Commander Marcus Frude, the last known survivor of humankind and acting Commander of the Type 271-BXR Battlestar: Caprica is on the best way to come to peace with the losses of his past, hoping to erase the last of his worries on a peaceful mission to explore the local star system. However, when the Caprica detects a ship jumping in, his past finds a way to catch up with him.
Post-Equus arrival, day 89 09:34, Canterlot Standard Time Residence of Wind Burst, Cloudsdale
Wind Burst knew that Celestia’s sun was the bringer of all good things. It kept ponies warm, gave them the light of day, and grew the food he loved to eat. But on mornings like this one, he could do without it. An eye cracked open as sunlight shone through the blinds of his apartment, and a deep groan escaped his lips.
“Never… again…”
He had learned from being one of the most eligible stallions in Cloudsdale (or in Equestria, for all he knew) that he was invited to more than his fair share of stag parties. He had gone to parties for his longtime friends he first met in flight camp, those he met in school, then even friends of friends. It was all the same. They would start drinking hard cider at somepony’s home, then go to some random nighttime establishment for more cider until forced to leave, then back to home for even more cider.
More often than not, he didn’t remember the flight home, fumbling for his keys, or crashing face first into his bed. He would wake when the first rays of light peered through his window, and begin regretting the previous night. He had repeated this cycle so many times, he faced a bigger problem than the vise squeezing his head with a pounding headache.
It was beginning to become boring.
Post-Equus arrival, day 98 20:13, Canterlot Standard Time The Cloud Kicker, Cloudsdale
It had been, until a fateful opportunity arrived. While being on-station in Cloudsdale, a flyer pinned to a tack board read the Crown was looking for volunteers for a “repair and observation mission” on the newly arrived Caprica. By now, it was common knowledge throughout the whole of Cloudsdale an alien had descended from the sky, in flight but without wings. Such a prospect horrified some of the residents of the cloud city, calling the human a “beast” or “monster.”
Wind Burst had heard the rumors. He had even been a skeptic himself before one of his nights out led him to be in an audience with Spitfire. From Wind’s perspective, it looked as if she and her friends were having a “mare’s night out.” “Yeah, I’ve met him,” Wind overheard Spitfire say from the other side of the bar. “Not a bad stal- I mean guy.”
“I heard he can fly without magic or wings!” One of her friend’s exclaimed. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Not in the slightest,” the Captain retorted.
“How so?”
“He explained to me when we met today. He said his… people of ancient times used to wonder what it would be like to fly, so they began creating things that mocked the flight of a bird.”
“They had birds?” Another of her friends asked.
“Apparently. Anyway, these so-called ‘pioneers’ of flight built crude machines, trying to imitate the flapping of a wing. None succeeded, and some died during the process.”
A hoof came to Wind Burst’s mouth. “Oh, my…”
“But then, an idea came to two brothers, who made what Mark called a ‘fixed wing aircraft.’ Mechanical power pushed the craft forward, and the wings were designed in such a way to give it lift.” She smiled. “To put it in Mark’s words, ‘The wingless had forged their own wings.’”
That was all Wind Burst needed to hear. The next morning he volunteered to be assigned to the Caprica, and less than six hours later, he was on his way up to said ship. His first impression of the Caprica itself was “Big and oddly shaped.” His quarters were smaller than he expected, and the bed he was given wasn’t as comfortable as his cloud bed at home… and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was a nice change of pace from the dullness that was his day in, day out life. Then the so-called “Grayclaw Incident” occurred.
It was a time of high stress for everypony. Watching the events unfold from a display got Wind Burst’s heart pumping and the adrenaline flowing. His overall role in the Incident was relatively small compared to some other ponies, but it was still exciting to watch history that would be talked about for generations unfolding before his very eyes.
He received his promotion to Second Lieutenant just hours before bringing the Caprica planetside, being noted as “able to grasp and understand a new concept with remarkable ease.” After watching the Battlestar ascend back into the evening sky, Wind Burst let out a disappointed sigh. Back to the regular hum-drum, I guess.
Post-Equus arrival, day 157 10:33, Canterlot Standard Time Residence of Wind Burst, Cloudsdale
Another night of debauchery left Wind Burst to wake with an extreme case of dry mouth and a sensitivity to light that would rival that of the Lunar Pegasi. From his bed, he could hear the daily hum of activity, to which he promptly rolled over and placed a pillow over his head.
The sound of a knock on his door forced Wind Burst to slowly rise, his body severely disagreeing with the change in posture. Opening the door revealed a royal messenger. “Message from the Princesses. Sign here, please,” the page said as he held out a clipboard and quill.
Wind Burst took the quill in mouth and scribbled his name, the messenger handing him an envelope bearing the seal of the Princesses. He bid the messenger farewell before turning to the note, breaking the seal.
To the members of the Equestrian Armed Forces;
It is with great pride that the Princesses of Equestria are announcing a most unprecedented voyage. If you have received this letter, you have been preselected to join Commander Marcus Frude in his journey to explore the local star system on the Type 271-BXR Caprica. Though this will mainly be a mission of research and exploration, Commander Frude informs us he intends to subject the crew to exercises and “combat-readiness” tests.
The overall timespan of this mission is unknown, but estimates have already been calculated, putting the mission end date somewhere eight to nine months after deployment. Some estimates have an deployment time lasting longer than a year. However, Princess Celestia has decreed that the maximum time allotted will be one year from the deployment date.
This mission is strictly volunteer and is opt-in. If interested, please see your commanding officer at your station or contact Commander Frude directly, if able. If you do accept, begin arrangements for a possible one-year deployment. If not interested, you may disregard this letter.
This is a joyous occasion for all ponykind, as we take our first steps into the stars and visit our cosmic neighbors.
Signed,
Princess Celestia, et. al.
Wind Burst didn’t need to think twice. His headache all but disappeared as he descended the stairs of his apartment building and lept into the morning sky, shouting “I’m going on an adventure!” A week later, his orders came in, and two days afterward, he was already on the Caprica, becoming more familiar with the ship’s systems.
Mark came up to Wind Burst as Des was showing him how to perform a routine diagnostic on the flight controls. “Heard you made quite a stir in Cloudsdale when the Princesses announced this exploration mission.”
A corner of Wind Burst’s mouth rose in a grin. “Yeah. I might have. I’m not sorry for it. I was just excited to be up here again.”
Mark bobbed his head in a nod. “A stallion who lives without regret. I like it. We’re glad to have you again, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir. There’s no place else I would rather be.”
Post-Equus arrival, day 202 03:41, Canterlot Standard Time Bridge, Caprica
The lone dot on Wind Burst’s console, labeled “Unidentified Contact” stared back at him. Behind him, a flurry of activity was happening, as ponies tiredly resumed their stations at full combat alert.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, as the only thought he could process repeated itself in his mind. Wanna go home.
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.”
“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.”
Mark wasn’t surprised he couldn’t sleep when he arrived back at his quarters. After only an hour of rolling around atop the sheets, much to the annoyance of Spitfire, he gave up on the prospect of getting any rest. His final roll out of the bed to stand woke her. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not a wink. The body is exhausted, but--” he pointed to his head, spinning his wrists in circles. “--the mind is ablaze.”
She propped herself up. “Trying to figure out what you’re going to say to the Princesses?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Like what?”
Mark slowly strode to the small porthole, gazing out and observing the sun. He held a hand out, blocking its light to see the Vindicta in close formation. It was similar in shape to the Caprica, though the Vindicta was obviously bigger. The hull was a metallic unpainted gray, missing plating in various areas along the main superstructure. Scars of ordnance bursts and impacts were frighteningly common, and the only visible marking was the name of the vessel, spelled out in off-white letters. “This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, right?”
The light pouring through the small opening illuminated a confused Spitfire. “I would think so.”
“I mean, we found a group of humans who escaped the Driden onslaught.” He spun to face his mare. “So why do I feel so… so--” he brought his hands up, fighting for the right word, speaking louder than intended, “--I don’t know… ‘meh’ about this whole situation?”
“‘Meh?’” she asked.
