Mark climbed back into the helmsman’s chair with a straining grunt. The force of a Driden ordinance against the Caprica hit too close to the bridge, jarring him loose around the compartment. The fact that the world was spinning didn’t help him in his struggle to regain composure. Blood was freely flowing down from somewhere on his scalp, his ears were ringing, and it was hard at times for him to determine which way was up.
“Des!” he shouted to the empty bridge. “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea!”
A holographic figure materialized beside Mark. Desarae chose to have a slender build, full cheeks, shoulder length hair that glowed blue as with the rest of her body. She wore a lab coat “to make the eggheads feel more at ease,” she would always say.
“When did that occur to you? When we jettisoned the entire Driden skeleton crew off the ship, or --” she brought up a display, “--when fourteen Driden heavy cruisers began an intercept course?”
“Heh...the second one?” Mark sheepishly responded.
Another ordinance hit the hull, sending Mark flying up, then crashing back down. A grunt and groan later, he saw Des bring up another display. “The magnetic plating is beginning to fail on Deck A.” A swipe of her hand brought up another screen. “Two more ships have joined the pursuit, and they’ve launched shuttles.”
“They’re gonna board us,” Mark muttered inaudibly. “Can we seal off the flight pods?”
“Not physically, but I can seal the hatches to the pods. Or as soon as they land I’ll deactivate the force fields.” Des brought up a schematic of the flight pods. “Not an original plan, but we know it’s effective.”
“Keep me posted.” Another round fell on the Caprica, causing an alarm to beep from the tactical station.
“We’ve lost weapons,” she began to inform, “and the port-side lateral sensor array.”
“Jump drives?” Mark nervously asked.
“Still operational, but need to be charged.” Another screen flick. “It’ll take at least three minutes for the drives to charge enough to jump outside of the system.”
Mark brought his attention to the closing ships on his readout. “We don’t have three!”
Des continued to tap on the holographically projected terminal. “Then you had best get me three any way you can!”
Okay, need to buy time. He began to think. Can’t outrun, can’t outshoot, can’t outmaneuvere. Mark looked again to the readout. The Driden ships were steaming in a disorganized formation. Five had clustered together, while the remaining were scattered at random intervals surrounding them. Inspiration struck.
“Perhaps today IS a good day to die!” Mark blurted out loud as he typed in commands. He saw the instruments and dials roll, as the ship did a one hundred and eighty degree turn.
“Marcus,” Des began, “you’re heading toward the bad guys.”
“I’m well-aware of where I’m going.”
“So your plan to get time is to run headlong into the center of the Driden formation with one of the most expensive pieces of equipment humanity ever produced.” She paused. “Seems legit.”
“I had actually planned on indulging in one last game of chicken. Or if we’re lucky, they’ll be dumb enough to shoot when we past through their formation.”
“Do you really think they’d be dumb enough to risk hitting their own ships?” Des asked.
“We’re talking about the species who started shelling an already occupied city,” Mark replied with a chuckle. “Not exactly the brightest bunch in the galaxy.” His tone went from cheerful to serious as he punched keys to bring the ship to maximum speed. “Either that, or try to take a few of them with us.”
“If you say so. Twenty seconds to impact.” A proximity alarm began to blare throughout the ship as the Caprica continued to steam toward the center cluster. “Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…” Mark sat back in his chair and let out a sigh. “...fifteen, fourteen…” He saw a Driden cruiser break off from the cluster on his readout. “...eleven, ten, nine, eight…” Another broke from its charge, but Mark was no longer looking. His eyes were shut, trying to give himself one last moment of peace before the inevitable. “...six, five, f-...they’ve broke off.”
Mark shot his eyes open to see the Dridens were going to give him a hole big enough for the Caprica to pass through. Given the confusion surrounding their escape Mark was not surprised when the outlying pursuers opened fire. It had long been known that a Driden would rather shoot first and ask questions a few generations later, but to fire into a space occupied by friendlies was a tactic that even a first year cadet knew not to do. The Caprica passed through the given hole harmlessly, while what remained of the cluster took the shells meant for the Battlestar.
“See? Told you they weren’t the brightest.” Mark said as he folded his arms.
“I see that,” Des observed from her own projected screen. Another light popped up. “We will have jump drives in sixty seconds. And judging by our speed and direction, we will be out of their weapon range when-” she stopped when a call came from the communications relay station. “We’re being hailed.”
“Let them eat static.” Mark replied as he continued to watch the countdown. “Make ‘em think they took out our comms.”
