The cherry tree saplings stood several ponylengths apart, twenty rows of twenty trees each. In the center one tree stood taller than the rest, limbs spreading to reach out towards its younger cousins. At its base rested a small sign with six words written on it: “I AM GROOT- do not touch”.

Cherry Berry had thought long and hard before transplanting the sapling she’d managed to bring alive and intact from Mars. Her first thought, planting it on the Horseton Space Center grounds, was rejected; not only would too many tourists try to take a bit of Groot home, but Horseton just didn’t get cool enough in the wintertime for good cherries. Even Dodge Junction, despite being desert aside from her Aunt Jubilee’s orchards, got plenty of snow in the wintertime, but Horseton was near jungle. Also, the swampy ground was no good for cherry trees.

In the end she’d found an untenanted plot of land thirty miles north of Ponyville. It was the first real property she’d ever owned; she rented her aircraft barn from Golden Harvest, and the factories and offices at Appleoosa were owned by the company chartered by the changelings, not herself. It felt… odd, owning land, as if she, Cherry Berry, the flying earth pony, was setting down roots at last.

The property had advantages- no close neighbors, off the main Canterlot-Ponyville road, out of sight. It also had its disadvantages; surrounded by undeveloped land, an hour’s gallop from Ponyville, and too close to the home of Rainbow Miriam “All Trees Are Made for Napping In” Dash. But it was hers- and, also, Groot’s.

The young trees were all doing well, getting sun and water in proper measure. The weatherponies were doing their jobs. They weren’t doing as spectacularly well as, for example, the apple trees on Sweet Apple Acres, but the cherry trees didn’t seem to mind. One in particular definitely didn’t mind. Cherry fancied she could see leaves turn in her direction when she trotted up to Groot.

“Hi there,” she said. “Just wanted to tell you I won’t be able to visit for a few weeks. I’m going up again.”

Did the leaves droop a little? No, that was just the wind, probably.

“I’m not going away,” Cherry said hurriedly. “But I’m part of the team that’s flight-testing the new repulsor-launched shuttle system. The test vehicle has both magic and chemical engines, just in case. And no Sparkle Drive. So I’ll be going up and coming right back down after a supply run to the space station.”

Cherry sat down and leaned against Groot’s trunk. The sapling which a year before had fit in a human spacesuit was now more than thick and strong enough to withstand a pony leaning against its trunk. (But probably not big enough yet to withstand a lazy pegasus, which is why Cherry kept an eye to the skies whenever she visited.) “They offered me command of the moon base,” she said quietly. “It’s going to be a dry run for our version of Ares. Learn how to do it on the moon, close to home. I told them I wasn’t interested. So they gave it to Gordon. He’ll do a good job.”

Cherry was trying to think of anything else important that she needed to say to a tree when she heard a buzzing sound from overhead. She grumbled and got to her feet, getting ready to advise the incoming changeling (a) what “day off” meant, and (b) that they were no more welcome in her baby trees than pegasi were.

But the changeling turned out to be a familiar one. “Hey, Cherry!” Dragonfly shouted down. “Guess who got cleared to be your flight engineer for Project Clover!”

“You did?” Cherry asked. “Congratulations!” As Dragonfly fluttered in for a landing, Cherry reared up and caught her in a bear hug. “I knew they couldn’t keep you down!”

“Of course not!” Dragonfly said. “We had to get the team back together, right?”

“Is Twilight sending Starlight along for our third?” Cherry asked.

“Nah,” Dragonfly said. “Starlight’s going to be in Mission Control. I’m told the princess will have a list of five names and give you the pick.”

“I don’t want a list of names, I want dossiers,” Cherry Berry grumbled. “This isn’t the old days. I don’t know all the astromares personally anymore. I need records, medical reports, evaluations.” She sighed. “I don’t want to deal with this on my day off.”

“Sorry, boss mare,” Dragonfly muttered. “But… so long as we’re talking about it, mind if I slip one more name onto that list?”

Cherry looked at Dragonfly. “Which one?”

