Author’s Note: There is some original text/dialogue in this chapter lifted from Hands that I claim no credit for.

Andrew and Twilight, now back to pony form, sat on a couch in one of Canterlot Castle’s many drawing rooms, looking at a wall opposite them upon which was projected a windows 10 desktop. The pocket projector was duct-taped to a rig behind them macgyvered together out of a chair, a broom, and a plank of wood.

Melissa sat on the couch to the side of them, growling at the USN laptop she held.

“For fuck’s sake, I had it working earlier!”

“Flight recorder--sss-- playback- United States --sss-- FS-38 Heavy--sss--eavy Fighter [Charlie Sierra --sss-- 16th, 20--sss--.” the synthesized voice, slightly distorted and barely intelligible halted with a clack of a spacebar.

Melissa edited one final detail, manipulating the windows open on the screen. One was an audio player, a handful dedicated to sensor data, and the rest were several video players.

Pressing the spacebar once again, the command prompt blinked to life.

“1253: All systems online.”

The progress bars on the players began to move slowly along. “Flight recorder playback…” the machine repeated, much more clearly, “United States Air Force Space Command FS-38 Heavy Orbital Fighter [Charlie Sierra Two-Five], --sss-- 16th, 20--sss--.”

One of the video players came to life, revealing the interior of the Sophia. Much of the damage was absent in the footage, and it seemed far more cramped.

The equipment, fire extinguishers, survival kits, and other items that were now laid about in the archives, occupied all of their proper places in the video. Two figures were strapped into the acceleration couches.

Audio from the camera was silent, the sounds all came from the flight recorder data. It was distorted by other comm chatter, noises close to the microphones, but audible enough.

They wore what looked like modified versions of Launch Entry Suits worn on the space shuttle, with smaller helmets and a more militaristic flare, though the colors were still the same. One had her faceplate open, revealing a woman with dark hair and pleasant eyes inside. She appeared to be in her twenties, and was clearly a pilot. Her suit had two strips of material on either side of her chest. The name “Brennan” was stenciled on the left strip, and “US Navy” on the right. An American flag was on one shoulder, and a unit insignia on the other. On one sleeve was the insignia of a junior grade lieutenant.

Despite the military variant of the Dream Chaser being a USAF vehicle, it was likely that trained military astronauts were limited in number, and not all selected could be air force.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Brennan held an iphone--the very same iphone now back in its proper place aboard the Sophia-- awkwardly to her ear, calling to whoever was on the other end in a bubbly sing-song tone.

“Hello-o-o? Isaac, are you there? Pick up!”

The other pilot flipped open his own faceplate, displaying an unremarkable young dark-haired male. His own rank was ensign; he was also navy, his nameplate reading “Chapman”.

He sighed, “Starbuck, c’mon! You’re gonna get us in trouble! I doubt he’s even gonna pick up. The hull’s built like a faraday cage.”

Brennan rolled her eyes, but punched her co-pilot lightly on the arm when there was an audible click, and a voice replied, “Nicole?”

“Hey there, hon. Of course it’s me, you think I’d--” her voice cut off when Melissa hit the fast-forward button on her carefully-made assembly of three different recordings. They had no right to listen into someone else’s conversation with their spouse or family member.

When Brennan finally put the phone into the console in fast-motion, Melissa released the button.

Their radio crackled to life, “Ghostbuster Control to all stations. Reporting one worker injured in arcing accident. Check in with any other accident reports.”

It must have been some sort of code. The astronauts, or perhaps naval aviators, clamped their clear faceplates shut, and ran through a series of commands and controls, a variant on that Melissa had carried out.

The command prompt list ran through the list of actions alongside.

“Nest, we ready to go?” Brennan, or Starbuck as her callsign must have been, inquired, reaching for one final control.

“We are as ready as we ever will be.” Chapman, or Nest, replied, “Phasers online, engine’s prepped, all missiles read ready. We are go for launch.”

“Station Charlie Sierra 2-5,” Starbuck said, reaching up to the side of her helmet, “Reporting two injuries. No fatalities.”

Other stations replied with different parts of the NATO phonetic alphabet, a few reporting fatalities, injuries, and other presumed-code words.

“All stations, this is Ghostbuster Control. ETA, five minutes to arrival of medical personnel. Ensure all safety equipment is ready.”

Nest and Starbuck pulled down additional faceplates, black visors that obscured their faces.

“C> All_Visual_Sensors_Online.” the other video plays snapped open, revealing the outside of the Sophia. Most of the views were obscured by metal plates, or partially blocked, but a handful were useful. One showed a view of what looked like a small town or base in the distance, with scaffolding and the cement of a drydock taking up the foreground. In the bottom right corner of each camera was a label, with this one being “Dorsal 1.”

Odd that there would be a drydock in the middle of the desert...though it was a spacecraft. Area 51 would be a great place to put it. Empty and radiation had already soaked the nearby soil during nuclear testing.

Others revealed views that made Melissa’s jaw drop. The Sophia wasn’t on its own individual launch system, it was attached to a much bigger system.

“Whoa…” she muttered.

“Hol-eey shit…” Andrew whispered.

It was attached to a launch system with dozens of other ships. Those that were visible on this side of the launch system were a pair of space shuttles, more Dream Chasers, and a handful of Orion and Dragon space capsules. All were modified for war, missiles, phasers, railguns, there were additional modules attached to most of them to add to the firepower; one was strapped to the Sophia’s aft hatch. In addition to the space capsules and space planes, there were several…

”Are those Starfuries?!” Melissa said, disbelieving.

“What?” Andrew asked.

“The spacecraft from Babylon 5,” Twilight said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “You watched it, right?”

Andrew nodded, “Of course I did...but what the hell are they doing there?!”

More than a dozen of the x-shaped vessels were arrayed around the other craft, stuffed in wherever there was room, and probably more around the rest of the launch system out of sight. They were missiles mounted on their wings and a pair of weapons underneath the cockpit at the center of the “X”.

