Second Contact

by MasterKusojs

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Luna, Original Character, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Crossover, Human, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe
Length: 14235

Forty years ago, Equestrians were rocked when an alien ship parked in orbit around their planet. Now they'll be rocked again when another alien ship makes contact and offers them the stars.

Forty years ago, Equestrians were rocked when an alien ship parked in orbit around their planet. Now they'll be rocked again when another alien ship makes contact and offers them the stars.

See how Twilight and her friends handle being the first Royal Ambassadors to an alien culture. See how the aliens handle magical talking ponies. Just remember that working with a foreign culture rarely goes the way you expect.

Published 2013-05-23 04:00:06 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-03 06:26:15 UTC

Chapter One: Crossed Signals

Chapter One: Crossed Signals

Second Contact

Chapter One: Crossed Signals

The ship slid into orbit with an other-worldy grace belied by its unwieldy frame. It was nearly a mile long, delicate and spindly. Sunlight gleamed off the interconnected metal spheres and cylinders that made up its main body. At the nose was a dense conical shield, pockmarked from the seven-lightyear journey. Three shuttles shaped like stretched eggs with delta wings were docked just behind the shield. The back housed five huge tubes that ended in nozzles a hundred feet wide and were arranged like a big “X”. In the middle were fuel tanks, reactors, cargo pods, photovoltaic panels, a communications laser, and—most important—the huge compartments that held twelve hundred cryo-sleep units made to preserve the most precious cargo. The whole thing gleamed ivory and chrome, but showed the wear it had accumulated over its fifty-year journey. Scattered over the ship’s frame were scorch marks, and close inspection would show missing support struts, hull plates, and even one of the huge cylinders that were arranged around the middle of the ship.

The computer that controlled the ship monitored its orbit, firing one last burst from its maneuvering thrusters before everything was optimal. It turned its attention to the crew, which its sensors indicated were safely contained in their cryo-sleep tubes. The computer had sent the command to begin the thaw and wake-up routine as it neared the target planet, timed so that they would be ready as it achieved orbit. As soon as the routine was finished, it unlocked the tube doors, allowing the twelve hundred crewmembers within to get out and begin their mission.

The computer settled in and waited for the crew to give its next command.

It waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Thirty-One Years Later

Families all over Equestria huddled together around their radios. Mothers sat, trying to keep their hooves occupied. Fathers held newspapers open in their laps, but kept looking over up at the end of every sentence. Foals hushed each other, ears aimed like radar dishes at the speakers so as not to miss a single syllable of the announcer’s words.

“And if you’re just now joining us,” the announcer, a stallion with a sharp tenor, spoke quickly into his microphone in a Canterlot studio, “we’re here on the eve of finding out the answer to the biggest question of the last three decades—just what is in that structure? As you may know, reports of it appearing in the night sky first cropped up in the spring of 965, as astronomers found an object never before seen in our dear Princess Celestia’s night sky. Pictures taken through telescopes revealed a long, narrow object in orbit of the planet.

“Later investigations with the increasingly-more-powerful telescopes led top experts to believe it to be an alien spacecraft. Who sent it? Where is it from? Why is it still just sitting there? All these questions have plagued everypony for the last thirty years, prompting intense philosophical and academic debates from the schoolyard to the old folks’ home, along with a surge in technological advances as the Royal Government tried to find a way to contact whomever may be aboard.

“Well, folks, I’m proud to say that tonight, all our questions will be answered. As I speak, the Equestrian Space Program’s pioneer ship, Friendship One, is maneuvering to rendezvous with the alien vessel.”

All of Equestria seemed to gasp at once. For most of them, it had been a source of curiosity and debate for almost their entire lives. Foals dreamed of being the first pony to set foot on the alien spacecraft. Several authors had made millions of bits with dense, technical tomes that attempted to predict what the alien physiology and culture were like; or with fanciful stories filled with space pirates and laser swords. For decades it had been an icon in Equestrian life, and now, they would finally learn what was inside. Chatter died as the announcer came on again.

“With me here in the studio is ESP’s Head Engineer, Blown Gasket. Mister Gasket, could you perhaps answer a few questions we’ve prepared?”

“Certainly,” Blown Gasket said in a deep, gravelly drone.

“Thank you. First, why send ponies up at all? Why not just send a radio message to them?”

“We tried that. We tried every carrier band and modulation method we know how to do, but not a single one got a response. Of course, with their technology being as advanced as it certainly must be, it’s possible they don’t even use a radio system to communicate. Our only way now would be a proper expedition.”

“The Ponies on that expedition need to be able to get aboard the ship, don’t they? How will that be done?”

“Well, we’ve had high-resolution telescopes for a while now—no doubt designed at the time to better see the ship—so we’ve been able to get some very good pictures of the different parts of the ship. Add in some fancy mathematics, and we were able to calculate the size of the doors we found on the outside of several of the compartments. We designed Friendship One to be able to dock with those doors.”

“Just how big is the spacecraft, anyway?”

“Well, from our calculations, it’s nearly a mile long, and five hundred yards in diameter at its widest point. From its design, we believe it was constructed in space, and—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mister Gasket, but we have an incoming announcement. Folks, I’ve just received word that Friendship One is on its final approach to the alien ship. We’re going to switch you over to the live feed from ESP Headquarters, but don’t worry, we’ll be back on soon after.”

Friendship One slowly drifted closer to its target, a rectangular door set slightly into the hull of the Ship. The three-pony capsule was tiny by comparison, the size of a train car and cylindrical with a conical nose and a thruster cone at the tail. RCS quads around the middle let off short bursts to guide it to the door, nose first, and then slow it until it was moving at a snail’s pace. An accordion-style docking collar slowly extended from the side of the nose cone, matching up perfectly with the outside of the larger ship’s door and including the small panel at the side of it. The collar hit the hull silently, magnets activating on contact to hold it still.

A pair of arms extended inside the small tunnel made by the docking collar, holding Friendship One to the ship more securely. After a long time, the small square door on Friendship One opened, and a pony in a heavy, clumsy-looking spacesuit climbed out. The pony pushed up the mirrored visor, revealing a young mare unicorn with a grey coat and bright purple eyes, though her mane was covered by the headset she wore. She gently pushed herself closer to the door and leaned in to examine the panel.

“Wheel to Skies,” she said into the microphone in her helmet. “I’m looking at the thing. I think it’s a keypad—there’s a bunch of buttons with—letters, I guess?—on them. There’s a four-by-three group, and a little glass square above it.”

“A lock?” a male voice answered her over the radio as another pony started to climb out of Friendship One.

“Probably,” the mare said, eyes narrowing as she peered closer at some of the other markings around the door. “There’s a little hatch next to it, on the door. Let me see if I can…pry it…loose! Ha! There’s a lever and some more markings. Maybe instructions? I think it may be a manual release.”

“Let me see,” a female voice said. A hoof pushed the first mare out of the way as the second pony leaned in close. “Hmph. The symbols don’t appear to have an obvious meaning. I doubt they’re pictographs.”

“Scoot over, Silvie. We’re supposed to be getting inside this thing.”

“We’re supposed to be learning about the aliens, Miss Wheel. And don’t call me ‘Silvie!’ My name is Silver Script, though I wouldn’t expect a glorified grease monkey like you to—”

“Ladies,” the male said, cutting off both Silver Script’s oncoming tirade and Squeaky Wheel’s hot rebuttal. “Need I remind you that we are being broadcast live to all of Equestria? Everypony—literally, every pony alive is hearing you two squabble like kindergarteners. We’ve got a job to do, so do it. Squeaky, open the door, please.”

“Yes, Captain Sunny Skies. Of course, Captain Sunny Skies. We’re sorry, Captain Sunny Skies,” Squeaky intoned without enthusiasm as she examined the lever inside the panel. She winked at Silver Script so that the mission commander, still in Friendship One’s capsule, couldn’t see. “Don’t you love when he gets all commanding like that?”

Silver Script was suddenly very glad she hadn’t raised her visor, and that the furious blush shining through her beige coat was therefore completely hidden. Squeaky had instead turned back to the lever and tugged on it as hard as she could. It resisted, but eventually gave way. The unicorn stared at it a moment before her horn lit up with a silvery aura. The door lit up with the same glow, and slowly slid open. A rush of air hit her in the chest, pushing her back to the Friendship One capsule and nearly disrupting her telekinetic grip on the door. She managed to hold her focus, however, and pushed it the rest of the way open. Inside was a small, dark room, three yards high, two wide, and five deep, made of the same metal as the outside of the ship. At the far end was a door identical to the one she had just opened

“We’re in,” Squeaky said. She slowly pulled herself into the room, into the alien ship, into a place where no pony had gone before. She noted that there still was no gravity—something they had prepared for. Her horn glowed as Silver Script drifted into the ship after her, and her hooves lit up with the same silvery light. By the time the final member of their crew, Sunny Skies, had entered the ship, Squeaky’s Sticky Hooves spell had her anchored to what she assumed was the floor. She applied the same spell to her companions’ hooves, allowing all three to walk normally.

