Author's Notes:

There is some original text/dialogue in this chapter lifted from Hands that I claim no credit for.
Forewarning: said material includes some human nudity in this chapter, and some sexual references. Nothing explicit occurs, nor is it particularly graphic. It may actually be less explicit than the original. It’s fairly unavoidable. However, I feel I should warn my readers just in case. You have been warned. REPEAT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Sitting down with a meal at one of the long tables in the Royal Palace dining hall, Melissa glumly placed a worn and dusty cardboard box on the table. She opened her ILBE backpack and placed a ruggedized laptop on the table, with “United States Navy” stamped on the side. Binders and booklets from the Sophia labeled with USAF, USN, and NASA insignia were poking out of the bag. The large white and orange flight recorder was placed on the seat beside her.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she took out a swiss army knife and cut the tape along the edge of the cardboard box.

As the smell of old canned air met her nostrils, she smiled sadly, and flipped open the flaps within, tugging on the large styrofoam blocks.

The Eagle was still as white as the day it was manufactured, wires holding in several parts and figures. Gently, she separated the restraints and organized the little parts carefully.

No decals to put on, unlike modern toys, but the thing was a lot heavier. Rapidly, she placed the command module and engines on either end as the instructions said, and began adding the extra little bits.

Three astronauts dressed in Moonbase Alpha’s orange came with the ship, helmets, control rigs and weapons available to them. Two she placed in the command module, the third in the center section.

Resting her chin on her wrist, she stared at the toy for a long time, recalling the episodes she’d watched with her father.

Is this all that remains of Gerry Anderson’s legacy? All his shows, his creativity, his worlds...down to a single lost toy?

She took off the K-pot she still wore, staring at it. Is this the last of the US Marine Corps? Am I? Am I the last of the United States Military? The ships, the men and women, the planes, the weapons, the inventions, the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame, our entire history...and it all comes down to me?

The helmet did not answer.

A penny, two quarters, and a nickel were in her pocket. Several dollar bills in her wallet, a fifty, some 20s, and change.

Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson(the nut), George Washington...is this all they are now? Faces on a few pieces of currency? Cthulhu, is that even Washington on the quarter? Is it Hamilton who’s on the fifty?

There was so much about Earth that was missing from her memory. Fragments were all that remained. She had never finished Xenophon, nor The Iliad, she hadn't even read all the Harry Potter books. She couldn't remember the name of George Lucas’ wife, the one who'd influenced so much of Star Wars. She couldn't remember the name of the CEO of Kenner, who'd dicated the size of action figures since 1977 with nothing but his thumb and forefinger.

She couldn’t remember the name of the famous Finnish sniper in the Winter War who’d scared the Soviets so bad they carpet-bombed him. She couldn’t remember who invented the first tank. She couldn’t remember who’d been the British king during the US fight for independence.

The great wars fought after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, the Byzantines and the Ottomans, all that they’d done. All the Qin Dynasty had done in the short time they’d existed. The Tsars. The Iroquois. Cultures in Africa she was ashamed to admit she couldn’t name. Australia. The cargo cults of the assorted Pacific islands. The Indus Valley civilization. The Inca, Mayan, the Aztec. The good times, the bad times, the revelations, the revolutions, the outbreaks of hysteria, the parade of scandals, promises and constitutions, and the occasional war...

Great wonders of the world, the technological innovation over thousands of years, only their names were contained within her Civ V game. No details.

Life-changing religions. Judaism, Christianity, Catholicism, Islam, Paganism, Hinduism, Buddhism, ...even Scientology. None deserved to be lost, no matter what one’s opinions on them were.

No one deserved to be forgotten.

Earth, and its people. Art, technology, music, film, epics of fiction, wonders, history, great victories, defeats, heroes and villains, great destroyers and paragons of good, countless religions and philosophies, culture and inventions...everything that contributed to the great civilization that ruled the pale blue dot drifting like a mote of dust in space. The civilization that reached out into the stars, to fill the great vastness of the universe with light...was it all lost forever in the dark?

Was all this, all Earth had spawned...was all of it for nothing? Destroyed by plague or an asteroid by alien invaders?

Would they end up like the Ikarran Empire, a great society reduced to a meager handful of doomsday weapons? Toxic waste was one of those things always estimated to last the longest.

Would Voyager, the Pioneer probes, or any of the spacecraft on their way out of the solar system be able to make it to another world before their data becomes unreadable?

Perhaps certain materials had survived. She had never liked documentaries that analyzed what would outlive the human race, but now wondered if that was the wrong decision. She could not name with certainty what efforts there were to preserve humanity that had been finished, and could survive...

No! Melissa snapped at herself, Goddamn it, no! You can’t think like that!You haven’t even reviewed the flight recorder, don’t jump to conclusions because of Andrew’s doom and gloom! What do we actually know? Why the hell would you come to that conclusion?!

Earth had to have survived. Someone had to be left besides them. It just didn’t make any sense. While there were relatively easy ways to exterminate the human race, with biological weapons or throwing asteroids at the planet, few of them would allow human technology to engage them. There wouldn’t be any time to develop new spacecraft. Likely the aliens were trying to invade Earth rather than destroy it, so they might be limited in their attacks compared to total annihilation. If they were trying to move in, they’d still want real estate.

While whatever attack involving the Sophia might have driven the aliens off, there was the risk they might take a page out of David Weber’s books, specifically Out of the Dark. If humanity gave them too much trouble, they might have decided to cut their losses and just wipe them from the universe with plague or orbital bombardment.

However, even with planetary-wide devastation using orbital bombardment, there were underground facilities built to withstand Tsar Bombas, submarines, and hidden bases. A plague would leave even more survivors, albeit few. Either way, they wouldn’t be alone.

Someone else survived. They had to. They had to.

With that depressing thought out of the way, the Eagle became not a sad reminder of a creator who’d died only a few years ago after a long life...but of family. Of a family lost far, far away.

He’d had one as a kid, her dad had told her. Lost years ago, but he’d watched every new episode with it.

Melissa smiled. If she ever made it home, she would have a gift for him. This thing was mint condition.

Rapidly, she did her best to return the contents to the box, sealing it with several strips of duct tape. She would have to find a crate to preserve it in.

There were other toys and fragments of her childhood down there. She’d have plenty of other stuff to interact with. She hoped to dig into the Star Wars: The Clone Wars memorabilia, perhaps she could even find an Ahsoka figure. Or maybe she’d investigate all the GI Joe toys. She felt the need for a bit of home. A distraction, to keep the world out.

The Clone Wars had been a big part of her childhood and teen years. GI Joe as well, but earlier. They were links to home. It wasn’t just distraction she wanted, she needed it for hiraeth.

The flight recorder caught her eye. First she needed answers.

She turned her attention to the laptop, booting up windows 10 and taking a long time to do so. As she waited, her mind wandered.

Melissa had stayed away from the members of the Mane Six, a little unintentionally, when she emerged from the archives.

Briefly she had tried talking to Andrew earlier, but a certain butter-yellow pegasus had beaten her to it.

The marine had hovered outside the door, unsure of whether to interrupt them.

"... You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Fluttershy was saying to him, "I just... I think you might feel better if you did."

Andrew took a deep breath, then exhaled. There was a long silence. "... My dad told me once that, you have inside of you a box, a box that you put things into," I said. "The stuff you can't deal with right now. You keep it there because to deal with it all at once would just overwhelm you, drown you. You'd lose yourself to it. But as time goes on, you keep having to put away things in the box, more and more, just to get by. You try to find the time to deal with it, to work through it, but it just seems like there isn't enough time. That you can't face it. You put a lock on it..."

"... But as time goes on, there's just so much stuff that even a lock won't keep it back anymore," Fluttershy said softly. "Especially if you lose the lock."

Another pause.

"Don't look so surprised," Fluttershy said, "I... I know what it is to keep things locked up... Even when I shouldn't. You know that very well."

Melissa had shaken her head, and stalked away as quietly as she could. They have no idea. They don’t understand.

Silverbolt, whose presence was less noticeable over time, spoke to her. He seemed to only appear whenever she was stressed or anxious. Perhaps the magical implant was fading over time. “Maybe they would, Melissa. You never know. Remember the last time you kept your emotions bottled up.”

“That was different. This is a matter for the Temporal Prime Directive. I must not --cannot-- tell them anything.”

“It has not always been the correct path. How often has it been in Star Trek?”

“Keeping the timeline intact allowed them to win World War II, got the Bell Riots on the right track--”

“And to do that they had to interfere, at least a small amount.”

Melissa looked at Silverbolt, “What do you think I’m trying to do? I tried to make planes for them, I tried to make machine guns! I barely managed artillery, helmets, and cartridge-loaders!”

“But you could do more! Just tell Twilight, tell Andrew, tell someone…”

“Tell Twilight?!” she nearly shrieked, before slapping a hand over her mouth, and bolting.

Melissa snapped herself back to the present, as the computer finally booted up. The password was no problem, it was on a piece of tape stuck to the screen.

She inserted two flash drives labeled “Property of NASA”, and plugged the flight recorder into the speaker jack.

Several windows popped up. One was a collection of audio files, a second presented video files from internal and external cameras, a third instrumentation data, and more offered additional information.

At first, she didn’t know where to begin. She started poking around in the instrumentation data, figuring out what was what. There were many, many entries, as to be expected. Among the ones she focused on were timestamps for the release from the previous launch stages, thruster and main engine burns, when the lasers were fired, the missiles set off, etc.
There were several entries that made her curious. An unusually long main engine burn in between launch and reentry, the airlock being opened while there was no atmosphere outside the spacecraft, and geiger counters spiking during launch, up until the release of the main stage.

Stranger still, when she followed up on the unusual engine burn, the data on the audio logs, video, and instrumentation just...cut out, after a massive energy spike was detected directly ahead of the spacecraft, at about the right position lidar and radar records said another ship was located.

Making things even weirder, the ship wasn’t anything she knew of made on Earth. It was the size of a Wasp-class Amphibious Assault Ship.

Long range sensors picked up several more vessels, some equal to the Sophia in size, and some as big as Nimitz-class, one of the largest classes of warship ever built.

