CHAPTER VI

If we have learned one thing from the history of invention and discovery, it is that, in the long run — and often in the short one — the most daring prophecies seem laughably conservative.

—Arthur C. Clarke, The Exploration of Space

Affirmations of varying degrees of wakefulness sound into the early morning, courtesy of a small group of six friends with saddlebags loaded for a day’s trip into the Everfree.

Going over a lengthy list of preparations, Spike is ticking off items at the dictation of his lavender caretaker.

“The Sprechen Sie Drakonisch?—The Definitive Guide To Meaningful Dialogue With Foreigners?”

“Aaaand that’s a check. Everything’s a-ok, Twilight,” assures the little dragon, deftly rolling together the long parchment and stuffing it inside one of Twilight's saddlebag alongside the quill.

“Excellent! Oh, this is so exciting! Who knows what kind of magical knowledge we can learn from those travellers!”

“I'm sure it'll be really cool. And interesting. So interesting, in fact, that maybe you'll want to sent the princess a letter immediately!”

“Spike, you know we talked about this. We can't take you along without having any idea what we're going to meet.”

The hopeful face of the dragon falls at the gentle rejection of his unspoken question.

“Oh Spike, It's so gentlecoltly of you to stay and help guard Sweetie Belle and her friends!” Rarity suddenly interjects, cupping the cheek of the dragon with a hoof.

“I dread to think what would happen without someone dependable here to take care of them!”

Indignation immediately forgotten, the small dragon puffs out his little chest with pride.

“Absolutely, darling, why else would I leave my beloved sister in your hooves— I mean, claws?”

“Well, I guess it is pretty important that someone stays back and keeps things in order...”

“Great!” Twilight jumps at the opened opportunity, nuzzling the small dragon and gently giving him a push towards the library tree, “Big Mac will be here in a minute with the Crusaders. Make sure you keep the library in order while I'm gone, okay?”

Preparations complete, the six friends begin their trot towards the faraway tree line, leaving behind the library and the purple baby dragon waving a handkerchief.

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight, Fluttershy. I would’ve thought you’d want to stay in your cottage.”

“Well, um, the princesses especially asked us to, so I thought it would be important. And, um, there aren’t any dragons there. Right?”

Sounding a little less sure towards the end of the sentence, the pink-maned pegasus nervously glances around, alternating between a low flutter and a calm trot.

“You handled that last one pretty handily, if I don’t recall mistakenly,” smiles Rarity, eliciting an embarrassed mumble from the yellow pegasus who promptly proceeds to hide behind her mane.

In a light-hearted manner the beginning of the trek into the Everfree forest proceeds without event, punctuated only by cheerful banter and the occasional theory of what awaits them inside. The closer the group gets to their destination, however, the more somber the mood grows. This far along the path the forest itself is darker and more overgrown, filled with rustling shadows and strange sounds even in the clear light of day. As the first moss-grown trunks of the wetlands begin appearing on the wayside, the travellers are stopped by a pair of armoured and armed ponies standing sentry in a bend of the road.

“Good thing we’re on royal business, then,” Twilight begins before the larger of the stallions cuts her off.

“I’m sure you are. However, I’m under orders not to let anyone pass. Please return the way you came, miss.”

In a blur of colour, Rainbow Dash flits down from the air, pressing her face up to the scowling guardspony.

“Solid,” suddenly interjects the other, considerably more nervous-looking stallion, “I think we might have to let them go.”

The smaller stallion leans in to urgently whisper into the ear of his colleague, the latter’s face registering an amusing progression of emotion beginning from the displeased scowl, passing through confusion and ending in a flicker of recognition as he takes a closer look at the six mares.

Suddenly very awkward about the whole situation, the stallion vaguely gestures down the road.

“In that case, I... apologize for my rude behaviour. The command post is just down the road—”

“I won’t have any of this ‘special treatment’ nonsense, there’s protocol and procedure for this kind of thing! We could be anypony!”

Emphasising her words with a stomping hoof, the unicorn yanks the writ of passage from her saddlebag and shoves it into the face of the startled guardspony. What follows is a rather amusing episode involving a smirking pegasus, an increasingly uncomfortable royal guard and a terrifyingly in-depth quiz about the detection of counterfeit documents. A few minutes of intense questioning later, a satisfied lavender unicorn skips away, carefully rolling the valuable parchment back into her saddlebags, leaving behind a slumped-down and sobbing earth pony being awkwardly comforted by his partner.

