Përballim

by Chicago Ted

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 6602

A story detailing Humanity's first contact with Equestria, despite a language barrier.

In the 28ᵗʰ century, humanity had advanced beyond its local star system, and founded various colonies on extrasolar planets. These simple colonies eventually consolidated into large interplanetary empires, not unlike the European colonial empires of old.

One colony ship crash-lands catastrophically on a previously-unsettled planet, and its lone survivor– an Albanian soldier– makes first contact with a previously unknown sapient extraterrestrial species.

(Nota Bene: Contains violence, vulgarity, and foreign-language dialogue. Translations are provided, and the narrator speaks English.)

Takes place after Season IV; the events of Season V have never occurred.

Prereading and suggestions by Sunnypack

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-07 19:44:44 UTC

Ill-Fated Voyage

„Admiral Berisha, planetin Kepler-186F duket të jetë i banueshëm. A duhet të ringjallë pasagjerët?“ (Admiral Berisha, planet Kepler-186F is within sight. Should I revive the passengers?)

„Po. Ne duhet të vënë këmbë në tokën e saj së shpejti.“ (Yes. We should set foot on its soil soon.)

This short radio conversation may mean nothing at first glance, but for Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea, the message couldn’t be any more exciting. For almost a decade, he had spent his life inside a cryostasis pod, his body frozen and stored, unable to age, always with the risk he may never be revived. Now there was greater hope than ever for the twenty thousand passengers aboard the Anijen Perandorake Shqipëtar (Albanian Imperial Spacecraft) (APS) Përballim. All twenty thousand passengers, and the various crew aboard, had said their final goodbyes to their families on New Tiranë, and endured nine years, seven months, and three days in cryostasis, for this one moment: setting foot on a new planet. The Përballim was a colony ship, sent to Kepler-186F, an Earth-sized planet located within its star’s habitable zone discovered on 17 April 2014. And now, the Përballim was in orbit around it.

The ship summarily revived the passengers. Gjebrea was among the last, and was somewhat disoriented and nauseous when he emerged from his pod. In due time he recovered. He met up with his comrade-in-arms (and secret crush), Captain Ardita Ramadani, and decided to kill some time in conversation.

„A keni ndonjë ëndrrat gjatë pezëm?“ asked Ramadani. (Did you have any dreams during stasis?)

„Jo,“ replied Gjebrea. „A të?“ (No. Did you?)

„Jo“ was her reply. „Shkencëtarët thanë që ne do të, pse. Gënjeshtarët.“ (No. The scientists said we would, though. Liars.)

„Vërtet, ata shkencëtarë, me llogaritëse e tyre dashuroj,“ said Gjebrea. „Ata shkencëtarë, me pajisjet e tyre të avancuar. Ata shken--“ (Yeah, those scientists, with their fancy calculators. Those scientists, with their advanced equipment. Those scien--)

Berisha’s voice interrupted Gjebrea mid-word: „Kujdes ju lutem, kjo është Admiral Berisha. Që të gjithë pasagjerët janë ringjallur, unë do të doja për të njoftuar se ne jemi në prani të një planet të banueshme. Përballima do të prishur atmosferën në rreth pesë orë. Nëse dikush prej jush dëshiron të parë planetin para se atëherë, të raportojë në kuvertën e ulët shikimin. Ekipet riparimi ju lutem raportoni te zhvesh e pasme të motorit për të riparuar mburojë të dëmtuara. Aktiviteti jashtë automjetesh është e ndaluar deri në një njoftim të mëtejshëm. Faleminderit.“ (Attention please, this is Admiral Berisha. Since all passengers have been revived, I would like to announce that we are in the presence of a habitable planet. The Përballim will be breaching the atmosphere in approximately five hours. If anyone of you wishes to view the planet before then, report to the lower viewing decks. Repair crews please report to rear engine hull to repair damaged shielding. Extravehicular activity is forbidden until further notice. Thank you.)

„Duan të shohin atë?“ asked Ramadani. (Wanna check it out?)

„Po,“ he replied. „Pse jo?“ (Yes. Why not?)

*  *  *

It was beautiful.

Kepler-186 was located some 492 light-years away from Earth, but New Tiranë was located much closer to it-- a mere 75 light-years. Kepler-186F was suspected to be habitable, and the visible vegetation indicated such. According to the Geneva Articles, if a ship of a particular nationality lands on an unclaimed planet, it is claimed by that nation. This world was soon about to belong to Albania.

Ramadani put her hand around Gjebrea’s back. „Shikojeni atë,“ she commented. „Ka një kontinent i vetëm në mes të një deti të madh.“ (Look at it. There’s a single continent in the middle of a vast sea.)

