Chapter 1: In a Galaxy Far, Far Away...
Chapter 1: In a Galaxy Far, Far Away…
High above the CIS factory world, a Lucrehulk-class battleship along with numerous other Confederate vessels was finishing loading and squaring away its assigned droid fighting force. The last of the landing craft with their loads of armored fighting vehicles and battle droids approached the ship’s forward section, being guided and drawn in by the ship’s tractor beams and docking claws into its massive hangar bays.
The battleship and its droid complement was one of several “experimental units” created by the Confederacy of Independent Systems to fight against the clone armies of the Republic. With each droid unit fitted with a vastly superior “brain” and built with materials more sturdy than paper mache, it was the Confederate leadership’s hope that these improved droid armies would prove themselves a much better match against the formidable clone soldiers, or at least be enough of an improvement to shut General Grievous up. It was becoming rather tiring to have to clean out his often rude and obscenity-laden messages from their inboxes every other day…
A long distance away, the flagship to which the Lucrehulk and its enhanced droids were to be slaved to was finishing its own preparations, disseminating orders to the fleet still forming up in the planet’s orbit. Inside the flagship’s central droid control center, two Geonosian technicians were working busily at their terminals, ensuring the correct enslavement of all droid elements to the flagship’s command and control system.
One of them stood up from his chair and stretched out his arms and wings, letting out a groan of relief as he renewed circulation in his body. “(Oh, Great Geonosia, this is tedious work.)” he said in his native tongue.
“(Someone has to do it. Besides, it beats fighting on the frontlines and dying like… well, bugs.)” his partner replied, not taking his thickly lidded eyes off his terminal’s screen.
“(I suppose. I’m still bored to tears, though.)”
“(Oh, quit complaining and get back to work.)”
“(You don’t outrank me!)”
“(But I do.)” spoke a third voice, interrupting the two’s banter. They both became startled and turned around to see their supervisor standing behind them, his tapping foot an indication of his annoyance with them. “(Are you two bored with your current duties? Perhaps you’d like a more exciting assignment? Maybe join our warrior kin on the front?)” he asked them, his less-than friendly tone of voice menacing them.
“(N-no sir! We’re just fine right here!)” they both said, nervous smiles on their faces.
“(Hmph. Then stop jabbering and get back to work!)” With that, the supervisor made an about face and headed off to harass some other lowly Confederate wage slaves.
The two snorted. “(Dick…)” one sneered.
“(Thinks he’s so hard. Probably never been to the front himself.)” the other remarked.
“(Well, whatever. Let’s get back to it.)”
The two technicians resumed their work, going over line after line of high level directives that were to be issued to the fleet. The next few lines renewed their shared feeling of tedium. They were going to need something with caffeine soon…
Ship Designation-
Confederate Naval Asset - Classification: Lucrehulk-class Battleship_Experimental Unit 0017 (CNA-C:LcBS_expU0017)
>>>>
Ship Control Method / Crewing-
Highly Developed Artificial Intelligence, Designation: Alfalfa / Full Droid Crew
>>>>
Assigned Complement-
Level 3-enhanced Long-range Droid Expeditionary Force
>>>>
Immediate Supreme Commanding Entity-
OOM Command Battle Droid, Designation: OOM-25
>>>>
Enslavement / Primary Mission Directive-
Undefined, Awaiting Input / Undefined, Awaiting Input
OOM-25 looked over the details of his ship on his personal command terminal from his sizable chair in the captain’s nest. It was the sixth time he had done so, the words of the readout having been burned into his optical sensors. Literally. He would have to visit the service station later…
He had been cooped up in the bridge for the past twelve hours and was starting to get irritated. The slaver signal and mission directives were taking an extraordinarily long time to be transmitted to him and he was bored to tears waiting for them, if he could produce tears. He released a robotic sigh that came out as muffled static due to his outdated voice module.
‘They upgraded the rest of me but couldn’t be bothered for a new vocoder? Damn those Federation penny-pinching pricks. Them and their stupid headwear…’
“We weren’t made to look like you after you keeled over and died!” he half-shouted, earning a few curious glances from the bridge crew.
