//------------------------------// // Vindicta // Story: Battlestar: Luna // by Lunar Soldier //------------------------------// Post-Equus arrival, day 203 12:04, Canterlot Standard Time Commander's quarters, Caprica “There’s still the issue of the language barrier,” Mark said to the visual representation of Princess Celestia. “That should not be a problem. We did manage to successfully implant the whole of Equestrian language into your mind… or at least what Twilight knew.” “Yes, but I was also a willing subject, since I recognized the need. The Admiral and his crew might not be so keen on it.” Mark picked up a glass of water. “You gotta remember, we just fought and lost a war of near extermination. There may be some of them who might not be too fond on the idea of meeting another species so soon.” “Then we will proceed with great caution.” Celestia’s head dipped out of frame, then returned. “I have played the part of diplomat before, and my strategy has always been to lead by example. We will let this Admiral and his crew know that this is a place of peace, and they have nothing to fear from us.” Mark noticed he had been holding his glass while Celestia spoke. He took a sip and gently set the glass down. “Ma’am, if I might ask… when was the last war your ponies fought? And I’m talking about a full knock-out, bare-knuckles, total war. Not a skirmish, or an incident, or anything that lasted for less than a day.” “Hmmm,” she hummed while an adorned hoof tapped her chin. “It would have been well before the time of Nightmare Moon. Those times were less civil, compared to now.” “Are you familiar with battle fatigue, or post-traumatic stress disorder?” “A bit, yes. Ponies will wake up in the middle of the night after a night terror that resembled the incident. That is within the realm of Luna’s domain, so it has not happened many times, as of late.” “Humans did not have that luxury, ma’am. I remember one incident where a man woke up one Christmas morning after being shipped home, and heard noises from downstairs. He went down armed and killed his family because he thought they were Insurrectionists.” Celestia let out an audible gasp. “How was he allowed to go home?” “We don’t know. Someone missed something, but that’s not the only example I can give you of that. But those are another story for another time, ma’am. I simply urge you to keep in mind that some of these people will be fragile, like paper-thin ice. Tread carefully.” “I understand.” Mark saw a piece of paper come into frame. “Perhaps you can tell me some of those stories soon.” “Ma’am?” “I will be having a small dinner party for my nephew’s birthday. It should consist of no more than myself, Luna, Twilight, Blueblood, and a small handful of dignitaries from the surrounding area." Mark gave his head a bob. “I think we can make that work.” Celestia gave an audible hum. “And how about the Admiral? We could use this opportunity to have him see us for who we are.” “I’ll run it by him, but I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Mark said as Des materialized in his quarters. “Pardon the interruption, Commander, but the Admiral is waiting to speak with you,” Des said. “It appears we will have our answer sooner than I thought,” Celestia said happily. “The party is tomorrow. Should I put down a plus one for you?” “Eh, yeah, for the time being. I'll run it by Spitfire and give you our responses later today.” “Very good. I look forward to hearing from you. Celestia, out.” The screen went blank. “Des, put the Admiral through.” “Yes, sir,” she acknowledged. The screen came alive again. “Ah, there you are, Commander. Done touching base with the powers that be?” “For the time being, yes. I’m to relay that you have been cordially invited to a dinner party with said rulers to discuss…accommodations.” “What kind of accommodations?’” “Mainly, the language barrier, and a couple of other things. The Princesses are able to take their linguistic knowledge and implant it directly into a mind.” “What do you mean ‘implant it directly?’ How can they do such a feat?” “Mysticism, magic, voodoo… I dunno,” Mark said, throwing his hands up. “It’s hard to explain. It’s one of those things you need to see for yourself to believe.” The Admiral’s face went stern. “Commander, I do not like to believe. I want to know.” “Aye, sir,” Mark grumbled. “Now as to the reason why I called.” The Admiral went out of frame, and returned with a datapad. “The Vindicta is in dire shape, as I'm sure you've already been able to tell. How's your Hopper spotting?” “About as good as anyone else's,” Mark said. “I would rather be behind the stick of a Cobra, personally.” “Good enough,” Admiral Perinski said. “If you could spare some time away from command, we could use your assistance ferrying supplies and spotting for my EVA teams.” Mark mulled the idea over momentarily. “Yes, I believe I could.” "Perfect,” the Admiral said, making a notation on his tablet. “You’re that short on hands, aren’t you?” Mark asked. “A little, yes, but nothing we haven’t encountered before.” “Want me to see if I can get a repair detachment going?’ Mark suggested. “Maybe help out with some of the heavy lifting?” Mark saw the Admiral’s face move to shock. “N-no,” he said. “They’re not familiar enough with SSDC procedure.” Mark scowled. “Yes they are. These ponies are surprisingly quick learners.” “Can they be trusted?” “Uh, yes,” Mark answered, in an agitated tone at the audacity of his question. “I’ve entrusted them with the care of the Caprica, didn’t I?” “Care is one thing,” the Admiral countered, “operational ability is another. Coupled with the fact there is a language barrier, they would just be in our way.” “Then we’ll bring Des over,” Mark said. “She can act as a go-between and can be a diagnostic agent as well.” The Admiral sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, we could use its help.” “And we can use this opportunity to show you and your crew that these ponies are a far greater cut above the Dridens,” Mark added, almost pleading. “Let us prove that we can be trusted.” Admiral Perinski brought a finger to a temple, rubbing it and appearing to be in deep thought. “Alright,” the Admiral finally said after a moment of contemplative silence. “Since you’re so adamant about it, we’ll give it a go.” Mark gave a breath of relief. “Thank you.” “But,” the Admiral continued sternly, “if anything happens that brings harm to my people or my ship, I’m holding you personally accountable.” Mark nodded in understanding. “I assure you that won’t be necessary.” “Let us hope it isn’t. I expect you within the hour.” Perinski moved out of frame. “Vindicta, out.” From the far side of Mark’s quarters, Des shook her head. “Just when I think I have you humans figured out, you all go and do something like this.” “Strangely, I understand the feeling.” Mark scratched his head before moving his hands to his hips, biting a lip. “I was expecting a bit of resistance from him, but… something about this isn’t sitting right.” “And just what is that ‘something?’” Mark shook his head. “I dunno. It’s just a gut feeling.” Des laughed. “Oh, yes. The old human instinct of going with your gut… where all the feces are.” Mark shushed her. “A gut instinct has gotten me out of more than one jam.” He turned his attention back to his tablet. “Contact Ball Bearing, and tell him to gather any available ponies for an away mission to the Vindicta.” “Aye, aye, sir.” 12:53 hours, Canterlot Standard Time Port flight pod, Caprica “Is this it?” Mark asked as he looked upon the ensemble of eleven ponies from the open Hopper door. “All I could get together on such short notice,” Ball Bearing said with regret. “If I had more time --” “No matter,” Mark interrupted. “It is what it is.” Mark put a boot upon the “No step” paint of the Hopper, and began to speak to the crowd. “Listen up, ponies!” The crowd swiftly brought their attention to Mark’s booming voice. “The Vindicta has accepted our offer for personnel from the Caprica to assist in repair work.” Murmurs went through the gathering. “Now I know there is still a language barrier, which is why Des will be accompanying us on this little venture. It’ll be slow-going, as she’ll be busy doing other things.” A hoof was raised. “So what all will we be doing?” the owner of the hoof asked. “We’re doing our best to cram the technical information about the Caprica, but now --” “I understand your concern,” Mark assured. “Most of what we will be doing is superstructural work. Rebolting and replacing panels, monitors, screens, things like that.” He gave his head a side-to-side bob. “Tedious work, I know, but the Vindicta’s crew are going to be working on getting new network lines in, reprogramming finer systems, and focusing mainly on exterior work.” Mark put a hand on his chest. “I myself have been tasked with the exterior endeavor. They have plenty of spare parts, or so I’ve been told. It should just be grab, bolt, move on.” He looked over the crowd. “Any other questions?” He took their silence to me “no.” “Alright, then. Star, grab Des.” “Aye, aye, sir,” Star beam said before taking Des’s mobile unit in magic. “You’ll need her to talk to the Vindicta tower operator. We’ll see you over there.” Mark clapped his hands, dismissing the group, each heading to their assigned Hoppers. Mark himself climbed back into his own Hopper and fell back into the pilot’s seat. “‘Join the Fighter Corps,’ they said,” Mark grumbled in his native tongue. “‘You’ll never work a day in your life,’ they said.” “I’m sorry, sir?” his copilot asked. “Nevermind,” Mark