//------------------------------// // Chapter 29: An Incursion in District 51 // Story: The Warp Core Conspiracy // by Unwhole Hole //------------------------------// The ship hummed to life. Not willingly, though, and whatever semblance of life it actually maintained was dull and recalcitrant to the very principle of non-death. The unpleasant hum was replaced with the sound of distant arcing, and random thumps of things that ought not to thump on a spacecraft. This was followed by a smell of a great many things burning. This was obviously not ideal, but Rarity did not seem especially concerned. She sat in her captain’s chair—her still being this vessel’s captain, at least partially—and looked at least somewhat stately despite the absurdity of a small horse sitting in a chair that had been designed for a humanoid. The circuitry of the bridge that still worked had been either physically brought to her or shunted to whatever consoles she needed. This ship, despite its appearance, was small enough to be managed by a single operator. M’Ress, though, had been stationed at one of the other seats. Rarity looked over her shoulder. “You there. Kirk. Stop being useless.” “And how do I go about doing that?” Rarity sighed and rolled her eyes. “Such a very Starfleet question.” Spock emerged from some shadow somewhere, looking slightly smudged and distinctly displeased. Rarity raised an eyebrow. “You got it working, I see.” “I made adjustments to the system that allow for some semblance of operation, yes. However I will once again point out the fact that I am a scientist, not an engineer.” “Now you’re sounding likes Bones,” smirked Kirk. “Yes. Because you often assign him to tasks he is not well-suited for.” “I thought Vulcans couldn’t feel displeasure.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “We cannot, Captain. However, I still have preferences. They are merely based on logic rather than on unnecessary emotion. And logic dictates that most of my skills are associated with software design rather than attempting to force obsolete, ruined Cardassian hardware to function. I am not, in fact, Mr. Scott.” Something somewhere thudded loudly. Black smoke began billowing out of an air vent. Rarity looked up at it, sighed, and pressed something on her console that forced the baffle closed. “Problem solved,” she groaned. “Who needs life support anyway?” Spock took a deep breath. “Partaking in the plan you have suggested, Captain, considering all the variables currently present, is arguably the second worst decision of my life.” Kirk frowned. “What was the first? Was it getting married?” “At this point, I find myself considering if attending the Vulcan Science Academy was a more survivable use of my time.” “Spock, you can’t seriously say you regret joining Starfleet.” Spock raised an eyebrow again. “I did say ‘arguably’, Captain.” Kirk sighed. “Will it at least fly?” “If it does, not for long. The fuel cell is almost completely depleted. Based on the conditions of the thrusters, I anticipate thirty two minutes of conservative use.” “And if it doesn’t work?” “Captain. It is a hydrogen-fusion power cell in a crashed vessel that has been resting in a swamp for over a decade. If it fails, we will be instantaneously vaporized.” “Vulcans are always such pessimists,” sighed Rarity, initializing the control systems and lighting most of the consoles she had gathered. “I know this ship like I know the back of my own horn. She will fly. Not for very long, but long enough. That is not really the problem.” She typed away at the consoles with several styluses held by her telekinesis. “Then what is?” “I’m plotting our ascent vector to try to keep us near a populated area. I also have the disruption field active. So if they do launch the missiles, they will be slow to lock onto target. I am much more worried about that than the reactor blowing.” Kirk and M’Ress’s eyes widened, respectively. “Wait, what?” “There we go. I’m going to launch us. Allons-y, I suppose.” Before anyone could bother to brace themselves, Rarity fired the thrusters and launched the ship. The hum of the ship rose instantly to a deafening roar, and the thumps became a high procession of clanks and small explosions. The ship lifted, buckling slightly and tearing a few pieces off itself, but did not initially move—until it disassociated itself from the swamp-muck with a resounding squelch and blasted vertically into the atmosphere. Kirk—and every biped on the ship for that matter—was immediately knocked to the ground. Rarity, meanwhile, had encased herself in a circular field of telekinetic energy, binding herself to her chair. The ship wobbled and accelerated, exposing it