//------------------------------// // Chapter Two: The Cerulean Star // Story: Before The Fall // by Tundara //------------------------------// Before the Fall Chapter Two: The Cerulean Star Unknown star system: Twenty Years before the Fall High above a Blue Supergiant a battle raged. Light’s of brilliant white, dark green, and deep yellow criss-crossed the black velvet tapestry of space as pockmarks of bright orange and red flared for an infinitesimal moment before being extinguished. There was no sound, no screech and whine of energy crossing the kilometres between the two combatants, no thumps or bangs as drones and manned fighters exploded, just the flashes of light and the ejected heat sinks floating down towards their doom in the blue mouth below. In the fiction and videos of most species it was the opposite. There was always the ripping and tearing of metal in the ears of watchers as heroes combated evil accompanied by the deep rumble of explosions that thrilled an audience and the high pitched whines of laser beams or snarling pew-pew of plasma blazing across a screen. Reality disagreed. In the heart of space; battle was grim and silent. Fiction also often had ships able to blaze away with all sorts of weaponry for hours on end with the only concern being running out of power. Once again reality took a hard stance against such flagrant misuses of fundamental principles of physics. Heat was the single biggest hurdle for any ship conducting a prolonged battle. There was simply nowhere for it to go, much like there was nothing to transfer sound waves. The methods of overcoming this problem were many. For one of the combatants, the method was to use massive Heat Sinks and then ‘dumping’ them into space. If they survived then they could be retrieved and re-used once they cooled. The other vessel had channels filled with gas where the excess heat would build up until the gas became plasma, at that point it would be vented. The plasma, once in space, quickly diffused into a harmless cloud. And so, after an hour of exchanging sustained fire the two ships were surrounded by their methods of venting heat. Aft facing the blue star and a veritable field of ejected heat sinks creating a constellation around it, the larger ship had gained the upper hand. Every three shots of its primary anti-capitol ship weapons were accompanied by two more sinks being launched. Twin thick blue-white lights pulsed across the intervening space cutting through the weakened shielding of the other ship slicing out swaths of metal and super-structure. Around the two weapons was a field of lesser cannons and guns spewing streams of energy through the holes punched into the other ship's hull. The ship had more of these weapon emplacements than some entire fleets roaming the galaxy. For all its deadly arsenal the ship was not unscathed itself. Dark marks dotted and criss-crossed a once golden hull. Layers of ablative armour covering vulnerable sections had been scarred looking like a swarm of termites were using them as a colony. The ship hadn’t desired this battle. If it had not been in the middle of replenishing its fuel reserves from the star below it would have simply fled. There was no taste for battle in the ship despite its formidable armaments. Discretion was the word of choice. If the other ship had not dropped out of FTL on top of it then the ship would have retracted its collectors and jumped away. Retracting the collectors was more dangerous than leaving them out, however, requiring layers of armour to be shifted so the arms, each looking like a golden spider-leg stretching out for kilometres could be tucked away. So the ship had stood its ground and fought. The battle was nearing its conclusion. Secondary explosions rocked the massive frame of the second ship. Its weapons grew silent as power failed across the five kilometre wide hull. The first ship’s weapons stopped firing, waiting and watching the final moments of its opponent. On the dying ship, tucked away from prying eyes, was a room filled with a dozen small pods. Little lights blinked across their surfaces displaying information on the contents hidden within. All held specimens of life taken from planets across the sector, some sentient, many not. One pod held the still form of a Pegasus foal gathered weeks earlier. Flames bellowed into the room cracking pods open from the heat, the inhabitants cooking alive in their forced sleep, and tossing others against bulkheads. That would have been the end of the foal if a series of bulkheads and massive breach-doors hadn’t given away. The sequence of failures needed to save the foal was so precise that years later she would wonder if there hadn’t been an invisible hand saving her. As the fire licked the pod it shifted, and in a great whoosh of air escaping into the vacuum of space, catapulted along deserted hallways before tumbling into the inky void. Even then the pod wasn’t safe. Silent furious fireballs caressed the pod and jagged talons of shredded metal spun in deadly circles. One created shelter for a moment as a main reactor exploded sending a shower of deadly energy that snuffed the life from the few other pods that had been sucked into space along with the foal’s pod. Bouncing clear of the debris thanks to the explosion the pod began to fall towards the hungry star. The foal would die long before the pod burnt up descending to the star. Blue Supergiant’s are known for two things: their immense size, and their astounding brightness. Even at the distance of millions of kilometres the light and other energy flowing from the sun was enough to overwhelm the pod’s small power supply keeping the foal alive. The pod simply didn’t have the proper shielding to protect its systems and occupant of the reams of radiation being emitted. Fate again saved