//------------------------------//
// The Last Rocket 
// Story: Friendship One 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

Silent and gleaming on the pad, the shuttle sat astride its large silver booster tank, flanked by the two spindly, slender rockets, like guardians shielding it from harm. The solid-fuelled rockets and the liquid-fuelled main engines would carry the shuttle into the heavens, where it would be a twelve-hour ride to Friendship One and then a frantic scramble to get everything ready and to depart in the small window they had before the arrival of the end.

It was a tighter window than had been hoped. Friendship One was supposed to have left several days ago, according to the original plan, but the closer things got to G-Day, the more problems seemed to crop up on board. One of the oxygen plants had shut down, requiring the delivery of additional spare parts to replace the ones that had to be consumed. Those spares had to be scrounged up from a disused base hospital at Hoofburg, because the factory making them had shut down, its mission fulfilled, its staff sent home to be with their loved ones. Then, one of the crew, performing an extra-vehicular activity to fix a damaged antenna, became entangled and found their air tank punctured by a sharply protruding stanchion, part of the ship's extremities. She died before she could reach the airlock. A problem with the navigation computer required a complete reboot from the ground. All of these things added time, which was the one resource they were running out of faster than any other.

But they still had a good chance of getting away. If the shuttle blew up or had some malfunction and could not reach them, then Friendship One would depart as soon as they could. The farther from Equis they could get, the better their chances of surviving. Nopony knew, even Celestia, exactly how wide the gamma ray burst was, or how far away the ship would need to get before it was out of the line of fire. Some estimates put the safe distance in light years- a far cry from the five-mile safe limit Colonel Garner had employed to save his troops from the nuclear weapon. The gamma ray burst was a gigantic shotgun, but nopony knew how much spread the pellets possessed after leaving the barrel. The ship would have to travel as fast as it could away from the planet and hope for the best. New Equis, their target, was below the galactic plane, eight light-years away, and, it was hoped, far enough outside of the cone-shaped blast streaking toward them to be safe.

Hoped, but not guaranteed.





In launch control at Hoofburg airbase, there was calm; a soft, quiet serenity as the big digital countdown clock on the main viewscreen ticked away the seconds. This would be the culmination of their mission, the final launch, not just of the day or the week or the year, but of all time. Once the shuttle Vanguard carried its crew and cargo to orbit, they would have nothing to do. They would be free for the rest of the time they had, free of any responsibility except to themselves and their families, who had been relocated to base housing nearby. There would be a few brief, sorrowful hours, and then? Nothing.

The crew of the shuttle had been loaded, the hatch sealed. Final preparations were underway, with the big blue numbers ticking down all the time, closer to launch and closer to armageddon. T-40:00. G-19:00:00. Or thereabouts, anyway. Nopony was exactly sure on that second number. Weeks, months, years of preparation, it all now came down to this. One last launch, one final, symbolic departure to orbit, the last ponies to ever leave Equis.

T-30:00. Vanguard's flight computers were switched to internal navigation mode and loaded with the launch profile. 

T-20:00. A mandatory ten-minute pause for a final briefing and full system check. Everything was good. Everything was green. The countdown resumed.

T-10:00. A final poll of every station, every system. Go or No-Go, those were the only two choices. Were they ready to fly, ready to launch?

"Launch Director will now conduct a final launch status check. Flight?"

"Flight is go," replied the small, diminutive figure of Hazy Days, the flight director for the mission, sitting in her swivel chair, a cigar hanging from the corner of her mouth, as it always did during launches. She would chew on it like some old cowpony on the frontier, until the shuttle reached orbit, and only then would she permit herself to light it.

"Guidance?"

"Guidance is go."

"Range safety?"

"RSO is a go." That was a bit of a joke by this point. Anypony downrange who was likely to be hurt by falling debris from an exploding rocket would be dead within hours anyway.

"Consumables?"

"Consumables, we are go."

"Surgeon?"

"Surgeon is go." As if the flight surgeon's opinion mattered anymore. It was too important, too vitally symbolic to be scrubbed for any reason short of a technical fault that would guarantee its fiery destruction in a very demoralising way. That was still possible anyway, of course, for no spaceflight was ever completely safe. But the old surgeon gave his decision even though it didn't much matter, as if recommending exercise or a change in diet, something he had done a thousand times before and that he knew would most likely be ignored by the patient. After all, the biomedical sensors each crewpony wore beneath their suits showed them to be in good health, but even if there was a medical issue with one of the Equinauts, they could be damn sure the mission was going ahead anyway. 