“Indifferent,” he quietly said with a shrug, letting his arms fall and facing the porthole again. “I guess. I dunno how else to explain it. I just…” Mark sighed, putting a hand near the window. “At first, when I heard the Admiral’s words come over the speaker, I felt nothing but unadulterated joy, for lack of a better word. But now that we’ve had some time to settle down, it’s gone.”
Spitfire rolled out of the bed, her hooves giving a clank as they made contact with the metallic floor. She walked slowly over to Mark, rearing herself back onto her hind legs and taking him into a hug. She laid her head between a shoulder and his own. “You thought you were the only one left, and made your peace with it. I’m not surprised you’re feeling the way you do.”
“It just bugs me,” Mark said as he saw a flight of Hoppers exit the Vindicta’s landing pod and focus their attention on a heavily-worn section.
“Well obviously, or you wouldn’t still be awake after eighty-some-odd-hours of no sleep.” She pushed on his right shoulder, turning him around. “I’d be more concerned if it was bothering you.” They locked eyes, and it was as if she could instantly read into Mark’s thoughts. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“Am I that easy to read?” Mark asked with a sly grin. He broke contact, moving back toward the bed and sitting on its edge.
“I think I’m just that good of a judge.”
Mark laughed quietly. “I’m weirded out that one of the first things I was asked was about our combat status.”
“You saw the condition of the ship.” Spitfire joined him on the bed. “They looked like they just got out of a heavy-weight bout. He just wanted to know just in case they had been followed.”
“True, and let’s hope they weren’t,” Mark sighed. “And he doesn’t know that we -- or rather, I -- haven’t seen a Driden in six months.”
“Their crew is on a post-battle high. I think we should let them cool off before letting them know that they will be forever out of harm’s way, and they can transition away from a soldier’s life.”
“Just like I was trying to do?”
“Just like you are trying to do.”
Mark smiled. “I see you’ve been taking my lessons in commanding to heart.”
“Rule of Engagement number eighteen. ‘A calm soldier is an efficient soldier.’”
“Spoken like a true protégé.” He leaned over, rewarding Spitfire with a quick kiss. “I gotta make myself look presentable for the Princesses.”
“Oh, you’re actually going to indulge them in a video chat?”
“Yeah,” he stood, “then maybe I can get some sleep.”
“What are you going to say to them first?”
Mark opened a hatch leading to a private washroom. “I’m gonna start out by saying we had to cut our mission short because another ship jumped in, and we are currently escorting them back.”
“You know they’re gonna ask why you didn’t tell them sooner.”
Post-Equus arrival, day 202 06:45, Canterlot Standard Time Bridge, Caprica
“I waited so I could tell you both,” Mark said into the display showing both Princess Celestia and Luna. “We’re far enough out, it was my personal opinion that this issue could have waited a few hours before informing any royalty.”
“I see,” Celestia said with a questioning eye. When the transmission first started, it was immediately obvious to Mark that she had just awoken. A dull and tired voice had first greeted him and Celestia’s mane had not yet taken its ever-flowing form. The mention of more humans quickly roused her from her half-sleep state. “Have you slept yet, Commander? I seem to remember you were conducting an ‘endurance drill.’”
“Not yet, ma’am. Recent events have had me a little… on edge.” Mark bent down to retrieve his coffee cup, taking a small sip. "Sleep has yet to grace me."
“Understandable,” Luna chimed in. The Lunar Princess mane was also in a disheveled state, having had been through a night court along with her dreamstrides. Mark had almost felt bad for catching them both in such a state. "I have been able to dreamstride with ponies on board despite the distance. If you wish, I can use a sleep spell on you and your crew.”
Mark looked about the empty bridge. “I gladly accept any assistance, though I think I’m the only one that needs it. Spitfire was sound asleep when I left, and I didn’t see a single pony on my walk to the bridge.”
“Speaking of Spitfire, we need to have a discussion of your… relationship with her when you arrive,” Celestia said. “It’s nothing serious, since it is our opinion that forcing you two apart would do more harm than good. We just need to lay out some --”
“-- understandings,” Luna finished Celestia’s thought.
Mark nodded. “Yes, ma’ams.” He looked down, feeling a small pang of embarrassment. “I had a feeling this was going to come up sooner or later.”
“But, we have more pressing matters at this moment.” A scroll floated its way into frame, and Celestia took a quill in magic, writing down a quick note. “I’m assuming you were able to make contact with this new vessel.”
“Yes ma’am. We were able to speak directly to their C.O., and we ran his name through our databanks.” Mark gestured to Des. “What did you find out, Des?”
A new frame took over the screen showing both parties’ transmission. It showed an aged man; oval faced, receding salt and pepper hair (heavy on the salt), thin lipped but with a full chin, and eyes that screamed of confidence. “The commanding officer of the SSDC Battlestar: Vindicta goes by the name of William Perinski,” Des started to explain. “As of this transmission, he is fifty-four years of age. He has been in the SSDC for thirty-six years, graduating in the top ten percent of his class, and has been a commanding officer in some capacity for twenty-seven years, earning his rank of Admiral in the Fourth Fleet six years ago.”
“‘Career men,’ as we used to like to call ‘em,” Mark added.
“Yes, well, these so called ‘career men’ didn’t usually have a severe backlash like Admiral Perinski did.” The screen flashed to an article of text. “Six months before the breakout of the Driden conflict, it was discovered that the Admiral was selling SSDC weaponry, medical equipment, and other supplies to Colonial Insurrectionists.” Several images went by, showing visual evidence of his crime. “While the Admiral maintained his innocence, claiming he was ‘using assets to gain valuable information in accordance with SSDC regulations,’ his command was dismissed after funding being tracked by an A.I. probe was traced back to Admiral Perinski. He was stripped of his command and arrested soon afterward, and had pending criminal charges in a military tribunal.”
“How does he have a ship then?” Celestia asked.
“Admiral Perinski may have been a smuggler interested in his own wealth, but he was also a capable tactical officer when he fought the Insurrectionists to whom he wasn’t selling weapons. He is a decorated combat veteran, and has received multiple awards, including the Navy Cross and two Distinguished Service Medals before his… incident. When the Driden conflict erupted, the Lord Admirals were willing to overlook his corrupted past in order to gain a competent officer. Though --” her voice trailed as new data flowed in, “-- another inquiry was launched investigating ‘questionable tactical decisions.’”
“That’s disturbing,” Mark said. “Does it give any indication as of why?”
Des shook her head. “None that are in our databank. The only other bit of information I have is that the official record has him listed as K.I.A. at the fall of Demeter.” The screens flashed back to showing the Princesses.
“So,” Mark said to the Princesses, “the questions we have now: How did he survive, and what do we do with the group of humans he’s carrying?”
Luna brought a hoof to her chin. “How many survivors does he have?”
“One hundred and seven,” Des answered. “Or, as someone explained to me earlier this morning, less than one-sixth of the total crew complement of the Vindicta.”
“Oh, dear,” Celestia gasped. “Not many.”
“Not at all ma’am,” Des said in agreement. “She’s running severely undermanned.”
“That’s not what I meant. That’s not a many people to try and rebuild a civilization.”
“There’s that, too,” Mark said. “But human history is littered with examples of hardships ending in triumph.” Littered more with failures, he silently thought, but we’re not gonna talk about those right now.
“We could allow them to settle here,” Luna suggested. “In Twilight Sparkle’s report, she mentioned the Everfree Forest fits the closest resemblance to your Earth.”
Mark shook his head. “With respect, ma’am, I wouldn’t let them settle on Equus.”
“Why not, Commander?” Luna asked with bewilderment.
“I know it seems cold and unwelcoming, but humans have this nasty habit of reproducing quickly, and at the cost of the local ecosystem. Back in primary school, we learned of a time when we very nearly destroyed our own planet with the refuse of industry and decadence.” Mark paused, wording his next phrase carefully. “And when there’s enough of them, they have this tendency to order around the native populations… and get a little violent.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We find them another planet.” Mark turned toward the charting display. “We’ve observed several nearby stars that have planets orbiting them, three of them having the potential of having at least one the correct distance.” He turned back to the Princesses. “This is all theory, of course, since those stars are out of scanning range. We only know about them due to small changes in the light coming from the stars as the planets pass by. But now that we have a ship that’s capable of faster-than-light travel, we’ll be able to confirm it.”
