//------------------------------// // Chapter One: Crossed Signals // Story: Second Contact // by MasterKusojs //------------------------------// Second Contact Chapter One: Crossed Signals ----- The ship slid into orbit with an other-worldy grace belied by its unwieldy frame. It was nearly a mile long, delicate and spindly. Sunlight gleamed off the interconnected metal spheres and cylinders that made up its main body. At the nose was a dense conical shield, pockmarked from the seven-lightyear journey. Three shuttles shaped like stretched eggs with delta wings were docked just behind the shield. The back housed five huge tubes that ended in nozzles a hundred feet wide and were arranged like a big “X”. In the middle were fuel tanks, reactors, cargo pods, photovoltaic panels, a communications laser, and—most important—the huge compartments that held twelve hundred cryo-sleep units made to preserve the most precious cargo. The whole thing gleamed ivory and chrome, but showed the wear it had accumulated over its fifty-year journey. Scattered over the ship’s frame were scorch marks, and close inspection would show missing support struts, hull plates, and even one of the huge cylinders that were arranged around the middle of the ship. The computer that controlled the ship monitored its orbit, firing one last burst from its maneuvering thrusters before everything was optimal. It turned its attention to the crew, which its sensors indicated were safely contained in their cryo-sleep tubes. The computer had sent the command to begin the thaw and wake-up routine as it neared the target planet, timed so that they would be ready as it achieved orbit. As soon as the routine was finished, it unlocked the tube doors, allowing the twelve hundred crewmembers within to get out and begin their mission. The computer settled in and waited for the crew to give its next command. It waited. And waited. And waited. ----- Thirty-One Years Later Families all over Equestria huddled together around their radios. Mothers sat, trying to keep their hooves occupied. Fathers held newspapers open in their laps, but kept looking over up at the end of every sentence. Foals hushed each other, ears aimed like radar dishes at the speakers so as not to miss a single syllable of the announcer’s words. “And if you’re just now joining us,” the announcer, a stallion with a sharp tenor, spoke quickly into his microphone in a Canterlot studio, “we’re here on the eve of finding out the answer to the biggest question of the last three decades—just what is in that structure? As you may know, reports of it appearing in the night sky first cropped up in the spring of 965, as astronomers found an object never before seen in our dear Princess Celestia’s night sky. Pictures taken through telescopes revealed a long, narrow object in orbit of the planet. “Later investigations with the increasingly-more-powerful telescopes led top experts to believe it to be an alien spacecraft. Who sent it? Where is it from? Why is it still just sitting there? All these questions have plagued everypony for the last thirty years, prompting intense philosophical and academic debates from the schoolyard to the old folks’ home, along with a surge in technological advances as the Royal Government tried to find a way to contact whomever may be aboard. “Well, folks, I’m proud to say that tonight, all our questions will be answered. As I speak, the Equestrian Space Program’s pioneer ship, Friendship One, is maneuvering to rendezvous with the alien vessel.” All of Equestria seemed to gasp at once. For most of them, it had been a source of curiosity and debate for almost their entire lives. Foals dreamed of being the first pony to set foot on the alien spacecraft. Several authors had made millions of bits with dense, technical tomes that attempted to predict what the alien physiology and culture were like; or with fanciful stories filled with space pirates and laser swords. For decades it had been an icon in Equestrian life, and now, they would finally learn what was inside. Chatter died as the announcer came on again. “With me here in the studio is ESP’s Head Engineer, Blown Gasket. Mister Gasket, could you perhaps answer a few questions we’ve prepared?” “Certainly,” Blown Gasket said in a deep, gravelly drone. “Thank you. First, why send ponies up at all? Why not just send a radio message to them?” “We tried that. We tried every carrier band and modulation method we know how to do, but not a single one got a response. Of course, with their technology being as advanced as it certainly must be, it’s possible they don’t even use a radio system to communicate. Our only way now would be a proper expedition.” “The Ponies