//------------------------------// // 2. Priority: Appleloosa (April 2021) // Story: Mass Effect: Continuum // by Oceansama //------------------------------// Chapter Two: Priority Appleloosa (…………………………………………………………………………………………) In all the places they could have landed, in all of the universe, having a site of civilization reasonably close by was perhaps the greatest stroke of fortune that Shepard had ever had. A part of herself had realized that they had had a far, far greater chance of appearing in the void of space, mathematically speaking. Even so, said civilization was still far enough away that she had nearly missed it, but thanks to the flat terrain the town’s nighttime illumination was just noticeable enough on the horizon. Getting there was still a troublesome affair due an unknown number of obstacles in her way. If it wasn’t just cacti or sharp jagged rocks then it would be the encounters with various species of scorpions, snakes, lizards, insects, and other hidden nocturnal creatures. It had left the two companions carefully monitoring each and every step. Travel by foot was slow and meanwhile the temperature continued in a rapid decline from cold to freezing. It was not yet to the point where it could pose an immediate threat of hypothermia, but they didn’t want to test their luck any further. Both Shepard and Anderson had remained mostly silent as they went. Too preoccupied with their own internal conflicts to properly socialize and had only spoken when necessary; a brief warning over obstacles and threats they passed by. It was the Admiral’s wound that was Shepard worried about the most. He had given several platitudes to assure her that he was fine, but she could tell that the pain was steadily getting worse with time. By this point Anderson had torn off the sleeves of his undershirt to quickly tie a makeshift bandage and a lack of blood suggested that the wound had not reopened, but still it was slowing him down. His countenance was pale and twisted into a mask of agony and grinding teeth when it had gotten really bad. Anderson had tried to take his mind off it by studying the eerily familiar terrain for anything of interest which, from time to time, lead his gaze to wander over to Shepard. She was walked slightly ahead and had appeared to not pay Anderson much mind. Every iota of his knowledge and experience reeled at this whole body transference event. It was scientifically impossible to swap species as the Commander had. Why then was he so readily accepting of the belief that it was really her? A better explanation was that she was some virtual intelligence bot programmed to think it was Shepard. He couldn’t understand it, but with no better alternative plan he followed her. He wiped a cold sweat from his brow as he remembering that his omni-tool scan had, indeed, declared that the alien was Shepard; human DNA, implants, cybernetics, and all. On the other hand he considered dismissing this all as a dream or as a hallucination as he laid dying in the Citadel tower. “I think this is close enough.” Shepard quietly broke the silence. “A little closer than I’d like.” Anderson noted, realizing that from this distance he could now make out individual buildings and roads. “We’ll have to retreat some ways back come morning.” The Admiral quickly started rubbing his arms for extra warmth. His breathing was heavy and shallow as if he’d been sprinting the entire trip. His watch said that they had been walking, just a skosh short of two hours. Carefully observing some more of the finer details concerning the town, he was surprised at how such a settlement was representative of a stereotypical 1900’s wild west villa than an alien encampment. It was like staring at an old Hollywood movie set, though this one had received a fresh paint job of light pastel colors. At least he thought they were pastel, it was difficult to discern in the light of the moon. Even with the out of place street lights It was such an uncanny representation, along with the surrounding flora and fauna, he started to suspect that they might, instead, be on an Alliance colony somewhere. But then there was Shepard’s new body, similar to an Earth equine but fundamentally different; a rounder head, fuzzier, larger and more expressive eyes, a shorter muzzle. She was, as she’d earlier put it, cute; apart from the large scowl she wore. “How are you holding out, Commander?” Anderson asked, breaking the silence, “This whole situation must be difficult for you. Though, you seem to be handling it well.” He wanted to be diplomatic, but knew she would prefer to not beat around the bush. Shepard still had her back to him, seemingly to have not heard. A couple steps later she simply sat down on the dirt, head lowered as if suddenly exhausted. When she spoke her voice was full of shame. “You only say that because you weren’t there when I first woke up.” She lamented while sparing a brief glimpse to him, eyes revealing everything left unsaid. “That bad?” Anderson crouched down beside her. Shepard choked, “...Worse.” Again