“This must be an airlock,” Sunny Skies said, looking around the room with his visor up. He had a blue coat and a ruggedly handsome face, marred only by a jagged scar under his grey eyes and across his snout—a souvenir from crashing a test plane early in his career. He turned to the two mares—Squeaky was pushing the outer door shut while Silver Script examined the markings and signs in the room.

“System’s made so only one door can be open at a time,” Squeaky mumbled an explanation as she marched back to the inner door. “Actual physical locks engage. Mechanical.”

“Mind getting it open, Squeaks?” Sunny said. Squeaky nodded and poked at the panel next to the inner door. As soon as she did, lights hidden in the ceiling turned on, bathing the ponies with artificial blue-tinted light.

“What about the atmosphere?” Silver Script asked suddenly, not looking away from the sign next to the door. “I mean no offense to the ponies that designed them, but this suit is rather uncomfortable.”

“Scanning it now,” Sunny answered as he poked at a small box on the sleeve of his foreleg. Squeaky had activated the airlock, and atmosphere was being pumped into the room. “It looks like…four parts nitrogen, one part oxygen. Some trace gasses, but nothing toxic. We should be okay.”

“It’s open,” Squeaky said.

The three astronauts explored what they could of the ship. The corridors were uniformly metal, though the width and light level varied. Several times they had to turn around, either from reaching a dead end or from debris blocking the corridor. In one case, they found that the entire compartment behind one door was missing—all they saw through the small viewport in the door was slowly drifting stars. As they slowly made their way to the stern of the ship, Squeaky found something she fell in love with almost immediately.

“It’s so cute!” she cooed, using her telekinesis to pick up a metal object that had been hovering around in a corner. It was the size of a raccoon, shaped like an egg, and striped yellow and black. At the wider end were a camera ringed with half a dozen tiny arms, each tipped with a different tool. It made a sharp series of beeps as fans placed around its radius spun frantically.

“What is that thing?” Silver Script demanded, stumbling backwards. Squeaky sat on her haunches and held it at leg’s length.

“Could be it’s some kind of automaton.” She held it out to Silver Script, who flinched back. “Look at the tools. It probably does repairs and maintenance.”

“We are supposed to be collecting samples if we can,” Sunny said. He nodded at Squeaky, who squealed happily and hugged the protesting thing tightly. Shaking his head, Sunny led the way down the corridor. “What’s starting to worry me is that we haven’t seen any evidence of anypony aboard. Can’t help but wonder what happened to the crew.”

“Maybe they abandoned ship?” Squeaky suggested.

“Perhaps there never was a crew,” Silver Script said as all three continued their exploration. They reached another door, which Squeaky opened easily, and made their way into the next room. Inside were seemingly endless rows of metal tubes, three yards long and one around, held half a yard off the floor by heavy-looking bases. At the end of each tube was a panel with several darkened lights and white markings underneath, and a seam bisected the tube lengthwise.

“What are these?” Silver Script asked, leaning in to peer at the markings. Squeaky’s horn glowed, her magic surrounding the top of the tube. It hinged open with a hiss, revealing its contents. Silver Script looked inside, sucked in a deep breath, and let out a shriek so shrill and piercing that the millions of ponies glued to their radios didn’t need them to hear it.

Inside the tube was a mummy, barely more than a skeleton with skin stretched tight over its long frame. It had two arms and legs, like a minotaur, but was much smaller and more compact. The furless skin was a dark brown, as was the short mane on its head. It wore no clothing, and if the smell were any indication, it had been dead for a long while.

Silver Script stared at it in horror, wanting desperately to look away but unable to until she heard another hiss. Squeaky had opened another of the tubes—inside was another mummy, nearly identical to the first. A dozen tubes and a dozen mummies later, they realized something that sent shivers down each of their spines.

They were the only things alive on that ship.

Nine Years Later

After a nearly forty-year journey, Jumpgate KP-9 was finally in place, orbiting a g-type star at a distance of 470 light-minutes. KC-9 was centered around the jumpgate, a ring a hundred meters in diameter and fifteen meters thick. From one side stretched a long, bulbous segment filled with engines, reactors, and fuel tanks. From the other was a cigar-shaped crew area, with a round bulge encompassing the forward half. Long docking arms extended from both sides of the bulge. Attached to the port arm was the I.K.S. Robali, a Kavican cruiser. The Robali had acted as escort and relief for the crew of the KP-9, ferrying them home and bringing back a replacement crew every nine months.

The Robali was what had become standard for the Kavican military: a roughly cylindrical main body with a bulge at the front and two sloped, forward-swept wings at the back. Inside were eight decks, holding everything the ship needed for missions ranging from transport to combat to exploration. Three hundred sailors were proud to call the Robali their home.

In the Command, almost twenty officers sat at their stations, scanning the area, monitoring power levels, and organizing reports from all over the ship. Guane Raklralen, the ship’s commander, paced steadily through the rows of consoles. He, just like every member of the Imperial Defense Force, was a Kavican. Kavicans are reptomammals, ranging six and a half to eight feet from the end of their snout to the tip of their tail. They have long, slender torsos and digitigrades legs ending in three-toed talons. Their arms are slender, with three-fingered hands tipped with dull brown claws and sharp spikes reaching back from their elbows. Long necks support heads with long pointed ears, a six-inch-long snout filled with sharp teeth, and a pair of horns that sweep back from the top of their skull. A rounded sail-like ridge runs from the snout to the top of the head. Their whole body is covered in dark green scales, except for on the ridge—there, a rainbow of colors changed in a constantly-swirling pattern that reflected their emotions.

Their uniforms consisted of ankle-length trousers with an extra leg that ran half the length of their tails and a wrap-around, short-sleeved shirt that buttoned under the right arm, both neutral green NuCloth. Over that was worn a leather bandolier, dyed black, with pockets along the front and each officer’s name sewn on the back with silvery thread. Just below the shoulder, a hexagonal steel badge made of four parts was pinned to the leather. An attached belt ran around the hips, just over the tail, and had more pockets hanging off it and a more generic hexagonal buckle. Each officer also carried a Tumek-11 pulse laser pistol, the Kavican military’s standard side-arm, and a high-carbon steel fighting knife, still handmade by traditionally-trained blacksmiths.

Guane Raklralen kept his hands clasped as he slowly made his round of the Command, his talons clicking against the deck. As he passed a communication console, the young Luedan manning it spoke up.

“Guane,” she said. “I’m picking up a lot of chatter in the radio bands. There’s some distortion, but I don’t think it’s from a natural source.”

“Can you localize it?” Raklralen leaned over the Luedan’s shoulder as she calmly turned dials on her console, her other hand holding her earpiece tightly to the side of her head.

“Bearing…two-eight-five, mark three.”

“Guane,” the Re’dan at the sensors station called out. “We’re reading a planet at that bearing. Long-range sensors indicate a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, large oceanic surface area, and several artificial satellites.”

“I thought the report was this system was uninhabited,” the First Officer, Adel Jarlangor, said from his station.

“Luedan, make some sense of those transmissions,” Raklralen ordered. The Luedan nodded and fiddled with her console some more.

“I think I’ve isolated a channel,” she said. “Audio only.”

“On speaker.” Raklralen tilted his head, aiming an ear up at the ceiling to better hear.

“…et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle,

s'il lui convient de refuser.

Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière,

l'un parle bien, l'autre se tait:

Et c'est l'autre que je préfère,

Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît.

L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!”

“What is that?” Jarlangor asked over the noise.

“Old Terran music,” Raklralen said. At a gesture, the Luedan turned it off.

“You think the humans beat us here?”

“I intend to find out. Jarl, call a meeting of the senior officers in one hour. Luedan, keep sifting through those signals—find something in Kavrr if you can.”

With that, the Guane retreated into his ready room at port side of the room.

An hour later, Raklralen stepped into the conference room adjacent to the Command and took his seat under the bow-facing porthole. He looked up to see each of the department heads seated and waiting for the meeting to start. Several of them had datapads on the table in front of them, and a mix of eagerness and caution swirled around their ridges.

“Adel,” Raklralen said expectantly, looking at his first officer. Jarlangor nodded and slid his datapad towards the guane.

“Luedan Kolarknorr was able to record several audio transmissions in Terran languages. This is the first batch, and I’ve ordered her to continue until her shift is over.”

“Nothing at all in Kavrr?” asked Redel Havakin, head of the science department.

“Not that she was able to find.”

“Hmph,” Havakin huffed. When she noticed Raklralen staring at her, she made her own report. “Long range sensors indicate that the signal’s origin is a terrestrial planet almost thirteen-thousand kilometers in diameter, with a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, a twenty-four hour day, and one natural satellite. There are in addition at least twenty artificial satellites in orbit around the planet, as well as… well, this.”

She slid her datapad to the guane as well. On it was a wire-frame rendering of a long, narrow ship, with details and specs printed under it.