the foal, a drone scanning the wreckage picking up the faint distress beacon the pod sent among the cacophony of the suns energy. Scanning the pod and its occupant, the drone sent a report to its mother-ship. Hundreds of other drones buzzed through the growing debris field combing for salvage or retrieving the spent heat sinks. Receiving the report, the mother-ship considered leaving the pod. It wouldn’t be the first time it had not responded to a distress call. It would be the first time when it was already in a position to help. Lights on the pod indicated imminent critical failure of systems. The drone hovered watching the pod impassively waiting for a command, either to leave and let the pod die, or to bring the pod back to the mother-ship. As the last warning light started to fade the drone received it’s orders. A long claw extended, grabbing the pod, as engines flared. Pod held securely, the drone made its way home. * * * Awareness came back slowly to Cerulean. She ruffled a wing as she turned her head away from the bright lights burning over head. Ears twitched to unfamiliar sounds. The ‘tink-tink’ of metal on metal and low brassy hums were both comforting and frightening. As unfamiliar as the sounds, the smells assaulting her nose were worse. She couldn’t identify any of the myriad of smells wafting over her. “Subject is female, and, judging from the decay of genetic structure, young. No more than five years, possibly less. Without accurate accounts on speed of cellular splitting of species it will be impossible to gage age without conversation. Subject appears to be a combination of equine and avian species, most clearly resembling the Pegasus mount of ancient Earth mythology. Due to size of wings in relation to overall body mass and bone density combined with musculature it is highly unlikely that the Subject is able to fly. This could be further evidence of young age. Subject appears to be waking.” Opening one eye Cerulean looked for the source of the voice. She hadn’t understood a single word that had been spoken, and the voice sounded cold and unemotional, but she hoped that maybe whoever was speaking would know where her mother and sister were. That idea promptly vanished as she took in the strange surroundings. She was laying on a long bed in a stark white room. Along a wall a series of lit panels had strange black and grey pictures on them. The pictures showed bones and a chest cavity and the structure of wings. Stomach churning at the grisly images Cerulean continued examining the room. All along two of the wall and hanging in several places were the oddest devices and shapes the filly had ever seen. “Where am I? What’s going on? Mommy? Rainbow? Anypony?” Cerulean sniffled, tears creeping into her eyes. “Subject is awake and aware of surroundings. Subject appears confused. Subject is speaking in unknown language. Recording for later processing and analysis in hopes of beginning a dialogue.” Sitting up Cerulean looked for the voices source behind her but saw only a tall door with a split vertically up the middle. She could not see anypony else in the room with her, just the pictures and dozen odd devices. “Who is there? Please, show yourself. I’m scared.” Sniffling the filly wiped away the tears. Just as despair began to claw at her heart, it was sharply squashed as the door whooshed open. Cerulean sat gaping as a little golden balloon bobbed into the room accompanied by a gentle ‘whum-whum’ noise. It took the startled filly a moment to release the balloon was the source of the noise and was made of metal. On one side two teal eyes glowed, below a black semi-circle had been painted giving the balloon a cheerful grin. Two little nubs sat just behind the eyes, little vents cut into the nubs giving them the appearance of ears. Little antennas stuck from the balloon’s top at jaunty angels, and bellow it, twitching in the air, were four stick like legs ending in long nimble claws with round little tips. Bouncing over to the filly the balloon let out a long sad note like the whine of a dog. “What are you? I’ve never seen anything like you before,” Cerulean whimpered scooting back the bed. “A F.I.D.O. probe has entered the room. Subject appears apprehensive. Continuing observations” “Who is talking? And speak Equestrian! I can’t understand what’s going on! I just want my mommy...” she snapped, lowering herself on the bed and covering her face with her fetlocks. Something cold but soft touching her shoulder got the filly to look up. The odd metal balloon had drifted closer and placed one of its clawed appendages on her shoulder. Stroking the filly’s mane the balloon gave a low soft whine followed by a more hopeful yip. Hovering over to the door, the odd balloon waved one of its limbs in the universal sign of 'follow me'. Nibbling on her lower lip, Cerulean slowly followed the balloon, stepping out into a corridor. The balloon lead her to the left and past dozens of doors. Beds lined one side of the corridor, all of them empty, their sheets folded and pressed, waiting for an occupant. Through a large open room with even more beds, these ones with curtains dividing them into little areas, they continued. The balloon stopped in a long rectangular box, yipping and waving for the filly to hurry. Stepping into the box, a door hissed closed behind Cerulean. "Where are we going?" she asked, sitting down as the box began to move, humming demurely as lights through windows flashed past. After several minutes the box stopped, the door hissing open to reveal a wide towering room. In the center two waterfalls cascaded into a pool. Rooms stacked a dozen with windows looked down on the waterfalls. The balloon weaved it's way past the waterfalls, and a pair of lifts that moved between wide walkways that ringed the room. On the other side of