“One small step for man... one giant leap for mankind.” The world cheered as Neil Armstrong, US astronaut, became the first human being to set foot on the moon.
The staticky images, going live to Mission Control and millions of homes around the world, showed the spacesuited form of Armstrong slowly turning around.
“What is THAT?” came his panic-ridden voice, and on the feed he stumbled backwards and fell against the lander with a dull clang hearable as the vibrations traveled to his helmet mike.
“Tranquility, this is Houston. What is what?” the communication came to him, quickly and seriously.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered. “Houston, I think I may be experiencing hallucinations...” He paused. “But, just in case, could you take a look at the area right in front of Tranquility?”
“One moment, Tranquility,” Charlie Duke, the Capsule Communicator (CAPCOM) for Apollo 11, said, before conferring with the other people at Mission Control.
“Do we have a camera there?”
“I think we can get a look at that angle, yes,” came the reply.
Tens, no hundreds, of millions around the world held their breath at this unexpected turn of events. What had he seen?
“Tranquility, this is Houston. Can you describe what you’re seeing so we know if we catch it too?” Charlie asked.
“Uh, Houston, it’s some kind of quadrupedal lifeform... just standing on the moon. It’s giving me a look.”
“Tranquility, a quadrupedal lifeform? Does it have any kind of vacuum protection?” he asked, before hissing, “Why don’t we have that camera feed up yet?”
“Houston, I don’t think it does, or if it does, I can’t see it. It’s just standing there, looking at me... I can see its eyes.”
“Copy, Tranquility. We’re working on getting a camera now. Hold one.”
“Got it!” one tech exclaimed triumphantly.
The camera switched abruptly, and all activity stopped dead for a moment.
“Tranquility, this is Houston. We see it too.”
The gasp could be heard in almost every locale on the globe. “Aliens,” came the mutter, in a hundred languages and a thousand dialects.
The resolution was bad, and at the distance it was from the lander, not more than a four-legged blob. “Can you give us details on it?”
Armstrong cursed under his breath, though it was still clearly audible. “Um, it’s blue... it’s wearing some kind of armor... it has really big eyes. Really creeping me out.”
The blob moved. “It took a step forwards,” Neil blurted. “Buzz, get out here. And bring the survival kit... it has a machete in it, right?”
Aldrin’s voice came back, “Copy.”
The blob took another step forwards, its shape clarifying slightly.
“This is insane,” Neil said loudly. “There’s an alien on the Moon... and it looks like a freaking unicorn.”
Buzz’s voice cut in, “A unicorn?” After a brief pause, he spoke. “I guess we know where the Greeks got them from... unicorns are aliens. Who would’ve guessed?”
Third step forwards, and Neil took a step back. “Houston?” he asked nervously. “What should I do?”
“Tranquility, does it appear to have any weaponry?” Charlie was rattled, his question slow and hesitant as sweat began to bead on his brow and run down his back. There had been hundreds of contingency plans made for increasingly improbable situations, but nothing for contact with an alien. The possibility had been deemed so improbable it wasn’t even worth the contingency planner’s time.
He thought hysterically some bureaucrats probably were resenting that fact right now.
“No,” Neil’s reply came back, the captive audiences glued to their televisions at the indistinct shape on their screen.
“Right.” Charlie was out of ideas. “Tranquility, this is Houston. I’m going to need to get some higher clearance for any actions. This is national security-level right now. Hold one.” Frantically, he tore off his headset. “Someone get the Chiefs of Staff and the President on the line right now!” he ordered frantically. “Time is of the essence!”
The mission control center exploded into action as they began taking steps to contact all those they would have to.
“Houston, we have a problem,” Neil said as Buzz joined him outside on the lunar surface. “I don’t think we have time for that—it is continuing to advance towards us.”
Charlie cursed. The folks at Mission Control would just have to do their best without authorization—there was no time for red tape or delaying in such a delicate situation. ‘Think fast,’ he urged himself.
“Colonel, get back in the lander,” he urged. “Just in case something happens. Get it prepped for a quick takeoff.”
