Spike looked at the amazing sight of the moon hanging in front of him, wreathed around by the starry night sky, and accented with the blaze of a comet off to the side. It was awe-inspiring and he found himself content to take in the magnificent vista.
Then, in an instant, his attention was ripped from the wondrous view — *kshhrt* “Navigator to Claws, come in Claws. Do you read, over?” *kshhrt*
Spike grunted at the transmission before keying his radio — *kshrt* “This is Sp, er, Claws… I read you, over.” — Spike mentally kicked himself for nearly forgetting his handle, and why he was here in the first place.
*kshhrt* “You are nearing the objective. You should fire your maneuvering thrusters to rotate into an inverted position now, if you don’t you’ll risk colliding with the target without being able to grasp it.” *kshhert*
“Understood.” Spike replied, before realizing he had to key his radio — *kshhrt* “Wilco, Navigator, Claws out.” *kshhrt*
Reaching down to the controls on his suit he flipped himself over and looked at his new ‘up’ to see the target come within arm’s reach, its access port marking the point of no return.
He felt a rush of terror for an instant — he shouldn’t be doing this — before he worked his courage up and reached out to remove the cover from the access port, revealing a mass of thin golden wires. With his other claw he withdrew his wire-cutter from his space-suit’s pouch and tried to ignore the sudden cold sweat.
A deep breath and then he thrust the cutters forward, knowing that he was close to losing his nerve. The wires were difficult to cut, and for an instant he thought that the access port’s cover would fall shut and doom the operation, but finally after his hands began to ache from the constant cutting, it was finished… with a sigh of relief he keyed the radio and asked for the ship to retrieve him.
*kshhrt* “Navigator, this is Claws. Objective secure; reel me in. Out.” *kshhert*
As the tether pulled him to the ship the access port began to move, rotating slowly until it was eclipsed by the rest of the angry looking ship… it’s green viewports looking like eyes ready to blast him into his component atoms.
“No, no! It was all her idea, I swear!” Spike yelled pulling at the tether in terror-fueled desperation to extend his life for a few more seconds.
* * * * *
“I don’t even want to know.” Big Mac said, shaking his head at the scene before him: Applejack was cussin’ up a storm and threatening murder as she chased Applebloom and her friends who were passing what looked like a sheaf of blonde wheat back and forth, and Spike, wrapped in aluminum foil, dangled from the apple tree by a rope and clutched a pair of scissors in one claw.
“Nope. Not worth the trouble.” Big Macintosh said as he shook his head again, and made his way to the farmhouse.