“I was thinking that Ocellus is coming along nicely. I think she’s a born scientist, and she tests well in EVA training.”

“I know,” Cherry said. “But I want her saved for later. I’m thinking about putting her on the Bucephalous exploration crew, or maybe the landing.”

“Um…” Dragonfly shuffled her hooves. “I’m not exactly comfortable with that. You know,” she muttered, waving a forehoof, “Mars, and stuff.”

“Somepony has to go back,” Cherry said. “And sooner or later new astronauts have to have their chance. And as you said, Ocellus is a born scientist, if we can just get her to speak up more.”

“Mmm,” Dragonfly grunted. “Any word from Earth lately?”

“Mark wrote me that he’s finished with his first class of astronauts,” Cherry said. “And he’s helped the Ares IV crew re-train for a return to Acidalia. The Phoenix Sparkle Drive was re-installed onto Hermes, so Ares IV should launch within the month. And Mark’s friend Major Martinez was picked to command Ares V to Schiaparelli.”

“Yeah, he told me that, too,” Dragonfly said. “I meant from Mark’s bosses, through Angel 18. I haven’t heard much lately, but I thought you top bosses might have been keeping it quiet.”

Cherry raised an eyebrow. “And you think I’d tell you if we were?”

“Of course you would,” Dragonfly grinned. “We’re old Mars buddies!”

Cherry snorted. “Well, we’re not,” she said. “But the humans have got quiet the last few weeks. Quiet and evasive. We don’t know why.” She smirked and added, “Your mom thinks they’re going to invade.”

“Of course she does,” Dragonfly nodded. “If changelings outnumbered humans ten to one, instead of humans outnumbering everything on Equus ten to one, that’s what she’d do in their place.” She grinned and added, “She says she’s thinking about doing it anyway. Not a full invasion. More sort of running away from her job.” A bit uncertainly, she added, “She was giving me a funny look when she said that, so I didn’t say anything about it.”

“Smart bug,” Cherry nodded. “Care to help me with the plants?”

“Does it involve sticking my forehooves in a bucket full of roadapples?” Dragonfly asked.

“Not this week.”

“Then yeah, sure.”

… and as Daring Do watched in horror, the ancient frieze cracked open, and where a painting of a waterfall had been, a real one gushed out, flooding the chamber! The water began to rise, covering Daring’s fetlocks almost instantly. She flapped her wings to get above the rising tide. But as she frantically looked around for an exit, she found only the sealed stone door behind her and the air vents around the roof, all too small for a pegasus. How would she get out of this one?

Fireball tapped lightly on the keys, glancing from the computer screen over to the open book on his desk. The translations of the Daring Do books were coming along quickly- much more so than he’d thought he could manage. Granted, he’d had practice, but that had been practice in English to Equestrian, and not the other way round.

Several boxes sat in the corner of his student apartment in Manehattan. They contained the first editions of the translated Lord of the Rings, hot off the presses. That had been a chore, and occasionally a nightmare, but he’d got it done, around his class work and projects.

He hadn’t decided yet what his major would be, now that he was officially a freshman. Literature attracted him, no question of that… but he could also see numbers dancing in his head, enticing him to join them in the world of higher mathematics. Either one would be hard work- that hadn’t changed, even if his attitude towards reading and sums had. But they were both… interesting… interesting in a way nothing else in his life had been.

Before Mars.

He paused, reopened his copy of the magic journal that linked him to the monkey he’d lived with for a year and a half. Mark had received a promotion: Director of Astrobotany, a brand new department responsible for developing agricultural applications for future Mars missions and the off-again, on-again moon colony project.

Well, good for him. Mark always was happier the busier he was.

But speaking of busy… it might be years or decades before the humans managed their own communications link with Equus, but when the time came Fireball’s work on the first three Daring Do books needed to be complete. The oral recorded contracts were on file with both worlds. A. K. Yearling had been prodding him, asking about progress.

And translating a text, for all its problems, was more interesting than writing a paper on the post-classical shift in literary techniques among earth pony writers between 100 and 150 CR.