Restarting, Melissa carefully went through the records in chronological order. Sensors were activated at a certain point, then the countdown to ignition began. She pulled up the video from that time slot, and simply stared, dumbfounded at what she saw.

There was a video editing system available on the computer, and the marine quickly used it to stitch the camera footage and audio logs together, arranging them by date. She had to show this to Andrew. Even the little teases she could see were enough to give her hope. She could finish it later, but she had to show him at least something.

Melissa closed up everything, putting it in her backpack or stacking it on the Eagle box. She didn’t actually know where to stash the flight recorder and the Eagle. It might take too long to go to her house, who could she trust to get it there?

She spotted across the hall a group of Royal Guards eating their meals, wearing their khaki fatigues instead of their armor. One was a unicorn who had a light-red mane with a streak of lime-green in it, and a pair of Harry Potter-style glasses.

Melissa went over subtlety, casually, and tapped the unicorn on the shoulder. “Hey, Gambit! Wild Gambit!”

Royal Guard Private Wild Gambit glanced around, jumping a little upon seeing her, “Oh, Corporal Foster! Join us--”

“Sorry man, don’t have time. Listen…”

She paused, considering. “Our first gaming session. What interrupted it, what was happening, and how did I react?”

Wild Gambit scratched his head, “Uh...the first? You were arguing with Shining Armor about the rules of the game, then there was some yelling outside…”

He grinned, “Hey, guys, this is mare I was telling you about, the one who beat up Silver Quill!”

The other guards all began clamoring at once, congratulating her for doing something they weren’t legally allowed to do. At least when he wasn’t bothering the palace.

Satisfied with the answer, Melissa held up a hand, “Guys, I hate to break this up, but I need you to do something for me.”

She leaned in close, “This is an important mission. I need you to take these boxes back to my house, lock it up, and establish a perimeter around the place. Keep the garage protected too. Don’t let anyone inside. Keep an eye on each other, don’t let any of you out of at least one other’s sight. Come up with a few challenge questions only you guys would know, make sure the others won’t know the answer. Don’t tell anyone about this, keep it top secret. Got it?”

Oddly enough, they didn’t ask too many questions, not even when she gave them a sign/countersign to use on her. Though being Royal Guards for freaking Canterlot, they were probably used to all sorts of weird behavior and requests. Perhaps with the threat of attack, many others were taking similar precautions as well.

Burdened now with only a backpack, the marine searched the palace, looking for the only member of her species around.

Asking around led her to a mid-sized dining area that went out onto a balcony, in one of the areas reserved for nobility. That was where the Mane Six was located, along with several others, including Shining Armor, Andrew...and Cadence.

Melissa walked in the door, nearly run over by Rarity and Applejack, each dragging out Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie respectfully.

“Karabast...What’s going on? Dash, what did you do?”

“Why do you think I did something?” the pegasus demanded.

“I don’t, I’m blaming you and/or Pinkie Pie. You’re just slightly more coherent.”

Rarity released Rainbow, “Andrew, Twilight, Fluttershy, and the lucky couple deserved some privacy. Away from gossiping ponies!” she turned a stern gaze on the blue and pink ponies.

Melissa rubbed her face, relieved for some reason, “Alright, thanks…Oh, one more thing. Rainbow, I say Normandy.”

Dash blinked, then it clicked, “Beach?”

“Got it. Rarity? Hubble.”

“...Telescope.” Rarity replied.

“Applejack, barn?”

“Yard. Melissa, what is with these questions?”

Melissa turned to Pinkie, but answered, “Security. Pinkie Pie, dead…?”

“Deadpool!” Pinkie replied, then pointed at Melissa’s head, “Where’d you get the K-pot?”

Melissa jumped back, her hand reaching into her jacket, “How’d you know that’s what it’s called?”

“Six months ago, you were telling Rainbow Dash about standard-issue Marine Corps equipment, and you drew a picture of it and said it was a K-pot!”

Melissa thought back, “Rainbow, do you remember that?”

“Eh, kinda.”

Shrugging, Melissa let her hand down, “Good enough. I found it in a crackerjack box. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Applejack stepped around to try and get in her path, “Melissa, they really needed some privacy--”

“What kind of privacy? Serious, soap opera, or they just needed the partiers out of there?”

“Um…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Besides, I might need to rescue Andrew in case he says something stupid.”

Applejack opened her mouth to object, then shrugged, “Good point.”

Luck was on Melissa’s side when she opened the door. Apparently, the awkwardness was over with, those inside noted her presence did not protest.

The five inside seemed to be separated into several groups around a table. Fluttershy and Twilight were on one side close to Andrew, while Shining Armor sat opposite them a few seats away from Cadence. His expression was odd; happy, but vacant.

Andrew was talking to the so-called princess of love, and paused mid sentence at marine’s approach.

He realized one of her hands was balled into a fist, her eyes scanning every corner for something she apparently didn’t find.

When she saw Cadence, her eyes narrowed, and the open hand moved toward her shoulder holster, before falling.

“Go on,” Cadence said, bringing Andrew’s attention back, “What were you asking me about?”

“Oh, sorry. I wanted to ask you about the ship you and Shining found.”

“Ship?” Twilight and Fluttershy asked.

Melissa stepped in, “Wait, what? Ask her?”

Cadence turned her attention toward the marine. Andrew noted her eyes fixing on the helmet, scanning Melissa’s fatigues and combat boots. A look of disdain spread across the alicorn’s face. “Ah, Corporal Foster, was it? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

Melissa took the princess’ extended hoof and shook it, “No, we have not.”

“I hope you have no intention of storming off for no good reason in the manner of a petulant child this time.”

“If you would refrain from insulting me further, perhaps I would deign to acquiesce to your request.”

Andrew rubbed his face, “Melissa...remember the last time you insulted royalty?”

Cadence withdrew her hoof from Melissa’s grip, shaking it a bit as she glanced at it in mild disgust, “Perhaps I was out of line. Regardless, we were having a discussion. Mr. Shepherd, you were asking about the...Sophia, was it?”

“Yes, that’s correct…” Andrew briefly tilted his head to look at Shining Armor, concerned. Melissa turned to look as well, taking a closer look at the unicorn’s vacant expression. His mouth hung slightly open and his pupils dilated. He looked completely stoned, to be honest.

Andrew watched Melissa wince. He wondered why she wasn't doing anything physical or verbal. She remained still and quiet. He had half-expected her to be giving the unicorn a medical check, not just stand there silently.

“The Sophia?” Twilight asked, drawing Andrew’s attention, “Am I missing something here?”

Cadence looked at the unicorn, and Andrew noted her expression. Even if she had completely changed since Twilight’s youth, there should have been some sign of recognition, something to indicate a history...but there was nothing. Pony body language was weird, he guessed that was the answer.

“Some months ago, Shining Armor and I discovered a human spacecraft in the dry lake near Dodge City. It was confiscated, though I did not know it was stored here in the palace.” her eyes took on a sudden intensity, fixing on Andrew. Melissa furrowed her brow, and returned the odd mare’s gaze. She moved to stand beside the archaeologist with her arms crossed.

“Really?” Twilight exclaimed, “That’s wonderful news!”

Fluttershy mumbled an unfortunate addition, “But...it might mean that they’re the last of their kind.”

Twilight’s brief happy expression shattered. One of pure shock was left, and she gaped.

“W...what?” she whispered.

Andrew rubbed his face, and Melissa cast her eyes down. “We don’t have anything conclusive, but it seems Earth has been attacked by a large-scale extraterrestrial invasion force with unknown capabilities. I have no frakking idea what happened. I’m still going through the flight recorder.”

Twilight looked at the humans in a mix of horror, pity, and general disbelief. Humanity...gone?

Hesitantly, the unicorn reached out to Andrew and hugged him around the midsection. “I... I don’t--”

“I know,” Andrew sighed, his voice cracking. He knew somewhat that if Earth had the strength to build space warships, that they may have survived, but the chances of a pyrrhic victory, massive casualties, or even the deaths of his family were all too real.

Melissa spoke up again, “There’s no confirmatory evidence that we’re all that’s left. There’s gotta at least be Cheyenne Mountain or something. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Andrew…”

She trailed off, realizing that this wasn’t the time.

Eventually, Cadence gently pulled Twilight away from Andrew, “Fluttershy, you seem to understand what is happening. Would you be so kind as to fill her in? It may be best if the humans and I handle this…”

She paused, looking at Shining Armor, “...alone.”

The instant she said it, Shining snapped out of his stupor, “Oh…” he rubbed his head, then brightened up, “Must’ve dozed off there for a minute. Sure, I can leave. Come on Twilight, Fluttershy. We still need to catch up, right?”

Melissa sucked in a breath, “Um...uh...I...we have to do something, just remembered. Andrew and I.”
She abruptly gave a victorious expression to Cadence, “You people didn’t even know how to make a telegraph without my help. How could Fluttershy explain interplanetary warfare and diplomacy better than we could?”

Andrew suddenly pulled her close, and hissed in her ear, “The pilots! She might know what happened to them! I don’t like it anymore than you do, but we have to know!”

Melissa cursed, “Alright. We’ll stay for five minutes.”

Twilight looked at Melissa, concerned. The marine rubbed her face, and shrugged helplessly.

Andrew nodded hesitantly toward the door, “We’ll be alright.”

Unsure of what to do, Twilight left. Fluttershy lingered a moment more, but Twilight pulled her along and pulled the door shut behind them.

Melissa cursed again, and turned around. The room was deathly silent, the humans staring down the suddenly-smug princess across the table. She was sizing them up like pieces of meat.

Cadence casually leaned back in a chair, drawing a circle on the table with her hoof, “What did you wish to know?”

Andrew took the edge of one chair, pony furniture still not designed for bipedal beings. Melissa remained standing, her arms crossed.

“Well...how did you find it?” the archaeologist asked.

“Shining Armor and I were out on a romantic getaway to Dodge City, when there were a series of sonic booms, and there was a streak of light in the sky. It passed overhead, lasting much longer than a typical shooting star, and making controlled adjustments to its flight path. The scientists we joined believed it to be a simple meteorite, but we knew better.”

