The Fallen

 

Hundreds upon hundreds filed placidly into the arena. Orderly rows appeared spontaneously, allowing eventual entrance and egress, once individual placement has been arranged.

Stold clutched his sleeping roll to his chest. He watched, from his location close to the center of this massive building, attempting to count all those that filed in. Coarse, alien carpeting under his feet.

Grass. He's heard the word somewhere.

Green. Green as blood.

A sea of blood.

How did the humans expect anyone to sleep on miniscule stalagmites of blood?

His heart-rate increased ten percent.

So many of his people around him. So many, he could no longer see the entrances to count the multitude.

He should be comforted by their presence. By so many still alive. Hearts beating. Lungs respirating. Stomachs digesting.

Instead...

Instead, he only saw the blank faces of strangers. One indistinguishable from another.

Felt the utter desolation in his mind where his mother, his father, his sister should be.

No matter the distance, the time of day, that bond held a weight within in. A constant tingle in his mind, alongside the operation of his organs. Just as vital. Just as necessary for life.

Blind eyes gazed into nothingness around him.

A deep reverberation shook the building. A thrumming, cranking sound, subsonic and tactile through his very feet. Desturbingly, immediately, familiar.

As one, all of the Vulcans in the stadium stopped. Hands untying knots on sleeping rolls. Tucking away meal cards. Straightening robes. Inventorying the strange objects in the toiletry bag.

It is happening again.

For several long, horrible microseconds, Stold fought to keep his heart pumping blood.

A bone shattering crack, then a rusty creak, drew thousands of eyes upward.

The roof, a great concave surface, suddenly split above them, revealing the bright blue sky he'd escaped two point five hours ago.

He watched as the roof retreated. Fascination taking over as he watched the surface, assumed solid, folded in the stiff manner of durable canvas between sturdy struts that stretched the width of the building.

Bright light from the local star, Sol, swept over the assembling crowd. Offering its own slight warmth.

Stold found his eyes sliding closed, his face upturned towards that star; absorbing as much of that radiant energy as he could.

Cautious talking broke out around him once the roof finished its repositioning.

"Why would the humans do such a thing?" Sufi asked.

"It is a logical use of natural light," Stold replied, not opening his eyes.

"No... I meant... why move it while we are in here."

"No doubt they assumed we would wish additional light to get settled."

Stold did not mention that there was no way for the humans to know that such a sound, such a vibration, would send terror running through their blood.

A good Vulcan did not feel terror.

A good Vulcan would not startle like a ritibird at a gust of wind, and duck it's head in the sand to hide.

The silent response of the multitude said enough.