“The Constantinople?” Raklralen read aloud.

“It’s an old Earth colonyship launched almost a hundred years ago,” Havakin explained. “It was supposed to go to the Alpha Centauri system but never arrived. The United Earth Government declared it lost forty years ago.”

“So the humans did get here first,” Redel Yemslu’fi, the chief engineer, slumped in her chair.

“It appears so,” Raklralen mused quietly. “Still, we’re here. We’ll need to prepare a message to send to them.”

“Guane, at our distance, any transmissions would take almost eight hours to reach them,” Jarlangor said. “And I mean no disrespect, but if this ship was launched a hundred years ago, they’ve never seen a Kavican before and won’t know our language.”

“I see your point,” Raklralen said. “Suggestions?”

“I…may have something.” Yemslu’fi said. The rest of the officers turned to her. “It’s Re’dan Yanvorren. He’s one of my engineers, and he’s fluent in English.”

“The same Re’dan Yanvorren that was on report last week for running a betting pool?” Jarlangor asked, head tilted curiously.

Six engineers were gathered around a crate in one of the Robali’s cargo bays. Only one light was on, providing just enough illumination for them to see the cards in their hands and provide a particular sheen to the small pile of brass rods on the center of their makeshift table.

“Fold,” one of the engineers said, tossing his cards onto the crate.

“I’ve got nothing. Fold.” The female next to him threw her cards down. They turned to look at the officer next to them. He, unlike every other crewmember aboard, was human. His brown hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven, and his brown eyes gleamed as he glanced at each of the other players, paying special attention to their ridges.

“All in,” he said, pushing his own pile of brass rods to join the one in the middle, easily tripling its size. He quickly pulled his hand back to hide his confident smirk. The two players to his right immediately folded, though the re’dan sitting across from him stared back, her gold eyes gleaming in the dim light. Silently, she pushed her own considerable pile of rods to join the pot.

“You sure about that Tea’?” the human said with a knowing grin. He fanned himself with his cards, careful not to show them too early. “I feel pretty good about this hand.”

“I feel pretty good about mine,” Tea’mahk said. She leaned back and squared her shoulders defiantly. The human stared back at her before finally throwing his cards down, showing only a pair of fours.

“Fine,” he said. Tea’mahk’s ridge flashed a happy lime as she showed off her full house and scooped the pot to her side of the crate. The human huffed and stood. “It’s almost time for our shift anyway.”

“Actually, your shift started five minutes ago.”

The engineers jumped to their feet and faced the door to the cargo bay. Standing in the doorway, Yemslu’fi was silhouetted by the light from the corridor. Tea’mahk scrambled to stuff her winnings into her belt pouches (the uniforms didn’t have pockets) as the others shuffled to hide her from view.

“Redel,” the human said politely. Yemslu’fi stepped forward, flicking the lights on as she crossed into the room and stopping half a meter in front of him. She was short for a Kavican, but still almost twenty centimeters taller than him, which forced him to look up to meet her stern gaze.

“Just because we’ve reached our destination doesn’t mean you get to slack off,” she said. “Get to your stations.”

The Kavicans scrambled out of the cargo bay, but Yemslu’fi held the human back.

“Yanvorren,” she said sternly. “You are aware that you’re still on probation, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Redel.”

“And that if you’re caught gambling with your subordinates again, we’ll have to bring you up on charges.”

“Yes, Redel.”

“So find a better hiding place,” Yemslu’fi slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the best systems engineer I have. I don’t want to have to train someone else because you got caught playing for pocket change.”

“Yes, Redel,” Yanvorren said with a respectful nod.

“Unfortunately, I have a different assignment for you today,” Yemslu’fi said as she held a datapad out to him. “The guane wants that translated and on his desk in an hour.”

“What is it?” Yanvorren took the datapad and examined its contents. “Audio files?”

“They’re recorded transmissions from a planet further in-system. Now get to work.”

Raklralen slumped over the front-rest of his chair, looking at the reports on his desk with glazed eyes. He scratched his neck and tried to ignore how the once-smooth and shiny scales were dulled with age. Daily filings kept his horns and elbow spikes from flaking, but they were gradually wearing faster than he could tend to them. He huffed and swished his tail agitatedly.

Escorting KP-9 was supposed to be a simple mission—a last hurdle before retirement to a nice home in the country. Raklralen hadn’t expected to find a long-lost human colony, or have to deal with the consequences of it. He eyed his computer terminal warily. On its screen was a half-finished report to the Asamusgo, second in command only to the Empress herself, detailing their findings. He didn’t want to have to finish it with an admission that the human colonists had beaten them to the system.

The door chime dug him out of his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called. The door slid open, and Yanvorren stepped in and closed it behind him. Raklralen stood, and Yanvorren saluted him—pounding a fist on his chest and bowing slightly. Raklralen returned the gesture, without the bow, and stared at the Re’dan expectantly.

“I translated everything that was in English,” Yanvorren said, handing over the datapad. “That is, about forty percent of the total data. Most of that was music spanning the three centuries before the Constantinople launched. There were some news reports, but nothing of particular significance. The only signal of real note in that group is file 3-A. It’s the Fibonacci sequence.”

“The what?”

“The Fibonacci sequence, sir. A sequence of numbers where a term is the sum of the two terms immediately before it. One, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, and so on. It repeats after fifty terms. Whoever’s broadcasting that is looking to make contact with someone.”

“What about the rest?”

“More music, sir, in several languages. A lot of opera, especially the popular ones.”

“Why do you think that is, Re’dan?”

“I looked at the carrier and modulation techniques. They’re consistent with the technology at the time the Constantinople was launched, and suggest non-directed transmissions, like broad-waves. Based on that and the content, I would say that the radio frequency transmissions are meant for entertainment purposes. Except for the Fibonacci channel.”

“Very well,” Raklralen said. He shuffled the datapads on his desk around a bit. “I intend to make contact with these people. It occurred to us that none of them will have seen a Kavican before. I think it would be best if a familiar face were to extend an olive branch, as it were.”

“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

“I’ll make it plain, then. I’m assigning you to the first contact team, effective immediately. Your assignment is peaceful negotiations with the people on that planet.”

“Sir, I’m not sure I’m the best candidate for the job. And—and anyway, you need to be at least a Ludel to be on a diplomatic team, and—”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget?” Raklralen chuckled to himself and stepped around the desk. Yanvorren stiffened, standing straight and not turning. The old Kavican reached for the young human’s bandolier and pulled the bottom part of the hexagonal badge, a v-shaped bar with two raised vertical bars, off with a snap. Before Yanvorren could say anything, he put another bar in its place, this one with four raised bars. “Re’dan Yanvorren, I hereby promote you to Ludel, with all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges that entails.”

“I—sir—but—”

“This is the part where you shut up and accept it.”

“I—yes, sir. Thank you, Guane Raklralen. I wear this badge with honor and pride in service and protection of the Empire.”

“Now that formalities are out of the way,” Raklralen moved back behind his desk and sifted through the datapads again. He picked one up and handed it to Yanvorren. “Send this message to the planet. Use the same carrier band or modulation frequency or—you know what you need to do to make sure they get it. We’ve only picked up audio transmissions, so reply in kind. In English, mind you.”

Yanvorren took the datapad and read the message on it quickly. He had to fight to keep the smile off his face as he looked up to Raklralen.

“Sir, are you serious about sending this?”

“Don’t think that shiny new rank badge lets you question orders, Ludel.”

“Right sir. I’ll get right on it.”

In the basement of the Equestrian Space Program’s headquarters, two ponies in labcoats were playing a game of table tennis in an attempt to make their eight-hour shift pass by more quickly. One, an older earth pony stallion with a slate-grey coat and dark red mane, was breathing heavily and barely able to reach the ball as it came down one side, then the other. Opposite him was a young yellow unicorn, just barely graduated from the Royal Academy, with a wide grin on her face as she easily batted the ball back. Finally, just as the stallion thought he’d managed to get a point, the young mare smashed the ball back and earned the winning point.

“Ha!” she barked victoriously, jumping in celebration. The stallion wheezed, bent over as he tried to get his breath back.

“Dunno…why…agreed…that…,” he panted.

“Oh c’mon Lensy, it’s not that bad,” the mare pouted. “I mean, you scored three whole points that time.”

“Heartless.” The stallion, Ground Lens, shot her a loathsome glare. The mare, named Lightning Breeze, shrugged unrepentantly.

“You’re the one who said we couldn’t just bang on the spectrograph again,” she said with a sly grin. “Though if you’ve changed your mind….”

“Mare, I can barely stand right now,” Ground Lens snapped back. “And we almost got caught last time. I can’t risk losing this job.”

“But it’s so boring! All we do is sit around and wait for that Celestia-damned signal.”

“You watch your mouth, young lady, or I’ve got half a mind to…to….”

“To what?” Lightning Breeze’s grin turned decidedly salacious and she wiggled suggestively. “Turn me over your knee and give me a spanking? Oh, I’ve been a naughty filly. Spank me, Daddy!”

