The letter arrived in mid-March, contained in a simple, no-frills envelope. Only the old-fashioned wax seal embossed with a modest logo hinted at the contents. The logo read simply “ESP”, and the recipient of the letter was to be Applejack. The return address listed a facility in Canterlot. The orchard formerly known as Sweet Apple Acres didn’t get much in the way of mail anymore. There was still the occasional business proposal or tax report, but that was always addressed to the managers. In point of fact, most dispatches were received electronically, making the paper note doubly unusual.
When Applejack tore open the envelope, she found an impersonal message on expensive stationery that looked to have been composed on a typewriter, signed in a script that she couldn’t read. The printed text below the signature identified the author as one Star Gazer, director of Equestrian aeronautics. The winter had receded slowly that year, and after she read that letter the chilly March morning seemed to get a little colder still.
The sun crept ever-closer to the horizon, obscured by the distant mirror-windowed skyscrapers of uptown Ponyville. A breeze swept through the trees of the apple orchard and the leaves rustled gently against one another, the sound reminding Applejack of the sizzle of crispy frying eggs. Her ears caught a hum some ways off as the apple harvesters worked tirelessly to pick off the ripening fruit. She knew she’d miss this place, despite her continued disagreements with her bosses.
Granny Smith didn’t like it when she argued with Flim and Flam. The two were secretive and none too friendly, but they did save the farm from bankruptcy. Caring for nothing but profit, they insisted on ‘upgrading’ Applejack and her elder brother with labor-class enhancements. Her bionic hind legs (trinity of apples printed on the sleek, waxy finish of the coltan hips) were heavy and required regular service, and the titanium alloy spinal column seemed designed as a sort of restriction on what she could wear and contributed nothing of discernible value. Her brother got off even worse, with all of his legs replaced and his body augmented with a clockwork chassis; he was practically more a machine than stallion at this point. But the managers admittedly weren’t all bad. The mechanical harvesters they brought with them reduced the family’s workload significantly and allowed the apple orchard to grow and prosper, more so than ever before.
Applejack turned to her younger sister, who was lounging on the front porch next to her and playing with Winona.
“How’s Granny doing these days?” she asked.
“Hangin’ in there, same as always,” said Apple Bloom. “She was wondering why you haven’t visited her lately.”
Applejack thought back to the elderly mare, hooked up to a number of life support apparatuses. Frail, confined to her bed, barely able to speak. It was painful for Applejack to see the once-strong head of the Apple family like that. She couldn’t bring herself to come to Grandma Smith’s side.
“I’ve, ah, I’ve just been busy, is all,” said Applejack. “You can tell her goodbye for me, can’t you?”
“What, why?” asked Apple Bloom, snapping back to her. “Y’going somewhere?”
Applejack chewed thoughtfully on her sunflower seeds, trying to find some way to break the news gently.
“Applejack,” her sister prompted. “Where are you going?”
Applejack spat the shells out onto the grass, and forced herself to look at her sister.
“The results of the annual Equestrian Space Program Lottery are in.”
“You can’t mean…”
“My name was pulled.”
Applejack traced the progress of the realization as it washed over Apple Bloom’s features. She was so young, still, so innocent; almost pure. No enhancements except the neuro-optical interface and the Grapevine port.
“But-but you can’t go!” she cried pleadingly.
“I have to. Sorry, sis.” Applejack sighed. “The colony barge is leaving for Artemis II this coming summer. I have to leave for training in a month’s time. My contract is supposed to last five years.”
“But we need you here! I-I need you! And Granny…” Apple Bloom didn’t finish. Grandma Smith’s chances of living another five years were about the same as those of a crippled mayfly.
“I have to go,” Applejack said again. “That’s how the lottery works. You know how these things are. Space is scary; nobody goes willingly.” She stopped. Apple Bloom wouldn’t want to hear about the perils of interstellar space travel. “I’ll be back, ‘kay? And when I do it’ll be like I never even left.”
Apple Bloom looked her in the eyes, apparently resigned. “Do you promise?”
Images of Grapevine news headlines flashed through Applejack’s mind.
Test Barge Bursts into Flames 1500 Meters over Baltimare
Expedition to Artemis Lost Under Mysterious Circumstances
Unforeseen Asteroid Orbit Decimates Neighponese Space Station
“I promise,” she said, still holding her sister’s gaze.