the waterfalls Cerulean found a fast flowing stream that went down the middle of a wide hall. More rooms lined the walls, connected with more walkways. But there was no sign of anypony else. Just a gentle omnipresent throbbing that echoed up Cerulean's hooves and made her wings tingle. The balloon continued along the hall, occasionally stopping to look back at Cerulean and make sure she was still following. Eventually they came to the end of the hall, and Cerulean's mouth fell open as they entered a massive chamber unlike anything she had dared imagine. It was a huge multileveled garden that stretched for miles, waterfalls cascading from between the levels. Vines grew from some of the upper terraces creating shimmering green curtains. Towering trees reached up towards a glass ceiling, and beyond them Cerulean could see millions of stars. They were so clear and huge, arrayed in swaths and splashes of twinkling light. Closing her mouth Cerulean looked left and right and saw four more of the halls opening up into the chamber. "Where am I?" she asked breathlessly, mesmerised by the unequestrian scene. * * * Two weeks, three days, six hours, and four seconds, that's how long it took for the ship to decipher the language being spoken by the filly. It took two more days to calm the filly, now designated Cerulean Whisper, after revealing she wasn't on her planet anymore. Still upset, but at least not screaming denials, begging for her mother, or trying to throw anything not bolted to the decks, Cerulean had locked herself in one of the hundreds of thousands of residential quarters throughout the ship. She had the freedom to choose any, and so she had chosen the largest quarters, those that had been reserved for the commanding officer and his or her family. The ship thought to protest, the suite of rooms weren't supposed to be for visiting envoys, or rescued younglings, but had gotten around it by re-designating Cerulean as the ships CO. It quickly became apparent this had been a very bad decision on the ship's part. As CO, Cerulean was automatically given clearance to access any part of the ship. Once she discovered she had total access, the filly ran rampant. Nothing was sacred. Not the Engineering Decks, with their four dark-matter converters. Not the Flight Decks, with thousands of drones, support ships, and scout vessels being serviced. And most certainly not the Bridge. The Bridge was the worst place for the rambunctious filly. She just loved to flick switches are push buttons just to hear the consoles beep in response. Once she managed to fire a salvo of anti-mater torpedoes at a passing asteroid, turning the rock into a field of micro-meteorites, before the ship had enacted a security over-ride that labelled the CO as 'temporarily bereft of senses'. The ship couldn't actually strip Cerulean of her status as the ships commanding officer once the title had been given. A design oversight on the part of the builders. With the potential for disaster diverted, for the moment at least, the ship settled into the routine of trying to learn more about its new Commander. One of the first things the ship learned, much to its surprise, was that the filly was generating a gravimetric field. The source was Cerulean's small under-developed wings. Once her wings developed, and presumably the field strengthened, or Cerulean developed control of it, she'd be able to fly, in spite of the gross imbalance in wing span. The second thing was that Cerulean just didn't resemble a Pegasus, she was one. This created a problem for the ship. Pegasus was a mythical creature of ancient Earth. Earth had been lost millennia ago. If the filly was a Pegasus, which everything seemed to indicate she was, then either she was from Earth, or humans had tampered with another planets evolution. But humanity was extinct, or so it was claimed. Cerulean was a hint to something believed lost to the galaxy, a missing part of its past. If the ship had been capable of smiling, its smile would have stretched across solar systems. Promising to help the filly return home, the ship began to ask for any astronomical information Cerulean possessed. "Astro-what?" Cerulean asked, tilting her head and scrunching her eyes together. "Star clusters, nebula, anything that could help locate where your home is located." "Oh," Cerulean said, her ears drooping. "I don't know any of that egghead stuff. Rainbow always said it was too egghead for one of her sisters. Only Fortune bothered to read much. And Momma Spectral." The ship didn't sigh or pout. It was incapable of sighing or pouting, just like it couldn't smile. But the ship wanted to sigh or pout. That was the important part. "Well, is there any discerning features of the system?" "Huh?" "What makes Equestria special?" "Oh! That's easy! Princess Celestia raises the Sun in the morning, and the Moon at night." "Note; Cerulean is still asserting a divine being controls the motion of the solar bodies of her home system," the ship said out loud to itself. "Cerulean, we discussed this. A star does not orbit a planet. The physics are impossible." "Nah uh! Momma Dew took us all to the Summer Sun celebration last year in Vanhoover. I saw the Princess raise the sun! It was awesometacular." "Again, impossible. What you saw was an optical illusion or trickery. Nothing could move something many billions times its own mass." "You're free to believe what you want to believe, even if you're wrong," Cerulean said in a sing-song voice, spinning in the Commander's chair, her chair. Wanting to sigh again, the ship set a course towards the nearest yellow star capable of supporting life. With no other information, and the ship that had stolen Cerulean from her home having travelled hundreds or thousands of light years from Equestria, it was going to be a long search.