungry?" Ezekiel assumed the question by her actions. He found that it was somehow easier to understand people when they were not speaking. Seemingly assured by his understanding, the woman tried at a smile, and nodded in affirmation. Keeping the optimism alive, Ezekiel returned the grin.

With discernible effort, he stood himself to his feet, and gazed about for the nearest food vendor. His eyes came to rest nearby on good-sized hole in the wall vendor, the sign of which had been lost and was now probably somewhere about the courtyard. Almost unable to control his legs from their aching, Ezekiel stumbled towards a small horizontal counter that partially hid the figure of a man leaning against its back. Using the counter as a crutch, Ezekiel spoke up to the man in an almost pleading, and frankly embarrassing tone.

"Sir, may we please have something. I don't care what it is right now, my friend and I are very hungry, and need food very badly." He asked the back of the man's head. There was no response. This time, Ezekiel spoke louder. "Sir please, my friend is very hurt and she needs food."

The man still did not turn around, and at once Ezekiel worried. Was he hurt too? Not wasting any time to ponder the question, Ezekiel looked about himself to make sure he wasn't being watched, and with a cry of pain from his legs, climbed over the counter to kneel next to the man. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the food vendor, and shook him harshly. "Wake up sir. We need to get some food for people out here." There was still no answer from the unconscious man, who had been completely unstirred by the forced rattling. Funny, he did not smell of death. He concluded that the man must be in so deep an unconsciousness that there was no use in trying to wake him. Ezekiel stood up, and turned about himself. Maybe he would be able to get some food from the back. It was highly illegal and was punishable with an extreme credit penalty, but the woman was hungry, and so was he. For the essence of time, Ezekiel searched for something among the drawers and pantries of food that he did not think would need to be cooked.

A feeling of overwhelming stupidity came over Ezekiel as his eyes fell upon a very large sign labeled 'breads' that was bolted to the door of an even larger pantry. With purpose in mind, he swung open the heavy metal door, and retrieved from within the first mass that resembled bread that he laid his eyes upon. The loaf seemed plenty large enough to feed them both, and without a further search, Ezekiel made his way back to the front counter. He paused, and for a moment observed the figure of the vendor lying against the counter. Perhaps he would need food as well when he awoke? In light heart, Ezekiel unwrapped a section of the loaf, and broke from the bread a small piece, then placing it at his feet. The bread beneath the crust was rather soft, he realized, and would not crumble in the hands.

Again hurdling the counter like a drunken man, Ezekiel returned to the tree by which he had left the woman lying, and was pleased to see that she had not moved. She greeted him with another attempted smile, but could not seem to gather the strength to put her heart into the action. Kneeling down beside her, he took the bread, and with a subtle crackling noise, broke the loaf into two halves. He nodded to her, and placed the hunk of bread into her lap, a forced smile coming to his face as well. He had not noticed at first the left side of her face, which now appeared battered and bruised from the crash, a healed gash running from her jaw down across the side of her neck. Apparently she was not aware of the bruising, as she made little effort to shield his eyes from the marks. It was also now that Ezekiel realized that she was very beautiful, for a Terran woman, as he assumed her to be. It was against Ilearsian unspoken law to find beauty outside of his people, but here, he felt it could not be helped. Perhaps it may have been the trauma of the situation driving him to madness, he thought momentarily, but denied the words. Even as she took the bread and ate it she smiled with thanks to him, a refreshing smile that provoked in him a sense of accomplishment. Suddenly, she surprised him, as in a soft and barely audible voice, she spoke up to him.

"What kind of bread is this?" She asked quietly. Ezekiel thought he had misheard her. He had not even thought the question was relevant. Bread was bread, and she was eating it, wasn't she?

"I honestly do not know, ma'am." He answered in confusion. "Does it matter? Do you have an allergic reaction?"

She shook her head softly, and spoke with a velvet tone. "No, I don't have an allergy. I just thought it tasted like Shaw bread. It's a kind that comes from Equis people. I ate it with everything when I was a kid."

"You're an Equestrian, Ma'am?" He prompted. He never would have guessed. Though people from the Equis system usually never looked like one race entirely, he could have been sure she was Terran.

