MISSION LOG – SOL 360
Hello to the people of Earth from the crew of the Pony spaceship Friendship. (That’s not quite the right translation of the ship name, but it’s close enough.)
We asked Mark to let us write today’s log entry, because for us today is a special day. One year ago today we left our homeworld for what we thought was a five-day mission. One year ago tomorrow, of course, that plan crashed along with our ship.
Today we received a special message from the princess who rules the land most of us come from. We can’t give a precise translation of her name, so we’re going to call her “Celestia” here. This is the message, in full:
“Greetings from Ponyland. One year ago you went forth to expand the frontiers of all the speaking peoples of the world. Through a series of unforeseeable circumstances you ended up stranded farther from home than any of us can imagine. Today we send you our warmest hopes and wishes that you will soon return to us.
“Your courage and determination have inspired millions around the world. Despite being stranded on a hostile and lifeless planet, through the power of friendship you have not only survived but thrived. You have made contact with a new speaking race- more than made contact, made friends. Together you have defied the odds and found solutions to one problem after another. Your heroism proves to two worlds that nothing is impossible.
“And now two worlds are reaching out to you to bring you home. Rest assured that there will be no second anniversary of this date. One year from now you will be safe at home, receiving the honors you deserve. Until then, be safe, and know that you are loved.
“Yours very truly, Princess Celestia.”
We are honored by Celestia’s words, but we want to make it clear: we are not heroes. We did not sign up to spend a year from home. We never imagined that we would be here, in a place where the physical laws we took for granted are different and where life cannot exist without artificial habitats or suits.
This is not what we wanted.
We want to go home. We want to eat more than one kind of food. We want to go outside without helmets. We want to hear birds and animals. We want to sleep in proper beds in proper gravity without wondering if the thin shell that keeps the air in might rupture while we sleep.
We are not heroes. We are three ponies, a dragon and a changeling, a very long way away from home. We are tired, bored, and afraid.
We are very lucky that our ship crashed so close to a real hero- someone who spent years training to spend a year away from home, specifically to survive on this planet. Like us, he has been stranded here. He has shared his shelter, his food, his tools, and his knowledge with us, when he didn’t have to.
And now his crew is coming back to get us. Five people who volunteered to spend as much as a year and a half more away from their homes and families, facing the dangers of space, just to rescue the six of us.
They are the real heroes- the people of the Ares III mission. They are doing things no one else could. We, on the other hoof, are just surviving- as anyone else would do their best to, in our position.
Whoever you are reading this, a year or a century from now, please remember that we were just ordinary people. The real heroes are those who go into danger deliberately- and if we make it home, it will be thanks to them.
Cherry Berry, earth pony, mission commander
Starlight Glimmer, unicorn, mission scientist
Dragonfly, changeling, mission engineer
Fireball, dragon, mission EVA
Spitfire, pegasus, mission pilot
MISSION LOG – SOL 360 (2)
They wouldn’t let me read the log entry until they saved it, and I still don’t know how to edit or delete entries, so I guess I’ll just have to set the record straight.
I’ve mentioned all of this before, but it merits a reminder.
Cherry Berry has walked on two worlds other than her homeworld- three, now, counting Mars. She has double-digit launches and landings under her belt. In the early sols of our being stranded, she held her crew together and kept them focused on the immediate goal of survival. During moments when we all almost died, her cool head and focus saved lives. She is a hero.
Starlight Glimmer has repeatedly pushed herself to the point of collapse to make our continued survival possible. She learned English and then helped teach it to the others so that we could cooperate more closely. Her magic and her designs make our life here possible. She is a hero.
Dragonfly likewise risked her own life and health to save my life. Her knowledge of her ship’s systems comes from years of training and dedication. She works harder than any of us to keep morale up and to prevent bickering and fighting among us, despite the intense stress we’re all under. She is a hero.
Fireball never complains about hard work. His strength allowed us to accomplish the impossible by salvaging the crashed ship. Despite being well aware of his limitations, he is always the first to offer help with anything he’s competent to handle. He is a hero.
And Spitfire, despite having never been in space before, has grown into duties which were completely alien to her before their flight. She’s always alert for danger or for signs of sickness or injury. She constantly works hard, no matter how difficult she finds it, to expand her skills and make herself more useful to the crew. She is a hero.
And I’m really flattered that they call me a hero, but I don’t think of it that way. I trained for years to do a job. I came here to do the job. And the job turned lethal, and yet by a fluke I didn’t actually die. And for all the time since, I’ve persistently not died. That’s all. That doesn’t feel like heroism to me. Billions of people on Earth fail to die every day.
Yes, life on Mars is hard. But I came here with the resources of over a dozen nations backing me and my five crewmates. When they escaped, I was left with a secure shelter, a surplus of food, and plenty of tools and spare equipment that could be used to extend my lifespan. The ponies, on the other hand, landed with less than two months of food, a few tools, and practically no spares of anything, almost totally cut off from their home.
Sure, we worked together to survive. But they all provided their fair share of ideas, work, and goodwill. And I’m not gonna let them be bashful about it.
By the way, today was pretty much wasted. That message from their princess left everybody blue. (It also absolutely soaked the Hab soil, so we spent a lot of time getting rid of the excess water. Those are the limitations of sending long speeches by a telegraph that runs on water.) Hopefully tomorrow we all get over our homesickness and guilt and get back to our hard and rigorous schedule of wasting time until the last hay harvest.
We’ve got tons of nothing to do and not much time left to do it.