"Booster?"

"Booster is go." The two heavy solid-fuel rockets attached to the shuttle's enormous external fuel tank would drive the Vanguard into orbit.

"Payload?"

"Payload is go." The cargo in the shuttle's hold, a symbolic but essentially useless collection of artefacts from Equestrian history. The original constitution of the fledgling nation, the signatures of the much younger royal sisters faded and yellowed by the years, but still legible. The gilded ceremonial cup from which Celestia had supped purified water at the very first Summer Sun Celebration. The few pathetic and poignant scraps that constituted the personal belongings Luna had taken with her to the moon. The royal portraits, the official ones by the court artist which had hung in the throne room, four in total. Celestia, divine and impossibly regal, radiating benevolence and wisdom, the guiding star. Luna, expression stern and hauntingly beautiful, like a chill winter's night where frost lay all about and the sky with its endless stars flowed gently above. Cadence, young and pretty, a great warmth in her eyes and smile that matched the love in her heart. Twilight, youngest of all, slightly timid in expression even upon canvas, the great responsibilities of leadership thrust upon her but met with determination, courage and friendship. Those regal, powerful paintings and a thousand others now sat layered between sandwiches of particle board and bubble wrap somewhere in the belly of the shuttle, as though somepony were moving house and had just slung everything in the back of the truck.

"CAPCOM?"

"CAPCOM, we have a go for launch." Capsule Communications gave the last green signal, meaning the crew on board were all prepared and ready to go.

"After polling all stations, Launch Director confirms we are go for launch. T-10 minutes and counting. Restart the clock."

Up on the big screen, the countdown resumed.





T-5 minutes. The tank vents were cycled and the auxiliary power unit activated. Steam from condensing liquid oxygen and hydrogen wreathed the shuttle like a wedding veil as it waited patiently for launch, the heat from Celestia's noonday sun warming the skin of the big silvery booster tank and heating the supercooled fuel inside. 

T-3 minutes. The main engine nozzles of the shuttle pivoted, swinging from side to side and top to bottom, a preflight test similar to how a pilot would test the ailerons and elevators of his plane while sitting on the runway to make sure they still worked. The flight surfaces of the shuttle underwent a similar preprogrammed test, too, though they would not be needed. This was a one-way flight; there was no return trip to Equis.

T-2 minutes. The Equinauts lowered their protective, gold-tinted visors, even those below on the lower deck and forward cargo hold, where no light from the sun would reach. Just in case something went wrong; protection from the wind if they had to bail out. But they probably wouldn't bother even if something did go wrong- why save yourself from falling to your death if you were going to be fried a few hours later?

T-1 minute. The power supply from outside was cut and the shuttle switched to its own power systems. The automated internal launch sequence began. The Equinauts braced themselves for the longest and wildest rollercoaster ride of their lives.

T-30 seconds. "Vanguard, launch control. Standby for a signal."  A moment, then a voice, loud, clear and calm, unmistakable. Princess Celestia herself.

"My most loyal subjects," she began, broadcast into each crewpony's earpiece and over the internal radio system of the shuttle. "You are the last ponies to leave the surface of this planet. Our home. You carry with you precious relics of our civilization, but also the thoughts, prayers and hope of every one of us who remain behind. You will hear my voice again before you depart, but for now I give you my blessings and goodwill. Your launch will be watched by all those who are able to see it. A bright torch in the summer sky. Good luck."

"T-10, 9, 8, 7, 6, main engine start, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

The engines roared into life, bright cones of blue-white flame. Jets of water spurted out like gigantic firehoses from beneath the craft, to cool and deflect the exhaust and, pointlessly now, to protect the launch tower. It would never need to be used again. Torrents of water poured out, millions of gallons flashing to vapour, huge clouds of steam billowing out like an old-fashioned locomotive's boiler had just exploded. At zero, the solid rocket boosters ignited, pillars of fire slowly, ponderously lifting the shuttle clear of the ground, rising into the air, sweeping onward and upward, literally unstoppable now- the solid boosters could not be turned off and would burn until all their fuel had been expended- clearing the tower with a hiss and flash of flame, a great thrumming roar filling the desert. It pounded through the chests of the base staff and their families, looking up with awe and immense sadness.

