22 — Ad Astra II

Unusually, Scootaloo and the rest of the herd did not wake him that morning by traipsing into his dorm out of this trunk. Surprised at his uninterrupted routine, he rushed through it wondering what was wrong. He reached the common room just in time to meet Scootaloo and the other fillies as they leisurely came down from their room.

With them was Chirpy Hooves, a filly with light-gold and pale-yellow hair, and greyish purple eyes. Harry knew she was a pegasus filly at home, and one of the three Firsties without a cutie mark.

"Chirpy wants us to help her find her cutie mark," said Sweetie Belle as they walked over to Harry.

"We spent several hours last night talking to her," said Apple Bloom. They had spent most of the late evening going over her Equestrian likes and dislikes, she explained. "She likes reading in general, and found the magic they were learning fascinating. But nothing else really stood out from everything she had done back home." She sighed.

"We'll talk some more over breakfast," finished Sweetie Belle.

On the way to the Great Hall, Hermione asked, "Well, Chirpy, is there anything you've seen or done at Hogwarts that you find interesting?"

"Hmm," Chirpy said, clearly considering it. "Well, magic, of course, that's really interesting, but I don't think I'd get a cutie mark in it. Quidditch is kinda cool, but I'm not a fanatic about it." She was quiet for a few steps. "I do find the wizarding world itself fascinating, though. The history Professor Lupin is teaching us is incredible — so violent!" She shuddered.

"Then one of my dorm-mates told me that Padma Patil is from India, so I started asking her questions." She skipped ahead a step and turned to face them, walking backwards. "Did you know they have an entire pantheon of Gods?" She looked awed at the thought of more than three. "Some of them sound almost as powerful as Princess Celestia!" She frowned, "But the Princess insists she isn't a god." She shook her head. "Anyway, it is just soo fascinating that I don't know what to say. And then she told me about Sue Li being Chinese, and introduced me to her. China is just as interesting, with just as many Gods. It would be soo interesting to search for them!"

Harry could see she was quite excited at the prospect. Especially as she continued on that topic all the way through the meal and back to the common room with them. She named the Hindu and Chinese pantheons and gave their basic descriptions and backstories.

She was a lot like his mum, he thought, only focused on the topic of the Hindu and Chinese old gods, and how they were so different from each other, and alike at the same time. So very different from what they had known back home in Equestria where there were only Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Cadence, and practically everyone knew everything about them. Princess Celestia's reaction to the Great Toothpaste War was taught to every colt and filly in their first year at school as a cautionary tale. That there were cultures with dozens, or hundreds, of Gods was breath-taking to the ponies. Religion, praying for guidance, was a foreign concept to them.

Harry had a good idea of what her cutie mark was going to be, although the three Cutie Mark Crusaders hadn't sorted it out, yet.

While the fillies were preoccupied with that, he excused himself and went looking for Bon Bon. After he explained what he wanted, she promised he would have it late that afternoon.

۸·_·۸

When the bus stopped in the layby, Castor turned to the two changelings. "This is Second Lieutenant Harrison, she's a wand user." He pointed to a woman who had been waiting for them on the bus with the driver. "We refer to all magic on this side of the portal as Special Technology." He stared at the two changelings. "Got that? Never say the word magic when you see it. It is always to be referred to as Special Technology. There are exceptions, however, such as telekinesis. I'll explain the whys and wherefores later."

As he was saying this, the bus driver was shutting down the electronics in the bus, and disengaging the battery.

The two nodded their understanding.

"Lieutenant Harrison will conduct the casting of the oath," he continued, and handed them two sheets of paper. "The words you need to say are in bold-red, I will be speaking the lines in green. Harrison will be the initiator of the Special Technology. Are we clear?"

They nodded again and looked at the papers.

"First," Harrison said, "All three of you clasp your right hands together." After they did so, she rested her wand tip on their hands and nodded to Castor.

"I, Captain Castor James Searle, with the Queen's permission, am acting as surrogate for Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, as well as the people who live under her reign." Everyone watched as a bright red rope of light wrapped around his hand. A thin, red band shot off out of the bus.

As the two changelings identified themselves, separate ropes of light, in different colours, wrapped their hands.

Then they stated their obligations towards each other, each statement creating a separate white roped light. At the very end, they concluded in chorus, "As we have sworn, so shall it be." The separate ropes all merged, and a wave of white seemed to pulse outward from them.

After blinking away the spots in their vision, "Well, hopefully, that will do the job," Castor said. "Take a seat and I'll explain our itinerary for the next two days." He smiled. "And answer your questions."

