She stares. She can’t help but stare out into the vastness; a seemingly endless void stares back. The sight would never cease to amaze her. The whole of space ahead of her; the planet below a tiny afterthought.
‘If you’re done zoning out, return to the pod, we’re heading back now.’ A voice buzzed from her headset. She shut off the receiver and held her breath. Now, there was silence. She exhaled loudly, to stop the blankness in her head. She turned her receiver back on and pressed her hoof down on her suit. She could feel the slow tug from her lifeline, with the oxygen tube and the electrical wires for the suit wrapped inside it, as she started to be pulled back to the small, white, circular pod. It was an older suit model, but she was young, and this was her first trip—the new suits were saved for the most important missions. Just focus on entering the pod at the right angle.
'Alright hotshot, get in and seal the door.'
She detached the lifeline, and her HUD flashed a yellow warning: 60:00 MIN. O2 REMAING. She reached for the edges of the pod door and sealed it as she floated in.
‘Beginning to fill entry chamber with air—air pressure stabilizing to safe levels .’
A sudden hissing noise filled the small room as the lights went up.
She placed her hooves on the adhesive walkways on the floor, removing the helmet, carefully strapping it back into place beside another suit. The space suits were built from a rubbery polymer, made to protect the wearer from the vacuum and from the pressure change of space. The pressure inside the suit was lower than station pressure, for safety measures against decompression sickness. The helmet was designed with a wide panel for peripheral vision and a protective casing for the side and back of the head. Her suit was a cherry red—the suit already strapped in was steel blue. The EVA pods carried one suit at all times, while the crew would wear suits from the station’s docking bay. The pilot was wearing the last suit, with its dull yellow helmet placed beside hers in the lower compartment of the pod. She often wondered how he could stand that colour.
She was careful to keep at least two hooves on the ground to stay in place. She wore a secondary suit for the station under the space suit—it wrapped around her body and ended midway up her neck, close to her mane. It was worn short to keep stray hairs from entering the ventilation systems; some complained that it was like a stallion’s, but she never had a problem with it. Having her wings constrained by the station suit was another matter, but in the zero-gravity environment, it was the rule. She made her way up a ladder to the pilot’s chamber, slowly stepping up each rung, opening the hatch to make her way up.
‘This is EVA pod Alice. Station V, requesting permission to return to base. Over.’
A female voice buzzed over the transmitter.
‘This is Station V. Roger, return to base, Alice. Over.’
The young stallion sitting in the pilot’s seat turned his head back to talk. He had a short brown mane with a cream coat, and pale blue eyes—almost grey.
‘So, how was it, Dawn? As good as you thought?’
‘No. It was better.’
He chuckled and turned back. She began to walk to her chair, and then jumped towards it, floating over and strapping herself into her seat.
‘Hey! You know not to do that! Sheesh, what if you had hit my head, or missed the chair? There’s a reason they make you take those tests before your first EVA trip, you know.’
‘Oh come on, Solar, you’re not going to live a little? And don’t remind me about those tests; don’t you know how long I stayed up to study for those?’
‘Yes,’ He said, exasperated. ‘I stayed up trying to help you, remember? I kept having to explain the basics of zero-gravity physics, and why, in any case, you should never, NEVER, jump around in a shuttle!”
‘Heh, well, I passed, didn’t I?’
‘Barely.” She smacked his arm, saying:
‘At lease I didn’t spend my time kissing up to the superiors!’
‘EVA pod Alice, you could have a more private conversation if you switched off the transmitter. It sounds similar to a marital argument.’
They both pressed the transmitter button and the message cut out. The only sound was the hum of the EVA pod. They turned towards each other, both blushing lightly.
Solar spoke up first:
‘Let’s just… get home.’
‘Yeah.’ She responded quietly.
The station had been built years ago, but constant repairs kept it in working order. It was in geosynchronous orbit around the planet, while it spun on its own axis. This created a field of gravity within the two outer wheels, which were connected by a cylindrical passage which branched off in four directions along each wheel. At both ends of the conduit, there were landing docks for EVA pods and small shuttles—any large ships were placed in orbit around the planet, close enough for the station to send a pod when needed. In each docking station, there were four elevators to bring the landing crew to the wheel of the station—the designated living area. Around three hundred ponies lived inside the station—a small but sturdy group. The living conditions were sufficient; white rooms with a basic bedroom, bathroom, a small kitchen, and an empty room for young ponies to play or older ponies to relax. The station’s council members had offices within their rooms, and a slightly more comfortable arrangement.
The station was run by this council, who were voted into their positions; each council member had a different section of the station to monitor—though they themselves did not run the station.
Within the centre of the main conduit was the station’s artificial intelligence station. It was wired into the entire networking of the station—however; the physical networking complex of the A.I. was stored inside the main conduit. SAL 9000, Sal to the crew members, was in charge of the station and taking care of the ponies that lived inside. To the system, the station was ‘her body’. This was the definition she had used when any pony asked where she was in the station. Her optical feeds ran throughout the walls and corridors; a small, circular camera lens with a blue light acting as her ‘eyes’, as some of the ponies had commented. Sal ran the life-support systems with her basic functions, checking oxygen levels, hull pressure, and temperature—keeping the station safe. The rotation speed and angle were regulated perfectly, and communications between pods and station were also under Sal’s control. Her higher functions allowed all this to be calculated in record times, observing all aspects of the station. She would communicate with Equine speech, perfect and fluent, to make the relations between her and the station members simpler. If there was any error, she would take full control of the station, assessing the best possible solution.