an awkward silence. “I’m sorry.” Anderson took a seat next to her, giving a reassuring pat on her shoulder, in much the same why one would give a lost and frightened child. Bits of the Commander’s charred armor flaked off under his touch. “Don’t be sir,” She pushed Anderson’s hand away, “we all knew the Crucible was a complete unknown. No one could have predicted the full extent of the consequences.” “It was a desperate plan,” he brushed the dust from his hand onto his pants, “we can rest easy knowing that it paid off.” “Yes, even had I’d known this was going to happen…,” she gave her new body another tentative glare, “I’d still have done it without hesitation. I just…didn’t expect to drag you along into this mess.” Her forlorn expression tightened into a sneer that was brimming with hatred. “But Reapers needed to be put down!” She growled. “Commander,” the dark male said sternly, “no one else could’ve accomplished what you’ve done. You should feel proud of yourself, I know I am.” He crossed his arms and nodded sagely, “We find ourselves strangers in a strange place, true, but don’t think that I blame you for bringing me here.” Shepard listened to his words but if she found them comforting she didn’t show it, instead opting to contemplate the stars above. “I wonder how everyone is doing, did any of them survive?” “Maybe they are looking for us right now.” She wondered, before shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “But right now, I should be more worried about you, Anderson.” “I’ll be fine, Commander.” he grimaced as, if on cue, the pain flared. “Like hell you’ll be.” The former human shot back with raising volume. “Don’t know about you, but I have no medi-gel left and you’ve been walking with an exposed wound in an alien environment. What kind of foreign bacteria do you think you’re picking up?! Is an infection more preferable than bleeding out?” Shepard wasn’t sure if it was her altered chemistry, or the result of months of high stress, that brought forth a cocktail of raging emotions. There was an unfamiliar hot pressure building up behind her eyes and she just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and disappear. Anderson kept a stoic expression, despite the fact that his normally reserved friend was all but screaming at him. He wasn’t upset by it, knowing that both of them had watching so many friends and comrades die through trials filled with both great triumphs and devastating defeats. Now it seemed that Shepard’s cup was running over. So Anderson merely sat still and took the verbal lashing. “I thought I’d already lost you once, Anderson.” Shepard wheezed; emotions evaporating as quickly as they’d come. “It’ll take more than this to stop me...us. We survived the Reapers and we can make it through this as well.” “Just...don’t put me through that again,” she jumped onto all four legs, pointing an accusing hoof at him “or I’ll have to kick your ass.” “Point taken.” Despite everything the Admiral found he had to cover his mouth with his clean hand trying to hide a large grin and an amused chuckle, only to have Shepard puff her cheeks in annoyance at the clear sparkle of mirth in his face. He couldn’t help as to find the tiny pony even more downright adorable when she got angry. Anderson ultimately failed to control himself, if Shepard killed him now at least he got the chance to die laughing. Right now he only felt the a heavy burden of stress melt away. “And what do you think is so funny?” Shepard’s gave him a dirty look. “I’m being serious, Anderson.” “I know you are and I apologize, Commander.” He returned with a placating gesture. “But?” Shepard rolled her hoof in a ‘hurry up’ motion “You threatening to kick my ass, with a face like that.” “And what’s wrong with my face?” “Your pet hamster looked more terrifying that you. You’re far too colorful and cu...” “Don’t say it, Anderson.” Surprisingly she felt her lips involuntarily curl into a smile and she gave him a light punch on the arm. “My lips are sealed.” Anderson pantomimed the motion. “Though it would be quite a sight to see what Admiral Hackett and the rest of the Alliance would think if they could see you now.” “Tch, don’t let my new look fool you, I’m still all biotics and business. I’ll go toe-to-toe with anyone who even looks at me sideways.” she declared, prideful. “There’s the Shepard that I know.” Anderson encouraged with another friendly pat on her shoulder causing an armor guard to finally detach. It hit the ground with a pitiful thump and the two of them simply stared at it for a moment. “But right now we need a plan,” Shepard kicked the useless armor piece away and turned to consider the nearby town, “we need medical supplies, food, shelter and that town should hopefully have something we can use.” She started itching several troubled spots on her neck; silently cursing to have a body covered in so much fluffy fur. “Hold on a second,” Anderson raised a hand, “we’re stumbling in the dark here. Odds are good this is a first contact situation. We need to