Ping.

“The fact that I’m actually old enough to be your father ruins it for me.”

“Oh come on you old stick in the mud. It’s been forty years since that thing showed up. If the humans were going to come and get it, they would have by now. We’re down here so we don’t cause trouble.”

Ping.

“Lightning—”

“I told you, call me Breezy.”

“Fine. Breezy, the humans sent that ship here for a reason. We don’t yet know what it is, so in the meantime, we’ll keep broadcasting and waiting for a response.”

Ping.

“And sit here bored out of our skulls? C’mon, Lensy, just one more time.”

“We can’t get caught doing that on the equipment. And besides, we could be the first ponies to have contact with live aliens—beings from lightyears away and…what is making that damn noise?”

Ping.

The two ponies looked around the small office, at the banks of monitoring equipment, the lockers at the far wall, the magic computers that stored all of their data, searching for the unfamiliar sound. Finally, they spotted a small light blink at the same time as the high-pitched ping. Ground Lens jumped forward and peered at the small light, squinting to read the miniscule label under it.

“’Incoming Transmission’,” he read. He slowly looked back to Lightning Breeze. She sighed heavily.

“I’ll get the manual.”

After several minutes of sifting through a binder the size of a small desk, she finally found the protocol they needed.

“When the yellow ‘Incoming Transmission’ signal is activated…yadda yadda…automatically recorded…for playback, press…here we go.” She ducked around Ground Lens and punched a command into the recording computer. The tape rewound and began to play over the speakers set in the ceiling.

“Nu Guane lrao iza’ samusjhek. Ran. Hush. Okay, begin recording. Ah… Greetings. This is Re—Ludel Yanvorren of the I.K.S. Robali speaking. We…snirk…we come in peace.”

End of Chapter

Author's Note

"Let's try this dance again. You are the puppet, I am the puppeteer--and do try to get it right, this time."
--Dr. Smith, Lost in Space (1998)

So yeah. Trying again. Hopefully can make it work this time.

Anyway, so begins the story of the Equestrians' Second Contact. Any and all comments are welcome. Thanks for reading.

Chapter Two: Getting There

Chapter Two: Getting There

Second Contact

Chapter Two: Getting There

Princess Luna knew change would happen while she was gone. It was a constant thing, sometimes taking hundreds or even thousands of years, or only a few seconds—sometimes subtle, barely noticeable, but sometimes so obvious you would need to be a blind and deaf foal not to notice it. In the five years since her return, Luna had taken note of scores of changes, ranging from the discontinued use of thee and thou to the problem that was on her mind most often.

Aliens existed.

The scholar in her was ecstatic. The ruler was cautious. The philosopher was curious. The combination of all of that gave her a pounding headache even as she pored over every document relating to the Constantinople. Every telescope photo, every Friendship mission recording, every report, schematic, thesis on everything about it.

It came from a star almost seven light-years away, carrying over a thousand humans in a frozen sleep. Pony scientists and engineers had managed to reverse engineer some of the technology on the ship—computers being the chief accomplishment. Once they had learned how the almost magic devices worked, the astronauts on the last few Friendship missions were able to download the entire human database, enough information to fill the Royal Archives a hundred times over.

For once, Luna was grateful that the Night Court didn’t receive nearly as much business as the Day Court. It allowed her to peruse that information at her leisure, and in the five years since she had first heard of them, she had become as much an expert on humans as anypony could be. The Constantinople’s computer had programs that she and thousands of ponies had used to learn their language, along with huge volumes of literature. A printed sample of the latter (something called “Hamlet”) was held in her telekinetic grip.

Her reading was interrupted by one of the guards that were stationed outside the throne room entering.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing in front of her. “A Doctor Ground Lens from the EPS is outside requesting an audience.”

“Show him in,” Luna commanded. The guard bowed again and showed Ground Lens into the throne room. Ground Lens rushed to the throne with a tape recorder in his teeth and bowed low, dropping it to the floor. Luna quirked an eyebrow up and looked down at the panting stallion. “What business have you, Doctor?”

“Message,” Ground Lens panted. “Message…from…humans.”

“You received a transmission?”

Ground Lens simply nodded and pressed the play button on the recorder.

“Nu Guane lrao iza’ samusjhek. Ran. Hush. Okay, begin recording. Ah… Greetings. This is Re—Ludel Yanvorren of the I.K.S. Robali speaking. We…snirk…we come in peace. Right, we are currently in orbit of your sun at a range of 470 light-minutes. The ship’s commander respectfully requests an audience with your leader. Please respond with a matching carrier and modulation. We hope to make contact soon.”

“That’s all we received, Your Majesty,” Ground Lens said, having finally caught his breath.

“I see,” Luna said. She was silent for a long while as she contemplated the news. Finally, the dark alicorn turned to one of her guards. “Wake my sister and tell her that we will have visitors. Doctor, prepare a response. Inform the humans that we will grant their audience.”

Unless you were the captain or first officer, officers’ quarters on Kavican ships were rather uniform, with the only differences being personal possessions and decorations. They were three meters high by three wide and four meters deep. A door was centered in the bulkhead adjoining the corridor and slid into the wall. The opposite wall was taken up by a pair of bunk beds, Spartan in design but meeting the sailors’ needs. Drawers for clothing were set under each bed, and a ladder was affixed to the foot of the beds. At the head was a pair of lockers, one atop the other. Between the lockers and the bulkhead with the door were two identical desks with a plain aluminum chair and a computer terminal each.

Be-beep!

Yanvorren groaned and rolled over in his bunk, pulling the heavy blanket over his head. He still had yet to get any real amount of sleep after his last shift—Redel Yemslu’fi had taken the hour and a half he’d spent dealing with the messages personally (though catching him in the middle of a poker game probably hadn’t helped), and gave him the most tedious and mind-numbing, yet attention-demanding, tasks she could. He’d finally crawled into his bunk at nearly 1800, a good ten hours after he would normally get to bed, and fell asleep instantly.

Be-beep!

Yanvorren thrashed on his bunk, twisting around to glare at the door to his quarters. The clock glowed with a dull green light, almost mocking him with how little sleep he had gotten.

Be-beep be-beep!

“Fine!” he snarled, throwing the blanket off and rolling out of his bunk, and landed silently on the floor with practiced ease. His bunkmate stirred in the bed below his, but didn’t wake. Wearing just his underwear, Yanvorren slid the door open just enough to stick his head out into the blindingly-bright corridor.

“What?” he demanded shortly. Outside was an enlisted—Yanvorren’s eyes were still adjusting, so he couldn’t tell exactly what rank. The young sailor held a datapad out to him.

“From Communications, sir,” she said. “We were under orders to deliver any transmissions from the planet to you to be translated.”

Yanvorren stared at the datapad with bleary eyes for a long while before roughly taking it from the younger sailor’s hand.

“Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Return to your station, then.” Yanvorren closed the door before she could respond. He tossed the datapad onto his desk before climbing back up to his bunk and burrowing under his blanket. “It can wait a few hours.”

“I’m not sure this is a wise idea,” Celestia told her sister at the breakfast table the next morning. “As much as we were able to learn from their ship, these humans are still unpredictable. I wish you had at least informed me before making the decision.”

“Sister, we have an opportunity that may not come again,” Luna countered. “It would be shameful to waste it.”

“And what happens when they arrive and find out that not a single one of the people on that ship was alive when it reached us? What if they blame us for their deaths? They could wipe Equestria off the face of the planet.”

“They are a reasonable people, Tia,” Luna said sharply. She couldn’t let this slip away when she had the chance to finally meet one of the beings she had studied so extensively. “As long as we explain to them, and show them the records, they will understand.”

“Do you not remember their records? Their wars and weapons and greed? They could—” Celestia stopped abruptly, and spent several mouthfuls picking the right words to put to her feelings. “I simply cannot stomach the thought of them hurting any of our little ponies.”

“Trust me, Tia,” Luna pleaded. “Trust that I know the risks, and that the potential benefits they could bring are worth it.”

“I trust you, Luna. I don’t trust them.” Celestia finished her breakfast and quietly sipped her tea. “I trust you. Since we can hardly recall a radio transmission, I suppose we will give the humans their audience. But—not in Canterlot. I will not have them causing a panic in the capitol.”

“Where then, sister?” There was a long pause. “Surely you don’t mean….”

“Who else would be better? Get some rest, Luna. I’ll send a letter to Twilight.”

“’Greetings, humans. This is Doctor Ground Lens of the ESP. We gladly welcome you to our planet, and on behalf of Her Majesty Princess Luna, we grant your request of an audience. I must inquire as to how soon you may arrive so that we may adequately prepare.’”

Raklralen looked up from the datapad that Yanvorren had handed him. He took careful note of the newly-made ludel’s appearance: there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was unkempt.

“Is this accurate?” he asked.

“Word for word,” Yanvorren answered, shoulders squared and staring out the window behind the guane’s desk. Raklralen read it again.