Melissa rolled her eyes, “Obviously they wanted a spacecraft actually designed for combat. Most realistic space fighters ever made, and NASA expressed real-world interest in the design back in the late 90s. Besides, what else are they gonna throw up there? The MiG-105 and the Dyna Soar, and those were pretty primitive. Wonder what the B5 cast thinks…”

“What?! Real-world interest?!”

“Shut up and watch the video, man…”

Andrew spoke up again, “Whoa, hold on! Look at that!”

All three dropped their jaws at what they saw.

The aft camera tilted of its own accord, staring at the bottom of the craft. The other cameras moved to examine the rest of the ship as well. Likely, Sophia’s crew was antsy before takeoff, and were trying to calm their nerves.
They were looking at the ship they were attached to; it wasn’t just a disposable launch system.

It was tall, with a massive plate at the bottom instead of rockets. The plate was connected to titanic shock absorbers, squeezed into what little space there was that wasn’t occupied by auxiliary craft. There was a similar plate in a dome shape on the top as well.
“Melissa, is that the Michael from Footfall?” Andrew gasped.

“I think so!”

There was no doubt about what it was, Melissa’s mind quickly racing through her knowledge of Cold War crazier-than-a-bag-of-cats space travel technologies. There were many insane ones, like the dick-measuring contest “let’s drop a nuke on the moon so big we can see the blast from Earth” idea, or the “let two guys build the nuclear-powered moon base” plan, but few were crazier than the Orion Drive.

As they explained to Twilight, Project Orion was the brainchild of scientists and politicians and generals with little regard for the environment. It was the quickest way to get a large ship into space very quickly. One would place a craft atop a metal plate, and detonated a nuclear device underneath, riding the concussion like a surfboard, and throwing more nukes behind it as it climbed. Due to the massive amount of radiation and damage this type of engine would create, it was never used. It had been used in the novel Footfall for a similar invasion, though, and was a pretty practical space battleship design for early 21st century technology.

Melissa guessed the second plate might have been built so that they wouldn’t have to turn around to slow themselves down, and/or armor.

The use of the Orion drive did not bode well for the state of Earth.This certainly meant that the aliens had hit with such force that the United States was willing to blast a portion of real-estate into oblivion to fight back.

The ship was clearly a battleship, judging by the ordnance. Lots of ordnance. Directed-energy weapon arrays, vertical launch systems of the same style as US Navy vessels, railguns, and several gun turrets that looked as though they had been ripped right off an Iowa-class battleship. They were the least of the weapons Melissa could see, it was enough to tell that it was a warship.

Melissa swelled with pride, her engineering, marine, and american sides all coalescing into one at the first space battleship ever built by human hands. Her environmentally friendly side was feeling really torn.

A distant voice cut in on the radio, “Perimeter station 12 to all stations. Enemy contacts inbound. Combat air patrols engaging. They’re--” the speaker was cut off with a squelch of static.

“Station 12, come in! Station 12!” the desperate call rang out through the recording, and Brennan’s hand balled into a fist.

“Company’s coming. Get this bucket in the air already, for crying out loud!”

On the horizon, several puffs of smoke could be seen erupting from seemingly nowhere.

“Starbuck, it’s kind of a complicated process to set off a nuke under our asses.” Nest commented, “It ain’t a job you wanna rush.”

“Hey, we’re navy aviators,” Starbuck replied, “We’re not supposed to be sittin’ on our hands back with the battleship, we’re supposed to be at the head of the fleet!”

“Yeah, good luck getting a Chaser off the ground in atmosphere!” Nest snorted back, then added dryly, “Better get out your umbrellas because it’s gonna be raining!...dead-ass astronauts.”

“Oh, blow me.” though Starbuck’s face couldn’t be seen, judging by the body language, the two were friends. She hit him lightly on the shoulder again, and Nest returned the gesture.

In the background, someone reported “All stations ready.” Abruptly, all comm chatter cut out, and a humming began. It was a tune of some kind, repeating in a sequence, before electronic music came to life.

Melissa grinned as she recognized the music immediately. The Final Countdown.

The song was another code, apparently. The pilots tensed up as the music continued to build, and the recorder caught the sound of Nest praying.

he song started up, the music swelling. Electronic tones pulsed the tune of the song.

There was no comm chatter at all. The song was being used to jam the frequencies.

A voice slowly faded in, counting down from ten to one.

Several of the cameras washed into static, the crew compartment feed fizzled with light, as Starbuck and Nest were slammed back in their seats.
The audio cut out into static, only a deep rumbling being audible.

“...Final countdown!” Audio returned for the briefest instant, the music becoming fast, powerful, and exhilarating with guitars squealing. The aft camera reactivated for a second, revealing that the Orion-class battleship had lifted off the ground, already climbing to a few hundred meters. A more clear detonation could be heard this time as the next nuke went off,“The final countdown!”
Another detonation.

Wham! The detonations cut off parts of the song, fragmenting the words.

Wham!

Wham!

Wham!

The blasts began to grow further apart, allowing the song to come through clear.

“It’s the final countdown! The final countdown! The final countdown!”

The radio finally came back online, cutting off the mad guitar solo to the mild disappointment of the Sophia’s crew. A commanding voice called out, “This is the United States Space Battleship Enterprise to all stations. We are free and flying.”

Andrew grinned, “Of course it’s called Enterprise.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Melissa commented.

“Well, some I suppose, but that’s beside the point.”

The overloaded cameras finally were able to regain focus, just in time for the blue to fade from the surroundings and black to take over.

“We made it…” Nest exhaled, but Starbuck was already hard at work, “Make sure everything survived intact. Don’t want to be left out of the fight!”

As they ran through another series of checks, other voices came on the line to affirm their status.
The minutes crawled by slowly. Eventually something else came over the comm lines. Foreign accents, in several languages.

Finally, one by one, they switched to english, “This is the Russian Federation Battleship
Admiral Ushakov to all stations. All systems online and ready for action.”

“This is the European Union Battleship Argo. We’re ready to go.”

“This is the Pan-Asiatic Battleship Dawn. We report successful takeoff.”