"Yes. And please stop calling me ma'am. My name is Dagny." She replied. She seemed to be gaining strength with every bite she took from the bread. "And may I ask you name?"

Stunned by the question put back on him, Ezekiel fumbled his thoughts. "I am Ezekiel Fautvic of the Levah Tribe of Malachi."

She too seemed at once taken aback, but hid the expression promptly. "That's a bit of a mouthful, Isn't it? Can I just say Ezekiel?" She took another bite of the bread. He felt himself almost entranced by her now. Was she doing this on purpose? He was contemplating an answer, when the sound of the speakers shattered his concentration.

"All crew respond. Emergency Evacuation of all decks ordered through port-starboard emergency exit. Again I say all crew respond to being called for Evacuation." The voice from behind the speaker filled the room with the order, And Ezekiel at once stood. The command puzzled him, as looking about himself, he could not come to imagine how all crew members would be able to exit the ship through the emergency exit, as many still lie about the floor incapable of movement on their own. Surely there would be rescue teams coming like the comm. had said after the crash those many hours ago. And where would they go? He had seen the blizzard outside of the very exit they spoke of. Many would freeze to death outside of the ship, and without food, they would not last for very much longer.

He was interrupted from his thoughts, as the speaker sounded yet again. "All crew, Be advised that you will be allotted one hour to report to the emergency exit. It is commanded that all weapons and specialized armor be left aboard the ship, and screening for weapons will occur at the exit by armed officers. Repeat, you have one hour to report or else face extreme consequence."

A slow draining of Ezekiel's face came with his slowness to realize the situation. From where he was, he would have to leave at that moment if he were to make it to the described exit in time. His eyes came to rest on Dagny, who had closed her eyes, and was now again resting against the trunk of the fallen tree. He could not let her face whatever 'extreme consequence' that they spoke of. He kneeled to her again, and strongly gripped her hand.

"Come on, we have to go to the meeting point." He enunciated. She opened her eyes slowly, and gave him a skeptical stare. She had opened her mouth to speak, but Ezekiel would have no time for it. Helping her by her hand, he raised her too meet him at her feet, and held her steady as she obtained her balance. She stood steadily, but he feared for the weakness she still seemed stricken with from the crash. He made a kind observation.

"Would you like me to walk with you to the exit? You do not look strong enough to walk on your own." He said. She retained her skeptical glare, and shook free his hand hotly.

"I'm fine to walk by myself, Ezekiel." She almost whispered, her tone contradicting her actions. With an obvious effort she took her first steps forward, then gradually gained pace in her strides until she had completed the trek across the courtyard to the hall.

Unwilling to pause to investigate what he had said wrong, Ezekiel shook his head in confusion, and followed the direction she had gone. He would have to make it to the meeting point within the hour. Though, a subtle murmur within his head could not shake free his concern for the others he knew to be lying about on the floor behind him. He ignored the voice; they would have to find their own way.

Call Him an Idiot (Part I)

As Ezekiel approached the described exit point of the ship, it began to become clear that the communications systems throughout the ship were still functioning normally. At near a mile in distance from the firing range, Ezekiel began to rendezvous with a slow stream of battered and otherwise desensitized naval men and women, all of which silently stumbled along the same route he desired to maneuver. The density of human presence increased exponentially with every step, as with the turn of his next corner but minutes later, Ezekiel had found himself faced with a metaphorical wall of human torsos. So densely packed were the bodies in the hallway, that were the area to begin flooding, the mass would seem to provide a rather effective means of damming the rising tide.

Ezekiel had turned shortly after inspection of the immobile structure of bone and flesh, intent of locating an alternate route, when he had come to realize that he had become a victim of the blob, as those who had been behind him now pressed him to the wall, making him but another brick in the construct. He had repeated at least a thousand pardons in attempts to escape, but had been denied the chance on every occasion, and within minutes, it had become evident that there was little hope of escape. The only tangible conclusion Ezekiel could come to was that he was to suffocate in the immobile crowd, as with the growth of the human presence had come the odor of that presence, made so unbearable by the sheer density and stagnation of the air around him, that Ezekiel felt himself rapidly begin to deteriorate. The sweltering heat of his position near the waist of the crowd, despite the nearby blizzard, tore the strength from his bones, while the constant tension of immobility and panic made his sense of humanity writhe with agony, weakening him further.

