//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: The Sentry Awakens // Story: Constellation // by Locomotion //------------------------------// Many long and gruelling weeks went by following the discovery of Flash's survival and the retrieval of the black boxes. As time went on, more and more wreckage from Flight 759 was rescued from the seabed and brought back to Foalborough, where a wooden mock-up of the Constellation had been built on which to reassemble its remains. Every time a new fragment arrived, the investigation team would examine it carefully to try and work out where in the airframe it might have originated from, after which they would give it a number and wire it onto the wooden frame in the appropriate position. Work on the black box tapes progressed swiftly, and after nearly a whole month, the investigation team managed to extract most of the readings from the flight data recorder and transfer the cockpit voice tape onto a playback device in their Foalborough laboratory. Finally, less than two months after the crash, they could get a look into what was going on in the cockpit and on the flight deck up to the moment of impact. Twilight, Spike, Rotor, Panthera and Spyder all sat around the tape player, each wearing a set of earphones and listening intently for any sign of trouble. In spite of the damage dealt to its casing, the cockpit voice recorder tape had survived more or less intact, and only a few seconds had been lost; but the further they listened, the more their anticipation began to wane. Rotor shrugged and pressed the Pause button. “Not much in it so far,” he said unhappily. “If anything, it all sounds fairly routine in there.” “Yeah – and fairly casual too,” added Spike. “It's as if this crash was never gonna happen.” Spyder shot an agitated look at the player. “It's a trick, that's what it is!” he chattered. “That thing's trying to pull the wool over our eyes, lull us into a false sense of security, catch us unawares, jump out and kill us when we least expect it...” “Yes, yes, I get the idea!!” growled Spike, exasperated. “There's gonna be a disaster in there somewhere!” went on Spyder, ignoring the purple dragon completely. “I just know there will! There's gonna be nearly a million ponies and other creatures killed, just like that last plane to crash..” “No there won't, Spyder!” interrupted Panthera promptly. “That plane may boast a greater capacity than any other, but no aircraft in the world can take that many passengers. And need I remind you, the death toll on Flight 759 was only...how many did you say were on that aircraft, Rotor?” “Uh...according to Starswirl Airport, twenty-five crew and eight-hundred and four passengers, making it a total of eight-hundred and twenty-nine.” “...which means a death toll of eight-hundred and twenty-eight with only one survivor,” Panthera concluded. “A million, eight-hundred and twenty-eight – what's the difference?!” protested Spyder. “It still means there are passengers and crew lying dead in cemeteries and hospital beds...” Spike groaned and slapped a claw to his face. “How the hay do you keep that...that ape under control?!” he muttered crossly. “Never mind him, Spike, let's just carry on with the CVR tape.” Twilight nodded to Rotor, who began playing the tape again. But still they couldn't identify a single sound that might give the slightest hint of trouble – at least, not until around twenty minutes into the flight. Shortly before the moment where Captain Jetstream had lost contact with the Constellation, they heard Flash's name being mentioned, and around half a minute later came the last words of Captain Skywalker; “Equine Zebra Trigger to Equine Apple Pommel.” “Equine Zebra Trigger from Equine Apple Pommel, receiving you five-by-five, go ahead.” “Equine Apple Pommel, we're just approaching the...” Suddenly, the sound of an explosion cut the captain off completely, accompanied by muffled screams of pain – and finally, after a further few seconds, the recording fell silent. Spike stared at Rotor in disbelief. “Is that it?” “Seems like it,” answered Rotor, removing his earphones with a disappointed look on his face. “Well that's annoying,” grunted Spike. “I would have thought that tape would have told us a little bit more about the crash than just the airframe exploding!” Spyder raised both hands to his temples in frustration. “YOU STUPID LEMON!!” he screeched angrily. “WHY WON'T YOU DO AS WE ASK YOU TO?!?!” “SPYDER!!” bellowed Panthera. “WHAT?!” “Shouting at the tape isn't going to bring us any closer to finding the cause of the disaster,” Panthera firmly reminded the agitated monkey. “Now unless you have anything sensible to suggest to us, I suggest that you remain silent.” “Yes, Colonel,” Spyder mouthed, pulling his cap down over his eyes. Rotor turned to the technician who had been working on the black box