So the nations had cooperated. Kind of. Against all odds, against all the Cold-War-paranoia-possessed people, against everything everyone had believed, Earth had united.
All the nuclear-armed nations at least.
Another blast buffeted the Enterprise’s pusher-plate, moving italong its path. Distantly, the sensors registered silhouettes of other spacecraft, and outlined them for the pilots. The battleship’s phasers tilted, and turned, a graphic being drawn for the human observer’s benefit to show where they were firing. It was extreme combat range, too far for railguns or parasite craft; only certain directed-energy weapons and missiles had the range for it.

Sensors detected a rise in certain radiation types every time the pusher-plate was blasted, and beams could be seen at the same instant.

“Think they’re using Project Excalibur?” Melissa wondered, watching through the aft cameras the devices that tumbled out milliseconds before being annihilated.

“I guess so. Isn’t that what they used in the book?”

Project Excalibur, a more recent Cold War insanity plan. As part of the Strategic Defense Initiative, or the “Star Wars” project, high-powered directed-energy weapons were extremely difficult to produce, being sitting ducks if hooked up to a nuclear reactor on the off chance that they worked.
One plan for providing power was...unconventional, to say the least. X-rays, released by atomic blasts, travel faster than the explosion, and were part of a directed-energy weapon. So the plan was to surround a nuclear device with laser mediums. When the Soviets launched missiles, the device would detonate, sending out blasts of x-rays through the laser mediums to generate beams of energy to destroy the warhead before the blast could erase the medium.
In defense, it was...not very useful. There were several easy ways around defensive use, that was the reason it hadn’t been implemented. However, they were extremely powerful, and if you had nuclear blasts to spare, why waste the energy?

Hollywood would have immediately made the space battle quick and dirty, ships dodging and weaving amongst one another. Even in modern conflicts they always followed that trope, wishing fighting to be done face-to-face, instead of sensor-to-sensor as it was more commonly done. They still didn’t understand how big battlefields on the ground were, let alone space. Close engagements happened, make no mistake, but it took a long time to get to that point.

The battle at present was a slow climb around the orbit, the missiles and x-ray lasers being the only weapons firing. According to some of the archived sensor readings, it would be twenty minutes before they approached the small cloud of sensor contacts hovering over the planet.

“Figures. They get us all keyed up for this battle, and we end up sitting it out for an hour.” Starbuck grumbled.

Nest made some sort of motion in his suit. Maybe it was a nod. “I feel like hurry up and wait is the creepy stalker down the street, who won’t leave you alone no matter how many restraining orders you put on him. And he keeps getting in your house no matter how many times you figure out ways of dealing with him.”

“That’s awfully specific, Nest.”

“Eh, I had time to think of it. Been watching a lot of Zero Punctuation lately..”

Some time later, the order came down for the parasite craft to detach.

The Enterprise fired several thrusters to create a spin, using centrifugal force alone to send its fighters out in a spiral formation to avoid any chance of collision, and spread their firepower out as much as possible.

The Sophia’s weapons package was revealed in all its glory, rolling with the momentum from the Enterprise and exposing itself to the sun. They were bolted on wherever they could fit.

What looked like Phoenix missiles accompanied a handful of missiles Melissa couldn’t immediately identify. They had stealth surfaces, but were larger than the Phoenix-lookalikes. She knew about some stealth anti-ship platform the Navy had been developing, but it wasn’t supposed to be in service for another few years. Evidently, the program had been accelerated or something with similar capabilities was designed for ship-to-ship combat.
Attached to the Sophia’s aft hatch was a tubular module, with numerous covers marked with “danger” symbols. It was a pod of additional small missiles, possibly based on the Evolved Sea Sparrow missile.

Targeting solutions were calculated. Missile racks released their loads, igniting their engines and soaring off into the dark.

The runtime jumped ahead some time. The enemy fleet leaped closer, the Enterprise and the other three battleships closing the distance, the parasites either targeting incoming missiles or swarming enemy ships.

Melissa commented, “I already watched this part a few dozen times. Skipped ahead to the more vital parts.”

The vicious knife-fight had come. It still wasn’t as Hollywood depicted it though, not like World War II dogfights. They could barely see the enemy targets, only as indicators on the displays. The parasite craft would make long thruster burns, then twirl around to shoot at another ship in the distance as they continued moving forward. Craft would engage one another in quick, short engagements, mere seconds long at most, with firing dictated by pre-programmed systems.

Several craft on both sides, gleaming white, grey, red or blue human ships, or gentle black enemy ships, were clearly disabled. Others were still on the courses they took before being destroyed, others even still firing their engines, but the computer registered them as disabled.

Many of the ships hit were not dead, they could probably move under their own power within hours but they were effectively out of the fight.

The Sophia, most of her missiles now gone, was rapidly firing thrusters, the pilots yelling reports at one another, concerned about something they could see with the naked eye.

On one of the cameras, a starfury was spinning toward them, jets of gas spewing in all directions.
“Collision alert. Collision alert. Collision alert…” the computer repeated over and over, and Starbuck tapped the controls, trying to maneuver out of the way in time.

There was a hard and sudden wham!

They briefly touched, no serious damage but enough to send both ships careening away in opposite directions.

The Sophia attempted to right itself, flung toward a larger enemy spacecraft. The enemy ship was venting atmosphere, and its point defense was damaged. Vulnerable.

Melissa noted how strange it was that the Sophia would collide with one ship, already a very low chance, and subsequently be flung toward another so quickly

“Packed neighborhood,” Starbuck commented, clearly thinking the same thoughts as Melissa, then yelled, “Nest, target that ship! Gimme everything you’ve got!”

“Copy!”

Her co-pilot input commands, and on ventral and dorsal cameras, hell was unleashed. The aft module’s remaining panels blasted away, volleys of rockets ejected from their recesses before the module detached, empty, vanishing rapidly into the chaos of space. Two of their four remaining anti-ship missiles drifted away from the spacecraft briefly, before their engines engaged and they quickly overtook their smaller cousins.

The Sophia tilted upwards, and main engines fired for a brief instant, enough to lever them above the other ship. It shuddered under the impact, small black figures visible being flung out into space as hallways decompressed. The enemy ship was rendered a husk of its former self, still hurtling along its orbit in the opposite direction of the Sophia like a phantom.

