Post-Equus arrival, day 202
03:42, Canterlot Standard Time
Bridge, Caprica
“What do you mean 'it’s jammed?'” Mark forcefully said into his wireless headset.
“The hatch closed down on the round while it was being loaded,” a pony reported in from one of the main forward cannons. “We’re having issues getting it open so we can try again.”
Mark let out a tired sigh. “There’s a manual override on one of the command consoles that should open it, but take great care. It can override the outer doors, too. Bridge, out.” The exhausted Commander faced the charting table, showing the position of the unknown ship now just over twenty-five million kilometers away. “Des,” Mark called out to his A.I. counterpart at the tactical station. “Can you come down here?”
Desarae’s glowing blue hair whipped around with her head as her projection dematerialized only to reform standing adjacent to Mark. “You rang, Commander?”
“What’s our status?”
“Not good, Commander.” Des brought up a holographic list before her. “Seventeen ponies have failed to report to their stations from what I’m guessing is exhaustion. It wouldn’t be such a big deal--” she flipped her list around for Mark to read, “--if they weren’t a good portion of the ship’s flak gunners.” She leaned closer to Mark and lowered her voice to a whisper. “But between you and me, I think it’s best if we let them rest. We’re still hours outside of effective weapons range.”
“I really wish I could,” Mark sadly said, “but if and when this vessel comes to, I don’t want to have to wake the ship if we have to come down to a fight.”
Des sighed. “Are you even listening to me?” she very irritatedly said. “We’re HOURS outside of weapons range. Let them rest.”
“And if the ship jumps closer?”
“Don’t you remember when we got here how our jump drives were non-functional?”
“That was different. We intentionally misguided the ship. I had expected us to be blown to oblivion.”
Des shook her head. “Can we at least stand down from Condition One since the ship is in no immediate danger?”
Mark thought, and nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“Commander!” a pony from the tactical station yelled. “Cannon three reports back online!”
“Very well.” He picked up the shipwide broadcast mic. “All hands, stand down from Condition One. Set Condition Two. Rest easy at your stations. Sorry, everypony. I jumped the gun a little bit. Bridge, out.” Mark turned back to Des. “What do we know about our new friend?”
“Not much,” she answered as they both turned to charting table. “What we do know is this vessel is approximately one kilometer long by two hundred fifty meter wide. I’m not detecting any kind of power output, so I’m guessing they’re suffering from a power outage like the Caprica had when we first arrived.” Her glowing eyes picked up from the table and looked to Mark. “That’s about all I have right now.”
“Helm,” Mark called out as an idea manifested. “Maintain heading. Come about forty-five degrees to port.”
“Aye, sir.” Wind Burst said back.
“Does that help?” Mark asked Des.
“It should,” she said as she realized what he was doing. “Bringing the starboard lateral sensor array online.” Dials turned and numbers changed on the charting table as the ship rotated, exposing the line of sensing equipment to the unknown craft. “Beginning scans.”
Mark watched a steady stream of information pour through Des’s projected body. Whenever he would see Des think, he often wondered what it would be like to experience the sensations she did whenever she had to process information. He imagined it to be mentally taxing with so many computations and influxes and outflows of data constantly moving through her.
Other times he wondered what it would be like to be her.
Pre-Equus arrival, day 515
21:01, GMT
Just outside “Pilot’s Row,” Caprica
Des had spent the majority of the last two days with Mark, helping the new transfer get acquainted with the ship as well as getting to know him better. Her first impression of Mark had been a surprise. When he came aboard and the two were introduced, he gave a “‘Sup?” as his greeting. He hadn’t gazed in awe of her holographic figure, hadn’t waved his hand through her, hadn’t done anything that would have differentiated her from another member of the crew. It was a refreshing change of pace for her.
“So what’s it like being you?” Mark asked the blue figure walking beside him as he strode into Pilot’s Row.
“That’s a difficult question for me to answer,” Des replied. “That's like me asking you what it is like to be human.”
“Well,” Mark said as he turned the wheel on the hatch to his quarters, “it’s warm, first of all.”
She tilted her head. “What’s ‘warm?’”
