//------------------------------// // 14 - Dead Calm // Story: The Black Between the Stars // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// After what felt like too long, Applejack’s motion finally ceased as she reached Golden Oaks once more. She settled her hooves on the shell of the station and looked… Well, “up” meant nothing in space. She looked “up” relative to the station’s gravity, forwards relative to herself. Applejack hated zero-G. She couldn’t see much. Nothing was moving that shouldn’t. A vast metal plane stretched ahead of her, shiny and flat. Some lights, apparently meant to help ponies find their way during EVAs, winked across its surface, but if they said anything, she couldn’t see. She took a step forward for a better look. Forward and up, technically, since the force of her step was just enough to lift her off the plate. Applejack hated hated zero-G. And so, in spite of the wide, flat surface before her that was obviously meant to be walked upon, Applejack used her maneuvering jets to scoot forward, barely a foot away from the panel. Part of her felt like at any moment, she was going to suddenly spin out of control and slam into the station, splattering nicely across several dozen square yards. But she never did. Of course she didn’t; physics said she couldn’t. Then again, physics also said she was falling, the jerk. Applejack hated hated hated zero-G. Some of the lights came into view beneath her; she jetted to a stop a few feet above them. Yes, they were signs, as well as light trails to follow. Arboretum Maintenance and Shuttle Bay were both pointing upwards, the direction she was already going. Perfect. But rather than continuing forward, Applejack put her feet on the panel, just to get something solid underneath her hooves again, however briefly. She couldn’t help herself; it’d stop her stomach turning over so much. She closed her eyes to shut out the bottomless pit surrounding her, did her best to ignore the way she was still technically falling, and just breathed. Unfortunately, the air in her suit was stale and recycled. Even the most sterile parts of Golden Oaks had something interesting to their air. The smell of chemicals, maybe. It was hard to relax between that and the strange vibrations running through the “ground”. Maybe that was a good thing, though, since relaxing would’ve meant- Wait. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at her hooves. There should’ve been barely any vibrations out here. Nothing was hitting the station to make them. Nothing except… Applejack gave her jets another boost. So, first destination: balcony or stranded pony? The inter-suit radio signals didn’t have much range without the modems and antennas of Golden Oaks, so Trixie had said she and Blueblood would head for a certain balcony off the arboretum. Applejack knew the one: a big, almost library-like room meant for relaxation away from the sounds and lights of the game room. It was stocked with books (paper books, even, thanks to a generous donation from Princess Twilight) and had plenty of couches to sit in. She’d never spent much time in it, thanks to the massive picture window that looked out at space. But she figured she could find it out here. But there was also that pony, not far from the shuttle bay. Maybe she should find them first? They might be in trouble; what were they even doing out here, anyway? And why hadn’t they gone back in? Not to mention the monster prowling around the outside. It didn’t take Applejack long to decide: the pony. This whole situation had gone to Tartarus on a tanning rack, and she’d be damned if she didn’t do her best to save everypony she could. She’d protected Blueblood, hadn’t she? If they were okay, great. If they weren’t okay, she’d get them to safety somehow. If she couldn’t get them to safety because of this or that issue, she’d find a way to fix that issue. Maybe she could even get Trixie’s help somehow. She cleared her throat. “Hey,” Applejack said to her mic, hoping the pony was listening. “You still with me?” The pony on the other end coughed. “Al**ough, I *till am *angin* on,” she said weakly, “I *ear that w*ll not las* for lon*.” Her signal was clearer than before, but that’d been a low bar to clear. And was it just Applejack, or was the pony rhyming? With an unusual accent, too. Recognition hit: this must be Zecora. She was a zebra, one of the arcane chemists, and had a tic of rhyming most everything. Distracting at first, but once you got used to it, her voice was almost musical. And, her being an immigrant from Zebrabwe, the accent fit. “Zecora, right? What’s wrong? Maybe I can help. I, uh, didn’t catch it all before.” “The airlo**s all are shut *nd closed. There is a lockdown, I s*ppose. Not one thing will make those doo*s part, and so I wait here in **e dark.” The airlocks were shut? Why? What would that- To keep anything from escaping and leaving the station, maybe. At least now, the changelings would have trouble getting anywhere besides Golden Oaks. Maybe. But the “why” didn’t really matter. The airlocks were closed, and that was what mattered. Trixie could probably get them open, at least. “Listen,” said Applejack. “I’m comin’ t’getcha, give you a little help. You’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” Zecora sighed. “Well, *ou are quite the o*timist. I’d lo*e it, though, if you’d assi*t.” The shuttle bay was a big, blocky section of Golden Oaks with any docked shuttles hanging off of it. At the moment, the only shuttles there were Twilight’s Semi-Sacred Geometry and the exploded remains of the large crew transport ship. Yeah, no way off the station that way. Applejack pulled her way along the station and found the crew airlock in a small nook off to one side. A suited figure was floating freely, aimlessly inside, its