“Priority target trying to move away!” Nest called out, and reported the direction, “Not a mothership, one of their assault transports. The Atlantis, Bravo flight, and some Russian fighters are engaging, requesting assistance.”

“We’ve still got armaments. Let’s go and help.”

They joined several blue radar contacts in engaging a larger red one; starfuries, a large white space shuttle, even a few MiG-105s were involved.

The vessel had good gunners. Within minutes, a flight of MiGs were knocked out of the sky, the starfuries missiles shot out of the sky. The Atlantis was still going at it, but at this rate they’d have to abort.

A burn from an enemy laser scorched the American flag on the side of the Sophia, and Starbuck cursed angrily, “Why won’t this thing die?!”

It had already shot down their remaining missiles, and their phasers wouldn’t cut it.

“We might have to leave this one to a battleship, Starbuck,” Nest said, “These guys aren’t messing around!”

“They’re busy, Nest, they got the dreadnoughts to deal with.”

“We don’t have any missiles left! We can’t take that thing alone! We don’t have the ordnance!”

“They know that, that’s why we’re still in the fight. I’m guessing they wanted to scare us. But they don’t know we’ve still got one missile left.”

Nest looked through his opaque visor at her. No words were exchanged, not even a nod. They knew what was at stake.

“Setting for full-velocity ram.”

Starbuck got on the radio, “Atlantis, this is Charlie Sierra 2-5. Break off now.”

“2-5, what the hell are you doing?”

“Get ready to kick that thing if it’s still moving.”

Starbuck looked at her friend again, this time exchanging a nod. She transmitted over the radio, “Non sibi sed patriae.”

“Non sibi sed patriae.” Nest repeated.

“Good luck 2-5. Atlantis out.”

Acceleration pushed them back in their seats, and the enemy ship loomed in the foreground of the camera. The phasers fired continuously, the computer lighting their paths in, burning away at the hull and a weapon emplacement.

“Collision alert. Collision alert. Collision alert.” they knew the computer could not feel, but to the human observers, it almost sounded resigned in its report.

Even a ramming in space took a long time. It took time to change their delta-v, and time to close with the target.

“Anchors aweigh my boys, anchors aweigh,” Starbuck began to sing, prompting Nest to join in, “Farewell to foreign shores, we sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay. Through our last night ashore, drink to the foam, until we meet once more. Here’s wishing you a happy voyage home!”

To their shock, a hundred meters from contact, the assault transport began to warp in space, stretching into the distance. Before they knew what was happening, reality was stretching around them too.

The cameras turned to snow. From the date stamps, they recorded two days of static.

The flight recorder recorded an interval of a few seconds.

And to the pilots, it was instantaneous.

A wash of static was followed by Starbuck’s voice, the cameras were still out. “...what was that?”.

“No idea. Are we dead?” there was a whap sound, “Ow.”

“Guess not. Check in with the Atlantis. Maybe we can make another run if reinforcements can get over here.”

The cameras returned, revealing the pilots to be none the worse for wear. They also revealed that there was nothing in the surrounding space. No debris, no transport, no ships, nothing. The sun was about to crest the horizon in the next few minutes, light could be seen hitting the edge of the atmosphere.

The pilots soon realized this. “Must’ve been knocked out or something, drifted.” Nest thought.

“If it was that long, I think we’d have bigger problems. I don’t remember hitting my head.” Starbuck replied.

“Yeah, but you wouldn't remember.”

“Okay, yeah, but our helmets aren't smashed, and there's no blood. You? No? Good. Sensors aren’t detecting anything in the vicinity. I’ll keep an eye out. You try to get someone on the horn. Something fishy is going on here.”

Nest began flipping controls, “This is Charlie Sierra 2-5 to Atlantis. Do you copy, over?”

There was no response.

“This is Charlie Sierra 2-5 to Enterprise. Enterprise, Do you read?”

The ship creaked audibly. It was virtually silent otherwise.

“This is Charlie Sierra 2-5 to any United Nations forces in the area. Does anyone copy?”

Minutes passed as they checked their systems, broadcasting over and over with no reply.

“I’m going back there to check those damn systems myself.” Starbuck said, unstrapping herself and pulling herself aft. She drifted into the bulkhead, and began fiddling with connections and devices.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is United States interceptor Charlie Sierra 2-5 to any station that can hear my voice. Does anyone copy?”

Still no response.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. Can anyone hear me? This is United States Space Command interceptor Charlie-Sierra 2-5 to anyone who can hear my voice. Does anyone copy? Repeat, this is a United States Space Command interceptor broadcasting on all frequencies to anyone who can hear me. Is there anyone out there? Isn’t there anyone?”

More minutes passed.

“Nest, I don’t think anyone’s going to be responding just yet.” Starbuck was aft, near the rear docking hatch, looking out through a porthole.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, attempting to rub the bridge of his nose but hitting his faceplate.

“That’s not Earth out there.”

“What?” he demanded, whipping around to peer at her through the reactor.

“Tell me I’m seeing things, man. Look out there and tell me that’s Asia and that I’m seeing things. I’m begging you.”

Nest checked the cameras, and balked at the sight. He pulled himself to the windows, lifting the layers of flash protection screens and coughing at the sight.

“Starbuck, I hate to tell you this...I see it too. What happened? Where are we?”

Starbuck peered out at the unfamiliar continents on the planet below, before pushing herself away from the hatch and moving back toward the crew compartment.
“Are you sure there’s no sign of any other contacts?” she inquired.

“Positive. At least nothing on this side of the globe. If we wait a bit, something else might come around. What do you think happened?”

Starbuck popped her helmet seal, letting it drift away as she reached into a container and retrieved a package of food.
“Priority target must’ve been trying to escape, used whatever they used to get between stars, and we got caught in the backwash.”

“This can’t be their homeworld, there’s no radio, satellites, or any kind of signals we can pick up.” Nest noted.

“Does something caught in a boat’s wake get carried all the way to its destination? We could be hundreds of light-years from home orbiting some backwater rock.” Starbuck grimaced.

“Oh. Well then...” Nest unstrapped himself and moved around to look back at her. “What now, skipper?”