“I’ll tell the Asamusgo,” he said and stood, leading Yanvorren into the Command.

“Helm, make ready to disengage from the Jumpgate,” he barked. “Engine room, prepare to engage main drives. Communications, inform the Jumpgate crew that we’re going in-system.” The crew jumped to respond to the orders, tapping keypads and tugging levers. Outside, the docking clamps holding the Robali to the Jumpgate’s docking arm released, and maneuvering thrusters gently pushed the cruiser away. She slowly turned to face their destination, not even visible in the transplast forward window, as the twin engines burned an intense yellow. The Robali gracefully accelerated to the tiny planet, steadily picking up speed. Inside the Command, Raklralen watched with no small amount of pride in his crew.

“Helm, what’s our ETA?”

“Eighty hours, sir.”

“Good. Ludel Yanvorren, pass that along, as well as my thanks. Also, inform them that we can gladly host any delegation they wish to send, if it is more convenient for them.”

“Yes, sir.”

My Faithful Student,

A matter of great importance has arisen. The Equestria Space Program has received a signal from an alien vessel that we believe to be crewed by humans. They are on their way here, and I have chosen you to be our official representative. I know that you will do your best to make them feel welcome. I will send another letter with details as I receive them.

With much confidence in you,
Princess Celestia

“Humans? Coming? Here? Official Representative? Me!?” Twilight Sparkle’s violet eyes grew wide with a combination of fear, anxiety, pride, and excitement. Her mentor, one of the rulers of Equestria, had chosen her to greet the first live aliens pony-kind had ever seen. She began frantically running around her home in the Ponyville Library, horn glowing as she tore open drawers and cabinets to find supplies.

“Oh, so much to do. So much to plan. Spike? Spike! Where is that lazy dragon?”

“I’m right here, Twilight,” said Spike, padding into the room with a stack of paper clutched in his claws. He calmly took a seat at a desk and pulled the typewriter closer. As he fed a sheet of paper into it, he looked up to his caretaker and best friend. “What do you need?”

“I need to make a checklist of things to do to prepare for the arrival of a species much more advanced than ponies. Oh, no, I don’t know how long before they arrive. We’ll need a greeting party, and food, music, decorations…. I’ll need to research human customs. Oh, I don’t think any of our friends speak English. Is there a translation spell?”

Through all of that, Spike only sighed and kept pecking at the keys, each letter hitting the paper with a satisfying tak! He was long-used to Twilight’s ramblings, and was able to pick out the important parts from all the chatter.

“We just got some books last month on humans. Spike! Where are they?”

“They’re all checked out,” Spike said. “Lyra practically ripped them right out of the box.”

“We’ll have to get them back. Oh! Lyra’s a musician—”

“Is that what they call freeloading off your marefriend these days?”

“—maybe she can help with the greeting.”

“Twilight, I think you need to calm down for a second,” Spike said, putting a comforting claw on her shoulder. “There’s plenty of time to plan it out. And if you’re calm and collected and make a good plan, then everything will go the way you want it to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Twilight let out several deep breaths. “Thanks, Spike. I don’t know what I’d do without my Number One Assistant.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Spike grinned playfully.

Princess Celestia glanced at the sun through one of the tall windows of her throne room. It was low in the sky, slowly falling beyond the horizon. She knew, as she had for nearly as long as she had been alive, that she did not actually raise and lower it. Instead, their planet, Gaea, spun on an axis and orbited the huge ball of plasma millions of miles away. It was common knowledge even in the very beginnings of Equestria. While it was true that she had never raised the sun (something simply too massive to move, even with all the power of an alicorn), she and her sister played a vital role in ensuring their fragile little planet stayed safe.

For reasons science and magic had yet to discover, Gaea had a pronounced wobble. The optimum tilt for a planet its size was around twenty to twenty-five degrees. Without Celestia (and Luna, now that she was back on the throne) constantly stabilizing it, the tilt would oscillate radically from zero to almost a hundred-eighty degrees. Equestria—the entire world—would be devastated. Forests turned to deserts, ice caps melted to oceans, grassy plains frozen into tundra.

The ponies of the distant past knew that to be true. When Celestia and Luna first ruled, everypony understood exactly what they did. Then, as time passed and the two sisters became more closely associated with their respective astral bodies, their titles of “Caretakers of the World” became “Caretakers of the Sun and Moon.” Eventually, that evolved into the belief held as recently as a hundred years before that the sisters could actually move the sun and moon through the sky. Of course, the sisters had denied the claims, but saw the need in their citizens’ hearts to have a reason to treat them like goddesses—their need to have somepony to look up to and worship. So, after a while, they decided to let the ponies do as they wanted.

Celestia turned back to her tea, gently swishing it around in the cup. She remembered the mild panic when her little ponies learned the truth. She’d been forced to retrieve barely-legible parchments dating back hundreds of years to prove her story. Eventually, the ponies had accepted it, and many were surprised to find that their daily lives hadn’t really changed. And so, life in Equestria went back to status quo.

There were other changes Celestia was much more appreciative of. She’d found that regular breaks during the Day Court went a long way towards improving her mood, especially towards the end of the day. For a whole ten minutes, the throne room was forcibly emptied except for her, a pair of guards, and a tea service. The alabaster alicorn sighed contentedly, raising the strong, fragrant drink to her lips when the doors slammed open with an ear-shattering bang. The teacup fell from Celestia’s interrupted spell, crashing to the floor with a splash and the delicate tinkle of dreams being crushed under an Ursa Major’s behind.

Celestia looked up from the tragedy, hiding the tears welling in her eyes, to see a Pegasus wearing the Royal Guard uniform bowing before her.

“Your Majesty,” he said quickly, retrieving a letter from a bag under his wing. “Message from the ESP.”

Celestia grabbed it with her magic and held the letter in front of her.

Transcript of message received at 15:12:

“Hello again. This is Ludel Yanvorren [no translation—sender’s name] of the I.K.S. Robali. We graciously accept your invitation and will be in orbit of your planet approximately seventy-two hours after you receive this message. I have been asked to inform you that we have facilities to host an envoy onboard the Robali should the need arise. I will be keeping in contact as we approach, so we can work out details over the next few days. Awaiting your response.”

Your Majesty, we estimate the arrival to occur between 15:00 and 15:30 this Thursday. We will of course keep you appraised of any further communications, and would happily transmit any response you wish to send.

Doctor Night Light
Director
Equestria Space Program

Celestia read through the letter again. After a moment of consideration, she took the pen and paper offered her by one of her guards and quickly scrawled a list of titles.

“Go to the Archives and retrieve copies of all of these documents,” she ordered the Pegasus who had brought the message. He bowed and rushed out of the room, leaving Celestia to carefully write her next letter.

“’Ludel Yanvorren,’” she said aloud as she wrote.

Leonidus Rex, King of the Griffons, was beginning to show his age. His fur, once sleek and bronze, had dulled to a dingy brown. Several clumps of his dishwater feathers were missing. Numerous scars crossed his lanky form. Many were recent, from Challenges to his right to rule. One attempted usurper had even taken one of Leonidus’s eyes—a leather patch covered the empty socket.

But the aging griffon was still King.

Leonidus sat at the head of the table in the Great Hall of his castle. Braziers and torches burned bright to illuminate the expansive room. Stone columns so big three griffons wouldn’t be able to touch their talons around them supported the ceiling high above them, and tapestries portraying their history hung from the walls. Along the table were the King’s Advisors, sons, and the few friends he still had. They all tore into their meals, holding the roast legs of some unfortunate beast by the bone and ripping off chunks of meat with their beaks.

Leonidus ate, but kept his eye roving along the table. Aeolus, his eldest and favorite son, had mentioned some whisperings of dissent, and the old King could not afford to be surprised by anything.

That was why, half a second after the doors to the Great Hall were suddenly thrown open, Leonidus had thrown himself from his chair, slipped his arm through the straps of his shield, and bared his talons at the messenger that was bowing and presenting a scroll to him. The old King had to calm himself as he realized that it was not an attempt on his life and smoothed out his feathers as he took the scroll. A low murmuring had starting among the griffons at the table.

“Today it was a messenger,” Aeolus said. The table fell silent. “Tomorrow, it could be an assassin. See how the King is ready for any threat!”

Leonidus spared his son a brief thankful look before turning his attention to the scroll.

Your Majesty the King of the Griffons, Lord of the Northern Skies, Leonidus Rex

Informants in Equestria have relayed to us that their government has made contact with live humans. The human ship will be in orbit in three days’ time. We will keep You informed as we receive more information.

Your humble servants
Talos, Office of Espionage
Rhea, Office of Espionage

Leonidus read the scroll twice more before a wicked grin stretched his beak. Finally, a chance to do what that meddlesome crow of a pony princess had denied him all those years ago! He turned his attention to the messenger.

“Go to the Office of Aerial Warfare,” he ordered. “Tell them to ready the Titan rocket.”