on that expedition need to be able to get aboard the ship, don’t they? How will that be done?” “Well, we’ve had high-resolution telescopes for a while now—no doubt designed at the time to better see the ship—so we’ve been able to get some very good pictures of the different parts of the ship. Add in some fancy mathematics, and we were able to calculate the size of the doors we found on the outside of several of the compartments. We designed Friendship One to be able to dock with those doors.” “Just how big is the spacecraft, anyway?” “Well, from our calculations, it’s nearly a mile long, and five hundred yards in diameter at its widest point. From its design, we believe it was constructed in space, and—” “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mister Gasket, but we have an incoming announcement. Folks, I’ve just received word that Friendship One is on its final approach to the alien ship. We’re going to switch you over to the live feed from ESP Headquarters, but don’t worry, we’ll be back on soon after.” ----- Friendship One slowly drifted closer to its target, a rectangular door set slightly into the hull of the Ship. The three-pony capsule was tiny by comparison, the size of a train car and cylindrical with a conical nose and a thruster cone at the tail. RCS quads around the middle let off short bursts to guide it to the door, nose first, and then slow it until it was moving at a snail’s pace. An accordion-style docking collar slowly extended from the side of the nose cone, matching up perfectly with the outside of the larger ship’s door and including the small panel at the side of it. The collar hit the hull silently, magnets activating on contact to hold it still. A pair of arms extended inside the small tunnel made by the docking collar, holding Friendship One to the ship more securely. After a long time, the small square door on Friendship One opened, and a pony in a heavy, clumsy-looking spacesuit climbed out. The pony pushed up the mirrored visor, revealing a young mare unicorn with a grey coat and bright purple eyes, though her mane was covered by the headset she wore. She gently pushed herself closer to the door and leaned in to examine the panel. “Wheel to Skies,” she said into the microphone in her helmet. “I’m looking at the thing. I think it’s a keypad—there’s a bunch of buttons with—letters, I guess?—on them. There’s a four-by-three group, and a little glass square above it.” “A lock?” a male voice answered her over the radio as another pony started to climb out of Friendship One. “Probably,” the mare said, eyes narrowing as she peered closer at some of the other markings around the door. “There’s a little hatch next to it, on the door. Let me see if I can…pry it…loose! Ha! There’s a lever and some more markings. Maybe instructions? I think it may be a manual release.” “Let me see,” a female voice said. A hoof pushed the first mare out of the way as the second pony leaned in close. “Hmph. The symbols don’t appear to have an obvious meaning. I doubt they’re pictographs.” “Scoot over, Silvie. We’re supposed to be getting inside this thing.” “We’re supposed to be learning about the aliens, Miss Wheel. And don’t call me ‘Silvie!’ My name is Silver Script, though I wouldn’t expect a glorified grease monkey like you to—” “Ladies,” the male said, cutting off both Silver Script’s oncoming tirade and Squeaky Wheel’s hot rebuttal. “Need I remind you that we are being broadcast live to all of Equestria? Everypony—literally, every pony alive is hearing you two squabble like kindergarteners. We’ve got a job to do, so do it. Squeaky, open the door, please.” “Yes, Captain Sunny Skies. Of course, Captain Sunny Skies. We’re sorry, Captain Sunny Skies,” Squeaky intoned without enthusiasm as she examined the lever inside the panel. She winked at Silver Script so that the mission commander, still in Friendship One’s capsule, couldn’t see. “Don’t you love when he gets all commanding like that?” Silver Script was suddenly very glad she hadn’t raised her visor, and that the furious blush shining through her beige coat was therefore completely hidden. Squeaky had instead turned back to the lever and tugged on it as hard as she could. It resisted, but eventually gave way. The unicorn stared at it a moment before her horn lit up with a silvery aura. The door lit up with the same glow, and slowly slid open. A rush of air hit her in the chest, pushing her back to the Friendship One capsule and nearly disrupting her telekinetic grip on the door. She managed to hold her focus, however, and pushed it the rest of the way open. Inside was a small, dark room, three yards high, two wide, and five deep, made of the same metal as the outside