“Right now? Survive. And gather data. I’m no scientist, but our girl still has sensors. First astronauts outside the solar system, might as well get something done.”

They moved about the compartment, bringing what they had online. There was an alarm as some safety protocols were violated, but was quickly silenced.

A while later, the sun finally came around the planet, and they could see the continents in greater detail.
“It’s...it’s green.” Starbuck muttered in disbelief, “An atmosphere. Liquid water. Green continents.”

“It’s a class 1 planet!” Nest exclaimed, “It’s a class 1!”

They took pictures, readings, everything they could think of. They weren’t professional astronauts, merely navy flyers, and didn’t understand some of the equipment, but they knew which buttons to press that meant “go”. The ship was designed with atmospheric data probes for reentry, but they could also read some of what was up this high.

The results came back. It took some time and consulting of manuals, and resulted in Starbuck’s deafening cry of “Habitable! Oxygen-nitrogen! And those look like trees to me! What else could be that green?”

The cameras shook with their celebration. They quickly reverted to their professional nature after a sudden realization.
“Great. We have somewhere to go, but we ain’t got nowhere to go.” Starbuck realized, “How are we going to land this bucket?”

“Like the Soyuz?” Suggested Nest.

“No, we can’t come down just anywhere. This bird isn’t built for that. I think we might have to make a dry riverbed landing.”

Nest stared at her, “Starbuck, are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“Nest, we’ve got three choices. Asphyxiate, dry riverbed landing, and water landing. Four if you count shooting ourselves, five with spacing ourselves. Now, two of those options might give us a chance of survival. I don’t like the thought of a water landing, because who the hell’s gonna pick us up? Dry bed, period. It’s no runway, and we’ll probably ruin her underside, but I don’t have any hope of getting her back up anytime soon anyway. With luck, we might not die. You got any better ideas?”

Nest glanced at a radar display, “...Maybe investigate this object before we decide on anything?”

“Object?”

“Yeah, radar contact, just came over the horizon, it...it...Starbuck,” he looked at her with hopeful eyes, “It’s broadcasting IFF! One Starfury, bravo flight!”

Starbuck drifted over, and switched on the communications array, “Bravo, this is Charlie Sierra 2-5. Are we glad to see you. What’s your status?”

There was no response from the fighter. “Bravo, do you copy? This is Charlie Sierra 2-5.”

“Looks like it took some damage in the fight. Maybe their communications are out?”

Starbuck shrugged, “Bravo, this is 2-5. If you can hear me but cannot transmit, give us a sign. Anything will do.”

The fighter remained still. No lights, no movement, nothing.

“Nest, bring us closer, and get ready to depressurize the compartment. I’m going to do an EVA and see if they’re dead.”

“You need anything?” Nest asked.

“Hot coffee and shower when I get back? Also, a tether might be nice.”

The Sophia thrusted forward, pulling alongside the drifting fighter. It was spinning in its orbit, and they followed along with it, trying to match the spin.

Once they were close enough, they sealed their suits and the compartment depressurized. The cameras watched as she pushed the hatch open, and drifted out into open space.

Latching the tether onto a handhold, she pushed off toward the darkened fighter, her orange suit clashing with the starfury’s grey exterior.

Starbuck slammed into one of its wings painfully.

“Starbuck, status? How’s your suit?” Nest demanded, afraid for his comrade.

“It’s fine, don’t be a worrywart.” her normal unprofessional attitude seeped into her voice, then disappeared as quickly as it came. “Damn, the cockpit’s been compromised. Maybe the pilot--”

There was a sudden silence, and Nest bowed his head. “Are they…?”

“Yep. Punched a hole in her helmet. One-in-a-million chance, got her but the rest of the ship’s functional. We’ve got weapons, most of the sensors, a couple fuel cells left, the RTG...it’s working, though not well.”

The spinning of the fighter decreased as several retro rockets fired. The Sophia quickly shifted with it. The fighter was soon nose-down toward the Sophia’s upper hatch. Nest unstrapped himself on Starbuck’s orders and moved to the hatch, catching pieces of cargo that were flung toward him. Survival packs, tools, a fire extinguisher, and other equipment.

“I’m gonna see if I can grab her kit.” by their voices, neither liked the idea. Melissa recalled the emergency kit was stored in the backs of spacesuits, and access would require unstrapping the body.

Nothing was visible in the shadows, the cockpit lights were out and the Sophia’s cameras weren’t at a good angle.

“Got it.”

A bright orange bag drifted down toward the open hatch.

“What about her tags?” Nest asked.

“What do you think I’m trying to get?” Starbuck growled. She was silent for a moment, and there were sounds of movement. She held her breath, before releasing it heavily, “Got ‘em. They were hooked on the outside of her suit. Jeez, would’ve helped to have known that.”

Starbuck pulled herself back toward the Sophia. It took a few minutes to pressurize the ship.

Nest pulled off his helmet, “Who was she?”

“Air force. Warrant Officer Ellen Weaver.”

“Never met her.”

“Me neither.”

They took a moment of silence for their lost comrade, who'd ridden an atom bomb to the stars.

Nest broke the silence, “Hey, the cameras got more footage you might want to see. Quick question, do grids form naturally?”

“No. No, in fact, they don't.”

“Well then tell it to them down there.”

Starbuck peered at a display, “Great. Natives to deal with. I'm blaming you for this.”

“Why?”

“You plotted the ram.”

“Point.What do we do about the starfury?”

“It's in a stable orbit. Remote systems work too, and the power should be good for a while. Years even. We can use it as a satellite when we're down there, and it might let our ships know we're here.”

Nest raised an eyebrow, “you really think--”

She locked eyes with him, “I do, Nest. And you do too.”

“Right, of course.” He nodded and moved to strap himself in.

“Do we want to call it anything? The starfury, I mean. Seems weird to keep calling it that, so impersonal.”

“How about the Weaver?”

Starbuck shrugged, “I imagine she'd like that.”

The video feed cut out, hours worth of footage eliminated to get to atmospheric entry. Most of the cameras were offline to protect them from re entry, leaving the internal ones to watch the pair of rigid astronauts.