“How?” Melissa asked, “Lots of things in nature can appear to be controlled. Take binary stars for example. They transmit binary signals, as you can guess, which were thought to be artificial but in reality it’s only a natural phenomenon.”
Andrew facepalmed. He couldn’t remember if shooting stars could give off such an illusion, but he was pretty sure she was more interested in pissing the princess off.

Cadence’s mouth twitched, “I suppose we didn’t know for sure. It was really more of a guess. That is why we went on the expedition, after all. After several days of travel, we reached the landing site, and found the craft. It was abandoned, the hatches all sealed and the remains of a camp scattered around.”
She bowed her head, “I’m afraid the operator, or operators, must have walked into the desert in the wrong direction, and their tracks scattered to the winds. We found no trace of them.”

Now it was Andrew’s turn to curse.

Melissa had never looked more eager to leave, stepping up and grabbing Andrew by the arm, “Thanks for nothing, Candy, but we gotta get going. Human shit to do, you know how it is. Or you don’t. Whatever, goodbye.”

Cadence stepped around the table. She brushed up uncomfortably close to Andrew, “Wait! Tell me...where they are keeping the Dream Chaser?”

Melissa stepped between them and pushed the princess back, “Whoa, personal space, lady!”

Cadence seemed disgusted by the physical contact, “I am sorry...princess of love, and all that.”

“Don’t blame your behavior on your profession, dumbass. I could sue you back home for that!”

“And I could have much worse to you done here.” Cadence replied, smirking. Andrew didn’t like the look in her eyes.

Melissa pulled out Glamdring, holding it by her side, “I don’t see anyone else in here. I got a few clips of bullets and superior combat training. I’d like to see--”

Andrew grabbed Melissa by the shoulders, gently pulling her along, “Okay, she’s right, we have to be going now! Lots to do, lots to be depressed about, the usual stuff. See you later.”

Out of earshot, he demanded almost hysterically, “What on earth is wrong with you?! You’re going to get us killed!”

Melissa looked straight ahead, “Andrew, back home, if a man did that to a woman, it would be sexual harassment city. I’m trying to make sure that doesn’t become the standard.”

He stopped walking, shaking his head, “That’s different from threatening to murder her! Jesus, what is so crazy about this mission of yours that it’s driving you off the deep end?”

Melissa stopped as well, and looked down at her boots, remaining silent.

Andrew laughed without humor, “Jesus, really? What are you, six? Come talk to me when you grow up!”

He stormed off. Melissa cursed repeatedly, glancing around in a cautious manner before stalking off herself.

XXXXX

In his wandering around the castle, Andrew found himself halting at a window in a darkened hallway. It was a clear night, there was an amazing view of the landscape in the valley below the mountain, and he could almost make out the light of Ponyville in the distance.

He felt a tightening in his chest as he saw the town, and his face contorted. He felt a seizing feeling in his sinuses, and the archeologist rubbed at his nose.

Andrew looked up at the stars above. The majesty and scale of the great Milky Way hovered overhead, dozens of stars twinkling in the same way they had for humans since they climbed out of the primordial muck. No matter what happened down in the dirt, there was always one speck of safety, one moment of perfect beauty in the dark. He thought he might have even seen some shooting stars.

His dad had told him when he was a baby, that simply getting a good look at the stars always calmed him down. Andrew guessed there was some embellishment, perhaps it was the motion that did it, but he had to admit...a clear night of stars always helped him.

Perhaps the heavens, and their resemblance to Earth’s own stars, were what had kept him sane the long days after his arrival. The uncertainty, the anxiety, the fear, the pain…

Kept back those feelings that were all coming back.

Rubbing his face, Andrew tired not to think about Earth, about what might have happened.

It was strange how stars brought both happiness and misery to him; they didn’t bring to mind Earth per se, but in his attempts to blot it out of his head, the stars instead brought to mind Voyager 1. Their golden message in a bottle cast out into interstellar space.

Maybe someone would find it in a thousand years. Maybe they would learn about homo sapien sapiens, learn of their achievements.

He heard Melissa’s footsteps. No one else wore combat boots.

In the dark hallway, he could barely see her. She seemed so small now, her imposing presence had shrunk. She was looking out at the stars too, her combat helmet clutched to her chest.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Andrew croaked.

Melissa coughed, and said “Um...I’m sorry about earlier. I was mad, and she’s a massive bitch.”

Andrew took off his glasses, rubbing his nose, “Yeah, we were both mad, I guess. Still am.”

“And we’re both going nuts because of all this stress on us. Dude, I’m sorry. It...it has to do with the shapeshifters. I’ve gotta be careful who I talk to!”

“You saying you think I’m a shapeshifter?” He growled.

“No. I just don’t know if I can trust your ability to stand up under interrogation.”

Andrew grimaced, but his anger faded. He snorted a little, “Yeah...you’re right about that.”

Melissa scratched her head, “Heh…”

They avoided eye contact with one another, looking back outside.

“‘It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience...;’” Melissa quoted, “‘it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.’”

“Who said that?”

“Carl Sagan. Neil Degrasse Tyson of his day. He died in the 90s. There was a photo they took from Voyager 1 looking back at Earth from pretty far out, and all you could see was a little blue dot. ‘Every confident religion, every coward and hero, every corrupt politician, every peasant and king, every supreme leader...’ uh… ’every human being that has ever existed lived there, on the pale blue dot’...”

She cursed, “There was more. I can’t remember. It was a great speech, and…”

“And now it might be gone for good.” Andrew whispered.

Melissa shook her head, “No. It’s not. It’s written down somewhere back home; hell, it might be in our basement.”

“Uh-huh…”

Melissa looked him in the eyes, “I mean it. We’re not all that’s left.”

“How do you know?”

“We’re human, Andrew. We find a way. We’ve survived worse than a little alien invasion. I promise you someone has survived, and that we will make it home. I was trying to tell you earlier, I don’t think we lost the war. Earth may have been devastated, if at all, but we didn’t lose the war.”

“Why?” Andrew asked, “How?”

“Okay, you ever read the novel Footfall?”

“Yeah…?”

Melissa paused, “Wait, you have?”

“Yes. I think I told you this already.”

“Oh...good then. God, so few people have read it. From what I can gather, the Sophia was on a ship like the Michael, and they were dong some sort of operation to take back the orbitals--”

Melissa held up a hand suddenly, “Do you hear that?”

Andrew listened. Footsteps.

Around the corner, a dark shape leaned out, with a familiar mane, “Hey, you two!” Pinkie Pie called out.

“Pinkie--?” Andrew said, but she darted out of sight. Her giggling echoed in a most uncomfortable fashion. He turned the corner, only to see her disappear down another corridor. He thought something was off about her silhouette, and the way she was running…

Melissa grabbed his wrist, and pulled him, “C’mon! Stay behind me!”

“Where is she going?!”

“How the fuck should I know? I just work here!”

They sprinted after the pink pony through darkened hallways, passing eerie suits of armor and paintings with eyes that seemed to follow them. The darkness almost crept in on them as they ran, so much so that Melissa switched on the light on her sidearm. Pinkie was too fast for it to catch her though.

At last, they came to an intersection, their target lost.

“Damn, damn, damn it!” Melissa cursed, her laser sight scanning the shadows, “Check your targets!”

“I don’t have a gun!”

“I meant for me, idiot!”

“Over this way…” Pinkie Pie suddenly sang, and they saw her odd silhouette bounce around a corner toward whatever was spewing light onto the floor. The light disappeared, with the sound of an opening and closing door.

The two came around the corner, and could see light coming from under the door.
Melissa took out her magazine, checked it, and slammed it back in, “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuckberries. Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck.”

“What?” Andrew demanded anxiously.

She rubbed her face, “God damn it.”

“What?!”

“What do you think, you pickled herring?!”

“...what?”

Melissa growled, and kicked the door with a mighty blow. Again. And again.

On the third blow, the door hinges creaked dangerously. The lock splintered and it flew open.

She stepped inside, to be met with a cry of “Surprise!” uttered by the wielders of the Elements of Harmony, surrounding them and throwing their arms up in the air with happy smiles on their faces.

Arms…?
“What the...fuck?” Melissa gurgled, her pistol still raised.

The Mane Six before her were not ponies. Not anymore.

The very human Elements of Harmony waved their arms up in the air, bearing human faces, legs, and assorted body parts. All were extremely...exposed, completely unaware of human social norms despite many opportunities in which they should have learned them.

“Oh...my…” Andrew croaked as he entered the room, his eyes as big as dinner plates.

Twilight smiled, “Well, after Fluttershy told us what happened…”

“We realized you’d all be super sad!” Pinkie Pie said loudly, “And we wanted to find a way to be good and supportive friends, so…”

"We decided to have Twilight turn us all into humans to cheer you both up!" Rainbow Dash said cheerfully, "What do you think?"

Melissa blinked, many many times. She wasn’t processing what the group was saying, as they admired their human appearances. She was still trying to process the situation as a whole.

The Mane Six were interesting individuals. Sometimes they could be very kind and understanding, and other times they pull stunts like this. Despite what one might think, especially with their teasing flirts with Andrew, it was not out of any sexual motivation that they did this.
They honestly cared about their friends’ well-being, and believed that this was the best way to help them. They’d gone to extreme lengths for their friends before, Pinkie Pie especially with her distinct lack of shame risking embarrassment just to make her friends happy.
I mean they haven’t done things exactly like this before, at least not yet. Motherfucker, Equestria is weird.

For the most part, the potion worked. Skin, hands, feet, general body shape was all spot-on, clearly homo sapiens sapiens. However, it was only for the most part.
Their skin, while human, was still the same color as their coats of fur in pony form, as did their hair match their manes.

The most glaring flaw were the elements pony biology that remained. In addition to human ears on the sides of their skulls, the Mane Six still had their fluffy pony ears(still with fur, thank god, flesh would just be creepy). Twilight and Rarity still had horns. Their hair reached down to behind the knees--likely a combination of the length of hair their manes had and their tails. The material transfer between the two forms recycled them into one unit.
Both Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash still had wings as well. Based on the fact that Dash was hovering two feet off the ground, and Fluttershy’s futile attempts to use them to cover herself, they seemed to be fully functional. Somehow.