muttered as he donned a headset. “Caprica tower, this is Hopper zero-seven-four, callsign ‘Shocker,’ requesting permission to depart.” “Solid copy, Shocker,” the tower operator replied. “Deck is clear, cross traffic is secure, and there are no entering vehicles. You are clear for departure.” “Aye, aye. Shocker and party is away.” With a few flips of switches and buttons, the two Hoppers departed the pod and into space. No more than two minutes passed before a radio tuned into their frequency. “Hopper zero-seven-four, this is Vindicta tower. Requesting your party remain in holding pattern until further notice.” “Solid copy. Holding,” Mark said. So that’s how we’re gonna start this, then. His copilot tapped him on the shoulder. “That’s not normal, is it, sir?” he asked, pointing to the hull of the Vindicta. Mark gazed upon the battle damage. “By the Moon…” Hundreds of indentations and missing panels could be seen, just on the midsection. A scattering of scorch marks also littered the ship’s body. “I’ve seen moons with less craters.” “I thought it was bad,” his copilot said in awe, “but not that bad.” “Yeah, no, this is…” Mark stopped to process his thoughts. “What the goddamn have they been doing?” “Hopper zero-seven-four, come back,” a voice said in his ear. “Oh-seven-four, callsign ‘Shocker,’ still holding.” “You are instructed to begin landing sequence for starboard flight pod, stern approach. Park in flashing LZ. Deck is clear, cross traffic is secure, and there are no exiting vehicles. Call the ball.” “Good copy on all accounts. I have the ball.” Mark swung the Hopper to prograde, firing the thrusters to enter the pod. He crossed the field threshold, and was astonished by the unexpected difference between the pods of the two Battlestars. Cobras sat in racks, one atop another, held suspended by a network of support beams above an opening protected via force field. Hoppers lined the far side, landed on the deck, but above them hung another series of Cobras. “How many planes do they have jammed in here?” his copilot asked, almost reading Mark’s thoughts. “I counted at least forty,” Mark said, preparing his final descent. “With the other pod, that’s a lot of birds.” His Hopper touched down, and powered off. The hydraulic suspension of the landing gear was still leveling out when a deckhand popped up outside the hatch. “Commander, sir?” he said as soon as the hatch opened. “Yes?” Mark acknowledged in surprise. “I’m to inform you that the Admiral is currently busy on another matter, and won’t be able to greet you personally.” The other Hopper flew in, causing the deckhand to turn and watch it. “Work orders and assignments are prepared already. How many of you are there?” Mark stepped off his Hopper. “Crews and compliment totals fourteen.” An eyebrow shot up on the deckhand. “That’s it?” “If I had been given more time, the Admiral would have gotten more,” Mark replied, already irritated. “Sorry, sir,” the deckhand said apologetically. “We’re appreciative of any assistance.” Star Beam trotted over and handed Mark Des’s mobile unit. “Got any place we can plug in my assistant here?” “Is that the A.I. unit?” the deckhand asked. “Something like that will have to be plugged in at main engineering.” He held out a hand. Mark was reluctant to place Des in the unknown deckhand’s grip. “I’m entrusting you with something that’s precious to me,” he said, letting the deckhand take the unit. “Don’t worry,” the deckhand assured. “I’m not a technophobe like the Admiral.” He took the unit and turned to the other crewmembers. “Yo! EVA support bird needs fed!” 20:21, Canterlot Standard Time Commander’s quarters, Caprica Mark unbuttoned his jacket as Des and Spitfire joined him in his quarters. “Well, today was certainly a day.” “It certainly was,” Des said in agreement. “I’m glad I can’t feel exhaustion.” “There are days I’m envious of you, Des,” Mark managed to say amidst a yawn. “Anything exciting happen while we were gone?” Spitfire shook her head. “Nothing noteworthy. Sent a message to my Wonderbolt friends, saying that I hope to see them tomorrow.” “Man, if that’s the most exciting thing that happened, I don’t feel so bad about pulling Des, then.” “Personally, I would have rather stayed on the Caprica,” Des mentioned. “You have no idea how unaccommodating their network was.” “I can only imagine,” Mark said, seating himself beside Spitfire. “Did you find anything useful?” “A few things, yes.” Spitfire gave Mark  a suspicious eye. “Did you send Des to spy on them?” “Not spy, no,” Mark said. “Just to read whatever was publically available.” He fell back onto his bed. “Go ahead, Des.” “Like I said, the network was not cooperative with an A.I. unit like myself. Putting it in more physical terms, it would be like trying to put a support beam through