She had once installed a poetic program which she used to attempt to define what she was. It described her as the ruler over a kingdom. She understood the meaning, but found that it did not match. She was not a ruler. She ran the station. It was her job. Her function.
She deleted the program.
She was using her systems to play a simple game of chess with herself—she had used two sub-routines to play a simple game. One was a mirror of her own system, the other randomized to play in a more ‘equine’ manner. Her system won; this was the pre-calculated outcome. If she calculated how often she had run this program, the paper needed to display the number would wrap around the planet below five times.
The outcome was obvious.
But no matter how often she calculated, her systems would… ponder.
The white paneled station continued its orbit, spinning over the dark planet below.
The sun was rising over the edge of the empty world.
‘Station V, this is EVA pod Alice, over.’
‘This is Station V. EVA pod Alice, what is your ETA?’
‘ETA ten minutes, Station V, over.’
‘Roger Alice, preparing docking zone.’ Sal sent a communication to docking station B, altering the crew of the pod’s arrival.
‘Alice, this is Station V. Ready to receive and dock. It is good to know that Dawn’s first excursion was a success.’ Sal’s systems had also been programmed to mimic equine speech, to be more reassuring—however, there always was a trace of the artificiality, of over eloquence. The mimicry included what had been called ‘emotional presence’, though it did unnerve some of the crew to imagine her with real emotions.
Dawn’s voice rang over the transmitter:
‘Thanks Sal! I’ve been dying to get out of that cramped station! …oh, sorry. No offence.’
‘None taken; it must have been an enjoyable trip.’ Sal responded, sounding genuinely pleased with the news of their expedition.
Solar’s voice could be heard from the transmitter, with a touch of annoyance.
‘Alright, Dawn, that’s enough. A-hem. Station V, EVA pod, preparing to dock, over and out.’
He shut off the transmitter.
The station was now in full view of the pod as the sun’s light. Solar slowed down the speed of the pod, and started to rotate it, matching the speed of the station. It was not a simple task to land a pod, as the pilot had to carefully fly the pod into the dock while matching the rotation speed. There were no such things as small mistakes during an EVA mission. Solar concentrated, and flew closer to the station. Once he matched the rotation, he locked the speed and continued forward, steadily moving closer to the docking platform. The station seemed to have stopped rotating to his eyes—they were both two small objects in space, silently spinning.
As the pod flew into the docking bay he stopped and slowly descended into the pod onto magnetized clamps which would keep the pod in the dock.
‘Sal, magnetize clamps.’
The clamps suddenly pulled the pod to the floor of the docking bay, locking it in place.
‘Alright Sal, close the docking bay doors.’ Solar turned towards Dawn, who was still strapped in her chair, a bored expression on her face.
‘Come on Dawn, we’re home.’
She let out a small sigh and said, ‘Alright, let’s go then. Your dad’s probably wondering if we got back yet. If Sal hasn’t told him already.’
Sal responded, ‘Don’t worry, I will let your successful journey and docking be your surprise; and excellent work Solar, you’ve improved greatly as an EVA pilot.’
‘Really?’ He asked with a hint of pride.
‘Yes. You might just be the best we have. The doors are shut, so you may exit the pod now.’
He turned back to Dawn, smiling. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The two removed their straps and slowly exited the pod, staying on the black path at all times. They each grabbed their helmets and sealed them on, opening the pod doors.
They stepped out into the docking bay, a brightly light area with a series of maintenance tool boxes hooked to the walls, other EVA pods, and small command stations—run by Sal. A blue camera eye was watching over the bay. The two made their way up to the entrance chamber before the elevator. As they walked in, the door sealed behind them, and the chamber filled with oxygen loudly. An electric sign displayed: Air Pressure Normal. Dawn and Solar each removed their space suits, locking the helmets in place, and strapping the suits in their lockers. Solar kept a hoof on the floor, trying not to float away while he took off his suit—Dawn preferred being in mid-air. Standing below her, now in his station suit, he pulled her down with a quick tug of magic, saying:
‘Come on, really? After all I said about not jumping around, you’re still being a pain in my flank.’
‘But floating like that’s the best!’
He sighed and held her on the ground. Sal spoke up suddenly:
‘Solar, Dawn, the elevator is ready to take you back to the living quarters.’
‘Thanks!” they both said in unison, as they climbed into the elevator. Sitting down, they strapped themselves into the seats and waited as it slowly rose up.
As the elevator slowed down, Sal said, ‘Welcome home, Dawn and Solar. You are now under station gravity, so no more floating around. Have a good day.’
Dawn felt embarrassed to be told off by the station—Sal had been something of a mother, and being chided by her made Dawn feel like a little filly. Many ponies felt the same way about Sal; she taught the filly fillies and colts in the later levels of schooling, and was always watching to protect the station members. However, no pony would ever call her their mother—it was just not something that anypony did. Sal knew this too, but what mattered was the protection of the station. At any cost.