He looked at the driver and nodded. "We're ready. Head for our destination."

As they were being driven, Castor explained that their first stop would be at a military hospital, the maternity ward. The future use of a maternity ward as a "food" source would be based on their reports. They would be queried on if they could determine if there were any ill-effects on the infants, the mothers, or the hospital staff while collecting their emotional food. The government also needed a base-line estimate on how long it took to gather a suitable quantity of food for the changelings.

Any indications that the babies, their parents, or the staff were negatively affected by the changelings "collecting" would strike that particular option off the list of acceptable places.

He would decide, from their reports, if they would be investigating any other hospitals to see if their wards might significantly differ in yields.

The Second Lieutenant took advantage of that time to transfigure their dresses into proper nurses' uniforms, with name tags that labelled them as Special Technology trainees.

When they arrived at the hospital, it was only Castor, Harrison, a second female Special Technology Second Lieutenant, and the two changelings that debarked. The three humans were attired as hospital workers to match the changelings. The bus left as soon as they entered the hospital's front doors, to return the soldiers to base. Castor had a much smaller vehicle he would call to pick them up when they finished here. There was no need for the soldiers now that the changelings had given their oath.

If the spell wasn't going to work, it would be better to find out now than when they had possibly dozens of the creatures running around.

After checking in at the receiving desk, they headed straight for the maternity ward. Castor gave the two changelings a running description of where they were in the hospital, explaining the different sections as they passed them. It was interesting to see how comfortable they were in their new bodies, and walking on two legs.

He also noticed that sometimes they would slow down as they walked by certain rooms, or give puzzled looks at some of the people, both patients and staff, as they passed them.

Soon enough, they were in the maternity ward. Castor stopped at the first occupied room, a single room. The new mother was sitting in her bed, cradling her new-born. She looked up, smiling as they entered.

"Good day," Castor said cheerfully, a warm feeling in his heart at seeing the infant and mother. "How are you feeling this fine morning?"

"Tired, still," she said happily.

He stopped at the bottom of her bed and picked up the clipboard with her information. "I see you gave birth to this wonderful little girl last night at ten-fifty-seven." He looked up at her, watching as the two changelings moved to either side of the bed. They were staring at her rather intently.

To keep her distracted, he said, "Do you have any suggestions for us on how we can improve our department? Make things more comfortable beforehand, perhaps?"

He continued his banter until Debby gave the agreed-upon signal and they left. He stopped outside the next room and gave the two a questioning look. They just nodded, and Abby whispered, "We were able to collect from her. The baby was a blank, we felt nothing from her, and took nothing."

He nodded and they moved on.

Given the number of hospitals in the city, the current population, and the average number of babies born in a day, there were only ten occupied rooms in this hospital. However, this hospital wasn't the largest in the city, either.

"This has possibilities," Debby said after they climbed into the Land Rover Castor had called. "Not nearly as much the ponies, but one of us could collect enough in one day to last for two days."

"We did not have to directly draw, so there shouldn't be any repercussions for either the parent or the foal . . . child," added Abby.

"To give you a comparison," continued Debby, "A similar number of new-mother ponies would give a collector about a month's worth in a day."

They decided to visit three more civilian hospitals before calling it finished and heading for a secure location in a nearby military base. Castor continued his briefing on what to expect in the human world, and what they might be asked to do.

۸·_·۸

Administrator David Williams and Director General Arthur Pryor, both of the British National Space Centre; Yuri Koptev, the Director for the Russian Space Agency; Jean-Marie Luton, the French Director General of the European Space Agency; Retired Vice Admiral Richard H. Truly of NASA, Ambassador Blueblood of Equestria, Ambassador Ma Yuzhen of China, and a score of lesser dignitaries were enough of a crowd, thought Major Thomas. However, the number of reporters and press members at the Otterburn Army Training Estate, Britain's largest live-fire military training estate, was simply ridiculous.

It was Wednesday, October Twenty-eighth, and four in the afternoon.

They were all studying the modified Bristol Bloodhound Mark II missile — with Ad Astra II emblazoned on its nose — and its mount. The technicians were giving it one final check-over before launch in just half-an-hour, at four thirty-nine.