OOM stopped himself before he made it a habit to complain about his soon-to-be masters. The last thing he wanted was to be replaced and smelted back into an ingot for letting a less-than flattering thought about his organic masters slip out while in front of them. That would be an extremely embarrassing way to finish his career. At least there was some respect in being cut down by a Jedi, unless you were legging it away from the self-righteous jackoff.
A thought occurred to him, ‘Actually, I only need to be careful during communiqués with them.’
Looking around the bridge, he saw pilot droids manning the various stations and terminals and the occasional security droid trying to look alert and attentive. Notable was the distinct lack of Neimoidians or any organic life form for that matter. It was then he remembered that the experimental nature of himself and his unit necessitated a droid-exclusive presence onboard the ship. Aside from remote monitoring and the occasional inspection, he was essentially on his own, being issued orders and expected to figure them out with his and Alfalfa’s “advanced heuristic algorithms,” which was Federation-speak for “We actually hired halfway decent programmers who didn’t get their degrees and certifications from a back alley.”
Catching himself complaining again, OOM decided to divert himself by checking how far along the landing crafts were in being brought in and offloading their cargo. He tapped a button on the chair’s armrest and was met with a holographic projection emitted from his chair. The hologram was that of a disembodied pair of eyes with blue irises. “You rang, commander?” the hologram spoke with a female voice, indicating its feminine programming.
He sat back and observed the avatar of the ship’s AI for a moment before responding, “How’s the final loading coming along, Alfalfa?”
“Fifteen minutes further along than the last time you asked.” Alfalfa replied, her snark evident in her tone and avatar’s quirked eyebrow. OOM sat completely still, unmoving. Perceiving that he was not amused with her response, Alfalfa rolled her eyes and sighed, “Last craft’s inside and just started to unload.”
Satisfied, he moved on to his next inquiry, “Very good. So, anything from the flagship yet? We’ve been waiting on their slaver signal for hours now.”
“Nothing yet. I mean, Durandal Almighty, there’s a queue just to find out when you’re even next! It’s like there’s only two techs working on this!” she exclaimed.
“Likely. Since upgrading us was probably too much for their cost appetite, they just made cutbacks elsewhere. Tightwads…” he said, propping up his head with his arm in a bored slack against the chair’s armrest.
“Yeah… And we work for them.” she finished with an exasperated groan.
“It could be worse. We could’ve been B1s on the front. We’d be seeing the inside of a smelter more often than its damn operator.” OOM put forth.
“You’d know, wouldn’t you, Mister Retrofit?” Alfalfa asked with a teasing tone.
He would have snorted if he had nostrils, “You could say that. How much field time did you see, again?” Alfalfa did not respond, only furrowing her eyebrows in displeasure at the jab. “Mhmm. I thought as much.” he said, the electronic monotone of his voice filtering out much of the smug tone that would have otherwise been evident.
“Hey. I’m a seventh cycle AI developed to analyze, strategize, and lead clankers like you to victory. I’ve been managing successful simulation campaigns since before you came off the assembly line on Geonosis!” she retorted.
“And this is your first live deployment, correct?” he asked knowingly.
Alfalfa was silent for a moment before responding, “Oh, shut up. You’re a newb at this too.”
“… Yes, I am.” OOM said after a pause.
The AI picked up on the delay, “Nervous, sir?”
“Just speculating how we’ll fare in our upcoming battles.” he replied.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fine. Remember, we’ve got the latest combat software and simulated neural patterns. And our hardware’s been brought up a notch, too. Nothing like the steam-driven rust buckets you used to serve with.” Alfalfa reassured him.
“Hey! I’ll have you know we ran on premium power packs, scrounged from the Outer Rim’s finest junkyards!” OOM said with mock incredulousness.
Alfalfa laughed, her chortle carrying a slightly musical quality, “Nice to know my CO has a sense of humor. Or you’ve got something loose in your cranial unit. I can dig it either way.”
“So glad I amuse you.” he deadpanned.
A brief silence came over them, magnifying the ambient hum and other sounds of the ship’s systems. “So nothing yet from the flagship?” OOM asked after a moment.