of the ship. At the far end was a door identical to the one she had just opened “We’re in,” Squeaky said. She slowly pulled herself into the room, into the alien ship, into a place where no pony had gone before. She noted that there still was no gravity—something they had prepared for. Her horn glowed as Silver Script drifted into the ship after her, and her hooves lit up with the same silvery light. By the time the final member of their crew, Sunny Skies, had entered the ship, Squeaky’s Sticky Hooves spell had her anchored to what she assumed was the floor. She applied the same spell to her companions’ hooves, allowing all three to walk normally. “This must be an airlock,” Sunny Skies said, looking around the room with his visor up. He had a blue coat and a ruggedly handsome face, marred only by a jagged scar under his grey eyes and across his snout—a souvenir from crashing a test plane early in his career. He turned to the two mares—Squeaky was pushing the outer door shut while Silver Script examined the markings and signs in the room. “System’s made so only one door can be open at a time,” Squeaky mumbled an explanation as she marched back to the inner door. “Actual physical locks engage. Mechanical.” “Mind getting it open, Squeaks?” Sunny said. Squeaky nodded and poked at the panel next to the inner door. As soon as she did, lights hidden in the ceiling turned on, bathing the ponies with artificial blue-tinted light. “What about the atmosphere?” Silver Script asked suddenly, not looking away from the sign next to the door. “I mean no offense to the ponies that designed them, but this suit is rather uncomfortable.” “Scanning it now,” Sunny answered as he poked at a small box on the sleeve of his foreleg. Squeaky had activated the airlock, and atmosphere was being pumped into the room. “It looks like…four parts nitrogen, one part oxygen. Some trace gasses, but nothing toxic. We should be okay.” “It’s open,” Squeaky said. ----- The three astronauts explored what they could of the ship. The corridors were uniformly metal, though the width and light level varied. Several times they had to turn around, either from reaching a dead end or from debris blocking the corridor. In one case, they found that the entire compartment behind one door was missing—all they saw through the small viewport in the door was slowly drifting stars. As they slowly made their way to the stern of the ship, Squeaky found something she fell in love with almost immediately. “It’s so cute!” she cooed, using her telekinesis to pick up a metal object that had been hovering around in a corner. It was the size of a raccoon, shaped like an egg, and striped yellow and black. At the wider end were a camera ringed with half a dozen tiny arms, each tipped with a different tool. It made a sharp series of beeps as fans placed around its radius spun frantically. “What is that thing?” Silver Script demanded, stumbling backwards. Squeaky sat on her haunches and held it at leg’s length. “Could be it’s some kind of automaton.” She held it out to Silver Script, who flinched back. “Look at the tools. It probably does repairs and maintenance.” “We are supposed to be collecting samples if we can,” Sunny said. He nodded at Squeaky, who squealed happily and hugged the protesting thing tightly. Shaking his head, Sunny led the way down the corridor. “What’s starting to worry me is that we haven’t seen any evidence of anypony aboard. Can’t help but wonder what happened to the crew.” “Maybe they abandoned ship?” Squeaky suggested. “Perhaps there never was a crew,” Silver Script said as all three continued their exploration. They reached another door, which Squeaky opened easily, and made their way into the next room. Inside were seemingly endless rows of metal tubes, three yards long and one around, held half a yard off the floor by heavy-looking bases. At the end of each tube was a panel with several darkened lights and white markings underneath, and a seam bisected the tube lengthwise. “What are these?” Silver Script asked, leaning in to peer at the markings. Squeaky’s horn glowed, her magic surrounding the top of the tube. It hinged open with a hiss, revealing its contents. Silver Script looked inside, sucked in a deep breath, and let out a shriek so shrill and piercing that the millions of ponies glued to their radios didn’t need them to hear it. Inside the tube was a mummy, barely more than a skeleton with skin stretched tight over its long frame. It had two arms and legs, like a minotaur, but was much smaller and more compact. The furless skin was a dark brown, as was the short mane on its head. It wore no clothing, and if the smell were any indication, it had been dead for a long