That “continent” was about the size of Asia on Earth. It reminded Gjebrea of the theoretical Pangæa that existed on Earth millions of years ago, surrounded by the Tethys Sea.

But Gjebrea wasn’t really paying any attention to Kepler-186F. All he knew was that Oh my God, she’s embracing me, she’s embracing me, she’s--

Providence slapped his face. Snap to attention, soldier!

Yes, sir!

„Çfarë është e gabuar, Argjend?“ asked Ramadani. „Pse kaq serioz?“ (What’s wrong, Argjend? Why so serious?)

„Oh, kjo është asgjë,“ he replied. (Oh, it’s nothing.)

„A jeni i sigurt? Për shkak unë e di për shtrydhje tuaj.“ (Are you sure? Because I know about your crush.)

Gjebrea was speechless. „Si ae dini?“ he finally asked. (How did you know?)

„Për shkak unë mund të them nga rruga që ju sillen me mua.“ (Because I can tell by the way you behave with me.)

Gjebrea blushed slighly. „Mos të jetë i zënë ngushtë,“ she said. „Unë nuk do mend.“ (Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t mind.)

Just then, a large shadow was cast over the couple when an asteroid floated in front of the viewing glass. And then the two realized just why Admiral Berisha had forbidden extravehicular activity. Fortunately, it didn’t collide with the Përballim.

„E pra, që ishte e frikshme,“ commented Ramadani. She nuzzled closer to Gjebrea. „Të mbështetur mua, Argjend.“ (Well, that was frightening. Back me up, Argjend.)

Gjebrea complied. „Pse do të ketë asteroidet?“ he wondered aloud. „Kepler nuk ka treguar--“ (Why would there be asteroids? Kepler didn’t show--)

What cut off Gjebrea was a massive, ship-rocking explosion. Alarms and lights went off. Admiral Berisha came onto the Përballim’s PA.

„Kujdes ju lutem, kjo është Admiral Berisha. Për shkak të një dështim katastrofik motor, unë urdhëroj të gjithë pasagjerët për të braktisur anijen. Për fat të mirë, një planetin i banueshëm është deri përpara anijes. . . .“ (Attention please, this is Admiral Berisha. Due to a catastrophic engine failure, I am ordering all passengers to abandon ship. Fortunately, a habitable planet is up ahead of the ship. . . .)

Nobody was really paying any attention to the admiral or the disjointed words of the automated voice: „KUJDES: reaktor kryesore shkëputur.“ „KUJDES: integriteti strukturor i komprometuar.“ „KUJDES: Sistemet e brendshme mosfunksionimi.“ (WARNING: main reactor offline. WARNING: structural integrity compromised. WARNING: internal systems malfunctioning.) They were all scrambling to the escape pods. It was every man and woman for his or herself. Gjebrea and Ramadani ran to the lower hangar. They boarded adjacent escape pods. They strapped themselves in. They sealed the pods. A moment later, the security tethers were cut. The propulsion rockets fired. All that could be heard was the soft hum of flowing electricity within the pods, for no sounds existed without air to carry them.

They were in space.

*  *  *

The pods came into more trouble than expected. Apparently, this “habitable” planet was surrounded by a merciless asteroid field. Pods were being destroyed by these unpredictably-moving monsters, often dozens at a time. Gjebrea looked up at the Përballim; it appeared that a massive asteroid had slammed into the main reactor. He looked back down just in time to dodge an iron-laden asteroid heading for him. Ramadani did the same.

The two entered the atmosphere. They were the only two pods to do so. They crash-landed in the middle of what appeared to be a temperate forest. The weather appeared to be winter. Gjebrea strapped on a tight, heavy Level-Γ respirator and climbed out of his pod, looking around for Ramadani’s. Fortunately, she touched down not far from him. He went over and found the door still shut. Upon forcing it open, a bloodied corpse fell to its knees, then planted its face into the snow. Seeing this sight, he was first shocked, then devastated. Ardita Ramadani, the best friend he knew, was killed by the sheer force of the landing.

It also meant something else, and when he realized it, the prospective frightened him more than anything else. If Ardita was killed, everybody else was in orbit around this alien world, or trapped aboard the Përballim, obviously dead, then. . .

He was the sole survivor.

Lone Wolf

Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea knew that any catharsis on his part could be lethal on this alien world. Any indigenous life could hunt him down and make short work of him. So he salvaged the pods, and came away with some supplies for a long wait, including, among other things, rations, a canteen with water, a first-aid kit, a trench-coat, and a standard-issue Heckler & Koch USP Weltall pistol, specially built to survive the stress of cosmic exploration. He had four 15-round magazines (counting the one already loaded), it had a laser sight, integrated suppressor and ammo counter, and was chambered for caseless 9×19mm Parabellum. He also took Ardita’s dogtags, to remember her.