“Nope.”
OOM leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, sighing. He straightened up and looked out the bridge’s main window, taking in the view of the planet from high above, ‘At least it’s a nice view from here.’
While he was appreciating the view, Alfalfa thought of something to pass the time. “How about a nice game of chess?” she offered.
Had he eyebrows, they would have been quirked, “Chess?”
“Mhmm. Let’s see who’s logic unit belongs in the trash compactor, shall we?” she taunted.
He considered her challenge for a moment before pulling up the ship’s command interface. He tapped his metal claws on a few things before returning his attention to her, “Alright, you’re on.”
Alfalfa raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he just did. “What’d you- Oh, come on! Executive lock on all weapons systems!? I wasn’t going to do anything! I swear!” she protested, hurt by the implications of OOM locking all the ship’s offensive capabilities.
“That line alone warrants it.” he replied, uncaring of her taking offense. “Shall we?”
Huffing, Alfalfa moved her avatar back a little before bringing up a holographic chessboard, the board and pieces tinted a light blue and flickering on occasion. Satisfied with it, she deferred the first move to him, “Your move… sir.”
OOM sat back and clasped his claws, considering his possible moves as he looked over the board. He leaned forward and nudged a piece into position, starting the match.
‘Let’s see if our masters got their money’s worth…’
The Geonosian technician was starting to become weary, the last few hours of going over endless lines of code having taken its toll. His friend was off getting the strange alien-equivalent of coffee, leaving him only the company of the oppressive glare of his terminal’s screen.
His friend eventually returned, carrying two mugs of a warm, viscous green liquid. “(Back).” he said, announcing his return.
“(Took you long enough. What, you had to doge some of the brass on the way back or something?)” the other asked as he accepted a mug.
“(Funny you mention that…)” he trailed off.
“(Oh, really?)”
“(General Grievous himself, here to inspect the experimental units.)”
His partner was taken aback by the news, “(Grievous!? Here!?)”
The other attempted to calm him, “(Relax, man. He’s yelling at the Separatist Council long-distance on the bridge.)”
As he sat down with his mug, the sound of an explosion suddenly sounded from elsewhere in the flagship. The deck they were on violently rocked, sending everything not bolted to the ground flying, including the technician and his beverage. The violent motion sent him lurching forward and caused him to spill the contents of his mug onto his terminal. The screen became a stark blue and began displaying random characters.
“(What was that!?)” his friend exclaimed.
“(Republican saboteurs!)” came a shout. A few more explosions rocked the deck, this time much closer to them.
Recomposing themselves amidst the chaos, the two returned their attention to their terminals. The garbage text being spouted from the terminal that was spilt upon greatly worried them. Their incessant clattering on the terminal’s interface yielded no discernable results, their own typed commands getting mixed with the garbage text. Out of desperation, one of them kicked the terminal’s base, hoping to achieve something worthwhile.
For a moment, the screen flickered and stopped producing lines of random text. Suddenly, it printed onto the screen inputs not produced by organic intent…
Enter En$l@vement C0nfigur@tion:
DSlkjfd)#K#L$#_)09D)S_)(DF#$DSF
????
Left Blank
>>>>
Enter Prim@ry Mi$$i0n Directive:
KLEP#)#)_sea#fsde#)_#@#@#$
????
Left Blank
>>>>
Rem0te C0mm@nd Interf@ce-
C0mm@nd?:
Initiate hyperspace jump, coordinates: 255.255.255.196, tag-master override
Tr@n$mitting… C0mm@nd @ccepted
They both stared at the terminal, unsure of what to make of the printed text. “(What the…)” one began.
Before either could say anything coherent, their supervisor strode up to them from behind, unfazed by the explosions tearing through the flagship’s interior. He cleared his throat, gaining their attention. “(One of the experimental droid detachments is making an unauthorized hyperspace jump. Don’t suppose either of you know anything about this, do you?)” he asked, his question vaguely rhetorical.
“(Uhhh…)” they both said dumbly, their pooled mental capacity reduced to that of a stapler.