exercise caution and not rush in blind.” “Trying to avoid another Shanxi and Contact war?” “Exactly, time to dust off the first-contact protocols. Assume peaceful neutrals until we can determine otherwise.” Anderson reached for his utility belt and pulled out a pair of field crafted binoculars, which were two sniper scopes duct taped together and with a couple wires linking the scopes’ targeting mini-computers. “Let's have us a look.” He crouched down behind a large rock bringing the binoculars up. Adjusting the focus he soon spotted the town’s natives. At first he had followed the packed dirt road that ran down the center of the town and cleanly splitting it into two halves. The ‘main street’ was also flanked by dual rows of intermittently spaced lanterns hanging from wooden posts , making it easy to spot a significant number of the small horse-like quadrupeds jogging about with confused haste and intent. Many of them were preoccupied with clearing the road of bits of debris that had fallen off broken roofs and a couple of recently collapsed buildings; as well as various articles of trash. They would deposit the detritus into large metal bins, placed on small carts, hitched via rope to yoke and pulled by other quadrupeds. A triage tent built from cloth was erected nearby and several injured ponies were resting underneath and being treated by emergency medical workers. Anderson noted that the alien’s efforts were sloppy and unorganized. Though he believed he had spotted the town’s leader, a mustached pony with a large five-gallon hat adorned with a gold star, it was obvious that the town was a mess of barely organized chaos. Anderson had a brief recollection of another quadruped race, the Elcor. But, where the Elcor were massive hulking tanks with flat featureless faces, these small pseudo-horses were slight of build, quick, and had a wide range of almost human-like expressions. They also came in a staggering variety of different colors; every wavelength across the visible spectrum was represented. Not just for their fur, but their manes as well, and no two ponies shared the same color scheme. Some were close, but no two were alike. Unsurprisingly or unsurprisingly, depending on who one asked, the ponies had evolved into two separate genders along similar lines as almost all of the civilized galactic races. Shepard was clearly now a representative of the female of the species; more predisposed to be shorter with more curved features, smaller muzzles, and more vibrant colors and hairstyles. The males on the other hand were taller, had shorter manes, sported longer and more angular muzzles, and leaned towards earthen and darker body tones. One curious divergence from the galactic norm was the near lack of clothing. It was probably a consequence of cultural evolution that came with having their bodies naturally covered in a coat. Though accessories like cowboy hats, top hats, and bonnets were heavily present. All of the ponies, this included both sexes, also had curious tattoo-like markings on their flank fur. They all had one, but he was too far away to make out specific designs. “A sign of a caste system,” Anderson mused, “possibly rank, or sign of affiliation?” Everything he’d observed he had summarized for Shepard’s benefit. This latest revelation had lead him to spare a moment to see if Shepard also had one of those symbols, but realized that her armor was covering that particular part. “What?” she asked and turned when she realized what Anderson was searching for. “Here see for yourself.” He handed to binoculars to Shepard who struggled to grip onto them. She fumbling with the device, eliciting several sharp curses as she nearly dropped it several times before finding a perch for them on the palms of her hooves. “I got no idea what those symbols are on their asses.” Shepard spoke after several minutes of observation, “More importantly they are defiantly a pre-spaceflight race. About three or four centuries away from a dedicated space program,” she lowered the binoculars and handed them back, “that’s assuming a similar technological curve as Earth. Hard to say for certain and I’m not sure how they can run a society with these stubby things.” she held up one of her own keratin formed digits. “A good question,” Anderson clipped the tool to his belt, “I’m more in the dark than you. Right now you’re humanity’s closest thing to an expert in this field.” “Uh-huh, well if you want my ‘expert’ opinion, then I don’t think that these ‘ponies,’” she air quoted for emphasis, sarcasm oozing from every pore, “for lack of a better name, have the physical and technological capability to pose much of a threat beyond their own planet. Maybe in several millennia it’ll be different unless they can weaponize sunshine and rainbows.” “Now Commander, I recall some said that Humanity would never have left Earth if we hadn’t found the Prothean ruins on Mars.” “Right,” She then flexed her back and shoulders until several loud cracks quaked from her spine, “for now I see an advantage to this