Suddenly, there was a massive roar in the air, as though he were witnessing the Tunguska Event. The boom quickly gave way to the high-pitched squeal of inner-ear tinnitus. Once he could hear properly, he looked towards its general direction, and found that the Përballim had touched down. For a large object, it was surprising he had missed its descent.

So he paid his last respects to Ardita, buried her, and set off out of the barren forest. His neuro-optic interface (AKA his “HUDcom”) was scanning for any flora that wasn’t hibernating for the winter. He noted some lichens growing on one side of a tree. His HUDcom scanned it for its chemical composition. Imagine his surprise when he saw it had the same compostion as Iceland moss (Cetraria islandica), without anything toxic to humans. This he scraped off with a field knife, collecting it in his satchel, for later consumption.

A blizzard flew in. Gjebrea nearly froze-- the trench-coat wasn’t adequate protection against the cold, but after a decade of being suspended in cryonics, he still had some traces of cryoprotectants flowing in his veins, and, well. . . he simply had gotten used to feeling cold. There was a particularly loud sound overhead, but the blizzard blew too hard to see what it was. Twice he heard a sharp sound-- a twig snapping, for instance-- but upon inspection, found nothing.

The blizzard dwindled down after a few minutes, granting Gjebrea decent visibility once again. He searched the HUDcom’s databanks for setting traps-- specifically, snares. Once he found the precise passage, he set about twisting some copper wire pulled out of Ardita’s pod and tying it around small-trunked trees. This he would leave alone until evening.

He checked a nearby river. The HUDcom showed the ice was about ¾ centimeters thick, so walking across wasn’t the best idea. It was thin enough, however, to make ice fishing practical. After sharpening some long sticks into spears with his field knife, he managed to get five fish out of the river. The HUDcom found these species in particular to resemble rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss).

Once he returned back at camp, he salted the trout, then decided to take a moment to try for radio contact. As crazy as the idea sounded, he thought there would be other humans on this planet. „Kjo është Rreshter Argjend Gjebrea. A është ndokush atje? Mbi.“ (This is Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea. Is anyone out there? Over.)

No response. „Ç'kemi? Çdokush atje, ju kopje? Mbi.“ (Hello? Anyone there, do you read? Over.)

Again, silence. Gjebrea sighed, setting the radio down. He looked over Ardita’s graveside. Such a beautiful woman, such a skilled soldier. --And now she was gone.

A pang of survivors’ guilt went through his heart. He would have cried, but his soldier’s strictness forced him to suppress such sadness. All he could do now was reflect on her past.

You served with me in the 751st Armed Infantry Division. We first met each other just prior to the Third Battle of Zamenhof. The two of us worked well with each other-- Zamenhof, Tatlin, Dragash, Korçë-- but beyond that we were nothing more than brothers-in-arms.

That changed aboard the Përballim. There, you not only acknowledged my hidden secret, but also even encouraged it; I daresay enjoyed it. Oh, Ardita. . . .

If only you were still here, for just a moment longer, so that I may see your beautiful face one last time. . . .

Why, Providence? Why her, and not me?

He sighed, his breath forming fog around the filter. A small tear ran out his right eye. It hit the corresponding eye window, then ran down to the bottom of the respirator.

Oh, Ardita, if you only saw me this way. . . .

I won’t ever leave you. I love you.

Some snow crunched behind him. Not taking any chances, he grabbed his pistol and pointed it at the source. He was shocked to find what appeared to be a bizarre cross between a horse and a mosquito, snarling at him. „Qëndro larg!“ shouted Gjebrea. „Unë do të xhiruar!“ (Stay away! I’ll shoot!)

The creature took no notice of his warning. It pounced on him. Gjebrea shoved it off. It landed with a wham! against Ardita’s pod. The creature stood up, dazed from the impact. Gjebrea opened fire. Three 9mm armor-piercing rounds ripped through the creature’s heart, making short work of it.

He holstered his pistol, and investigated the corpse. It was a ghastly sight to behold. He noted the eyes had blue scleræ, with white gradients, and no sign of irises or pupils. The blood was flourescent green, and extremely thick, with the viscosity of honey. The “hooves” had massive holes cut out of them, akin to Swiss cheese, as did the wings. . . if those were wings. The mane and tail had jagged, bat-like edges on it. Its upper jaw had two fangs that were visible even when the mouth was shut. He scanned the corpse with the HUDcom: no, it wasn’t edible. Pity. So he took photographs of the corpse, using his HUDcom, to document his findings.