All the former ponies seemed to be having trouble with motor skills, balance and coordination. Understandable, they’d likely had at best a few hours to figure it out. Their postures were all in varying degrees of “off”, hunched over or crouched, their arms crooked, etc.

And again, they still had no idea what pants or shirts were for.

There were other female attributes they possessed that Melissa was extremely uncomfortable with describing as anything other than...attractive? Somehow, all of them had picturesque enviable physiques, or would be so back on Earth. Melissa guessed it was due to their active 19th century lifestyle that made them fit and healthy in pony form also making them fit in human forms.
She was certain the drooling eggplant next to her formerly known as Andrew would have loved to describe their beauty. That was probably what his internal monologue was at the moment, extremely lewd descriptions of their sweet sensual--

Realizing what was happening, Melissa immediately clapped a hand over Andrew’s eyes, and stared at the ceiling herself. “Girls,” she began slowly, “Next time you do something like this...Ugh, I can’t even...Andrew, get outta here.”

“But wait, it was a surprise for both of you!” Pinkie Pie said. Not that Melissa could see her, the roofing tiles looked really interesting…

“Fine. Stick him in the corner, and for the love of god let’s find y’all some goddamn clothes.”

“No, I’m fine!” Andrew protested somewhat, trying to pull Melissa’s hand off his eyes.

“For the love of god, Andy! I am going to find some duct tape if you don’t shut up and keep your eyes on inanimate objects until I tell you otherwise!”

“But--”

“Speaking as the only authority on human female rules around here, what I say goes! So shut the fuck up and look at that goddamn wall like you’re in the Blair Witch Project!”

Shoving Andrew into the corner, she spun about, “The rest of you! For the love of every Elder God, do not start hitting on either of us! I will hit anyone who touches him!”

Melissa put her pistol away, turned around and fanned her neck, taking several rapid breaths.
Even for a straight female such as herself, this was a bit much. She’d run out of fresh porn months ago, and had been very...lonely.
“Just...just everybody stay on opposite sides of the room from each other while I have a panic attack.”

Andrew briefly glanced back to look at her, his eyes twitching in their efforts to both avoid and not avoid looking up. He was probably doing even worse than she was. A straight 20-something male without anything to tide him over...it was like feeding a starving man a feast.
Melissa leaned against him with one hand, rubbing her head, “Dude, I was prepared for the Middle East. I had porn stockpiled, but you said nooo...”

“I was afraid of what you might have! I'm not going to look at your porn, I bet it's really weird stuff! Get off my back!”

Melissa leaned over, hugging her chest and breathing more rapidly.

“Melissa, are you feeling alright?” Rarity asked.

“No, not really! Cthulhu, somewhere out there some furries are touching themselves inappropriately…”
Her stomach rolled uncomfortably as confusing emotions ran through her, “Oh god, you guys probably should’ve warned us about this…”

“Yeah…” Applejack muttered, “That seems like it would’ve been a good idea…”

“I tried to say something…about letting them know what we wanted to do, that is...” Fluttershy squeaked.

“Oh my god,” Melissa moaned, “maybe you should’ve considered the abuse we’ve taken. God, what my organs have taken recently...mineralization, stress, Chaos demon, poison joke, gluten contamination…”

“Wasn’t my fault!” Pinkie Pie shouted, “I didn’t know it would be a problem!”

“You put croutons in my goddamn soup you pink hydrocarbon!”

Twilight chuckled nervously, stepping over and succeeding in making both natural humans blush even more furiously, “Okay, everypony calm down--!”

Melissa turned away, and took a deep breath. She was a soldier, nudity wasn’t a taboo they could afford. We’re all adults here, let’s…
She snapped her eyes shut the instant she turned around. Then why do I feel like a sex offender? Cthulhu’s balls, let’s try this again.
The marine took a deep breath once again, and opened her eyes. A professional demeanor filled her, sealing her emotions off from her intellect.

“Twilight.”

“Yes?”

“Can you still teleport? To section 13?”

“Yes, of course,” Twilight replied.

Rarity added, “We were somewhat expecting a reaction to this, but…” she glanced at Applejack, “Somepony suggested it may not be a good idea to dig into human clothing until we have one of you two to explain social standards. There was also the chance that we would not be able to understand your clothing well enough and might damage something important, though that was more my reasoning than anyone else’s.”

Melissa was still looking at the ceiling, and squeaked, “Good thinking…”

Once they were in the warehouse, Melissa took charge.“Alright, everybody. 21st century aisle, let’s go. Andrew, you go ahead of me. You stare and I’ll court-martial you.”

“I’m not military!”

“Then I’ll punch you.”

Melissa walked through the group to lead the way, her hand still over Andrew’s eyes.

Leading the way to the 21st century aisle, she gestured around at all the shelves, “This stuff’s the most comfortable, and the most intact. Take things that aren’t delicate. First priority is underwear, please. Next, shoes. Human feet are more delicate than hooves, and I doubt you girls have any calluses anyway.”

Seating Andrew down in a folding chair and facing him toward a wall, Melissa gathered some random bits and pieces of attire, and passed them to who they seemed to fit. She didn’t bother with anything beyond t-shirts or pants, not in the mood to explain the concept of bras and other undergarments.

Most of the Mane Six took to their forms rather well, assembling outfits that fit their personalities. Disturbingly attractive outfits, most of the time. No taboos against nudity also meant that they had no sense of what was and wasn’t revealing.
Melissa deliberately avoided recalling what most of them wore at first. She got to Applejack’s extremely tight one-size-too-small plaid shirt before she gave up and simply ordered them to choose new clothing.
She’d be damned if she was going to let things turn into a porno.

Rarity was continually working with her fingers, opening and closing them, putting them into odd positions, and holding various objects she found after pulling on clothing. T-shirt and shorts under a cloak or robe of some kind made from polyester, “I hadn’t realized how different these would be from hooves...they feel far more flexible!”

Pinkie Pie grinned. Wearing a big coat over a shirt and pants, she lay on her back on the ground, trying to pull on a pair of shoes that were too small. She contorted her legs to pull her foot close to her eyes. Her incredible flexibility in pony form extended to human form apparently, “There’s a lot more on these bodies that are flexible! These toe things, these weird little ears, these two big--”

Melissa stuck her fingers in her ears and started singing for a moment until Pinkie finished.

Applejack, who didn’t seem all that bothered by the transformation of her physical form, was rubbing her eyes, “Pinkie, you’re embarrassing Melissa! Would ya please calm down fer a second! You’re gonna give the poor filly a heart attack!” She wore a plaid dress shirt and jeans, looking like every rural female stereotype.

Rainbow Dash, who had found pants but not much else, was busy hovering on the upper tiers of the shelves of human clothing, “Aw, it’s fine Applejack!”

The former pegasus zipped down to land in front of Melissa, a mischievous grin on her face, “You’re fine, right Melissa? What’s a little nudity to a soldier? You’re straight anyway, what’s the problem with seeing stuff like this?”
The notorious joker was apparently intent on breaking Melissa’s mind, what with the way she was moving and that never-ending grin of hers.

Melissa turned beet-red, looking Rainbow dead in the eyes to avoid staring at her breasts. Great. I had to make friends with the pathological teaser.

The marine screwed her eyes shut. She turned to a nearby shelf, and began beating her head against the support beam, “Why is my life a creepy fanfiction?!”

Pinkie Pie shrugged, “Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad! Not every story can avoid the cringy bits!”

“What--? Whatever...” Melissa shook her head then went back to beating her head.

“Hey, maybe we should experiment with Andrew…” Rainbow snickered, unable to resist going deeper.

Pinkie got it, “Ooh, they were saying he was without any mares for a good long while…”

And that’s when I shot them, your honor.

“Rainbow, Pinkie!” Twilight scolded, appearing from around a corner. Unlike the others who seemed to relish in embarrassing Melissa, Twilight had paid attention to the human social norms since they arrived. Thus, she knew exactly what to do. She found appropriate modest clothing that worked for protection against the elements, had all the necessary components, and dressed out of sight. She wore a long-sleeve shirt, jeans or pants of some kind, and sneakers. “Can’t you two be adult about this?”

“But Twilight…” Rainbow drew out the word, “C’mon! It’s just a bit of fun!”

Twilight was clearly resisting an urge to laugh, but rubbed her eyes, “Girls, an individual’s natural sexual instincts are sometimes a source of amusement, but it is also very embarrassing for the individual. Especially after going for so long without any sort of physical relationship beyond self-pleasuring. And I wish you wouldn’t hit on my coltfriend like that, especially considering you know about his problems! So would you please--”

“Oh, I don’t know Twilight,” Rainbow Dash said, zipping over to be millimeters away from Twilight’s face, “Maybe we could find a way for them to relax. Maybe...both of us could experiment with--?”

Applejack snatched Rainbow’s hair and dragged her back, “RD, they’ve had enough! Same for you, Pinkie! Rarity, good on you for not starting anything!”
Rarity nodded a little smugly, “A lady may discuss topics relating to matters of sex, but not in such...lewd manners. How childish of you two!”

Twilight sighed with relief, “Thanks you two. Now, Rainbow, can you find some sort of shirt?”

Dash got her hair out of Applejack’s grip, and grinned nervously. “Yeah, about that…”

Rainbow scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment; she stopped, and stared at her hand in amazement at the act before continuing with a nervous grin, “Mel...Can we cut some holes in shirts for our wings? It’s pretty hard to keep them under like this...”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Melissa asked, then caught sight of Fluttershy sticking her head around the corner Twilight had emerged from, still attempting to cover herself with her wings. It seemed as though she’d figured out exactly how much shame she “needed” to have, and was responding in a typical manner for her.

Melissa inhaled sharply, but replied with a curt “No. I’m sorry. We have to keep as much of this stuff intact as possible. The fabrics alone are important. I’m okay with tonight’s little romp, but we have to keep as much of these things untouched as we can.”

“I told you she wouldn’t...” Fluttershy muttered.

“I wasn’t--No, I can fix this. I think I got an idea.”