helmet not looking at anything. Applejack cleared her throat. “Hey. Zecora?” The figure twisted and turned to face Applejack. Yes, it was indeed Zecora; there were no other zebras on board Golden Oaks. Even through her helmet, she looked tired and ragged, with puffy eyes, and her smile was weak. But she was still smiling. “Are you my savior? Maybe not. At least alone I shall not rot.” Was Zecora really that pessimistic or was she just keeping up the rhymes? “C’mon, now, don’t be like that,” said Applejack. “Y’still got air, don’tcha?” A limp, almost bitter laugh. “ ’Twas hours ago I fled out here,” Zecora said, “for in my panic and my fear, I thought the changelings wouldn’t follow. A thought that now seems oh, so hollow. My oxygen is dropping fast and each new breath could be my last.” Hours? Most oxygen tanks on the station didn’t have enough air to last for hours. Even if Zecora had had a full tank when she left, assuming she wasn’t exaggerating, she’d be on her last legs right about now. As if knowing what Applejack was thinking, Zecora held up her leg. A red warning light flashed on her TranScribe. WARNING! Oxygen levels dangerously low! Estimated time before oxygen depleted: 0:19:05 And the timer was perpetually ticking down. Applejack swallowed. “A-alright, uh…” What was she supposed to say? That she was going to get help? Find Trixie in less than half an hour, open up the airlocks, and get them both in before Zecora died? While some alien she didn’t know about hunted them down? Was she going to say that? Give Zecora one last little inkling of hope to go out on? Right. A pipe dream. Even in her oxygen-deprived state, Zecora couldn’t fall for that. But what would Applejack say otherwise? “Sorry, you’re boned. But I got a friend who’s gonna help me get inside and the air to wait for her. Toodles!” Yeah, no. It was likely, but going out and saying it was like kicking a puppy. A puppy who was dying. She’d taken down changelings inside, so what was a few more? She could get Zecora in, safe and sound as long as she just moved her tail. She was up here because she liked moving her tail, so no problem there. Well, aside from diving headlong into a fight against an unknown beastie in a setting that actively hated her. But those were all small issues, right? Right? Applejack took a deep breath. She was going to tell Zecora that she’d get the airlocks open before she suffocated, and she was going to say that because that was what she was going to do. Simple as that. She wasn’t sure whether she was just that confident or lying to herself. A little bit of both, maybe? “I, there’s somepony inside waitin’ for me,” Applejack said. She fumbled with her own TranScribe, setting up a timer and matching Zecora’s time. If she was going to move fast, she needed to know how much time she (didn’t) have to spare. “I’m gonna find her, and she’s gonna open up the airlocks, and, and you’re gonna be okay.” Before she could stop herself, she said, “I promise you.” It was hard to tell if Zecora’s weak smile was hopeful, bitter or both. “Please find us entry to the station, ’fore I join the Last Migration. And be aware; you see, I fear that we are not alone out here.” “I saw,” Applejack said grimly. “Sit tight, I’ll come get you all’s ready.” She pulled herself out of the nook. She looked down at the navigation line to delay actually following it. Part of her wanted to find whatever alien was out here and blast it to bits, but she didn’t know where it actually was and she had a time limit. But if she didn’t find it, it might sneak up on her. And sneaking was much easier in space. Still, she didn’t have time to go crawling around; she needed to find Trixie ASAP. So she pushed off and jetted around after the navigation lights. As she drifted, Applejack twisted around to look at all angles. All angles, especially the ones she didn’t usually consider. Forward, backward, left, right, up, and down (even though trying to parse “up” and “down” in zero gravity gave her a headache). Nothing. Yet. 0:17. The structure of Golden Oaks suddenly looked like a thousand different hiding places, not helped by Applejack knowing nothing about the insides. What sort of thing could hide in there? Big? Small? It’d looked awfully big from far away. Was it anything like the other changelings? Was it even a changeling at all? She tried to pull her mind away from that train of thought, but she couldn’t help herself. Even if she didn’t know anything, she could still pretend she was being tactical about it. Something rippled through her mind, an unwanted thought. Fear. But it wasn’t her fear; it was like it was being forced into her brain by… telepathy? Was that the term? She put a hoof to her chest and took long, deep breaths. The fear wasn’t hers. She had nothing to be scared of. She’d be fine. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t real. She had nothing to be afraid of. An enormous tentacle slithered out of the infrastructure before her. Applejack gasped and promptly jumped off Golden Oaks, activating her jets in the process. A writhing mass of oily tentacles drifted — no, flew — out from where it’d been hiding. It was huge, the size of two cars, and it didn’t even look like an animal, just a squirming ball of organic rope. In the middle, an “eye” looked out that resembled a hole filled with white light. It didn’t have any obvious method of locomotion, but it still advanced on her, that eye gaping at her. Applejack blasted her jets again, only for another external thought to wash through her head. She needed to stay put. For a second, she almost believed it. For no reason, staying put seemed like a really good idea. But a strange combination of panic and logic overrode that idea and she gunned her propulsion systems full blast, rocketing away from the station