Despite his sickness for the moment, Ezekiel insisted upon finishing the soft half-loaf of bread he had been stimulating himself with since his having left the courtyard, and lost sight of Dagny. His thoughts now inevitably drifted to the memory of the blonde woman, and he began to encroach his thoughts with her possible whereabouts. Had she taken a different route then he to find the exit? Had she already been through the weapon screening, and was joined with the others on the outside of the ship? Had she even made it to the exit at all? At the question, he felt an uncharacteristic concern for her individual life. Not because she was human, but for purposes and reasons that Ezekiel vaguely grasped, though with a subtle phobia tried not to concern himself with. Despite her residence on one the Equis planets, Ezekiel was sure that she was in no way of Ilearsian descent, as it was an unspoken law that Ilearsians not migrate to the system for fear of pollution of the gene pool, and thus very few Ilearsians, if any, were ever known to live there. It was just as well nearly anywhere else in the Federation, as among his people, there was little desire to dilute the gene of the purpose-born warrior that they had inherited from their parents, and in cases of the desire, there it was written among the Odecks Sanci that inbreeding with any race outside of the purpose-born was a damnable sin, as it defied the direct will of God in his original intents in creating them.

Losing himself in the stupor of his own internal conflicts, Ezekiel had not recognized the gradual movement of the crowd, and came to realize this as a flash of steely air besieged his ankles, and scaled his legs to completely conform to his body, and begin the work of relieving the once chocking heat. As well with the divine wind came new oxygen-rich air that hung dryly in his lungs with an eager breath until forced out by the resulting coughing fit. Tones of relief were in the hacking though, as with them were the first of his reassurances that he was still alive. Recovering, he looked to the ceiling above the heads of the towering figures surrounding him, and noted with a contented frown that he was much nearer to the exit than he had realized. As ahead of him people moved forward and out into the blinding snow, Ezekiel came to face a comparatively large Terran man, clad in full marine armor, and giving him a suspicious glare. The face of the man was healthy, but seemed carved from the hardest stone, with rigid adjacent lines in place of smoothed features, but with excellent skin tone and texture. The near-bald head supported piercing eyes of green, and a naturally pursed mouth above a rigid chin. Much to Ezekiel's surprise and abrupt attention, the face spoke.

"You got any weapons on you, Ilearsian?" The Marine near spat. There was a subtle motion of his rifle in his hands, too discrete to be noted by the eyes, but spoke a clear message to the subconscious.

"No sir."

"You sure?"

"Yes"

"Knives?"

"No"

"Anything that you could use to ruin the day even more for someone in worse shape that you?"

"No sir."

The last question confused Ezekiel with the wording, but he answered upon his assumptions of its intent. With his final answer, the guard commanded him to raise his arms, and with a quick patting motion he examined anywhere he could have easily hidden a weapon. Upon the finish of his inspection, the guard stepped to the side, and commanded Ezekiel step forward and descend the ladder 'without managing to be in idiot' he had specified. Sure to oblige with all that he had been told, Ezekiel took care in gripping each rung of the cable netting that was substituting for a ladder, and climbed the some three yards to the snow before dropping himself off. He had not expected the depth of the snow, and with a sharp pain he landed sideways on his foot as it plummeted through the two-foot high layer of white powder to the icy ground beneath. The awkward landing forced him to stagger, and ultimately falter into the trench of trodden dirt formed by the legs who had gone before him. A strange sense came to him as he lifted himself to his feet, and commanded momentary attention. It was a puzzled feeling of aloof lightness, as though it had become somewhat easier to stand. The only possible conclusion was that the gravity of the planet they were standing on must have been smaller than that of the artificial gravity well on board the ship. It was but a small consolation to Ezekiel to come to this realization, as he at once concluded that a planet with lower gravity would undoubtedly produce weaker creatures. That was why Ilearsians were strong. Ilearsi was a planet of massive proportions, so gargantuan that few save the natives of the planet were capable of extended treks across open ground. This planet of meager size would be a stroll to encircle on foot. As a matter of fact, he now began to feel a sense of invigoration, that he could easily march for endless miles without so much as an ache.