She scanned through the shelves, and found a few items. She came back with two pairs of coveralls, one lime-green, and the other dark olive-drab green.
“Try not to rip these. I figure there’s enough room for you to stretch your wings in these things without getting stuck, but don’t try fully extending them. If you wanna do that...oh my god, talk to me about that later.” Karabast. Bra conversation earlier than I thought.

Fluttershy’s outfit was a lime jumpsuit green with white highlights, but otherwise nondescript. Otherwise, it seemed to fit her personality, oddly enough. Modest and didn’t really attract the eye.

Rainbow Dash’s coveralls didn’t exactly attract the eye either, but while its colors were bland, it was functional. It was covered in zippers and loops and strips of velcro, with “US Army” stamped along one breast.
“Who did this belong to? If it’s army, it doesn’t look like your gear.” Dash asked as she pulled the suit on.

“Well for one, I’m a marine, and for another, It’s a aviator flight suit, for pilots. It looked about your size, and I figured you’d like it.”

Rainbow zipped it up, “Oh yeah! flyers? Say no more! This is what your military wears?! It’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn! No itches at all!”

“Drab, unfortunately.” Rarity said, walking over and studying it, “I thought the United States used that pretty camouflage on their uniforms.”

“The Air Force never does,” Melissa said, “Dunno why. Seems a little stupid, thinking about it. The Army’s flight suits followed the same pattern, but these got phased out in 2005 so I hear. Their new gear is all camouflage.”

“Well, it’s not all bad, at least. What’s this?” Rarity pulled at one of the shoulders. Attached to one of the velcro spots was a patch.

“Squadron insignia, normally.” Melissa’s curiosity was piqued, “What’s it say?”

“‘1-101 Aviation Regiment, expect no mercy’.” Rarity read out, and smirked, “I see certain military traditions are alike all over.”

The inscription was in a yellow and white red border, in line with six yellow stars. Inside the border was an AH-64 Apache helicopter in the foreground, while in the background an eagle loomed on the right side, and an american flag on the other.

“That’s a rotor head regiment, obviously. Never heard of…” Melissa trailed off, something distant in her memory sparking.

“...So what happened?” Douglas Foster asked, his voice trailing out of the office and into the hallway. The blonde-and-red-haired nine-year-old outside halted in her tracks, nervous to pass in front of the open door down the hall.

“I reported the position, made a few passes to keep the ragheads off ‘em and returned to base. Rescue party found the helo, a total write-off, but the crew was missing.”

“What’s so weird about that? They’ll probably turn up for ransom at some point, or…”
Melissa peeked in the door, seeing her father grimace and not finish his sentence. He looked back at the Dell laptop on his desk, scrolling through something. Her mother, Air Force 2nd Lieutenant Elaine Foster leaned against the back of his chair, making a similar expression, as if she knew what he was implying.
“That’s what I thought too, but no one knew where they were. The ground-pounders couldn’t find them, observation flights couldn’t see anything, the locals didn’t know anything, it’s like they just vanished.”
Her mother, still dressed in her USAF uniform since coming home a few hours ago, gestured to the screen, “ Look at how big that street is! There should have been a dozen different sources who saw them, satellite, army, locals, someone! But I was the last person to see them!”

Douglas pointed at the same image. Melissa could barely make out an Apache helicopter sitting lopsided in the dirt, “El’, there would’ve been a ton of dust. They would have been easy to miss. Maybe they ran off somewhere and took a wrong turn. You know the locals wouldn’t say anything that would get them in trouble with the insurgents. They must’ve gotten grabbed--”

“Doug, the way they were headed was right toward friendly forces. I told them what way to go myself. They should’ve been home-free!”

“There’s a bunch of buildings between them and the friendlies. Even if you thought they were empty--and they may have been when they crashed!--they could have a lot of tunnels down there.”

Elaine rubbed the bridge of her nose, “I don’t know, this whole thing feels fishy to me.”

Melissa shook her head, coming back to the present. She couldn’t remember if that Apache had been with the 101st. Weird things happened all the time in war. There was no guarantee that it was the same unit.
Coincidence, yeah, just coincidence. Not every big disappearance is connected to a fantasy planet.

Returning to the present, Melissa found Rarity stretching out a bewildered Rainbow Dash’s arms and measuring them with a metric tape she’d procured from the refuse of human civilization.
“Highlights, perhaps? Yes, some more color along the legs as well. What are these here for? I could--”

Melissa pulled the tape measure out of Rarity’s hands, let it retract fully into the case, and handed it back, “US Army equipment on loan to a member of the Equestrian military. I can’t quote the regs, but I’m pretty sure you can’t do this.”

“But Melissa--”

“But nothing.” Behind Rarity, Rainbow was mouthing the words ‘thank you’, “My hands are tied.”

Pinkie appeared at Melissa’s shoulder, her reality warping powers still functional, “They are? Is it like invisible tying--”

“It’s an idiom. Rarity, there’s very little I can do to customize my military-issue equipment, and I don’t know how the army is on this. So I am going to assume they are the same until told otherwise.”

Finally freed from his time-out, and having (mostly) recovered his cognitive faculties, Andrew gulped as he took in the humans around him.

Fluttershy went over to him first, and gave him a hug. Twilight approached next, and smiled, “Are you better now?”

“Well, the nudity was...um...nice, but--” he noted Fluttershy’s expression, “But I’m guessing it wasn’t meant to last.”

“No one’s foolin’ around tonight, matey!” Melissa called out, “No experimentation, and keep your hands to yourself! We’re not doing anything tonight without consent, or ground rules! I know the first one’s obvious, but I don’t know if we’re going to...to...”

“Spawn new sexually-transmitted infections?” Twilight asked.

Melissa grimaced, and nodded, “Yes. yep.”

Andrew looked at Twilight, “Okay, why are you so calm about talking about this kind of thing? Is this just you, or is all of Equestria really comfortable with...certain topics?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow, “What do you...oh!”

She laughed, “I thought it was just something with you, Andrew! Melissa, are all humans so ashamed to talk about natural--”

Rainbow Dash laughed, “Oh man, I’m sorry! I thought you two were just playing along! By Celestia, do all humans act like kids when it comes to sex?”

Melissa’s cheeks burned, “Yes and no. Americans are notorious prudes, we’re kind of famous for that. I guess that’s another area Equestria is ahead of us with.”

“Being adult about intimate topics?” Twilight asked, “Apparently we are.”

With the group now in proper attire, they spread out amongst the warehouse, investigating the “alien” culture.

Before joining the others, Andrew went over to Melissa. Tensing up nervously as he spoke, he asked, “Are you gay?”

Melissa glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, “No, I’m straight! By Cthulhu,​ Andrew, just because we're the only humans around and I haven't slept with you yet doesn't mean--!”

“What? No, I'm just curious! You seemed real into Dash earlier!”

“Oh please, who wouldn't​ bang her after a few drinks?! Why don’t I judge you for being extremely happy to see them?!”

“That’s all you have been doing!”

“Well...then how about you slip into something more comfortable? Like a coma?”

They soon joined the rest of the group in exploring.Andrew was busy explaining the plot of The Hobbit and a few other novels to Twilight and Fluttershy, while Melissa spent her time keeping the other four from breaking things.
Well, Applejack wouldn’t touch anything, hopefully, but curiosity could still kill the cat.

“Rarity, I don’t care how shiny it is, ya don’t touch the sensitive parts of CDs, DVDs, laserdiscs, microfiche, microfilm, or whatever optical storage or film reel type thing that’s here with your bare hands!”

...or Melissa would kill the cat.

Aside from the main warehouse, there were several smaller areas separate from the main one, devoted to specific materials such as books, firearms, industrial equipment, vehicles, computers, and alternative storage mediums. It made sense, the weaponry was volatile, and the books extremely prone to damage; compartmentalizing the areas meant that even if one sector went up the rest would survive.

There was even a morgue, also serving as a crypt.

In the storage medium chamber, there were containers of VCRs, Betamax, DVDs, CDs, and floppy disks from the 60s all the way up to the 2000s. Whoever sorted it seemed unable to tell the difference between film storage, image storage and computer systems. The sections were stored quite close together and mixed up. Massive film reels, hung below stacks of NES games, cassette tapes, or even wire from the 1890s.

There were many recognizable and unrecognizable films, TV shows, film, news records, it was like a garage sale, but in more ways than one much like the rest of the archives.

As with most of the areas, while there were common items, such as MASH VHS and DVD box sets, and copies of Men in Black, there were also precious artifacts that couldn't be found back home. Artifacts long-thought lost. Lost films, such as the first film adaptation of The Great Gatsby, pieces of the Blues Brothers movie, all sorts of materials that were so significant to history but had been destroyed back home.

“What’s microfilm?” Rarity asked, finding boxes upon boxes with dates from around 1900 all the way to the 2000s.

Melissa was busy pushing a DVD back into its case, one with some language she didn’t recognize, when Rarity asked her question. She glanced over.

“It’s images stored on tiny strips of...like, film reels or something. I dunno what the material is called.”
“Celluloid!” Andrew supplied, his voice echoing through the aisles.

“Thanks!” she called out.

“Intriguing,” Rarity commented, “What is it for?”

“Saves space, reduces weight compared to paper, and preserves newspapers and stuff like that. Lot of libraries have them.”

“What an excellent idea! Could you make that work for our own libraries?”

Melissa shrugged, “I dunno how to make celluloid. I don’t know much about that part of film history. I mean it’s probably within your technological range...”

Rarity frowned, “Perhaps somepony is developing it on their own, like that internal combustion engine prototype you recovered. Maybe we can acquire the patent.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Microfilm lasted nearly a century. Only problem is getting people to convert to digital storage, so we may want to be careful with that one.”

Melissa realized she hadn’t checked on Rainbow Dash in the past five seconds, and glanced over to where she had seen the blue...person go. The computer area.

Entering the chamber, the marine found that the ponies had mixed up this one with similar artifacts like they had the film area. Typewriters as well as communications equipment were mixed in with the computers; radios, telephones, a few telegraph keys, basically anything above morse lamps.

