Subdivisions

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?