“Do you really think sending them away so soon is our best course of action?” Luna asked.
“Well, not immediately. We give ‘em some fresh supplies and a couple of hooves for repairs, then we gently encourage them to go.”
“What if they choose to stay here?” Celestia asked.
“We’ll cross that bridge when or if it happens,” Mark assured them. “For now, we’re both heading back to Equus, and should return in ten days. I plan on making arrangements to introduce the Admiral to my… ‘unique’ crew in a couple of days.”
Mark saw the projected image of Celestia nod. “Very well. Tread lightly. I have a feeling some of these people will not be as easily accepting as you were.”
“Will do, ma’am. Caprica, out.” The image faded, and Mark let out a satisfied sigh. “Bed time.”
Post-Equus arrival, day 202 12:45 hours, Canterlot Standard Time Commander’s quarters, Caprica
Mark sits at a table, a great feast laid out before him. The only source of illumination are a few candlesplaced on the table. He sees other faces, but they are those he does not know. A shining light opens from above, and winged valkyries approach, taking those around him into the light. Mark is left behind to sit alone as the light above him closes. He shouts where the light was, and falls to his knees.
The dream ended and Mark awoke, promptly returning to sleep, but the dream would repeat. When he awoke for the final time, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to reveal he had kicked the sheets from his bed. A shiver went through his body. “Des,” he called out to the empty space.
“Yes, sir?” Des materialized in the space adjacent to him.
“Send a message to schedule an appointment with Dr. Cervello. I need to speak with him.”
“Aye, sir. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Mark sighed out. “I think he’d like to know about my feelings and thoughts right now.”
Mark looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror and gave his collar a small adjustment. Luna’s sleeping spell had worn off only an hour before, giving Mark time to prepare himself for the half-day standing at command. The sleep had been a welcome relief from the grueling endurance test, but with the absence of Luna’s dreamstride, the strange dream plagued his mind.
A tone came through the loudspeakers. “Commander Frude to the bridge immediately.”
What the hell? He exited his quarters to see a flurry of ponies heading to various destinations, some running, others very hurriedly walking. Mark quickened the pace of his own steps, reaching the bridge in what seemed to be a flash. The guard outside the door spun the wheel, and the hatch opened.
“Commander on the bridge!” Silver shouted.
“As you were!” Mark quickly bellowed out. “Captain!” He frantically walked over to his XO, “What’s going on?”
Spitfire turned toward the Commander. “Admiral Perinski just radioed over. Says he’s coming over for a combat inspection.”
“Well, that didn’t take long," he said with a heavy sigh.
"I tried to tell him we aren't in any condition for an inspection," Des added. "He didn't take too kindly to that."
"When will he be here?"
"Thirteen-oh-seven hours, sir." Des brought up a hologram that showed an itinerary. "He's apparently very punctual."
"And he's also on his way," Spitfire said from over the sensor readout.
Mark put an arm on the charting console, leaning heavily on its metallic frame. He let out an audible groan, bringing his hand to his forehead. Des walked over to Mark. "You doing okay, Commander?"
Mark promptly stood up straight. "Yep. We're doing good. Give him clearance to land on the port flight pod. My command staff and I will be there to meet him."
Spitfire trotted over to Mark, grabbing him at the shoulder. “Wait, wait, wait. You sure you wanna just drop the veil right in front of him?"
"Why not? We're not gonna be able to keep him from knowing there’s a ship full of ponies forever." He turned to exit the bridge.
She stopped him again. "I don't think he'll react too well to someone saying 'Welcome aboard, oh hey by the way...'"
"What else did you have in mind, Captain? It's not like we can just hide the entirety of the Caprica’s complement inside a storage closet." He turned to leave again. "With me XO. He'll want to speak with the command staff."
"Though I have a feeling you will will be doing most of the talking."
"Right," Mark mentally chastised himself. "Language barrier. No matter, we’ll make it work."
Post-Equus arrival, day 202 13:06 hours, Canterlot Standard Time Deck of the port flight pod, Caprica
Mark watched in worried anticipation as the Hopper from the Vindicta crossed the rear force field. The Hopper itself was an older model, popular among the fleet when the Caprica itself had been new. It wasn't as sleek or fast as the newer ones that came after, but what it lacked in speed and general looks it quickly made up for in cargo capacity and firepower.
The flight pod itself was devoid of any ponies. Mark and Spitfire both agreed on the way down to the deck that having her present and then easing in the command crew of the Vindicta was the best course of action. Spitfire would hide behind another Hopper and wait for the formal introductions to be concluded before revealing herself. The pod had been evacuated by ponies before Admiral Perinski's Hopper had been given permission to land
The Hopper spun ninety degrees and hovered above an unoccupied landing zone before setting down. Mark stepped forward from the landing strip to the holding zone and waited for the hatch to open. To Mark’s surprise, the hatch remained closed for several tense minutes before he heard the pressure sealants unlock, followed by the groan of a hydraulic pumps that lifted the hatch.
The open hatch revealed an empty cabin, at first. On closer inspection Mark saw the sheen of a pair of black boots uncross themselves and stand on the bulkhead. A hand appeared on the corner of the open hatch, and out stepped an aging man with heavily grayed hair.
The man on the Hopper eyed Mark. "Commander Frude, I presume?"
Mark gave a quick salute. "You presume correctly, sir. Welcome aboard, Admiral."
The Admiral stepped down onto the deck of the flight pod as a woman stepped through the open hatch. She was as tall as Mark, with shoulder length auburn hair, high cheek bones, laugh lines right beside her nose, full uncolored lips, but wearing an ill-fitting uniform that seemed to betray her body proportions.
For a moment, Mark was glad to see another human again.
"It's good to be here, Commander." He looked about the flight pod. "Can't tell you how long it's been since I set foot on another Battlestar, let alone a BXR series."
"We're glad to have you, sir." Mark made a smile that he hoped seemed happy.
The Admiral walked over to Mark and reached out for his hand. Mark did the same, but the Admiral sought to take Mark’s hand from above.
I don't care if you're meeting another Lord of Admirals, his mother's voice rang in his mind. If anyone goes to shake your hand and comes in from above, you take their hand and immediately correct it. Don't let them know you're willing to be dominated.
Mark’s hand went up to meet the Admiral’s, pulling it down and righting it to the proper placement. "Though I must say, where is your crew? You said that you were running with a full complement."
"Technically, we are," Mark uneasily said. "I'll explain later."
"Right," the Admiral said in a chipper. "There’s the combat inspection. But first, let me introduce you to my first executive officer, Major Kara Thoben."
The Major dropped from the step and walked to the group. "An honor, sir. It's nice to see another human face."
"Likewise, ma’am," Mark said with a nod toward the Major. "And this is my executive officer." Mark waved over to Spitfire, beckoning her to come out from behind the Hopper. "This is Captain Spitfire."
A meekly stepping Spitfire strode out from behind the parked Hopper. The golden mare first kept her eyes on Mark as she slowly approached the group, before turning and facing the Admiral.
Admiral Perinski, though still trying to keep his stoic demeanor, couldn't help but to let his jaw fall and stare wide-eyed at the pony. He looked to Major Kara before turning back to point at Spitfire, looking back to the Major, and finally to Mark and saying, "That... is a horse."
Mark put an arm around Spitfire. "Technically, they refer to themselves as ponies, but they are equines, yes."
"What do you mean 'They refer to themselves?' You can communicate with them?"
Mark turned to Spitfire, addressing her in Equuish. "The Admiral would like to know how you are doing today."
She shrugged. "A bit tired, but otherwise I can't complain."
He faced the Admiral again. "I can indeed."
Admiral Perinski brought a hand to his chin. “Intriguing.”
“That’s putting it mildly. These ponies have been giving me shelter and sharing their hospitality for the last six months.” Mark gestured to Spitfire. “I was given the best and brightest members of their armed forces for a crew. We were on a one-year tour of the local system… then you arrived.”
“How do they fare in a fight?” the Major asked.
