Battlestar: Celestia

by Lunar Soldier

Dr. Cervello, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Forgive Myself

Mark didn’t know what it was about an EVA that made him want to puke. “In an extravehicular incident,” one of his instructors was explaining, “your sense of balance may be a bit thrown off. Since weightlessness affects the fluids in your inner ears, it may respond with side effects including but not limited to disorientation, nausea, vomiting, and headache.”

Right now, it was giving him everything except the vomiting, but he had the feeling that could change at any moment. Marcus silently cursed the fact that a simulated emergency ejection into space fell into the required training for pilots.

“Tango, tango, tango!” he shouted into his comms. “This is Shocker, declaring an emergency! Craft is trash, and require pickup, over.”

The comms, usually abuzz with the traffic of orders going from ship to ship, was dead silent. He switched to another frequency. Nothing. “Shocker to Recovery, respond.” The ship that he was told was going to pick him up didn’t reply. “Shocker to anyone... ”

His own breathing was the only sound that greeted him. He swung his left arm out to make himself rotate and hopefully let him catch a glimpse of the training fighter from where he was ejected. A difficult task, he already knew, since this training session was taking place on the dark side of the planet, though he could see the Sun was only moments away from cresting over the horizon. As he came about, he only saw the stars, with no sign of his training craft, or any other craft for that matter.

He shook his head in disbelief as his rotation continued, now looking down upon the planet. The orange glow of the cities shone back, but there was something askew about their color that Mark couldn’t discern. It’s just… wrong. It kinda looks like if it were… on fire.

The Sun crested over the curvature of the Earth as Mark flung out his right arm to stop his rotation. The ground was just starting to become visible when Mark realized it wasn’t Earth he was seeing.

It was Equus… and it was burning.

A large body of water was directly below him, and he watched as the blue waters turn red. A glimmer caught the corner of his eye, and spun to see the Caprica… rather, what was left of it. The two landing pods were separating themselves from the body, an engine nacelle was missing, and entire sections were exposed to the vacuum of space. Debris was floating around the ship, as Mark approached with frightenly high speed.

“Shit… shit! SHIT!” he screamed as he lined toward the wreckage. Mark flailed his appendages, in an attempt to change his course, but to no avail, as he couldn’t even rotate. His destiny, it seemed, wasn’t to be killed in combat, but by running into his own carrier. He braced for impact, and just before he was flung against the hull…

---

Post-Equus arrival, day 142
02:43 hours, Canterlot Standard Time
Commander’s quarters, Caprica

“Ahhhh!” Mark yelled as he shot up out of his pillow, sending his covers off the end of the bed. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest as he struggled to control his breathing. He shivered as a bead of sweat ran down his back.

Being able to breathe somewhat normally, Mark swung his legs over the side. He sat, looking out at the stars through the small porthole before bringing an elbow to a knee and resting his forehead in his open palm. What the hell is going on with me?

The bed shifted as another weight stirred. “That’s the third one since I’ve been up here.”

“It was just a dream,” Mark said as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

A welcome buffet of moving air caught him by surprise, as Spitfire used a wing to fan off Mark. “Dreams don’t leave you a mess. Seriously, I’ve chewed out new recruits that didn’t sweat as much as you are right now.”

He stood. “Okay, so I had a nightmare.”

“Those don’t happen without a purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember how you first met Luna?”

Mark thought back to the first night he had spent in orbit. “Well, yeah.”

“She has the power to change and alter dreams… if she chooses to.”

“So she’s letting me have these nightmares?”

“Basically, yes. She knows something you don’t.”

“Gah, what a bitch.” Spitfire glared. “Well… she should just tell me then. I hate it when ponies beat around the bush.” Mark turned to Spitfire. “Why all the mysticism?”

“Sometimes it’s about the journey, not the destination.”

Mark groaned at the cliché phrase. “You’ve never taken a vacation with me. I apparently used to make my family wish for the destination.”