a straw. But, from what I could find out, the Vindicta is a new class of Battlestar, called a ‘BXV,’ or the ‘Vendetta’ class. It was to incorporate the main focal points of all the other designations: The size of the BXC, the power of the BXE, and the sensory capability of a BXR. The Vindicta is the concept prototype, its construction starting just five months before the Driden invasion. Simulation data suggests that three BXVs could pacify an entire system, where it would take at least ten Battlestars of any configuration, plus their support fleets, to do the same.” Mark sat back up, while Spitfire could only gaze in awe. “I hadn’t heard of any other BX variant in development,” Mark said. “Surely my mother would have told me something about it.” “Are you sure?” Spitfire doubted. “I can see that as being a closely-guarded secret.” “She wasn’t afraid to confide things in us, unless…” he tapered off. “Unless what?” “Unless she didn’t tell us, because she didn’t know.” Mark threw out a dismissing hand. “It’s no matter, I suppose. Continue, Des.” “I might be able to shine some light on that,” Des said. “The design specifications of the Vindicta were beyond ‘Eyes Only’ security clearance. Nothing I couldn’t get around, but it took a significant amount of resources for me to decode it. “The Vindicta was constructed around a tenth unnamed colony, manned solely by SSDC personnel. The only name I could pull for a designation was something called ‘Project: Conclusion.’ The main shipyard station orbited a planetoid only forty-eight hundred kilometers in diameter.” “Little guy,” Mark remarked. “Yes, but this ‘little guy’ was incredibly dense, weighing almost twice as much than its suggested mass. It’s no wonder they built it there. It also circled a Class-K dwarf star.” Mark nodded in understanding. “Quiet, and out of the way. Perfect place to build a secret weapon.” “If it was so secret,” Spitfire began, sitting with full alertness, “how did someone get ahold of it?” A flow of information went through Des. “Command was given to Admiral Perinski after the Fall of Pontus, and fears of attacks on the core worlds started to become realized. The Vindicta would launch from its location, carry out a sortie, and return for repair and rearmament. Occasionally they found lost civilian ships, and their crews would be incorporated into the crew of the Vindicta.” Des looked directly at Mark. “Captain Brookings is such an example.” “Mmmm, I had a feeling he wasn’t military,” Mark said, “and why some of their uniforms didn’t fit well.” “It gets better,” Des went on. “Just over one-quarter of the Vindicta’s remaining crew are non-military.” “Good gods,” Mark said, agast. “So how did they end up here?” Spitfire asked. “Something like what happened to Mark?” “More or less,” Des answered. “I also pulled information from personal logs. Their last mission was followed by a Driden fleet back to their station after an improper execution of the Kinsley Protocol.” “That’s when a ship uses a planet’s magnetic interference to mask a slipspace trail,” Mark told Spitfire. “It scatters any residual photons left in the wake of a slipspace jump. A pursuer will know they’ve jumped, but not in what direction.” “The station, and planetoid, were subsequently destroyed, but the Vindicta was able to escape. Instead of simply hiding, they spent the next five months carrying out foolish hit-and-runs. In their latest one, the navigation computer became disconnected from the helm, and they made a desperation jump. And the rest is history.” Mark leaned on his knees and rested his chin on cupped hands. “What else do the logs say?” “To generalize some of the newest entries that have been made, I would say there’s an overall sense of relief. Most are glad, some even joyful, to be in a place that’s Driden-free. There is some skepticism, but it’s, dare I say, hopeful, since they’ve heard that ponies have taken you in with open forelegs.” “What about the Admiral?” Des shook her head. “He either isn’t keeping a personal logbook, is keeping one that’s not connected to the rest of the network, or has a physical written one that I can’t see.” The light of the Sun shined through the porthole, becoming briefly obscured by the Vindicta. “It still sounds corny and cheesy when I say it, but perhaps Princess Twilight can help us.” “In what way?” Spitfire inquired. Mark first responded by running a hand up the back of her neck and into her mane, gently pulling outwards, like he knew she liked. “The ‘Magic of Friendship’ you ponies are always on about.” He ran his hand through again. “Princess Celestia said she wanted to prove our non-malicious intentions by example. It may have to be proven faster than she likes, though.” “How so?” “It isn’t logical, but humans become the most suspicious