Ezekiel trudged painfully on the trodden ground below him, feet heavy with discomfort, and heart aching with fatigue. It had become clear now that the meager half-loaf of bread had not been enough to stave off hunger for very long, and now drove him again to weakness. He drifted along the outer fringes of the moving mass of shuffling legs, and made an effort at observing the distance, awaiting the apparition ad approach of whatever may have promised to be their final destination. Augmenting the bitterness of monotony and pain that plagued him was a quality of distasteful embarrassment, as keeping close watch on his particular person were the eyes of another of the disgusting pony creatures clad in their armor, and deformed by the protruding horn. It seemed to have particularly singled him out for inspection, occasionally casting a glance to meet him, and then darting away in controlled discipline. Not once had it spoken to him, and he was nothing but pleased with that fact. His focus drifted from the distant fog of displaced snow to descend directly on the guard, a defiant gaze intended and desired. A sudden air of discomfort seemed to accompany the guard pony, as its observations of him became less frequent, despite there being little emotion displayed upon the face.

With disdain he regarded the very presence of the horse. What necessity was there in herding them like cattle on a simple march that had been commanded by an unknown voice from among their own ship? He felt a cold desire building within himself to assault the guard pony, just to provide example that they were of little use in the situation. Could not the beast see that just like him, he was of military heir as well, and knew full well the organization necessary of a proper march? It was more an insult than anything, it's presence there; patrolling them, guarding them to keep them from escaping. Ezekiel scoffed at the very thought of their short-shortsightedness. Escape to where? Beyond the distance of thirty yards was nothing but a purifying and obliterating fog from which there was likely no return. Did they honestly hold the fear that some among the well-disciplined and learned group of humans would try their luck at escape into so hostile and inhospitable a land? He wished to spit at their stupidity. He would show them that there was no need for a guard, no need for the ominous assumptions of their ignorance. He would stay perfectly in line, and march on the path he had been commanded. Think him an idiot, would they?

Captivity (Part I)

Ezekiel huddled close to his knees, his body buried in ankle-deep snow, and nerves numb with the cold. The march had stripped from him the final gasps of his strength, and for what it seemed, had done them all little to no good. The marchers had arrived at the noble walls of what Ezekiel assumed to be an immense fortress like a viscous stream of syrup, pouring into a puddle along its edge, and grouping into a large mass of depressive immobility. As the walls appeared in the distance, Ezekiel remembered having been astonished at their magnitude in the primary moments of revelation, but was quick to erase the thoughts from his mind. They were little when compared to the impregnable entanglements of impressive starbases that defensively besieged every Federation planet, and even further paled in comparison to the immaculate site of the walls of the fathomless Omak Military compound. He had seen the walls with his very eyes once, and considered these but a pile of brick by comparison.

That had happened what felt an eternity ago, the passage of time made insufferable by the suspense of waiting in stark hope of a gradually altering situation. The groups flooded in from afar at a slow but unfaltering rate, and seemed as though they would never end. Ezekiel became convinced that in the time he had sat and watched the crowds, he had vaguely observed the faces of at least three thousand individuals rise from the mists of the blizzard, and fall into place somewhere with him. It was less than half of all he had expected to be well of enough to march after the crash, and soon believed he would see a gradual shift of the marchers to become a long line of stretchers and vehicles for carrying the wounded. After all, it had been many hours since he had last left the ship; surely by now the rescue teams must have arrived to save the lives of the ones too hurt to walk, and give respectful burial to the dead, even if it was on unclean soil.

Ezekiel was once again reminded of an old pain, and clutched his stomach regretfully. With a white-elephant tone of sarcasm in his own thoughts, he began to wonder if the feeling of being starved was becoming a theme. The pain of the hunger had spread to his legs, and now contracted the muscles to drive them even closer into himself. Ezekiel bore himself through the agony of the moment, and waited for the hunger pang to pass. The further migration of the pain had inhibited his ability to breath momentarily, and had driven him to wrap his arms about his own legs. He began to bitterly resent their captors to an even larger degree with the onset of the revelation that he was, without a doubt, not the only one to feel the pain of hunger at this point in time. If he, one man among countless were so easily able to come to that conclusion, it must have been a given that the leaders of those pony creatures would know of their collective suffering. Why wouldn't they let them into the fort? At least allow them some reprise from the cold! He shuddered again; not from the cold, but at the very thought of just how many of living things of his same species now lie dead in a tomb of ice among the blob of condemnation. It would not serve them right to die at the hands of captivity, being so made of purpose that they would make a living of self sacrifice to protect the lands that they loved. Insulting. It was insulting just how openly they treated he and his fellow men as cattle! Ezekiel made a silent vow to himself that without exception, he would make good to kill the next pony he saw, in any way that he could manage. It was only justice.