With the success of the Moon mission, the Queen had shifted from a lukewarm appreciation of exploring space to full gung-ho admiration. Especially when she heard how pleased Princess Luna was with her gift. Similarly, Parliament, controlled by the Conservative Party, had changed from quiet critiques about wasting money, to whole-hearted support. Their base had been energized and bragging about Britain being a major-player in a field that, to-now, had been dominated by the yanks. Especially so since it had been so cheap compared to the yanks' efforts. That had led to quick turnaround in opinion.

Today's Bloodhound looked exactly like the previous one that had stood on this very spot just seven months ago, a decommissioned unit. The ramjets that normally powered the anti-aircraft missile in flight had been discarded. The ramjets' fuel tanks in the core missile had been replaced with a single, large kerosene and liquid-oxygen thruster, and its attendant fuel tanks. Its fresh coat of paint, with the BNSC logo proudly displayed on its side, however, tended to give the impression it had been purpose-built for this launch.

The insides, too, had been heavily modified, not that those in attendance knew the specifics. Unlike the previous missile, the fuel tank wasn't expansion-enlarged and holding thousands more pounds of fuel than it should. Instead, each small, sealed, fuel tank held only enough fuel for one second. A special duplication charm in a module at the top of the nozzle was copying the fuel from the tanks and injecting it into the combustion chamber.

The magically-duplicated fuel only needed to last half-a-second, and was consumed in less than a fraction of that time. As soon as the spell timed-out, the remains returned to the magic that had made them. It was the ultimate in a non-polluting, recyclable, infinite fuel.

All the Press knew, however, was that Equestrian Special Technology had provided a vastly more powerful fuel.

It had taken a crew of five "Special Technicians" working together to create the module. It was as permanent a charm as it was possible to create.

The specification was for it to last fifteen years. It would probably last forever — like the rest of the missile.

Closest to the engines was the portkey, no, Thomas corrected himself, the "translocator" container. It had twenty timed-translocators for set distances — approximate, of course. The first four would be at the distances where the different gas giants orbited, the fifth would be at the "rim" of the solar system, the outside edge of the Kuiper Belt and at fifty times the distance the Earth is from the Sun. The sixth at one light-day. The seventh at one light-week, then one month, half-a year, one year, two years, three years, and so forth to ten years.

The light-time distances were all estimates. The plan was to get it as close to seventy-percent lightspeed as possible. The Russian scientists insisted they had calculated things precisely to take in the effects of Lorentz time dilation. They also insisted their on-board computer could easily handle any in-flight adjustments and corrections to its flight-path, as necessary. It used gyroscopes to maintain its attitude.

Major Thomas reserved judgement. The proof would be in the pudding, was his thought.

To help verify the distance covered, each portkey was attached to a camera facing back to Earth, with time-marks. Well, there really was only one lens, set towards Earth. The cameras all sat safely with their portkeys and used Special Technology to use the same lens and record the last minute before the respective translocator engaged.

The missile would decelerate to a stop at eleven years out, and attempt to translocate to the special Moon-orbital-target for retrieval – Lagrange Five. If everything went to plan, it would arrive back in twelve years for analysis and reuse. Or placement in a museum, whichever would be more appropriate.

Next from the engine was the payload package. It was actually the top stage of the Ad Astra. It would separate from the Bloodhound at the two-light-year mark. Once it was a safe distance from the Bloodhound, it would begin decelerating. If everything went perfectly — ha! — it would come to a relative stop at edge of the Alpha-Beta Centauri System. It would spend several days taking hundreds of pictures, deploy a translocator target, and then return with its own translocator.

The scientists in BNSC, NASA, ESA, and Roscosmos had been very upset about their inability to come up with a viable platform with more complex scientific instruments in the short time they were given. Actually, frothing with rage was probably more accurate.

If the translocators worked at that distance — Thomas not so unconsciously crossed his fingers — those scientists might be able to go there in person in six years with a complete suite of instruments. That promise was about the only reason why most hadn't quit and stormed off to sulk.

If the translocators failed after a certain point in space before then, they would have to resort to their backup plan for interstellar exploration.

It was a bit more inconvenient, but doable.

They would have a backup Bloodhound prepped for immediate launch with the designated instrument package, in the meantime. It didn't hurt to be prepared, and they had a few years to prepare a proper package for the Alpha-Beta Centauri system, regardless of which way things turned out.

The visitors were giving the missile and its launch rig a critical eye. BNSC was using the original mount — no need, really, to change that. It made things much simpler. For the mount, the missile weighed just the right amount for a fully-fuelled missile.

Koptev looked over to Pryor. "This will achieve near light-speed?" he said sceptically. The others mirrored his disbelief.