Especially when he didn’t remember exactly how Daring Do had escaped from this trap… it had been weeks since he’d last read the book.

Fireball turned the page. Oh, yeah, that’s right. Slowly, carefully, he began to type on the old Project Ares computer…

“Seven point three seconds.”

“Again!”

Rainbow Dash groaned. “Major, seven point three seconds on the Dizzitron is a high mark. It’s way above Wonderbolts Reserves admissions levels. Levels you wrote!”

Spitfire grumbled, trying to hold her temper. “My best is six point seven,” she said. “And I’m not done until I match that.”

“Nuh-uh, Major,” Rainbow Dash said. “You’ve done this test nine times today. The last four results are seven seconds flat, seven point one, seven flat, and seven point three. And that’s after five hundred laps of the field, three perfect runs of the obstacle course, and an hour of cloud-busting! Even I’d be tired after all that!”

“Captain Dash, I am your superior officer,” Spitfire said.

“Major Spitfire, I’m acting commander of the Wonderbolts,” Rainbow Dash replied. “And so long as we’re on the training grounds, I outrank Celestia. Your rules, Major. And I say you’re coming with me for a cool-down flight before hitting the showers.”

“I didn’t actually write that rule,” Spitfire grumbled. “I think that was Admiral Fairweather.”

“Major, I want to see your wings flapping,” Rainbow Dash barked, “not your jaw.”

“Yes, commander,” Spitfire grumbled, and the two ponies left the Dizzitron behind and took off, taking a slow, soaring flight around the plateau that housed the Wonderbolts headquarters complex.

“Now, Spitfire, what’s wrong with you?” Rainbow Dash asked. “You asked me to oversee your training. Over the past week you proved you’re ready to rejoin the Wonderbolts. Why haven’t you applied for reinstatement?”

“Because I’m not ready yet!” Spitfire snapped, her wings flapping a little harder, pulling her ahead of Rainbow. “My speed is still off. My balance is off. My endurance is bucking pathetic. I’ve been back a year, and I still haven’t got my edge back!”

“Roadapples,” Rainbow Dash said. “You score above requirements for reserve status on every test. Your precision flying is perfect. And thanks to ESA poaching for the upcoming moon base and Bucephalous mission, we currently have two slots open in the prime squadron. So you’re not perfect! You’re still one of Equestria’s best flyers, and you’re experienced. And I, for one, would follow your orders to the letter- once you took your job back.”

Spitfire shook her head. “I can’t ask my squadron to do anything I can’t do myself.”

“OH, COME ON!” Rainbow Dash shouted. “When was the last time you did a sonic rainboom?”

“On Mars.”

“Unassisted!”

“Well…”

“And how many times did you ask me to do it?”

“But you’re the only one who can do it on command!”

“Exactly! There’s no rule that says a commander has to be able to do everything their subordinates can! You know that!” Rainbow Dash zipped in front of Spitfire and hovered, blocking her way. “Now the truth. Why haven’t you applied?”

Spitfire sighed, shifting to a hover. “Because I don’t feel ready,” she said, hanging her head. “I’m not where I used to be. I may never be again. And I just feel that if I’m not the pony I was when I left the Wonderbolts… then I don’t deserve to return.”

“Ugh,” Rainbow Dash grunted. “Well, I can’t make you put in the paperwork. But the instant you do, you’ll be back in command. The team talked about this already, and what you’ve done this past week only confirms it.” She flapped her wings and moved aside, letting Spitfire continue with the cool-down flight. “You are officially one of the twenty-four best flyers in Equestria. That means you have earned a space on the Wonderbolts- if you want it. But you have to reapply. I’ll help you train any day I don’t have other duties and stuff, but I can’t file the-“

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The two flyers stopped, looking behind them at the pegasus in the royal guard armor laboring to catch up.

“Excuse me,” the guard pony gasped as he approached. He hovered, putting himself in proper order befitting a royal guard. “Colonel Spitfire, ma’am?” he asked, facing the yellow pegasus.