Spitfire rolled over, taking a majority of the blankets with her. “There’s no arguing with you.”

“I guess not,” Mark said as he let the rest of his breath escape through his nose. A glare of reflected light from the planet came through the porthole, giving his quarters some illumination. Still doesn’t feel like my quarters, though. “Remember when I said there was a combat fatigue specialist here?”

“Vaguely.”

Mark moved to sit on his bed. “There wasn’t.”

Spitfire sat up and scooted herself to recline on the adjacent wall. “Marcus… why would you lie about something like that?”

“I got caught up in the moment, okay?” Mark blurted as he waved a dismissive hand. “Twilight was questioning why I was so… non-phased about human extinction, I was scrambling for an answer and it just… kinda came out.”

“But why?” Spitfire asked as she wrapped her forelegs around Mark from behind. “Why lie in the first place?”

“I really didn’t want to talk about it then.”

The pegasus’s lips made contact and gently pressed into Mark’s right cheek. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Which was…”

“Why lie?”

Mark sighed. “It’s a long story.”

The mare’s forelegs unwound themselves. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” Mark didn’t respond. “If you won’t tell me, will you at least see somepony about it, an actual specialist?”

“Maybe.”

“I suppose that’s about as good as a response as I’m going to get,” Spitfire said as she laid back down. “I know a guy in Manehattan that some of the ‘bolts see when they have issues.” She looked at Mark once again. “If I make the appointment, will you go?”

“I will… for you.”

She leaned up and gave Mark a kiss. “Good enough.”

---

Post-Equus arrival, day 145
16:43, Canterlot Standard Time
Office of Dr. Cervello, Manehattan

He was already regretting his promise. Why the hell couldn’t she have gotten me an earlier time?

Mark bounced his knee nervously in the mostly deserted waiting area, his only company being the receptionist, a pegasus stallion who Mark assumed was the spouse or partner of somepony currently in a session, and an odd palm-like plant. The waiting room was square, the walls painted an off-gray save for the yellow sunlight that snuck its way in through the western facing window. A circle of maroon-colored, (what felt to be) faux-suede chairs lined the walls, and it was quiet.

On any other day, this would have been a haven for Mark. His knee, clad in the fatigues of his Class-B uniform, would not stop moving. Even when he put an entire arm on his thigh, it refused to cease.

A door opened beside the reception work area, and a unicorn mare clutching a pile of tissues slowly walked out. The pony who had waited with Mark trotted up to the mare, and was quickly taken, borderline tackled, into a deep hug. The two simply smiled, and walked out without having said a word.

Mark was becoming very nervous now. He let out a worried “Mmmm” before the door opened again. “Marcus Frude?” the receptionist called out.

Uneasy legs straightened as Mark lifted himself out of his chair. He gave one last glance around the room before walking through the threshold leading back to a cramped hallway. A final door, made of what looked to be mahogany, was what separated him from fulfilling his promise to Spitfire. “Doctor Cervello will see you now,” the receptionist said before turning back to her station.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mark said before eyeing the handle. You can still back out, ya know.

I will… for you, a voice inside his head said.

“Ah… piss.” Mark knocked.

“One moment!” A cheery, deep-toned voice said through the door. A moment and what sounded like a book closing later, the door opened to a chocolate brown Earth pony with a jet black combed-over mane, complementing handlebar moustache, and dark brown eyes. “Ah, Marcus Frude!” the stallion eagerly reached out with both forelegs, and Mark instinctively outstretched a hand. The stallion took it and gave it a vigorous shake. “So good to meet you! Please, do come in and have a seat!”

“Thank you, sir,” Mark acknowledged before stepping in. Doctor Cervello’s office was quite the contrast from the waiting area. A dark cream carpet was beneath his shoes, oak shelves housed books along the walls, and a large window faced south, away from the city and to the bay. A painting of hues of blue hung between bookshelves, giving him the abstract impression of falling rain . Mark sat in the spongy chair that faced the desk.