A young mare struggled through the mounds of snow that packed itself tightly between the wreaking huddled bodies of the aliens that surrounded her. The snow had an odd color to it, one that she hadn't seen snow take before. In places, there looked to be a thin coating of pink dye that had been dropped into the snow, and let to soak in. It was the least she could say to lie to herself, and give indefinite conviction that what she saw in the snow was pink dye, and not in fact what she knew it in her heart to be. Each and every one of these aliens, no matter how much they smelled of things she dare not speak of in context, and no matter how ugly they did look as a general idea, they were all hurt, and without a thought in her mind, starved beyond anything she thought to even be right. It was why upon her saddle pack, she carried with her a basket of bread as she shuffled through the snow, and with gracious affection, handed out entire loaves of the stuff to those she felt looked to be in the worst shape. She had only been among them for minutes, and already by now her supplies were running low.

Lost in the sea of flat and consolidated faces, The young mare found herself intrigued by each individual. As alien as they were, they seemed to look so personable, their faces reminding her in a vague way of ponies she knew. She knew the expressions on their faces by heart, which exploded out her chest with panic at the understanding of those expressions. Countless looks of confusion and loss beckoned to her, and she answered each, as with all her might she concentrated on the motion of retrieving one of the bread loaves from her saddle pack, and providing it for one of the clearly starving creatures. Magic was relatively new to her, and she could already tell that she was not meant for it. Other looks were less clear than others, displaying a sense of self-loss, and almost looking to be unconscious. They didn't seem to see her, but in fact see through her, into a place even beyond the night stars. It was, after all, where they had come from, wasn't it? These were aliens, and aliens had to come from somewhere. Maybe the looks in the eyes of the ones she couldn't understand were looks reserved for creatures who had seen their own homes from beyond the sky. Maybe it was that they were seeing their homes?

The mare refused to let the question further provoke her, she carried on with observing the looks of the aliens, when her eyes came to fall upon a rather small alien looking directly at her. She at once recognized there to be something particularly wrong with this creature, and decided it to be in much worse condition than others she had seen. This one was smaller, almost her size, and shook like a leaf in winter. Because of its small size, she began to wonder if this was only a child. How terrible of her would it be to pass this one by? As she neared the seriously emaciated alien, she began to realize that it in fact was not a child, but instead a fully grown creature, just smaller than all the others. It shared obvious signs of age with many older ponies she knew, and almost looked to her to be middle aged. The appearance of being a child only came about when she noted the malnourished face and upper legs, which were so absent of strength that they looked to be like a child's.

As well different about this one was the way in which it looked at her. Despite its deformed and damaged appearance, it's face gave a look of being fully alive, and expressed nothing but what appeared to be ill-intent and anger. A sudden feeling of sorrow for the creature replaced her existing thoughts, as even before reaching it, she focused hard on the action of getting it some bread. As she neared, she noticed the expression on the alien's face darken further, and with a slow and weak motion, it reached out one of the disturbing overgrowths that grew on the ends of its upper legs toward her, seeming to strain itself with the action. The expression seemed uncharacteristic of the motion, but none the less quick to oblige the obvious hunger it looked so stricken with, she placed the loaf of bread in the grip of the creature, which clenched hard at the food, and slowly brought it back close to its face.

