//------------------------------// // I // Story: Starship Trooper // by chief maximus //------------------------------// I Scootaloo motioned for the other crusaders to join her as she carefully stepped closer to the unconscious creature. "I think it's asleep," Scootaloo whispered, not wanting to wake it incase it was evil. Sweetie Belle noticed the creatures leg was bent in an awkward position in comparison to the other one. "I think it might be hurt, too." After a moment's pause, they stepped a bit closer. "So... what is it?" Apple Bloom asked. "I dunno..." Sweetie Belle replied, finding her courage and approaching the alien. "It looks kinda like a bird. I think its leg is broken." "What are you, a doctor?" Scootaloo teased, joining her. "No,” she snapped, “But I'm pretty sure legs aren't supposed to bend that way," Another pause came between them before Apple Bloom spoke up. "Should we help it?" "Help it how?" Scootaloo asked incredulously. "Ah dunno, take it back to the clubhouse Ah s'pose." "But what if this thing tries to eat us when it wakes up?" Sweetie Belle replied. "Ah know! We'll go get my brother and sister! They'll know what to do with it!" Apple Bloom bounded off the ship and headed back toward her house, followed quickly by the other crusaders. "Applejack! Applejack!" Apple Bloom shouted as she burst through the screen door, her friends close behind her. Her older sister turned with a start from the lunch she had been making for herself and her brother, while Mac awoke from his nap on the couch. "Hold your horses sugarcube, what's got y'all so excited?" "We were in the clubhouse, and we saw a shooting star in the daytime, only it wasn't a shooting star, it was an alien spaceship!" Sweetie Belle explained breathlessly. Applejack raised an eyebrow. "An alien spaceship, huh?" she asked, glancing skeptically at Macintosh. "Yeah! With a real live alien and everything!" Scootaloo chimed, hovering a few inches off the ground in excitement. "Uh, you sure you girls ain't had any of Pinkie's super sugar punch lately?" Applejack asked. "We ain't foolin' around Applejack! We can take ya to where it crashed!" The youngest Apple pled, her friends nodding in agreement behind her. "Ah got chores ta do, why don't ya take Macintosh with ya, just in case the 'alien' tries ta suck out your brains," she giggled as Mac lifted himself from the couch and donned his yoke. "C'mon now," he said, motioning towards the door. The fillies filed outside as Mac joined them on the path to their 'alien'. The damaged cockpit of the Arwing flickered to life as the computer AI began running post-crash diagnostics. A multitude of screens opened and closed on the display panel before the ship slowly began to dissolve into the background of the forest. After a few seconds, all that could be seen was the trench dug by the falling craft. Falco's eyes fluttered open after his stasis suit returned him to consciousness. "Uh... what the..." He raised himself up onto his elbows, his right arm faltering, leaving him reliant on his left to keep his head out of the freshly turned dirt. He looked to his right, seeing that his ship—what was left of it—had already engaged its auto-cloak. He glanced down at his leg and recoiled. Definitely broken. On his sleeve were the controls to his stasis suit. It indicated multiple hairline fractures of his right arm, and a severe compound fracture of his leg. What was worse, the opiate reserves in his suit were running low. Soon, he would be screaming in pain, if conscious at all. Thankfully, he had followed the standard procedure of the Star Fox team and brought exactly one Osteo-pak with him. Retrieving the glowing blue syringe from his pocket, he stabbed the needle right above his twisted appendage. He gritted his teeth as he felt the bones begin to reset in a matter of seconds. "Ah, this is always the worst part!" He grunted as the snap and twisting of bones echoed through the forest. The few seconds it took his leg to heal felt like hours before his limb finally resembled the unbroken one next to it. Breathing a sigh of relief, he was suddenly aware that he was, in fact, breathing. Though the computer had predicted oxygen on the planet’s surface, it had been wrong before. He brought himself to his feet. Both legs seemed to be working properly, though his right arm was still useless. Using his good arm to search his pockets, he retrieved his communicator. The small silver orb pulsed a steady red in his palm. "No signal,” he sighed. “Covers the whole galaxy, they said." Cursing the fast talking salesman who'd talked Fox into buying these for the crew, he shoved the inactive device back into his pocket, taking in his surroundings. Forests weren't uncommon, but they usually indicated a fairly underdeveloped planet. Falco figured he'd be rescued as soon as the Great Fox picked up his Emergency Location Transmitter beacon. Had he installed it. He slapped his palm against his forehead in disgust at his own laziness. Fox had warned him against leaving the ELT behind in case he crashed on an unexplored planet. He even recalled his reasoning for not taking it: 'When was the last time we even left the Lylat system?' He could hear Fox's scolding now. Falco hated being wrong, even more so when others were obviously right. He figured they'd eventually come looking for him, but he had no idea how long it might take. The temperate climate of the forest suited him well, though he knew he couldn't live out here. All manner of dangerous wildlife could inhabit this planet, and would think nothing of making a meal of him. Reaching back into his pocket, he produced a small contact lens case, placing the contents onto his right eye. The outline of the crashed ship came to life as he walked towards it to inspect the damage. "Fox is gonna be pissed..." he groaned, noting the bent and mangled state of his once-sleek fighter. Climbing onto what was left of the wing, he retrieved his