while. Silver Script stared at it in horror, wanting desperately to look away but unable to until she heard another hiss. Squeaky had opened another of the tubes—inside was another mummy, nearly identical to the first. A dozen tubes and a dozen mummies later, they realized something that sent shivers down each of their spines. They were the only things alive on that ship. ----- Nine Years Later After a nearly forty-year journey, Jumpgate KP-9 was finally in place, orbiting a g-type star at a distance of 470 light-minutes. KC-9 was centered around the jumpgate, a ring a hundred meters in diameter and fifteen meters thick. From one side stretched a long, bulbous segment filled with engines, reactors, and fuel tanks. From the other was a cigar-shaped crew area, with a round bulge encompassing the forward half. Long docking arms extended from both sides of the bulge. Attached to the port arm was the I.K.S. Robali, a Kavican cruiser. The Robali had acted as escort and relief for the crew of the KP-9, ferrying them home and bringing back a replacement crew every nine months. The Robali was what had become standard for the Kavican military: a roughly cylindrical main body with a bulge at the front and two sloped, forward-swept wings at the back. Inside were eight decks, holding everything the ship needed for missions ranging from transport to combat to exploration. Three hundred sailors were proud to call the Robali their home. In the Command, almost twenty officers sat at their stations, scanning the area, monitoring power levels, and organizing reports from all over the ship. Guane Raklralen, the ship’s commander, paced steadily through the rows of consoles. He, just like every member of the Imperial Defense Force, was a Kavican. Kavicans are reptomammals, ranging six and a half to eight feet from the end of their snout to the tip of their tail. They have long, slender torsos and digitigrades legs ending in three-toed talons. Their arms are slender, with three-fingered hands tipped with dull brown claws and sharp spikes reaching back from their elbows. Long necks support heads with long pointed ears, a six-inch-long snout filled with sharp teeth, and a pair of horns that sweep back from the top of their skull. A rounded sail-like ridge runs from the snout to the top of the head. Their whole body is covered in dark green scales, except for on the ridge—there, a rainbow of colors changed in a constantly-swirling pattern that reflected their emotions. Their uniforms consisted of ankle-length trousers with an extra leg that ran half the length of their tails and a wrap-around, short-sleeved shirt that buttoned under the right arm, both neutral green NuCloth. Over that was worn a leather bandolier, dyed black, with pockets along the front and each officer’s name sewn on the back with silvery thread. Just below the shoulder, a hexagonal steel badge made of four parts was pinned to the leather. An attached belt ran around the hips, just over the tail, and had more pockets hanging off it and a more generic hexagonal buckle. Each officer also carried a Tumek-11 pulse laser pistol, the Kavican military’s standard side-arm, and a high-carbon steel fighting knife, still handmade by traditionally-trained blacksmiths. Guane Raklralen kept his hands clasped as he slowly made his round of the Command, his talons clicking against the deck. As he passed a communication console, the young Luedan manning it spoke up. “Guane,” she said. “I’m picking up a lot of chatter in the radio bands. There’s some distortion, but I don’t think it’s from a natural source.” “Can you localize it?” Raklralen leaned over the Luedan’s shoulder as she calmly turned dials on her console, her other hand holding her earpiece tightly to the side of her head. “Bearing…two-eight-five, mark three.” “Guane,” the Re’dan at the sensors station called out. “We’re reading a planet at that bearing. Long-range sensors indicate a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, large oceanic surface area, and several artificial satellites.” “I thought the report was this system was uninhabited,” the First Officer, Adel Jarlangor, said from his station. “Luedan, make some sense of those transmissions,” Raklralen ordered. The Luedan nodded and fiddled with her console some more. “I think I’ve isolated a channel,” she said. “Audio only.” “On speaker.” Raklralen tilted his head, aiming an ear up at the ceiling to better hear. “…et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle, s'il lui convient de refuser. Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière, l'un parle bien, l'autre se tait: Et c'est l'autre que je préfère, Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît. L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!” “What is that?” Jarlangor asked over the noise. “Old Terran music,” Raklralen said. At a gesture, the Luedan turned it off. “You think the humans beat us here?” “I intend to find out. Jarl, call a meeting of the senior officers in one hour. Luedan, keep sifting through those signals—find something in Kavrr if you can.” With that, the Guane retreated into his ready room at port side of the room. ----- An hour later, Raklralen stepped into the conference room adjacent to the Command and took his seat under the bow-facing porthole. He looked up to see each of the department heads seated and waiting for the meeting to start. Several of them had datapads on the table in front of them, and a mix of eagerness and caution swirled around their ridges. “Adel,” Raklralen said expectantly, looking at his first officer. Jarlangor nodded and slid his datapad towards the guane. “Luedan Kolarknorr was able to record several audio transmissions in Terran languages. This is the first batch, and I’ve ordered her to continue until her shift is over.” “Nothing at all in Kavrr?” asked Redel Havakin, head of the science department. “Not that she was able to find.” “Hmph,” Havakin huffed. When she noticed Raklralen staring at her, she made her own report. “Long range sensors indicate that the signal’s origin is a terrestrial planet almost thirteen-thousand kilometers in diameter, with a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, a twenty-four hour day, and one natural satellite. There are in addition at least twenty artificial satellites in orbit around the planet, as well as… well, this.” She slid her datapad to the guane as well. On it was a wire-frame rendering of a long, narrow ship, with details and specs printed under it. “The Constantinople?” Raklralen read aloud. “It’s an old Earth colonyship launched almost a hundred years ago,” Havakin explained. “It was supposed to go to the Alpha Centauri system but never arrived. The United Earth Government declared it lost forty years ago.” “So the humans did get here first,” Redel Yemslu’fi, the chief engineer, slumped in her chair. “It appears so,” Raklralen mused quietly. “Still, we’re here. We’ll need to prepare a message to send to them.” “Guane, at our distance, any transmissions would take almost eight hours to reach them,” Jarlangor said. “And I mean no disrespect, but if this ship was launched a hundred years ago, they’ve never seen a Kavican before and won’t know our language.” “I see your point,” Raklralen said. “Suggestions?” “I…may have something.” Yemslu’fi said. The rest of the officers turned to her. “It’s Re’dan Yanvorren. He’s one of my engineers, and he’s fluent in English.” “The same Re’dan Yanvorren that was on report last week for running a betting pool?” Jarlangor asked, head tilted curiously. ----- Six engineers were gathered around a crate in one of the Robali’s cargo bays. Only one light was on, providing just enough illumination for them to see the cards in their hands and provide a particular sheen to the small pile of brass rods on the center of their makeshift table. “Fold,” one of the engineers said, tossing his cards onto the crate. “I’ve got nothing. Fold.” The female next to him threw her cards down. They turned to look at the officer next to them. He, unlike every other crewmember aboard, was human. His brown hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven, and his brown eyes gleamed as he glanced at each of the other players, paying special attention to their ridges. “All in,” he said, pushing his own pile of brass rods to join the one in the middle, easily tripling its size. He quickly pulled his hand back to hide his confident smirk. The two players to his right immediately folded, though the re’dan sitting across from him stared back, her gold eyes gleaming in the dim light. Silently, she pushed her own considerable pile of rods to join the pot. “You sure about that Tea’?” the human said with a knowing grin. He fanned himself with his cards, careful not to show them too early. “I feel pretty good about this hand.” “I feel pretty good about mine,” Tea’mahk said. She leaned back and squared her shoulders defiantly. The human stared back at her before finally throwing his cards down, showing only a pair of fours. “Fine,” he said. Tea’mahk’s ridge flashed a happy lime as she showed off her full house and scooped the pot to her side of the crate. The human huffed and stood. “It’s almost time for our shift anyway.” “Actually, your shift started five minutes ago.” The engineers jumped to their feet and faced the door to the cargo bay. Standing in the doorway, Yemslu’fi was silhouetted by the light from