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The Imperfect
Chapter 1
The pale glow of the streetlamps did little to extinguish the gnawing feeling of dread creeping up her spine. She shivered lightly as the memory played over in her head, the little details she memorized recalled and re-performed by mental recreations of both herself and of her... of Bon-Bon. She shut her eyes, trying to wipe away the recollection, to no avail.
"You need to grow up, Lyra!"
She couldn't feel the tears building up in her eyes, maybe due to the almost constant presence of them since that night. Her breath was labored as she quickly trotted down the street, a familiar little household coming into view. Her eyes opened briefly, golden irises flitting as she focused on the building. She could feel the individual grooves of the cobblestones underneath her hooves, similar to the cold she felt as a filly, exploring the house in the early morning hours or during winter. She moved towards the door, intent on getting inside immediately. Before she could even fumble with her keys, another fraction of that night seeped into her mind.
"I can't keep cleaning up after YOUR mess! Every time I come home I see this, this reliance on me!"
Almost as soon as it came, it went, but the effects of it lasted much longer than desired. She could feel her muzzle begin to pull and shift, her brow moving as well. Pushing the doors open almost frantically, holding her breath, she shut the door behind her. Not a second later Lyra was against the wall, sobbing. Her mint green coat becoming darker as the tears trailed along her face, eyes screwed shut once more. It had been quite a while since she had last been here, and while it had been her place of residence for a long duration of time, it didn't feel like home. Home was... gone.
Her family owns this house, a vacation home when her parents in Manehattan wanted to come visit, and a for a time, the house of a Lyra Heartstrings. She was having difficulty with her career in music, and even though she would live in this crazy town for as long as she could, her income was not exactly the benchmark of success. She found it exceedingly frustrating, and had been contemplating the at-the-time horrendous idea of moving back in with her parents, but then she met a certain sweet maker. Bon-Bon and Lyra had been friends for a long time, and Lyra had to occasionally borrow sums of money from her, but it was nothing too big, and Bon-Bon said she didn't mind. Lyra felt guilty having to resort to that kind of thing to keep going, but she kept telling herself that she would repay Bonnie some day.
Six months had passed after their first meeting at Sugarcube Corner when Lyra finally told her that she didn't want to be friends anymore, and that she felt a deeper connection between them. Bonnie felt the same way, and Lyra moved in not long after. The first four months had been great, wonderful moments between them littered throughout the days. But Lyra had frequented the park where she had played less and less. It didn't help that Bon-Bon was having financial issues as well. Eventually, the bubble burst and a heart was hurt. They had a heated conflict, with Lyra taking her things and leaving the apartment at Bon-Bon's request.
It had been less than a month. Less than a month, but what felt like an eternity of loneliness, self-loathing and guilt. Berry Punch hadn't been a positive influence in that time either. Lyra had tried to turn to alcohol, but found that the preservation of her memory, for what little good it did, was more important.
Lyra slid onto the couch in the foyer, the only real piece of furniture in the house aside from the cabinets and nightstands, and buried her head into a pillow. She was alone.
Being alone sucks, she concluded quite elegantly.
Aside from Bonnie growing ever the more hateful of Lyra's presence, Lyra knew that all of the trouble spouted from her own destructive tendencies. She let sloth take charge of her actions, or lack thereof, and the stem of all of these issues had grown from that little seed. Lyra pulled her head from the pillow, little wet pools where her eyes were, and sniffed as she looked out the window. She lifted her body from the comforting embrace of that musty old red monster, and sluggishly opened the pane with her hooves, introducing it to the cool of the air outside. She looked at the moon, sniffing once more.
'I wish I could start again, and...' the thought died off quickly, similar to the many others like it throughout the past three weeks. It was killed by a tear. She shuffled back over to the two-seater couch, and collapsed once more, thinking of better nights. Near by her friend, her best friend and lover.
Her anchor.