to massive g-forces in an attempt to get above the cloud line before the missiles could lock on. As it did, something exploded, and it suddenly tilted to one side. M’Ress, knocked out of her chair and now grabbing it fully, her fur extended to its maximum fluffyness, cried out. “What in the name of--” “The port thrust bank just exploded. We’re on fire. It’s fine. I expected that to happen, it did that before I crashed it. I’m diverting power to...oh. Well, there’s nothing to divert to anymore, it came of in the mud I’m afraid. Hmm.” “I AM TO YOUNG AND TOO SOFT TO DIE!” “I will pretend the Caitian said that.” Rarity sighed. “Hmm...this might work?” She pressed something, and the ship lurched downward with enough force to momentarily cause everyone present aside from Rarity to levitate off the floor for a moment—and then it stabilized. “And there we are,” she said. “On our way!” M’Ress, still clinging to her chair, attempted to stand up in panic, only to fall back down. “Lieutenant,” said Kirk. “What’s wrong?” “I have the--” She retched horribly, “--extreme nausea, motions sickness, can’t—I can’t stand up! I hate flying! I hate it SO MUCH!” “You...hate flying? Your career is literally on a starship.” “Yes, a ship that flies in space! Caitians have--” retching again, “--have no history of atmospheric—flight before rockets to the moons and—GAH why so sickness?!” “Stop whining, we’ll be there in less than three minutes. Assuming the missiles don’t force us to land faster.” “What—missiles?!” “Because of course there will be missiles, darling, there’s always missiles.” The ship suddenly lurched. Rarity frowned. “And some fool just opened a door.” “Are we going to depressurize?” “Don’t be an idiot, human, as suiting as it is to your character. There’s air outside. But it ruins my aerodynamics.” Kirk passed Spock and entered the halls behind the bridge to find the door. It was not far. As he approached, he heard wind and felt the distinct cold of upper atmospheric air. Somehow it still smelled piney-fresh, even at altitude. The door had indeed been opened, which was a good sign. At least it had not been torn off. Standing in front if it, though, with her head out the window, was Lyra. “Weeeeeeeeeeee!” “What are you doing--” Kirk paused. “What are you wearing?” Lyra pulled her head back in, her mane immediately floofing out from below her helmet. She had taken off her clothes--which for a pony was not especially strange—but had replaced them with armor. Armor made entirely out of the carapaces of the androids that had been slain outside the ship. Kirk had not initially realized it because of how perfectly they fit her. She had clearly given a considerable through to how to make a fitted suit out of the skin of human-shaped robots. “This isn’t what it looks like.” “Um...I like the helmet?” Lyra’s face scrunched and she looked up at it. It was a fin helmet, indeed, but she had replaced the plume with a robot’s hand. “Why did you open the door?” “Because I wanted to feel the wind in my mane! I’m flying, I’m actually flying! This is amazing! A pony flying, it’s an impossible, amazing, astounding thing, I might be the first pony in the whole world to--” “Move,” said Rainbow Dash, shoving Lyra out of the way. Her armor had been modified to include the boosters and altered shield-belt, and she had a small notebook with Rarity’s instructions on how to deactivate a shield. She immediately spread her wings and hopped out. To Kirk’s surprise, she did not fall, but rather landed in a cloud and sunk up to her knees. She then proceeded to walk away as if the cloud were solid as she disappeared into the distance. Kirk knew that there was probably a sound, scientific reason for how a winged horse could walk on water vapor, but he did not bother to ask why, feeling the response would sound contrived. He instead closed the door. “You’re not going to need that armor. We’re just dropping in and filming. That’s it.” “The only way this armor is coming off is if hands are involved in stripping me nude.” She looked at Kirk expectantly. Then the ship was filled with the deafening sound of chaff cannons, followed by the ship dropping suddenly. Rainbow Dash smelled the air and looked up at the blue sky. She had forgotten what it felt like. To be home. She had not stood on a cloud since her accident, and it felt so strange. So familiar, and yet terrifying. Knowing that if she somehow fell through, she would plummet for several moments followed by a rather sudden deceleration at ground-level. She ignored the fear, watching the ship fly off, mud and parts of its hull falling to the ground below as it went. Then she saw a pair of missiles emerge from