Once again, few in Hollywood understood space travel. Much of a spacecraft’s landing was automated, even the manual phase was mostly aided by computer. For a great deal of time, there was no wrestling with controls, no furious flipping of switches or tapping of controls. nothing too exciting. Just a handful of comments about ship status, and tension. Lots of tension.

Starbuck and Nest were strapped in tightly, clutching their restraints and shuddering under the g-forces. The Sophia creaked and moaned around them, growing louder still as the air pressure increased enough to carry sound.

The heat and flames licked at the windows for torturous minutes, lighting up the interior with an eerie light.

When that dissipated, there was a disturbing silence, a lack of engine noise or speech. Just silence and the air rushing around the spacecraft.

The camera feed from the exterior returned, revealing a blue sky, and a thick cloud layer. A sonic boom resounded through the Sophia and covered some of the cameras in condensation, which was quickly wiped away by the wind whipping around the craft. The condensation was quickly replenished by rain splatters.

“Mach 3.” Nest called out. “Approaching landing phase.”

“I thought I told you to check the weather.” Starbuck growled, easily speaking despite the intense g-forces.

“I did! The storm shouldn’t have been able to move in this fast! I don’t know what happened! It’s an alien planet remember?! Don’t blame me!”

“Well, count yourself lucky it’s just rain and not thunder. If you are in any way responsible for hurting my Sophia…”

“Starbuck, you told me this a hundred times.”

“And that doesn’t tell you anything?”

They slowly slid into the cloud layer, and the external feeds tilted slightly. The Sophia was banking.

“We still on course?” Starbuck inquired, likely feeling the tilt.

“Yes ma’am. Sophia’s just compensating.”

“Damn this rain! Don’t fall apart on us now, girl. Hold together, prove those frakking horseflies wrong.”

“I thought you didn’t like Battlestar Galactica.”

“I liked it for a while, then it got stupid and then I got my callsign.”

Just as slowly as they had entered, they exited the cloud layer, the air darkening around them without the sun. The rain increased, and the pilots engaged flaps and braking systems. Their speed slowed, as they approached the large dry lakebed in the distance. The landscape shot by below them, green and tan and blue landscapes, steadily growing more arid as they moved toward the lakebed.

“Landing strip in sight. Prepping backup systems.” Starbuck called out, and reaching out for her controls, “Be ready for acceleration. I might need to belly-land her if you were wrong about the ground scans too.”

“Starbuck, I’m not an weather man, I’m a navy flight officer. This is my job. Figuring out how to crash properly is what we do. It’s just like landing after the Reagan went down. This is the one thing I can’t get wrong.”

The landing gear ground open, and Starbuck seized the controls, ready to engage the throttle.
A thump. The cockpit lurched.
“Main gear touchdown! Chute engaging!” Starbuck called out, “Brace, brace, brace--”

They were flung to the lengths of their restraints, the cockpit bucking around them and the nose coming down with another terrific whump.
The squeal of the brakes reached the flight recorder.

“C’mon girl, you’re alright, you can do it!” Starbuck barked, taking manual control of the ship and steadying it.

The Sophia continued to tilt, and Nest curled up in preparation for a roll.

“Sophia, you do not have permission to quit!” Starbuck roared, “You do not get to quit, you do not get to quit! We’re counting on you to see us through! You are not a quitter, you are a US Navy interceptor!”

As if in reply, the ship hit a bump and caught a little air, then righted itself; only to start rolling in the opposite direction with a groan.

“Did I ask for your opinion?!”

Nest was staring at his friend as she fought with the ship, wondering if she’d lost it.

The ship creaked again. “Sophia, I gave you an order! You do not get to quit! You are going to right yourself, you are going to stand up straight, and you are going to land us! Do you hear me?! You! Do! Not! Give! Up!”

The ship’s nose bucked, before slamming back down. She stayed level, finally.

“Atta girl!”

The ship slowed, continuing to grind to a halt.

With a definitive bump, the Sophia’s voyage came to an end. The astronauts went limp, their restraints relaxing.

“Good girl, Sophia! Good girl!”

“Nest, she’s a lady, not a dog.” Starbuck grinned at him.

“Ehrm...Thank you Sophia. Thank you.”

“C’mon, let’s take a walk. I think she needs a rest for a while.”

Nest unstrapped himself, trembling as the adrenaline faded and he got used to gravity again.

Starbuck did the same, but looked the closest camera right in the lenses. Right at the viewers of the records.

“We made it.”

The flight recorder data finally stopped when Starbuck flicked a switch, and the camera feed halted.

The video feed returned once again, this time from an iphone camera. When it activated, it immediately revealed Starbuck’s face. She cleared her throat, “This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Nicole Brennan, United States Navy, on attachment to the United States Air Force Space Command. I am senior pilot aboard FS-38 Heavy Orbital Interceptor Charlie Sierra Two-Five, otherwise known as Dream Chaser Sophia, of the USS Enterprise. I am here with my copilot.” she paused and tilted the camera to show Nest, who spoke his name,”I’m Ensign Reginald Chapman, also of the United States Navy.”

Starbuck read off the current date before continuing, “A week ago, we were engaged with Mutan Imperial Navy forces orbiting Earth.”

The screen cut to a photograph. It looked like it was scanned in from a briefing document, and depicted an alien creature from the front and from the side.

Melissa distractedly noted that it looked a little like a skitter from Falling Skies, only taller and with fewer limbs.

Starbuck gave a brief narration, “This is a Mutan, or ‘horsefly’ as we call them. Nasty buggers, they’re a race of extraterrestrial shapeshifters that tried to take over our planet, hence our engagement with them.”

The screen cut back to the pilots, “While we were in the process of ramming a priority target, an assault transport, the enemy activated their FTL system and we were caught in their wake. It brought us to the orbit of an unknown planet in an unknown region of the galaxy, along with Starfury Bravo oh-two-niner, manned by Warrant Officer Ellen Weaver.”

Melissa guessed they weren’t being too specific about certain details, such as how long the invasion lasted, just in case another hostile force came along and discovered important information about Earth’s defenses.