However, be they communications gear or computers, so much of the gear was horrendously damaged. The ponies had done the best they could to preserve what they found, and had managed to find quite a collection, but there was so much that was damaged beyond repair. Reel-to-reel players and game boys, or at least the shattered remnants and melted piles of plastic they left behind. Hulking calculators and small 90s laptops burned to a crisp and snapped cleanly in half.

it broke her heart to see such machinery, some of the most powerful assets on this world, reduced to a pile of plastic and shattered motherboards.

She walked through the sector, looking up and down the tall Home Depot-height shelves, and sighing. A lot.
The marine took a glance at an enigma code machine, or at least, the waterlogged, rusted, and mud-covered remains of one.
Melissa peered at it, behind the magic bubble that kept it separate from the air that would destroy it. She’d seen one back home just like it, one that the German soldiers who owned it had attempted to destroy to prevent capture. After numerous attempts to smash it, including hitting it with rifle butts, they threw it in a lake.
This machine looked far worse. It was nearly unrecognizable, as evidenced by the fact that it was placed in the typewriter section, but hadn’t been nearly as beaten up. It simply looked older. Much older.

How odd. This must have been one of the things Luna was talking about that had been brought through a thousand years ago all at the same time; traveling through space and time instead of just space. By comparison, there were typewriters nearby also from the 40s, but looked the appropriate age.

Of note was the fact that much of the destroyed equipment had signs of scuttling and deliberate sabotage. Most of the equipment not in its original packaging had bullet holes, boot prints, blunt force damage, or the prints of various animals. Another mystery.

She turned the corner and found Rainbow Dash fiddling with an Atari Jaguar. Somehow finding not only the console, but the CD-ROM module(the one shaped like a toilet), the pegasus had also figured out how to plug it in, had found a music CD, and was trying to close the lid.

Not to Melissa’s surprise, the Jaguar had no damage whatsoever, despite being out of its packaging.
Dash was growing increasingly frustrated with the lid, opening several times and trying to push the disk further down, “There’s not enough room for this thing! What’s wrong with it?!”

Melissa stepped over and removed the CD, “For one, wrong disk and system. For another, you’re right. There isn’t enough room.”

“Then how--”

“It’s a design flaw. It closes too tightly on the disk, the motor burns out like crazy, and there’s a whole lotta other stuff wrong with it. If we didn’t need electronics, I’d take a dump on this thing like the Angry Video Game Nerd did and smash it to pieces.”

Rainbow Dash laughed, “Why’d he do that? Also, who is he?”

Melissa gestured at the trash can sometimes known as Atari’s dying gasp to save their company in the 1990s.
“He did it because this thing is a piece of shit, why would adding more change anything? And he…”

She paused, “There’s gotta be something about him around here.”

The marine raised her hands to her mouth, and called out, “Hey Andrew! You find anything on the Angry Video Game Nerd?!”

From somewhere in the area of the books, he replied, “What are you talking about?! What even is that?!”

Melissa slumped, “...Never mind! Keep your hands to yourself by the way!”

“Yes, mother!”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!!”

Suddenly, the most random thought popped into her head. Melissa spun about and seized Rainbow Dash by the shoulders, “where's Pinkie Pie?!”

Rainbow furrowed her brow, grunting “I dunno?”

“She’s unsupervised! In a room of human stuff!”

Rainbow scoffed, “Aw, it’s not that bad! How much trouble could she--oh sweet Celestia--Pinkie!!”

Melissa called out to the rest of the warehouse, “Someone find Pinkie!”

The rest of the group dropped whatever they were doing and fanned out, fearing the worst.

Melissa finally spotted the pink pony--person--thing in the aisle of not-rotted food, holding a plastic orange bag.

“No!!”

She tackled Pinkie to the ground, groping for the single white, purple, and orange pod in her little pink fingers.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?!” Pinkie demanded.

“Don’t fucking eat that you pink pain in my ass!”

“Why not?! It looks delicious!”

Melissa was hauling on Pinkie’s arm with all she had, but Pinkie’s hand was still traveling toward her mouth.

“I know, it always does, they always do! But it’s not a gummy thing, no matter how much you want it to be!”

“Then why did they make them like that?”

“Because they’re idiots! Also, because you don’t eat something with the label ‘laundry pods’!”

Pinkie glanced at the label, squinting, “Well, it actually says ‘Tide pods’...”

Melissa finally pried the bag out of her fingers, and was trying to pull the intact one out of her other hand, “Pinkie, for the love of Cthulhu….just, just don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything, don’t breathe on anything!”

“But maybe just a taste…!”

Andrew, Twilight, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack caught up with them.

Applejack rolled her eyes, and crouched down. Quickly and easily she removed the pod from Pinkie’s hand, and peered at it.

“What is this thing?”

“Laundry pod,” Andrew said, taking it and making sure it hadn’t been punctured, “Little kids...and I guess very naive adults too, have eaten them. Super toxic.”

Rainbow squinted, looking doubtful, “Really? But--”

Melissa got herself untangled from Pinkie Pie, looking at the bag, “I know, right? They’re so freaking colorful!”

“Why don’t they make them...brown or something? A kid wouldn’t eat that!”

Twilight stared intently at a few pages of notes taped to the spot on the shelf the bag of pods should have been, before recalling she didn’t have telekinesis at the moment.
She picked them up, scanning the contents, “Looks like this has happened numerous times.”

Twilight held it up, revealing several warning signs, words underlined and written in bold, such as “DO NOT EAT”.
“Did you not read the notes?”

Pinkie shrugged, “Skimmed em?”

Melissa scratched her head, “Wait, there are notes?” she hadn't had the chance to properly examine the archive.

“Yes! This is an archive, of course there would be! There’s a filing system near the entrance!”

The marine nodded, “Huh, okay. Good. I gotta see those.”

She was about to run off, then paused to grab a bag of tootsie rolls off the shelf. “These are mine.”

Pinkie reached for some other snack in a wrapper, and Applejack swatted her hand back.

Making her way to the front of the warehouse, Melissa found aisle after aisle old filing cabinets, filled with yellowed paper.
There were more extensive notes on every artifact in the room, and references to the other chambers.
Melissa still had to investigate those.

The notes recorded not just descriptions of the artifacts, but incidents, experiments, and recovery details.
For example, there was a Cold War-era portable nuclear reactor, labeled as a “Mobile Atomic Engine”, recovered from a lake near one of Equestria’s few fishing villages. Fish were coming in mutated, and ponies were falling ill. The reactor itself was recovered, but buried after Bureau 13 personnel began to fall ill at a much faster rate, with several expiring after losing fur, manes, and coughing up blood.

There was a tale of a “doll of red felt, wild eyes, with an orange nose” that produced “irritating sounds” and was incinerated as a precaution. Must’ve been an elmo doll...

A round “clever cleaning engine” that moved as if it had a mind of its own, at least until someone hit it and flipped it over. The Roomba was housed in a box until its batteries ran down.
There were some notes on just weird things, mostly gadgets and toys ranging from silly putty to Skymall catalog junk.

One of the more interesting ones was a “wireless war engine”. It was a machine described as a “rail-less armored locomotive on ”caterpillar tracks”, powered by a “virtually smokeless engine utilizing kerosene” equipped with some sort of “thin-barreled 3-pounder gun” and a “rifled breech loading magazine-fed firearm”. It had driven in a straight line through a village, eventually stopping when it hit a hard enough wall but still kept trying to drive further. The hull shook off everything thrown at it, and spun its tracks for two hours before the engine died.
There was a sheet describing the incident, with time stamps attached to each note.

Object B-1495 spotted moving along country road by flight from No. 39 Squadron of Royal Equestrian Air Force. Followed for several minutes by air. Object B-1495 did not engage. Maintained straight and even course regardless of road terrain. B-1495 did not deviate from trajectory, even when the road curved.Object B-1495 followed by section of 3rd Light Dragoons from this point onward. Verbal challenges elicited no response. Object B-1495 did not deviate from course, sustained light damage to continuous tracks from hitting potholes.B-1495 encountered at Ash Road 12 miles from Acorn Village by local farmer. Farmer nearly run down. Object maintains straight course.Object B-1495 is fired upon by 3rd Light Dragoons. Damage is insignificant. B-1495 does not return fire.B-1495 is fired upon by B-Battery of 3rd Royal Artillery. Damage is insignificant. B-1495 does not return fire.No. 39 Squadron attacks with gravity munitions. B-1495 sustains light damage. One track wheel damaged.Town of Acorn Village is evacuated by 24th Regiment of the Foot. 24th Regiment, 3rd Light Dragoons, and A, C, D Batteries of 3rd Royal Artillery set up defensive positions. Armed forces opened fire. Observers report hatches on object B-1495 blown open, items strapped to hull catch fire. Course of object altered by two degrees. B-1495 does not return fire.B-1495 shifts off the street and passes through buildings. Observers note strained sounds from engine whenever larger obstacles encountered.B-1495 hits the cast-iron frame of a train station and becomes unable to progress further. Corner of the building is stuck between the two “horns” of its track mounts. Tracks continue to spin. Object does not engage with approaching units.Object B-1495’s engine becomes strained, tracks continue spinning.After two hours of continuous spinning, engines die. This is assumed to be from lack of fuel. After an additional approximate forty minutes, Bureau 13 personnel approach B-1495, and inspect the vehicle. No crew is found, but positions found for driver, commander, and gunner. Gunner and commander positions, along with significant portions of the interior, occupied by a high-level mechanical operating system* mounted on suspension. System is apparently designed to manipulate gunner and driver controls remotely.Object B-1495 retrieved by Bureau 13 personnel, and shipped to Canterlot by rail. Object is classified as water tank to maintain secrecy. Acorn Village residents signed non-disclosure agreements and were paid off. Additional details in attached documents.

*based on information provided by Cpl. M Foster, system is some sort of mechanical control mechanism built utilizing high-level technologies of a sophistication beyond Equestrian manufacturing capabilities as of this writing.

“What is this, the SCP Foundation?” Melissa muttered, and was a little irked that they had used her once again.