the clouds and the ship blow sparkly chaff before descending suddenly and vanishing below the cloud line. She sighed. She had thrusters. They were small, but she had the impression they were powerful. It was just a glide. She could manage that, at least. After all, she had a job to do. There was no sense in complaining about it. She flapped at the air with her functional wing, pushing her pocket of cloud along, floating gently toward the mission objective. It was a bright, ordinary day on the ground in District 51. The various pony workers were going about their chores, happily assisting in the production of the future of Equestrian spaceflight, building rockets and space suits and forging unique metal alloys and all the technologically sophisticated accouterments associated with adorable horse-science. That was until the alien ship dropped from the wispy Everfree clouds and leveled off over the trees, brushing mud of its underside as it passed over the gates. Somewhere, a klaxon sounded. The majority of the ponies present, not knowing what a klaxon was, switched from cheerfully whistling and being optimistic to being completely spooked in an instant. The guard at the front vestibule building raced outside, chasing after the ship. “Hey wait a minute, you can’t be here!” he called. “The tour is one hundred bits! One hundred bits! Spaceships don’t get a discount, you have to pay! I’ll get fired!” Elsewhere, a group of ponies pushing supplies between a group of buildings looked up, seeing it slow as it approached. At first, they were mostly just confused, until one of them reacted with absolute panic. “Oh no, it’s happenin’ again!” cried Brayburn, terrified. “Everypony run or you’re gonna get PROBED!” In unison, they began to panic, running in circles and bumping into each other, causing various sorts of bruising and abrasions amongst themselves. The actual possibility of an attack had never been seriously considered. Ponies, being an inherently non-violent sort of being, had generally believed that fences and harshly-worded signs would prevent any sort of incursion by any possible aggressor. The presence of aliens and the associated probings had not been considered, and the thought that they would disobey the signs was unspeakable and incomprehensible. There were, however, SOP’s in place. After all, the facility was ostensibly run by Twilight Sparkle herself, as evidenced by her continual presence as a beautifully rendered hologram. There was indeed a plan. Ponies in armor charged out of various places, taking up locations throughout the courtyards between the buildings or atop the roofs. Some of them immediately produced bows and began firing the most powerful projectile weapon known to ponies at the now slow-moving intruder. This had exactly the effect as to would be expected: the arrows rebounded harmlessly. “It’s too strong!” cried one of the commanders in panic. “The armor is indestructible! Quick, find a mage!” The mages were of course out already, charging their horns and opening fire. Their attacks burned small holes cleanly through the ship, cutting through its hull with ease, but not striking any vital systems. Which was a good thing, considering it was powered by a barely-functional fusion reactor with a breach-yield of several hundred kilotons. They barely noticed as the robotic systems at the bottom of the ship turned their turrets toward their wizardly formations—although they certainly noticed when the ship’s phaser bank opened fire. The beam of light struck the center of them, propagating outward until it reached them all, and they all immediately fell and began to writhe on the ground in confusion, their bodies having become floppy. Inside the ship, Kirk looked through the viewscreen in utter confusion. “Did you...set the ship’s phasers to ‘stun’?” “Of course I did you bipedial twit,” snapped Rarity. “Or did you want me to kill innocent beings like some sort of Federation hero?” “I just...can we even do that?” He looked at M’Ress, who shrugged. “We need to get to the center, to the buffer space around the Tower,” she said, forcing more power to the rear thrusters, even as several of them burnt out in the process. “Workers from the outer rings aren’t permitted there. If there’s going to be a fight, it will be there.” “You can take your time,” said Kirk. “They can’t exactly get us in her--” A beam of blue light shot past him, just barely vaporizing the toe of his boot and slicing through the ceiling, leaving a small hole through which he could see daylight. He even felt the heat of it, and possibly lost an eyebrow. “They don’t perceive the ship as alive,” snapped Rarity, “so they’re not going to go