“The rules are there for a reason, and all members of the Guard have to be able to recognise at the very least the eight basic indicators of a genuine royal writ. What if the princess would be in incompetent hooves?”

“I memorised the Royal Guard Organisational Training Manual and Regulations I-XII in school, back when I was still living in Canterlot.”

“Wow, Twilight, so you’re like, super-duper good at survival and jousting and stuff?”

“Well, no. All that’s in the field operation manuals, and those were restricted. But I do know the seven acceptable shades of grey for the coat of a guardspony—that’s book IV, section eight—and the maximum regulation-compatible length of a guardspony’s mane and tail,” Twilight answers proudly, “I’m sure I could still recite all ten volumes from memory.”

“So Fluttershy, are we still... on for our spa... trip?” Rarity begins, rather loudly.

The discussion quickly moves on to other topics, nicely filling out the time before the arrival at the first tents of the encampment.

“Hello, my name is Twilight Sparkle, and the girls in the doorway are the—”

“The Elements of Harmony, yes, yes, yes. Is there something in particular you need me for right now? I’m trying to lead an operation here,” the charcoal grey stallion brusquely interrupts her, glaring across the cluttered map table with poorly hidden annoyance.

“Then please leave me to do my job. No, belay that. I don’t want you lot running around in my camp without supervision. Wait outside the tent, I will have someone to oversee you shortly.”

Twilight opens her mouth to reply, then closes it again. With a huff she turns from the grey commander staring at his grey maps and trots out of the grey tent, only to be nearly bowled over by a grey guardspony rushing past her. Indignantly she sits down with her friends outside the command post.

“Well, that was a complete waste of time. Augh! And why is everything so grey in this camp?”

“Oh, I completely understand your pain, darling. Just look at these dreadful tents, nothing but shades of grey everywhere! It’s a veritable crime against design to have somepony live and work in such a drab environment.”

“Maybe it’s, um, for hiding better. Many small animals do that to evade predators...”

“Oh, I know it's for a reason, Fluttershy, but it’s still terrible. Terrible, I say! it’s as if every piece of it was designed with nothing but a ruler for a tool!”

“Captain, sir,” a crisp, young voice snaps from inside the tent, “Mountain Gale’s wing has unloaded and the sergeant is ready for debriefing. Private Windchaser is receiving medical care for her wounds, sir.”

The friends perk their ears at the loud report being made inside the tent at the mention of a wounded pony.

The grey mare gallops out through the flap, disappearing around a tent corner. Before any of the friends have a chance to think too much about the short exchange, the commander harks loudly.

Twilight and Applejack both flush slightly at being caught. Rarity pointedly looks at something interesting in the clouds, with Fluttershy hiding behind her, while the remaining members of the group seem untouched by their unintentional eavesdropping. Diamond Hoof sighs deeply.

“Well, you might as well come in. If you’re going to try to contact the aliens, you might as well know as much as we do.”

Their accidental misbehaviour quickly forgotten, the group files back into the roomy tent, the commander glaring at the parchments in front of him and muttering to himself, words like ‘personal student’ and ‘probably banished to the moon’ audible in his litany.

“Alright,” he growls, looking up from his maps, “here’s the situation:”

“We’ve been patrolling the inner perimeter of the cordon since we were deployed, approximately ten hours ago. So far we’ve stayed out of sight from the Googlies—that’s the common term we’ve been using for the interlopers—who are moored at the very edge of Froggy Bottom Bog, on the west side of this valley here.”

“So far the Googlies have stayed close to their vessel. We haven’t really been able to surmise much about their transport itself—it seems to have taken the colour of the background, magically or otherwise—and is therefore exceedingly hard to observe. First contact was a few hours ago, when a pegasus wing was spotted and forced to make a hasty retreat: one of them was wounded under unclear circumstances, and had to be evacuated by her team. As I understand, they flew her back on a stretcher which according to the team leader was gifted upon them by the inhabitants of the strange craft... Like I said, the situation is murky, to say the least. I hope we’ll get some clarity once sergeant Gale gets here to report. That’s all I know for now. Ask your questions.”

Sitting back on his haunches Diamond Hoof rubs his temples, eyes closed, before levitating a cold-looking cup of coffee from the table and grimacing at the contents. Twilight looks up from a parchment floating in front of her face, quill momentarily ceasing its fevered movement.

“Has anyone gone closer to the... Googlies than the team with the wounded pegasus?”

“Only to keep her and her sister up to date, and to assist you as best we can.”