“Oh, please, you may call me Psy. ‘Sir’ is reserved for my father. And, might I call you…”

“Mark is fine. Marcus is reserved for my mother.”

“We all have our little quips about our names, do we not?” Psy asked as he took his seat behind his desk. “Like I refuse to acknowledge someone who just calls me ‘doc.’ I worked very hard and spent a good number of bits for my doctoral degree.”

“That’s pretty forward there, Psy.”

He smiled. “I’m a forward pony. I’m told it’s one of my best traits… or at least that’s what my wife tells me. No sense in faffing about.”

Mark nodded. “I like your style.”

Psy gave a short laugh. “That’s good to know. But, we are not here to talk about bluntness, we’re here to talk about you!” He opened the manilla folder in front of him while putting on a pair of reading glasses. “Most of my patients make their own appointments, but Spitfire made yours.”

“I told her that I would come see you. She was getting concerned.”

“About your nightmares?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing she told you.”

He held out a hoof. “No more than I needed to know, among some other information. Brief history, stuff like that.” His eyes scrolled down the paper. “I do find it curious that you don’t tell her about these nightmares you have.”

“It’s just a dream, really. No sense in getting all worked up about it.”

“Do you trust her?” Psy asked without looking up.

“Of course,” Mark answered, with all seriousness in his voice.

“It is a recurring dream, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmmm,” Psy hummed as he brought a hoof to his chin. “Tell me about this… nightmare.”

Mark sat back deeper in the chair. “At first, it’s dark. I’m on a training exercise, getting ejected into space to simulate an emergency, though I never see the ejection. I’m floating there, and I know there’s a planet below me, and I call out for help and no one responds. I look for my craft -- gone. I turn and look at the planet, and I see these glowing yellow and orange clusters. I figure it’s cities, but their too far apart to be Earth. The sun comes up over the horizon, and I realize it’s Equus, and the cities I saw are burning. I move over the ocean, and the blue waters run red. A glimmer makes me turn again, and I see the Caprica, but she’s all destroyed and in pieces. I hurtle toward the debris, and right as I smash into the bow, I wake up.”

Psy had been listening intently as Mark spoke, before pulling back and drawing a breath. “So what do you think of it?”

“C’mon, Psy, if I knew, I don’t think you and I would be talking.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Psy made a note before closing the folder. “Are you a believer in destiny, Mark?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Might I ask why not?”

Mark shrugged. “I dunno. I was talking to Luna about this the first night I was here. I was trained not to think things like fate and destiny exist.” His head shook. “I mean, when I walk outside, it’s not my destiny if I get struck by lightening. It’s not my fate that I ate fish and green bean and dumpling soup today. It wasn’t my destiny that I… I…”

“Came to a planet inhabited by other sentient beings, being the only survivor of your entire species?” Psy finished.

Mark’s arms fell to his side. “Yeah… I guess.”

“You still chalk that up to luck?”

“Yes.”

Psy removed his glasses, placing them in a wooden case before looking back up. “You look tired.” Mark’s expression was puzzled. “Have you been fighting for a while?”

“All of my adult life.”

“The only thing you’ve ever known.” He made a note on a pad. “When did this dream begin?”

Mark thought back. “A couple of nights after my last mission.”

“Which was…”

“Striking General Neadle’s stronghold.”

“I see,” Psy said with a nod. “So, do you believe you have brought this… cycle of destruction here?”

Mark’s face scrunched. “I mean, I came in a warship. So, yeah.”

Psy rubbed his eyes. This wasn’t where he wanted Mark to be. Shot in the dark, he thought as he worded his next question. “Tell me… about your final engagement. At Earth.”

Mark went quiet. His face became stone. “I don’t see how that has to do with this,” he answered, almost robotically.

That’s the ticket. “I think it does. Let’s start basic. Numbers.”