The vehicle was a TT-26, a “teletank” of Soviet origin from the Second World War. It was a vehicle that was designed to be remotely-operated from another tank. Likely it had been left at full speed ahead by the operators before it fell through the wormhole, and just kept going without any command to stop. The vacuum tubes operating it weren’t all that complex. From the drawings, this was a flamethrower variant with a DT tank machine gun. She was glad it wasn’t one of those carrying chemical weapons or explosives.

She dug into the inventory charts, in particular, documents, books, vehicles, and weapons.
“Bolt-action, cartridges, rapid-firing weapons, artillery...there we are.”

Making sure the others weren’t around, she put a number of sheets into a binder and tucked it under her arm.

Through several small accessways, she found her way to a warehouse about a quarter the size of the first.
Mounted in glass cases, upon racks, in crates, and in varying degrees of completion, were the staple of Earth militaries. It was like walking through the NRA Museum.
She passed the older relics quickly, matchlocks and other terrible firearms. It was an area she knew relatively little about. Passing flintlocks, percussion caps, pinfire cartridges, there were a few she recognized as being famous. Moving past the Napoleonic section and into the middle part of the 1800s, she recognized the Prussian Needle Gun, a handful of American revolvers, various muzzle-loaders, Allin conversions, and Springfield Minie Ball guns.

Artillery was everywhere depending on the section, though she recognized those even less. Four-pounders and Napoleons were the best she could tell, before she got to the area of the 1850s and 60s.

She slowed at the Victorian section, finding some of the better quality weaponry on tables, a few in a trash bin mangled after being taken apart badly.
A Maxim gun and a French 75 were being examined, and it looked recent. Little dust had formed, and writing devices had been left as if the owners were going to come back in a few days. Likely, they’d been given a vacation for the wedding.

Damn it, Snowglobes, Melissa thought, You may have doomed us all. The Maxim gun, and other gatling guns, were a skippable step in weapons development, as they would make switching over to single-barrel guns that much harder, but they would’ve at least given them a chance. Celestia giving the researchers a vacation might have just cost them.

The Equestrian Army lacking anything like a French 75 was even worse. It was seen as the first modern artillery weapon. It much better at absorbing inertia than previous weapons, thus allowing it to be more accurate because it didn’t need to be readjusted every time it was fired. It was also capable of practical indirect fire, and had several naval derivatives. The cannon could have revolutionized everything…

Melissa sighed, and glanced around. There wasn’t much available ammo for either the Maxim gun or the French 75. At least not enough to wage a battle and have enough left over to reverse-engineer. They’d have to dig through all the other artillery ammo, and any other weapons in the same caliber as the Maxim.
Though she knew she was biased, she felt the American weapons in the archive were her best bet. She knew more about them than anything.

She had no idea how events were going to play out with the current alterations to the timeline. They would need every advantage they could get.

If she could have grabbed some of the vehicles stored in another warehouse, she would have. Unfortunately, they were far too maintenance intensive, and their fuel had to have gelled in the tanks a long time ago.

There was weaponry from the First World War, front line gear to experimental prototypes, legendary and infamous. Browning Automatic Rifles, Springfields, Mosin-Nagants, Lewis Guns, and, of note, a handful of Ross Rifles. She shuddered at the last one.

Digging through the early 20th century gear, she found the supply of ammo was all over the place; either there was not enough, it was missing, or there was ammo for weapons that weren’t there. Sometimes there might be enough ammo, but there could be too few weapons of certain types for her purposes. Cannibalizing the other areas would have to be done.

Melissa jumped when an echo-y scratching sound reached her ears; guitar and drums playing an unfamiliar tune.
“Hey everypony! I found a record player!” Pinkie Pie called out distantly, “Let’s party!”

Melissa didn't recognize the song, and rolled her eyes. She continued digging through the area.

There were many weapons that caught her eye in the WWII section. M1 Garands, German MP40s, Lee Enfields, Thompson Submachine Guns, anything you could casually pick up in a Call of Duty game. There were also the less exciting guns that never made it into those games, like the artillery, and crew-served weapons.

She took particular interest in the M3 “Grease Gun” submachine guns, and the M1 Carbines. Small, reliable, and should be easy to get into production.

Her hopes faded. No time. Not enough time for any of this.

She had to get something together quickly. Perhaps she could assemble some sort of unit that she could command for maximum effectiveness, with equipment she knew well…

The Cold War collection would have to be it, then.

AK-47s, M16s of all sorts, and many FN FALs. A modern Call of Duty game collection of equipment. She made a mental note to select one as a personal weapon.

Melissa noted several boxes that contained a total of 30 Japanese Howa Type 64 rifles, all from the same location, unit, and with most of the same serial numbers. They even came from the same armory. JGSDF Oita Prefecture Garrison. There were other boxes of firearms of course, but this was weird. Few were all from the same place, unit, and time.

Walking among several glass cases, Melissa paused, seeing a small wooden box in one case, under a rifle she had mistaken for an unloaded M16.
It was brown, and unassuming, with no labels and only a single latch. Melissa opened the case, and withdrew the box, undoing the latch.
On the inside of the lid was a silver oval plate, with “MBA-- Gyrojet Rocket Pistol” written in red letters.
The box was lined with velvet, an unusual handgun lay on the right side.

Melissa had seen videos, seen the ones in the NRA museum, but...she’d never expected to actually hold one!

She smiled, slowly reaching out to pick up the weapon. A real 1960s-era MB Associates Gyrojet Rocket Pistol, part of the Gyrojet family. The rifle above it was of the same type.
There were ten rounds set into the left side of the pistol box, on a wooden disk with a bronze bust of Robert H Goddard in the center, the father of modern rocketry.

“Intriguing concept…” A certain Maximal aviator commented, appearing beside her, “Much like our own weapons, propelled by tiny rocket motors instead of by expanding gases.”

With a wistful sigh, Melissa put the weapon back and closed the lid. The ammo was more valuable than the weapon itself, there were so few left back home.
“Yeah, my brother was a nut about these. He always wanted to fire one, but they stopped making ammo in the early 70s. Half of that remainder been worn out by time. Costs a hundred bucks a pop to fire. It’s a pretty interesting idea though. Garrett was always trying to figure out ways for it to function better. From magnetic acceleration to a powder charge, he had a whole file of notes on his phone about it.”

Silverbolt looked at the Gyrojet rifle, “A shame it never went beyond that initial phase. At least its legacy survived in Air Force flare launchers.”

“Yeah,” Melissa sighed, putting her hands in her pockets, “I know why you’re here. I’m still not gonna do it, Silverbolt.”

He glanced back at her. Melissa didn’t look well. She had bags under her eyes, she was leaning on the glass case for support, and her helmet was low over her brow.

“Melissa, please. For everyone’s safety, you must. There is little more than a week before the wedding. If you don’t tell them, you’re putting them all in great danger! You chose me to keep you on the right path, and I must fulfill that duty. Do not dishonor yourself by risking the innocent people in this city!”

Melissa looked at the Cybertronian, his orange eyes without pupils, but conveying emotion; empathy, chivalry, and hope.

She looked at the ground, tapping her foot. She stopped, realizing it was in tune with the music coming from the primary warehouse. Something called the Ballroom Blitz.

“Please...you know it’s the right choice. Everything’s changed already, might there not be a need for the Temporal Prime Directive anymore?”

Melissa shook her head, “That’s not my job. We’re supposed to maintain the timeline as much as possible--”

“Might I remind you that you are a United States Marine Combat Engineer, and not a member of Starfleet? May I also remind you that had Dinobot stayed his hand and followed the Temporal Prime Directive, humanity would have never existed? These things may not be supposed to happen, but they have. We’ve altered the timeline already, but so did my crew, and it turned out for the best.”

“Minus a shuttle and nearly Prime and Megs’ souls…”

Silverbolt took a deep breath, “Melissa. Your oath is not to the timeline--”

“Nor is it to them! My oath is to the constitution!”

“Yes, but is it not a violation of some rule to not tell an ally of the United States that an attack on their capital is imminent? The CIA is not a model to follow in many, many circumstances. It is both legally and morally the right thing to do.”

Melissa put up her index finger to make a statement, but Silverbolt kept talking, “Furthermore, it may be too late to repair the timeline. If that is true, attempting to stay to the proper path may result in disastrous repercussions that you never anticipated. How do you know telling them would not be for the better? From what you’ve been doing, you don’t think the battle is going to play out quite as it did the last time. We know that certain details here are different from the show itself, as well. We don’t know much about Changeling technology, tactics, or troop dispositions.
“In addition, your attempts to hide your knowledge may cause something even worse. I know you intend to help fight them off, but do you have any intention of rescuing Twilight? She is going to be in mortal danger far earlier than the rest of the cast. How will she, or Rarity, or Rainbow Dash react, to the fact that you knew what would happen, and didn’t raise a finger to stop it? You might end up alone again. For good, this time.”

Melissa felt a tingling in her nose, and rubbed at her eyes.

“Melissa, forget the Temporal Prime Directive, or at least don’t follow it so closely. Events don’t have to be identical, they just have to follow the same path. That’s what you’ve done so far, correct? For all we know, it’s a variation of a predestination paradox. Following your heart may result in the outcome you desire!”

“But Silver,” she protested, “Telling them isn’t flowing in the same path, that’s stepping around the path! Everything might be thrown out of balance! The Crystal Empire, Discord, Trixie...even freakin’ Babs Seed or whatever her name is, and...and…”

She glanced around the chamber, devoid of life besides herself and her imaginary friend, but nevertheless added in a low whisper, “And the uh, MA Larson thing.”

Silverbolt stepped back, crossing his arms and nodding, “Alright then. If these are such problems, let us discuss them. Right now. Let us assume that the enemy is lethal. Telling them of the threat will save lives, prevent destruction of the city, and earn us trust. Now, what will happen if we don’t tell them? Great damage, loss of life, loss of trust, and they could even lose the city to the invaders. Monarchies don’t do well if they’ve lost their capital. It could ruin the entire future, the lives your friends have earned for themselves destroyed! Melissa, you hold so much power in your hands, think of all the good that might come if we do tell them!”

Scowling, Melissa snapped, “Wasn’t half your show about maintaining the timeline? We don’t know what might happen if we do or don’t tell them!”