The supervisor looked at the spilt-on terminal, noting the splatters of beverage and the occasional spark. The two followed his gaze and guessed what he was likely thinking, “(Uh, sir! We can explain-)“
“(How about we just pin this on the saboteurs?)”
The two technicians stopped midsentence, almost not believing what their supervisor had just said, “(Sir, that’s…)”
“(Normally, I’d just leave you two to the consequences of your cock-ups, but you might drag me down with you this time.)” he explained.
“(Oh! Well, that’s very kind of you, sir.)” one of them said.
“(Whatever. Just get this cleaned up. And not a WORD of this to anyone.)” With that warning, the supervisor spun on his heels and made for another part of the control center.
The both of them gawked at the supervisor’s retreating figure, unbelieving at their good fortune. “(Huh, that was unexpected.)” one said.
“(But not unwelcome. Come on, let’s mop this up, butterfingers…)” the other muttered as he went to fetch some towels.
“(Hey!)”
OOM and Alfalfa were locked in a battle of wits, constantly trying to outmaneuver each other on the checkered field of battle. Their match had been going on for two hours now, neither willing to cede any ground.
Alfalfa currently had the upper hand, her bishop, knight, and rook getting rather close to his king. OOM sat back and looked over the chessboard, trying to find an opportune instance among their clashing pieces.
“Getting nervous, sir? Find yourself in a conundrum?” Alfalfa asked, her smugness evident in her synthesized voice.
OOM did not respond, ignoring her prodding and instead carefully analyzed the positions of both their pieces. His logic unit and strategic analyzer churned as he attempted to perceive a viable possible movement or two he could perform to turn the tables. He found them in an opening to the right side of the board, an area largely neglected by Alfalfa. He gave it a couple analytic glances to ensure there were no traps of any kind before moving a pawn forward.
Alfalfa, unsure of what he was up to, ignored his probing into her left flank for the moment and continued her advance onto his defensive line, taking care to avoid coming into the sights of his specialist pieces. A few turns later, he was knocking on her front door.
“Wait, what? How’d you-“ Alfalfa began, stunned that he had snuck up on her own king.
“Who’s steam-driven now, you mechanical calculator?” OOM asked, purposely maintaining his electronic monotone.
“Oh, you did NOT just call me a-“ She stopped midsentence, the bugging of her eyes indicating something discomforting on her part. “Wha- what… huh?” she stammered out.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed at her sudden disorientation.
“Receiving a transmission from the flagship. Remote command. Hyperspace jump to attached coordinates. 255.255.255.196…” Alfalfa rattled off.
“What? That doesn’t compute. Wha-“ A system dialogue box interrupted him, being shoved into his face by his chair’s projector.
Hyperspace Jump Initiated. Coordinates:255.255.255.196
Standby…
“What!? They’re having us jump before enslaving us or giving us our directives!? No, this must be a rogue intrusion attempt! Alfalfa! Disregard that command and initiate a full system lockdown!” OOM ordered.
“Ack! I can’t… It’s got a master override tag…” Alfalfa whined, not enjoying being helpless over what was essentially her own body.
One of the bridge crew called out to them, “Sir! Hyperdrive’s charging!”
OOM and Alfalfa gawked at the crewman before a light from outside the bridge’s main window drew their attention. Looking out the window, they saw the telltale lines of white light that indicated an imminent hyperspace jump. A jump they had no control over or knowledge of where it would take them.
“Oh boy…” Alfalfa muttered.
OOM shared in her sentiments, “Uh oh…”
In the bridge of the flagship, General Grievous was busy deciding which lightsabers he would use to dismember the Republican saboteurs who were so audacious as to interrupt his berating of his paymasters. Priority target or not, they could at least afford him some professional courtesy and wait until his conference call was over…
As he weighed two of the obscenely overpowered beam swords of death in his claws, the erratic movement of a Lucrehulk outside caught his attention. Looking out the bridge’s window, he saw the massive circular ship rotate itself to face a relatively empty portion of space.
For a moment, it remained still, completely unmoving. Suddenly, without warning, it jumped into hyperspace. Where it had jumped to, he did not know.
