"Incorrect passcode. Please try again."

The orange LED screen on the small plastic box was the only illuminant at that end of the hall so its light was all that Scootaloo could use to see the little buttons on the number pad below it. Yet, each time she tried a combination, she got the same result—access denied. First she had tried the standard, default numbers—0000, 1111, and so forth, and then 1234, 4321, and things like that. Then she tried the birth dates of everypony that she knew. Still she could not get in. Scootaloo butted her head against the thick metal door in frustration. As her fuzzy noggin made impact, a loud clang resounded and it echoed down the darkened hallway towards the pantry.

Scootaloo looked back up and punched a final, random number—4527—into the keypad, watching each number appear on the screen as her hoof made contact with the little plastic buttons. When she finished, it took a moment to process the code. But once more, it beeped and flashed the same message. The doors, marked overhead in clear black print with the word "Cargo", refused to budge even in the slightest.

With this last effort, Scootaloo turned tail and trotted away from the closed metal doors. As she continued down the hall, she passed an inlet to her left that led to more closed metal doors, but these were ones she did not dare open—for good reason. Eventually she emerged into the brightly-lit pantry, where one of the drawers beneath the counter already lay open. She walked over to this open drawer and pulled out one of the water bottles. The cool liquid rushed into her mouth, cleansing her mouth of the bitter taste of frustration, but she had to stop herself before she drank too much. If she were to run out... well, she didn't like to think about what would happen.

As she drank, she noticed the ship was... vibrating, perhaps—there was an odd rumbling. It started ever so slight—she only noticed it because she was standing so still—but it grew more and more obvious as the floor and walls of the ship shook around her and soon she could feel the water bottle bouncing around in her grasp. She set it back in the drawer which she promptly closed.

She had only taken a few steps forward towards the ladder when her hooves toppled out from under her, jarred aside from the vibrating metal floor. Wincing, Scootaloo climbed back to her hooves and stumbled forward. She did her best to push her weight into her hooves so that she could stay up; although she was small, this conscious effort of balancing seemed to do the trick.

After several rocky steps, Scootaloo was able to grab hold of the head-high rungs of the ladder with her forehooves and begin pushing herself upwards. She struggled to keep herself anchored to the sheer steel bars; there was barely a hoofhold for her to jam the edge of her hooves into. Yet, with some swaying and a few near-slips, Scootaloo was able to climb and then push her hindquarters upwards with the leverage of her torso until her entire body came to rest on the metal ground of the hallway at the top of the ladder.

Groaning, Scootaloo fought against the wild vibrations that shook the ship's frame in all directions. She managed to pull herself up to stand and then, using the same grounding technique as before, managed to walk ever so slowly down the hallway into the cockpit. Each hoofstep was a challenge; each lifting of a hoof was the exposure of a vulnerability wherein the rumbling tried its hardest to throw her off balance. But she proceeded onwards and, as she entered the cockpit, the front window revealed an unexpected sight.

Though she didn't know exactly what she had expecting, Scootaloo would have guessed something else if she had needed to. A field of tiny asteroids, perhaps. Maybe a cluster of space junk, pieces bumping into and denting the hull. What she saw instead was very different, and indeed Scootaloo threw caution to the wind and galloped over and onto the pilot's seat to get a closer look

The murky blackness of space was interrupted—nay, marred—not just by the smattering of stars like sprinkles on the cake of the universe. There was also, straight ahead, a large, silver shape. It was long and thin, with a body that curved to form what appeared to be a metal tube, tapered on both ends. On the sides were sleek fins that jutted outwards, each emblazoned with a small insignia that was black and white with flecks of green. It was a spaceship and a decent-sized one at that; no, it wasn't any sort of behemoth, but it also was a far cry from the dinky little thing that Scootaloo found herself sitting in, from which she gazed at this foreign vessel.

What was most surprising, though, was not the existence of this other spaceship. Scootaloo had surmised that there would likely be others. She was more alarmed by the fact that this other ship seemed to be getting closer and closer to her own ship with each passing second.

The pegasus filly took a deep breath. She wasn't going to get anywhere if she panicked. She could do something to get out of the situation, something to keep away from this ship and keep going. There was no way to tell if they were friendly and they obviously had the upper hoof so it would be best to just go on. She looked down at her forehooves and placed one on either side of the plastic wheel on the dashboard. And, just like with the moon before, she turned it. Scootaloo turned this wheel with all her might and, after a moment of holding the wheel in place, she began to feel the ship shift course. It made a sharp right turn and soon the other ship was out of sight behind her. The incessant rumbling was even starting to die down. Scootaloo exhaled.

Yet just as she felt like she had pulled away, Scootaloo felt the rumbling start to increase once more. She looked down to see the weighed-down tote bag still on the pedal, but it was no use. Scootaloo could only watch helplessly as the passing of the stars in the window began to slow. In a last ditch effort, the pegasus filly jumped down on top of the bag to sit on the pedal—but this had no effect and the ship continued to lose speed. Eventually, the ship pulled to rest, stuck in a standstill. In frustration, Scootaloo pulled her cheeks down with her forehooves, revealing the dense network of blood vessels in her eye sockets.

After a moment of waiting, Scootaloo could hear a distinctive click coming from somewhere in the back end of the ship. Deciding there little else to do, Scootaloo hopped off the chair and made her way down the hallway and the ladder. As she had expected, it was but a few moments later that she heard several loud knocks coming from the depths of the right hallway. Scootaloo continued down the hallway, hearing them louder this time:

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

"If anypony's in there—please, open up." The gruff masculine voice permeated the metal door of that inlet off the hallway that Scootaloo had just reached.