“Cadet sixty-two, report to central immediately for barge maintenance training,” crackled the overhead speaker. Applejack trotted briskly down the narrow steel-plated corridors of the Hoofston training academy. Through the windows, she saw twenty or so other cadets going through physical drills outside. It’s been five weeks since she left the orchard. Much of the training up to this point consisted of physical conditioning.
The shining doors at the end of the corridor slid open to grant her passage.
She glanced around the prep room; it looked the same as always. Several double doors were spread along the wall, each leading into a different testing interior. Assorted items were spread across the tables and inside standing cases. Engineering tools, multipurpose exoskeletons, vacuum suits. Thanks to her reinforced spinal column, Applejack did not conform to the physical dimensions required to wear vacuum suits. When donned, the suits expelled all unnecessary air to cling firmly to the body. Were Applejack to attempt wearing one, the sharp titanium outcroppings would likely tear right through it.
She was cleared to wear the old baggy prototypes, colloquially known as ‘bubble suits’. They were large, bulky and—according to the ESP’s lead scientists—at least 250% more likely to snag on something and expose the wearer to the icy vacuum of deep space. Thus, she was instructed to avoid leaving the barge or the eventual planetary settlement unless absolutely necessary.
“Sixty-two, today you will be working with forty-nine.”
Applejack looked around the chamber once more, searching for her partner.
“Hello,” came an impassive voice to her right. Applejack snapped back to see a bored-looking earth pony mare. She was thoroughly unremarkable, with a plain-Jane mane and a gray coat that camouflaged her against the metallic walls and floor of the chamber.
“Howdy,” Applejack said dubiously. “You know what our assignment is?”
“You will be dealing with a gradual cabin decompression scenario,” said the voice on the speaker. “You are to locate the source of the problem and remedy it before losing consciousness. You will be revived in the event of failure, but you should act as though this is an out-of-training crisis situation.”
“Got it,” said Applejack.
“You will have a standard-issue crisis toolkit and your digital troubleshooting guide for the duration of this exercise. Take the box and enter the hypobaric chamber when you’re ready.”
Cadet forty-nine opened the thick door for her as Applejack hefted up the crisis kit with her mouth. The two entered a massive chamber built to resemble the interior of the life support maintenance cabin. Shiny aluminum tubing snaked across the walls and into various containers. There were oxygen cylinders among other, less readily definable equipment. Enormous featherstahl airlock doors occupied much of the opposite wall. A convincing ambient soundscape pervaded the area, resembling the hum of the thrusters somewhere beyond the walls.
“Strap on your equipment,” advised the voice on the intercom. “The simulation begins in thirty seconds.”
“Hold on,” forty-nine said tonelessly. “I’m not an expert or anything, but shouldn’t we get some O2 to breathe first. To prevent decompression sickness.”
There was no response. Forty-nine stared blankly at the intercom, but didn’t press matters.
Applejack busied herself by strapping diagnostic sensors to her forelegs. Other items in the kit included screwdrivers, multitools, air pumps and good old-fashioned duct tape.
The intercom buzzed.
“Commencing.”
There was no discernible change to the environment, no telltale hiss of any kind. Gradual decompression was often difficult to detect until it was too late. Thankfully, the barges were armed with oxygen monitors that would indicate the faulting cabin in a crisis situation. Of course, normally she and forty-nine would also be wearing equipment to prevent hypoxia.
Applejack started running her sensors over the pipes and the surrounding machinery. Forty-nine approached the airlock.
“I’m detecting air movement around here,” she said. “That doesn’t make sense though. These doors are supposed to be perfectly insulated. There’s two layers, too.”
“Maybe someone forgot to close the outside door?” volunteered Applejack.
“I imagine barge airlocks close automatically.”
Forty-nine didn’t strike Applejack as a particularly imaginative mare. Her head was starting to get light.
“Maybe it’s a malfunction, I don’t know,” she said dismissively. “It’s a training exercise, don’t overthink it.”
Forty-nine shrugged almost imperceptibly and stepped aside as Applejack crossed toward the airlock and consulted her digital troubleshooting guide.
Section N-14: Faulty Airlock Insulation
It is possible via engineering defect or wear and tear from repeated use for an airlock door to fail to properly insulate the barge interior from the vacuum outside. It is important to address this issue as soon as possible, using makeshift means if necessary.