The sergeant looks tired but moves with purpose, tucking his helmet under a foreleg and coming to attention in front of the older guardspony.

“Yes, yes, yes, we've both had a long day, sergeant. Stand at ease and deliver the Luna-damned report.”

“Very well, sir. At sunrise this morning, after staking the target since deployment...”

The guardspony quickly runs through the events of the previous night, the captain and his six guests intently listening to every word, with Twilight furiously scribbling notes onto her overflowing piece of parchment.

“...and we just got here a while ago. The docs say Chaser is going to be fine. A mild concussion, bruising, a sprained wing. The leg's broken but it'll heal all right thanks to the splint.”

The sergeant lapses into silence. The captain is the first one to break out of his reverie.

“Thank you, sergeant. So to clarify, your personal assessment is that the interlopers are not here with hostile intentions?”

“That was my impression, sir. They seemed as wary of us as we were of them, but...”

Without a word, the sergeant turns his head and draws his scimitar in a wide arc. Twilight's quill stabs through the parchment with a pop as the group of friends take a surprised step back from the sharp-edged weapon.

Mountain Gale holds up a calming hoof, while carefully returning his sword to its scabbard.

“I am truly terribly sorry for startling you, ladies, but it goes a long way towards what I'm trying to prove.”

“I apologise, sir. But allow me to ask you why you didn't flinch when I presented my weapon?”

The captain's scowl takes on an even sourer shade as his brain quickly connects the dots.

“Because I live with weapons every day. You're saying that the interlopers are part of a military unit?”

“I can't say for sure, sir, but the one I understood to be the leader shooed back the others and approached my team, unarmed, without the slightest hesitation. Any civilised being, especially one with powerful enough magic to create flying machines like the ones we saw, knows a sword or a spear at sight, making the interlopers either very, very stupid...”

The brooding silence is broken by Twilight, now working on a fresh sheet of notes.

“Sergeant, I'm not a soldier, but... you said their leader was 'unarmed', implying you could tell it didn't carry anything dangerous, yet you also mentioned that the others 'didn't carry any swords or spears' of any kind. What kind of equipment did they carry, then?”

For the first time since his entry, the sergeant's expression falters from the inexpressive mask idiomatic of the Guard, instead now tinted by a slightly embarrassed blush.

“Well... it is correct that I didn't see a single tool that I could unambiguously identify as a weapon. However, the way the Googlies moving in the forest placed themselves was identical to a unicorn spellcaster unit. Furthermore, the medical staff, while unable to tell us how Chaser got hurt, agree that some of her damage could not have been caused by the fall.”

“Likely, yes but” he quickly continues, “it could be construed as self-defense. We did attack their flying contraption first.”

“Oh, right! Tell me about the flying thing! Was it a balloon of some kind? How fast did it move? What kind of magic did it use?”

The sergeant casts a pleading look towards his superior officer as the excited unicorn closes in on him, hefting her quill like a dagger.

“Miss Sparkle. The sergeant has had a long shift, and a member of his squad was recently wounded in action. He needs a few moments of rest,” interjects the captain, “thank you for the report, sergeant. You are dismissed.”

Plopping his helmet on his head, the winged stallion flees the command tent without looking back. Twilight dejectedly looks after the disappearing font of knowledge.

“Don't fret, miss Sparkle. You'll get your chance to learn from our visitors firsthoof soon enough. Now, if that's all—”

“You're right! We need to get going as soon as we can! When can we get going?”

“Fer apples sake, Rainbow, we've been here for all of half an hour, at most.”

“Maybe if you'd have more patience than one of Fluttershy's bunnies, you'd sit the hay down and listen to what's happenin'.”

“Darling, it's like a plot from one of those Daring Do novels you read all the time, how could you not be interested?”

“That's exactly the problem! How can you just sit here and listen to somepony else's adventure?”

“Soon! Very soon! Within moments! Just please leave me alone! This operation is already giving me an ulcer, and the very last thing I need are some of the most important ponies in all of Equestria romping around in the Everfree under my watch and responsibility! The sooner I get you out of my mane, the better,” the captain wails, his attempts to herd the unwanted guests out of his tent thwarted by a pink foreleg draping over his shoulders.

“Now looksie here, Diamond, my pal. You need to unwind! You're totally overworking yourself, and the only way to fix that on the fly is the patented, traditional, guaranteed-to-work, grandma Pie all-natural, herbal cupc—”

“By Celestia get out of my command tent before I buck you to the Goddesses-damned moon!”