“Yes? And it’s Major Spitfire, by the way.”

“No, ma’am,” the guard pony said, pulling some papers out of his armor with one hoof and giving them to Spitfire. “Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire is hereby ordered to Canterlot, immediately, for special duties.”

“Special duties?” Rainbow Dash asked. “What kind of special duties?”

“Don’t know, Captain Dash, ma’am,” the guard pony said. “And don’t think I’d be allowed to say if I did.”

“Huh,” Spitfire said. “It really doesn’t say. But apparently I’ve been promoted.”

“Congratulations, ma’am,” Rainbow Dash said. “Now let’s go see why Celestia wants you.”

“Crash, I don’t see your name on these orders,” Spitfire replied. “Shouldn’t you butt out?”

“Who, me?” Rainbow Dash said, putting on her usual bad innocence act. “I’m not prying! I’m just escorting a trainee of mine who just completed a day-long workout and might have a wing cramp between here and Canterlot. Totally not curious about secret special duties at all!”

“Riiiight,” Spitfire said. “All right, guardsman, lead me there.”

“Good morning, Mark.”

“Dr. Kapoor,” Mark Watney, Ph. D. (botany) replied, stepping into Venkat’s office. “I’m kind of busy right now going over staff files for the new Astrobotany directorate. What did you need?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about your next mission,” Venkat replied casually.

“The fuck?” Watney took off his glasses and waved them at Venkat. “Unless you’re talking about me taking a flight to Chicago to visit my folks, the answer is not just no, but fuck no. You see these? There are a million reasons why I’m permanently ineligible for all future spaceflight, but my eyesight by itself would be sufficient reason to ground me. What possible mission do you have that would override common fucking sense?”

Venkat didn’t bat an eye. Nobody tried to discipline Watney for his language, public or private, anymore. But the Ares director wasn’t intimidated by it, either, not after years of Annie Montrose (who had accepted a staff position in the White House a couple of months before, to the relief of many NASA directors). “We’ve completed unmanned flight tests on a magical booster system,” he said. “And we’re pretty sure we have a working trans-dimensional Sparkle Drive.” He smirked and said, “Our new Directorate of Magical Engineering is split between those who think a dimension-jumping drive should be given a different name, like the Starlight Drive in honor of your friend, and those who think the trans-dimensional one should be the Sparkle Drive, and the limited FTL version should be the Starlight Drive, because the names make more sense that way.”

“That’s nice for them,” Watney said. “But unless you’re shuffling Magical Engineering under Astrobotany- which wouldn’t surprise me, since I trained every single person over there in basic wand use- that’s none of my business.”

“Actually it is,” Venkat said. “We’ve completed preliminary tests of the trans-dimensional drive, and we’re ready for its first manned mission. And you’ve been named as its commander.”

That shut Watney up for a moment. Venkat could see gears turning in his mind; even for someone determined to stay on Earth, being offered not just a mission but a command posed at least some temptation. But it didn’t last. “No,” he said firmly. “I spent two years away from Earth. That’s enough for anybody, especially since the docs figure those two years cost me as much as ten years off my lifespan. Whatever time I have left, I’m spending it here.”

Venkat steepled his fingers. “Mark, you are aware of how much money NASA spent to rescue you? How much we begged, stole and borrowed?”

“I’m only reminded about every damn day,” Watney said. “And I don’t complain about the constant medical tests. You want a media op? I’m your guy, even if I can’t stand the things. You want a pet hero at some Congressional shindig? Fine by me, even if I’d rather be on a chatroom somewhere or in a workshop. Sixteen hour days training astronauts, training magicians, writing reports and putting together a whole new NASA department? No problem. I owe NASA big, and I don’t mind paying NASA back.

“But I am not going up on a rocket, Venkat. I will go up the creek, up the spout, up and at ‘em, up a blind alley, up on top of Old Smokey, up the down staircase, and even up the river if it’s not death row. But I will not go up on a rocket!”

