Octavia in- A Eulogy for Hope

by Scriblits Talo

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Sad, Octavia, Science Fiction, Cherry Berry, DJ P0N-3
Length: 1830

Octavia, alone, in space.

"The artist knew her work well.
Every note was perfectly placed, and for the piece being played not a single technical mistake existed…but there was no feeling to it, no artist's fire."

" It had seemed a great idea at first, to send a hoof full of Equestria's most curious ponies into deep space and see what happens."

It wasn't a good idea and now...

"The only semblance of company left was memory and the echo of her strings."

Published 2023-08-15 05:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-12-27 03:26:09 UTC

Eulogy

Octavia in-

A Eulogy

for

Hope

-Scribblits Talo

A shuttle slipped aimlessly through the endless void of space, within an artist performed aimlessly, locked in an eternal waking daydream.

Stars glimmered in the distance, but for the most part beyond the ship was only the pitch of night, Equis, a pale blue dot on the horizon of the craft's nose.

The notes thrummed, their sound reverberating around the small shuttle, filling the space with the texture of fine wool.

The artist, sitting in the commander's seat, a gray mare, silently yearned her bow across the strings of a large grim cello base.

A cool, endless vastness stretched out before her.

A deep pit of pain touched her core.

Lost.

Loss.

It had been fun at first. This mission, this adventure, but it wasn't so fun anymore.
It was lonely.

It had seemed a great idea at first, to send a hoof full of Equestria's most curious ponies into deep space and see what happens.

Great idea.

Now Octavia found herself lost, and alone.

The only semblance of company left was memory and the echo of her strings.

There was no feeling to it.

That somber music that left her bow.
Just a mechanical motion that was the art of doing something as opposed to nothing.

The artist knew her work well.
Every note was perfectly placed, and for the piece being played not a single technical mistake existed…but there was no feeling to it, no artist's fire.

She set aside her instrument and her bow and sighed. It was no use, no amount of playing could fill the hole, could return her friends.

Squeaky, Squeaky, squeaky, she swiveled back and forth in the chair considering what to do next…

What would Cherry do?

Cherry, that bright inventive nut. She chuckled to herself. Cherry always seemed to find her way out of a jam, whether it be piloting a balloon in a storm, or landing a module on the moon despite startlingly low resources, she always seemed to keep any situation well in hoof.

Octavia glanced across the control panel … and made nothing of it.

Or perhaps something…if not much of anything.

It reminded her of the control pads her dearest friend and roommate would use… Dj always had such a way with tech.

Oh, what Octavia would do to hug her friend again…
If she could bring herself to do anything.

But beyond that the panels of flashing and blinking lights, and buttons meant nothing to her, nothing more than a reminder of friends long lost.

Squeaky, squeaky,

What to do, what to do, what to do…

She toyed with the idea of flipping some switches…but in the end, what would that accomplish? There was no telling.

It's what Cherry would do, isn't it? something, anything to avoid a grim fate of death, work the controls to pull off a seemingly impossible maneuver.

Accomplish something, anything.

She looked at her instrument.

It would be nice to play again.
To fill that dark cool space with the warmth of its song.
Squeaky.

But what would that accomplish?

squeaky.

Here and there numbers and charts scrawled across various displays, much of which showing important information regarding the survival of ship and crew…or rather the ship and her, as she was all that remained. She looked at them, in glances, in the end deciding not to pay them much mind.

Besides, in the end, what did it matter?

Squeeeee!
She spun herself in the chair watching the ceiling whirl above her head.

She looked at the control panel once more, a meaningless jumble of switches, and levers, and buttons, flashing and blinking and blinking and flashing.

What did it matter…if she couldn't figure out how to fly the ship, how to get back to her friends, how did knowing how long she had left matter after all.

Squeaky Squeaky…

Cherry would figure it out.

She would heroically manage her resources…find a way to use every last drop to its fullest extent to get home.

Cherry would find a way home.

Squeaky, Squee… abruptly she stopped swinging and rotating the chair.

Home.

Biting her lip, she picked up her instrument holding it silently in her lap.

This accomplished nothing.

She felt the cool wood in her hooves.
Nothing.

The instrument was warm compared to the cool atmosphere of the ship.

Pluck.

She plucked a string…

It reverberated in the cool air.

She plucked it twice more, chuckling to herself…

It reminded her of a heartbeat…and suddenly she didn't feel so devastatingly alone.

She played.

A deep reverberation filled the ship.
A syncopation of existence, however quiet, however slow, it was something.
The ship seemed to sing along with her as the swaying rhythm echoed throughout the structure of the craft.

Grave.

She played slowly, mimicking the black emptiness of space, her echo syncopating within the solemn beat.

Lento.
She sped up only slightly, perhaps letting inspiration get the better of her… perhaps the sound of that echo lit something in her mind, an idea, a spark.

Andante.
A little faster again, perhaps being described now as a walking pace, the momentum building quite suddenly:

Allegro
Now she was really flying!
And she was alive!
And the music sounded throughout the ship, more bright and shining than ever before.
Vivace
Presto
Prestissimo.

And she played harder and faster than she ever had before, tears touched her eye as she poured all of her frustration and anguish into the piece.