easy on us I’m afraid.” “Did they just—did he just--” Rarity phased the mage who had fired the shot. He fell and proceeded to flop violently before rolling off his perch and almost flattening Brayburn, who was still running aimlessly in a desperate panic. Somewhere, a Wilhelm scream was heard. From which one, neither would ever know. “These are low level mages,” said Rarity. “An actual wizard could cut this ship in half with a thought, darling, so don’t be too confident in your own invincibility.” “I don’t need confidence!” cried Lyra, leaping onto the bridge and brandishing a sword. “I have PLOT ARMOR!” “That’s not where they’ll aim for, dear.” The ship shuddered, and began to drop. It crashed through the top of one of the buildings, causing ponies to leap off the top, flying away under their own power. “The phaser draws a significant amount of power,” noted Spock. “Firing it disrupts my previous calculations. I would recommend against the use of it.” “As long as we have enough power to record, I don't especially care.” “And to escape,” noted Kirk. Spock and Rarity looked up at him. Kirk felt his heart sink. “To escape,” he repeated. “When we’re done, and we go back?” “I had not factored a return trip into my calculations,” said Spock, apparently unconcerned by the implication of it. “I had assumed that this was a one-way trip.” “Why would you assume that, Spock?!” “Because he’s not an idiot,” snapped Rarity. “You knew that was part of the plan. If you didn’t then you’re just an ignorant fool, aren’t you?” Kirk gaped, turning to M’Ress, who looked equally surprised. “Did you know?” M’Ress opened her mouth to say something, and then vomited a ball of hair onto the floor. “Lyra, did you--” “PLOT ARMOR! PRAISE BE UNTO THE HAND OF DOOM!” She ran out of the bridge. Seconds later, Kirk heard the door open followed by a rapidly fading battle cry. She had jumped out. “Once the communications are open, we can contact the Enterprise,” said Rarity. “They can use the transporter to get you out.” “And you--” “No. Unicorn physiology is incomparable with transporters. I contain too much Element Zero. I’m riding this to its conclusion, I’m afraid. But if it succeeds, I suppose it will all be worth it.” Rainbow Dash floated into position. She had never seen District 51 for herself, and found it to be a distinctly ugly sort of place. Buildings and factories arranged in circles, all surrounding an enormous windowless tower. The tower was, unfortunately, tall. She had been forced to ascend the clouds somewhat to get over the top of it, until she had reached a cirrus so thin that she was constantly in danger of slipping through it entirely if she did not hold on. Below her, she saw Rarity’s ship coming into position—and she saw her own LZ. It was a lot smaller than she had imagined, and surrounded by all sorts of weird technical dodads and dinguses that would probably hurt considerably to land upon. It was indeed an operation that required speed but more importantly absolute precision. She sighed and flexed her wings. The organic one hurt from all the cloud-paddling, and the metallic one hurt because it always hurt. It was light, though, and she could feel the wind pushing on it, struggling to give it lift. Its weight had never been the problem. It was a matter of moving it. It never felt real, or like it was really there. And then there was of course the pain. It did not matter. This was a glide. She did not need to flap. She just needed to hold it steady and direct herself with her body weight. The thrusters would take care of the rest. She took a breath, and then lept from the cloud, firing the trusters as she descended. The acceleration was sudden, and memories washed over her. Of the bulky solid-fuel rockets bolted to her support frame during the Powered-Pegasus Program, of the rush of machines as she blasted to speeds far above what a pony should be able to perform. But more than that, she felt something else. She rushed forward through the air, her hooves on nothing but air. The force was on her wings, and not her legs—and for the first time, the pain decreased. It was instead replaced by knowledge of what needed to be done, of instinctive knowledge of how the wing ought to move, and perception of it. The memories Rainbow Dash most strongly felt were not those of being powered by rockets, but those of her youth. When it had been her, alone and naked, feeling the rush of wind through her main and feathers. The feeling of true flight. She felt tears running down her face. They were hot. She could not believe she had forgotten what it felt like. It only lasted for a few seconds before she struck the shield dome. The effect could