new body after all. I can scout ahead and see if I can get some supplies.” “If you’re sure then focus on the basics for now. I’ll stay here for now see about a temporary FOB.” The Admiral then summoned his orange omni-tool, “I’ll perform some scans, see what I can find.” He blew on his hands to warm them. Shepard gave him a sidelong glance. “Some blankets wouldn’t hurt either, but I doubt these aliens have much use for credits or element zero.” “Then we have no choice. You’ll have to find another way to get what we need.” Anderson’s frowned slightly. “Another way, huh?” Shepard gave a sly grin. “Yes, another way. Do what you have to do Shepard, just remember that your status as a Specter isn’t recognized here, so exercise restraint.” At his warning Shepard’s grin grew wider. “I mean more restraint than normal.” To which Shepard responded with a dismissive wave of a foreleg. “In the meantime I’ll set us a private two-way channel so we can remain in contact.” Anderson typed a few commands into his gauntlet; fingers dancing nimbly over the button. On instinct the post-human lifted up her right foreleg to access her own omni tool, but all she saw was armored sleeves had been burned or peeled off of her body. Everything had been destroyed up to her shoulders, or whatever the pony equivalent was. Her solution was to grip the offending sleeve as firmly as she could in the crook of her ‘wrist’ and with a tug was able to tear the armor off up to her elbow. Only then was her omni-tool implant in her arm able to activate. “There, we’re all set.” “Got it.” Shepard confirmed hearing his statement repeated through her earbud. She snapped a crisp salute and then turned to leave. “Commander?” Anderson interrupted. “Yeah?” “I hate to bring this up,” He reached for her and lightly tapped the side of her armored collar. A large chunk snapped off into his hand and he casually tossed it aside. “shouldn’t you do something about your suit?” “What do you mean?” It was a rhetorical question; she knew where this conversation was going. “I’m saying It might look suspicious to the natives, I doubt the half melted look is in fashion.” “Are you suggesting I should strip naked?” Shepard crossed her forelimbs signifying her complete disdain at the very notion. “I understand your reservations. But is seems clothes are the exception and not the rule in this culture.” The Admiral pointed in the direction of the town. “Based only on a brief observation.” She looked away in embarrassment, “Anderson I’m not undressing in front of you or anyone else. You’d have to make it an order first.” Shepard was without compromise. Anderson opened his mouth to admonish her, but had to reign himself in. There was no way he could give her an order like that as Shepard could easily refuse to follow through simply on moral grounds. Not to mention he could face criminal charges if the Alliance ever learned of this. He weighed his options carefully. “Commander, I order you to do whatever the hell it takes to not draw unwarranted suspicion to yourself.” “So, in other words, nuclear detonations and punching out reporters are off the table.” Shepard acted all hurt, but the smile gave her away. “That too, though I think I could live with that last one.” “Don’t worry, Anderson. I’ve never let you down before and I’m not about to start.” She then rubbed her chin in thought, before attempting a bipedal stance. She was only able to hold it for a few seconds before falling back onto all fours. “But, there is something you could take care of for me. It's going to be rough looking up to you like this, literally. So if you could make it easier on me and trim those nose hairs, that’d be great.” “Smart-ass,” he said with a mixture of annoyance and humor, “just don’t forget who your superior officer is.” “Don’t you forget who is a Council Specter. Seriously, if Joker was here, he’d say it was like you had a hamster stuffed up each nostril.” “Remind me to have you both court-martial when we get back.” “Sure thing. It’s great to have you back, sir.” She held out a hoof. “It’s good to be back, Shepard.” Anderson gripped the offered appendage in a firm hand-to-hoof shake. “Good luck out there.” “You too.” she finished with a crisp salute before turning and heading off to town with a measured jog. (…………………………………………………………………………………………) “Anderson, do you read me?” Shepard said, ducking behind a bale of hay. “Copy Commander, how’s your situation? Over.” Anderson replied through her earbud. “I’ve reached the town limits, don’t believe I’ve been spotted so far.” The town had a very young feel about it. The lack of wear and tear was evident everywhere she looked as everything sported a crisp and professional look. A smell of recently cut wood and fresh paint was mixed with newly tilled dirt and apple trees. The western themed abodes rarely rose above two stories high, with the exception of one that appeared to be an inn of sorts. Constructed almost completely out of wood and fired bricks; they were of uncomplicated architecture. The heavy use of