“Wouldn’t know. We haven’t had a Driden contact -- or any other contact for that matter -- for the last six months,” Mark said with a smile. “We’ve been living worry-free here.”
“Admiral,” Major Kara quietly said, causing both Mark and the Admiral to face her. She had tears welling in her eyes and a look of shock. "Have we... found it?"
"Found what?" Mark asked.
"We were ordered to go radio-silent after departure and search for a planet that would be able to sustain human life," the Admiral told Mark. "We found several, but were too close to Driden-occupied space."
"I see," Mark said. "We were given the same order as well."
"By Lord Admiral Frude, no less?"
Mark nodded. "Yes."
"It seems she was trying to sow the seeds for a new human race." The Admiral began to walk across the landing strip. "Hedging her bets on a couple different ships."
"It would appear so, sir," Mark said as he, Spitfire and Major Kara followed.
They stopped before the hatch leading to the passway to the main body of the ship. "I have a lot of respect for your mother. Did you know it was she that first suggested I be reinstated after my... incident?"
"I didn’t, no."
"I can't even imagine just how difficult it must have been for her to make the case," Admiral Perinksi said, pulling the hatch open. "After my unfortunate dismissal my name was pretty well tarnished. But, I suppose desperate times..." He trailed off. "Have you read the allocations that were being brought against me?"
"Yes, sir." Mark dared to not say more.
"I can assure you that, if a tribunal had occurred, I would have been cleared of all charges." They continued to walk through the small corridor. "Those assets were used to gain valuable information on the whereabouts of known Insurrectionist enclaves and fleet movements."
"But sir," Mark began,"if you don't mind me saying, an A.I. probe showed you have taken in a large amount of money from Insurrectionist sources."
Admiral Perinski sighed. "And had the tribunal taken place, I would have explained that it was icing on the cake." He spun the wheel on the hatch. "I was milking the Insurrection dry. They didn't give me enough time. But I suppose it all didn’t matter in the end, anyway."
The hatch opened to one of three main corridors that ran through the body of the Caprica. Ponies took note of the arrival of the group as they stepped through the threshold but quickly went on about their business. "Ahhh," Perinski let out. "It's good to be on a good ol' BXR series again. My first command post was on the Prospect."
"That was one of the first BXRs that ever existed."
Mark felt a tap on his back. "I feel left out," Spitfire said. "What are you guys talking about?"
"Mindless banter, at the moment. I'll let you know if anything important comes along."
"Though I must say... there's a whole lotta not saluting a superior officer going on," Perinski observed.
Mark looked about the corridor at the ponies. "Well, in their defense, I'm not exactly sure what the protocol for saluting to a different fleet's officers is."
Admiral Perinksi stopped his walk. "What do you mean, Commander?"
“Well,” Mark started sheepishly, “the Caprica is the sovereign property of the Equestrian Kingdom.”
“What?” the Admiral deadpanned.
“Yeah. I presented the ship to the leader of these ponies and sorta… became a member of their society.”
The faces of both Admiral Perinski and Major Kara scrunched in confusion. “You what? You became one with the ponies?” the Major asked loudly.
“I’m sure the Commander has some explanation of why he defected an SSDC warship to an unknown alien species,” Admiral followed up with an uneasy eye.
Mark held up his hand in defense. “Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Systems were failing, the slipspace drives were going haywire, and we were about to lose the ship altogether. I mean, Des can give you a full report on what all happened.”
“Des?” the Admiral jumped in. “Who’s Des?”
Des’ holographic figure materialized in the corridor, just next to the party. “I’m Des. Short for Desarae. Caprica’s resident A.I.”
“Ohhhhh!” Admiral Perinski took one look at Des and reeled back in disgust. “You have one of those!”
Mark’s eyes squinted in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘One of those?’”
“Those artificial intelligence units.” Perinski held his head up and away from Des. “Never cared for something that could think that wasn't made of flesh and bone."
Several tense seconds went by. “Do you mind if I ask why, sir?” Mark asked.
Admiral Perinski gave a small shiver before continuing his step. “Just something about them is off-putting. I don’t trust them.”
Des put out an arm to stop Mark, speaking to him in Equuish. “I think I’m going to have to update his psychological profile. ‘Racism toward artificial intelligence units.’”
Spitfire’s face turned to shock. “What? What did I miss?”
“Oh, we just had a pleasant conversation and found out that the Admiral has a healthy distrust of A.I.’s like Des here,” Mark informed.
“Why?” Spitfire asked.
“That’s what I want to know.” Mark looked back to the Admiral, who had continued his walk toward the bridge. “I wonder if it has anything to do with that probe during his investigation.”
“It would be logical,” Des said. “For the time being, I should probably keep myself scarce while he’s on-board.”
“Probably wouldn’t hurt.”
“Commander!” he heard the Major call out from ahead of them. Mark hadn’t realized just how far they had walked, as they were almost to the bridge. “Hurry up!”
Mark and Spitfire jogged to rejoin them. “Sorry, sir.”
“You three have a nice chat?” the Admiral asked.
“Just giving my commanding officer a quick recap of what we had discussed.”
“Right,” he said with a drawn out tone. “Before we inspect the bridge, the Major reminded me that you had said that your slipspace drives are down.”
“That is correct,” Mark affirmed.
“I suppose we can send over an engineering team to see what’s wrong, and we can turn this ten day return trip into a few minutes or so.”
“That would be mighty fine, sir, if you can afford to spare the crew.” The Admiral tilted his head. “I mean, your ship looked pretty banged up when we first inspected it. Do you not need them more?”
“It’s just a few scratches that need patching up, nothing more, and nothing they can’t handle,” he said matter-of-factly. “They’ve only done it about a hundred times or so. Now, is this hatch gonna open itself?”
Mark gave the guard at the door a nod before flashing a grimace to Des. “What the hell does he mean by that?” he silently mouthed to her. She simply shrugged.
Through the hatch, the bustling noise of the bridge gave Mark the relief that his crew was at least rested enough to get them through their half-day. Silver spotted the group as they stepped onto the deck. “Commander on the bridge!” she shouted.
“As you were,” Mark quickly commanded. He gestured outward to the bridge, letting the Admiral through. “Sir, after you.”
Admiral Perinski let a deep breath rush in. “It’s nice to be on a fully crewed vessel again. The hustle and bustle is… comforting.”
“That’s what I first thought when the first complement was brought aboard,” Mark said as he followed the Admiral around the bridge. Ponies would momentarily look up as they approached, then go back to their work.
“First complement?”
“There was an… incident that involved an exploratory detachment researching the Caprica. I’ll send you a summary of actions.”
“Very well,” the Admiral said as he stood at the charting table. “I’m impressed, Commander. You’ve somehow managed to keep a valuable SSDC asset afloat in alien space.”
“Thank you, sir, but all credit must go to my crew,” Mark said proudly. “They’ve been thrown into a much larger world, and have come out better ponies because of it, I think.”
“Yes, yes,” the Admiral dismissed with a flick of a hand. “‘The honor is mine. It’s my honor. Blah, blah, blah. You can dispense with the sappy stuff, Commander. I despise it.”
Mark grinned. “On that note, Admiral, we both agree.”
“I will send over a tech crew immediately," the Admiral said, taking one last glance about the bridge. "I feel like I've seen everything I need to see, for now."
"As you will, Admiral." They both gave each other a departing salute before Admiral Perinski stepped off the bridge, leaving Mark and Spitfire standing in the charting pit. They exhaled simultaneously, breathing relaxed. "Well, that was most certainly a thing."
"Oh, and Commander," Major Kara's head popped back into the bridge, "the Admiral wishes to have a full combat report transmitted to the Vindicta by oh-nine-hundred tomorrow."
Mark’s eyes snapped to the Major. “For what reason?”
“We need to assess the fighting capabilities of your crew,” the Major replied, not expecting to be questioned. “Will you be able to oblige?”
"With all due respect, ma'am, that is now privileged information, seeing as this is no longer an SSDC ship. I will have to ask my superiors whether or not it can be divulged."
"I... see. I will relay your message to the Admiral.” She disappeared behind the hatch that was immediately shut by a nearby guard.