The Director nodded. "Using the Special Technology the Equestrians have provided, it should hit seventy-percent the speed of light in twenty-eight days, without a problem." He smiled. "We launched the first Bloodhound with their tech in April, and we just received confirmation it has already reached Jupiter's orbit. Something no one would have believed was possible six months ago." He nodded at the waiting missile. "We've improved on the technology since then, and Ad Astra Two will put the first to shame."

"And the Equestrians' have this in their own world?" someone asked a bit incredulously.

The Director shook his head wryly. "They are a . . . peculiar race. The whole concept of different worlds around different stars never even occurred to them. Instead, they explored portals and different dimensions. As a result, they never considered using rockets to explore space. They've only used them for fireworks and the like."

Thomas spoke up. "That's changing, however."

Ambassador Blueblood came closer to the cluster of top officials. "Our solar system has no gas giants, and the other planets are all the size of your moon or smaller," he explained. "The night sky, while beautiful, did not hold anything that we particularly wanted to see any closer." He sighed. He smiled ruefully. "And Princess Luna is rather particular about who she would let step onto her moon."

The others nodded a bit uncertainly. Most still did not quite believe that the Royal Sisters actually controlled celestial bodies.

"Yes," said Truly, "The lack of anything interesting closer than the next star would put a damper on that sort of pursuit." He glanced at the others. "Going from a shot at the moon to a shot at the stars with nothing in between?" He shook his head.

"On the other hoof," Blueblood said, "We have several ponies wanting to join your space agencies." He gave the others a speculative look. The Director of the BNSC was looking gleeful at that news. The others merely looked thoughtful.

Thomas could almost read their thoughts. Would having a pony in their program give them a leg-up on the competition for the Buran? Would they get priority access to the Special Technology for their own programs?

The warning siren sounded and the group slowly moved over to the new, partially underground launch-control building. Part of it was a garage in which the actual Bloodhound launch control-vehicle was parked. The press was moved back to their prepared, concrete berms at a greater distance.

The head technician looked up.

"Everything is green. We couldn't ask for better weather conditions, and the airspace is clear."

David and Arthur just nodded. The launch schedule wouldn't be changed unless something went wrong. So far, nothing had.

The four solid-propellant boosters were unchanged from the original. They would fire for only three seconds, but in those three seconds they would push the missile to Mach 2.5, or eight-hundred and fifty-seven meters per second. It was an acceleration that would pulp a human, nearly twenty-nine times the Earth's gravity.

The group moved into the bunker and jockeyed for good positions behind the reinforced glass to watch.

Just like the first time, the launch was spectacular. One moment the missile was on its mount, the next it wasn't. Even knowing where to look, Thomas lost sight of the missile almost instantly. The large video display on one wall displayed the missile rapidly disappearing in the distance.

"One point two kilometres down-range, three-quarters of a kilometre altitude, climbing at eighty-eight degrees. Boosters off. Main engine in nominal range. Boosters have dropped," a flight technician said. "Everything is green."

The new engine in the Bloodhound, and its design for operation in space, meant only the control wings remained on the sleek missile for atmospheric control during launch.

Thomas knew the missile would now proceed at a more sedate acceleration of eighty-seven metres per second, or 8.8 gravities. The guidance system would make sure the missile maintained its present attitude until the Bloodhound left the atmosphere.

Then it would roll and change to more directly point at Alpha Centauri. Or, rather, where they expected the Centauri system to be in six years. After all, what they saw in the night sky today was where they system had been four years and some months ago.

At this time of the year, the Centauri system was only a month or so from being on the opposite side of the sun from Earth. Hence, the launch so late in the afternoon. It took advantage of the near-forty-five-degree angle of the launch mount and currently-southern aim to decrease the manoeuvring necessary.

Unlike the previous Bloodhound, this one made use of the same "Special Technology" that allowed the Knight Bus to avoid obstacles. It would be quite inconvenient if the missile ploughed into an undiscovered moon or asteroid in the Kuiper Belt or Oort Cloud.

Of course, hitting even a grain of sand at the speeds the missile was expected to achieve would make an explosion that bordered on nuclear in size. Which was why it also had an impressive array of detection spells deployed in front of it, and linked to shields to "nudge" smaller particles out of the way.

That last also eliminated any chance of interacting with any of the junk put in Earth-orbit in the last fifty years. The space might technically be nearly empty, but that nearly was still very crowded compared to the space between planets.

