Chapter 7: Splashed
They see the seven crucial figures.
Fingers reach for switches.
------
It was stiflingly hot. Someone groaned. He couldn’t breathe— his arms were over his face, and something heavy lay on top of them, pinning him down. With shaky muscles, he shoved with everything he could give. The obstruction rolled away and thumped to the ground, painfully landing on his feet, and he took a gasping breath as he looked around.
The module was a mess. Papers and pencils were strewn around, and several fixtures were dented or broken. The radio panel was spitting sparks into the air. They were bobbing slowly in the water, which was a good sign—they’d made it down more or less in one piece. Neil felt his face with one hand. He felt... fuzzy was the only way to put it. Like he’d taken a hit to the head. His vision was alright, though, so he thought it wasn’t a concussion. Or at least not a bad one.
Mike was groaning in pain, teeth clenched and eyes shut, to his right. Blood dripped from his nose, which looked squashed. “Mike?”
“Neil? You’re alright?”
“My arms are killing me, and my face hurts, but nothing I can’t handle. You?”
Mike grimaced. “I think I broke my right collarbone. And my nose.” With his good hand, he fumbled for his harness and began to unlock it. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Neil checked to his left. Buzz was unconscious, blood dripping from his temple. Neil inhaled sharply, reaching for his harness. “Buzz is out. Looks like a head injury.”
Collins nodded. “Radio’s busted,” he observed.
“Yeah.” Neil unlocked the final belt on his restraints and stood as best he could, realizing that his feet were trapped as he fell over, unable to take a step.
He landed awkwardly, half on the floor and half on the awkward furry lump. Then, he remembered. ‘Probably a concussion if I couldn’t remember the alien here with us until I tripped over her,’ he noted as he extricated himself from Luna’s prone, unresponsive form.
Which was a bad thing. Being unresponsive, that was, not being prone. Being prone was quite nice for things like sleeping or taking cover. For that matter, sleeping sounded good right now—
Definitely a concussion.
Hastily, he checked the alicorn over as thoroughly as he could, being an entirely different species unfamiliar with her biology. One wing was bent in what Neil was fairly certain was not a healthy direction, her helmet had a new dent (not a good sign, that), and a couple of her boots were missing, but she didn’t seem to be bleeding out, she was breathing, and on a further check, the wing did not appear to have any broken bones.
All in all, an acceptable prognosis except that she was out cold. Neil really hoped she woke up; it would be a disaster to have a living, breathing alien, one whom had already proven to be a treasure trove of knowledge, in a coma with doctors unable to treat her for fear of operating on the wrong organ or using some material that killed her species or any number of terrible things that could happen in a situation like this.
He was going off on mental monologues, Neil realized. While there were much more serious things to be done. He’d need a checkup after they got out of the module.
Michael, meanwhile, had taken two aspirins, and had just roused Buzz. “Muh?” the astronaut asked muzzily.
“Buzz, you’ve taken a pretty good hit to the head. I need you to stay awake, alright?”
“K,” Aldrin mumbled, blinking rapidly and trying to unharness himself without much success. His assistant wasn’t much use with only one arm, so he just stood back awkwardly, waiting for Buzz to free himself.
Neil wasn’t having any success rousing Luna, however. “Shoot,” he muttered, rocking back on his knees. “Come on, Luna, wake up!” he urged desperately, shaking her shoulder, to no response. “Come on!”
He rested one hand on the wall, thinking for a moment. What did you do when someone was unconscious and not responding? He knew he knew some possible answers, but it took precious seconds to come to his mind.
He unstrapped her helmet and set it to one side, before taking two fingers and prying open her eyelid. An unnatural cat’s pupil unseeingly met his, contracting in the light, and he recoiled in surprise, eye remaining open. “Gah!”
As if it had been a signal, Luna gasped, her slitted pupil shrinking to a pinpoint and quickly growing back to normal size, this time her normal blue pupil. “What?” she sputtered intelligently.
“Are you OK?” Neil asked her. “You took a big blow to the head, and your eyes were really wonky for a second there.”
She rubbed her head with a hoof and stood. “Wonky?” she questioned, horn lighting briefly and sputtering before blazing into light. It flashed and disappeared, and she shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they looked different, like cat’s eyes,” Neil elaborated.
She frowned and fell silent.
As Buzz finally succeeded in unharnessing himself, Neil turned to the hatch. “We should probably get out and let our ride know we survived,” he said to himself. “Since the radio’s broke.”
But as he took a step, his foot flared with pain and he fell to one knee, groaning “That’s not good.”
Luna grabbed her helmet, replacing it on her head, the new dent making it an uncomfortable-looking feet. “Do you require assistance?”
“That would be nice, yes,” he replied, hopping upright on his good foot. “It’s going to be hard opening the hatch on one leg, and Mike and Buzz are in no shape to open it either.”