Now he was more nervous than ever. If a creature like this was present on this world, then there was no telling what else there was. Nervously, he decided to check his snares, noting the sun’s position.

Of the five snares he set, two had caught rabbits. These he freed from their death-clutch (while also resetting the snares). Then he noticed a shard of cloth by the riverbank. He picked it up and, using his HUDcom, found it to be cotton. Unheard of outside human society, it pointed strongly to sapient life on this planet. That creature he killed at the campsite may be an example of such. Or it may just be a wild animal, since it did not heed his words. Then again, they definitely wouldn’t speak Albanian, but they should recognize attempts at communication. Or perhaps they didn’t consider spoken words to be communication, in which case what was the norm? Pheromones? Telepathy? . . .

All these thoughts distracted Gjebrea, and he tripped on a stone, getting a large gash on his left hand. „Mallkonte atë,“ he said, examining the wound. (Damn it.) He proceeded to clean it (which stung) and wrap it in bandages. It wasn’t the best patch job in the world, but it had to do.

There was more rustling in the bushes. Gjebrea drew his pistol, but whatever it was, it was gone in the same instant. Gjebrea calmly, slowly reholstered his pistol, and took a look, unsure of what he had seen. There were fresh hoofprint tracks in the snow. A small orange feather was found in the tracks, still warm, as though it had just fallen off. He noted that the tracks were consistent with a juvenile equine species, with signs of horseshoes. No doubt there was sapient life here-- now the next question was: Are they civilized?

Back at the campsite, Gjebrea skinned the rabbits, then started a fire to cook them. While they were roasting, he tried again with the radio. „Kjo është Rreshter Argjend Gjebrea. A është ndokush atje? Mbi.“ (This is Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea. Is anyone out there? Over.)

Radio silence answered his question. Gjebrea shook his head, and set it down. Disappointment wrought his mind as he roasted the rabbits over the fire. It took a good long time, since the melting snow threatened to extinguish the campfire, but Gjebrea managed to cook two rabbits over the fire.

Eating his fill was rather complicated. He would draw a breath, then quicky pull his respirator off, shove in as much food as he can, strap the respirator back on, and swallow. Very inefficient, but better safe than sorry. He would have turned to the rations, but they were all labelled:

Për të konsumohen vetëm kur ka ngrënshmet të tjera të çdo lloji janë të gjetshëm.

Or, in English:

To be consumed only when no other edibles of any kind are procurable.

Drinking was much more simple-- fill his canteen with water, then use the respirator’s drink tube. Virtually no risk, except to make sure there was no air inside the canteen.

Once he had his fill, he decided to call it a day, now that the sun had completely set, the planet’s sole natural satellite taking its place. He had a sleeping bag set up inside his pod. Once inside, he sealed it off from the elements. The internal heater kicked in, and Gjebrea was soon fast asleep, having completed his first day on this world. How long would he remain here? No one could say.

First Contact

Day Two on a Brave New World: Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea awoke to find some of the snow was starting to melt. And not just around his pod; it was affecting the whole area. The ground was still covered with snow, though. And all that meltwater made trekking all the harder.

He went to check the snares: no such luck. There were more hoofprints where he found the orange feather. Some were consistent with a juvenile of its species (the stride patterns, though, revealed there was more than one juvenile involved), but many more were adults’ tracks. All of them were shoed, though. His HUDcom took photographs of the tracks. He then checked for residual body heat: virtually no signatures. It must have been a while since whatever they were were here.

He decided to brave it a little, and explore further. Some distance off, there was a fallen tree trunk spanning the length of the river, which he crossed without too much difficulty.

There was a bush about .2 clicks past the river, already producing berries. Ever the cautious one, Gjebrea scanned the berries and found a 3.5% hydrocyanic acid content in them. Close call.

At the base of a tree, he noted some flowers, somehow blooming in the cold. (This shouldn’t be entirely unexpected-- crocus and witch-hazel do the same.) Scanning it came up with an error-- Toksina e panjohur zbuluar-- Unknown toxin detected. He took a few photographs of it.

He turned to return, and spotted a shard of parchment. There was writing on it, but it resembled the Shavian script, nothing like the Latin orthography.

„Zot im,“ he commented. „Çfarë gjuhe do të përfaqësojë kjo?“ (My God. What language would this represent?) He scanned it into his HUDcom, intending to decode it at a later time. He pressed on.

Just shy of crossing the stream, he ducked behind a boulder. There were some extraterrestrial horses by the pods! What in God’s name were they doing!?

Gjebrea leaned out a bit and used the HUDcom’s directional microphone to eavesdrop on a possible conversation. This is what he heard:

“. . . been collecting tree moss. What for?”