Run your diagnostic sensors over the edges of the aperture. The visualizer instrument built into the sensor will display the movement of escaping particles, typically a discernible cone or funnel shape. If the insulation breach is minor, it can usually be abated with liberal application of duct tape until more permanent means of repair can be utilized. If a breach is less trivial, isolate the faulting chamber and restrict access to any crew member not equipped with a vacuum suit and helmet. Contact an engineering specialist immediately once a breach has been discovered.
For soldering/welding instructions, consult section N-18.
Applejack took a roll of duct tape out of the kit and tore a strand with her teeth. She was getting drowsy. Were it not for the warning during briefing, she’d dismiss this as accumulated sleep debt. Forty-nine glanced at her visualizer.
“Here,” she said, nodding to a spot on the rubber surrounding the door. “Looks like there’s a hole in the material.” Applejack pushed the tape strand over the suspected breach.
“Just a sec, we should probably—horse apples!”
There was a harsh metallic screech as the replica hull shuddered and folded around the reinforced airlock door. Bright red text lit up the corner of Applejack’s NOI.
Fatal error encountered.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” forty-nine suggested, still deadpan, as she backed away.
“What in the blazes—?”
The next instant the wall fell away, airlock and all, into the star-dotted abyss beyond.
“T-this is supposed to be a trai—” Applejack managed to gasp out as she was swept into the fissure, into the subzero vacuum of deep space. The icy fingers of death crept over her exposed skin. It felt as though her insides wanted to leave her body via any opening available and, failing that, make one. The air in her lungs expanded until she feared it would rupture them. With no other choice, she opened her mouth and let the void reach through her windpipe and pluck every particle from her chest cavity. In her last conscious seconds, she made out the vast dark shape of a colony barge spinning away from her. The text flashed in her fading vision once more.
Aborting simulation.
It was dark, but she was conscious. She moved her head, but there was no reference point of any kind. She was laying on something soft, synthetic. She raised her forelegs and her hooves stopped against something hard and smooth.
“Relax please; the vision is the last thing to return.” It was a stallion’s voice, businesslike but not unkind. “Your eyes should begin to function again momentarily.”
Gradually, the blackness gained textures of sorts. As she looked about, the textures began to resolve into blurry colors. She was sealed in a glass case. A light gray stallion with a tidy chestnut mane stood outside, looking in.
“If you would be so kind,” he ventured, “please reach to your left temple and disconnect those electrodes for me.”
Hesitantly, still trembling from her ordeal, she did so.
“Wh-what is this?” she asked.
“You are just surfacing from our virtual simulated environment,” he explained, as the glass began to slide upwards. “I’m afraid we’ve encountered a minor system glitch.”
“Virtual environment,” she repeated slowly, voice husky from the trauma. “That… That wasn’t real?”
“No. My name is Star Gazer, and I’m the director. I’d like to apologize on behalf of my cybermancer team here at the ESP.”
She stepped out of the cylinder, shaking. Her legs buckled and collapsed underneath her, still operating under the mistaken belief that she was oxygen-deprived. She took quick shallow gasps of air, afraid that her lungs would burst from the strain. Her eyes picked up on cadet forty-nine sitting on the lip of a container identical to her own, apparently none the worse for wear.
“She’s in shock. Escort her to the therapist’s clinic immediately.” The director turned back to her. “Welcome to Aeronautics Training, cadet,” he said without a trace of irony.
After a few months of rigorous, day-by-day training of the crew, the launch of the colony barge, Consequence, finally took place on a hot, humid August afternoon. It had been raining for much of the previous week, delaying the launch.
The final thirty seconds of the sixty hour countdown sequence sounded throughout the vessel. About a third of the crew had elected to be asleep by that point, locked in suspended animation until further notice. A crowd had gathered below, rubbernecking at the massive vessel. Cameras were trained, broadcasting the momentous event over the Grapevine. Somewhere back in Ponyville Big Mac and Apple Bloom would be watching the feed with bated breath.
“T-minus fifteen seconds to launch… Twelve. Eleven. Ten…”
Strapped snugly into her seat with star spider webbing, Applejack idly questioned the authenticity of the situation. After her first encounter inside the ESP’s training virtuality, she couldn’t help but wonder. Every waking moment was potentially a simulated experience.
“Four. Three. Two. One. Ignition.”
The last word was drowned out by the roar of the thrusters and the detachable tank as they strained to lift the heavy machine off the ground. Applejack’s everleather seat felt like it was trying to absorb her into its cushions. The vibrations shook her until she wondered if her teeth would remain securely in her mouth. Maybe she should have retreated to the hibernation coffins with the others. Regardless, it was too late now.