He hopped over to the hatch and waved Luna over. Grasping the wheel with both hands, he leaned heavily on the alicorn as he twisted the wheel a few turns and shoved the hatch outwards. Falling forwards into the gap he opened, he crawled out onto the small edge around the module and scooted over as best he could.
Collins flopped through the gap awkwardly, with only one arm to help his progress, followed by Buzz slowly navigating the exit, obviously still suffering from his hit to the head. Luna was the last in the progression of battered individuals.
Neil looked up wearily, for the first time noticing the whumps of helicopter blades. Not more than a hundred yards away hovered a United States helicopter. He waved at it and gave it a thumbs up as it tilted towards them.
He smiled when he saw Luna’s expression, a mixture between incredulity and sheer delight. They’d told her about things like airplanes and helicopters, but now he could see the obvious difference between being told something or knowing something in your head—and seeing for the first time.
As the ropes came down along with the rescue personnel, he wondered how long that had been the expression on his face the past few days.
-----
The President seemed unable to find the strength to stand as the pilot relayed that the quartet had all been injured in some way but were non-critical and responsive. The medical team onboard would be able to handle most of the damage, and a few weeks in the quarantine unit with the doctor would deal with the head injuries it seemed most of them had sustained.
Charlie suddenly realized something. If they were going to be in quarantine immediately, shouldn’t the group be meeting by the quarantine unit to exchange greetings?
He mentioned this, and Nixon nodded. “That was the plan, yes, but with the unexpected addition to the crew, I figured I would take my chances of catching an alien space bug and greet her in person.” He smiled. “It’s the least I can do for such a valuable opportunity for the country.”
The helicopter steadily reported the distance growing closer, and within minutes it was visible as it came flying into a hover above the deck. Hurriedly, the President picked himself up off the ground and dusted his suit as the helicopter settled onto the carrier and the rotors ceased their spinning.
The door slid open, and Michael Collins was the first to exit, arm wrapped in a sling similar to Charlie’s and holding an icepack to his nose with his other hand. “Sir,” he said, saluting briefly before returning the pack to his face. “Nice to see you.”
“Mr. Collins!” Nixon exclaimed, nearly leaping forwards. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am you weren’t injured worse.”
Collins chuckled. “So am I, sir.” He moved forwards and to the side, allowing a medic to help Buzz out of the copter.
Buzz smiled. “Sorry, President, but I’m not feeling great,” he said, leaning heavily on the medic, his bandaged head wobbling. His gaze was still a bit unfocused. “I took a good hit at the end there.”
“Mr. Aldrin, I’m happy to see you in one piece, and I hope for your speedy recovery,” the President said warmly, shaking his hand briefly as he took his place to the left of Collins.
Neil was the last human out of the helicopter, semi-hopping on one leg and with an icepack held to his forehead. “Mr. President,” he said, saluting the sharpest of the three, but his stance broke as his balance wavered and he began to tip.
The medics reached out to grab him, but their efforts were preempted by a shimmering blue aura gently shoving him back upright. The agents stiffened, reaching for their guns, but relaxed marginally as the field did nothing further.
Luna blew out a breath as she released the magic, limping out of the helicopter. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, dipping her head.
Nixon was beaming. “Miss Luna!” he exclaimed, extending a hand. “President Nixon. This is an auspicious occasion.” He pretended not to notice the enterprising crewmen snapping pictures from the tower, making lackluster efforts to stay out of view.
Luna shook his hand firmly, but startled him by releasing his hand and sweeping into a deep bow, flourishing her wings elaborately. “It is an honor to meet you, President Nixon,” she said formally, holding the pose. The agents, this time, didn’t relax, tensed and wary.
Bemused, the President waited a few moments. After a few more, he coughed. “You can stop that now, Miss.”
She returned to her upright stance, but couldn’t hide a wince as her wings folded back to her body. “I thank thee for the hospitality thou hast offered me,” she said.
“I couldn’t have dreamed of a different response,” he said, completely honestly. “And please, you don’t have to be so formal. I’m just Mr. President or President Nixon—not a king. There’s no need for bowing.” He grinned. “Americans never made a habit of bowing. Almost no one does it anymore.”
Surprised, Luna nodded. “As you wish, Mr. President,” she responded, nearly bowing again before catching herself. “May I formally introduce myself?”
“Sure,” he said. “After that, I’m going to have to have you follow the medics to the quarantine trailer, where you and your three companions will be spending the next two weeks.” He held up his hands in apology. “We can’t afford to have an alien superbug, no matter how unlikely, starting an epidemic.”
She agreed, and drew herself up straight. “Presenting Miss Luna Nightbringer of Equestria,” she announced loudly, her voice knocking the President back a step. “May I have leave, as a non-citizen of the United States of America, to reside here?”
-----
They’re clustered together, like sheep to a slaughter.
Two hands come up.