Yanvorren pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned softly to himself. He was at a desk in one of the engineering labs on Deck Six with a Tumek-44 Heavy Pulse Laser Rifle dismantled in front of him. Holding a control circuit under a high-power magnifying glass, he squinted slightly at an effort to both find a fault with the component and stave off the headache pounding at his temples like timpani. Finally, he found a tiny, almost microscopic blackened spot on the circuit.

“Found you,” he said, reaching for the computer terminal’s keyboard and typing on it one-handed. “Fault with Rifle T-44-153401 confirmed as damaged control chip. Solution, replace component.”

He stood and rummaged through the cabinets and the multitudes of tiny drawers until he found the circuit he was looking for, and quickly had the rifle reassembled. At the far end of the room was a solid grey block on a stand that held it at about chest height. Yanvorren picked up the rifle—a heavy, somewhat cumbersome weapon with three barrels arranged in a triangle, a thick grip, and a tiny screen to display the settings above the handle. He turned it to narrow focus, high intensity, and shouldered it with a grunt. Aiming at the grey block, he flicked the safety off (the heavy weapon’s capacitors quickly charged with a high-pitched whine) and mashed his thumb on the trigger. Each of the three barrels fired in rapid succession, releasing a tightly-packed burst of x-rays that bored deep into the grey block with a crack of thunder.

“Perfect,” Yanvorren said as he flicked the safety back on and laid the rifle on the workbench. “And with that, my shift is—”

“Command to Engineering Lab Two.”

“—done.” Yanvorren felt his eye twitch as he tapped the intercom by the door. “Engineering Lab Two, Ludel Yanvorren.”

“We just picked up another transmission from the planet. Guane wants you to translate and report as soon as you can.”

Yanvorren sighed. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“How could there not be a translation spell?” Twilight looked up from her checklist, both ears aimed at her assistant. He held the Princess’s latest letter, only the top sheet in nearly half a ream of papers.

“Translation spells are very complex pieces of magic, Spike,” she said. “They rely on a matrix of sounds and symbols being overlaid on the one you already have. It basically rewrites your brain’s vocabulary and syntax, even if only temporarily. It takes a lot of magic to perform, but even more time and effort to actually create one.”

Twilight started pacing the room and chewing on her lip as she continued, “Aside from myself, I only know of two ponies in Ponyville that are fluent in English. Rarity speaks a little bit, but not enough to really help…. Oh, a translation spell would be unbelievably useful right now.”

“What about this ‘Knowledge Transference Spell’?” Spike asked, holding the Princess’s letter up to his caretaker. She snatched it away with her magic, reading over it quickly, and then took the rest of the papers from Spike’s claws.

“That could work,” she muttered after quickly skimming the first few pages. “’This spell’s main purpose is the transference of knowledge or skills from one pony to another by copying memories of learning and using the knowledge or skill in question and implanting the copies into the recipient’s mind.’ Spike, this is perfect! I can just use this spell to share my English lesson memories with the others!”

“Huh. That’s cool, I guess.” Spike shrugged and glanced at the clock by the door. “Weren’t we supposed to talk to Rarity about the decorations today? Like, right now?”

“Oh, I completely forgot!” Twilight grabbed her checklist and stuffed it and the Princess’s letter and documents into her saddlebag and galloped out the door, pausing only long enough for Spike to hop onto her back. They quickly made their way to the town square, where ponies were already hard at work preparing for the arrival of the aliens. Streamers and bows were hung from buildings. Ponies were pulling up the few stray weeds that had grown in the streets. Twilight happily trotted towards Town Hall, tossing pleased smiles and praise to the ponies she passed until she spotted the white mare raising a wide banner over the main doors.

“Hiya Rarity!” she called cheerfully. The purple-maned unicorn turned just enough to see her friend.

“Twilight, darling, I’m so glad you’ve arrived,” she said. Rarity gestured to the banner, which she had affixed to the wall of Town Hall. “What do you think?”

“It’s…um…,” Twilight searched for a good descriptor. The banner, made from a light blue fabric, had “Welcome!” in a darker blue, flowing, elegant script. It was also in English, and while it was certainly well-made, she had been expecting something more intricate from her fashionista friend. “It’s certainly…succinct.”

“Hmmm.” Rarity tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at the banner. “I would have put more on it—something like, ‘Welcome to our fabulous town, human friends’ or some such, but I simply could not remember the words for it, so I decided that a short, simple message with no possible chance of misinterpretation would be best. Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. “It’s perfect for that. Thanks Rarity.”

“Think nothing of it,” Rarity said, waving a hoof dismissively. “I must admit that I’m very curious about them—especially how their fashion must have changed since the Constantinople left. Surely a hundred years must have brought forth marvelous new ideas in fashion, especially in a species that wears clothes all of the time.”

“We’ll get to see tomorrow night. Anyway, it looks like you have everything taken care of here. I’ll go check on Applejack and Rainbow Dash to make sure the food and weather will be ready.”

“Best of luck, darling,” Rarity said with a poorly-hidden scoff. “You know how those two ruffians can be.”

“They sent coordinates for a landing site,” Yanvorren said, standing in front of Raklralen's desk for what felt like the hundredth time that week. “It’s a rural area about eighty kilometers from their nation’s capitol. Princess Celestia—their leader—has asked that we minimize our delegation and not bring weapons.”

“I see,” Raklralen said, reading the datapad that the engineer cum translator had handed him. He looked up and observed the young ludel. Despite a few issues with discipline (the betting pool he’d started among the enlisted being an example), he was a hard worker and a good officer. Indeed, he’d only gotten positive reviews on his task performance. Raklralen kept this in mind as he took in the human’s almost-glazed, drooping eyes; slumped, slightly swaying posture; and disheveled hair. He sighed softly. “Ludel, when was the last time you slept?”

“Sometime yesterday, sir.”

“Explain.”

“I had maintenance and diagnostics to perform, sir.”

Raklralen’s ridge flashed with surprise. “You’re still—of course you are. I should have made myself clear: you’ve been reassigned, Ludel. You’re our official translator until someone can be sent from Kavic. You do not have to keep working engineering.”

“With respect, sir, I signed on to be an engineer, not a diplomat.”

“You signed on to serve the Empire,” Raklralen said quickly, with a tone that would allow no argument. “I’ll be happy to bump you down to Luedan once this whole mess is over with, and you can spend the rest of your career scrubbing fluid conduits, but right now, the Empire needs you to be a translator, so you’re a translator. Is that understood?”

Yanvorren grit his teeth and stood up a bit straighter. “Yes, Guane.”

“Good. I’ll talk to Redel Yemslu’fi about your reassignment. In the meantime, inform Princess Celestia of our standard landing party procedure and make our offer to host a delegation of theirs again. It’ll be at least ten hours before we get a response, so after that get some sleep. Consider it an order.”

“Yes, Guane.”

Twilight sighed in contentment as she slid herself down into the bath, eyes sliding closed as she wiggled into a comfortable spot. Her friends were around her, some already in the huge tub that dominated this room of the Ponyville Spa. Perfumed steam and soft music filled the air as all the ponies present settled in for a few hours of pampering and relaxation.

“Thanks again for all your help, girls,” she said.

“Tweren’t nothin’,” Applejack said, shrugging before jumping into the bath as well. “It’s a big important day, what with the humans finally comin’ to get their ship.”

“You can always count on us, Twilight,” Rarity said. She was wrapped tightly in seaweed and up to her chin in the bath. Fluttershy sat next to her, eyes closed as she frowned softly.

“What do we tell them about the people on the first ship?” she asked, seeming to shrink in on herself as she spoke. “They were all dead when Friendship One went up there. What if the humans get angry?”

“The Princesses said to show them the logs and records of the Friendship missions,” Twilight explained. “She had them shipped here, but I still need to get them from the train depot in the morning. Anyway, that should convince them that it was an accident.”

“Ah,” Rainbow scoffed from her place near the rafters. “We can take ‘em. Just a few thunderclouds and they’ll be down like nothing.”

“Rainbow, the Constantinople was powered by a miniature sun,” Twilight looked up to the hovering Pegasus. “And that was technology from a hundred years ago. Who knows what they could be capable of now?”

“I’m sure they’ll be reasonable people,” Rarity said with a dismissive wave. “No need to get ourselves worked up now that we finally have a chance to relax.”

“Rarity’s right,” Twilight said. “They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. The town’s ready. Everything’s set up and waiting. Everything will go just fine.”

Though she smiled confidently as she said it, Twilight couldn’t help but hear a seed of doubt. She chewed her lip as she began mentally cataloging every possible way that the next day could be their last.

Princess Luna looked over the transcripts of the messages both sent and received over the past two days. As the ship grew steadily closer, the response times shrank from eight hours to only two, allowing for more rapid communication. By the time they were within the moon’s orbit, the delay would be negligible and they would have near-instant communication. She would finally be able to speak with them directly instead of relying on the go-betweens in the ESP Headquarters’ basement. She moved on to the transcript of the most recent transmission, which Ground Lens had said required her attention.