square angles was not pleasing to the eye, but each building doubled as a painter’s canvas. The use of bright colors and balanced tones was complemented with a painted aesthetic that favored natural elements, like apples, plant vines, and hearts into curving organic patterns. It was clear that the ponies had an eye for art. The individual houses and businesses didn’t have a traditional door, but favored a split top-bottom entrance more fitting for a barn. Windows were also very common, at least six or more for each residence, but the quality of the glass panes was lacking. Shepard was greatly tempted to explore this place, and promised to do just that after she ensured that Anderson’s situation was stabilized. For now she was resigned to avoiding the main road where the greatest amount of activity was taking place. The night was her ally and she made use of it. Sticking to the darker side roads and alleyways that twisted like a maze throughout the city. She ducked behind walls, running from cover to cover. Her goal was centered on finding a hospital or some other source of medical supplies, no matter how deep into the town she had to go to find it. Occasionally she would be afforded a glimpse of the main strip and for brief moments was able to observe the behavior of these creatures and eavesdrop on random conversations. She couldn’t make out everything the ponies said, but enough was coherent to lead her to a single startling conclusion. “Anderson, are you hearing this? It sounds like they’re speaking English. My universal translator isn’t even turning over.” This whole planet was turning out to be one giant black hole of statistical impossibilities. Speaking English was just another cherry on top of the sundae, but she wasn’t going to complain as this discovery would make going forward all the easier. “Negative Commander, I can’t hear a word of what they’re saying. You’ll have to get closer.” “Not without giving my position away. Wait!” Shepard hissed as a flashlight suddenly highlighted the alley she was occupying. If she hadn’t already planted her back behind a parked wagon, crouching on her hind legs, she would’ve been easily spotted. She tried to slow her breathing, measuring it out. “Did you hear that? I thought I heard somepony.” A male voice spoke. Instinctively Shepard felt the near euphoric feeling of biotic power surge through her L5n implants, filling her body with destructive energy. She didn’t want to harm innocents, but if they pursued this avenue of curiosity then they’d become a risk to her mission. Then she would have no choice but to subdue them. “I didn’t hear anything,” a second, older, male spoke, “not one day on the force and you’re already hearing voices, rookie. Face it, kid, if the buffalo wished us harm they’d just attack. Not slink around in the darkness, that’s not their style. Besides I doubt they’d be intelligent enough to even think of the idea. No, it’s probably just some scampering critter.” “What? No. I’m certain that...” “Let it go, rookie, come on.” Shepard sighed in relief, as the two unidentified males slowly cantered away, thankful that the her presence had been overlooked so easily. She allowed the energy saturating her veins to dissipate, leaving her feeling empty like a spent battery. She spared only a few moments to recover her breathing before she proceeded further into the bowels of this alien habitat. “Shepard, I just thought of something.” Anderson interjected several minutes later. “Uh oh, here it comes.” she said in light hearted mockery, as she ducked behind a barrel. “Do you think the Illusive Man could have followed us here?” Anderson inquired, his disposition allowed no room for jokes. “He was on the Crucible with us before we arrived here.” It was an unexpected and unwelcomed train of thought that left Shepard momentarily paralyzed. “I don’t think so…damn, I hope not. We don’t need Cerberus acting as humanity’s ambassador on this world.” She sounded as uncertain as she felt, “I suppose it’s possible, though although he had shot himself in the head before the end.” “I remember, Commander. But don’t forget, I was dead too and survived.” Anderson corrected. “Yeah, I guess, but let’s hope that it ended with you. We have enough to be concerned about as is.” (…………………………………………………………………………………………) For all her expertise, Shepard had spent nearly an hour trying to locate anything that resembled a medical facility. The major complication was that the ponies didn’t name their shops, but substituted pictures to represent a theme of what the building’s purpose consisted of. Her inquisitive explorations had her stumble upon one building that bore a picture of a large whiskey cask. Peeking through the storefront window revealed that it was nothing more than a general goods store. Useful, but not what she had been looking for. Just something that was to be mentally filed away for a future date. Unexpectedly she became aware of the sound of music; the faint vibrations of a single piano vocalizing in the air. The song was simple and