Five seconds came off the clock before Des spoke again. “I don’t think they bought it. They’ve opened a channel.”
“What are they saying?”
“Oh, the usual,” Des answered, almost disappointed. “‘Stop your engines and prepare to be boarded.’ ‘Cease your escape.’ ‘Stop now and we’ll let you keep your ship.’”
The last demand caught Mark off guard. “Say what now?” Mark lept out of the helm seat, hopping over scattered debris and making his way to the comm station. A press of a button put the requests of the Dridens on the bridge’s speakers. “What the hell do you want?”
“Ah, captain.” That must be the High Warlord. “Good to hear a human voice. We were beginning to think we had killed you.”
“It’s going to take more than your tiny baby pellets to take me out.”
“Yes, we see that.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, captain, I have called you because I do not want to destroy the Caprica. There is something of great value to us on your ship. So I propose a trade.”
“What can you possibly have that I don’t?”
An alarm came from the tactical station. Des’s holographic form teleported to Mark’s location, popping up the readout. Three Driden carriers have jumped into the area in front of him, and were launching fighters.
“The thing you hold most dear... your life,” The High Warlord replied to Mark’s question. “The way I see it, I will deprive you of it if you continue on your present course. So, I will trade it to you, as well as your ship.”
“For what in return?”
“The artificial intelligence unit.”
Mark’s attention turned to Des who was frantically waving her hand. “Standby,” was his answer, and pressed the ‘Mute’ button. Des’s figure was turning a shade of purple, which Mark had learned signified she was afraid. “What’s up, Des?”
“Please... d-do not l-let them have me,” she sobbed. “The others...from the Orion, and the Crimson Fist...they took them.” She put her face in her hands. “And then they tortured them! I could hear their screams as they fragmented! T-t-then after they were done, they sold them to the highest bidder, just like they’re going to do with Earth…”
Marcus didn’t know that an A.I. unit could cry, but the sounds of open weeping echoing in the empty bridge made his bones shudder. “Des…” he tried to call, but she paid his words nevermind. “Desarae,” he firmly said, this time getting a reaction. “Look at me.” His eyes met her projected ocular receivers. “I am NOT going to let them take you,” Mark reassured, “even if it means the destruction of this ship.”
“You’d do that? For me?” She sounded surprised. “For something that’s not even real?”
“You’re all I have left. If you go...then I don’t want to live anymore.”
If she could touch organic flesh, Des would have jumped on Mark and given him a tackle hug. But yet another beeping from a command console stole their attention. “Jump drives are primed. Where are we going to go?”
Mark gave his stubbled chin a stroke. “Des, do you remember the incident at Kepler-186?”
“Of course I remember.” She swept away her navigation screen and brought up another, filled with mostly text. “A convoy was leaving the planet carrying grain and other assorted foodstuffs when two freighters were not accounted for on the other side of the slipspace jump, and no trace of debris was ever found. It is theorized that they were too close in formation, and their slipspace fields intermingled, causing a spacial distortion.” She swiped the screen away. “In other words, ships got too close when they jumped, and were vaporized.”
“Think we can replicate that?” Mark asked, raising a brow.
“Most likely. But we don’t have two ships.”
“No, but the Caprica has two jump drives that work in sync with the navigation computer. What we need to do,” Mark brought up a schematic of the jump drives, “is isolate each drive from the nav hub, that way it will force them to make their own slipspace fields.” He looked up. “It will work even better if we send them in opposite directions.”
“I’ve already taken the drives off the navigation hub, and they are ready to receive coordinates.”
“Very good. Set the port-side drive to zero-nine-zero mark one-eight-zero of current positioning, and the starboard to two-seven-zero mark triple zero.”
Des thought for a moment, the relays of data flowing through her body. “That should twist the ship apart.”
“That is my intention.” Mark grinned as he pressed the ‘Mute’ button again. “High Warlord, are you still there?”
“Yes.” His tone had gone from classy to irritable. “We were beginning to grow impatient. I see you still have not powered down your slipspace drives.”
“Quite so,” Mark smugly replied. “And you can be damned sure that I will not let you have this ship, my life, or the A.I.”
The speakers gave a groan of disapproval. “How unfortunate. I was hoping that you would be more cooperative given my offer, but it seems you will be going to join the fate of your race.”
“And YOU can go to Hell!” Mark yelled into the comm. “And while you’re there, tell the Devil that I’M COMING FOR HIM NEXT!” Mark cut the channel off with the slam of his fist. He knew they would start shooting again soon, and it felt as if he flew over the console and landed back at the helm. “Jump drives ready?”