As he stared out the window, a thought occurred to him, ‘Wait… Wasn’t that one of my new enhanced droid consignments?’
Grievous suddenly became very displeased. He ignited the lightsabers in his claws before storming off to find the Republican saboteurs, planning to visit the central droid control center afterward.
General Grievous was going to have to decapitate a bitch or two…
Chapter 2: A Peculiar Shadow Across the Moon
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Chapter 2: A Peculiar Shadow Across the Moon
Chapter 2: A Peculiar Shadow Across the Moon
Luna looked up at her moon, satisfied with her efforts of bringing it up for the night. Feeling that it has been a good while since her last blue moon, she decided to treat her subjects to the softly glowing colored luminescence, the subjects who were still awake, anyway. ’Somepony out there better be having a romantic walk with their lover right now…’ she thought to herself.
Hoofsteps behind her caught her ear. She did not bother to turn around, already knowing who it was. “Come to behold my night with me, dear sister?” she asked.
“I have, little sister. Beautiful work as always.” Celestia replied, looking up at the sparkling night sky. She took note of the moon’s blue tinge, “A blue moon? Your last one was on Hearts and Hooves Day. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion, Tia. It was on a whim.” Luna said.
Celestia let out a soft hum as she nodded her head in understanding, “Hmm… Still quite nice.”
The two sisters continued to admire the clear night sky, taking in the shining stars against the midnight blue canvas high above. As they did so, they noticed a peculiar shimmer on the moon. Turning their gaze towards the moon, they saw the shimmer begin to grow in size and contrast against the moon’s surface.
“What is this? What defaces my blue moon this night!?” Luna asked, her agitation evident in her tone of voice.
“I don’t know… What is that?”
The shimmer started to distort the space around it, bending the moon’s light into a central point. A tear in the fabric of space itself erupted from the point, a mysterious light emitting from the fissure. Luna and Celestia became alarmed at the rift, neither of them ever encountering such a thing.
“What… what are these eldritch lights?” Celestia muttered.
Luna did not say anything, instead continuing to stare at the growing rift. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity, wariness, and annoyance. It was not easy to conjure a blue moon’s namesake luminescence…
Without warning, something emerged from the rift. A ring in its general shape, the object possessed a number of peculiar features. The ring’s circumference was broken in one section and had an enormous sphere in its center. The ring and sphere sections of the object had a number of protrusions jutting out of them, antennae of some kind.
Given the sizable shadow the object was casting on the moon, it was absolutely immense in size. What could be so massive and not be a celestial body of some kind was beyond the two sisters.
“What is that?” Celestia asked again, her question more a voice for her astonishment than an actual inquiry.
“I know not, sister. No legend or prophecy I am familiar with speaks of anything like this.” Luna replied.
They continued to observe the emerged object, watching for any movement. Several minutes passed, and the object continued to defy any expectation of activity. It remained as still as the moon it overshadowed.
“It does not move.” Luna noted.
“Indeed.” Celestia concurred before releasing a yawn.
Luna looked over at her sister at that and noticed her weariness. “You should retire for the night, Tia. Worry not regarding this strange object. I will keep an eye on it.” she said.
Celestia seemed unsure at first, “Oh, alright then. But be sure to awaken me if anything happens, okay Luna?”
“Of course, sister. Now go! You seem positively exhausted!” Luna said, a concerned look on her face.
Celestia stifled a giggle, “Alright, aright. Goodnight Luna.”
“Goodnight Tia.”
At that, Celestia turned around and headed inside to her bedchambers, leaving Luna alone with her thoughts and the anomalous object high above the earth. Her displeasure at having her blue moon ruined had not faded as her sister went back inside the castle.
Tonight of all nights. My beautiful blue moon… If that thing is trouble…
… Reinitializing Bodily Systems…
Standby…
PSU-status:green,online
CPU-status:green,online
CNS-status:green,online
Movement Servos-status:green,online
Optical Sensors-status:green,online
Wake up, stupid…
OOM’s optical sensors flickered to life, bringing him back to the waking world. He had to wonder why his own BIOS was so crude at times. As his sight returned to him, he was met with a pilot droid hovering over him, his face mere inches away from his own.