Mark had put one foot over the threshold of his quarters before the question brought him to a standstill. He had always known what it was to be warm, but never had to describe it. “Ummm… well… it’s…” Mark rotated his hands, gesturing he was fighting for the right words.
“Difficult to explain it to something that has never experienced it, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Mark sighed out as he let his arms fall to his sides. “Guess it’d be like trying to tell a person who’s been blind all their life what the color green looks like.”
“Exactly,” she said as she followed Mark into his room. “Is green your favorite color?”
“Eh, yes… no… not really. I try not to play favorites.” A hand made it to the zipper at the top of his flight suit, pulling it down. “Never really thought about it much.”
“Fair enough.” Des watched as Mark peeled off his suit. “Does warmth signify a sense of comfort?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it can mean discomfort, too.”
“How do you know the difference?”
Mark stepped out of his flight suit, hanging it upside down in his small storage closet. “Personal preference, mainly.”
“Oh, so it’s subjective.”
“Very much so.”
Des gave a disappointing shake of her head. “I’ve always had trouble discerning subjective terms. As you can probably assume, I much prefer objective language.”
Mark flopped himself on his bed. “So do I.”
Des smiled. “Well then, you and I are going to get along famously, Commander.”
Mark picked his head up. “Wait, what?”
“Commander… Commander!”
Post-Equus arrival, day 202
03:46, Canterlot Standard Time
Bridge, Caprica
“Mark!” Spitfire half-shouted into his ear.
“Gahaha! Wha… what?” Mark’s head snapped up from the charting table.
Spitfire’s tired eyes gave him the best glare they could. “You’re not allowed to doze off until I say so, got it?”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” Mark gave a lazy salute. “Did I miss something?”
“I’ve complete a detailed scan of the ship.” Des had moved to the sensor command station, standing beside Steel Hoof. “You’ll want to see this. I’ll send down a scan to you.”
Mark and Spitfire’s attention went to the glass surface of the charting and navigation table as the display switched to a star chart to a picture of the unknown vessel. Mark’s breath escaped his lungs in shock as he recognized the shape. Flared head of the craft, body, thrusters here, two flight pods. “This is… this is a Battlestar.”
“It certainly fits the characteristics of one, based on the overall physical structure.” A text insert popped up alongside the screen, but Mark paid it no mind. “It has a metallic alloy superstructure similar in composition to that of the Caprica but I’m not reading any markings on the flight pods to signify that it is an SSDC ship. It also has a different configuration than that of a BXC, BXE, or BXR.” Des leaned down, looking over Steel Hoof’s shoulder. “I’d say we have a new class of Battlestar.”
Mark’s fingers traced around the ship displayed on the table. “Life signs?”
“We’re too far away to tell, unfortunately.”
“Well, we’ll have to remedy that.” Mark faced Wind Burst. “Helm, prepare to intercept.”
“Aye, sir. Laying in an intercept course,” Mark heard Wind Burst rattle off.
“Commander,” Des called out from the sensor station. “I’m detecting what appears to be hull breaches and venting atmosphere.” Several areas of the displayed ship began to glow red. “Looks like it’s seen some action… and recently.”
“Are you able to tell how recently?”
“Seeing as there’s an undetonated Driden ship-to-ship missile lodged in the starboard flight pod, I’d say fairly recently.” Another blip showed on the new Battlestar, showing the missile’s location in yellow. “Also, the ship isn’t under it’s own power. It’s falling toward the sun.”
Mark face shifted to concern. “Another reason we’d better get there quickly.”
“I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry. It has months before it gets to the sun’s corona.”
“Well, in that case--”
“Intercept course laid in, sir.” Wind Burst robotically said, interrupting Mark.
Mark’s head spun from the charting table to the helm. “Lieutenant Wind Burst. Front and center.”
The noise of the bridge stopped as Wind Burst’s name was called out. The pegasus helmsman stood from his station, spinning around and facing his commanding officers. His face was well-worn, eyelids barely holding open with dark circles underneath. “Sir?”
“Lieutenant, do you know what the punishment is for interrupting a superior officer while they’re talking?”
Wind Burst’s eyes widened at the sudden charge placed before him. His cheeks flushed as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “A thousand apologies, sir. I didn’t mean--”
“Lieutenant,” Mark stopped him mid-sentence. “Just answer the question.”