“Shit,” Mark muttered after the hatch sealed.
“What?” Spitfire asked.
Mark gave his head a small shake. “He’s not gonna like that.”
“Not gonna like what?"
"The Admiral has asked for a combat assessment. I told him I'd have to run it by the Princesses first."
Spitfire’s raised a questioning brow. "Why would he want to know? We've never seen combat, and haven't exactly been trained for it either."
"And I'm fairly certain that he's gonna want more than just our latest stress evaluation," Mark added. He brought an arm up, adjusting the sleeve of his uniform before bringing his hand to the back of his head, giving it a small rub. "This is gonna be a shitshow."
"On the bright side," Des said from the tactical station, "we'll have our jump drives back."
Mark let out a low moan. "Yeah. I have a feeling he’s not gonna do it for free, though."
"Should I start compiling information for a report, then?" Des asked.
"To be on the safe side, yes."
"Commander," Silver Star called out from her station, "Sky Eye reports the Admiral’s Hopper is away."
"Thank the gods."
"Gotta say, Commander," Wind Burst said from the helm, "there's something about him I don't like.”
“Care to elaborate?”
"I dunno. Something about his posture and tone." Wind shook his head. "Couldn’t understand a word he was sayin’, but it felt like he was giving a 'holier than thou' vibe."
"One does not get to his position without obtaining a degree of smugness along the way, Wind," Mark said, grabbing the shipwide broadcast mic. "I just hope he doesn't start lording it over everyone."
"If he does?" Spitfire asked.
"Well... in space, no one can hear you scream." Spitfire’s mouth dropped in shock. "I'm kidding!" Mostly.
"Whatever you say, sir."
An reverberating tone came through the speakers as Mark began his address. "All hands, this is the Commander. I'm pleased to say that this is a great day. Not only for the Caprica and her ponies, but for both pony- and humankind.
"Admiral Perinski of the Battlestar: Vindicta has been kind enough to lend us an engineering crew to repair our slipspace drives. If you are to encounter any of these humans, you are to aid them in any way you can. I know there's a language issue, but Des will be available to translate.
"Hate to say it, but our exploratory mission will have to be cut short. We will reschedule for another day. But for now, we’re heading home. That is all."
Post-Equus arrival, day 202 14:53, Canterlot Standard Time Bridge, Caprica
One more hour, Mark thought to himself as he gave the ship’s clock a glance. He looked about the bridge to see most of the staff giving their consoles and controls lifeless, zombie-like stares.
To say that Admiral Perinski's arrival had been untimely would be like saying the Caprica survived the Driden onslaught merely because of Driden oversight; an extreme understatement. Mark had noticed a marked drop in performance despite the crew having only a half-day at their stations. He found himself needing to repeat given orders two or three times, ponies sitting a little further down in their seats, eyes glazed and ponies’ heads nodding off every once in awhile.
Mark was tired as well, and all the coffee on the ship, he thought, would most likely not help, even if he were to be given it intravenously. He did have high hopes that the second shift would be in better condition. Mark yawned before turning his attention to the helm. “How ya doin’ over there, Wind?”
Wind Burst pointed his muzzle over his seat. “Tired, sir.”
Mark gave a nod. “How about you, Steel?”
“Same, sir. I feel like I could sleep for a couple of days straight,” Steel Hoof replied.
“Silver?”
Silver Star moved her headset off her ear. “I hate to sound like a broken record, but I’m tired, too." She rubbed an eye with a foreleg. "It’s been a heck of a day.”
“And that’s putting it mildly,” Mark said as Silver put back her headset back on. Mark turned to Spitfire. She was seated in Mark’s command seat, quietly dozing. “How are you holding up, Captain?”
Spitfire opened her eyes as she yawned. “Well, I’d be doing a lot better if someone had been asleep and not rolling around for a couple of hours.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Next time an incident happens, I’ll let you talk to the Princesses, then.”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “I’m good with where I’m at.”
“Hah,” Mark laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
Spitfire was about to give a sarcastic retort when a beeping came from comms. Silver held a hoof to an ear. “Des? I need your help. I'm getting a voice transmission from the Vindicta.”
“Okay. I’ll take over.” Des let a small stream of information flow into her. “Acknowledged, Vindicta. I’ll relay the message.”
Mark slowly strode toward the communication’s console. “What’s up, Des?”
“I just received a flight plan for Hopper designated Lima two-two-seven. The Vindicta is sending it over with parts and crew to repair our slipspace drive.”
“Today?” Mark flipped over his sleeve and looked at his LED watch. “I figured he wasn’t gonna do that until the Vindicta got fixed.”
“Apparently Admiral Perinski had other plans,” Des said. “I’ve already detected flight pod activity. They’ll be here within the hour.”
"Hmmm… he wants us to get moving, and he wants us to get moving now." Mark sighed. “And just when I thought I was gonna have an early night off.”
"Sucks to be the boss, doesn't it?" Spitfire said with a snark.
"At times," Mark replied while fixing his uniform. "I'll meet them in the landing pod. Des?"
"Mhmm?" Des hummed.
"Give them clearance to land in the port landing pod."
"Aye aye, Commander," Des said, giving a mocking salute.
Mark spun back to Spitfire. "Think you can run things while I'm gone?"
Spitfire yawned again. "I think so. Want me to go ahead and transfer command when B- shift gets here?"
Mark couldn't help but to yawn himself. "Yeah, just let them know I'm still on duty until further notice."
The pressure seal on the Vindicta's Hopper gave way as the side hatch opened. In the doorway stood a man, Mark was guessing late twenties/early thirties in age, standing about as tall as Mark, short black hair, tired brown eyes, with multiple scars strewn about his face. He also was wearing an ill-fitting uniform that did poorly to hide his prosthetic metal right arm. When he stepped down to the deck, a metallic clank could be heard as he lowered his right foot. The ponies remaining on the deck gave him a glance, then returned to their duties.
The man who stepped down from the Hopper, however, stared intently at the nearest pony, a unicorn deckhand. He seemed overwhelmingly fascinated that, before him, stood an actual living, breathing unicorn. The deckhand picked up a spanner in magic, and Mark saw the new arrival’s mouth figuratively hit the deck. Mark cleared his throat to get the attention of the man. “Welcome aboard.”
The man’s attention unwillingly went to Mark, after a quick triple-take. “Thank you, sir. You must be Commander Frude," the man said. Even though he looked worn, his voice sounded as if he was still full of vigor and in good spirit.
"That's me," Mark said.
"Good to finally meet ya, sir," the man said as he held out his metal hand. Mark took it in his own. "I'm Captain Nicolas Brookings, Chief Engineer of the Vindicta."
Mark released his hand. "An honor, Nicolas. Nice to meet someone in a good mood from the Vindicta."
Nicolas gave a small laugh. “Yeah, there's been quite a bit of that goin' around on the boat today, but the way I see it is that we survived, we’re in a place that’s safe” -- his gaze drifted again to the ponies -- “and we’re with some aliens that don’t want to kill us for a change, so there's no reason why not to be in a good mood." Nicolas gave a warm smile. "And please, Nic will do just fine."
It was a nice change for Mark to meet someone with a sunny disposition. "Alright then, Nic. So I'm guessing you're here to get our slipspace drives back online?"
"Mostly, yes." Nic reached back into the Hopper and pulled out a small datapad. "Orders from Admiral Perinski."
Mark took the datapad. I swear, he and I are gonna have some real issues if he think he can order us around. The orders displayed were for the repair crew, detailing what they would be doing on the Caprica. "Mechanical repairs of the slipspace drives and other tasks, if needed," Mark read aloud. He looked back up at Nic. "What about the Vindicta? Are you all patched up?"
"For the time being. Nothing that can’t wait until we get planetside," Nic said, "but that's not the best part. Keep reading."
Mark went back to the pad, skimming until something jumped out at him. "'... to stay aboard the Caprica until repairs are completed?'"
"I figured that'd be the part that would irk you the most."
Mark handed the pad back to Nic. He scratched his eyebrow as he thought. "How many of you are there?"