Princess Celestia. I have been asked to inform you that standard landing party procedure is to send six crewmembers on one shuttle, with all carrying sidearms. This is not an act of aggression—just standard precautionary procedure. You understand the need to be able to defend ourselves should anything happen. That’s not saying anything about you or your people, but there could be…I dunno…a bear attack or something. Anyway. We’d also welcome a delegation of yours aboard the Robali if that makes things more convenient for you. We await your response.

Luna sighed softly. Her sister would not like the humans bringing weapons. The humans would not like not bringing their weapons. A compromise would be needed. Perhaps if they were to not bring ranged weapons? Luna would discuss it with her sister in the morning. There was also the possibility of seeing the humans’ ship. Surely it would be a technological marvel—she’d done the math herself and found that the Robali was traveling at a tenth of the speed of light! Even the most powerful rockets the ESP had produced could barely achieve escape velocity.

Luna glanced at the clock—the ship would be in orbit in a little over sixteen hours. She had faith in Twilight Sparkle and her friends, but that didn’t stop the Princess of the Night from wishing she would be able to meet the humans herself. Both Celestia and the Captain of the Guard refused point blank to let either of the sisters leave Canterlot, or to allow the humans into the city. The best she could hope for was to suspend the Night Court for a few days and hole up by the radio in the ESP basement. She’d be well within her boundaries (forced upon her as they were) to do that.

“Perhaps I shall,” she mused to herself. As excited as she was, she doubted she would be able to sleep today anyway.

The top deck of the Robali held the guest lounge, officers’ mess, and guest and officers’ quarters. The quarters were grouped into five rooms with two bunks each and a shared bathroom. Kavicans lacked sweat glands, and so took several days to develop an offensive odor. Most only bathed twice a week. Over time, this tendency evolved into groups such as family units or close friends bathing together, and the inclusion of a single bathtub big enough to easily hold four for each bathroom in the officers’ quarters.

Yanvorren, being human, did have sweat glands, and since a good portion of his job was crawling through cramped and hot maintenance tunnels, they were well-used. He’d bathe daily, using the time to do whatever reports he needed to with the help of his personal editor-type datapad, which had a small keypad to input data. A few of the other officers would join him occasionally, including a pair from his team in Engineering.

The night before they would reach the planet, he was soaking in the tub, filled to chest-height with steamy water. He held a standard datapad in his hand, brown eyes flicking over the yellow-on-black display. The door sliding open didn’t even prompt a twitch of reaction.

“There you are,” Re’dan Tea’mahk said. She had a shallow bucket with a rag and soap in one arm, and a towel wrapped around her flared hips. Yanvorren looked up and nodded to her, barely registering the fact that besides the towel, Tea’mahk was hatching-day naked. She quickly went about wetting the rag and scrubbing herself clean, while Yanvorren’s eyes returned to his datapad. She was sitting on one of the low benches, facing away from him and showing the broad, pale yellow stripes on her back and shoulders. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was uncomfortable enough for Tea’mahk to break it. “We heard about your promotion. Two ranks at once?”

“It’s just because I can translate what the humans on the planet are saying,” Yanvorren said. “Not like I earned it.”

“Still, you finally outrank me.”

“Not the point. Supposed to be maintaining the data network or something, not acting like a glorified secretary.”

Tea’mahk began rubbing the soapy rag over her arms and chest, efficient but at the same time graceful. Yanvorren forced himself to focus on the datapad, and so didn’t see when she removed the towel and started rubbing the rag over her lithe legs.

“I was fixing a console in the Command earlier,” she said offhandedly. “Apparently the Empress herself is coming. Luedan Kolarknorr said that the Dufojorr Avoyigo will be here in ten days.”

“Huh.”

Tea’mahk stretched her arms over her head, putting her slender figure on full display. With a slight, feminine grunt, she looked over her shoulder at Yanvorren, only to see him staring intently at his datapad. With a sigh, she decided to get his attention with a more direct approach.

“What’s on the ‘pad? Another letter from the humans?”

“Nah,” he said, not even looking up. “It’s that book you loaned me. Tooth and Talon.”

“Yan, I gave that to you four months ago.”

“Been busy, but since Raklralen won’t let me do the work I’m supposed to, and the transmissions are still taking an hour or so to travel, I’ve had some free time.” he said. Tea’mahk sighed and tossed her towel onto the row of hooks next to the tub, alongside his. She stepped into the bath, letting out a happy trill as the hot water seeped into her muscles, sore from seven hours of working on her feet. He didn’t even seem to notice when she let her tail drift into his lap and lay across his legs. Instead, he kept reading.

“So what do you think?” Tea’mahk asked.

“Almost done with it. Not really one for romances,” he said. “I like the style of this one, though. It’s sexy without being racy. Kinda…elegant, if a romance novel can be.”

“What about the characters?”

“Good concept, I think. They’re believable. They’re flawed and make mistakes, but I think it’s kinda pushing it with just how oblivious the male lead is. No one’s that stupid.”

“Yeah,” Tea’mahk said, her ridge practically glowing with disbelief. She shifted a bit, leaning back and putting her arms on the rim of the tub while crossing her legs. “Yeah, you’d have to be some kind of stupid to not get signals that blatant.”

“I know, right?”

“What about the idea of it? Think they could work as a couple? Even in an interspecies relationship?” Tea’mahk uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, almost rubbing them over his, but he stayed focused on the datapad.

“Well, yeah, if they cared enough about each other,” Yanvorren said. “I figure it would be just like any other relationship—they’ve got differences, but if they work through it, they can make it work.”

Tea’mahk was actually glad he wasn’t looking at her—her ridge was the limiest, happiest green it had ever been.

“So you think a human and a Kavican could work as a couple?” she asked. He shrugged.

“I just said so, didn’t I?” Yanvorren couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit. Tea’mahk took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. She mustered up all the courage she could and opened her mouth to speak…only to close it sharply when the intercom buzzer rang. Yanvorren hauled himself out of the bath, mumbling, “I got it.”

“Command to Ludel Yanvorren.”

“Yanvorren here,” he said after mashing the button on the intercom by the door. “New transmission?”

“Yes sir. We just received it.”

“Okay. I’ll access it in my quarters. Let me know if any others arrive.” Yanvorren grabbed his towel from beside the tub and quickly wrapped it around his waist. “Sorry, Tea’. Duty calls.”

And with that, he left and closed the bathroom door behind him. Tea’mahk sat still in the bath, staring at the door with one eyelid twitching involuntarily. Her ridge flashed paper-white as she slammed a fist on the side of the tub and cursed, “Prrak!”

The next day, the Command Staff had gathered in the conference room once again. Their destination was much closer, to the point of being visible in the room’s forward-facing window. Raklralen stared at the blue-and-green marble while the department heads chatted with each other, poked at datapads, or sat in silent contemplation.

Finally, Raklralen took his place at the head of the table, his back to the window in the forward bulkhead. The rest of the officers stopped what they were doing and faced their guane.

“Navigation,” he said simply, “report.”

“We’ll be in orbit in six hours, Guane.”

“Good. Orders from the Asamusgo are to make face to face contact as soon as possible and maintain peaceful relations until the Empress arrives in nine days. We’ll send a diplomatic landing party to the surface as soon as we’ve established orbit. The team will consist of Adel Jarlangor, Ludel Yanvorren, two members of security and the shuttle crew. Jarlangor will be in command, and Yanvorren will be the official translator. Yanvorren will also make official first contact.”

For his part, Yanvorren felt uncomfortable. The only times he’d been in that room before were to change light bars or debug the display screen. This time, he stood next to the display with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for his cue to speak.

“With respect, sir,” Redel Havakin leaned closer to the guane, but still spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “I do not believe that the ludel is an appropriate assignment. We should send someone more experienced with diplomatic processes.”

“Ludel Yanvorren is the only crewmember fluent in a Terran language,” Jarlangor said in a sharp tone. “He will also not be leading any negotiations. As translator, his only duty will be as a go-between. I will be leading the mission.”

Havakin shot a look at Yanvorren, who stubbornly stared out at the planet ahead of them. The science officer sat back in her chair. Wanting for forestall any other outbursts, Raklralen gestured to Yanvorren.

“Ludel. You’ve been talking with the humans on the planet. You and Jarlangor have worked out the mission itinerary with the natives. Explain it.”

“Er…yes, Guane.” Yanvorren tapped at the display’s control pad and brought up one of the scans of the planet’s surface. The resolution was poor, but the officers could make out what looked like a small village nestled between a lake and a forest. The blurriness didn’t allow any more details than that, but Yanvorren pointed to a grassy area at the outskirts. “This is our landing site. Local time will be 15:25 when we establish orbit. A group of residents will meet us there when we land and will start a tour of their town at 16:00. At 18:00 will be a welcome banquet, and then we’re expected to stay the night. At 8:00 tomorrow, the landing party will return to the Robali with the welcoming party for a tour of the ship.”