the corridor. Tea’mahk scrambled to stuff her winnings into her belt pouches (the uniforms didn’t have pockets) as the others shuffled to hide her from view. “Redel,” the human said politely. Yemslu’fi stepped forward, flicking the lights on as she crossed into the room and stopping half a meter in front of him. She was short for a Kavican, but still almost twenty centimeters taller than him, which forced him to look up to meet her stern gaze. “Just because we’ve reached our destination doesn’t mean you get to slack off,” she said. “Get to your stations.” The Kavicans scrambled out of the cargo bay, but Yemslu’fi held the human back. “Yanvorren,” she said sternly. “You are aware that you’re still on probation, aren’t you?” “Yes, Redel.” “And that if you’re caught gambling with your subordinates again, we’ll have to bring you up on charges.” “Yes, Redel.” “So find a better hiding place,” Yemslu’fi slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the best systems engineer I have. I don’t want to have to train someone else because you got caught playing for pocket change.” “Yes, Redel,” Yanvorren said with a respectful nod. “Unfortunately, I have a different assignment for you today,” Yemslu’fi said as she held a datapad out to him. “The guane wants that translated and on his desk in an hour.” “What is it?” Yanvorren took the datapad and examined its contents. “Audio files?” “They’re recorded transmissions from a planet further in-system. Now get to work.” ----- Raklralen slumped over the front-rest of his chair, looking at the reports on his desk with glazed eyes. He scratched his neck and tried to ignore how the once-smooth and shiny scales were dulled with age. Daily filings kept his horns and elbow spikes from flaking, but they were gradually wearing faster than he could tend to them. He huffed and swished his tail agitatedly. Escorting KP-9 was supposed to be a simple mission—a last hurdle before retirement to a nice home in the country. Raklralen hadn’t expected to find a long-lost human colony, or have to deal with the consequences of it. He eyed his computer terminal warily. On its screen was a half-finished report to the Asamusgo, second in command only to the Empress herself, detailing their findings. He didn’t want to have to finish it with an admission that the human colonists had beaten them to the system. The door chime dug him out of his thoughts. “Enter,” he called. The door slid open, and Yanvorren stepped in and closed it behind him. Raklralen stood, and Yanvorren saluted him—pounding a fist on his chest and bowing slightly. Raklralen returned the gesture, without the bow, and stared at the Re’dan expectantly. “I translated everything that was in English,” Yanvorren said, handing over the datapad. “That is, about forty percent of the total data. Most of that was music spanning the three centuries before the Constantinople launched. There were some news reports, but nothing of particular significance. The only signal of real note in that group is file 3-A. It’s the Fibonacci sequence.” “The what?” “The Fibonacci sequence, sir. A sequence of numbers where a term is the sum of the two terms immediately before it. One, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, and so on. It repeats after fifty terms. Whoever’s broadcasting that is looking to make contact with someone.” “What about the rest?” “More music, sir, in several languages. A lot of opera, especially the popular ones.” “Why do you think that is, Re’dan?” “I looked at the carrier and modulation techniques. They’re consistent with the technology at the time the Constantinople was launched, and suggest non-directed transmissions, like broad-waves. Based on that and the content, I would say that the radio frequency transmissions are meant for entertainment purposes. Except for the Fibonacci channel.” “Very well,” Raklralen said. He shuffled the datapads on his desk around a bit. “I intend to make contact with these people. It occurred to us that none of them will have seen a Kavican before. I think it would be best if a familiar face were to extend an olive branch, as it were.” “I’m not sure I follow, sir.” “I’ll make it plain, then. I’m assigning you to the first contact team, effective immediately. Your assignment is peaceful negotiations with the people on that planet.” “Sir, I’m not sure I’m the best candidate for the job. And—and anyway, you need to be at least a Ludel to be on a diplomatic team, and—” “Yes, yes, how could I forget?” Raklralen chuckled to himself and stepped around the desk. Yanvorren stiffened, standing straight and not turning. The old Kavican reached for the young human’s bandolier and pulled the bottom part of the hexagonal