tapes; “What about the flight data recorder?” “Yeah, we've managed to interpret the readings,” replied the technician. “They actually seem a bit more promising in a rather unusual manner.” “How do you mean?” “Take a look at this.” The technician unrolled a graph containing all the diagnostics leading up to the moment where the Constellation started to break up. As with the cockpit voice recordings, all seemed perfectly normal up to the moment where contact had been lost, at which point the readings seemed to cut out one by one until there was nothing left to record. Rotor's eyes lit up. “Good grief, you're right!” he remarked, scanning through the readings with interest. “Yeah, it at least gives us an idea of how the plane broke up,” added Twilight. She then pointed to a line marked “Cabin Pressure”; “That – that right there, the point where it suddenly drops – that must be the exact moment where the fuselage ruptured.” “The very moment where contact was lost,” mused Panthera, taking note of the timing. “So whatever it was that caused the structural failure, Captain Skywalker and Co-pilot Storm Chaser obviously didn't have any time to react.” “Yeah, but it doesn't stop there,” continued Rotor. “The moments where the control surface settings stop registering give us a pretty good lead to which parts came off at what point.” “So by the looks of it, the order of break-up was...” Twilight paused, taking another look through the diagnostics. “So...part of the main cabin first...then the rudder and elevators...now the ailerons...wing slats...and then it just cuts out altogether. Yeah, I think that might be it – roof; tailplane; rear wing structure; wing-tips...and at around this point, either the nose of the aircraft or the engine powering the FDR must have come off.” “And the cause?” asked Spike hopefully. Twilight shook her head gravely. “Whatever it is, the data doesn't appear to have picked it up.” “So we're back to Square One?” “Well not quite, Spike. We know what parts of the aircraft broke off in what order, but not how. The only way we're going to find that out is to keep searching the crash site for evidence – see if we can find that 'golden nugget'.” Spike raised an eyebrow. “What's gold got to do with an air crash?” “It's a forensic term for the piece of an aircraft that shows how and where all the trouble started – the 'smoking gun' if you like,” explained Rotor. “And judging by the flight data readings, I'd say that 'golden nugget' is closer to the Constellation's last recorded position. We'd better let the HMS Farrier know about this.” “You want me to alert the Navy, I take it?” offered Spike, picking up a nearby quill and producing a sheet of parchment. “If you would, Spike,” conceded Twilight. “Now, this is what I want them to do...” “Canterlot GHQ to HMS Farrier.” Commander Swordfish raised an eyebrow. He wasn't expecting a message from General Headquarters so soon. “HMS Farrier receiving you strength five, GHQ; send your traffic.” “Message from Foalborough Aerodrome,” announced the female voice at the other end of the radio link. “You're to amend your search zone to within approximately a thousand yards east of Flight 759's last known radar position; we believe the required evidence to be within that area.” “HMS Farrier to GHQ, wilco.” Swordfish turned to Spitfire. “Well, Captain, looks like we've been seeking out the 'golden nugget' in all the wrong places,” he said with a wry smile. “Well, at least we know where to concentrate our search now,” mused Spitfire. “I'd better alert the others, though, and let them know about the change.” With that, she turned on her headset and radioed the news to the salvage vessels. Their crews duly acknowledged, and the whole convoy made their way westwards towards the point where the Constellation was presumed to have disintegrated. As the salvage team progressed further and further west, some of the vessels paused at intervals to pick up more wreckage in the hope of finding the offending fragment. None did, of course, and the further they went, the more spread out the debris became; but regardless of this, they continued to comb the ocean floor for anything that looked like it came from the Constellation, thoroughly examining each piece once on deck before flying it back to Manehattan. A further three months passed, and all remaining traces of the plane's wreckage continued to peter out. At this rate, it seemed as though the Constellation crash would never be solved – but over in Bermuleda, that was all about to change... A faint beeping noise echoed through the dark void as Flash Sentry slowly started to regain his senses. Where he was exactly and how he had ended up here, he didn't know; all he knew was that he seemed to be lying in some sort of bed somewhere. His wings felt numb, and his chest seemed to throb dully with every breath he took. Slowly, drowsily, he