Starbuck gave a detailed rundown of what had transpired, up to the point where they landed. Turning the camera on their campsite, she continued, “We’ve managed to survive so far, gathering all sorts of data. It’s in the Sophia’s databanks, to whoever might find this. Unfortunately, our food supply won’t last forever, and this land is not great in that area. Our plan is to lock up the ship, and head for a nearby town the Weaver spotted on its last pass. Hopefully, we can come back before this lake floods again. In case we don’t make it, we left messages for our families on our devices. Try and take them home, whoever might find this.”

This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Nicole Brennan--”“and Ensign Aaron Chapman!”“--USS Enterprise, United States military, signing off.”

The recording finally came to a halt.

The drawing room was silent, Andrew and Twilight staring at the projection in awe. Slowly, they broke out of their stupor and looked to one another.

“By Celestia…” the unicorn whispered.

“I know…” the archeologist murmured.

Andrew glanced back at Melissa, and furrowed his brow as he noted her odd expression.

She was blinking rapidly, looking concernedly puzzled. “No...no, it couldn’t be…”

“What?”

“Shit. Shit, shit shit…” she whimpered, and hit the start menu on the laptop. She searched through the files until she could find the digital version of the briefing document the iphone photo was from.

Putting it back on screen, they got a much better look at the alien. The creature was an insectoid being about 145 centimeters tall; roughly the size of a male pony. It had a gentle black color to its epidermis and exoskeleton, and looked vaguely like a centaur but with a shorter arm and neck area. It had a horse-like body with four legs, a tall neck and a pair of arms where the neck met the thorax-- much like a centaur, only with a shorter torso. The four-fingered appendages were tied together with a zip tie, as were the pair of wings that stretched over its back. Its face had large eyes, and a snout with several visible fangs. Its limbs, oddly enough, were perforated like swiss cheese.
Melissa put both hands over her mouth, “Oh no...Fuck! What have I done?!”

“Melissa?”

Rubbing her eyes, Melissa looked at the image again. It was still there.

She slammed the laptop shut and began throwing her digital devices into her backpack.

The other two leapt to their feet.

“What’s going on?” Twilight asked, “What’s wrong?”

Melissa pulled out Glamdring, checked the magazine, “They’re here! The horseflies! They’re here in Equestria! That assault transport, it came here!”

“What?!” Andrew gasped.

“Since when? How do you know?”

Melissa cursed, “Because--because--because Cadence is one of them! She’s a Changeling! C’mon, we gotta get outta here, kill her, and tell Celestia!”

The other two looked at her like she’d grown an extra head.

“You’re saying...Cadence is an alien? One of the aliens that tried to attack Earth?”

“Yes! Sort of! They’re shapeshifters, so that’s just their queen, Queen Chrysalis pretending to be her!”

“How do you know?” Twilight asked.

“That’s not important. What is important is that the threat to Canterlot is a Changeling invasion by air on the day of the wedding. We need to raise the alarm, get some of the guns out of Section 13, and come up with a plan!”

“What? An invasion?!” Twilight said loudly, “How long have you--I want to know how you know! How could you possibly know this?”

“I...uh…”

“If you know, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell any of us? Does Celestia know? Was this part of your mission?”

“It--I--well, she doesn’t exactly know--look, I can’t explain right now. Just trust me, alright?”

Twilight looked at Andrew, who threw up his hands helplessly, “If the aliens who could take on Earth are here, how could we beat them? All we’ve got are a bunch of cannons!”

Melissa shook her head, “No. We’ve got me. And Section 13. There isn’t an army for now, it’s just a small presence. They feed off of positive emotions, love in particular, and need the population to make more of themselves--”

Twilight, her mouth slightly opened and confused, interrupted, “Wait, wait. How do you know any of that? I thought we were the first aliens your people came across!”
Andrew glared at Melissa, “That’s what I thought too!”

Melissa swung her backpack on her shoulder, “Guys, we do not have time for this!”

“No, I think we do have time! We’ve got a week until the wedding! You just don’t want to explain how you know this!”

“You’re right, I don’t! Because I’m trying to do my goddamn job, for fuck’s sake! I think defending this place is more important than my precognition! We need to get everything out of the archives, start setting up defensive positions, and prepare the bridges to blow. Urban combat...”

A light creaking reached her ears. She looked at the door to the drawing room, and furrowed her brow. Slightly ajar.

“Did either of you leave the door open?”

“No, why?” Twilight asked.

Melissa grimaced, “Karabast. Take cover!”

Once the others were behind the couch, Melissa raised Glamdring and crept slowly toward the door. She reached its edge, then hugged the wall.
Taking a deep breath, she threw the door open and darted through.

There was a pop. The marine’s cry of pain rang through the hall, ending with a heavy thud.

Twilight jumped out from behind the couch, trying to focus energy through her horn, only for it to sputter and flash miserably. She’d used up most of her reserves over the course of the evening during the party. Andrew groped for the sidearm that still wasn’t there, cursing quietly as he tried to figure out what to do.

A figure stepped through the door. Princess Cadence, or the being pretending to be her.

She smirked at Twilight, “Your perverted ‘gift’ to your boyfriend has burnt out all your energy, hasn’t it?”

Stepping to the side, she allowed four figures, apparently royal guards, to swiftly enter and surround the pair. Three more dragged in Melissa, who was moaning softly and clutching her chest.

“Melissa!” Andrew cried, taking a step forward only to be stopped by the guards raising modern-looking weapons; black barrels, curved magazines, and laser sights. To Andrew, they looked vaguely like a rifle version of the P90s from Stargate SG-1, with the magazine behind the grip and a larger stock. They obviously weren’t designed for human hands.

“What did you do to her?” Twilight demanded, still trying to coax something out of her magical abilities.

Not-Cadence scoffed, “She’s alive. Trust me, I’ve seen humans survive far worse.”

She looked at one of the guards who brought in the marine, and made an odd gesture. The white-coated royal guard nodded, and handed his(?) weapon to one of the other guards. The weapon wasn’t an alien assault rifle like the others, it looked like a blaster or something. It was probably whatever had incapacitated Melissa.