Silverbolt flinched at her tone, but remained calm and cool, “The timeline is important, but at what point does this end? The show has not. Are you going to do this for the rest of your life? Are you going to be a slave to it, or are you going to be a master of your own fate, and do what you know is right?”

He considered briefly, before quoting, “‘These disks I hold, are they a record of what will be, or only what may? For if the future is indeed immutably foretold, then my demise is but moments from the confirmation. For I could not live if not the master of my fate! But if the future can be changed, if these disks record merely one path of all the myriad ways the cosmos might conform, then their power is infinite! And yet, still limited, for they could be used but once and in that change be rendered fiction forever more. I could destroy them! But no... it would be a coward's answer. I will know the truth instead. Then, it will be either them or me that face oblivion…’”

Silverbolt exhaled, “A good friend of mine said that. You are at such an impasse as he was. We must make a decision. Will it be you or the timeline facing its end?”

Melissa felt a tremor run through her. Calculations, projections, estimates ran through her mind, dozens of alternate timelines that may result from this one small change.
Lauren Faust’s creation, it was fiction, wasn’t it? And yet here events seemed to be playing out in the right way. She’d made it here on blind luck alone…

Not alone. She’d had friends behind her. Friends who’d forgiven her for all she’d done.

Would they forgive her if Equestria fell to the invaders, because one stupid marine thought she knew what was best? Not best for the country, but best for six individuals?

It wasn’t that simple, though. They were vital to the survival of the planet, they had(and would continue to) saved the world a dozen times over. If they didn’t go quite on the right path, it could prove disastrous.

Or it could be for the better.

She could be the master of her own fate. She hadn’t come here on purpose, and the timeline was already altered. She’d improved the livelihood of the ponies, hadn’t she?
How could she betray them like this? Betray her friends, betray her beliefs, betray everything she held dear for an ideal timeline that may not even exist?

This clearly wasn’t the show she knew. Two humans present was enough evidence of that.
What right did she have to interfere?

What right did she have to act like the damn CIA and manipulate an entire nation?

All her life she’d cursed those fools, the ones responsible for many troubles, for all the destruction they wrought in their never-ending pissing contest with the Soviets, and who had caused the death of hundreds of thousands over seventy years.
How could she threaten to do the same thing here?

How could she try to interfere, how could she threaten to steal away the lives her friends had earned for themselves?

Was her knowledge too dangerous? Would it be better if she just left?

She contemplated the weapons around her. Enough explosives from across the centuries to crater the moon.
Would it be better to end it all? End humanity’s influence on this beautiful race of kind people, and end herself?
No. Even suicide and total destruction of the archives wouldn’t solve anything. That would still be playing god. Refusal to help was just as good as interference. That was something about the conventional Prime Directive that always stuck in her craw.

She sank to her knees, leaning against the cabinet holding the Gyrojets.

Bringing out her wallet, she stared at the photo inside, at her family.

Hiraeth. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be back where she belonged.

The things she could do with the power she held. The weapons and knowledge at her disposal. She could rule the planet, she could emplace a democracy, she could…she could…

She couldn’t decide.

“Silverbolt, let’s say I tell them. How do I do it without coming across as insane or paranoid? And what about the rest of the season? Do I tell them about that?”

Silverbolt looked off into the distance, “That...feels like a much more delicate subject. There comes a point when ‘precognition’ stumbles into the territory of ‘insanity’.”

“Then there comes a point when saving lives turns into manipulation. Am I helping by telling them, or am I stealing their lives from them? Remember in Axis of Time, the historical figures who lost their lives, had their achievements produced before they ever got the chance? The lives they’d earned lost forever?”

The Maximal raised his eyebrows, “The only way to truly avoid that is not to be here in the first place. We are here, and we are here now. I ask you, will you continue to be a slave to the timeline, continue the ultimately futile goal of following a timeline that may not have even existed in the first place, or be your own person, and use your knowledge to help them? You don’t have to inform them of much, just enough to do the right thing. Find the right time to tell them of the rest of it, but for now, please, by the Allspark, tellthem about the oncoming storm.”

Melissa hung her head, looking at the photo in her hands. Somewhat to her surprise, she didn’t break down, she didn’t panic, there was no rush of anxiety. There was simply a feeling of cold stability.

Getting to her feet, the marine closed the Gyrojet cabinet, and put her hands in her pockets. Back through the archives she went, moving through the side chambers instead of the primary warehouse.

The music was still there, but there weren’t anymore sounds of partying, and the music itself was subdued rather than energetic. It seemed she’d managed to survive not attending one of Pinkie’s parties.
She made her way into the library section, a warehouse this time almost as big as the primary one. There were scrolls, stone tablets, newspapers, and books. Hundreds of thousands of books. Scanning the contents of the shelves, she found that only the late 19th century onwards were organized by fiction and nonfiction. Roughly around the time when they started printing that information on the spine of the book.

Applejack was standing in one alcove, squinting at the text of a book in the low light offered by the light bulbs. To the marine’s relief, she had finally found a coat of some kind. Plaid of course. She glanced up, “Hey, Melissa! Where ya been?”

“Around.” she replied quietly, “Thinking.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow, but neglected to comment, “Well, you missed one heckuva party.”

“I would’ve come, but I’d rather not spend my evening keeping everyone’s sex organs under control.”

Applejack snorted, “It wasn’t quite that bad. Just Pinkie and Dash.”

“I expected that, but you guys should do more experiments with this before you do something like this. Human and pony hormones vary wildly. Ever seen Rick and Morty…?”

Politely, Applejack shook her head until Melissa smacked her forehead and recalled where she was.
“...Never mind. Hormones are extremely unpredictable even with creatures that belong to that species. I have no idea if their behavior was natural or the result of human horniness. I don’t know how your, ehm…reproductive systems function.”

Applejack shrugged, “It’s not too hard to understand. It’s probably a lot like your own--”

Melissa held up her hands, “Nope! Nope, I was not asking for an explanation!”

The former-earth pony squinted, “What’s the big deal? It’s just--”

“Yes, I know, I know, I know! Americans are just like that! We’re massive embarrassed prudes!”

Applejack grinned, “I know. Ah was just teasing ya.”

Melissa gave a mock-growl, then smiled, “Man, Equestria’s such an interesting place. 19th century tech, but a socially-enlightened utopia. One minute I’m homesick, the next I’m wishing home would come here. I haven’t gotten hit on in the grossest way possible even once since I got here!”

Applejack looked puzzled, “...You feeling okay?”

Melissa coughed, and looked at the book Applejack held.

Her eyes widened, “Oh, hey! Tintin! Oh, I read all of them a hundred times! My mom was a huge fan, we used to read them together!”

She glanced at the shelf nearby, running her hand along one until she came to several editions collected in protective bags and spells, “Holy shit! Destination Moon, Flight 716, Secret of the Unicorn... they’ve got the magazine versions, the regular books, the collections...ooh boy, they’ve got Tintin in the Congo. Best to forget about that one...”

Melissa gently pulled a 70s copy of The Crab With the Golden Claws off the shelf. She couldn’t see the actual book itself, the cover had been traced onto the outside of a parchment wrapping protected by a spell, but it was still enough to flash memories of her mother’s collection.

“Captain Haddock was always the best. ‘Billions of blue-blistering barnacles’! Spielberg’s movie was great--I wonder if they have it here…”

Melissa twitched her fingers at the flap of the comic she held, yearning to open it and take a stroll down memory lane, but slowly curled her fingers back. The hiraeth struck again.

Applejack raised an eyebrow once again, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I…”

She rubbed her eyes, wavering unsteadily on her feet.

“Sugarcube, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“Course I could. I’ll check in with Twilight and Andrew, and I’ll go...do the thing…”

She started to walk away, then added, “Turn back into a pony before you go to bed--before you sleep I mean-- please. I do not want to have to deal with one of those stupid plots when...never mind. Full stop.”

Applejack somehow raised her eyebrow even further than before, “Mel, are you sure you--”

“Hey, Melissa!” Andrew called, thankfully interrupting the farmer.

The corporal glanced over, and still felt a massive twinge of uncomfortableness seeing Twilight walking beside Andrew as the pair approached.

Twilight smiled a little, “You missed a Pinkie Pie party. How’d you manage that?”

Melissa furrowed her brow, “Y’know, I wondered the same thing myself. Don’t jinx it.”

“I dunno, that seems like a good question. I’ve never seen anyone evade Pinkie as much as you have…” Applejack commented.

“I think I may have put it in her head that Melissa has a heart condition…Keeping her away from you while you were recovering...” Andrew scratched his head, mumbling.

Melissa squinted, then realization struck, “That explains a bunch of the mail I’ve been getting. Diabetes on a plate and apology letters.”

The marine abruptly noticed the iphone held in Andrew’s hand, the one recovered from the Sophia. “You’re being careful with that, right?”

Andrew glanced at it, “Oh, yeah. Was just showing Twilight the Dream Chaser stuff. Hey, Melissa...I was wondering, did you get anything from the Sophia’s flight recorder?”

Melissa nodded, “Oh, I got more than that! I got video, audio, and sensor data! I was trying to show it to you earlier today, but we got caught up in everything, and...I guess it slipped my mind!”

“Can we see it?” Andrew asked excitedly.

“I’ll get my pocket projector!”

She glanced at the temporarily-not-ponies, “Did either of you want to see it, or…?”

Applejack straightened up, “Ah gotta turn in with the rest. Human bodies are really exhausting! Twilight, you gonna see this...recorder?”

Twilight nodded, “Of course!”

Melissa winced as she added, “One more thing; Twilight, please go back to normal.”

“What? Why?”

Flushing, Melissa grumbled, “To be honest, this whole thing kinda makes me uncomfortable, and...I don’t know if I can trust you two to keep your hands off each other.”

Andrew’s face went red, and his voice faltered, “You really think--”

“Andy, shut up. I’m in charge of the flight recorder viewing session, and I’m the only other American human around! I can tell when some people are feeling...oh, when people are feeling horny, alright?!

Applejack and Twilight glanced at each other. This human prudishness they would never understand.