uncomplicated, but upbeat and full of energy. Taking a chance, she edged as close as she dared to the main road. A risk that instantly paid off as the origin of the music became abundantly clear. A business that was located across the road with a hanging picture over the doorway of a giant glass salt-shaker. It originated from what had appeared to be a western style saloon. The establishment was bathed with its own light, both warm and inviting, and a large din of voices. A lingering fragrance filled the air, one that promised good food and strong drink for those brave enough to enter. With her options running out and desperate to find a hospital she decided it was time to chance asking a villager for directions. She didn’t go far before she had frozen herself in mid-stride, remembering that she was still adorned in a carbonized shell therefore she had to spare a moment to reluctantly stash her useless outfit behind a trash receptacle. She finally emerging onto the main road with naught but the fur on her body and her military dog tags hanging from her neck. She felt incredibly awkward, uncomfortably cold, and exposed. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable since she’d survived the Skyllian Blitz. A flash of memories of being trapped alone in a single room fighting back waves of invaders, bottlenecking them and single-handedly holding them back until Alliance reinforcements could arrive. Even now if she had to again face hundreds of pirates again she would have still chosen that over what she had to go through now. It was strange to think that everything she had faced since then had culminated in her arrival into this strange world. There was also a melancholy sadness as she realized none of these aliens would be able to appreciate everything that she had accomplished. There had been times she had been supremely annoyed that she was such a recognizable figure. Now, in a place where her fame meant nothing she found she missed it; the prestige, the respect, and even (to a lesser degree) the fame. Here she had to start from scratch again, it was also liberating in a way. Shepard momentarily considered disposing of her dog tags, but relented. These were her original pair after being promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-Commander; restored and returned to her after her ‘death’ and she didn’t want to lose them again. She was still military, she was still N7. Pony ignorance be damned. Checking that no one was moving in to intercept her, she jogged a direct route towards the local watering hole; dog tags jingling with every step. Ascending four narrow steps she had stopped at the inviting saloon doors. Peeked inside confirmed it was indeed a bar and was another example of a cross-species galactic trend. The large room was near capacity most of the clientele had a dirty and scuffed up appearance from the recent cleaning up. It was not shocking to find that they had a head start at achieving alcohol induced oblivion. For Shepard it was a very familiar scene. The best way to forget your troubles was to pretend they had never existed in the first place; no better way to support that belief by drowning in drink. That was a lesson that these ponies had learned well, just like every other galactic race. Their one major deviation was their culture revolved around the central tenets of a nudist colony. She was sure it was unintentional, but she could not help but get an occasional glimpse of pony parts she was not meant to see. She was frozen in place, frozen with offended modesty. Only through a couple of breathing exercises was she able to calm her nerves. Imitating a statue wasn’t going to contribute to the mission and the heat from the saloon’s interior was pleasing. All that was required was to get in, inquire as to the location of a doctor’s office, and then get out. “It’ll be easy.” (…………………………………………………………………………………………) In her experience a bar such as this was often portrayed a haven for the gambling professionals and inebriated lowlifes. Yet, if neither the cards nor the drink could keep them satisfied then the local entertainment would. At least these ponies didn’t appear to be criminals, just rather tired individuals winding down from a late night’s disturbance before heading home. Then Shepard noticed the stage that was situated at the far end. A solo male pianist was noodling a folk song over the ivory keys. How he could play without fingers, Shepard found both curious and unsettling. Next to him was the large wooden stage where several female dancers performed a pony version of the French can-can dance. Their costumes were elaborate black and white fru-fru dresses accompanied with large overblown feathers in their manes, and fishnet stockings covering their hind legs. The haze of a smoky incense mixed with perfume was embracing their sweating bodies as they gyrated on the dance floor; accompanied by the whistles of excited males who heaped encouragement onto the dancers in the form of hoots and hollers followed by golden coins tossed