The pilot’s voice sounded over the speakers. Applejack hoped this was intentional, rather than his forgetting to shut the intercom system off.
“Clean takeoff, Hoofston. No problems. Approaching one thousand meters.”
“Roger,” replied the mission director. “Systems appear nominal. Vent exhausts A and B.”
“Exhausts clear.”
There was a pause.
“Our readings indicate that you are a quarter of a degree off-course. Consult your star charts and correct immediately.”
“Course corrected.” The embarrassment was practically dripping from the two words as the pilot said them. “Approaching 1500 meters.”
“Unlock the detachable tank and power up the tesseract drive.”
This was the point where the first test barge exploded. Tesseract or “Godspeed” engines were what allowed the colony barges to fold space-time and essentially break the ubiquitous light-speed speed limit. These components were very desirable for traveling vast interstellar distances because otherwise voyages to distant stars could take well over a century. Unfortunately, the fundamental forces and technology behind tesseract drives were not yet fully understood by ponies. Applejack recalled that the blueprints for the first drive were authored by some mysterious progenitor species that ponies named the “anthroids”.
The technology was useful but also inconsistently volatile. The first drive was remotely warmed up to about 60% before combusting and engulfing the test barge in a blaze to rival that of the sun. Since then, every barge had been equipped with improved cooling systems to reduce the risk of spontaneous incineration.
“The tesseract drive is at 15% functionality. Initializing onboard monitoring AI.”
The smooth pre-recorded tones of Sapphire Shores sounded over the intercom.
“Barge monitoring intelligence under the designation of ‘Twenty-One’ is online. Tesseract drive is stable at 15%. Risk of Ragnaloan-class overload: low. Recommendation: continue charging sequence.”
The vibrations rocking the barge seemed to intensify as the silky-voiced AI continued its commentary.
“Charged to 30%… 45%… 60%…”
Applejack’s pulse quickened but her heart was not vaporized by a Ragnaloan meltdown. Not yet, in any case.
“75%… 90%… The tesseract drive has reached full potential charge.”
The pilot’s voice sounded over the speakers once more.
“The tesseract drive is at full charge, Hoofston. We are accelerating to folding speed. Communications will cut in twenty seconds.”
“Understood. Good luck, Consequence. We anticipate hearing from you upon your arrival.”
The hum of the thrusters turned deafening and the shaking became more violent. Applejack got the impression that it was all building up to a crescendo that would reduce her body to jelly. The displays of the world outside—the brilliant skies and the retreating ground—were shut off: this was a safety precaution. Ponies looking outside during a tesseract fold were rendered blind and, more often than not, irreversibly insane.
The noise stopped so suddenly that Applejack feared she’d lost her hearing. The vibrations ceased. She cleared her throat experimentally and found—to her relief—that her ears were still functioning.
She heard the speakers crackle and hiss and caught a not-quite inaudible whisper from the pilot.
“Oh shit, was this on the whole time?”
Applejack rolled her eyes.
Nice. Real professional.
The pilot coughed.
“Attention all conscious crew members: we have successfully reached folding velocity. ETA to Artemis II’s local space is approximately eighty-three hours from now. You are free to move around the vessel.”
Regularly recast specialty spells combined with the vessel’s consistent centripetal spin generated artificial gravity equal to three quarters of Earth’s natural field. This allowed comfortable movement through the cabins and slowed bone and muscle atrophy.
Applejack reached forward and toggled a conspicuous switch. The webbing securing her to the seat came loose and retracted into a slot by her side somewhere. Music started playing a little ways down the hall, a lively jungle salsa mix. She got on her feet and drifted uncertainly toward the sound of racing drums and Galiceñan vocals.
A tall, gangly earth stallion was reclining in his seat, cradling a pre-industrial disk player. He nodded to her as she approached and gestured to an open seat across from him.
“Hey. I don’t believe we’ve met.” His tone was casual and she had to strain to hear him over the music. “You can call me Toe-Tapper, dear. I’m a communications technician.” He flashed a flawless smile.
“Applejack,” she answered. “Agricultural assistant.”
“Ah. You’ll be tending the crops then, yeah?” he asked. “I was wondering about those enhancements of yours.”
“Getting these wasn’t my call. I’d just as soon handle everything with my old meat legs.”