opened his eyes, trying to identify his surroundings; but the sudden influx of light promptly caused him to shut them again. Cautiously, he tried again, though much more slowly so as to allow his eyes to adjust. Even then he failed to open them very wide, but at least he could make out the neutral blue walls, the teal curtains and chequered floor of the room he was in. A white object shaped like a desktop computer sat next to him, probably a life-support machine of some sort, but otherwise, the room seemed fairly empty. He looked around, confused – clearly he was in a hospital bed, but where? And what was he doing there in the first place? In that moment, it all came back to him – the sudden tearing sound of metal – the loud bang, almost as if every molecule of air around him had exploded – the sudden rush of wind – the sight of a plane falling to pieces before his very eyes... The sound of a door opening distracted him from his thoughts, and he groggily looked to his left as a dull grey unicorn doctor with brown mane and tail came over to his bed. His Cutie Mark consisted of a knife-like object and a pair of scissors, and from the stubble on his muzzle, it didn't take a genius to work out that he rarely had any time to shave properly. As soon as he saw the condition of his patient, the grim look on his face gave way to one of relief. “Ah, good,” he said, “you're awake.” Flash blinked groggily. “Where...where am I?” he croaked, his voice low and raspy. “You're in the recovery ward at Queen Faust Hospital, Bimineigh Island, Bermuleda,” replied the stallion gently. “You've been in a coma for the last five months.” “Five?” For a fleeting moment, Flash could only stare at the doctor in disbelief. “Yeah,” said the doctor. “One of the local residents saw you falling from the sky and flew you back here. We'll give you the full story later when you're a little bit more awake. You just rest yourself now, sir – you're still not in a very good state at the moment. I'll be back after lunch.” The orange-furred guardspony merely nodded in reply. He was still finding it difficult to come to terms with what was going on, but he knew the doctor was right – too much information too soon, and there was a potential risk of him relapsing. With a reassuring half-smile, the doctor quietly exited the room, leaving the weary and disoriented Flash Sentry to drift off back to sleep. True to his word, the doctor returned a few hours later, and told Flash all about the fiasco with the Constellation, and how Cod Catcher had caught him in mid-air as he and his father and uncle were headed towards the crash site to pick up survivors. Flash was none too pleased when he discovered that he was the only one, but the doctor calmly explained to him that most of the passengers had already been killed by head and lung trauma before the plane hit the water. “Your own lungs seemed pretty bad when Cod Catcher brought you in,” he went on. “You were lucky to have pulled through, Mr Sentry.” “Yeah, but it hardly feels worth it if more than eight-hundred others have died,” murmured Flash bitterly. “If only I'd tried harder to reach that aircraft, I...” “...you might have killed yourself,” interrupted the doctor sternly. “I realise you might feel guilty for not having saved anypony else in that fall, but the sad truth is that most of the victims were already beyond hope.” Flash looked crestfallen. “Even if you made it back into the aircraft – which, with both wings broken, you would never have done – you'd have trapped yourself in there until the moment of impact,” added the doctor, “at which point you'd have drowned if you hadn't already died of lung trauma. Either way, a certain princess would have been heartbroken if that had happened to you.” “A...princess?!” Flash's eyes lit up. “As in Twilight Sparkle?” “Yes, she's been trying to find out the cause of the crash ever since she heard about it. In fact, I've even made arrangements with one of the investigation team with whom she's working for her to come over here and see you.” The orange-coated stallion placed a hoof over his chest. “So...she hasn't given up on me?” he asked softly. “Not on your life, Mr Sentry,” replied the doctor. “I've already informed her by telephone, and she'll be coming out to see you tomorrow afternoon – that is, if you're okay with it.” “Okay?” Flash chuckled lightly in spite of himself. “Are you kidding me, Doc? Any excuse to see my favourite princess again!” “Even if it means answering a few...questions? Because they want to hear your account of what happened when the plane crashed.” Flash took a moment to consider this before answering the question simply; “As long as there's a chance of helping them solve the mystery, I'd be more than willing to do so.” “Very well then,” said the doctor, “but only as long as you take care not to overstress yourself.”