Subdivisions

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?