"Just us four, plus our equipment." Nic threw a hand back to the remaining crewmembers exiting the Hopper, bringing a large metal box with them.
“Well… I think we may be able to accommodate,” Mark said with a hint of frustration. “A little more notice would have been nice.”
“Sorry, sir. He kinda just sprang this assignment on us.”
“I’m not surprised.” Mark shook his head as he spoke. “It’s not your fault, just…”
“Inconvenient?”
“Aye,” Mark said. “The ambassador quarters aren’t being used right now. We could probably fit two of you in there.”
“You could probably fit all four of us in there,” Nic suggested. “We’ve slept in worse.”
"What could be worse than being crammed into a twenty square-meter room with four people?"
Nic laughed. "Being crammed into a twenty square-meter latrine with five others when the subsection lost pressure."
Mark exhaled through pursed lips. "Damn. How long were you in there?"
"Twenty-seven hours." Nic shook his head with a grin, recalling the incident. "The only thing we had going for us is that we didn't have to deal with people's shit, so to speak."
They both shared a laugh. “Well then, we’ll begin making accommodations. Des?”
Des materialized on the deck. “Yes, sir?”
“Do we still have any Combat Deployment Bed Rolls in storage?” Mark asked.
“Yes we do.”
“Excellent. Can you arrange for three of them to be transferred to the ambassador cabin?”
Des nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Mark looked back to Nic. “You’ll all have to fight over who gets the bed.”
“Oh hey, a smart A.I.!” Nic said with more elation than before. “The Admiral neglected to mention you had one of these.”
“I’m not surprised,” Des deadpanned. “I’m Desarae.”
“I think our jobs just got a heck of a lot easier.” Nic clapped his hands quietly in excitement. “With your on-the-fly diagnostics, we should be able to get in and out in no time!”
“I’ll do what I can,” Des said to Nic. She turned to Mark and spoke in Equuish. “After this afternoon’s meeting, it’s nice to not be talked down to like a parasite.”
“Well, he’s an engineer, and he solves problems,” Mark said back. “And anything that makes him solve problems quicker is worth its weight in platinum.”
Two of the other crewmembers from the Vindicta joined Mark and Nic. “We’re ready to go, sir.”
“Did you want to go to your quarters first and get settled in?” Mark asked Nic.
“Nah.” Nic shook his head. “Better go to your drives and get a sense of what we’re dealing with.”
Mark nodded. “Very well, then. This way.”
Mark led the small group off the flight pod and into the main corridor. “So where do you hail from?”
“Originally from a small town in Missouri,” Nic answered as he walked through the hatch. “‘bout two hundred clicks southwest of St. Louis. Small farm town, nice rolling green hills with a barn or two still standing upright.” Nic gave passing ponies a quick study. “Very picturesque, almost postcard worthy. I moved into the city when I joined the service. How about yourself?”
“Almost the same, except I’m originally from Kansas.” Mark saluted back to a pony. “The town I’m from was just about in the halfway point between Kansas City and the ruins of Denver.”
“Oh, right along that old roadway system?”
“Yeah. The entirety of that rural area was my stomping grounds.” Mark smiled at the sudden influx of memories from childhood. “I ended up in K.C. when I joined the Corps.”
“K.C.’s not a bad place to go,” Nic said as they neared the engineering section. “Was the Power and Light District still rockin'?”
“Indeed it was, but I was still a year too young to fully enjoy the experience.”
A realization crossed Nic’s face. “Oh yeah, you were the kid that was the youngest to go through boot.”
Mark winced at “kid.” "I was allowed to go through basic a year early, yes. Helps when you have a mother that can pull some strings."
Mark looked to Nic, who seemed to be paying more attention to Mark's crew than to him. A unicorn pilot, Ember Streak, stepped over the threshold of the pilot briefing room, tablet in tow, immediately in front of Nic. They bumped, and took two steps back before making eye contact. Nic held up a hand and let out a quiet "Excuse me."
Ember extended a hoof before looking to Mark. "He just said 'Excuse me,'" Mark said in Equuish.
"No harm, no foul," Ember said back before going beside them and back on his way.
Nic watched as Ember walked away. "I would say there's a Close Encounters of the Third Kind joke in there somewhere, but I can't for the life of me see it."
Mark stood motionless beside him. “Six months I’ve been here, and not once had that crossed my mind until now.”
They resumed their walk. “I’m assuming you saw the rebooted version?”
“Which one?”
“The most recent.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, “as well as the ones before that, and the original. My dad was obsessed with that movie.”
“How was the nineteen seventy-seven version?” Nic asked.
Mark stopped before the hatch leading to the slipspace drives. “Let’s just say we’ve come a long way.”
The screech of the hinges gave way to the chamber housing the slipspace drives, still sitting unpowered as they had for the last hundred days. The party stepped through the threshold, each taking a noise-cancelling headset from a storage locker. “Ya know,” another member from the Vindicta started, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in one of these sections when it was so… quiet.”
“Yeah. I don’t quite know what to do when my ears don’t feel like they’re gonna blow out,” Nic joked back. “Well,” he clapped his hands together, “where to begin?”
“Do you have any diagnostic information from before you took your drives offline?” another party member asked.
“It’s limited, but yes,” Des answered. “I’ll send it to your datapads.”
“Well, if you’ll all excuse me,” Mark said to the group, “I’ll let you have at it. As for now, I have other duties to which I must attend. I should be in my quarters if you need me, help yourself to chow between eighteen hundred and twenty hundred hours, and if you have any questions, yell for Des.”
“I’m assuming I’m going to be in here for a majority of the time anyway,” Des said.
“And, let me be the first to say: Welcome to the system, and thank you for helping us out.”
“It’s our pleasure, sir,” Nic said. “It’s a refreshing change of pace to be able to go to another ship again.”
Mark turned to leave. “If you need anything else, don’t be afraid to call me.”
18:36 hours, Canterlot Standard Time Commander’s quarters, Caprica
“I think he’d fit right in,” Mark said as he set aside a plate on his desk. “He lost an arm and a leg, but still has a ‘glass half-full’ outlook, I think.”
“I’m… honestly surprised,” Spitfire said while laying atop Mark’s made bed. “I don’t think I could have had the same chipper attitude.”
“Yeah, neither do I.” Mark picked up a datapad. “Word of our lack of Driden-fighting must have spread through the Vindicta quickly.”
“What about his crew?” Spitfire asked.
“They were mostly silent throughout the trip to the drives, only asking technical questions.” He gave the screen a flick. “It was hard to get a read on them.”
“Could be that they’re confused about… ya know. Us.”
“Maybe.” He looked up. “Well, probably. I think I would be pretty overwhelmed if I just happened to stumble upon an alien civilization.”
“You weren’t when you met Luna.”
“In my defense, I thought I was talking to my own dream,” Mark said as he put his focus back to his tablet. “It never occurred to me that I could be talking to an actual magic-wielding, all-powerful, immortal alicorn.”
Two high-pitched beeps came from the speaker, and a moment later, Des materialized on Mark’s desk. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“Not at all.” Mark set his tablet down. “What’s up, Des?”
“Captain Brookings is on his way to your quarters to give a report on the slipspace drives. Also, you have a message pending from Doctor Cervello about your upcoming appointment with him.”
Spitfire gave Mark a concerned look. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Mark reassured her. “I just thought he’d like to know about this after our last discussion.” He went back to Des. “Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s it.” She gave a wave as she dematerialized.
Spitfire pushed herself up before giving her wings a flap and gently landing on the floor. “I’m going back to my quarters to freshen up. Let me know what you two talk about.”
“Of course.”
Spitfire extended her wings again and hovered her way over to Mark, giving him a short kiss before landing again. “I’ll see you later.”
“You sure will,” Mark returned as she walked through the hatch. He picked up the tablet in front of him again, hearing the clanking of Spitfire’s hooves come to a momentary stop before starting up again. Shortly after a metallic knock came from the hatch. “Come in.”
Nic crossed over the threshold, arm behind his back. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all. Just going over requisition orders for when we get back.” Mark again set the tablet aside. “What’s up?”