He nodded knowingly but, seeing that he still had all of his biological gear, it couldn’t have been genuine.
A soft patter sounded over the sleek floor behind her.
“’Ey, what’s with all the racket, then, eh?”
She twisted around the back of the seat to see a light brown, bipedal creature approaching from the opposite corridor.
“Oh, uh, hey there,” she stammered. “I thought… I thought this expedition was… I mean, aren’t you…?”
“A diamond dog?” the creature finished. “Damn right, I am! Y’got something against my sort, is that it? Then you can fuck right off, right? ‘Cos I didn’t join this sorry voyage to make friends with the pony folk.”
“You mean to say you’re here voluntarily?” Toe-Tapper asked, astonished.
“He is,” said a quiet voice. “Spot is here to assist me.”
Applejack blinked. Once again, the other mare’s metallic-gray coat camouflaged her against the dull surroundings, allowing her to approach the group unnoticed.
“You’re number sixty-two, aren’t you,” said the mare, addressing Applejack. “I remember you from training.”
“My name’s Applejack. Agricultural assistant.”
“And I’m Toe-Tapper, a communications tech.”
The gray mare nodded. “It’s a pleasure.”
There was a pause.
“And you are…?” Applejack prompted finally. She thought she saw a flicker of surprise pass over the mare’s features.
“My name is Maud Pie,” she said. “My job title for this expedition is ‘consulting geologist’.”
The diamond dog cleared his throat.
“And this is Spot,” Maud added. “He is my assistant and supplementary manual labor.”
“’Scuse me?” Spot sputtered. “I’m no bleedin’ slave, got that?”
“That’s correct,” said Maud. “You are being compensated.”
Applejack heard a snicker from Toe-Tapper’s direction. With some effort, she put on her best poker face.
Spot sniffed disdainfully.
“I swear you fucking equines are all the same. See you assholes planetside.”
Maud looked at Applejack and Toe-Tapper as the diamond dog stormed off, muttering to himself. As usual, her expression was unreadable. After a moment’s deliberation, she pivoted away from them and started after her companion.
“Spot, wait. If I caused any undue offense, I assure you that was not my intention…”
Applejack and Toe-Tapper watched the two until they were out of sight. The tune on the stallion’s disk player died out like an aftershock.
“Quite a pair, that one,” said Applejack, breaking the silence.
“You can say that again.” Toe-Tapper hit the ‘next track’ button. “There won’t be a dull moment with them around, I can tell you that much. Anyway,” he stood up, stretching each of his legs in turn, “Eighty hours ‘til we leave fold space and no life-threatening accidents yet. I’m in a celebratory mood. Gonna go raid the alcohol reserves.” He looked back at her and grinned. “You’re free to join me, if you want.”
Applejack took a few seconds to consider her options.
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Not much else going on.”
“Unfreezing hibernation coffins in cabin 4A,” said the crackling voice on the intercom. “Rise from your grave, friends! The time of reckoning is upon us, and the promised land awaits.”
The mare shivered and spat excess fluid from her defrosted lungs.
“Who let a fucking stoner in the comms room?” she asked, brushing ice out of her mane.
“Beats me,” answered Applejack as she handed the mare a towel. “He’s probably just excited. You’ve been in suspended animation so you wouldn’t know it, but the rest of us have been in transit for a week and a half.”
“Alright, alright, I get it.”
“I’m Applejack, an agricultural assistant. What can I call you?”
The mare looked at her sideways, wiping her dripping ears with the towel.
“You too, huh? My name’s Pinot Noir, but my friends call me Berryshine. Farmhand, just like you.”
Applejack nodded. She’d met several other agricultural workers while carrying out her assigned duties of seeing to the waking crew members.
“How’s the surface look?” asked Berryshine, struggling into a formfitting wife-beater.
Applejack shrugged.
“You’ll have to ask the science team for the complete briefing.”
“I’m asking you, Jacky.” Berryshine rubbed her temple irritably. “Sorry if I don’t feel up to getting a full technical explanation from some egghead while half my gray matter is still frosted over.”
“Uh, well alright.” Applejack paused to collect her thoughts, feeling slightly out of her element. “The astronomers back on Earth didn’t know what they were talking about, apparently; no life to be seen, save for some trace micro-ecosystems of bacteria. The atmosphere is technically breathable, but the oxygen content is spread very thin. They’re saying it’s not safe to stay outside for any longer than ten minutes without equipment. The temperature varies between close to 120° Fahrenheit during midday to -50° during the night. That is, er, what was it? About 220, 230 to 320 Kelvin.”