“Houston, the LM was never designed for quick takeoff,” Aldrin’s concerned voice came over the radio even as he stopped his descent and began to climb the ladder back into the lander. “It’ll be at least twenty minutes before it’s prepped, and more after we close the hatch.”
“Copy, Tranquility,” Charlie said. “Neil, take a few steps forwards. Let’s try something.” It was crazy, but this whole situation was crazy—why not try something just as insane?
Armstrong complied, and soon the two lifeforms stood a handful of yards apart, a stareoff on the moon.
“Neil, I want you to very carefully approach the...” he cast about for a word. “Extraterrestrial.”
“Roger,” Neil replied, with no small amount of trepidation. Weakly, he joked, “Looks like I get to make history twice, Buzz. First to walk on the Moon and first to make official contact with an alien.”
Buzz returned, “Just be careful, Neil.”
Neil took slow steps, one after another, gradually drawing closer. There was no movement apparent on the feeds, but the astronaut halted for a moment. “It just cocked its head,” he reported.
Soon, they were just slightly more than an arm’s length apart. “Now what, Houston?” Neil’s clipped, stressed tone questioned.
Charlie gulped. He was about to do something either very wise or very foolish. “I want you to try to touch your faceplate to some part on its head,” he said. “I want to try to get some form of communication up, establish some kind of contact.”
“Are you sur—Roger, Houston,” Armstrong’s surprised voice came. Ever so slowly, he began to lean forwards, caution oozing from him with such strength it was almost visible.
The alien took a step back, but after Neil stopped, took an equally-careful step forwards, and leaned forwards until they were eye-to-faceplate not more than six inches apart.
Six hundred million around the globe held their breath as Neil’s voice said, “Let’s do this,” and slowly touched his faceplate to the head area of the—well, the unicorn. There was no dancing around that fact.
The astronaut took a deep breath to steady his shattered nerves, before enunciating clearly and slowly, while pointing at himself, “Neil.”
Clearly, Charlie could see the unicorn take a step back, in what he thought might be surprise. Then, it reestablished contact, and a decidedly-female voice said, just as slowly as the human had, “Neil,” while pointing to him. It then pointed at itself. “Luna.” Her voice was tinny, but still easily understandable.
Those in Mission Control let out a breath, faces blue from the anticipation. “Right, good job, Neil,” Charlie said, relief obvious in his slightly-shaking voice. “Buzz, you can stop preparations for takeoff. You’ve got... what, slightly less than seven hours, max, of possible moon-walking time now?”
“Ah, yes, Houston, about that was the estimate,” both replied.
“Buzz, I want you to collect some samples, take the photos, and plant the flag just as the mission was supposed to. Neil... I want you to try to get something else across.”
“Copy that,” they both replied. Buzz began descending the ladder, as Neil and the alien regarded each other.
Again, they made contact, and this time Neil gestured to the Earth, half-visible on the horizon. “Earth,” he said.
“Earth,” she (or at least that’s what it sounded like to everyone on Earth) repeated slowly. She broke contact again, and Neil reported, “She’s looking at Earth now...”
Then, she pointed out, into the blackness of space, and said, touching Neil’s faceplate, “Equestria,” and paused.
“Equestria,” Neil repeated. “You got all that, Houston?”
“Yes, Tranquility. We got all that.”
Buzz came in over the line. “I got pictures of the lander,” he said, “And also the extraterrestrial.”
“Copy, Buzz.”
On Earth, the frenzy was only just beginning. The analysts dropped everything—in some cases entirely literally—and rushed to analyze the two words spoken. The President, now on the line with Mission Control and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, began considering the implications of life out in the stars. Across the Atlantic, the Soviets did the same, along with every other nation of any note.
All knew just one thing—no matter what happened with Apollo 11, how contact went or what occurred afterwards, things would never be the same in every way.
Humanity had reached out, taking their first step towards the stars, setting foot on a body beyond their own planet.
And the stars, it seemed, had reached out in kind.
Author's Note
Here's just a silly little oneshot of simply "Neil Armstrong meets Luna." Enjoy.