“Three hundred and seventy seven ships, not counting fighters, and including one hundred and twenty Battlestars of various classes.”

“Good, good.” Psy made another note. “And, the others, these…”

“Dridens.” Another note. “Approximately thirteen hundred.”

“That’s an uphill fight.”

“Had nothing left to lose,” Mark said nonchalantly. “We all knew it was all or nothing. We didn’t care about the numbers.”

Psy nodded in acknowledgement. “Tell me the details. You see them coming. You’re flying.” The stallion motioned a hoof for Mark to continue.

“To be honest, I don’t really remember much.”

“Now you’re just skirting it.” Psy saw Mark’s hand grip the edge of the armrest with white knuckle strength. “You remember everything.”

“I-I-It’s embarrassing.”

“And it’s eating you alive.”

Mark’s hands slammed down. “I was the first one out, okay!?” The sudden outburst shocked himself as he felt himself come out of his seat. He settled again.

“Of your squad?”

“No… of everyone.” Mark’s eyes turned shamefully down to the floor. “I made a mistake. There was this maneuver we used to do for Driden fighter swarms. Your squad would approach, then fan out into a pentagon formation, turn your nose at the swarm and fire… hope you hit something. This time I --” he took a breath “-- I saw the swarm coming, and the ships behind it, and I froze. Couldn’t move my stick, my pedals… nothing. I just went in.”

“So you were shot down.”

“That’s the worst part about it. Some Driden prick just ran into me. When I snapped back, I tried to bank and we bumped. I lost my main thruster, weapons, coolant to the engine. So I had to eject. I don’t remember anything after that. Next thing I know I woke up in a bed on the Winter’s Bane, and they tell me we’re not at Earth anymore.”

Psy slowly nodded. “So tell me, do you feel responsible for the loss at Earth?”

Mark continued to stare at the carpet. “Partially.” He looked up. “I mean, if I had just followed formation like I was supposed to, like I had before --”

“Marcus,” Psy started, in a much more serious tone, “I’m going to tell you something, even though you’re not going to believe me.” A tense moment passed. “The loss of Earth was not your fault.” He heard Mark sniff. “Yes, you made a mistake. But would it have mattered if you hadn’t?”

“I would have felt like I made a bigger difference, or at least gone out swinging.”

“Oh, if only we could change the past. But we can’t.. What’s done is done.” Psy sat forward. “And the war -- your war -- is over.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed with a few head bobs. “War’s over. We lost.”

Psy’s head went askew. “Not quite. What are you, Mr. Frude?”

Mark’s eyes went to Psy. “What do you mean?”

“What are you?”

“Uhhhh… a pilot.”

“More general.”

“A citizen of Equestria.”

“What sets you apart from the others?”

“I’m a human?”

“Right. And what was the mission of the Dridens?”

Mark thought. “To exterminate human life.”

“Right!” The zeal of Psy made Mark jump into the back of the chair. “Don’t you see, Mr. Frude!?”

“No…”

“They failed their mission, Mark. They failed!” Psy saw Mark start to sit a little taller. “Your mistake set forward a chain of events that led you here. Now, whether or not it’s accounted to destiny or simple luck, only time will tell. But for now, that one little mistake… saved your life, and ensured your own little victory by denying theirs.”

Mark’s hand went to his chin. An old feeling was starting to well within him. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Now you see why you came?” Psy asked with a wide smile. “You came here, thinking that your defeat spelled doom for Equus. But, in fact, you came here a victorious warrior.” Psy came around from his desk, approaching Mark and leveling himself with Mark’s eyes. “You will always be a warrior, Mark. But what we do does not define us. Not entirely. It’s also what we think, what we feel, and what we know.”

Mark then could identify the feeling. Pride. “I think I understand,” he said as he wiped a tear away.

“And what better way to know more than to use the Caprica for her intended purpose?” Mark gave Psy a questioning eye. “There are seven other planets that orbit the sun. Perhaps, go visit them. Be an explorer instead of the warrior.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Doc.” Psy’s expression went disgruntled. “Sorry, I had to work one in since you called me Marcus.”