up onto the stage. To Shepard’s relief no one was paying her any mind, all attention was on the dancers or on nursing strong smelling drinks. She dissolved herself to become just another face in the crowd. That blissful anonymity was not to last long as, after a half dozen steps in, she knew she had been noticed. There were hushed whispers, under the racket of laughter and excited conversation, that spoke of ‘the new mare’ that reached her new ears which were more sensitive than her old ones. It seemed as if half of the crowd was now talking about her in a mixed sea of emotions; sympathy, curiosity, hostility, among others. Yet, no one seemed to really be looking in her direction. Deciding it was just a case of nerves she tried to remain undeterred, but was completely on edge. Mentally and physically she had to prepare herself for the worst. It seemed as if her simple presence had convinced the town that she was up to no good, but she didn’t understand what had happened to elicit such an unwanted reaction. In the corner of her vision she had spotted a nearby couple looking intently at her, or rather her butt and not so much her face. Shepard felt offended at what was an obvious affront to her modesty. She ground her teeth while trying to suppress an emotional reaction. She had realized what the true problem was when she’d turned to see what was so fascinating about her ass and discovered that it was as bare as she’d expected to find it. Yet, all the others in the room had a brand on their flank; the mark that was probably heavily tied to their culture. She wondered if the lack of a tattoo on the ass was considered taboo, a sign of dysfunction, or maybe a gesture of rebellion against the status quo. If giving her dirty looks was the worst they were content with then she could live with it but was serious reconsidering the wisdom of coming in here in the first place. However, she found herself soon approached by an elderly-looking male pony with a coat of light brown and a thinning, ragged, mane of gray and dull gold. A picture of a pickaxe decorated his rear and he wore a black vest with two golden buttons on the chest and complimented by a yellow hat with a green band around its base. “Hey pretty lady,” the obviously smashed pony slobbered, draining the mug in his hoof, “I’ve never seen you around before. What brings a nice, and pretty, and...um...nice mare like yourself to our little corner of heaven?” “I just arrived and it’s none…” Shepard sucked an calming breath, “I’m looking for a doctor’s office.” “Oh well, t’aint no doctor here. It'd of no matter to...um...me, or us. I guess. My name’s...uh...Salty. What about yours p-pretty mare.” “That’s none of your business.” the former human tried to walk around the lecher, but he was surprisingly fast for as strong as he smelled of alcohol. He sidestepped along with her blocking her way. Several stallions and mares had started to giggle at her unfortunate encounter, or maybe they were laughing at Salty, but no one seemed willing to step in. “Don’t be like that, we are all friendly like..., here in Appleloosa. What say, that, you and I head upstairs and become even closer friends.” The elder stallion wrapped a forelimb around her neck. “I’m not interested. I suggest you leave before we have a problem.” Shepard growled, maintaining her professionalism while removing the offending appendage from her person. “Ohhh, come on. I promise to treat ya good, I can pay.” he jingled a small brown pouch that had previously been hidden under his hat. “A mare like you should be grateful that a stallion wants to show you a good time. Despite, y’know, your shortcoming.” “Did you just call me poor? Don’t you dare suggest that I’m poor!” She couldn’t decide which was worse, whether it was being hit on by crooked lech who couldn’t take a hint or the hated reminder that so many of her hard earned credits were currently sitting in an inaccessible bank account. “Oh, no. I mean...well, a ‘blank flank’ of your age is lucky to find any kind of acc...accomp...sexy time. Might as well be me.” He waggled his eyebrows in a flirtatious fashion. Shepard nearly face-palmed but stopped when she realized a hoof to the face would probably hurt. She wondered if ‘blank flank’ was meant as an insult referring to her lack of a cultural identity imprinted upon her rear. Deciding this situation wasn’t worth her time she turned to head back the way she came in. Without warning there was an abrupt hard-hoofed slap that had fallen cleanly across her butt and dangerously close to a no-go zone. She was frozen in place, electricity shot up her spine causing the fur on her back to stand on end. “Ooo, nice and firm, you must keep in shape.” Salty laughed with uninhibited pleasure. Shepard’s brain exploded into an inferno of fury, the look on her face must’ve been bad since the onlookers suddenly looked really, really scared. Shepard decided that this offense to her dignity would not go unpunished. There was only one person that was ever allowed to touch her in that way, and