“No life, eh?” Berryshine smirked. “That’s disappointing. I’m sure the soldiers’ll be especially crestfallen without any hostile xenofauna to shoot.”
“We’ll put ‘em to work somehow.” Applejack looked her over once more. “You alright, then? No lingering aftereffects?”
“You bet your shiny metal ass I’ve got lingering aftereffects. Rapid Thawing Syndrome’s a bitch. I doubt it’s anything I can’t sleep off, though.”
“Okay. Be sure to—”
“To report to medical if any of the symptoms persist, yeah, yeah.”
Applejack nodded. “Be seeing you around, then.”
Berryshine was the last crew member that she had to see to for the time being. With her duties completed, Applejack fixed her oxygen supply into place and surfaced into the temporary yaodong settlement carved out by the survey team. Sleek resin biodomes stood among housing carved straight from the cliff face, all contained beneath a gigantic climate-control marquee.
A group had gathered along the foot of the settlement. Applejack recognized Maud Pie and Spot among them and decided that this was probably the science team. Scraps of conversation floated toward her as she approached, muffled somewhat by the muzzlepieces.
“Don’t be so thick,” said Spot. “We’ve stumbled on a pre-vertebrate planet. No greenery to generate oxygen and millions of years away from animal life more complex than an amoeba.”
“But that’s clearly not true, Spot,” replied Maud. “If you take the time to inspect the closest riverbed, you’ll find that it’s coated in a thick layer of limestone, indicating that there was a thriving marine ecosystem prior to the drought.”
“That doesn’t prove a thing!”
“I agree with Doctor Pie,” said a short, stocky stallion. “It seems likely that Artemis II was once inhabited by multicellular life. I propose that the previous inhabitants were wiped out by severe climate change, plague, or natural predators.”
“It’s still too early to say,” Maud said equitably. “But ecological collapse is liable to occur any time a new element is introduced into the system, be it a change in the environment or a mutation in an existing organism.”
“Fine, whatever,” said Spot. “How are we gonna survive here? Y’know, with that breach…”
The scientist stallion nodded urgently in Applejack’s direction and made a cutting gesture across his throat. Spot stopped to glare at her.
Applejack felt as though she’d arrived just in time to hear the punch-line to some elaborate joke.
“Hey Maud,” she called. “What’s this ‘breach’ he’s talking about?”
Maud Pie glanced around the assembled science team.
“Well,” she began.
“Two of our water cylinders cracked during the landing,” Spot cut in. “Nearly half our water supply is gone, ‘Jack.”
“What!”
“Yeah. If nothing’s done, we might have to cannibalize the cooling systems, and then we’re stuck here.”
“Quiet, please,” urged the stallion. “The last thing we need is for the crew to fall into a panic.”
“This issue is being addressed,” said Maud. “A detachment of miners was assigned to look for subterranean rivers approximately fifty hours ago. In all likelihood, we will find a reliable source of water to add to our stores before this becomes a problem.”
“For all our sakes, I hope you’re right, Pie,” said Spot.
The meeting continued but Applejack had heard enough. The diamond dog’s words hung over her like a mist as she strode back to the cabins. Like oxygen escaping into the void.
“Half the water?” repeated Toe-Tapper. “Really?”
The three of them were lounging in Toe-Tapper’s cabin, listening to his disks. Applejack often came here to stave off the long periods of boredom that seemed to pervade the landing site.
“This is a bad sign, right enough,” said Noteworthy. “Weren’t we told this is exactly the kind of thing that shouldn’t happen, what with all our trajectory calculations and safe landing procedures and the like?”
“Accidents happen?” suggested Applejack. “There are a million and one ways things can go wrong out here.”
“Maybe the monitoring system is at fault,” said Noteworthy.
Toe-Tapper looked at the other stallion bemusedly. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Think about it. You remember the survey team that got sent to Artemis the First a couple of years back? How they just disappeared ‘under mysterious circumstances’? The programming for the barge monitoring AI is virtually unchanged from that attempt, you know? What if it’s somehow working against us?”
“That’s got to be among the most knee-jerk technophobic things you’ve ever said,” said Toe-Tapper. “Modern AIs have a preservation instinct just like the rest of us and that’s not just Turing test bullshit, it’s been scientifically proven. What possible incentive is there for one to try to actively sabotage the mission?”