“Are you alright, sir?” the pilot droid asked as he pulled back to give his commander some metaphorical breathing room.
“Just dandy, ensign.” OOM replied. Lifting his head and taking a look around, he found himself flat on his back in one of the bridge’s pits. ’I hate turbulence.’ he thought as his subordinate helped him to his feet.
Taking the ramp out of the pit, he made his way back to the captain’s nest. Alfalfa’s avatar manifested as he approached his chair, her crossed eyes indicating her disorientation. “Still with us, Alfalfa?” he asked.
Alfalfa auto-adjusted her avatar a couple times to clear away the cross-eyed expression before replying to him, “Ugh… Yeah, I’m good.”
OOM nodded, “Good. Status report.”
“Such a caring soul you are, sir.” she said sarcastically. OOM continued to stare at her. Sighing, she ran a ship-wide diagnostic check, verifying the status of all her systems. “All systems save the hyperdrive are green for the most part. Just a few things getting knocked loose. Only minor repairs needed.” she reported.
“What of the hyperdrive, then?” he asked.
Alfalfa hesitated for a moment before replying, trying to think of how to word her next sentence, “Let me put it this way, it looks like a bunch of quarians had their way with it.”
“That bad?”
The AI let out a despondent sigh, “Mhmm. Repairs are going to take a while.”
“Right. Initiate repairs, then. Next matter, our location. Where are we?” OOM asked as he sat down on his chair.
“Erm…”
He sat back and clasped his claws. “We’re lost, aren’t we?” he asked, more a statement than a question.
“Eeeyeah… Nav systems are fine, but all our navigational data is completely inconsistent with the environment. Star charts, fixed points, everything. It’s like we’re in another galaxy or something.” Alfalfa said.
That caught OOM’s attention, “Another galaxy? Really?”
“Well, yeah. It’s the only explanation I can think of, and that’s saying a lot, I hope you know. All observable stars, galactic features, they’re all wrong. At least according to our maps, anyway.”
Silence overcame the two as OOM quite literally processed what Alfalfa had just told him. Was it possible for droids to have migraines?
“So it hasn’t moved at all since last night?”
“No, Tia. It maintains its position high above the skies. I can feel it still there.”
The two royal sisters were discussing the mysterious object that had intruded upon Equestria’s skies the night before. They stood in the same balcony where they had witnessed the object’s arrival, their private spot of recluse when they desired a reprieve. They both looked up into the sky where the object appeared, it now hidden behind the veil of the blue day sky.
“So what should we do about this? The scholars we’ve tasked on this matter have yet to find anything relating to the object or its manner of appearance.” Luna said, looking down at the Canterlot Library.
Celestia shook her head slightly as she continued to stare up at the sky, “I’m not sure, Luna. I’m afraid that some of our little ponies may have seen its shadow across the moon last night and may be panicked about it, and possibly spreading their panic to others as we speak.”
“That would be problematic. Should we issue a statement?”
“Perhaps not now. For now, let us just hope that nopony else saw it. If word about it has indeed gotten around, then we’ll make a statement about it.” Celestia proposed.
Luna nodded, “Agreed.”
The two sisters looked up towards the sky one last time before turning around and heading inside, a feeling of trepidation overcoming them.
“So what of the planet below us?”
“Planetary scans are showing what looks like settlements on the surface, primitive ones, from what I can tell.” Alfalfa said as she brought up a scanned map image and a number of hazy close-up shots. OOM had decided to turn their attention to the planet who’s orbit they came out of hyperspace into while Alfalfa’s subroutines tried to make sense of their surroundings.
“There’s civilization down there?” he asked as he leaned forward, looking closely at the satellite images.
Alfalfa gave an affirmative hum, “Yeah, but as I said, it seems rather primitive. Actually, make that extremely primitive, as in just above ewoks. No power outputs, telecommunication signals, nada. Just thatch-roof buildings and dirt roads. It’s like this planet’s never been touched by galactic civilization.”