without thinking. The alien — telepath? — it picked up speed and an anger not her own punched into Applejack’s thoughts. For a second, she was irate, downright furious that she was even thinking of running- She punched herself in the chest and blinked away the feelings. They weren’t hers. They weren’t hers. They weren’t hers… Somehow, the telepath kept accelerating, even as Applejack increased her own speed. A tentacle reached out for her, glistening sickly in the sunlight. She whipped her shotgun up and fired. She could barely hear anything from the gun, but the telepath’s small screams of pain as it withdrew its tentacle tore through her mind. It was oddly satisfying. The recoil kicked Applejack in the shoulder and sent her spinning end-over-end. As the world gimbaled wildly around her, she instinctively reached out for something and, of course, came up with nothing. She fired her jets wildly to gain some semblance of control. As she slowed and jinked around, the telepath rushed past her. Apparently, even freaky alien powers couldn’t overcome inertia. Applejack used more thruster bursts to slow herself down further and stop her multidimensional pirouette. She was almost still when she smashed into something and started spinning around again. When it briefly came into view, Applejack caught a glimpse of the ring of the solar array. That was what she’d hit? Was she that far out already? As she attempted to stop spinning again, a burst of anger exploded inside her head. She started twisting with her rotation to get a better look at the telepath; it was coming to a stop some distance away, glaring at her with that not-eye so fiercely she could feel it. By the time Applejack had stopped spinning, the telepath was already advancing on her, her shotgun blast apparently just a flesh wound. She punched her thrusters full blast, aiming back for Golden Oaks. Of course, the telepath was still faster. She’d never reach the station before it caught her. Good thing the station wasn’t her destination at the moment. Right as she passed the solar array again, she stuck out her hoof and snagged an edge. Momentum swung her around until her hooves hit the back of a panel. She planted her shotgun against the panel and fired. The solar panel shattered against the impact, crystalline shards blowing out like a frag grenade, and the telepath was caught in the middle. It keened shrilly through her mind like a shrieking motor. Ducking down, Applejack squinted through the hole she’d made. Yard-long slabs of glass, more like broadswords than anything else, were riddling the telepath like it was a pincushion. The telepath itself was still drifting towards her, but more slowly; it flailed weakly as black ichor dribbled hoselike from its wound. Bracing herself against the array’s framework, Applejack pushed herself “down” and fired at an untouched section. The telepath wailed even more loudly in the new blast, but only for a few moments. Applejack changed position again and fired again. A whimper, then silence. Two mores shots, just in case. Call her paranoid; she’d rather be paranoid than dead. When she looked again, Applejack nearly gagged. The telepath had been almost literally shredded in the repeated storms of glass and was very nearly mincemeat, barely even recognizable as a body anymore. Its ichor drifted around it like… Celestia, Applejack couldn’t imagine. She could practically smell it. She glanced at her gun. The ammo counter read a big, fat 0. She briefly considered trying to reload with some of the spare shells in her pockets, but she didn’t have the dexterity of her mouth or the predictability of gravity. She’d probably fumble the shells, sending them spinning out into space. Pass. Applejack waited a few moments longer. When the thing didn’t move, she climbed out of the framework and pushed off, gliding back to the station proper. Zecora still needed her help. But for that, she needed to get the airlocks open. For that, she needed Trixie. And for that, she needed to find that balcony. She glanced at her fetlock. 0:14. Applejack was getting the hang of zero-G maneuvering. Technically. She wasn’t playing it overly cautious anymore; she had a pretty good idea of how fast she could speed up or slow down. It felt like barely any time at all before she was back on Golden Oaks’ superstructure. (Time? 0:13.) Might’ve even been the same panel. Now, to the arboretum. Applejack followed the lines, bounding across Golden Oaks like a frog across lily pads. It couldn’t be that hard to find the balcony. Indeed, once she looked in her general direction of travel, she spotted a certain section of the station that was sticking out more than usual. That looked like a balcony if ever there was one. Applejack abandoned her current path and jetted up to it. 0:12. And it was indeed the balcony. Applejack would recognize that array of shelving and sofas anywhere. Trixie was already there, sitting in the middle of the floor. She was facing the only doorway in, her flamethrower pointed at it like a gun. Nothing was going to sneak up on her. Blueblood wasn’t around, but he might’ve just holed up in a more out-of-the-way place. Applejack tapped the glass. “Hey. Trixie.” But Trixie didn’t respond. She simply kept her flamethrower levelled at the door. Applejack rolled her eyes when she remembered what was up: even if her words got through her helmet, sound didn’t carry through space. Although… if she couldn’t talk to Trixie… how was she going to contact Trixie? 0:11. And Applejack’s blood ran very, very cold. “Trixie! Trixie!” Trixie didn’t even twitch. “Hey! Hey, Trixie!” Applejack’s tone grew more desperate, hoarser. “I’m here, I need your help!” No response. Applejack pounded on the window, screaming her lungs out. “Trixie! Trixie! TRIXIIIIEEEE!” Nothing. 0:10.