when they are the most complacent.” “You’re right,” Spitfire said, leaning into his hand. “That doesn’t make any sense.” “Well then,” Des chimed in, “I’ll take my leave for the night.” Mark nodded, and both Commander and Captain said in unison, “Goodnight, Des.” Des smiled. “Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, ma’am.” She winked out of the room. Mark stood, unfastening his jacket and walked to a closet. He spotted his Class-A uniform and removed it from the bar on which it hung. “I should probably iron you,” he said to it. He looked back to Spitfire, already under the covers. “You make a convincing argument.” He hung up his uniforms. “There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.” He joined her. “It’s been a long day.” 20:32, Canterlot Standard Time Crew lounge, Caprica “Hey there, Wind,” a voice called from behind the bar. “Hey, Moon,” Wind called back. “I should have figured they would have put you on bar detail.” “I volunteered for it, thank you,” Moon said, grabbing a mug. “I'm surprised I haven't seen you in here more often.” “Most of the time I just go straight from the bridge to my quarters, but tonight, I was feeling social.” “More likely you wanted a nightcap.” Wind deviously smiled. “You know me so well, Moon Shine.” Moon set the mug in front of Wind. “So what’ll it be?” “Cider, if you've got it.” "How do you take it?" "Straight up, I suppose." Moon’s face scowled. “Well, you're boring.” Wind threw his hooves up in innocence. “Hey, go with what you know. Isn't that what you used to say?” Moon put the empty mug underneath a tap. “That was just to keep the lines moving at the bar. C’mon, spice it up! Live a little!” Wind chuckled. “I’m fine with the boring choice.” “You're no fun,” Moon said, putting the now filed mug in front of Wind. “But, gotta hoof it to ya, it's pretty unusual to see a Pegasus take a cider straight up.” “Is it?” Wind asked, pulling his mug up for a drink. “It's been my experience that the straight up ones always go to Earth ponies. They don’t have a need for extra flair.” Wind wiped away excess foam from his lip. “I can see why it appeals to them so much.” “For normal Pegasus ponies, a straight cider just isn't enough for them. They'll always gotta add in some kind of complementary flavor, like cherry or a frozen grape.” “Nah,” Wind scoffed. “I'm not looking to do extra work while drinking, and the fine taste of cider alone is enough for me.” “Now, unicorns… they're the strangest lot of them all. About the most tame thing I've ever seen them do is put a cinnamon stick in with their cider. But I know this one bartender in Manehattan that'll charge his ciders with magical energy for an extra kick. The unicorns there drink that by the barrels every weekend.” “Huh,” Wind said, taking another drink. “How does the Commander take his cider?” Moon wiped down the bar. “Straight, like yours, but sometimes he doesn't take cider at all.” Wind's ears went up in curiosity. “Oh? What does he have, then?” From below the bar, Moon pulled up a rectangular bottle that funneled into a more cylindrical shape toward the top. The label was written in English, but the contents resembled a slightly lighter color than brewed coffee. “He has this.” Wind eyed the bottle suspiciously. “What is it?” “A drink from the Commander’s home planet. He calls it ‘whiskey.’” Moon reached down and set out a smaller glass, barely big enough to hold but a swallow of liquid. She unscrewed the lid and poured into the glass. “You should try it.” Moon pushed the glass closer to Wind, and he gave the drink a curious sniff, only to come back reeling. “Does it taste better than it smells?” Moon could only grin. “You tell me.” Wind looked away in doubt. “Eh… I dunno.” Moon leaned on the bar, resting a cheek on her hoof. “C’mon, you’re not even a little curious?” Wind took the tiny glass in both hooves, tipping it back on his lip and taking a small amount. He quickly turned away, rejecting the liquid. “Ugh! It's vile!” “I know,” Moon said, nodding. “It's so angry, burning… and hateful.” Wind angrily set the shot glass down. “And humans used to drink this?” “By the bottle. But you wanna know the worst part?” Moon took the shot glass, giving a “cheers” motion before throwing it back. “If you drink enough of it, you begin to like the burn,” she set the shot glass back on the bar, upside down, “and start to want more of it.” Wind gave a worried look. “Maybe we should think twice before readily giving aid.” He looked back down at the bottle, giving it a tap with a hoof. “If they can stomach something like this…” “Who knows what other self-destructiveness they're capable of?” Wind gave a sheepish “Yeah.” “Not much we can do about it now.” Moon set the bottle back down in its reserved place. “We’re stuck with them.”