For a while it stared at her as she passed, and continued to keep its focused trained on her for as long as she could pick it out in the crowd. Every time she turned her head, it was glowering at her with the same stark bitterness that it had since her first meeting it. Maybe that was just the look of its face? She felt that even though she had never spoke to it, she knew it better than any of the others she had come across. Such a sad thing too; she had heard that they spoke Equestrian rather fluently. Maybe the guard was just trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

Rage enamored Ezekiel's heart as his eyes remained focused without distraction on the slowly fading figure of his target, and his conscience without mercy. In his hand he clenched the symbol of his captivity, and to his disgrace had already tasted of the bread. He had let the damned thing slip by him this time, but with more than merely subtle assurance, he knew he would not do it again. He only wondered how it had managed to go by him so fast before he could reach to grab hold of it to seek his revenge.

End Part I

The Quartz Distrct (Part II)

Begin Part II

A beaten dirt and gravel pathway to the tune of ten feet in width lie lazily between rows of piles of wooden and riveted tin sheets, and bordered between by two lanes of cobbled stones on either end. The colors had a rather uniform look in the low light of the deep night, lit by unexplained machinations that appeared as hovering white lights overhead some twelve feet, from the irregular mixture of the soil and stone chips of the road, to the sullen sight of the partially rotten wood strewn among the tin sheets. The street resembled the service road of a recycling center, with piles of forgotten and unwanted materials awaiting their turn at either the incinerator or recycling process. From somewhere in the distance, the offensive odor assumed to be the smell of the incinerator had traveled to this very street, and had made itself at home here.

This though, was no recycling center. This was the Quartz district of the Crystal Empire capital city, and the place of residence for some fifteen-thousand human beings for the past six months. What gave it away was the additional sight of shanty doors built into the piles of tin and wood, revealing them to be homes instead of what any sane person would call them, trash. As well were the sounds, sounds of unproductive yet pleasing activity, the sounds of men and women about the road in the gravel or on the cobbled stones. Among these men and women, particularly the men and particular the ones on the cobbled stones, was Ezekiel. In his arms, he held like a newborn a mess of wrapped and scrunched paper, and weaved hurriedly between, around and behind others of nameless destination. The left side of the paper wad hung lower than the right, but he knew no imminent threat. It was on account of his collar, which on the left side fell lower than the right. The memory of why this was was somewhat vague to him, but he remembered having broken that bone at some point in time, and never having been able to find someone to fix it. It healed as it was, and there was little more to it. It caused him no pain, and showed no signs of worsening, so what was he to bother with it? After all, it wasn't his fault, he was sure. Though his memory was failing him for the most part, he was sure it was the actions of his captors that brought the injury about.

None the less, he would not allow the bluntly offensive memory ruin the smile that spread across his face, which was only present due to its concealment in the dark. He would dare not show this smile during the day, in the fear that someone would see it, and know that he had something that they probably did not. This would, without exception, result in a confrontation, and him having to kill them. Of course he had not yet come to this situation, but he was sure that that would be the case if he were to smile in public during the day, namely while carrying about a pile of wrapped paper.

Between the areas illuminated by the mysterious floating lights, Ezekiel felt his way over the disorganized and randomized placement of cobbled stones, carefully counting his steps in estimation of where his own pile of tin and wood was sure to be. There was no specific order to the placement of the dwellings, but having known the route for so long, there was little fear in his heart of forgetting it. It was with assurance that he approached a cheet of tin separated from the others save the lifeline of two primitive hinges, which squealed a stuttered wheeze as he pulled it open with the heel of his foot, and slid himself through the doorway. He prided himself on not having to duck when entering, as the other members of the shanty did. It was merely one more reason for them to envy being of Ilearsian birth.

Regarding the other members of the dwelling, there were three, that he knew of, who shared the tin shack with him. All at the moment were residing in their usual seclusion from one another in aggressively conceived positions of sleep, meant only to look as though awake to defend at a moment's notice whatever items they personally held dear to them that night. Among examples of that night, Ezekiel noticed the unusually scrawny Rhodian man he recognized by the name of Salo sitting against the far wall of the shanty furthest from the fire. Scrawny was a relative term, as he was still significantly larger than Ezekiel in stature, but it mattered little, as next to any other Rhodian, Salo would be but a runt. Between his crossed arms, Salo clutched what Ezekiel guessed to be a thatch weave sack. A head hung overhead of the scene, clearly in sound if uncomfortable sleep despite the intended look of light, thoughtful rest. Ezekiel again found himself uncannily drawn to realize that Salo, and other people for that matter, were much easier to understand when not speaking.