Wind Burst’s throat cleared. “Ummm… no, sir. I don’t.”
A devilish grin formed as Mark stepped around the charting station. “I believe, if I remember the rules correctly, it calls for the offender to immediately return to their quarters and be confined to them for at least twelve hours.” Mark saw a fit of confusion crossover Wind Burst’s eyes before a look of relief washed over him. “Do you find this to be a fair punishment?”
“I’m alright with it, sir.”
“Good. Execute the intercept course and report to your quarters,” Mark ordered. Wind Busts spun back to his station as Mark picked up the mic for another shipwide broadcast. “All hands, this is the Commander. As most of you know, we have detected a ship that has jumped into the system. This new ship is currently disabled, and upon detailed scans, bears resemblance to that of another Battlestar.
“We are currently on route to intercept. However, at current speed, it will take us at least a few days to reach it. So, as of right now, all ponies are ordered to their quarters for some much needed rest.” Mark could hear the collective sighs of his crew through the bulkheads. “This is an unprecedented and much unexpected event. Should we be able to recover the vessel, we will have to cut our scientific mission short and return to Equus. We will, no doubt, resume where we left off once the vessel has been captured. That is all.” He set down the mic.
“Mark, the venting atmosphere has stopped on the ship,” Des said.
An eyebrow on Mark shot up. “That’s promising, at least.”
“How’s that?” Spitfire questioned.
“There may be someone over there trying to fix it.” Mark looked up to the communications station. “Silver.”
The unicorn pushed her ruffled mane out of her face. “Sir?”
“Anything on the comms yet?”
“Nothing but silence, sir.”
“Keep listening. Once they get themselves oriented they’ll start--”
“Commander, we were just hit with a high-energy field,” Steel Hoof said over his console.
“--running scans, and then they’ll either start talking or shooting.”
“Commander,” Des started, “I’m detecting new power activity from the vessel.”
“What kind?”
“If this really is a Battlestar, I’d say it’s getting ready for a jump.”
Mark hung his head. “Ah, shit.” The dot on the chart blinked and vanished, only to reappear dangerously close to the dot labeled Caprica. The new vessel now was less than ten thousand kilometers away.
“Set Condition One!” Des ordered throughout the ship. “The vessel has jumped within weapons range! All ponies return to your stations!”
“What’s our weapon status?” Mark frantically yelled.
“Same as before. Magnetic cannons are online and Zephyr-class missiles are loaded, but our flak gunners are still out of commission. Better hope they don’t launch anything.”
“Fuck me,” Mark muttered to himself. “Anything new you can tell me about them now?”
“If I’m sensing this right,” she said as she walked down to the charting pit, “they’re using the same kind of matter/antimatter reaction process as the Caprica, since the radiological output is nearly the same. Otherwise, that’s about it..”
A beeping came from Silver Star’s station. “I’ve received a message, Commander, text only. But--” she hesitated before continuing, squinting at the screen, “--I can’t make it out.”
“Why’s that, Silver?” Mark asked as he began to walk to her station.
“I mean, I recognize these characters from when we redid all the labels in the ship, but I can’t make heads or tails of what any of this means.” As Mark reached the comms, Silver motioned a hoof to the received message.
Mark immediately recognized it. “Those are English characters and Arabic numerals, but they’re not in any order. Des,” Mark called out to his A.I. counterpart. “You seein’ this?”
“Yeah. But there is something on the message that registers with me.” The top line highlighted itself. “This is a message type, specifically ‘Five-one-Alpha.’ It’s a ship-to-ship code to confirm friendlies.”
“Do you know the appropriate response?”
Flows of info illuminated Des’s figure. “No, no I don’t. Data restriction to command officers only. I think we were lucky I knew what the message type was. There’s not much on it.”
Mark stared at the message before an old lesson caught up to him. “Oh! I know the response.” A hand reached for the side of the communications console and a thumb pressed down on one particular spot Commander Mandkea had shown him just days before they’d been captured. Silver jumped back when a small section of the console ejected outward, revealing a small metallic box. Mark opened the box, pulling out a piece of paper.