Venkat raised his eyebrows. “Three things, Mark. First, I’m still two rungs up the organization chart from you, so if I say you’re going, you either go or you quit.”

“Gimme a piece of paper. How do you spell ‘resign’?”

“Second,” Venkat said, ignoring Watney’s quip, “you were personally requested for this mission by someone who outranks me.” He opened a folder, revealing a document headed by the presidential seal. “This is a presidential appointment. As soon as your acceptance is confirmed, your name will be submitted to the Senate for approval. Given your fame and popularity, that would be a slam dunk even if the administration’s party didn’t control the Senate.”

Watney picked up the folder and looked at the page. His eyes went wider as he read the short message embossed on the heavy bond paper.

“And third,” Venkat finished, “who said anything about a rocket?”

The chamber sat in a building, by itself, not far from the railroad siding at the base of Mount Canter. Its counterpart sat a universe away, in a nondescript barn eleven miles east of Osceola, Iowa. Both chambers had the same layout: a large antechamber separated from the inner chamber by a transparent wall, a retractable ramp leading into the inner chamber, which was lined by cut crystal that glowed faintly in addition to the artificial light.

In the building at the base of Mount Canter, a large group of pony dignitaries, plus representatives from a large number of other speaking races, stood and watched as lights blinked on the console in a small control room. All five of the pony princesses stood on one side of the room, with Starlight Glimmer standing next to Twilight Sparkle. Guards flanked the cluster of princesses, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire, standing proudly to attention with her new rank insignia on her blue dress uniform. The other Bearers of Harmony, along with the Pillars, stood among the fifty other ponies present, a number which also included renowned pilot Cherry Berry and a small marching band.

On the other side of the chamber, with a little space separating them from the others, stood Queen Chrysalis, Occupant, and Dragonfly, representing the changelings. Next to them stood Dragonlord Ember in full ceremonial armor, with Astromare Candidate Smolder on one side and ex-astronaut Fireball, sporting a collar and tie, on the other. Next to them stood griffons, yaks, minotaurs, and other speaking races from across Equus, with a particular emphasis on representation from the world’s united space programs.

The lights in the control room ceased blinking, turning green one by one. A moment later, the empty inner chamber was full of a large metal capsule, which floated in the air in the carefully balanced repulsion field generated by the crystals inside. The ramp was extended up to the large pressure door, even as legs extended slowly down from the capsule to the floor.

The wheel on the pressure door began to turn.

The pony band director raised his baton in one hoof, holding it up as the musicians prepared to play.

And then, with a clank, the wheel on the pressure door stopped turning. A couple more clanks followed, followed by a loud clang as something inside the capsule apparently tried kicking the door.

And then, in the silence that followed, those in the little building who could understand English clearly heard, through the metal walls of the capsule:

“You have gotta be shitting me.”

Author's Notes:

It's over, until/unless I make that tech appendix.

I'd intended to use this last note to plug a bunch of stuff, since I doubt I'll have this big an audience for anything on FimFiction again. And I will point to my Patreon and KoFi. I'll begin daily posts of miscellaneous writing (including naughty stuff again) probably after Thanksgiving, posted for Patreon users only until it collects up enough to post more publicly elsewhere.

But the thing is, I have to be vertical again in five and a half hours to drive to Houston for Houston Arcade Expo, so I need to get horizontal, well, NOW.

So... yeah. Thanks for all your support, everybody. Between Patreon, KoFi, and direct contributions, The Maretian has put a little less than $3000 in my pocket, which I've used to put groceries in the fridge and to cover car collision deductibles and health insurance deductibles. (I find out the final word on my heart on Tuesday, BTW.) That's your generosity at work. It's not earned money- it's a gift made by you, the readers, out of love, and I deeply appreciate that. (That said, it works out to two-thirds of a cent per word, so you got a real bargain...)

And to those of you who have been threatening sequels and spinoffs... have fun!

For now, I'm going to try to complete that Villain Crossover thing over the weekend, and then various writing projects that have languished, especially Changeling Space Program, will start getting some love again.

But first, SLEEEEEEP...