laser pistol, an emergency survival kit, and accessed the ships navigation computer. As he scrolled through the screens, he came upon his ship's last known trajectory. "Of course..." he sighed, discovering he had in fact tumbled into a restricted sector of an underdeveloped solar system protected from contact by advanced life forms by Directive 995. The Galactic Council doled out severe punishments for any beings caught breaking this law, and unless he had irrefutable proof his crash was unavoidable, he'd be in big trouble. According to the map, this planet didn't even have a proper name. Simply dubbed, X-ray 243. "Well, at least the ion drive is stable... for now." The indicator screen for the ship's main source of power seemed to be functioning at ninety-five percent cooling rate. Not an optimal rate, but close enough for Fox to rescue me before it reaches a critical fifty percent. he thought. He powered down the computer and hopped off the ship. He placed his contact back in its case to conserve the battery. He would need to find shelter before nightfall, assuming this planet actually had a night. Some he had visited did not, which made sleeping rather difficult. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he set off into the woods, being careful to remember where his ship had crashed so Fox could salvage what they could after they found him. He was nearly out of sight before he remembered the drive! He turned around, heading back towards his ship when he heard bushes rustling in the distance. He took cover in a growth of shrubs and activated his suit's camouflage. He blended perfectly against the leaves as he had earlier on the frozen planet Zeras 12. Patiently, he waited for whatever was approaching his position to be on its way. "It's just a little further!" Scootaloo said, leading the way as Mac followed behind the three fillies. She reached the hedge line and pushed the branches aside with a hoof, presenting their discovery to Mac. Or, so she thought. "Well that's a mighty fine trench,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “But Ah don't see any aliens," "What? What do you mean you don't..." All three crusaders were dumbstruck. They'd just been climbing on the darn thing! The alien was gone too! "But... but it was right there! The alien was laying over here!" Apple Bloom said, scampering to where she recalled the bird-like creature having been sprawled out. Scootaloo joined her, sniffing around for anything of the alien's that could lead them to him. Macintosh sighed. Sometimes these filly's imagination just got the better of them. He didn't mind. Heck, he remembered when he would make up all kinds of fanciful stories to entertain his Ma and Pa. "If y'all are done draggin' me all over creation, Ah gotta help Granny and Applejack get started on dinner." "But—" Apple Bloom protested. "That don't mean y'all gotta stop playin', just keep an ear out for the dinner bell," he said, heading back to the farmhouse as the distraught fillies followed him. Sweetie Belle looked back one last time at the huge trench something had dug outside of Apple Blooms farm. I know what I saw... there has to be an alien around here somewhere! Falco observed four horse-like creatures enter the clearing. One was quite large—he assumed he was the alpha male. It was possible that the smaller ones were his offspring, or perhaps, his herd. They seemed to communicate with each other through a series of body and ear gestures, whinnies, grunts and sharp exhalation through their nostrils. It appeared they were intelligent enough to communicate, indicating they had at least tribal level culture. With all of his advanced technology, Falco figured he would probably be looked at as a god to these creatures. The idea made him grin, but he figured that very thought was one of the reasons Directive 995 was passed. In his survival pack, he fished around for a small earpiece. A universal translator, preloaded with a computer capable of deciphering almost any previously unknown language after listening to only a few sentences. He quietly installed the device and soon the nonsensical noises the horses seemed to be making morphed into comprehensible speech. "That don't mean y'all gotta stop playin', just keep an ear out for the dinner bell." Falco raised an eyebrow. He was correct about the larger horse's role, though the smaller ones seemed to be pre-adolescent versions of the big one. A family, perhaps. As soon as they left the clearing, Falco deactivated his camo. His suit would need to recharge before it could be used again. He knew it would be a miracle if this primitive planet just happened to have a simple fusion reactor lying around. Luckily, they didn't appear to have noticed his ship. He quickly walked back towards it, reaching a large gash where the cargo hold would have been. “Oh come on!” he grunted to himself. Cursing his luck, he trekked back into the woods, intent on finding shelter before nightfall. He would have to postpone his search for the drive until tomorrow. He prayed nights here didn't last weeks like they did on some planets. As he wandered, he came upon a vast expanse of trees, neatly aligned and all bearing a fruit that appeared to be a variant of the common apple. He jumped and plucked one from a low lying branch. Opening his survival pack once again, he produced a small, square device with a needle on one end and a digital display on the other. Stabbing the apple, the screen flashed green and emitted a pleasant tone, indicating it was safe to consume. "Alright, this may not have been such a bad place to crash," he said to himself, taking a bite and continuing on his way. Noting the neatness of the rows, he assumed whatever species dominated this planet had at least discovered agriculture. Falco's lucky streak continued as he came upon a small house situated between the branches of a large tree. Without the use of his camo, he'd have to engage the