She had tried to socialize again, on numerous occasions but Berry Punch and Carrot Top weren't exactly great ponies to be around. Not that they were bad ponies but... Berry Punch can't tell who she is talking to or hanging out with unless you make it abundantly clear and repeat your name over and over again, if she is not staring down another bottle. Carrot Top is sweet and curt, but tends to be... boring.
'You know what? Buck it, let's have another, nopony can judge me anyway.'
She pulled herself up once more, groaning involuntarily, and made her way over to the fridge, looking for a particular beverage. The door to the cool contents within open, she eyed the occasional can of fruits, nuts, bags of cold tofu, butter and the jug of bad milk. Then, her eyes settled on a prize, a slick, green bottle with a screw cap, dark blue contents within. She grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass on the counter beside her. She set the bottle down beside it.
Looking into the glass, she found solace in the swishing liquid within. A moment of peace. It went away with the reminder the fridge was open. She went to close it, but grabbed three ice cubes in her magic and dropped them in the drink. The golden aura faded as they hit the dark blue, and the sound of the ice cracking in it came to her ears. She sat in the seat near the counter, sitting in what would normally be considered an awkward position to sit in, analyzing both the bottle and the glass.
She then grabbed the bottle and drank as much as she could in one go, the contents drifting now to the halfway mark before she finished. Taking the glass as well, she drank the night away.
Memory be damned.
Black Knight
Chapter 2
The mid-August heat had arrived, forcing families into barbecues, pool parties and various other outdoor activities. For a moment, he wished he had stayed home to enjoy this summer-time dreariness, kick up his feet and have a cold beer. But alas, responsibilities seemed to have other plans. They drove in the Floridian heat for an hour and the air conditioning unit in this car appeared to be faulty, much to the displeasure of the men inside. The car finally came to a stop, the men in both the passenger and driver seats clambering out of the vehicle. The third man within, after sparing a brief glance to a silver grey watch on his wrist, departed as well. As the door swung open, the man could feel the heat pushing down on him, the midday sun hanging above.
His head inclined briefly as a small throb from his head made its presence known, then turned his attention to the elderly general now approaching from the gates of the base. The General was dressed much like how a general would dress, distinctive medals and pins adorning the left breast of his jacket, various blues and greens and reds shining underneath the great ball of fire in the sky. Removing his sunglasses from his face, gold rims and black lenses, he set them gently in the breast pocket of his dress-shirt and walked forward and extended his other hand in one fluid motion.
"Sir," he began, but was cut off by the elderly gentleman raising a single hand.
"No need for formalities Ethan, I would not have requested you on-site unless the matter was urgent, and we need not waste a minute."
The older man motioned for them to follow, and the man was escorted by the two in the car previously, black sunglasses and black suits. They moved like a unit, calculated strides and calculated movements, pushing forward into the building ahead. The cream white administrative building was alive with activity, the clerk at the front desk had hands that seemed to move faster than the eye could trail. They quickly moved passed the security check and into the main halls, lefts and rights and lefts and rights, coming to an elevator at the end of the hallway. There were two men already in the elevator but upon making eye contact with the General they fled.
"General Reynolds, I-"
Eyes that spoke of unbridled fury and anger melted away any resolve the officer had at that point, his words dying on his lips. They stepped in. The elevator was silent as they went up, and for a moment, it seemed that the world was about to end.
"Lieutenant Dover, I am sure that you are quite annoyed that I have had you come up from Fort Lauderdale and I know that you are on leave but at the moment, we must put that aside. We will talk in my office."
Silence once more enveloped the box.
Soon, the doors opened and they stepped out, out into a busy collection of desks, white collars, ties and paperwork. The younger man was quickly rushed through the mess of people, and into a private office. The two suits stepped outside and stood stoic and silent, watching the others work while the General shut the door. The General walked around the mahogany desk and sat thoughtfully in a chair behind it. When the man had turned the general was looking through a file.
"Sit."
And he did, swiftly.
For several minutes, they went without a sound, the man glancing out the window and readjusting his tie while the General skimmed the manila folder before him.
