Subdivisions

                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."