According to our New Arrivals
Beyond Equestria: Friendship Forever
Chapter 1: According to our New Arrivals
Space...
...is big.
Like, really, really big.
I could say exactly how big it is--the cubic volume, the diameter, the surface area, any factoid you want. But that's the thing: the universe is so big, none of these numbers would tangibly mean anything.
The universe is so large, we cannot cognitively process it without expressing it in mathematics, and the mathematical expressions are so large themselves that our brains can't even process the data.
That's why, if I had to describe the sight outside of the imagiglass displayer masquerading as a window, there was only one thing I could say. The burning motes of light in the horizon of the horizon were beautiful, yes. The tiny sparkles of inconstant light in an array of colors maybe, maybe pointing to a glowing sphere rolling around an unknown star were alluringly romantic, I know. That patch of mysterious murky shimmering in the void might be the first step into an age-old mystery, at the end of which lay great rewards, I'm sure.
But none of that actually expressed the size of it all.
Simply put, space is really, really-
"TECHNOLOGY SPECIALIST CARAPACE!!!"
At once my muscles seized up and I stood straight as an arrow, my body aching from the sheer whiplash. With my head forced forward in a mixture of fear and instinct, it took me a moment to place that voice. However, when I finally did, my head spun around as my lips pulled taut. My eyes narrowed as laughter met my ears and I turned to find exactly who I expected.
A brown hawk-like griffon lay rolling on the ground, giggling uncontrollably. As he rocked and forth on the Earth Pony Steel hall tiles, I noticed his oversized grey jacket with its ballistic plates, almost like an armored trechcoat, along with a black beret and red armband. The griffin finally regained his composure and pushed himself to his feet, offering a clear view of an insignia emblazoned on both the hat and the armband. The round cloth badge depicted a raised talon clutching a sack of bits, and written along the top was the phrase "Griffinstone's Second Best." A brief flick of his talon dusted off the armband from the grime of the rarely-swept hallway, calling attention to a motto scribed on the bottom: "because you couldn't afford the first."
"Seriously, Grant?" I asked, rubbing my temples as I turned to him. "What was that for? What are you even doing here?"
Blowing a raspberry with a good-humored quirk in his brow, the brown hawk replied, "Ah, c'mon, Carpace, you know I only do it because your reactions are hilarious! Zoned out in your own little egghead world, thinking big thoughts about little things, you barely notice what's going on; that's why your so fun to mess with!"
My cheeks tingling in embarrassment at my overreaction, I muttered, "that's not a very friendly thing to say, and it didn't answer my question! Plus, my name's Carapace! Car-a-pace! You even got it right the first time!"
With another antagonizing grin, Grant said, "Relax. I'm just on my coffee break, same as you, and figured we might as well go together. That's plenty friendly!"
I paused to swat away his talon as he reached to poke my smooth, blueish-green shell for emphasis before saying, "Yeah, yeah, save it for a feelings forum. And how'd you even know I was on my coffee break?"
His beak quirking further outward, the griffin said, "C'mon, Carpace, you're a techhead--of course you'd keep to a tight schedule! It's 1030, which means it's time for you to grab coffee!"
Noticing my flat look--I still hadn't forgiven the 'surprise'--Grant groaned and said, "look, I'll make it up to you--how about I look over your poetry later and we call it square?"
The twitching of my perked ears answered before I could stop them, and I felt my cheeks shift to full-on burning at my lack of self-control. Pausing to breathe and coughing just a bit to clear my throat--and to cover my unconscious response--I said, "Well, in that case, I guess I'll just have to forgive you. But I am going to hold you to that. And I'm expecting some real feedback!"
His grin shifting a little as his teeth clenched painfully, Grant replied, "uh... sure. Whatever you want." Reaching under his coat as we began to trot to the breakroom, he continued, "By the way, while I'm here, I just wanted to ask a favor..."
I shot him another flat look, my face reproachfully neutral save for my own amused smirk I was struggling to contain. "What'd you do to poor Bandy this time?"
"I didn't do anything to them!" The griffin said with overeager indignance. "I was just... running them a little too hard at the range, and..."
"The chain got messed up?" I interrupted, reveling as Grant glanced away with a dusting of red in his own cheeks. His turn to be embarrassed had arrived.
Instead of saying anything, he simply produced his ripgun from within his uniform and dropped it in my waiting magical field.