"How's the girl?"
"We're separated."
"Ah, sorry."
Silence reigned once more, leaving the man sitting in building frustration. He looked up at the clock above the cabinet behind the desk, reading 1:31 PM. He confirmed the time on his watch. The general still hadn't turned away from the folder.
"Are you going to tell me why I'm here?" He burst suddenly, the immediately thought of the repercussions of talking like that to a superior officer, but was surprised to see indifference on the Reynolds face.
"Yes." The white-haired gentleman mumbled, still going over the documents and frowning.
"Sir, you're talking about not wasting time, and here we are-"
Reynolds looked up, pale green eyes making contact with the icy blue's in Ethan's head. That was all it took to quiet him, and the General spoke, "I am deciding on how I should relay the information I have been tasked with."
He said no more as he brought his hands together on the tabletop, fingers interlocking gently. He sighed and the short white whiskers of his mustache twitched as he grimaced and seemed to roll words around in his mouth to see how they fit.
"NASA had been going over some old files from various STS missions, reanalyzing results and data, that sort of business. However, they stumbled along some of the, more... disturbing details. Eventually, after classifying and expunging various bits of information, they decided to... hmm... 'pass along the knowledge' of a certain non-terrestrial satellite."
Ethan leaned in, the speech wiping away his previous emotion.
"With the tensions building with Korea, China and the Russians, we have been investing in more unorthodox endeavors. The brass are sure that within the next ten years, the entire world will be plunged into a war for resources, among other things."
Ethan leaned back to his original spot, shaking his head, "Listen, that's just paranoia setting in, the Cold War was the same and no one blew each other up aside from the smaller countries."
Reynolds seemed to grow aggravated, "Ethan, you know as well as I do that the turmoil in the Middle East will not end soon. They are fighting for different sects of a religion, and both are equally dangerous at this point in that conflict. We cannot stop them without Russian forces counter acting our own. We..."
The General sighed and massaged his forehead with his fingers.
"We can... We are researching methods of life conservation. Cryogenics, fallout shelters, massive underground complexes, deep sea submarines and underwater platforming and colony work. We have even turned to aerospace colonization."
At this, the Lieutenant pulled back even further.
"Listen Reynolds, I know that we've been working together for some time, and that time in Syria, but I'm not going to be part of this fucked up science project. I'm not even in my thirties and I've got a long life ahead of me," he said nervously. He glanced to the clock once again but didn't read the time before he focused back.
"No, none of us down here will have much of a life ahead of us. Not any longer," the General's words came softly, his eyes seemed distant and knowing of dreadful things.
"Sorry sir, I-"
"Please listen, I know this must sound ridiculous but you know I-"
"Sir, with all due respect, this is a waste of resources and-"
"God damn it Dover! The world is coming to a god damn end! You think I would have called you hear to sit in my office if I had doubts about this fucking disaster?!" The General stood and paced for a moment.
"We've already fucking lost, son!" His hand slammed into the desk, sending a pen rolling onto the floor, "The Fifth and Seventh fleets are preparing to fend off an attack that is coming any day now! Our embassy in Bahrain was burned to the ground and the Russians are going to completely annex Ukraine and NATO is on the verge of shooting at everything beyond it's borders! Every action from this point on will influence the fate of the world, no one is going to make it out of this alive without commitment to the preservation of our species!" The General finished, panting and grasping the table fervently. His grasp failed as nervous sweat built on his palms and brow, and he slid into his seat.
"NORAD has already given us the green light, JSOC has agreed to distribute a small portion of it's forces to each one of our projects, the Air Force will..." the breath caught in his throat as he tried to get his bearings, "...will lend us some birds, we have men trained in survivalist operations and techniques and..."
He went silent. He brushed the sweat on his forehead with a black sleeve.
"I called you here to join the NASA effort."
Ethan spluttered, "What?"
Reynolds looked out the window once more, then pushed the manila folder forward.