“Well… You know…”
Toe-Tapper clapped a hoof on his shoulder.
“Pardon my brother,” he said, addressing Applejack. “He’s read one too many pulp sci-fi novellas.”
The comment was punctuated repeatedly with a frantic knocking at the cabin door. Applejack looked at Toe-Tapper questioningly, but the stallion merely shrugged. She stood up, unlocked the insulating seal and cautiously opened the pounding hatch. A brown pegasus stallion shoved his way into the chamber, hastily undoing his muzzlepiece.
“’Help you?” asked Toe-Tapper.
“Doctor Pie,” the stallion forced out breathlessly. “I need to see Doctor Pie immediately. You folks know where her cabin is?”
Applejack traded a look with Toe-Tapper.
“And who might you be?”
“Drill Bit,” said the stallion. “I’m on the mining team. I’m not positive about how much I should reveal to you, but suffice it to say that we’ve found something below and require the Doctor’s expert opinion as soon as possible.”
“We’ll show you to Maud’s cabin,” said Noteworthy, “if you agree to show us what you’ve found.”
Drill Bit looked perturbed.
“Ignore him,” said Applejack. “I’ll be happy to see you to Maud’s.”
“No, it’s probably fine…” Drill Bit said doubtfully. “Just… Just keep quiet about this, alright?”
“Sure. You’ve got my word.” She looked at the others. “Theirs too.”
The sun was approaching the distant horizon. The freezing night would fall in a few short hours. The climate marquee would hold back the worst of the cold but the resident meteorologist maintained that it wouldn’t be smart to be caught outside at this time without a vacuum suit.
Maud Pie opened her cabin door after the third knock. She was wearing a bathrobe and an elaborate head-mounted magnifier.
Applejack saw several rock samples of assorted shapes and colors resting on her desk next to a pick and an analog scale.
“Good…” Maud made an unsubtle pause to consult her optical timepiece, “…evening.” She noticed Drill Bit. “You’re one of the miners, aren’t you. Is there a problem.”
“We’ve dug into something, Doc. We need your help identifying it.”
“Could you be more specific,” said Maud.
Drill Bit hesitated.
It’s a… It’s a series of tunnels of some sort.”
Maud stared at him for a few seconds. The stallion was becoming visibly nervous.
“That’s to be expected,” said Maud. “Cavities occur underground all the time, be it from the movement of tectonic plates, or from subterranean currents. Which is what you’re supposed to be looking for, you understand.”
The stallion shook his head violently.
“No, no, it doesn’t look natural. It’s like… There’s a method to it. A pattern. You’ve got to come down with us, Doc. You’ll see, it looks completely… Completely alien.”
There was an unearthly geometry to the tunnels, sharp angles among organic curves and outcroppings. Drill Bit told Maud and the others that the rest of the miners had gotten spooked and were waiting outside the mines until Maud could assure them that there was nothing to be worried about. Applejack couldn’t speak for the geologist or any of her companions, but the sight of these tunnels left her short of breath and uneasy. She trod with exaggerated care. The cacophonous sound of her hoofsteps echoing down these endless catacombs made her wonder what could be out there listening.
“It’s like a gigantic… ant colony or something,” Toe-Tapper said quietly. Applejack was relieved to hear his tone, seemingly as awe-struck and terrified as she was.
Maud hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. Drill Bit nudged her gently.
“What do you think?”
Maud ran a hoof over the smooth surface of the tunnel wall.
“I don’t know what this is,” she said woodenly.
Drill Bit bit his lip.
“You really don’t have the faintest idea?”
She gave him a wan look.
“What do you want me to say. As you suggested, it’s not natural.” She turned to look down one of the branches. The artificial torches only shed so much light, and after twenty yards the path gradually faded into nebulous gloom. “We may be dealing with an alien species. Whether it is still active is hard to say. Is it possible to communicate with the surface from down here.”
“Sorta, but the reception’s piss-poor, and probably gets worse the further down we go.”
“I see. I will report this to Ground Control, but I expect they’ll want to keep refilling the water supplies our top priority. For now, you should keep digging for water. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get our armed forces to guard you while you’re down here. I’ll ask members of the science team to keep shifts here as well. It’s doubtful that the soldiers will be particularly diplomatic toward what might be intelligent life.”
Applejack gave the catacombs one last look and turned back to the unhappy-looking miner.
I sure don’t envy you, bud.