“We found what is wrong with the drives.” His metal arm came back into view, revealing a very charred piece of circuitry. “The navigation integration motherboards of your drives are totally fried.”
“Ah, well, there’s our problem.”
“Yeah. Thing about it is, this is a pretty rare thing to happen to a drive.” Nic scratched his head. “I was reading the report on your damage assessment, but I gotta ask, what the hell did you do to get your drives in this kind of shape?”
“That’s... an interesting tale.” Mark stood. “Have you had chow yet?"
Nic shook his head. "Not yet, no."
“How about your crew?”
“We brought some MREs with us and they ate those. I’m famished though.”
Mark made an open-handed gesture to the hatch. "I'll walk you to the mess hall. How we got here’ll make a great dinner conversation.”
“Oh?” Nic asked with a huff. He followed Mark out of his quarters.
“So long as you don’t mind a vegetarian diet, yeah.”
“Huh.” Nic gave a questioning eyebrow. “I would have had these… ponies pegged as vegans.”
“So did I at first, until I saw them drinking milk and using eggs in baked goods.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Nic cleared his throat. “Anyway, you were talking about how you got here.”
“Right.” Mark saluted a passing pony. “We had a compliment of three hundred and fifty or so people when we were ordered to go radio silent; a lot of military personnel with some civilians who managed to get aboard in the scramble. After a year and three months of running from system to system, looking for a new habitable planet that was already named ‘New Haven,’ we were caught by a Driden carrier fleet.”
“Were they following you?”
Mark opened a hatch leading into the next section. “Not that we could tell. We had just come out of our jump to the next probable habitable planet, and ten seconds later, there’s a carrier fleet staring us down.”
“Ah,” Nic said. “A case of ‘Wrong place, wrong time.’”
“Something like that. Anyway, we were captured, and those damn Dridens took people and kept questioning if there were any more human worlds, and when they didn’t get the answer they wanted…”
“They executed them, right?”
“Yeah. Out the airlocks.”
“On my last ship, we were doing surveillance tagging when we detected people being jettisoned in the same way.” Nic hung his head and gave it a small shake. “Damn shame. There are better ways to go.”
“Yeah. Apparently they had enough with the questioning, so they just started executing. I was with the last group, and thanks to some miraculous luck, I managed to escape with the Caprica here.”
“That still doesn’t explain the damage to the integration boards.”
“Oh, right. We were making an escape jump when our trajectory was blocked by a newly arrived carrier, so we de-synced the drives from the navigation computer and sent individual coordinates to the drives.”
Nic stopped walking. “That should have torn the ship apart, just by the shearing tension of the fields alone.”
“That’s what we thought, too. We even set the drives to go in opposite directions for maximum effectiveness. But,” Mark held up his hands, “ta-da! Here we are.”
Nic resumed walking. “I’ll have to do some research into that. That might give an explanation as to how we got here.”
“Did you try to destroy your ship with an ill-advised, uncoordinated jump, too?”
“Not intentionally. Our navigation systems were heavily damaged and not responding to automation controls.” Mark stopped in front of the mess hall, as did Nic. “It could be we produced a similar event that you did.”
Mark put a hand on the latch. “What are those f-ing odds?”
“Probably too small for us to ever understand.”
Mark couldn’t help but to give a small smile. “Amen to that.” His hand pressed down on the hatch, pushing the door into the mess hall. To Mark’s relief, there weren’t many ponies eating. “Go ahead and take a seat,” he said as he pointed to a nearby unoccupied table. “I’ll get you some chow.”
“Well, thank you, sir. Not usually treated to such kindness.”
“It’s the least I can do for having you help us out. I’ll be right back.” Mark turned and strode to the counter.
“Hey, Ladle,” Mark said to the light brown earth pony mare standing over a pot.
Ladle swung her head to see who called her name. “Evenin’, Commander.” She let her front hooves drop to the ground.
“What’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Tonight we’ve got a garden vegetable medley soup, with a side of bread and crackers and cheese, along with our other various a la carte items.” She looked over Mark’s shoulder to see Nic sitting. “Want me to whip up a couple of trays?”
Mark shook his head. “Just one. I already ate in my quarters.”
“Can do, Commander. Hang tight.” Ladle spun and grabbed a nearby tray in her mouth. Mark focused his attention back to his guest as Ladle worked. Nic was occupied with making an adjustment to his metallic arm prosthesis when his index finger began to spin in place. To Mark’s surprise, he popped off the finger and replaced it with a bit from his pocket, gave it another spin, and changed the bit out for his finger again.
Huh, Mark thought. That’s actually pretty handy for an engineer.
“Order up, Commander.” The mare said after she placed the tray on the counter.
“Thanks, Ladle,” Mark said, taking a smell of the concoction before him. “I might actually just have to have a bowl after all. This smells delicious.”
“Well, thanks. I’ll make you one right away.”
“Hold off on it for now. I may take it to go.” She gave a nod, and Mark went back to Nic, tray in hand.
Nic couldn’t help but to deeply inhale as the soup was set down. “Holy… this smells great.”
“The Earth-type ponies can sure cook up a mean meal,” Mark said as he seated himself across from Nic.
Nic scooped up a spoonful, then looked to Mark. “This is safe for human consumption, right?”
“Yeah,” Mark answered nonchalantly. “I mean, I’ve been eating their food for the last six months and I haven’t had any problems.” Mark patted his belly. “Might’ve even lost a couple pounds.”
Nic returned to his spoon and took a bite, immediately delighted by the flavors. “So which ones are earth ponies?”
“They’re the ones without the wings or the horns.” Mark looked around the room to see if there were any more earth ponies besides Ladle for a comparative example. There weren’t, to his disappointment. “Anyway, you said you and your team found the problem with our drives.”
“Aye, sir.” Nic wiped his mouth. “Like I said earlier, the navigation integration motherboards were totally blown. If it were any other kind of component, I would say that we could just replace the destroyed components, but with NIMs, it’s a safer bet if we just replaced the entire board.”
Mark brought a hand to his mouth, leaning into it and placing his elbow on the table. “So this could be fixed pretty quickly.”
“Yes and no. Yes in the way that all we need to do is swap out NIMs and have them calibrated. No in the way that you don’t have any replacement NIMs.” Nic scooped up a spoonful of soup. “I already checked with Des.”
“So how do we fix it?” Mark asked as Nic took a bite.
Nic chewed and took a hard swallow. “Well, after checking your stores and equipment, you have all the components necessary to make two new NIMs, but it’ll take some time.”
“How long?”
“A day, day-and-a-half at the most.” Nic set down his spoon. “But here’s the hard part. For the core of the NIMs, we can use the navigation guidance systems of your nuclear-tipped warheads you still have. I ran the idea past Des, and not only are the cores compatible, they’re nearly the same darn thing.”
Mark held out and hand that paused Nic. “You said ‘systems.’ How many are you gonna need?”
“Six, maybe eight, depending on what condition those cores are in.”
Mark sighed. “Well, I was gonna shoot those horrendous weapons into the Sun when we got to Aithon anyway, so go ahead and use however many you need.”
“Aye, sir.” Somewhere in their conversation, Nic had finished his meal. “And just to put you at ease, sir, this isn’t some random idea that just popped into my head. I’ve done this before on the Prospect.”
“Wasn’t that Admiral Perinski’s old command?” Mark asked.
“Yes it was. A power surge hit the ship’s drives and fried their NIMs, just like the Caprica’s, but the Admiral wasn’t too thrilled when I told him about taking components from warheads.” Nic gave his mouth one final wipe. “When I told him the warheads would still be useable but had to be line-of-sight fired, he begrudgingly went with it.”
Mark stood, Nic following suit. “Well, those missiles will never be fired,” Mark said as he picked up the tray and placed it on the auto-wash conveyer. “So you have my green light on this.”
Nic grinned. “Aye, aye, sir. We’ll get started right away.”
20:18, Canterlot Standard Time Commander’s quarters, Caprica
Mark,
I’d be happy to see you again at any time. Just give me a couple of days notice and I’d be more than glad to fit you in at the end of the day.
Signed,
Dr. Psy Cervello
Mark sat the tablet bearing Psy’s note down in his lap, thinking of his response. He picked it back up.
