//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: The Whooves Collection Episode Four: A Starlit Wreck // by Perceptive Key //------------------------------// The Whooves Collection: Episode Four A Starlit Wreck Prologue Deep Space; TARDIS; Control Room VVRROOMMP! VVRROOMMP! VVRROOMMP! The TARDIS aimlessly drifted through the infinite void called space, its rotations gentle and rhythmic. Within the vessel, its inhabitants were working away at whatever it was that they needed to work on. Farsight sat on the catwalk, prodding at the vortex manipulator melded to his left leg. Twilight and the Doctor were standing at the controls, the former instructing the latter on the proper way to hold objects in his hooves. Right now, the Doctor was working on grabbing his sonic screwdriver within his right hoof. "Almost... got it..." he fumbled around for a few seconds before the screwdriver remained within his grasp. "HA-HA!" he cheered. "That's it!" Twilight congratulated him. "Now you can take on the universe!" "Thank you, Miss Sparkle. Things should be much easier now," he said. BBRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNGG! Each of the ponies' heads jerked up, the Doctor's especially. BBRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNGG! "Doctor," Twilight started, "what is that?" The Doctor slowly stepped down from the main control panels and inched down the walkway towards the doors. BBRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNGG! "Really, Doctor," now Farsight spoke up as well, "what is it?" The Doctor reached the doors and cautiously reached for the phone within. BBRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNGG! "That, my friends," the Doctor finally answered, picking the black earpiece up off of the device, "is impossible." He heal the small object up to his ears, thanks to the newfound deftness with his hooves. "Doctor, come quick!" the entire interior of the TARDIS was suddenly filled with the exclamation of distress, causing the Doctor to tear the earpiece away in alarm. "This is a priority one emergency! We need your help! Alert code number: 4, 1, 8, 3, 0!" Each of the ship's occupants froze. "More numbers, Doctor," Twilight said with alarm. "Not again!" Farsight moaned as he put his head in his hooves. "This is a priority one emergency! We need your help! Alert code number: 4, 1, 8, 3, 0!" the voice repeated. With alarming speed, the Doctor rushed to the control monitor and started tapping away at the keyboard. Twilight came up behind him and glanced at the screen, but turned back to the Doctor when she couldn't read the circular . "What are you doing?" she questioned. "Answering a distress call!" The Doctor replied hastily. He ran over to the levers and switches, activating them with practiced precision. Farsight was still up on the catwalk as the Doctor worked. "We're going towards the source of those numbers?!" "Exactly, Miss Sparkle!" The Doctor threw a switch and the TARDIS shook, its occupant's tossed about. Twilight fell to the floor and Farsight was thrown backwards and crashed into the wall. "Remind me to buck you, later," Farsight grumbled in pain. "I'll think about it!" the Doctor shouted back. Sterret System; Planet of Castron; Southern Desert; Rescue Station 2; 10,384 C.E. The hot, desert winds battered the base on the planet's surface, heating the steel. It would have been baking the occupants within had there been no air conditioning. A small platoon populated the headquarters, carrying out basic duties and tasks. Inside a room lined with a large bank of computers, monitors, and communication equipment, a dark blue mare with a red and yellow mane sat at a desk, checking chart containing thermal feed from the planet's surface. A small patch of red emitted from over one hundred meters down. "It's getting late," she said to herself, "you should really get to bed." The mare rubbed her eyes with one hoof while picking up a cup of coffee in the other. She took a long swig from the small cylinder and gently set it back down on the desk. A knock from behind her made her look up and turn around. In the doorway stood a stallion with a light blue coat, black mane, and a cutie mark consisting of a hammer striking the ground. "You still up, Streak?" he questioned. He crossed the length of the room in a couple hoofsteps and stood next to the mare, planting a small kiss on her cheek. "You should get some sleep," he said softly. Streak smiled in response, "I'll sleep when we open the doors to the ship that's sitting outside." "We've been trying for days," the stallion sighed, giving her a caring expression. "Besides, the codes the builder gave us aren't doing anything." "But every day we try, we get even closer to unlocking them," Streak replied. She gave a sigh of her own, turning to the stallion, "I just want to know what's inside, Richter." Richter grinned at her, but at the same time, he looked to be slightly uncomfortable. Streak noticed this immediately. Richter hadn't been acting like himself recently. "Are you okay?" she asked him. He nodded reassuringly, "Don't worry. I'm happier then Celestia at the beach." All of a sudden, he was cut short as the computers flared to life, whirring and beeping furiously. "What's going on?" he asked. "Not sure," Streak replied, working quickly with the settings as a sort of static was emitting from the intercom system. As Streak struggled to figure out what the source was, another pony hurried in. He had a black coat, a white mane that hung limply beside his head, and a crossed daggers cutie mark. His eyes were shielded with a pair of mirrored goggles, but his brow showed levels of worry. "What's going on?" he questioned, "That noise is going throughout the entire base!" "Were not sure," Richter replied quickly, "Streak's trying to decode it." The both watched the mare earnestly as she adjusted the dials and switches. Slowly, the static became clearer, shaping into a barely distinguishable voice. ... priority one emergency! We need your help! Alert code number: 4, 1, 8, 3, 0!" The three ponies exchanged mystified glances. "What is that?" Richter asked. "Distress call," Streaker answered, "but it's not just for us." Immediately, the two stallions looked at her for an explanation. "It's bouncing off our comms.," she told them. "Well... where is it coming from," the black pony asked impatiently. Streak's expression turned serious. "It's coming from the ship." "But... that's impossible," Richter sputtered, "the ship's wrecked. It's been buried beneath the crust for over two decades, now." Streak turned back to the control bank and stared at the red blur on thermal image one more time. "I know," she said with uncertainty.