Perhaps it was the silence that gave him room to think and comprehend their actions, he reasoned. This theory was given evidence by the fact that the shanty was approaching silence, the only sound to penetrate the air being the crackling of the always present fire at the center of the room. The flames danced in unfamiliar and unpredictable patterns, yet as a whole, remained rather consistent in the overall breadth and width of the fire. Ezekiel now found himself in a sitting position, unaware of how he had come to be there but uncaring, as he was mesmerized by the fire. The occasional lick of a striving tongue of flame would tear away from the rest, and seek its freedom in the open sky above to join the smoke it gave off. It was with silent sudden suspense that Ezekiel cheered for these occasional brave souls that dared to insult the others with its ability and destiny to climb higher into the night. With each, he wished in silence that one of the tongues of flame would accomplish its goal, and rise eternally into the night sky, and that along with it would be drug the whole of the other flames, soaring all the way into the night, and reaching all the way perhaps back to Ilearsi, and speaking to the people of the men and women that lived trapped on a planet where they were kept as exotic creatures from another world, to be shown off by the citizens of its people to those who had not yet seen them before, and bragged over as though in possession of them! And it would tell them where to find this planet, and at the speed of human might the armies of Ilearsi would tear through space and time to free their captive brethren, and destroy the menace that fooled itself into believing it owned the planet. The feeling at the sight of a thousand Vindicator battlecruisers and the behemoth transports they would escort darkening the skies sent a shudder of unmatched ecstasy through every of Ezekiel's cells.

But it was not to be. Every lick of flame rose with all its might, but found it could go no further, finding that it needed the life blood of its fuel to keep it alive. With the death of the flames who tried to escape, so too did die Ezekiel's dreams of freedom, and the elation of his immaculate vision. The latter realization drew Ezekiel to realize that the flame needed more fuel, and with a strained lean to his right, he retrieved an old-cut of a log, and rolled it gently into the fire, following it with three more from the pile. It was an unspoken rule within the shanty that the fire was to never die out, mutually understood between the four men within its cramped confinement, who rarely if ever spoke. At least it was In Ezekiel's mind. He was not at the shanty during the day, and never did know what happened to the fire while he was away. Was it let to die? to burn out until the darkness descended again? He dared not ask the question. The fire had given too much to him to think that it died every day with the rising of the sun. Also never to be questioned was where the wood for the fire came from. Ezekiel had seen no forests in his wanderings about the oasis in the frozen land, and doubted even more that anything green resided beyond the unexplained barrier of climate that great walls seemed to create. Yet, every night when he returned, the pile of logs was full, and the flame very much alive, and still striving to save them all from imprisonment.

Another strange feeling overcame Ezekiel as he lay on the ground the wrapped up pile of paper. The paper contained the fruits of the day's expedition into the familiar unknown of the city's streets, along with the fruits of his five most recent ventures into that unknown for the past five days. Little comprised the collection, a few coins of which he guessed to be money, every bit of it stolen, a small ball of a strange sort and blue hue, also stolen, a kitchen knife with a custom sharpened blade courtesy of himself, also stolen, and as of today, a small white photograph almost lost among the pieces of the wrapping. It was not stolen, only paid for with much of the stolen coins Ezekiel had managed to aquire. He assumed that he had paid handsomely for the photograph, as reflected by the astonished expression of glad amusement the pony who owned the camera gave him at the sight of the handful of money. The trade was almost instantaneous, and Ezekiel would have felt cheated, if not for the content of the photo, which he now studied in enamored detail. Traditional photography existed among the Federation, but was very often overshadowed by the ease and significantly more efficient and effective results of computerized hologram phasing. This photo was not holographically transposed, but appeared on the piece of laminated paper in a process the pony whimsically described as 'magic' to Ezekiel when he asked how it operated. He had smiled, though he suspected the pony of the deceit of sarcasm. But he did not care, for he knew he had to have the photo once he caught a glimpse of what its obvious subject was, and would have paid any price or any braved any deceit to have it.

Ezekiel's finger brushed gently over the spot on the photo that captured the blonde head of an Equis woman he knew only as Dagny.