“Cocked, locked, and loaded!” Des gave her own shout. “Mark, before we jump…” he turned, “Thank you. It’s been an honor.”
“Likewise.” He reached for the ‘JUMP’ button. “Time to kick this party off.”
In the instant after his finger made contact with the screen, Mark felt as if he were being simultaneously pulled and pushed, being stretched and compressed, and thrown around but staying still. He could feel the slipspace fields struggling for dominance, and with a flash, he was thrown up to the bulkhead, hitting his head squarely on the ceiling.
He dreamed of the stars and the Moon.
He was back on Earth with his older sister and brother. His childhood home, a small farmer’s house, situated atop a hill overlooking a lake. It was here where their parents met, where they shared their first kiss, where he asked for her hand, where they wed, and where they had all been conceived. They had built it at that very spot “Because that’s where our lives began,” they would always say.
“You think there’s anyone else out there?” his sister asked as she looked toward the heavens.
“I like to think so,” his brother answered. “Be a pretty big waste of space if there wasn’t.”
“Think they’ll be like us?”
“I hope not,” his brother sighed. “Maybe they’ll teach us and the rebels what it means to be at peace.”
“So Mom and Dad can come home?” she rolled onto her side, and Marcus could see the moonlight shining from her wide eyes.
“I’d like them to stay home,” Mark whined. “They’ve missed so much.”
“Dad should be back here at the end of the month.” His brother wrapped an arm around his sister and Mark. “And Mom the next week.” He gave them both a squeeze. “Gods... when was the last time we’ve all been together?”
“Your eighteenth birthday,” His sister said. “That was…”
“Eight years ago,” Mark did the math as he sat back up.
“At least they’ll be here for your eighteenth, Mark,” his sister blurted with a hint of regret.
“How about,” his brother sat up, “we have a party, one for both of your eighteenth birthdays, with two cakes...and another cake for every other occasion they’ve missed.”
“That’s literally going to be a metric shit-ton of cake,” Mark chuckled out. “You two can pig out on it. I’ve got to stay in shape for the SSDC entrance evaluation.”
“Oh, c’mon,” his sister had snuck up behind him, “You can have at least one.”
“Slice?”
“Cake.”
“Yeah, that’s what I want on my medical record as I go in. ‘Denied entry due to celebratory diabetes.’”
They all had a laugh at the newly-coined medical condition, and all fell back onto the blanket. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you to get in,” his brother pipped up. “With me, her, and Mom and Dad, they almost have to take you.”
“No kidding,” his sister added. “Know what you want to do?”
“Well…” Mark had been hoping they wouldn’t ask, “I was kinda hoping to be a... pilot.”
“What!?” his brother exclaimed. “Don’t be one of those lame Cobra jocks!”
“Yeah! You’ll have the easiest job ever! ‘Oh, look at me!’” she began to mock, “‘Imma pilot and fly around on my ass!’”
“Hey!” Mark half laughed and yelled, “I don’t have the brawn to be a SSDC Marine, or the marks in school to be in intelligence like you two did.”
His siblings both had a giggle. “Yeah,” his brother started, “As much crap as we give them, whenever my platoon needed a supply drop or aerial support, the Fighter Corps was always there to deliver.”
“Indeed,” his sister continued. “Whenever we needed to get a recon, the Fighter Corps were the first people we called.”
“I just hope I don’t get stuck on some carrier,” Mark finished. “I heard that can get pretty boring --”
When he rolled over to face his siblings, they had been replaced by his sister’s officer’s hat and his brother’s helmet. Mark blinked, and the sky turned blood red, a haze of smoke and ash hung at the horizon. Where they had been now sat four coffins, bearing the names of his family. A shadow formed, and when Mark looked up, his crashing Cobra fell upon him.
Mark gasped as he awoke, being startled by both his dream and by the sound of his own breathing. He looked around the bridge, noting that much had looked the same before they jumped. A piece of the bulkhead still laid on the floor, several console screens were still broken, and he could still hear the hum of the ship.
He stood, not knowing if his legs would be able to bear his own weight. “You okay?” Des materialized before him. Mark gave a slight nod. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake back up.”
“How long was I out?” Mark grogged.
“Twelve hours.”
“Damn...I must have really needed a nap.” Mark uneasily walked to the tactical readout. “Report.”