“Silver, send the following message back on the same frequency. Text only.”
“Aye, sir,” she acknowledged. “Ready when you are.”
“Message type ‘Five-one-Bravo.’ Break. Tango, tango, alpha--”
“Sir,” she stopped him, “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Oh.” He looked down at the code. “Move over. I’m gonna have to put this in myself.” Silver surrendered her seat, though Mark chose to stand as he typed in the appropriate response code. A chill of nervousness racked his body as the transmission was sent.
“Now what?” Spitfire asked.
“Now we wait.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Another beeping came from the communication station. “Sir, we’re being hailed.”
“On the speakers, Silver.” When the unicorn’s hoof hit the button to play the broadcast, the bridge was suddenly filled with the sounds of static, with bursts of an electrical squeal intermittently. Mark looked to Silver. “Lieutenant?”
“Signal’s pretty weak as it is,” she said as she scrambled on her console to clean up the transmission. Static still sounded through the bridge. “That’s as good as I can get it.”
“Their transmitter might have been damaged.” Des said as she was continuing to look over the detailed scans. “They can receive the verification message, but voice communications might be too much.”
Mark clasped his hands together, extending his index fingers and bringing them to his lips, deep in thought. He strode around the bridge, his exhausted mind cranking out some way of being able to understand the indiscernible transmission the other Battlestar was sending. “Silver, reply. Same frequency.”
Silver punched a few buttons on her console. “You’re on, Commander.”
He picked up a nearby headset. The static throughout the bridge ceased as Mark began to speak in his native tongue. “This is the Battlestar: Caprica. We are receiving your transmission, but it is only static. Please acknowledge if you are receiving us. Over.”
An eerie silence followed as the bridge staff waited for some kind of signal from the other ship, as they all watched in baited anticipation at the closest console screen. A low-buzzing alarm came from the sensor readouts. “Launched ordnance alarm!” Steel Hoof yelled. “They’re firing!”
“Helm! Prepare to take evasive action! Standby countermeasures!”
“Commander, wait!” Steel Hoof said as he held out a foreleg. “The launched missile cut its main thruster. It’s drifting.” Mark watched in confused anticipation as the readout tracked the projectile. The dot then flashed on the screen and disappeared. “Confirmed detonation.”
“Wonder if that’s our signal,” Des said.
“Pretty aggressive, if you ask me,” Spitfire thought out loud.
“Maybe, but it got the job done,” Mark said as he nodded to Silver. “Unknown Battlestar, this is Caprica Actual, acknowledging receipt of signal. Over.”
“Detecting landing pod activity,” Steel Hoof reported. “A small craft was launched from its starboard bay. Looks like a Hopper.”
Silver pressed an earphone to her ear. “Commander, I’m getting a hail from the Hopper.”
Mark held out a hand. “Well, let’s hear it.”
The speakers on the bridge began to play an unknown voice. “... Actual to Caprica Actual. Come in, over.”
Mark again nodded to Silver to signal a reply. She nodded back when they were ready. “This is Caprica Actual, Commander Marcus Frude, commanding officer of the Caprica.”
A moment of silence almost made Mark have a coronary episode. “Commander Frude? Son of Lord Admiral Frude?”
“The very same, sir.”
“This is Admiral William Perinski of the Battlestar: Vindicta. It’s good to hear another human voice, Commander.”
Mark smiled. “The feeling is mutual, Admiral. Standby.” Mark looked to his comms officer. “Shipwide.”
She nodded after changing the channel on his headset for the internal ship speakers. “All hands,” he began in Equuish, “stand down battle stations. Unknown target is a friendly. I repeat, unknown target is a human friendly. All hands are to immediately report to their quarters for some well-earned rest. That is all.” He pulled his head away from the mic. “Except for the bridge staff. I need you for a little while longer. Silver, flip me back over to the Admiral.” Mark heard the channel change back over to the Hopper. “You still with us, Admiral?”
“Yes we are,” the Admiral replied. “What is your combat status, Caprica?”
Combat status? “Caprica is combat negative, sir.”
“Explain, Commander.”
Spitfire waved, getting Mark’s attention. “Standby, Admiral.” He set the headset down. “What?”