Dr. Cervello,
I’m giving you my two days notice right now. Unprecedented events have unfolded that I can’t disclose until I receive permission from the Princesses and we’re in a private session.
So much has happened in the last two days alone that I need to tell you. I hope you’re ready to put in a bit of overtime.
Commander Marcus Frude
Post-Equus arrival, day 203 10:48, Canterlot Standard Time Bridge, Caprica
“Commander,” Des began as she formed beside Mark. “Captain Brookings wishes to see you in the slipspace housing. He says they’ve completed their work.”
Mark looked at his watch. “Damn, they still had almost half a day to go.”
“They worked throughout the night,” Des said. “I just put the finishing touches on the calibration of the new cores.”
“Inform him I’m on my way.” Mark turned to leave. “Captain, you have the comm.”
“Aye, sir,” Spitfire acknowledged.
Five minutes of walking later, Mark was back in the engineering section. He grabbed a noise-cancelling headset before walking through the hatch to see a very exhausted Nic unscrewing a plate in the floor. “I was wondering why the drives didn’t instantly start working when I reinstalled the NIMs.” He removed the plate. “The mains aren’t attached.”
“That was the quick and easy solution when they were on the fritz. Was that not included in the report?”
“If it was, I missed it.”
Mark looked about the section. “Where’s your crew?”
“I sent them back for a couple of hours of shuteye while Des was calibrating the cores.”
The Commander’s hands went to his hips. “You know, we weren’t in a hurry.”
Nic yawned. “Guess we were in the Vindicta way of thinking: ‘If you’re not sleeping, you’re working.’” He pointed to the other panel. “You wanna help me out with this?” Mark walked over to the already-exposed main power line on the far side of the section. Mark knelt, taking the two loose ends in hand. The ends made contact, were secured back into place, and Mark looked up to give a thumbs up to Nic. Nic returned the sentiment before placing the panel back into place, with Mark following suit.
Nic picked up a pad with a wire plugged into a console. “If I’ve done my math right, we’re ‘bout to see some serious shit.” He pressed a few commands, and looked up. “Bringing the drives back onto the main power grid.” After a quick flick on his pad, the drives came to life with a jolt, then began to hum and vibrate the section. Nic furiously gave his datapad commands as the drives reached their idle speed, the humming settling on a B-flat. “Drives are accepting the new NIMs. So far, so good.”
Mark reached up to his ear and switched input channels. “Des, resync the navigation computer with the drives.”
“Aye, sir,” Des’s voice said through the headphone. “Resyncing.” The tone of the drives dropped suddenly.
Mark raised a worried eyebrow at the tone shift. “Is that normal?” Mark asked as he looked to Nic.
“Yeah!” Nic yelled back. “The computer is integrating with the new NIMs. Just give it a second.” The drives came back to their original tone on their own accord. “I think we’re done here!”
“There’s one more test I want to do. Bridge. Slipspace drives are back online. Begin charging for a jump.”
“Acknowledged,” he heard Spitfire reply. A few seconds later, the drives began to intensify their tone. They slowly crept up as more power was fed into them, until they maxed out, the tone now a full octave higher.
Nic checked his datapad. “NIMs are still operating! Slipspace field established at one hundred percent integrity!”
“Bridge! Cancel jump!” Mark yelled over the noise. The drives rapidly came back down to their idling speed. Mark held up a thumb, and Nic did the same with his metal hand.
They exited the section, shutting and sealing the hatch behind them. “Whew! Now that’s more like it!” Nic exclaimed as he pulled his headset off.
“Yeah!” Mark half-shouted in the excitement. He brought himself back down. “I can’t thank you enough for getting our drives back online.”
“Hey, it was nothing,” Nic said as he let loose another yawn. “The Vindicta probably detected that power surge, though.”
“You’re right.” Mark turned to head back to the bridge, certain that Admiral Perinski would be waiting to talk to him. Mark didn’t hear footsteps behind him. He spun, seeing Nic staying right outside the hatch. “You coming?”
“I’m gonna hang out here when we jump and make sure everything else goes like it should.”
Mark nodded. “Good plan. I’ll be back later.”
11:18, Canterlot Standard Time Bridge, Caprica
“Commander on the bridge!” Spitfire announced.
“As you were,” Mark quickly ordered. “Silver, patch me through to Vindicta Actual.”
“Aye, sir.” She quickly pressed in commands. “Vindicta Actual is on.”
“Admiral?”
A brief fit of static came over the speakers before Admiral Perinski’s voice came through. “Reading you loud and clear, Commander. We detected a power spike coming from your drives.”
“Yes, sir. You have miracle engineers working for you. Our drives are back online.”
“Finally. We’ll meet you at your home planet. Vindicta, out.” When the communication was cut, the dot depicting the Vindicta disappeared from the chart.
“How nice of him to wait,” Mark said as he approached the charting display. “What’s our status?”
“All stations reporting. We are green across the board,” Spitfire rattled off.
“Good.” Mark looked about the bridge. “Well, my ponies, we’re twenty days out from home. What do you say we make the trip back in about a minute?” Excited smiles shone back to him. “Helm, adjust course to compensate for our velocity change.”
“Aye, sir,” Wind Burst said from the helm.
“Charge slipspace drives.”
“Charging,” Des called out as she materialized on the bridge. “Captain Brookings suggests going no faster than ‘C’ times one.”
“Fair enough. Ya get that, helm?”
“Got it,” Wind acknowledged. “Course laid in.”
“Jump drives are charged,” Des said. “Warp field at one hundred percent.”
Mark took in a deep breath. “Jump.”
To any casual observer outside, the afterburners of the Caprica intensified their glow for a brief moment before the ship disappeared entirely. Inside the bridge, it seemed as nothing new was happening.
Except for the dials. They were moving… unbelievably quick. “Uhhh… we’ve achieved light speed,” Wind Burst said from over his seat. “Sweet Celestia, I’ve never seen that thing move so fast.”
Mark couldn’t help but smile. “Estimated time to arrival?”
Wind Burst gave his console a quick study. “Forty-five seconds.”
“Fantastic. Back in time for lunch.”
Mark felt a tap on his hip. “So… um, how do we stop this thing?” Spitfire asked, a glimmer of concern in her eye.
“Oh, the stopping is the easy part,” Mark said as his eyes were focused back on the chart. “Just retract the slipspace field and we should come out of slipspace at our previous speed. It’s the getting going that’s hard.”
Spitfire looked confused. “It’s like this,” Des said as she held out her hands. A small three-dimensional graph formed from them, with a holographic representation of the Caprica at its center, and a graphical cube around it. “What the drives do is project a field that compresses space and time around us, shortening the distance relative to immediate space and to the destination.” A cylinder formed around the represented Caprica. “Because of this, we can achieve faster-than-light travel without breaking any laws of physics.”
Des’s explanation didn’t seem to help Spitfire’s composure. “Basically, we cheat the universe.” Mark’s addition still had no effect. “Hey, I don’t get it either,” Mark said with a grin. “The only thing I ever flew was a sublight fighter. All I know is that it works.”
“Ten seconds!” Mark’s attention went back to the chart as Wind Burst called out the final leg of their jump. “Three… two… one!”
All the ponies, including Mark, held their breath for but a moment. “Steel, report,” Mark ordered as he broke the silence.
Steel Hoof gazed over his readouts. “Automated systems retracted the slipspace field on time, sir.” He looked up from his console. “We’re twenty-five thousand kilometers above Equus, and in its gravity well!”
A stomping of hooves filled the bridge, along with a few cheers. Mark himself couldn’t help but to let a smile creep across his face. “Wind,” he pointed at the helm, “standard equatorial orbit, two hundred and fifty clicks.”
“Aye, sir,” Wind Burst said as he acknowledged the order.
“Silver, put me through to Celestia.”
Silver Star tapped at her station. “Gladly, sir.”
Mark picked up a headset and pressed it to his ear. Silver pointed to him as the communication was established. “This is Princess Celestia,” Mark heard the voice say in the headphone.
“Break out the welcome wagon,” Mark said into the mic. “We’re home!”
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.”