I was always a little afraid of--and maybe a little impressed and infuriated by--the massive weapon. The griffon had always said Brandy, his nickname for the gun, was a 'chain-fed high-rpm submachine gun'. Although the meaning of those words was lost on me, I had to admit that as a machine, it was fascinating. Using a series of gears and motors to pull a chainsaw blade, the weapon could tear out and electrokinetically hurl magnetically linked slugs in a box magazine (or, again, so Grant told me). However, while effective, this thing was unnecessarily convoluted, and it seemed to spend just as much time under my care as it did getting fired.
The sound of my own chuckle breaking up the rhythmic tapping of our feet, I glanced Bandy over. Definitely worse for wear; the chain had gone slack, and a number of gears had locked up or been worn so badly they could barely turn. Overuse hadn't been kind to the poor gadget. I turned to Grant and said, "You did a real number on them. I'm surprised it still feeds at all, badly or not!"
His eyebrows scrunching up as his mouth tilted downward, the griffin said, "Hey, it's not my fault that--"
My friend was cut off, however, as he pushed open the breakroom door.
"CARPACE!" A whiny, nasal voice rung out, causing Grant to jump back onto his hind legs. His stance was somewhere between running away and ripping off a few rounds into the source of the noise. Attempting to regain his balance after the surprise, Grant's wings flexed and flapped desperately, almost knocking a small plaque that read 'CP-146' off a small frame in the door.
His grin dropping into an overexaggerated scowl as his eyebrows knit themselves into a solid, sheepishly angry line, Grant said, "Great Grover, Scuttle, you almost gave me a heart attack! What's got you so worked up!?"
A small dragon clambered out from under a small dining table, his molt wings folded against his back and his light pink scales glinting in the artificial lights of the ship's buzzing burnstick fixtures. "S-sorry, Grant. I was just m-making myself a coffee when I heard this weird crash from the storage room, and I got scared, and-"
Dropping my hooves onto the dragon's shoulders, I brushed the short shock of lighter pink hair from the whining drake's face and said, "We're here for you, Scuttle; it's fine, you can relax. Now, what's wrong? What happened?"
For a moment, the dragon gave a flicker of a thankful smile. However, his face fell just as quickly, and he whimpered, "It's awful!" He clasped his hands on either of his skull in abject terror. "The horror! The horror!"
I waited patiently for him to calm down before the pink dragon finally said, "The coffee machine in crew station CP-146!" He pointed at the offending device. "It's not working!"
As Grant barely restrained his renewed laughter--a difficult feat for the bubbly griffin--I pat the overanxious dragon on the shoulder of his white jumpsuit, saying, "Alright, that doesn't sound too bad. Definitely nothing you couldn't fix on your own. So, what happened? Why all the commotion?"
Scuttle gulped, rubbing his arm as he said, "Well, I was working on it, and I'd almost fixed the last little wire, when I heard-"
Yet again, our conversation was cut short as the door swung open and two ponies trot in. The first, a yellow unicorn with a white mane and tired, drooping eyelids, and glanced at us in obviously faked surprise. With a wan smile--sometimes I wandered if she was always relaxed--she said, "Well, well, this is a surprise; what's with all the commotion?"
Before I could answer, her companion flew in and landed beside us. The stormy grey pegasus with the speckled off-white mane looked us over, her eyebrow quirking at the trembling Scuttle. "Yeah, what's got Scut's goat?" She asked.
A wry grin, a certain prelude to good-natured if obnoxious ribbing, crossed Grant's beak. Before I could stop the juvenile comment from popping out the hawk's mouth, he said, "Aw, sneaking off from the Artificial Weather Brigade to get some sweet time with your marefriend? How positively scandalous, Stormy!"
The grey mare's eyes narrowed into angry slits as she flew right into the griffin's face, her name earned as she shot back, "of course not, you mercenary slacker; we're just taking a break, and wanted to grab something together!" Turning to her yellow companion, Stormy prompted, "Well, Sunnyside? Tell him!"
Sunnyside Up, the more level-headed of the pair, offered a mellow chuckle to diffuse the tension before saying, "It really is true, Grant. Breakfast was ready and there was a twenty-minute opening in the schedule, so it was an excellent time to relax!" Apparently cottoning onto the humor in the griffin's voice in a way her belligerent marefriend had not, she slipped her foreleg around Stormy Daze's shoulder and added, "Though I must admit, I was a bit overeager to see my partner."