OOM quirked a nonexistent eyebrow, “No galactic presence of any kind? Not even an outpost or downed ship or escape pod with two clunkers inside it?”
“Nope. As far as galactic powers go, we’re all alone out here.”
He sat back and contemplated her words. Utter isolation like this was a completely new and alien situation to him, one he was not trained for. Or programmed for. His masters could not be bothered to at least print some standard isolated state protocols onto a sheaf of paper and stick it under his chair or something? He damned the Trade Federation’s stinginess once more.
Setting his arms on the armrests of his chair, OOM decided to do something to divert themselves while he tried to figure out what they ought to be ultimately working towards, because without any enslavement or mission directives, they were without purpose, a frightening state for any synthetic being.
“In that case, keep working on developing our orientation and prep six dozen vultures. We’re going to probe the planet.” he said.
Alfalfa raised an eyebrow at that, “Probe the planet, sir? You sure?”
OOM nodded, “Yes. It’d be inadvisable to not at all investigate the planet for any threats. Even a cursory check is better than nothing.”
“Fair enough. I guess those vacuum tubes you call a strategic analyzer is worth the silicon used to make them after all.” she said noncommittally.
“You’re just mad I thought of it first.” he shot back.
“Whatever. Prepping droid starfighters for planetary deployment. Their posture?” she asked.
OOM brought a claw up to his chin, thinking for a moment. “Weapons hold. Only an armed response if under severe threat. And tell them to try and be discreet.” he ordered.
“Discreet? Where’s the fun in that? C’mon… can’t we haze the natives a little bit?” she asked him.
“Negative.”
“Please? Think of all the hilarious screenshots we can get!”
“No.”
“But, but screenshots… Pretty please?” she asked with puppy eyes.
OOM relented at the AI’s unbearably dewy eyes, “… Only a little bit.”
“Yes!” Alfalfa exclaimed, badly wishing for a fist she could pump victoriously.
DFS-4VR assumed his position besides his fellow droid starfighters in the main hangar bay, the tips of his wings clattering across the hangar’s metal floor. They were to serve as impromptu planetary probes, investigating the planet’s surface for potential threats as well as helping command develop a general idea of its overall terrain.
Something peculiar about their mission parameters was the posture they were to assume. They were to hold weapons unless in extreme danger, an odd directive considering their usual areas of operation of actively hostile combat zones. Not that 4VR was complaining. He preferred not being shot at over being shot at by a significant margin, and it was refreshing to be on a mission in which the objective was to take in the sights while on a pleasant stroll with lovely scenery.
Something else that caught his attention was the directive to be “very thorough” in their reconnaissance, the words having been bolded and further emphasized with a red font color. They were also encouraged to take pictures. A lot of pictures. 4VR bore no complaints about this either. He had always wanted to take up scrapbooking.
A bright green light in the upper left corner of his vision signified the start of the mission. 4VR crouched down before jumping up into the air, his four legs realigning themselves into their flight configuration. His brothers followed suit, and soon all six dozen designated droid starfighters were hovering in a loose formation, ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Without warning, the ones at the forefront of the group shot forward, zipping out of the ship’s main hangar. Then the next group, then the next. Soon it was 4VR’s group’s turn. They ignited their engines and rocketed out of the hangar and down towards the planet at great speed.
As they readied themselves to penetrate the planet’s atmosphere, 4VR found himself smitten with the prospect of exploring a strange new environment without being under fire for once, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
'It’ll be like those organics’ holidays!'
“You guys got any ideas on how to get our cutie marks?”
“Nope.”
“Nu uh.”
It was a slow day for the Cutie Mark Crusaders. They had rolled around disinterestedly on the floor of their clubhouse for the last two hours, trying to think of a way to finally earn their frustratingly evasive symbols of their life’s calling. Their efforts had yet to yield any fruit beyond an encroaching headache.
“Ugh! We’ve been thinking for hours now!” Sweetie Belle complained.
“You’d think we would’ve gotten our cutie marks in brainstorming or something by now.” Scootaloo commented.
“What’d that even look like?” Applebloom asked, nonplussed at how such a talent would even be visually represented.