He stepped away. Green flames erupted from the end of his appendages, and the center of his torso. The flames ran along his body, the white coat of fur and golden guard armor was replaced with a gentle-black skin, and a grey uniform.
He was roughly the same size as before--about 140 centimeters--, but instead of a royal guard uniform he wore a set of fatigues, a holster on his side, and possessed perforated limbs. The appendages he had held his rifle with were revealed, a pair of four-fingered arms that extended out from where his neck met his thorax.

It was a horsefly. Or a Changeling. Or even a skitter, if one preferred.

One of his fellows handed him Melissa’s sidearm, and there was another flash of green flames. What emerged was, much to Twilight and Andrew’s shock, a mirror image of Melissa, sans helmet for some reason.

Not-Cadence eyed the imposter with disinterest, and looked at the real Melissa on the ground.
“Marines. How tiresome.”

She swept a leg back, and struck Melissa in the gut. She coughed stuff across the floor, and weakly attempted to curl up. She was unable to do so, the blaster had so incapacitated her.

“Much less potent without your friends, aren’t you?” Not-Cadence sneered, and raised her leg for another strike.

“Stop!” Twilight shouted, and when her horn didn’t work, she ran forward.

The Melissa imposter raised the blaster and fired. The pop from before rang out once again, and there was a light concussive wave that ran over Andrew.
For the unicorn, it was much worse. Twilight was knocked off her feet by the pressure wave of exploding plasma. Electromagnetic radiation attacked her nerve cells, making her scream and writhe before collapsing to the floor and becoming still.

Andrew tried to get to her, but a dozen weapons aimed at him made him think otherwise.

Not-Cadence looked at his terrified expression, and laughed, “Your friends will be fine...for now, at least. You...you will be fine as long as I see fit.”

“W-why?” Andrew coughed, his voice steadying but still with a wave of fear, “ What did you do to them? What the hell do you want from me?”

His despair only seemed to make her happier, and she cackled like a saturday morning cartoon villain, “That! That is what I want from you! I want to see the terror in your eyes, the fear! I want to see that every dawn. I want to see you afraid!”

The flames that had passed over her subordinate passed over her as well. As if the first bug hadn’t been imposing, she was even worse. This horsefly--Changeling, was taller than Andrew, nearly two meters tall, with a long horn and something look that looked like hair, but really could have been anything. Andrew didn’t know bug biology. It dangled over her grey uniform, which was shiny and clean compared to the battered fatigues of the other Changeling. There seemed to be several golden and silver additions made, decorations of all sorts.
Her centaur-like arms she held at her sides, but one clutched an exotic sidearm, jet-black and sleek as any modern pistol.
“I am Queen Chrysalis, formerly Air Marshal of the 4th Assault Swarm, Mutan Terran Invasion Fleet, and soon to be the ruler of this dirt heap. Fret as much as you like, but your friends are merely stunned. I’m sure you do not understand what a pulsed energy projectile is. They will be fine for at least a little while.”

Her voice was now a deeper flanging tone, not too far off from that of a Stargate SG-1 Goa'uld lord.
“What about me?” Andrew asked.

Chrysalis smiled, “You? Oh, I have plans for you.”

She stalked up to him, in a disturbing, almost...seductive manner. “Your kind are a bunch of barbarous primitives who wouldn’t know when to accept reality if it smacked you in the jaws! Your filthy traitorous hides couldn’t even make it out of the gravity well before we came along. I wish to make you feel the pain that I felt, the pain for all the soldiers you cost me, all of my people that you killed, the lives that were lost because of your people’s blind arrogance and insanity! We offered you the stars, technologies centuries beyond your own, civilization, and you repay us with terror and death!”

Someone coughed. They looked down at Melissa, who lifting her head a little, and snarled, “Liar…”

Chrysalis waved dismissively, “Take them away.”

Once the others were dragged away, she turned back to Andrew, “You, archeologist? Yes, that was your profession. You could avoid their fate, be free to do whatever you please, once I replace Celestia. I plan to take her position, and use her power and Equestria’s military, as one of the greatest forces on this world, to conquer the rest of the planet.

“You will be able to live however you please. You could live freely wherever you wish, without interference from me. Perhaps I could even arrange for the butter-colored one to stay with you. Or, you could fight by our side, toppling this world’s pitiful defenses, ruling over whatever landmass you wish to. All that I ask is that you swear absolute allegiance to me, and give me any information I need to make my...coronation go smoothly.”

She looked about the chamber, built of stone, wood, and glass, with incredible disgust. Materials far below her or Andrew’s normally standard of living.

“The conquest fleet was supposed to come here next, after we’d dealt with Earth. It is our responsibility to civilize planets like this, so primitive and barbaric. With your help, and knowledge, we could topple them in a few months, and bring the light of knowledge and proper culture to them. What say you?”

Andrew tried to keep his face neutral. Good deal, considering the maniac who made it. I’d have to be nuts to give that up, wouldn’t I? All the power in the world...

“Alright. Sure. I give in.”

She opened her mouth, apparently ready to deliver some sort of canned speech about how foolish it was to refuse, then realized what he’d said.

“Really?”

He gave a little bow, “All hail Queen Chrysalis!”

Chrysalis looked at him for a long moment, her jaw hanging open and her fangs out in confusion.

She sighed, and rubbed her temple, “You know, for a human, you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’ve been told that.” he managed to keep his voice from trembling.

“I was going to stick you with the others, but you just don’t seem that bright, I might keep you around as a pet.”

“Hey!”

She gave a wave of a claw-appendage-thing, “Dispose of him too. Put him with the princess. A friendly face for the natives was optional but not required.”

As the Melissa-imposter raised her phaser-thing, Andrew stuttered, “Uh--uh, you know if we all go missing, someone will notice! You might need--”

Chrysalis raised an eyebrow--or her equivalent-- and gestured to the imposter, “That’s the point of infiltrators such as these. Standard procedure for planetary annexation. I think we’ll be fine. Besides, we’ve learned what happens when we trust your people in such situations.”

“Wait wait--!”

The pulsed energy projectile hit his chest like a freight train, mercifully falling into unconsciousness before much of the electromagnetic radiation could traumatize his nerve endings.