inhabitant directly. He had a spare translator, though he knew convincing a creature to put something an alien had given them in their ear may prove to be a bit of a challenge. He slowly climbed the ramp to the tiny house. Peeking his head inside, he was relieved to find it empty. There wasn't much furniture inside, and there even seemed to be a few childlike drawings hung on the walls. Outside the glassless window, he noticed the sun beginning to set. Apparently this planet did have a night, one Falco was certainly looking forward to after such a hard landing. He removed his pack from his back and set out his compressed sleeping space. It was no neuro-bed, but it was much better than the wooden floor. This children's playhouse would have to do for the time being. He settled in for the night, moving an old desk in front of the doorway to keep any hungry wildlife from attacking him in his sleep. Content with his security measures, he laid himself down, carefully listening for any noise that would indicate danger. He set his pistol and thermal knife down beside him as he lay down. One last time, he retrieved his communicator. "Still no signal..." he sighed, putting it away and trying to ignore the pain beginning to set in from his broken arm. By morning it would be considerably worse, but he managed to bury that thought. Right now, nothing was more important than rest, something he was all too willing to embrace as he promptly fell asleep. A soft rain fell on the roof of Agent Bentgrass' stately mansion in the swamps of New Mareleans. Being the sole heir to his family's vast fortune certainly had its benefits. As an agent of their Majesties 'special services' division,(known colloquially as 'Division 6') he was rarely afforded time off. Not that he ever wanted any. His current vacation had actually been forced upon him by the Director of Special Services herself, after it was brought to light that he hadn't taken a day off in five years. It was an order he had no choice but to obey, lest he lose his job. On his fourth night, (or perhaps his fifth, he wasn't sure) he found himself in his lavish study. A fire crackled and popped merrily as he sat in his favorite high-backed chair. Strains of soft Ave Mareia echoed off the polished cherry wood paneling as he sipped a vintage port while studying a first edition of Aristrotle's most famous work: Nicomachean Ethics. A knock on the door pulled him from his literature as his stalwart butler Farnsworth appeared at the doorway. "Master Bentgrass, a Deputy Director Notch here to see you." Bentgrass sat his book next to him with a sigh. "Show him in." Farnsworth bowed. "Of course, sir." In a few moments, a piebald unicorn in a sharp black suit shook his mane gently as he strode towards the main room. "Ugh, this weather! Does it do anything besides rain? How do you stand it, Agrostis?" Bentgrass gave a half smile, holding out his hoof. "Simple. I stay inside." A sharp laugh came as Notch gently tapped the outstretched hoof with his own. "First vacation in five years, and you spend it indoors—" he leaned down to inspect the cover of the book Bentgrass had set beside him, "—reading philosophy?" "If I cannot better Equestria, I might as well better myself." He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, if you're going to force me to take a vacation, the least you could do is leave me alone." "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut your vacation short—not that you'd mind," Notch replied, reclining on an elegant victorian couch across from Bentgrass. He smiled. "You know me well. Please, sit," Bentgrass insisted. "Can I get you a drink?" "Scotch, no ice." Notch answered, much to Bentgrass' surprise. "Off the wagon again, I see." "If you dealt with half the crap I do every day, you'd do it too," he shot back, reaching into his jacket and retrieving a plain looking file folder. Farnsworth returned with a glass of vintage scotch on a silver tray. "Will you be needing anything else, Master Bentgrass?" he asked curtly. "No, take the rest of the night for yourself, Farnsworth." "Very good sir." After his butler had left, Deputy Director Notch got down to business. "This assignment came straight from the top." Bentgrass arched an eyebrow, picking up the file stamped 'Most Secret' before him and looking its contents over. "We've had reports of an alien spacecraft landing near a small town south of Canterlot. Ponyville, if I remember correctly." The agent set the file on his lap to scrutinize his superior. "Aliens?" he repeated dryly. "Are you sure this isn't some sort of punishment?" Notch smiled, reclining on the couch and sipping his scotch. "Not at all. The princess asked I put my best stallion on it." "And why is wandering about in the middle of nowhere, investigating what was most likely a meteor of top priority, exactly?" "Flip to the back," Notch said. Bentgrass moved passed the initial reports until he came upon a collection of photographs. "These photos were confiscated from two pegasi testing out a new camera they’d bought when the event occurred.” Notch explained. ”They’ve already signed confidentiality agreements." Bentgrass raised his eyebrows in amusement as he continued looking over the images. What they contained was certainly no meteorite. He closed the file and set it on the table in front of him. "So what exactly is it you want me to do?" "Go to Ponyville, interview witnesses, and, if possible, investigate the crash site. A team of agents has already been dispatched to find and secure any and all debris from the craft, though they haven't been able to locate it yet." "A dozen stallions in suits searching the woods around town? Have you forgotten the meaning of the word, inconspicuous?" Notch threw back the rest of his scotch, setting the empty glass on the table. "Your train for Ponyville leaves at seven a.m. tomorrow," he said, tossing a one way train ticket onto the coffee table. "Don't be late."