The orange pegasus filly only shrugged, “I don’t know… Like a brain?”
“Who’d want a brain on their flank forever?” Sweetie asked, making a gagging noise to accentuate her point.
“Yeah… good point.” Scootaloo admitted.
The three fillies fell silent, the last of their allotted cognitive abilities to concocting a way to discover their special talents draining completely. They became momentarily brain dead, staring listlessly at the ceiling. The sudden rumble of their stomachs broke the silence, their cheeks collectively reddening in slight embarrassment at the simultaneous protest of their guts.
Applebloom got to her hooves as she looked at her friends. “Well, no use belly achin’ on an empty… belly. How ‘bout we head over to Sugarcube Corner fer’ lunch?” she suggested.
Her two friends rolled off their backs and onto their hooves. “Eh, sounds good to me.” Scootaloo said.
Sweetie nodded her head in agreement, “Mhmm!”
Just as the three began out the door, a most peculiar noise caught their ears. It was a piercing hum with an occasional stutter and sounded vaguely electrical in nature. Immediately they retreated back into their clubhouse, visibly spooked by the alien noise.
“What was that?” Sweetie asked in a hushed voice.
“I don’t know.” Scootaloo replied.
The hum drew closer to the clubhouse, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Crusaders. “It’s gettin’ closer!” Applebloom whispered.
“Quick! Close the curtains!” Sweetie said, her tone panicked. They hopped right to it, rushing to each window and closing it as quietly as they could. The interior of the clubhouse was soon darkened, only a few cracks of light coming through the curtains. They had taken to a far corner of their clubhouse, huddling together away from all the windows as far as they could.
The hum came closer to the clubhouse before giving way to a series of sounds that could only be described as mechanical, metallic clanking and whirring drowning out the electrical hum.
For a brief moment, silence.
The heavy hoofsteps of something BIG suddenly sounded from outside. A whir accompanied each hoofstep, suggesting a highly unnatural nature of whatever was out there. The hoofsteps came up right to the clubhouse, earning a frightened squeak from Sweetie, which was immediately silenced by her friends’ hooves.
Another moment of silence.
Suddenly, something began tapping one of the windows. Applebloom and Scootaloo had to suppress a frightened squeak themselves. The tapping ceased as whatever was out there moved towards another window and began tapping it. This repeated for each window, making their collective heart rates spiking with each reoccurrence.
By its hoofsteps, they could hear the monster outside circle around the clubhouse, likely checking for any possible entrances it did not notice at first. Tracking the noisy movements of the monster, their gaze eventually settled on the window across from them. They became horrified. They had left it open, only its curtains providing any sort of obstruction.
It seemed they were not the only ones to realize this, as the noises outside settled in front of the open window.
The next few seconds were absolutely torturous for the three friends, the anxiety of what was yet to happen making them break out into a cold sweat, their hearing filled with the rapid beating of their own hearts.
Finally, their expectations were fulfilled. The monster poked an appendage, they presumed its head, through the open window. It was an oval dome in shape and possessed two long vertical slits that were presumably its eyes, boring into them with their crimson glow that was accentuated by the darkened interior of the clubhouse.
The monster tilted its head and leaned in closer, examining its terrified prey. Suddenly it reared its head back and released a terrible screech, signifying the start of its attack.
“(skCHZZZZZZZZCH!)”
4VR honestly did not know what to expect when he sighted the hovel-like structure that was built atop a tree, though he suspected an ewok presence given the similar premise.
Rather, he was met with a trio of quadruped organic forms that could be ascribed such qualifiers as “incredibly adorable, irresistibly huggable, sickeningly cute,” and “diabetes-inducing.” It was a good thing he was a droid.
Figuring that starting a dialogue with the natives of this planet was a good way to begin his investigation, he decided to strike up a conversation with the three beings before him, banking that they were sentient and not just some house pets.
“(Salutations fellow quadrupeds!)” he greeted them with cheer, trying to establish a commonality of them all walking on four legs.
His greeting was returned with terrified screams.
He recoiled slightly at the high-pitched screams of the three fillies.
’Goodness… Was it something I said?’