The resulting color filling the pegasus's face told me the tension had broken, and I puffed out a small breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Sunnyside did always know how to calm everyone down. Maybe it was the hospitality that came with a cooking cutie mark (two sunny side up eggs resting on each other), but the grace and certainty exuding from the mature unicorn always seemed to keep everyone in check.
It was then that the chef noticed Scuttle's trembling, the nerve-ridden dragon having only just calmed down, and with a pacifying voice she asked, "Is everything alright, Scuttle? You're positively quaking!"
His focus redirected at his fears as everycreature's attention fell on him, the drake's gaze fell to the floor and he began to clench down on his arm, murmuring, "Well, uh..."
Stormy opened her mouth to interrupt, probably to tell the pink dragon to get on with it, when Sunnyside raised a hoof to her muzzle and mouthed, 'ssh!' Fuming a bit at this, the pegasus nonetheless sat down and watched him with concern.
Bolstered by the gesture, Scuttle started from the beginning, saying, "W-well, I was working on the coffee machine--" his claw flopped out in emphasis at the silent device, "--and I was almost done when I heard this kind of crash from the storage closet next door!" Claws clasping his cheeks as his eyes widened in bleak terror, he finished, "I was so scared I squeaked! Then I hid under the coffee table, and then Grant and Carpace came in, and..." Realizing he was rambling, the pink dragon trailed off before finishing with an awkward grimace, "W-well, you probably know the rest."
Nodding in understanding, Sunnyside said, "Thank you, Scuttle. I'm very happy you told me that."
The drake wilted under the attention but nonetheless smiled just a bit, and the trace of pride in his smile told me he was happy to have faced his anxiety at least somewhat.
"Stormy, could you please check the storage closet?" The unicorn mare asked, turning to her marefriend with a small smile, her lazy eyes bearing an imploring, searching cast.
With a puff of pride, the pegasus thumped her chest and replied, "No problem, Sunny! Nothing on the whole Twilight can scare a member of the AWB! And, I mean, c'mon, we've been up here for two years without a break; it's probably just a mouse that snuck onboard or something, of maybe a lurch in the old place.
I opened my mouth to point out that if there were any unregistered mice on board we'd have detected their traces in the Internal Integrity Matrix, and that the ship's Gravity Buoyancy Drive would balance out any lurches, before I snapped my mouth shut again. The grey mare's comment was more about putting Scuttle at ease than explaining what had happened, and besides, Scuttle was a Junior Tech Specialist; he knew those facts as well as I did, and was probably having a hard enough time ignoring them without me voicing those concerns.
"Oh, and take Grant with you," the yellow unicorn added offhandedly, "Scuttle and I will finish up here, and we'll have a nice, piping hot pot of coffee when you get back.
This caused Stormy to splutter angrily for a moment before she shot back, "What!? I can handle whatever's in there on my own! I don't need some 'Second-Bester' watching my back!"
Cocking her head in what I realized was a calculated mixture of concern and light reproach, Sunnyside asked, "I know you don't, but it would make me feel so much better if you had someone to help if you get in over your head!"
My ears twitched up again at this. I knew Stormy could win a tussle with just about anything on this ship, and so did the unicorn. I wondered why the grey pony would need any kind of backup, or why Sunny thought she did; instead of saying any of that, though, I merely nodded in agreement and added, "I'll come along, too. If it's a maintenance issue, you're going to need someone to write it up, right?"
Stormy lowered herself to the floor, her wings folding up as she considered this. Eventually nodding, apparently mollified, she said, "Alright, Second-bester, Carpace, you two are with me." Turning to the door with a determined tilt to her eyes, the pegasus said, "let's find out what happened."
The three of us started to trot out of the room, Grant apparently holding his overly quick tongue--for now. Before we could leave, however, I felt a magic touch on my shoulder. I turned around to see Sunny glancing around conspiratorially before whispering, "try to keep Stormy from going too crazy, alright? I don't want her getting too... overzealous."
My questions died on my lips and I decided to instead trust that whatever Sunny was doing was for the best. Instead, I filed away this instruction for later. The unicorn always seemed to know more than she let on--probably one of the perks of taking care of so many creatures. Eventually, you just start to trust the pony making the food you eat.
...
