Subdivisions

                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.