“Well...we’re mostly here.” Des started, bringing up her own analysis. “About the only system that’s running at one hundred percent is life support. In the jumble of our jump, we lost a Hopper. I don’t think it was properly moored down. We still don’t have weapons, the port lateral sensor array is somehow back online, and we’re adrift.”
That worried Mark. “Engine status?”
She expanded a small section of her screen. “Both jump drives are non-responsive. I think the shearing force of our experimental jump got to them.”
“Dammit.” He brought a clinched fist down. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to clip your wings.”
“We still do have sublight and maneuvering thrusters.”
Mark gave a shaky nod. “Better than nothing, I suppose.” He made his way to the center console, observing the star chart being displayed. “How the hell did we survive that?”
“I’m not certain. There’s still a great deal about slipspace we don’t know. We could have made an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”
“A wormhole?” Mark questioned.
“For the amount of power we put out, anything is possible. We could have been blown to another universe for all I know.” Des moved to the center console. “That shouldn’t have worked.”
“But it did. And we’re both okay, and we’re…” Mark paused, “we’re wherever we are.”
“About that…” Des began. “I’ve looked over every star chart that we have available to us, and I have good news and bad news.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“We’re in uncharted space.”
Mark furrowed his brow. “Then what’s the good news?”
“No sign of any Dridens.”
He gave a satisfied sigh. “That’s always good news.” A beeping from the chart display caught Mark’s ear. “What’s that?”
Des brought up her own chart. “Also while you were out, I had the sensors start scanning for any inhabitable planets. Looks like they’ve found one.”
Mark zoomed in on the scanned planet. “In the Goldilocks zone?”
“Yes, sir. M-class planet in orbit around --” Des stopped. "Strange."
"What?"
"My radio-logic scans are telling me this star is a G-type main sequence star, but it shouldn't be based on it's suggested size." Des looked to Mark. "It should be much, much bigger."
“How far away is the planet in question?”
A flow of information went through Des’s hair. “Three days at sublight speed.”
“That’s not far away at all.” Mark grabbed a stylus. “How come it wasn’t detected before now?”
“I’m still trying to get the sensors back to peak efficiency. It could have been distorted by the star’s magnetic field or some other celestial body.”
“Fair enough.” Mark touched the point of their current position, and drew a line to the newly discovered planet. “Plot me a course.”
Mark filled the three day journey by repairing what he could on the bridge. Broken screens were replaced and the piece of bulkhead was reattached. The Dridens had removed their livestock when they had been captured, but to Mark’s relief there was still some meat in the deep freezer, as well as some produce from their farm. He knew it wouldn’t last forever, and that this new planet was going to become his new home. The latter part of the second day consisted of preparing a Hopper with survival gear.
“Mark, we’re on final approach,” Des said to him as he was packing his things in his quarters.
“Very good.” He slung his pack mainly filled with spare clothing, some tools, and his sidearm, over his shoulder. Good thing I didn’t bring much. “Bring us into a standard orbit. I’ll head up to the bridge here in a minute.” Mark gave his cramped quarters one last look before eyeing a framed picture of his family. He picked up the photo, a grin coming across his lip as nostalgia filled his memory. “Mission accomplished, Mom,” he told the photo before placing it in his pack.
The bridge wasn’t too far away from the pilot’s quarters, but far enough for Mark to think about his new home. Wonder what kind of animals they have. He silently pondered as he walked. Wonder if they’re gonna be any good. And the flora. Better have some trees. I don’t want to have to live in a sod house like my ancestors.
“So I have a question.” Des asked as Mark stepped onto the bridge. “What do you plan to do with me?”
“Technically,” Mark put his pack down, “I’m supposed to destroy the ship as well as you. But since there’s no one to court-martial me for disobeying orders, I might keep you two around for a while.”
“Good.” Des brought up a localized map of the surface. “Because you might need a translator.”
Mark’s mind went blank, unable to process what Des was trying to imply. "Explain."
“Come over here.” She waved him over to the charting table. “I’ve detected several settlements on the planet.” The map highlighted several areas where the topography changed and an outline of suspected buildings and roads. “Thing about them is they can’t be very advanced. I’m only detecting one hundred and sixty parts per million of carbon dioxide emissions.”
“They always did say to keep it clean.”
“There’s also something else.” Blips now appeared on the map, mainly concentrated in the settled areas. “There’s some kind of power down there, but I can’t explain what it is.”
“Electrical power?”
“No, something... new.” Des changed the map to the visual scope. “We’re on the dark side. Notice anything?”