When the payload separated, its tech would begin sweeping the rear as the missile decelerated. The now-shorter Bloodhound would engage its version of the tech to use for the rest of its flight, and also switch to the rear when it dropped its last translocator and began decelerating itself.

As expected, the modified Bloodhound quickly out-ran their on-site radar installation and they switched to a feed from the UK Air Surveillance and Control System in Fylingdales.

Then came the steady chant of altitude readings as the missile climbed. Ten kilometres, twenty, thirty, fifty, seventy, a hundred.

"Time mark, coming on sixty seconds . . . mark! Altitude, one hundred and fifty-seven kilometres. Velocity, 5.2 kilometres per second. Course within one percent of projected."

Soon, Thomas knew, the missile would outrun their radar capabilities. Fylingdales, after all, was oriented more towards watching known launches of hostile aircraft and missiles from over the horizon, not staring straight up into space.

"Switching to SPACECOM for continued tracking . . . established."

A new system that was integrated into the yanks' SPACECOM was being installed, but it wouldn't be operational for several more months.

This was only the second time Britain had launched a potential ballistic missile from the island. Thomas knew that every foreign agency that could, would be closely watching this launch. The BBC crew that was broadcasting this live, and recording it for posterity, were giving a running commentary in the background. The video and audio from the control bunker were being fed directly to dozens of broadcast networks, both radio and television. Much of the press had started with their own equipment, but after the launch had had to switch to the "official" feed.

"All systems green, engine nominal," called out one of the technicians.

"Coming on two-minute mark . . . mark! Altitude 626 kilometres. Velocity, ten-point-four-kilometres per second. Course on track."

Everyone there knew that what they had just seen should have been impossible. The missile simply wasn't big enough to carry the fuel it needed to achieve even near-Earth orbit. The BNSC just parroted "Equestrian Special Technology."

There was a stunned quiet as they watched the radar-feed from the yanks and saw the missile climbing and accelerating, straight as an arrow now.

"Coming on ten-minute mark . . . mark! Altitude fifteen thousand six-hundred kilometres. Velocity, fifty-two kilometres per second. Course on track."

". . ."

"Beginning to lose as lock as Ad Astra Two leaves effective radar range on the United Kingdom's, and mankind's, first attempt at interstellar exploration. All instruments register green for a perfect flight to the Alpha-Beta Centauri System."

Pryor cleared his throat. "Well, I don't think we need to stand around here! We have a chartered plane waiting to take us back to London. As I mentioned in the briefing on the way here, explaining Ad Astra One, we have a small folder of papers for each of you detailing Two's mission and what we hope to accomplish with this launch. How successful it will be, I really don't know.

"If the Translocators continue to work as expected, in less than seven years we will be able to go directly from Earth to the Alpha Centauri system in only a few minutes. In a worst-case scenario, we might have to put space stations in place as stepping stones." He stopped and grinned at them. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't care if I had to take a thousand such steps! That's still less than how far I normally walk when I visit Downing Street!"

The others smiled.

"The lunar Planet-Explorer Telescope Complex, PETCo, has already confirmed that there are two planets orbiting Proxima Centauri.

"One has an estimated mass of about twenty-percent more than Earth, an orbital period of about eleven-point-two days, and a distance of about seven and a half million kilometres — five percent of what the Earth is from our sun." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Which places it at about the distance where water is liquid on the surface! Whether it is inhabitable is unknown, unfortunately. But we have high hopes!" He sighed dramatically.

"The other is a super-Earth, about seven times more massive than Earth. It is, unfortunately, one-and-a-half times as far from Proxima as the Earth is from our sun, with an orbit of one thousand, nine hundred, and twenty-eight days.

"Also, they postulate Alpha Centauri may have a Neptune-sized habitable-zone planet, at about ten percent further out from the star than Earth is from our sun, with a period estimated at a year. They hope to confirm that within the next year.

"Details on all this are in the folder."

They slowly exited the building and headed for the coach to carry them to the nearby airport. The press behind them were recapping the launch and waxing poetic about wonderful days ahead in the space program. Plus speculating on which nearby stars had habitable planets and where the United Kingdom's space program was going to go, next. The BBC was again applauding the Conservative government's foresight in backing the research that was making the United Kingdom a leader a space and industry. Not to mention the cleaner air, more efficient lorries and cars, and unprecedented recycling efforts that were all rejuvenating the economy.

The various space agency members were discussing what they had seen, and wanting to take a good look at the papers in the folders Pryor had promised them. Would it be better to meld their space programs with the United Kingdom's? Or not?

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