"Liftoff of the shuttle Vanguard," the public announcer spoke his final commentary over the base loudspeaker system, and broadcast via television and internet to the relatively small proportion of ponies still able to get a good signal and who had interest in watching. "Carrying the torch for a new civilization, and saying..." a lump formed in his throat, "saying goodbye to the old. May the Sun carry you and guide you." At the moment the clamps were released and the shuttle left the ground, responsibility for it transferred from launch control at Hoofburg airbase to mission control. If this had been a military launch, that would have simply been in a different room within the main building, but since it was an ESEA flight, that meant a transfer of responsibility to their control centre in Hoofston.

"Cleared the tower," the announcer intoned as the shuttle roared into the sky with ever-increasing velocity, the great cones of flame beneath her pounding the relentless heat and pressure into the concrete pad below, shaking and vibrating everything like a jackhammer, concussive waves of force pulsating out visibly, as though the air itself were throbbing and shaking, an earthquake in the sky.

"Vanguard, roll program."

The shuttle began to tip and change course, swinging over onto its back like a playful dolphin, the big silver fuel tank now facing the heavens. The smoke trail she was forming now took a dogleg as the Vanguard turned, angling away to the southwest, toward the equator and the orbit that would take her to Friendship One. The roar of her engines and boosters crackled and carried across the land. Ponies in the nearby cities of Las Pegasus and Hoofston could see her rising atop a pillar of flame and smoke, the thunder of her passage signalling the death knell for this doomed world, and a clarion call of hope for a new beginning elsewhere. But not for any of those watching.

Ponies froze in place in the streets, eyes turned skyward to watch. In Hoofston, even ponies engaged in a mass brawl in the street outside a tavern they had practically drained dry stopped their fighting to look as Vanguard rose above the low hills  to their north and cut a trail across the cloudless vastness. It was as though ponies were watching not a shuttle, but a nuclear missile, that with its launch signaled the impending end of everything they knew. Other than the thrumming, shattering cry of the rocket motors, there was no sound. Ponies were silent; in awe, in sadness, in dread. The fighting ponies outside the bar never did get back to settling their drunken dispute. Instead they went back inside to drink one final round, together.

The on-board computers of the Vanguard automatically cut the thrust being produced by her own engines as she climbed, for she was approaching the point of maximum aerodynamic pressure, where the atmosphere was trying its damndest to stop the shuttle from reaching orbit, where the velocity of the Vanguard was increasing faster than the air density was diminishing. It was this single moment in time where the whole craft was under the most physical stress it would suffer during the entire flight to orbit, not at liftoff as some ponies might imagine. Cutting power to the engines to about two-thirds of maximum helped to keep the stress on the airframe within safe limits. One they were through that point- some seventy seconds into the flight and at an altitude of 30,000 feet- the computer automatically brought them back to full power again.

"Vanguard, Hoofston. You are go for throttle-up."

With the engines blazing, she continued to soar into the skies. At 150,000 feet, the two booster rockets separated with a flicker of light and a puff of fire as small pyrotechnic charges fired to push them away, a shroud of propellant gases and a light haze of smoke surrounding the craft for a few moments, looking to the untrained eye like something had gone tragically wrong. But the Vanguard emerged unscathed as the two boosters fell away, seeming to hang in the air, the last few spurts of flickering flame carrying them onward until they ran out of momentum and began to fall back to earth. In normal circumstances a ship would be waiting out in the Western Sea to recover the boosters for reuse. Nopony bothered this time. The recovery ship's crew were out partying or home soberly praying with their families.

Now it was just the Vanguard herself, without the boosters to give her a push, but the air was so thin up here that the smaller main engines of the shuttle were more than adequate to complete the task of driving her into orbit. As she faded from sight from the ground and divested herself of the now-expended fuel tank, hope seemed to fade with her. A forlorn calm set in across Equestria. It was like seeing the tail end of the last train leaving the station as you arrived, its red lantern swinging gently, and you knew you weren't going to see your home that day. The only home any ponies would have soon enough would be New Equis. Those who watched the Vanguard recede into the deepness of the sky knew they had no chance of ever seeing it for themselves.