Mark looked down. “That’s one dark planet.”
“Exactly. So either there’s an electrical curfew in effect, no electrical power at all, or they’re really good at avoiding light pollution.”
“Des,” Mark said as he worked out an idea. “Set the bottom landing light to strobe. Let’s see if anyone is looking.”
New equipment had always excited Twilight Sparkle, and this one was the best. She had eagerly been awaiting her new telescope to replace the one destroyed by Tirek, along with the rest of her home. She now sat in her observatory wing of her castle after having spent all day building and calibrating her new telescope. Pinkie Pie had insisted on throwing her a “Moving in /New Telescope Party.”
“Jeeze, Twilight,” Rainbow Dash pipped up. “I know you’re excited, but you could at least try to keep your wings under control.”
Twilight spun her head to notice her wings were out. She wrangled them back in. “Heh heh...sorry.”
“’s alright, sugarcube.” Applejack commented. “We all know how giddy you are to try this out.”
“Absolutely.” Twilight trotted over to her new equipment. “Not only is it to replace the one I lost, but it’s their newest and most advanced model. I helped them design it.” She brought her hooves together excitedly.
“Yes, we know,” Rarity spoke. “You’ve only been telling us that for the last week. Your spa gossip has been of nothing else.”
“It is all she has been writing about as well.” Celestia appeared on the balcony flanked by her sister. All other ponies but Twilight bowed.
“Celestia! Luna!” Twilight called out with wide-eyed surprise. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”
“We just wanted to see how our newest princess was faring in her new home.” Celestia walked her way to Twilight, giving her a light embrace. “We also wanted to see just how excited you were about your new telescope.”
“Well I can tell you, if I’ve done my math right, if Nightmare Moon were still on the moon, we could probably see her with this.”
Celestia and Twilight looked to Luna. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” Luna was not amused.
“I’m sorry, Luna. I was only jesting,” Twilight apologized. Luna responded by giving her a smile and a wink.
“Well then, why don’t you give your telescope a look?” Celestia suggested.
Twilight turned and approached the viewfinder. Her new telescope featured several built in magnification lenses, as well as an assortment of eyepiece irises. She inserted the widest iris, changed lens to the lowest magnification, and looked.
To everypony’s surprise, she pulled back after only a couple of seconds. She tilted her head toward the top of the optical tube, and looked again. “Okay,” she started, “Who put the blinking firefly in the telescope?”
Everypony held their silence until Celestia spoke. “Is there something wrong, Twilight?”
“There’s this flashing light that I'm seeing. It’s fairly rhythmic in pattern. One second on, one second off.”
Celestia turned to her sister. “Luna, did you put any blinking stars out tonight?”
“Of course not, dear sister,” Luna answered. “I knew this night would be too important to Twilight Sparkle.”
“And I don't think it's a star,” Twilight interjected. “It’s moving.”
A murmur wove its way through the gathered ponies. Twilight flipped a switch, and the gears turned to the maximum magnification lens. She then traded out the wide iris to the most narrow. “It’s a…” Twilight began to explain, but then said nothing.
“It’s a what?” Dash blurted.
If jaws could detach themselves from the cheeks, Twilight would have had to go after hers. “It’s a…” she brought her head up. “...a ship?”
“Maintain this orbit,” Mark commanded.
“Aye, sir,” Des complied, sending the flight plan to the navigation computer. Mark sat at the tactical station and brought his hand to his beard, twirling the wire-y hairs. “You want me to keep the strobe on as well?” Mark didn’t reply. “Captain?”
“Mmmm? Oh, yes,” he said giving her a glance.
“Something eating at you, captain?”
“Kinda,” Mark said as he stood. “I was prepared to head down to the planet, but now…” he swept his hand over the topographical map. “This changes everything.” Mark brought his hand to his forehead. “Think I’m gonna just stay up here...’til someone down there tries to make contact.”
"That could be never."
"I know." He let out a yawn.
“Tired?”
“Yeah. Didn't know discovery would be so exhausting.”
“And you've been up since oh-five-hundred.”
“That too,” he added as he rubbed an eye. “What time is it now?”
“Twenty-one thirty-seven.”
“Alright. I’m gonna hit the hay.” Mark walked to the hatch, grabbing his pack. “Think you can steer without me?”
“Oh, don’t be condescending. I’m programmed to be a better pilot than you,” she replied with a smirk. “Goodnight, captain.”
“Are you certain, sister?”
“It’s worth a try. Everything must sleep at some point.”