“There’s more of these edibles in here. --What do these markings say?”

“Ah ain’t got the slightest idea. Looks like that time when Applebloom was speakin’ fancy.”

“That was French, Applejack. But this doesn’t look anything like French.”

„Kjo është e mahnitshme,“ said Gjebrea. „Gjuha e tyre është shumë i ngjashëm me atë të amerikan anglisht.“ (That’s amazing. Their language is strikingly similar to that of American English.)

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Gjebrea quickly dipped back behind the boulder. He crouched, remaining perfectly still. Straining his ears, he could the cautious footsteps of one of the horses creeping closer to his hiding location. He gripped his pistol with an almost painful tightness. He felt his sweat sting his eyes and pool up inside the respirator.

A few tense moments followed a pause in the footsteps as he held his breath. Was this the end?

“Uh, never mind,” said the horse. It turned back around and headed the other direction, muttering, “Must’ve been the ice or somethin’. . . .”

As casual as the dismissal was, it left Gjebrea’s heart palpitating rapidly. He looked over the photograph of the campsite, which he quickly took just before dipping back behind cover.

It showed most of the horses were dressed in metallic armor, reminiscent of preclassical Greece. Some of these horses had wings, some had horns, some had both, some had neither. Gjebrea assumed they were genetic variables, and may have lost their function. The wings didn’t appear to be able to support the body’s weight in flight. The horns appeared too blunt to be effective weapons, especially against metal armor.

The horses that weren’t wearing armor had a variety of differences between them-- eye color, coat color, the style of their manes, et alli. It looked like they were scavenging the pods. --Were they nomads?

Then his directional microphone picked up a voice. “Wait a sec-- How the hay do we have three more guards now than when we started off!?”

A familiar snarl confirmed their suspicions-- more of those horse-mosquito hybrids appeared literally out of nowhere and started assaulting the party.

“Everypony heads up!” shouted a violet winged unicorn. “We have a Changeling attack!” Although he knew he would regret it, Gjebrea decided not to take action, unless these “Changelings” targeted him directly. Quietly, he reloaded his pistol, just in case they did.

It wasn’t long before one of them spotted him. It converged to his position, where it got the surprise of its life: two hands grabbing its head and body, a mouth whispering in its ear, „Të. Je. Një. Turp. Të. Përgjakshme,“ (You. Are. A. Bloody. Disgrace.) and finally the arms swiftly moving to snap its neck.

Gjebrea peered out from behind the boulder, and found that one of them-- undoubtedly the leader, judging from its size and jewelery it wore-- was being overwhelmed. It managed to repel most of the attackers, but one Changeling was close to ending its life. Gjebrea decided to do what in his heart was the right thing-- he stopped thinking, aimed, pulled the trigger-- and the Changeling collapsed to the ground, blood oozing from where its head should have been.

Thus was the first contact with the first sapient species Humanity had encountered!

Then slowly, deliberately, Gjebrea crossed the river on the trunk, keeping his pistol trained on these horses, threatening to fire at the slightest provocation. That did not go over well with the Changelings. They immediately changed tactics and decided to eliminate Gjebrea. He grabbed a nearby branch and wielded it as a bō staff. „Ejani dhe marrë mua!“ he shouted. (Come and get me!)

He didn’t need to repeat himself. Dozens of these hive-minded organisms swarmed in on him, acting as though they were mere cells of one. Despite their overwhelming numbers, they were no match for a soldier of the Interplanetary Empire of Albania. One after the other fell to the branch, or the bullets. None of them would rise again.

Some of the other natives assisted him, giving him a chance to reload his pistol. Once he did so, he proved decisive in battle. None of the horses had even the most basic idea of firearms (or if they did, they did not demonstrate it). None of the Changelings knew what was going on-- the bullets flew too fast for them to see them coming.

Gjebrea spotted one horse walking up to him, rather calmly. Too calmly. He contemplated over his actions: Should I shoot? Or should I not shoot? A rather hyperactive pink horse knocked the other out of his way, where it actually revealed himself as a Changeling. Somehow, they could disguise themselves with startlingly convincing appearances-- hence the namesake. He realized he could barely trust any of these horses-- what if they did the same?

A Changeling pounced on his back. Reflexively, he grabbed it and hurled it to the ground. He stamped on its head, squishing the brains out.

Suddenly, Gjebrea was hit hard in the head, sending him careening into Ardita’s pod. He looked up, and barely caught a “Sorry ’bout that, Sugarcube!” Seeing with severe blurred vision, he managed to grab his pistol and pop off three more shots. His HUDcom’s aim assistance helped land two more kills, both headshots.

