Luna sat back as the call, to one Richard Nixon, President of the United States of America, concluded with a click. Neil shook his head. “Well, that’s that. Welcome aboard the Eagle, Ma’am... Miss... What’s your title, anyway?”
Luna automatically began the word ‘Princess,’ but halted before her mouth began to move. She was no longer a princess... simply an outcast. Her titles had been stripped from her along with Nightmare Moon. “Miss would be the proper term,” she replied.
“Miss Luna, then,” Neil nodded. “It’ll be just over a three day trip—we’ll be rendezvousing with Columbia after we lift off from the moon.”
Looking over her new memories of the ‘English’ language, (It was funny, how they seemed to be simultaneously hers and not-hers; sometimes strong surges of emotion accompanied certain words or phrases) she recognized rendezvous, but Columbia—wasn’t that a city in a ‘North Carolina’ (whatever that was)?
“Columbia?” she asked in puzzlement.
Buzz replied, “The Columbia is the command module for the mission. She’s above us right now, and after takeoff we’ll meet up and transfer to her for the flight back to Earth.”
“I see,” Luna said thoughtfully. “I supposed that this craft was rather small for all of the necessities required for a trip to a place as distant as one’s satellite. Tell me, how does this craft work?”
“Work?” Neil seemed surprised. “Um, I couldn’t tell you the exact science, but it’s a combustion rocket.”
Combustion rocket? That meant... something catching on fire, along with a word for very fast. The only conclusion was that this vehicle worked by some method of fire to propel itself at incredible velocities. She wondered what kind of arcane wards had to be set on the craft and the—engine, yes, that was what it was called—to withstand the void and the stresses of being accelerated to such speeds as to cross the vast space between any planet and its moon in a matter of days.
Just from rough estimates in her head, the speed had to exceed by several orders of magnitude anything short of teleportation by an alicorn. Somewhere beyond 18,000 miles an hour, according to the English measurement. But what was this about... meters?
She shook her head in confusion. Every answer only seemed to pose more questions. “How long until we are ‘lifting off?’” she questioned.
Buzz bit his lip as he peered at the various instruments and meters on the control panel. “Um. I’d say about half an hour?” he offered. “We’ve already pressurized, so I’ll just start running the preflight checks now.”
Luna nodded in satisfaction. “So, Neil, tell me about this... United States of America. You are a citizen of this nation, correct?” Neil nodded. “Excellent,” the ex-Princess of the Night beamed. “I would like to know more about the country I will shortly visit.”