Patient Zero

Chapter 9: 'Homecoming' (3846 words)

Halycen noticed the Aælfir at the center of the room immediately; even if she hadn't been looking for the Aelfr she imagined her eyes would have been drawn to him first. His suit of armour was burnished in a vibrant red, much brighter than the uniform dull-burgundy of the soldiers surrounding him. Along both the suit's recesses and joints ran lines of brilliant silver, and on his chest stood a similarly-silver crescent, the sigil of the Ulmadr, but the rest of the suit was unadorned and lacking in excess. He stood apart from the roughly fifty soldiers in the room nearby, taller than all but one or two of the Aælfir; where the soldiers were tearing their way through the hall's storage crates, cages, and containers, organising the various found salvage into piles by purpose, the Aelfr simply watched over them at a distance, surveying their efforts and barking occasional corrections. Even the few power-armour clad warriors who were working in his vicinity were deferential; they maintained a respectful distance, avoiding eye contact until spoken to, and waited to be acknowledged before speaking. The Patriarch cut a singular and memorable figure, his presence loud even before he spoke.

A floating sphere hung close to the hall's ceiling, a column of disturbed air pulsating and humming from just beneath the sphere until the floor some forty feet beneath it; the soldiers were making sure to stay clear of the whispering column, and a black mark marred the floor where the semi-invisible pillar came into contact with it. Suspended under its own power the droplight was a beacon for the rest of the room, a piece of salvaged tech that illuminated the space and let Halycen see everywhere in clear detail. The hall was the largest chamber on the Dwurkn frigate that she had seen, except perhaps for the nest of corridors where the home-ship had made its boarding breach, and Halycen had plenty of time to take stock of the room as the Ulmadr Advance marched towards her uncle.

The room's walls, floor, and ceiling, were carved from a smooth white marble, charcoal lines of a second stone dividing it into four distinct quadrants. What few imperfections tarnished the otherwise-flawless alabaster surfaces were of Aælfir making, bullet marks and careless chipping; even as Halycen passed by him a young Aelfr threw a polymer-reinforced crate a little too forcibly and struck one of the hall's support pillars, causing a cloud of dust and rock chippings to burst out. The soldiers in the room were mostly without exospheric masks or helmets, with disproportionately small heads poking out of their powerfully-built war suits, in contrast to the Ulmadr Advance. Each member of the Advance, save for Sera Odill, remaining helmeted even in the presence of their allies.

Halycen glanced toward Ardenfyrn, the scout-ranger who had kept a grip on her arm throughout their march. Ardenfyrn's helmet was almost entirely comprised of a dark visor with a thin metillion frame locking it to her suit, but Halycen could discern nothing of her companion's face; even as the glare from the hovering droplight caught the visor Halycen saw only her own reflection. As she looked toward the ranger Halycen glimpsed the middle of the hall, a grisly arrangement standing proudly in the midst of it; a stack of Dwurkn bodies, perhaps twenty or more, piled at least as tall as Halycen herself. The bodies ranged from armoured warrior Dwurkn to beasts as naked and fur-coated as the monster that had attacked her and Vievel. One particular body, on the edge of the stack that faced her, was still possessed of a wicked expression, its face forever warped in an open-eyed grin of hysterical fury.

Halycen slowed as she examined the Dwurkn bodies. The ranger Ardenfyrn tugged at her wrist and spurred her forward, threatening to drag her off of her feet with the force of it. The sharp tugs were jarring, and Halycen shot a sour glare at her in response. For her part Ardenfyrn had actually been kind and briefly talkative towards Halycen during their march, even offering to share from her drybread and water pills, but now the Aelfi scout had fallen as silent as the rest of the Advance and she faced forward unflinchingly, staring at the group ahead of them. As they drew closer to the Patriarch they passed by two younger members of the war-company, greenhorn squires who stopped organising a nearby Dwurka mess-cage so they could gawp at the passing group of rangers.