Taking advantage of his dazed state, two Changelings tried to carry him off. Unfortunately for them, he was too heavy to lift. Besides, even in a semi-comatose stupor, Gjebrea bashed their heads together like they were made of cardboard.

Finally, all the attackers were dead or had fled. Only then did Gjebrea allow himself to pass out. The last thing he could recall at that location was a soft voice saying, “Get it onto that wagon! . . .”

Indirect Introduction

When Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea regained consciousness, he found himself. . . in a luxurious bedroom. The blankets felt heavy, and he had difficulty kicking them off. He sat up and realized he wasn’t wearing his cryostasis suit (which he had left on in his mad rush to escape from the Përballim), or his trench-coat. He looked down on himself, and found someone had removed them and clothed him in military civvie clothing-- blue denim pants and jacket, and a white cotton shirt.

There were more surprises when he wandered about the room. Some armor was neatly hung up in a closet, all freshly cleaned and in good repair-- unusual, for its design dated back fifteen years. His pistol was nearby, somehow with all four magazines filled up to capacity with the correct ammunition. And by his beside table, there was a sealed scroll of paper.

Gjebrea undid the seal, and unrolled it to the first few lines of text. The whole scroll, in it entirety, stated (very surprisingly in the Latin script):

Dear Mr. Gjebrea,

My name is Princess Twilight Sparkle. About two days ago, we spotted a massive structure crash onto Equestria. Upon investigation, we found it was a space-faring ship, of which purpose we do not understand. We found several hundred corpses, all appearing to be the same species as you are. We identified you by two metallic plates worn on your neck.

So, on behalf of the Pegasi, Unicorns, and Earth Ponies, I would like to formally welcome you to Equestria. Our kind has never encountered you before, and our first contact was not the most ideal. But you did help fight off a suprise Changeling attack, and for that, we thank you.

Equestria is best described as a kingdom co-ruled by Princesses Celesita and Luna. The two are in charge of raising the sun and moon each day; the former raises and lowers the sun, the latter the moon. Equestria has three main kinds: Unicorns are in charge of magical phenomena, such as the Sun and the Moon, Pegasi control the weather, and Earth Ponies farm the soil to feed themselves and the other two species. If something goes wrong, the other two species assist however they can. This close bond is celebrated every year at the onset of winter, on a holiday known as Hearth’s Warming Eve.

A fourth kind, alicorns, are essentially unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi combined into one. These are rare, with only five known. These alicorns typically carry the title “Princess,” which is earned, not simply passed down. I am one such alicorn, although, to confess, I was not born an alicorn. No alicorn has been born in over a thousand years; I was born a unicorn, but as a result of finishing a very challenging spell, I have earned my wings, and my title.

So, in closing, welcome to Equestria and thank you for your assistance. Feel free to write to me anytime.

Sincerely,

Princess Twilight Sparkle.

The whole message was written in English, but Gjebrea could only speak Albanian and Esperanto (taught in military school for neutral international communications). So he set his HUDcom to translate the entire message into Albanian:

Nderuar zoti Gjebrea,

Emri im është Princesha Vetëtin e Mug. Rreth dy ditë më parë, ne kemi zbuloi një aksident strukturë masive mbi Ekuestriëh. Pas hetimit, kemi gjetur se ishte një anije lëvizës hapësirë, nga të cilat qëllimi që ne nuk e kuptojmë. Ne kemi gjetur disa qindra kufoma, të gjithë duket të jetë e njëjta specie si ju jeni. Ne ju të identifikuar nga dy pllaka metalike të veshur në qafën tuaj.

Pra, në emër të Pegasit, Njëbrirëshra, dhe Kalushra Tokës, unë do të doja të ju mirëpresim zyrtarisht të Ekuestrië. Lloj ynë kurrë nuk ka hasur edhe më parë, dhe kontakti ynë i parë nuk ishte më ideale. Por ju e ka ndihmuar të luftuar një sulm të papritur Çangjelinj, dhe për këtë, ne ju falenderojmë.

Ekuestrië është më së miri si një mbretëri bashkë-drejtuar nga princeshat Celestia dhe Luna. Të dy janë përgjegjës për ngritjen e diellin dhe hënën çdo ditë; se rritjet ish dhe ul diellin, hënën fundit. Ekuestriëh ka tre lloje kryesore: Njëbrirëshra janë të ngarkuar me fenomene të magjike, të tilla si Dielli dhe Hëna, Pegasit kontrollin e motit, dhe Kalushra Tokës fermë tokën për të ushqyer veten dhe dy speciet e tjera. Nëse diçka shkon keq, dy lloje të tjera të ndihmojnë megjithatë ata mund. Kjo lidhje e ngushtë festohet çdo vit në fillim të dimrit, në një festë e njohur si Prag të Vatër e Ngrohjes.