“What are you two going on about?” she asked. “You’re about as white as a ghost.”
Mark shook his head in disbelief. “He just asked us about our combat status.”
“Why?”
He placed the headset back on his head. “I’ve got a tired crew from an endurance test and our slipspace drives are down.”
“Solid copy, Commander,” the Admiral said. “We’ll rendezvous and send over our technician to help with your problems.”
“Actually, sir, we can just make back to home planet, then we can help your ship out as well,” Mark countered. “What’s the status of your engines?”
“They’re about the only thing that’s working on this bucket. And what do you mean ‘home planet?’ There isn’t one around here, according to our charts.”
“There may be a few things we’ll need to go over. It will makes sense when we get there, Admiral.” Mark pulled the mic away from his mouth. “Des, send them the coordinates to Equus.”
“If you say so, Commander.” Mark could tell the Admiral wasn’t convinced. “We’ve received the coordinates, and will lay in a course once I’m back aboard.”
“Solid copy, Admiral.” Mark pulled off the headset. “Helm, lay in a course to Equus and engage.”
“Gladly, sir,” Wind Burst said over his chair.
“Pardon me for asking… sir,” Spitfire said as she inched her way toward Mark’s ear, “but shouldn’t we inform the princesses we’ve made contact with another ship?”
“Well, yeah,” Mark pointed at the clock, “but it’s almost oh-four-hundred. I think this can wait for another three hours or so. Then we can tell both Celestia and Luna when they do their Princess-y duties.”
Spitfire yawned. “Fair point.”
“Plus it gives us an opportunity for some sleep,” Mark added with an elbow nudge.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Spitfire said as she turned toward the nearest hatch. “I’ll probably fall asleep before I even get there.”
“Better not. I’m not hauling you all the way there.” The Commander flipped a switch to play the transmission from the Vindicta’s Hopper over the bridge’s speakers. “Admiral, we’re all going to be taking a breather for a few hours over here. If you need anything, feel free to call over and talk to Des.”
“Roger, Commander. Vindicta, out.”
The transmission cut out with a final short burst of static. “Alright, ponies. I think we’ve all earned a bit of rack time. First crew will resume stations at twelve hundred hours, and will be relieved by the second crew at its regular scheduled time at oh-four-hundred. Third crew will relieve second crew at zero-hundred-hours.” He looked around to the eyes of his bridge staff, all gleaming for their coming dismissal. “Nothing like a half-day at work, eh?” A few muttered laughs surrounded him. “Dismissed.”
The bridge staff all seemed to let out a collective breath as the word left Mark’s lip. Ponies began making their way to the exits, all thinking of ways to reduce the number of steps it took to reach their quarters. They talked quietly, until a shout made Mark turn toward a hatch. “Hey Silver!”
“Oh, hey Ember!” the mare said back giving him a quick hug. “What are you doing up here?”
“Thought I’d walk you back to your quarters.”
“Aw, how nice!”
They walked out of view when Des rematerialized beside Mark. “Pony mating habits are… interesting, to say the least.”
“How so?” Mark asked.
“I asked Twilight when she was up here about the population density of the planet. Apparently the mare to stallion ratio is one-point-five to one.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’ve been… casually observing Silver Star and Ember Streak’s relationship--” Mark gave her a questioning eyebrow, “--for research! I find it odd that it is still the stallions who make the first move into engaging a relationship despite the abundance of mares.”
“Maybe some things are just universal.”
Des placed her hands on her hips. “Until I can get a better explanation, I guess that will have to do.”
Mark looked to the now empty bridge. “Think you’ll be okay without us here?”
“Unless the Vindicta starts shooting, I don’t foresee a problem.”
Mark gave a huff for a laugh. “I have a feeling that’s not gonna happen. It’s not every day you rediscover a lost civilization.”
“Valid reasoning,” Des said. “They have changed their course and are en route to Equus.”
“Okay.” Mark let out a yawn of his own. “Slow to let them catch up to our flank. And don’t let them know that we’re being crewed by a group of ponies. I have a feeling it could go badly if they don’t see it for themselves.”
“Aye, sir.” Des watched as Mark began to leave. “Sleep fast.”
“Will do.”