-----
“Yes?” The President’s answer sounded like a question, unprepared for Luna’s archaic-seeming actions. “I give you leave.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” she said, beaming, as he began to lead the party, medics, agents, and all, towards the waiting deck elevator, something changed. The President’s guards dove at him, tackling him to the ground.
They were a second too late, as Charlie’s guards pulled their weapons and fired without hesitance.
Each fired two bullets. Two hit James Abernathy, the President’s lefthand guard, center-of-mass, dropping him instantly. One had been aimed center-of-mass but hit Brian Miller, the righthand guard, in between the leftmost edge of the two lowermost ribs as he dove and took President Nixon to the ground. The round passed through him, as it had been a glancing blow at best, and it tore a strip of cloth off of his suit and Richard Nixon’s.
The fourth, meant for Miller, missed, and went flying through the group behind Nixon, who hadn’t had time to even widen their eyes, luckily missing all of them.
Unfortunately, the stray round didn’t miss Fitzergald Parson, who’d been standing behind the group unobtrusively while still getting a great view of them, and who had already begun to blur into motion, precious milliseconds slow with his reaction time. A shout had already begun to emerge from his throat—for anyone, up to and including even elite military men, he’d been incredibly—insanely—fast.
Just not fast enough.
The bullet took him in the throat, snapping him backwards and diagonally with a garish spray of crimson backlighted by the sun as the pistol-wielding guards snapped, “Nobody move!”
-----
All to plan.
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Crashed < Splashed? Heh.
Ah this makes sense now!
And GASP!
So now it's not complete and there will be explanations? Good.
Still, ow. Also antagonists!
It was on the wrong story?
I didn't even notice.
Well well well... I honestly can't see Luna being very amused by this at all. Nightmare Moon on the other hand... who knows? But I think she won't emerge fully for some time yet. Well see y'all at the next chapter. Allons y!
LoL. Yankees cant into space: they are useless. Their only meaning - to be an economical warring tapeworm in body of humanity.
4594799
Can you say that in English? XD
Here we go!
Strictly speaking, shouldn't Nixon be joining them in quarantine since he's exposed himself? It also gives him the perfect reason to spend a lot of time exclusively getting to know Luna on both a personal and diplomatic level. [edit: Or, if it fits your story better, a separate quarantine, so the astronauts and Luna have their scenes without the President in the room.]
Nitpick:
Shouldn't that be "Neil was" the last one out and with a bum leg?
4594799 Uhhhh... I didn't understand a yap of that. MAYBE because I'm unsure what a "yankee" is.
Ooooohhhhkay. Makes a little more sense. -.^
A rhyming haiku review:
A cliffhangerfest
Putting heroes to the test
Please update soonest
oh snap. i wonder what nightma---I MEAN luna has to say about these events? i think she'll be shocked for a moment, and then get royally pissed. CANTERLOCK ACTIVATE!
4595196 Yankee is slang for an American.
The rest of the nonsense I'm afraid I'm unable to translate, though. So sad.
The word you're going for is 'feat'. I think we all know what feet are.
-
okay, maybe I'm just dumb, but what's with the itlaics sections?
4594799
Of course they can't! The Yankees are a Baseball team! Not astronauts.
"Thee" and "thou" are informal, but I suppose nobody present has any good reason to know that. After all, it's not like Luna was on Earth when people spoke that way.
Well aren't THEY making a great first impression on the visiting alien?
Still, quite the exciting update this time.
Huzzah!
Those goddamn Ruskies! Or Whatever!
Didn't Buzz get out of the copter twice, and Neil not at all, in the current text?
4598703
Neil is a changeling!
Well, if its the Russian's they might try to be trying to convince the alien (Luna) that she is safer with them, .....still what is the plan?
4598703
Fixed
Welp. Those people are screwed.
In addition to their ludicrous magic, Alicorns have been shown to casually shatter stone, be only temporarily stunned by things that should paste them, and summon lightning on demand.
And they just ticked one off.
4595083 I don't think that'd be a good idea. It's better as nonsensical IMHO. ;)
4621497 I feel something awesome coming! XD
4594799 Well, I'm offended.
Alright, that's enough of this.
You're making conflict for the sake of conflict. Bad things happen because fuck you, that's why. I wish I had some better way to articulate this, but I simply can't take the ebb and flow of conflict/resolution seriously when the conflict is arbitrary to begin with.
I don't want to keep reading a story that treats human life as trash and Soviet spies like wizards.
But, by all means, everyone else can keep reading if they want to.
For a moment I thought that said "Fingers reach for sandwiches".
6570545
And heavy just busts thru the door and yells: "SAAAANDVICHEES!*
Another error spotted here~
Luna grabbed her helmet, replacing it on her head, the new dent making it an uncomfortable-looking feet. “Do you require assistance?”
Should be feat, the action or display, not feet the plural of foot. An easy enough fix though, as things get exciting!
Who are these guys? Commies?