Një lloj i katërt, Çdëbrirëshra, janë në thelb Njëbrirëshra, Kalushra Tokës, dhe Pegasit kombinuara në një. Këto janë të rralla, me vetëm pesë njohur. Këto alicornit zakonisht mbajnë titullin “Princesha,” e cila është fituar, nuk ka kaluar thjesht poshtë. Unë jam një Çdëbrirësh të tilla, edhe pse, për të rrëfej, unë nuk kam lindur një Çdëbrirësh. Asnjë Çdëbrirësh ka lindur në mbi një mijë vjet; Unë kam lindur një Njëbrirësh, por si rezultat i përfunduar një magji shumë të vështirë, unë kam fituar krahët e mia, dhe titulli im.

Pra, në mbyllje, të mirëpritur të Ekuestrië dhe ju falënderoj për ndihmën tuaj. Të ndjehen të lirë për të shkruar për mua në çdo kohë.

Sinqerisht,

Princesha Vetëtin e Mug.

Gjebrea was rather touched by this. Evidently these “ponies” led lives not unlike humans did-- judging from their vocabulary, it seemed they lived in their equivalent of the late 20ᵗʰ century or the early 21ˢᵗ, but the level of technology described was more consistent with the 17ᵗʰ. And during all that time, they still had strong moral codes that many humans still lacked: compassion, selflessness, and friendliness-- traits Gjebrea hadn’t seen even in the Albanian Imperial Naval forces.

And the Changelings are essentially the opposite of the ponies. But they were sapient enough to recognize Gjebrea as a stranger-- so, technically, Gjebrea may have already made first contact at the campsite.

There was also mention of two Princesses Celestia and Luna, “raising” the sun and moon. Gjebrea found that hard to believe-- it was really an illusion caused by the planet rotating, and the moon orbiting around the planet. These were pre-Christian beliefs-- now it was pretty difficult placing these ponies into the proper equivalent time period.

Now for a moral dilemma: Should he trust them? His logic took the following route:

I’ve made first contact with them. I’m still alive, right here, right now. I’ve been hit in the head, somehow, at the campsite. I have survived such an impact. At any time during that blackout, these ponies could have decided to kill me at their discretion. The ponies have not killed me, because I am still alive.

However, simply because they haven’t killed me isn’t any security for the future. Why, some higher power could be plotting my death right now. If I’m going to survive on this world, I’d better watch my back. So to conclude, no, I shouldn’t trust them. If they want my trust, they’d better earn it.

He went over to an open window and looked out. Using his HUDcom’s zoom function, he found that the whole population was made up of these ponies.

And they were nothing like the red, grey, and white horses he was used to seeing on New Tiranë. He saw purple, pink, lime green, just about every color of the rainbow. The manes were even more stylish. Besides being more colorful (one pony’s had all the colors of the rainbow), they were styled up in all sorts of ways. The tails tended to match the manes.

Additionally, some of these ponies had wings, and others had unicorn horns, just like at the campsite. Gjebrea thought they were vestigial, until one Pegasus flew rapidly very close to his position, nearly clipping him. The horns were used to levitate objects, through apparent telekinesis. Some ponies had neither of these, but only a select few had both.

All of them, save for some of the young, had what looked like tattoos on their hindquarters. He didn’t know their purpose, if they even had one, but they seemed to line up to some degree with their jobs.

Whilst staring out the window, Gjebrea knew he had to be careful. He needed to escape, sure, but he didn’t know what these ponies were capable of.

To give him an idea of his immediate location, he used his HUDcom’s “Carto” function to map out the surrounding. What this did was take several dozen photographs, with varying angles, lighting, and zoom settings, then construct a map based on it. He manually set the compass to center on the wreck of the Përballim, with the campsite indicating north.

The HUDcom projected the results of the Carto onto the floor. In a gray monochromatic hologram, it showed he was located on the third floor of a rather small-sized castle, oddly shaped as a tree. Brilliant architecture! he thought.

A large mountain was seen some fifty-two kilometers north-north-west of the wreck. Perched seemingly delicately on its side was a large looming castle, and possibly a city.

The village surrounding this tree-like castle was located some fifty-nine kilometers north of the wreck.

Any other features? Gjebrea couldn’t spot any. Now let’s get down to business, he thought.

Before he could start to trace out his route, he heard what sounded like horseshoes against marble approaching the door. He quickly stopped the projection, as the door opened to show a violet-colored winged Unicorn. Recalling the letter at the bedside, he figured it was an Alicorn-- having the traits of all three other species.