Dover took the folder gently, and opened the flap to a picture of a black, angular object, with what looked like stabilizers or wings. Black, metallic, alien. There were several pictures of the object, and at the bottom of the photographs there were NASA watermarks, as well as many CLASSIFIED indicators.
His eyes kept scanning the object, the strange proportions of it, the little dips and corners. There was not a single thought on his mind, but a flurry of emotions, a rush of adrenaline and a surge of fear.
"S-sir?"
He looked up to Reynolds.
"NASA has led several expeditions up there to the craft. It was a beacon, a message left here, a long time ago... We almost knocked it out of orbit in fear, and strange signals were emanating from the craft. The technology aboard is unlike anything we have ever seen... it is a shame that we only managed to get so little before," Reynolds gestured around him, "this."
Ethan went back to the pictures, and soon saw blueprints from NASA, NORAD, CIA signatures, blacked out lines of text and... Groom Lake. Pictures of Edwards Air Force Base and the fences of Area 51, coupled by massive hangers.
"Jesus Christ James, we fucking encountered aliens?"
"Keep your damn voice down!" He hissed, "No, we only boarded that satellite. Aboard that vessel we found things that we should not have found, things that would go undiscovered, never developed for at least two centuries. Technologies, unknown to world, advanced beyond all belief. The DoD was researching possible ways we could bring the satellite down to Earth safely, but the damn thing only comes around once every seventeen years."
The general shifted.
"In the file there is a device labeled 'A.R.H.C.', short for Artificial Rehabilitative Hibernation Chamber, the technicians have taken to affectionately calling it the Ark. There was a unit was found on the satellite, a capsule of some sort, similar to the machine depicted. Inside there was a... we have the technology to prolong the natural death of a human by inducing a state of suspended animation, theoretically, for a dozen centuries. As one of the lead directors of Operation: Black Knight, I have personally overseen the development of this device."
Ethan looked up with anxiety on his features, eyes wide and mouth parted.
"We are sending a team of fifty to ride on a heavily modified NASA shuttle, unique and powerful, carrying equipment and rations to sustain a small town in the near future. The Black Knight will complete the orbit once more next month, and we are launching soon. We will send them up in this lifetime, and hopefully they will have a better future than we will. If none of the other colonies make it..."
Silence came once more.
"I don't want to leave my life behind, sir. I'd rather fight. I got a family, for fucks sake!"
"I would fight too. I would fight for a better tomorrow, but that tomorrow lies beyond this planet, at least for a little while," he reclined in the chair, a defeated air about him, "'I know you disagree with my decision, my opinion as well, to have you on this. I could put a hundred other men in your chair on that truck, but I chose you'. Do you want to know why?"
Ethan looked up from the folder, his eyes glistening.
"Do you remember when I said that to you, riding back to the FOB, Syria? You hated my guts for pulling you out of that fight, kicking and screaming with blood on your face, today I am making the same call. I do not want you to lose your life down here in the trenches, waiting for looming destruction on the horizon as the ICBM's close in. You are my friend. I would sooner give my own life than to see you give yours for a country that will burn, that is why you have been called in here. You do not have to accept my proposition, but just take it with you, back home."
General James Reynolds stood, his features somber and sharp, and looked to the airstrip outside. He took a long, deep breath and held it for several moments, before letting it out slowly. He tenderly removed the cap from his head and set it on the table behind him, then rested his head against the glass of the window.
"My daughter is seventeen."
"I'm sorry?"
"I have a ten year old boy and a seventeen year old daughter, a wife of thirty years. They said she was too old to give birth when my daughter came, said it was a miracle. Seven years later and another child."
Ethan looked into his arm, staring at something that did not exist.
"I have a family, Ethan. We all have families. You are part of that family and you are the only one I can save."
"James, I-" Ethan suddenly found the two men from outside had come back in and slowly ushered him out. He tried desperately to stay, but the men were gaining ground. Before he left, he heard General James Reynolds for one last instance.
"Death is coming," he murmured to Ethan,
"Don't let him see you."