badge, a v-shaped bar with two raised vertical bars, off with a snap. Before Yanvorren could say anything, he put another bar in its place, this one with four raised bars. “Re’dan Yanvorren, I hereby promote you to Ludel, with all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges that entails.” “I—sir—but—” “This is the part where you shut up and accept it.” “I—yes, sir. Thank you, Guane Raklralen. I wear this badge with honor and pride in service and protection of the Empire.” “Now that formalities are out of the way,” Raklralen moved back behind his desk and sifted through the datapads again. He picked one up and handed it to Yanvorren. “Send this message to the planet. Use the same carrier band or modulation frequency or—you know what you need to do to make sure they get it. We’ve only picked up audio transmissions, so reply in kind. In English, mind you.” Yanvorren took the datapad and read the message on it quickly. He had to fight to keep the smile off his face as he looked up to Raklralen. “Sir, are you serious about sending this?” “Don’t think that shiny new rank badge lets you question orders, Ludel.” “Right sir. I’ll get right on it.” ----- In the basement of the Equestrian Space Program’s headquarters, two ponies in labcoats were playing a game of table tennis in an attempt to make their eight-hour shift pass by more quickly. One, an older earth pony stallion with a slate-grey coat and dark red mane, was breathing heavily and barely able to reach the ball as it came down one side, then the other. Opposite him was a young yellow unicorn, just barely graduated from the Royal Academy, with a wide grin on her face as she easily batted the ball back. Finally, just as the stallion thought he’d managed to get a point, the young mare smashed the ball back and earned the winning point. “Ha!” she barked victoriously, jumping in celebration. The stallion wheezed, bent over as he tried to get his breath back. “Dunno…why…agreed…that…,” he panted. “Oh c’mon Lensy, it’s not that bad,” the mare pouted. “I mean, you scored three whole points that time.” “Heartless.” The stallion, Ground Lens, shot her a loathsome glare. The mare, named Lightning Breeze, shrugged unrepentantly. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t just bang on the spectrograph again,” she said with a sly grin. “Though if you’ve changed your mind….” “Mare, I can barely stand right now,” Ground Lens snapped back. “And we almost got caught last time. I can’t risk losing this job.” “But it’s so boring! All we do is sit around and wait for that Celestia-damned signal.” “You watch your mouth, young lady, or I’ve got half a mind to…to….” “To what?” Lightning Breeze’s grin turned decidedly salacious and she wiggled suggestively. “Turn me over your knee and give me a spanking? Oh, I’ve been a naughty filly. Spank me, Daddy!” Ping. “The fact that I’m actually old enough to be your father ruins it for me.” “Oh come on you old stick in the mud. It’s been forty years since that thing showed up. If the humans were going to come and get it, they would have by now. We’re down here so we don’t cause trouble.” Ping. “Lightning—” “I told you, call me Breezy.” “Fine. Breezy, the humans sent that ship here for a reason. We don’t yet know what it is, so in the meantime, we’ll keep broadcasting and waiting for a response.” Ping. “And sit here bored out of our skulls? C’mon, Lensy, just one more time.” “We can’t get caught doing that on the equipment. And besides, we could be the first ponies to have contact with live aliens—beings from lightyears away and…what is making that damn noise?” Ping. The two ponies looked around the small office, at the banks of monitoring equipment, the lockers at the far wall, the magic computers that stored all of their data, searching for the unfamiliar sound. Finally, they spotted a small light blink at the same time as the high-pitched ping. Ground Lens jumped forward and peered at the small light, squinting to read the miniscule label under it. “’Incoming Transmission’,” he read. He slowly looked back to Lightning Breeze. She sighed heavily. “I’ll get the manual.” After several minutes of sifting through a binder the size of a small desk, she finally found the protocol they needed. “When the yellow ‘Incoming Transmission’ signal is activated…yadda yadda…automatically recorded…for playback, press…here we go.” She ducked around Ground Lens and punched a command into the recording computer. The tape rewound and began to play over the speakers set in the ceiling. “Nu Guane lrao iza’ samusjhek. Ran. Hush. Okay, begin recording. Ah… Greetings. This is Re—Ludel Yanvorren of the I.K.S. Robali speaking. We…snirk…we come in peace.” ----- End of Chapter