“Greetings, Sergeant Gjebrea,” she said. “I am Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

He didn’t know what to do. He would draw his pistol, but she showed no threat. He would try talking to her, but he didn’t speak English. So he simply stood there while Twilight continued talking.

“Since you are new to Equestria, I was thinking of taking you on a tour of Ponyville, to familiarize yourself with our world.”

Finally, he found his words. „Më fal,“ he stated, „por unë nuk flas anglisht.“ (I’m sorry, but I don’t speak English.)

“Oh! That’s right!” she said “You’re not from around here, excuse me a second.” She stepped out and told a guard to fetch an interpreter.

While the guard was away, Twilight tried to communicate with Gjebrea nonverbally. She pointed to his pistol, on his bedside table, and raised an eyebrow, indicating, “What is that?” Or in Albanian, „Çfarë është kjo?“

Gjebrea saw her expressions as highly human, so he took a risk and said, „Kjo është pistoletë im. Mos e prekni atë.“ (That is my pistol. Don’t touch it.)

When Twilight went to touch it anyway, he waved his hand between it and her. „Ju lutem. Ju mund të dëmtojë veten.“ (Please. You could hurt yourself.)

Twilight backed off. Using the same expression, she pointed to his armor.

Gjebrea looked where she was pointing. „Kjo është mburojë im. Ajo ka asgjë si mburojë tuaj.“ (That is my armor. It’s nothing like your armor.)

He wasn’t bluffing, either. His armor used covalent photons, nicknamed “hard-light,” as a form of energy shielding, with Kevlar and ceramic plating underneath for backup.

The interpreter arrived in a few minutes, and asked, “What is your bidding, Your Highness? What language does he speak?”

“I wish I knew,” said Twilight. “It sounds like gibberish to me!”

“Gibberish?”

„Unë flas shqip,“ said Gjebrea. (I speak Albanian.)

The interpreter gasped in shock. “Oh, Celestia!" He turned to Twilight and told her, "Your Highness, he speaks a dying language! --Albanian!” He turned back to Gjebrea and asked, „A flisni ndonjë gjuhë tjetër përveç shqip?“ (Do you speak anything else besides Albanian?)

„Jo,“ Gjebrea replied, subtly surprised that Albanian was spoken on this world. „Vetëm shqip.“ (No. Only Albanian.) (This wasn’t true, but he doubted these ponies would know anything about constructed languages, like Esperanto.)

“He doesn’t speak anything else, Your Highness,” said the interpreter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Twilight. “It’s not your fault. You’ll simply have to come on our outing to Ponyville, whenever he says something.”

“Well, of course”

“It’s settled, then,” said Twilight. “Come now, Sergeant! Our tour begins!”

The interpreter relayed, „Eja tani, Rreshter! Turneu fillon!“

„Prisni, çfarë?“ blurted Gjebrea. „Çfarë po bëjmë?“ (Wait, what? What are we doing?)

„Princess Twilight është duke marrë ju në një turne të Ponyville,“replied the interpreter, „të ju njoh me shoqërinë tonë.“ (Princess Twilight is taking you on a tour of Ponyville, to familiarize you with our society.)

„Oh,“ said Gjebrea, grabbing his trench-coat and following them out the door. „Tani më thoni.“ (Oh. Now you tell me.)

“Would you mind telling me why Albanian is moribund?” Twlilight asked the interpreter whilst walking down the hall.

“Some six hundred years ago or so,” replied the interpreter, “Almaneia was engaged in a territorial war with Thesstallioniki. After the Almaneians surrendered to the Thesstallionikians at the Battle of Peloponnyse, and the war declared over, Greek started to overtake Albanian as the local lingua franca.”

“How come you speak it, then?” Twilight turned to the interpreter, confused.

“Princess Celestia’s orders. According to her, Albanian remains a highly-favored language among the Almaneian court. --She wants all royal interpreters to be ready to use it when necessary.”

Gjebrea had no idea what the conversation was about, but he thought he recognized a few heavily-corrupted Greek terms in their speech-- Thessaloniki and Peloponnese. It was about this time the trio exited the building out into the streets of this town called Ponyville.

*  *  *

Walking the streets, it became manifest that the locals weren’t used to having humans near them. Most of them backed off from him, from fear of what he may do. One, however, was brave enough to venture near him, noting everything about his person, from his gait to his speech, et cetera. She was lime green-furred, with a green-and-white mane and tail, golden irises, and a lute-like musical instrument visible on her hindquarters. Gjebrea regarded her with some suspicion-- just what was she trying to do with him?

Ah, never mind, he thought. Let’s just get this tour finished before I freeze. . . .