The door to the storage room flung open with a brash push and Stormy stomped in, heedless of whatever danger her partner had predicted. Grant was more cautious, slipping in quietly as he took his ripgun back from me with a concerned frown settling into his beak. He knew the same thing I did, and what our pegasus friend had been too single-minded to notice: that door was supposed to automatically lock when nocreature was inside. The ease with which she barged through the entrance meant someone was already here.
Barely glancing at the shelves covered in dust and an air of neglect, Stormy flapped around the room in search of some obvious sign of life or commotion. She began to frown as she established more and more firmly that nothing was amiss.
I paused, running my hoof over one of the metal storage shelves arranged in rows throughout the room. Unsurprisingly, a small smear of grime was left on it. Most of the space was still crusted with time--almost the full two years' worth--but I noticed something odd: while most of the stuff was untouched, there were a few vacant spots that seemed to have been disturbed recently, especially near the canned goods and computer supplies. This gave me a bit of pause--if the problem was mice or something, like Stormy had suggested, the canned food made a little sense, but why would the rodents bother with tech?
Unconcerned by our caution, Stormy wheeled about the enclosed area impatiently. Finally, however, she noticed a can of beans lying on the floor and grinned in vindication. Picking it up and turning to us, she said, "See? Just some food that got knocked over. Like I said, it's just mice or the ship rocking or something. Let's go back and tell Scuttle to stop being a baby--I need some coffee, and there's no use sticking around here.”
"But he told us it was a crash, remember?" I said, trying to sound reasonable. "I don't think one can falling could make enough noise to call it a crash, and nothing else here looks like it got hit." My observations I kept to myself; it would just make the grey pony madder, and probably raise her stubborn streak to boot.
Stormy snorted, making it clear her mind was already made up as she shot back, "It's Scuttle. I've seen him jump at his own shadow--and then apologize to it! If anything, this just proves I was right--a metal can hitting the ground is exactly what he'd call a crash."
His brow furrowing at this logic, Grant finally said, "But the Twilight's gravity matrix is keeping everything stable, right? Just because it's called a ship doesn't mean it rocks like a sailboat. Plus, if it were some kind of infestation, the computers would tell us!"
Hearing the word 'computer', I remembered the parts that had been fiddled with. Glancing at the shelves, I took note of what was missing. Pulling a notepad and pen out of my own jumpsuit, I jotted down, data connectors, algorithmic converter, central datascape language transponder...
I blinked at the complete list and felt a strange clench in my gut. On their own, none of this stuff was particularly big or useful, but together, you could probably use these things to doctor a computer's records. Glancing around the room for some evidence to confirm my hypothesis, I noted a subcloset marked 'secured storage' standing slightly ajar. Next to it lay its digital padlock, open and on the ground.
A snort interrupted my thoughts as Stormy said, "C'mon, this ship might be 'the top of its class' and 'state of the art down to the last titanium panel', but it's still a machine." Stomping her hoof for emphasis she added, "the weather maintenance equipment has weird problems all the time, and besides, if nothing ever went screwy, we wouldn't need Carpace and their group, right? Like I said, it's nothing; the gravity redistributor guttered, or the ship hit some turbulence, or-"
"We're in space!" The griffin shot back. "There is no turbulence!"
"It was just an example!" Shouted the pegasus, her eyes cutting at the hawk as the conversation developed into a full-blown argument.
At this point, I was barely paying their squabble any attention at all; I trot over to the door, feeling my feet warp under my will as I shifted my hooves into soft pads.
Creeping right up to the slightly open door, I glanced over my shoulder at the growing furor. Deciding not to wait for them to calm down, I reached out with my magic and flung it open.
Inside was a brown kirin with forest green mane and russet orange shell. A half-eaten apple hung from her mouth, falling with a dull clunk as her eyes widened and the realization that she was caught set in. Dropping her hooves from a shelf she was rummaging through, she stumbled to all fours and kicked a set of half-full saddlebags behind her--probably related to the noticeably lightened shelves she had stood against. Finally, she offered a sheepish grin and said, "uh... hey! What's up?"
With a blink, I mentally ran through all the personnel I knew on the ship--which, after two years, was most of them. "I don't know you." I finally said, cringing a little at my own unintentionally blunt tone.
"Oh!" The kirin brightened up, emboldened by my lack of hostility. "That's because I'm a stowaway!"
Chuckling a bit at my shocked expression, she picked her half-eaten fruit up off the ground with her own magic before rubbing it on her blue-grey jumpsuit.
"Apple?" she offered.