Psy laughed. “Fair enough.” He looked to a clock. “Well, we still have fifteen minutes left in our session.”

Mark stood. “I don’t think I need them.”

The stallion sized Mark up. “You look ready to conquer the world.”

“Not conquer. Explore,” Mark said with a smile.

Psy held out a hoof. “I wish you well, Captain.”

“Thank you, Doctor Cervello.” Mark shook Psy’s hoof before turning and leaving the office. The sun was still in its last hour of being above the horizon as Mark pulled out his handheld, hoping that Celestia would pick up his transmission.

She did. “Marcus! Good to see you out and about!”

“Good evening ma’am. I have a proposition for you.”

---

Post-Equus arrival, day 155
18:37, Canterlot Standard Time
Commander’s quarters, Caprica

Mark mindlessly stared at the massive number of tabs still open on his tablet. Provisional requests, personnel records, current inventory numbers, system repairs and updates, output charts… It never ends, he thought. I miss the days when all I had to do was fill out a duty roster for the week. Spitfire had been a tremendous help with the recruiting process. With her being more familiar with the Equestrian Armed Forces, she would screen a pool of volunteers before giving it to Mark for his approval. She was on a meal break when a knock came from the hatch, but Mark could tell it wasn’t a hoof that had knocked. He raised his eyes to the ajar door. “Come in.”

The hatch opened with a squeak, revealing a Griffon. “Good evening, sir.”

“Gilda!” Mark said with surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How are things?”

“Things are… okay,” she hesitantly replied.

“Good. I’m glad to hear.” Mark observed the satchel around her shoulder. “So, I don’t mean to be rude, but… why are you here?”

“Oh, of course.” Gilda reached into her bag. “Orders.”

Mark immediately recognized the seal of Celestia before breaking it and skimming the note. “...effective immediately… citizen of Equestria… Equestrian Navy… immediate deployment on the Type 271-BXR Caprica?” He looked up.

“That’s confirmed, sir.” Gilda saluted.

Mark gave the note another once-over before setting it aside. “Did you specifically request the Caprica?”

“I did, sir.”

“Why? It may not be important to the princesses, but it’s important to me.”

“Well…” she hadn’t been prepared to answer why she requested the Caprica for her deployment, “I really have no where else to go.”

“Home, back in the Griffon Kingdom?”

“It was condemned.”

“Friends? Family?”

“About the only pony I ever considered a friend was Rainbow Dash, and I almost lost her, too. I want to make a positive change.” A smirk came across her beak. “That, and I hear you’re the best flyer up here.”

“I believe so.”

“Well then, I’m going to have to take that away from you.”

“Ah, a pilot then?”

Gilda nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Well then.” Mark popped up from his seat. “Unpack your bags, cadet. I enjoy a good challenge.” He banged on the bulkhead. “Des, ya there?”

A hologram materialized on his desk. “Always, sir.”

“Official log entry. New addition to the roster. Gilda. Cadet pilot.”

“Entry logged,” Des said after a second of computing. “Shall I assign the recruit some quarters in the Pilot’s Row?”

“Absolutely.”

“Very good, sir. Right this way.” Des motioned to lead Gilda out.

“Oh, before I forget.” Gilda took two steps before about-facing back to Mark. She reached into her bag again. “This is from Princess Luna.” She held out a small jeweler's box. “She said, ‘You earned it, after all.’”

Mark took the box. “Thank you, cadet. You’re dismissed.” The two exited as Mark opened the small container. “No way…”

---

Post-Equus arrival, day 185
07:59, Canterlot Standard Time
Just outside the bridge, Caprica

Mark pulled down his shirt, pressing it to his torso. “You look fine,” Spitfire commented. “Stop worrying.”

“There’s just this one little crease --”

Spitfire fluttered up and gave Mark a quick kiss. “It’s fine.”