be at best described as a sudden “splat”, although not a total stop. The environment belt’s shield aligned, and Rainbow Dash passed through as if it were surrounded by particularly viscous air. Then she dropped to the floor below, this time with a much more audible “splat”. “Ow,” she said, standing up and stripping off the burnt-out thrusters and the shield belt, throwing them both over the edge of the tower. “Dang it, Rarity, next time warn me about your stupid thick air...” She looked at the assembly of machines before her. Alien machines, she was sure. They were much larger than they had looked from the air, and they seemed to be scaled for a creature much larger than a pony. Which was fine. She’d figure it out. Obviously Rainbow Dash, being the most non-egghead of the group, was probably mentally the least ideal candidate for this particular portion of the mission. However, Rarity was a particularly persnickety pony, and highly detail-oriented. She had written down exacting, exhaustive instructions in a small book. Rainbow Dash produced the book, licking the cover and opening it with her teeth. She then stared down at the first step and felt her blood run cold—and then her wings stiffen with anger. “Celestia-danged cake-sniffing son-of-a-horse donkey-licking sheep-snuggling—why the BUCK is it in CURSIVE?! I can’t read cursive! How am I supposed to know what this is even saying?!” She threw the book on the ground. “She has a fifth-grade education, how did she find time to learn friggin CURSIVE?!” This was indeed an impasse. Worse, though, Rainbow Dash suddenly felt herself bristling with Pegasus instinct. She looked around, half expecting robots to come and attempt to grasp her body with their dirty robot fingers, but she saw that she was totally alone apart from the translucent unicorn sitting on an air-handling unit. “Hey, you!" she called upward, "do you know how to turn off the communication dingus?” “Yes,” she said, smiling. Rainbow Dash shivered. There was something terrible in that smile. The eyes were exactly in the shape of a pony’s, but they were dead inside. Dead, or filled with some sort of strange and hateful life. Like the eyes of some foul, reeking invertebrate such as a changeling. “Is there, like, a button or something?” “Yes.” Rainbow Dash groaned. “Are you going to tell me or what?!” “Nope. What are you going to do about it? Get drunk and try to blow up a highly-populated alien space-station to prove you're not as inferior as we all think you are?” “I’m gonna fly up there and squeeze out your dang juices, you...what even are you, some sort of frustrating ghost?” “You can’t.” She sighed. “We gave her perfect schematics for that wing, but whoever installed it was an abject moron. Your spine should have been replaced too. And your brain, while they’re at it. Everyone likes a good brain transplant. I’d give you one right now, if you want. Do you have any squigs I could borrow?” “I’m gonna put a squig in your stupid ghost face if you don’t tell me how to shut this thing down!” Rainbow Dash picked up a random bolt and threw it at the ghost. It passed through harmlessly. “I’m a hologram, not an anomaly, that won’t work on me. Why don’t you put that squiggy little organic brain to work and either dance for my amusement or figure out a way to disassemble this thing? It should be easy. I could do it in my sleep. If I slept. I don’t, because I don’t actually have a brain.” “Well what if I don’t want to?” Rainbow Dash sat down, crossing her front legs. “You can’t tell me what to do, I don’t even care if you’re a ghost!” “Not a ghost. Also not capable of volition or conscious thought, which makes the fact that I’m succeeding in stalling you right now somewhat absurd. And reflects negatively on you.” “I know you are, but what am I?” “Gross skin wrapped around wet bones and wobbly organs and various wet juices. I think. They don’t let me check anymore, even though I kept the heads alive last time. Regardless of your structural inferiority, you probably actually do want to hurry.” “Why?” “Because in the time you’ve been arguing with a pony that literally does not exist, I’ve warmed up my factories and produced a quantity of robots that is somewhere between a brigade and a horde. Possibly even a heap. And they’re going to start opening your friends’ ship right about to scoop out the meats inside...now, maybe?” Rainbow Dash unfold her arms and ran to the edge of the building. She looked down and, as far as it was, saw that a massed force of robots was currently exiting the building into the surrounding buffer zone—just as Rarity’s ship was reaching it. “Oh road apples,” she swore. “That’s probably bad...”