“Good,” Raklralen said. “While they’re aboard, the humans will be treated with all the respect and courtesy due to any representative of another government. Understood? Dismissed.”

Twilight looked out over the ponies gathered near the Ponyville Tower and nodded to herself in satisfaction. She and her friends were ready to greet the aliens and simply had to wait for their arrival. As the Tower’s clock struck three, she turned to face her friends.

“According to Princess Celestia’s letter, the human ship should be in orbit any moment now,” she said. The lavender unicorn started pacing in front of the other ponies. “Applejack, how’s the banquet coming along?”

“Big Mac should be takin’ the last cart to the square right now. We’ve got the whole spread ready for them.” Applejack winced and held a hoof to her forehead. “I still got a bit of a headache from that spell you did.”

“It’ll wear off after a couple of hours,” Twilight said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Rarity? Pinkie?”

“The decorations are all in place, and absolutely fabulous if I do say so myself.”

“And the music’s all set! Vinyl mixed up something special for today and it sounds absoluterrific!”

“Perfect,” Twilight said. She levitated her checklist and ticked off the last few items with a fountain pen. She tucked the list away and stood with her friends, facing the area that had been cleared and marked as a landing pad. “Any word from the Princess, Spike?”

“Nothing yet,” the little dragon said with a shrug. “She said she’d send a letter when the humans con—burp!” He was interrupted by a belch of green fire. A scroll materialized out of it and fell into his waiting claw. Spike quickly unrolled it and read it aloud. “’My Dearest Twilight Sparkle, We have just received word that the human ship is in orbit, and will be sending their delegation soon. They’ll land within half an hour of launch. Best of luck, Princess Celestia.’ Well, that settles that. They’ll be here soon.”

“Perfect,” Twilight beamed at her friends. “Now, we just wait for them to show up.”

Raklralen slowly paced between the consoles in the Command. The planet, not even visible four days before, now filled the forward viewport. Sunlight sparkled off the oceans as clouds wisped across its surface. No matter where, or how many times he saw it, the aging Kavican always found the sight of a new planet awe-inspiring. He stood in the center of the Command and leaned on a nearby railing.

“Helm,” he said, “put us in synchronous orbit over the landing site. Redel Havakin, ready a pair of atmospheric probes, but don’t launch them yet. We don’t want to scare our human friends. Ludel Yanvorren, open a channel with your contact on the planet.”

The crew jumped to carry out their orders. Yanvorren, sitting at the main communication switchboard, turned a few dials and put on the earpiece.

“They’re responding,” he reported, turning back to Raklralen.

“Tell them we’re in orbit and ready to send the landing party.”

“Yes, sir.” Yanvorren said, relaying the message. “They say the greeting party is ready for us.”

“Good. Tell them that the shuttle will launch as soon as it’s ready, then get down to the launch bay.”

Yanvorren quickly relayed the message and threw the earpiece into its holder. He stood, saluted Raklralen, and then made his way to the lift that ran the height of the ship. It carried him to the bottom deck, which was home to the Robali’s small craft maintenance and storage bay, as well as a pair of magnetic accelerator tracks that would launch the ship’s compliment of fighters and shuttles. Yanvorren stepped out of the lift and into the maintenance bay, a huge room filled with small craft and mechanics. He nodded to his bunkmate, one of the engineers that worked to make sure each shuttle and fighter was always ready to fly.

“Adel!” Yanvorren called, spotting the First Officer near a shuttle. It was a standard personnel transport: a somewhat blocky body, three meters wide and tall by five long, with flattened ends and four engines on gimbals to steer and power it—one pair at the tail, in sockets that kept them flush with the hull, and the other pair behind the twin pilot’s bubbles on either side of the nose. The Robali’s flag was painted onto the sides, just behind the forward engines. The nose itself opened up into the boarding ramp, which a pair of enlisted were using to carry a crate inside. Jarlangor was standing next to it, checking off things on a datapad as Yanvorren rushed forward and saluted him.

“You’re late,” Jarlangor said, barely looking up enough to return the salute. “Get inside and strap in. Launch is in two minutes.”

Yanvorren wanted to retaliate, but limited himself to inaudible grumbling and stomping a bit harder than necessary as he boarded the shuttle. Inside were three rows of benches, with two seats on each side, back- and headrests for each, and a narrow aisle down the middle. The crate had been secured between the last two benches, flanked by the two enlisted that the engineer saw were from security. Yanvorren chose a seat at the front, strapping himself in securely. He wiggled a bit to get comfortable and looked up just in time to see two more Kavicans enter, followed by Jarlangor.

“Oh, prrak,” Yanvorren said as he recognized the two that straddled the seats in the pilot’s bubbles. They were sisters, Ta’kozilran and Fiszilran, and while they were both very good pilots, neither was known for giving the smoothest rides. He’d gotten more than a few reports as long as his arm from the small craft engineers about problems they found in ships that the Zilran sisters piloted—problems almost always caused by overzealous and reckless maneuvering. Yanvorren quickly checked all of his straps again, tightened them so much his fingers and toes went numb, and then started praying. “Vorrjorr Robali, please watch over us as we make this ill-conceived attempt at a first contact instead of some humans who trained and volunteered for it. I very much would like to make it back to Kavic alive, and frankly, after six years of making sure you’re the best-maintained ship in the entire military, you owe me.”

“Are you seriously praying to the spirit of the ship?” one of the enlisted asked, his ridge flashing humorously. “Seriously? Most Kavicans don’t even do that anymore.”

“You’d pray to anyone that would listen if you saw the reports I saw about Wingus and Dingus up there,” Yanvorren spat back. There was a low hum as the shuttle’s reactor powered up, and the nose of the shuttle pulled closed, sealing them inside the cabin with no viewports except for the pilot’s bubbles, which were blocked from Yanvorren’s view. The ship lurched to the side, signaling that the loading track was taking them to the airlock. A quick exchange of loading arms, doors, and gases later, and it was loaded onto one of the catapult tracks. Yanvorren screwed his eyes shut, holding his straps in a white-knuckle grip. The sensation of weightlessness made him queasy (there was no artificial gravity system inside the launch tunnel) and he was still silently pleading with any spirit that would listen.

“Remember, Redel Ta’kozilran,” Jarlangor said. “We’re just going to the landing site. No need to show off.”

“Yes sir,” Ta’kozilran said with a dejected sigh. She turned to the shuttle’s radio. “Shuttle Four to Launch Control, we are ready.”

“Launch Control to Shuttle Four, accelerator activation in three…two…one…launch!”

Yanvorren was flattened against his seat as the shuttle rocketed forward, until a fraction of a second later when a dull clunk signaled that they’d been released from the catapult and were now free of the Robali. Yanvorren kept his eyes clenched shut, not relaxing at all as the shuttle fell into the atmosphere. The trip was surprisingly smooth, and Yanvorren didn’t even really feel they were moving until Fiszilran spoke up.

“Entering the troposphere,” she said. “Time to target, six minutes.”

“Ludel Yanvorren will exit first,” Jarlangor said. “Once he gives the all-clear, I will exit with Rekhan Jektselen. Redel Ta’kozilran and Ludel Fiszilran will exit with Lukhan Hikivelora. Make sure all weapons are on low intensity. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” the others replied, though Yanvorren’s was much more reluctant. Jarlangor eyed him a bit, but didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip.

“Approaching the landing site,” Ta’kozilran said. The shuttle banked, but kept dropping at a controlled rate. Yanvorren could feel them slow and eventually stop, hovering while the landing gear extended and finally dropping with a slight bump as Ta’kozilran cut the engines.

“Er…sir?” Fiszilran said uncertainly. “I think you should look outside. Those don’t look like humans to me. Jarlangor released himself from his seat and stood behind her, looking out over her shoulder.

“Yanvorren, get ready,” he said. The human unstrapped himself and stood, slowly moving forward to the boarding ramp. Jarlangor turned to him, his ridge a swirling rainbow of colors that would amount to an expression of complete bewilderment. “Go find out what’s going on, Ludel. And find out what those things are.”

“Just what do you mean, sir?” Yanvorren asked, wondering not for the first time why he had gotten out of bed that morning. Jarlangor shook his head and hit the switch to open the ramp. Bright sunlight filled the dark cabin as the nose of the shuttle opened. Yanvorren held up a hand to keep himself from being blinded while the other fell to lightly grip the comforting handle of his pistol. Outside were a brilliant blue sky and a field of rich green grass. Lush trees surrounded the area, and a simple dirt path led past a clock tower to what looked like a cozy little village. He’d only seen things like this in old Terran picture books.

“Welcome!”

Yanvorren looked down at the greeting to see six brightly-colored quadrupeds and something that looked like a small, fat, purple Kavican child.

“Er…Adel?” he called back into the shuttle. “They’re small horses.”

Author's Note

This...took a lot longer than it had any right to. Hopefully the length will make up for the long wait.

As always, comments are appreciated.