Everything that had happened.
Everything that had failed to happen.

And she played.

Behind her, beyond her, gleaming through the large windows of the craft, the light of the sun as the ship approached its surface.

And she played on.

It was her and her music, and the black emptiness of space, and nothing mattered, and everything mattered.

And she played on.

And the sun grew closer.

And she played.

And the sun grew closer.

And she pla-
Suddenly she leapt for the controls.

She was alive, she cared, suddenly, something, everything mattered again, she had a purpose.

She gritted her teeth, pulling the control surface tight to her chest.

Alarms blared and lights flashed, and the ship slipped away from the sun.

Countdown

Eight-Million, the block one Space Launch System (SLS), the first of its kind had launched with more than Eight-Million pounds of thrust, more than Eight-Million pounds of harmony magic used for something other than vaporizing villains, used to launch a pony into deep space.

And here Octavia found herself boarding the block 12 rocket magnitudes larger, with magnitudes more force than its block one ancestor, many magnitudes more thrust than the ships that had visited Luna on the moon over a millennia ago. The Harmony Drive was a truly powerful propulsion system.

If only she could stop her hooves from shaking in her boots. Her stomach had been turning flips for all of breakfast and through the entire eight-mile trip to the launch pad. Not queasy, but…
She looked down, the 320 ft difference from the ground and the entry catwalk on which she stood didn’t help.

But then again, the difference between her and the ground was about to come astronomical.

T 2:30:44

They strapped into the vessel and cherry flipped on the radio and dialed it to the correct configuration from the speaker the voice of flight director Roger could be heard.

“Cherry, can you verify those switches for me now?”

“Roger”

“Yes, that's my name don’t ware it out.”

“Aferm”

“...”

“..”
“What about the switches?”

“Affirmative”

“Great, lets get started”

“Okay, on the panel 8, verify float bag1,2 and 3 are vent.”

“They’re verified in vent.”

“THC good neutral and locked?”

“Neutral and locked.”

“Panel 1 verify manual attitude roll is Rate Command.”

Roll, Rate Command.

Pitch, Pitch,Acell Command?”

“Pitch Acell Command.”

“Yaw rate?”

“Yaw rate.”

“SCS TVC pitch and way auto?”

“SCS TVC pitch and way auto.”

ELS is on up?

“ELS is on up.”

The list went on.

T-2:21:59
T-2:10:35
T-2:7:59
T-2:0:55
The hatch swung shut, and the craft began to purge itself, to bring it to the proper atmosphere for launch, 60% oxygen and 40 % Nitrogen.
T-1:50:55
T-1:30:55
Cherry continued her checks as Octavia watched in awe.

T-0:61:59

T-0:25:53

So close but so far away.
Days and years and hours of preparation, all to this moment.

Less than 16 minutes to go.

“Harmony12 this is Horseton on VHF and S-Band. How do you read? Over”

“Horseton Harmony12 CDR. Loud and clear.”

“Aferm. Reading you the same, Cherry Out”

The checklist continued.

“MSTC, Flight.”

“GO”

“5-22 complete.”

“Affirm”

“CDR, panel 1,SCS switch, Normal.”

“Switch is normal.”

“Delta V thrust A and B are off and Guarded”

“Delta V thrust A and B are off and Guarded”

“Alpha to Alpha”

“Affirm, its Alpha”

–

“Retract swing arm 9 per the clock at T minus 5 minutes. Report on retract.”

T-60 seconds and counting

T-35

T-30

T-25

T-15 seconds to go guidance is internal

Octavia felt the Harmony drive rumble beneath her.

10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3

2

1

T-0:0:0 Lift Off!

Requiem Part 1

“Buck me buck me buck me buck me!”
What inTarturese was I thinking? And then aloud “ What the buck am I doing out here.”
…
No response. Only the gentle hum of the life support system stirred in the silence… she could almost hear her heartbeat, the blood pounding in her ears. Thrumb, Thrumb Thrumb.
Octavia released her hoof from the steering mechanism and looked down at her shaking hooves.
Buck me, “I…I should be dead…by every right, I shouldn't have survived that… How?”
She gave the control collum a gentle nudge with the side of her hoof. The ship slipped into a gentle roll as it drifted within the silent void.
Focus Octavia focus…
Something came to mind.
Three minutes….That's how long I have…Less.
There had been some training…before they had gotten launched into space…Octavia and Cherry… and.. And the others.
Oxigene was vital. A pony could survive about a month without food, three days without water, and about three hours in a harsh environment, freezing cold or blistering heat… but a pony could only live about three minutes without air, this being even with the suits intended to help pass oxygen around the wearer's body making the most of every breath.… Even just the deprivation of which can make problem-solving harder as the depletion of oxygen in the mind and body makes memory more difficult to recall as well as dampening motor skills and overall intelligence… Prolonged deprivation could lead to permanent damages even if breath should be recovered before death.
With the ship no longer hurtling toward the sun, and with Octavia no longer willing to let her life waver and fade to an end, Oxygen became the first priority.
Oxygen, Oxygen, Oxygen… She glanced across the various displays this time with a purpose.
“Oh… that's not good.”

Oxygen 3%