“If you say so.” They turned to the hatch, bringing it open.

Silver Star was the first to see him walk in. “Commander on the deck!”

All ponies stood at attention. Mark gave a walk-around the deck, inspecting each station. “As you were,” he finally said, letting the ponies resume their duties.

“Commander,” Spitfire called from the helm, “I believe it’s time.”

“You are correct, Captain.” He brought up the mic for shipwide broadcast, pressing the “Talk” button.

“All hands, this is the Commander. As of oh-eight-hundred hours, the complement of the Caprica, all four hundred and seventy of us, have been officially deployed on active duty. Our orders are as followed: To conduct routine patrol while also researching the planetoids of this solar system, including, but not limited to, topographical charting, composition scans, and sample testing. We will be going to the planets that orbit Celestia’s sun.

“While this mission seems a simple one, we will also be conducting combat drills and readiness exercises, along with other training scenarios. The length of this mission is indeterminate, however it will not last longer than one year. Celestia’s orders.

“We will be leaving orbit shortly. All crews, to their stations. Caprica Actual, out.” Mark punched the mic back into his holder. “Helm, whaddya say we start at the center and move our way out?”

Wind Burst was already typing in the commands. “Targeting Aithon and moving to match orbital planes.”

Mark nodded in approval. “All stations, report! Helm.”

“Go!”

“Tactical.”

“Go!”

“Navigation.”

“Go!”

“Comms.”

“Go!”

“Sensory.”

“Go!”

Mark picked up the mic, pushing a button. “Port flight deck, status.”

“Everything’s good to go down here, Commander!”

He hit another button. “Starboard flight deck, report.”

“Starboard flight deck is standing by!”

Another button. "Pilots, you good to go?"

"C.A.G. reporting. We're ready when you are," Gilda replied.

Mark pressed one more button. “Engine room, status.”

“Ball Bearing, reporting! Core is at one hundred percent efficiency. Jump drives are still down, but I don’t see how that’s going to be a problem.”

“Very well.” He set the mic down again, turning to Des’s shimmering blue figure. “Ready to go for a drive?”

“I’d thought you never ask,” she said with a grin. “I was starting to get dizzy from all the circles.”

“Don’t you sass me.”

“Sir!” Wind Burst called from the helm. “We have aligned with the orbital plane. Transfer window in thirty seconds.”

Mark looked down at the navigation chart. The small, rocky planetoid was highlighted, as was their projected flight path. “Second star to the right…” he said to himself.

“Hmmm?” Spitfire hummed.

“An old play, from when I was a boy.” The countdown was quickly approaching zero. Marked looked to the countdown and saw only five seconds left. “Ready thrusters. Engage.”

The blue hue of the Caprica’s afterburners came alive, propelling the four hundred and seventy members of the Equestrian Navy away from Equus, and toward Celestia’s bright and shining star.

Comments

[German Kaiserreich]

these are the voyages of the star ship Caprica

[Llyander]

Ehhh.

Nah. I don't buy it. I've been into therapy/counselling myself and it's never this simple. It's never just one session, one epiphany and boom, you're cured. If this has been eating at him to the point where he locks up talking about it and has recurring nightmares? I find it hard to believe that all it would take is someone pointing out his survival to remedy every lingering doubt.

I think you had an opportunity here to not only dig into his head and his motivations/character, but to do some worldbuilding/backstory and it's a bit of a shame to see you skip over it instead.

Not disappointing enough to make me stop reading, mind, but I feel you really could have done more with this.

[Scarheart]

I do hope you give Mark more sessions. Therapy is never a one and done thing.

[Phenoix12]

What was in the box? I looked over the parts of the chapter after that like 3 times now and it never said... am I just overlooking it or something?

[Dreadknight garen]

I feel like mark let go too easy, if he had such a "thick mental barrier" around his memories, a little ribbing from a shrink probably wouldnt make him spill right away