As promised, a detachment of monochrome guardsponies appears within the hour, easily locating the colourful group of the element-bearers. Forming two staggered columns by the entrance of the low palisade, a near-black earth pony with white rank insignia adorning his helmet trots up to the six friends.

“Yes, hello, my name is Twilight Sparkle and the girls are Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy and Rarity.”

“Sergeant-at-hooves Plate Mail, at your service. And we have met before, miss Sparkle, although I doubt that you remember me: I used to work at the palace.”

“It's fine, we only met briefly and weren't introduced. Now, I presume you've made all your preparations?”

Flapping to slow his descent, Mountain Gale swoops over the encampment and lands in the middle of the two columns, nodding towards the black earth pony.

“I got a few moments’ nap and a cup of coffee in. Captain thinks that it'd be good to have somepony with you who's been in contact with the Googlies before, so here I am.”

“'Duty calls, get out of bed; Guards can sleep when they are dead',” the white pegasus recites in the call-and-answer of a marching cadence, and the two guards grin at some shared memory or private in-joke. Plate Mail gestures into the forest.

This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I'm morosely cradling a plastic cup of tea in my hands, looking over a parallax-enhanced feed from one of the Sparrow's telescope objective pairs and feeling a headache coming on again. The feed now covers half of the curved window, turning the observation deck slash briefing room into a giant movie theater. The surface of the long table is covered with a large, white, three-dimensional smart plastic model of the image on-screen, looking strangely hollow on the side that the Sparrow hasn't scanned with its sensors.

“Well, I guess that leaves no doubt to the question of whether they are intelligent or not,” Abebe quips, his entirely redundant comment breaking the silence in the room.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Elizabeth mutters, eyes flitting over rows of grey canvas constructs.

“So what the devil are we looking at? The space-faring descendants of ancient Roman horses?”

The smooth, rolling voice belongs to Tito Arroyo, the chief engineer, idly poking the malleable plastic hovering over the briefing table and watching it re-shape itself into tents and palisades in the weak electronic suspension field.

That's a surprisingly viable theory for the impromptu village of square, grey tents, arranged in neat rows inside a shallow palisade of wooden poles. On the other half of the window is the silhouette of a large, spired city precariously perched on the side of a large mountain, the highly magnified image tinted blue by the intervening distance.

“If I knew, I'd tell you,” I begin slowly, “but as it would appear we've stumbled on something entirely uncharted. Or, if not, at least a very well-kept secret.”

“Are you saying we've crash-landed onto an entirely new sentient species? That's loco!”

“I know. That's why, at the moment, I'm highly skeptical towards that theory. This whole place is too... earth-like, in all senses of the word. But the fact still stands that we've run across a whole society of something that's way beyond common gen-engineering, and as such we're going to have to tread very carefully on this one. To that effect, it is with utmost displeasure that I'm issuing a ship-wide order.”

Heads turn to me, expressions serious. A look around proves that everyone present understands the gravity of the situation, as well as the implications of a fully restrictive captain's order.

“As of this moment, nobody moves around outside without explicit authorization from their group, unit, platoon or team superiors. Outside activities ranging further than visible distance from the ship will be conducted in groups no smaller than four, and only with permission from me, Ace or Xavier. Contact with natives is to be kept to a minimum. If they approach you, retreat to the ship. Use of force is strictly prohibited unless self-defense can be unquestionably proven.”

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. This kind of shit always leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

“You know as much as I do how I hate to have to do this. Please make sure the rest of the crew knows as well, and that we'll try to better the situation as soon as humanly possible.”

Nods and murmurs of assent come from around the room, present crew leaders forwarding recordings of the order or jotting down messages on terminal pads, and I know it will be done even though it sucks for everyone involved. Bless this crew and all the people in it.

“Ma'am, I think there's something going on in the camp,” notes Xavier, facing the large view screen. I look over his shoulder at the group of twenty or thirty quadrupeds, the black-and-white armoured ones badly clashing with the pastel colours of the central group of six.

“...or at least that's how I'd arrange my troops if I only had access to primitive weapons like those.”

An escort? The six in the middle must be someone important, then, and the only reason you'd send someone with a protective detail to meet with space aliens is...

“Julianne, Spitfire, Xavier, get your asses in gear. I think they want to talk.”

Legal disclaimer: I obviously don't own My Little Pony (trademark of Hasbro) or this would be canon. All likeness to real people or characters created by other authors is entirely unintentional.

Under Free Flag

by twillale

Chapter 6