he was somewhere far, far away. Shepard was a red faced, rage filled, mare that slowly turned to address her foe. The oblivious stallion was far too drunk to appreciate the level of abject pain and retaliation he’d unwittingly unleashed upon himself. The Commander cracked her joints, eager to educate the poor sod as she saw fit. (…………………………………………………………………………………………) Sheriff Silverstar grumbled as he was trotting through Appleloosa. The freak lightning storm had interrupted his private time with the wife which had put him into a mood most sour. It didn’t help that he was the one everypony in town had appealed to coordinate and lead cleanup efforts. A lot of progress had been made over the past several hours, but there was still a lot of progress to be made before normality returned. For now, however, ponies were heading home for the night and he desperately needed something hard and salty to settle his nerves and clear his head. It was for this reason he was eagerly marching towards the Salt-Block, the only watering hole that was open at this hour. Arriving at the saloon doors he lifted a hoof to open the door when... Wham! Crack! “Whaaaaaaaaa!” A stallion’s girly scream arced through the air like a firework. Silverstar quickly ducked down and managed to avoid a direct impact to the face as Old Salty come flying, flank over teakettle, out the saloon doors. There was a hard thump followed by a large dirt cloud poofing into place where the elderly stallion had cratered. The Sheriff galloped to Salty to make sure he wasn’t injured. The old drunkard sported a nasty looking hoof print on his chest as well as a swollen black eye. But it was the presence of salt and beer foam around the inebriated male’s mouth that was the least surprising. “Was it good for you too?” Salty moaned in pain and content to remain immobile on the ground. With a grunt and a sigh he passed out under the light of the saloon. The sheriff grunted in indifference. He was oh so tempted to leave Ol’ Salty where he’d face-planted. It wasn’t like this was a rare thing anyway; most nights were not complete without Salty being thrown out of the local saloon after imbibing too much adult pleasantries. The law enforcer knew his duty, despite his temptation towards darker urges, and lifted the drunkard onto his back. “Maybe a night in a cell will sober you up and teach you a lesson.” (…………………………………………………………………………………………) The bartender adjusted his monocle, and smoothed over his thick mustache. He watched with equal parts trepidation and smug satisfaction as the freckle-faced, red maned, mare gave Old Salty a one-two combo before violently launching the drunk out the front door. At the same time there was a pang of sympathy for the elderly stallion. A part of him felt the aggressive mare had been a little too rough. On the other hoof, Salty had been asking for it when he’d stepped over the line of good taste and slapped the mare on the flank. It was only due to Salty being such a good, and frequent, customer that he hadn’t been banned from ever setting hoof into the bar ever again. The swift and short outburst of violence had silenced all activity in the room. Clients, dancers, waitresses, all had been rendered inert and as they tried to figure out what had happened. The once with the front row seats had begun to slide their seats back, afraid that they’d be next on the pain train. “The Alliance Navy thanks you for your generous funding.” The mare smirked as she picked up Salty’s and revealed the sack of coins was still there. The bag soon found a new home in Shepard’s hoof as she casted the hat aside. Satisfied with her work, she had turned to exit as the entire bar was appraising her with disbelieving stares and slackened jaws. “The hell you looking at?!” the mare sneered. Giving them all a, ‘I own this room and everyone in it,’ look. Against such an aggressive ultimatum the drinkers surrendered to losing themselves in their liquor, the gamblers hunched over to bury their faces in their cards, and the entertainers continued their act with an extra jittery pep added into their normally graceful movements. Yet, before she departed she seemingly had a change of mind and instead walked up to the bartender who was the only one who didn’t break eye contact The bartender watched as the freckled mare approached, money in tow. He ruminated on the many years he had spent as a barkeeper’s assistant before coming to Appleloosa. Over the years he had studied the intricate art of reading a pony’s mood and needs through their body language. His first impression was that she was a pony outside her element, but dangerous nontheless. This conclusion was reinforced as he watched her approaching him. Still, he did not back down he refused to be intimidated in his own business. Watching the mare he ruminated on her very nature and had come to several illuminations that set off some warning bells. ‘Alliance Navy,’ is what she’d said. He had never heard of any military, domestic or foreign, such as that, but watching her move with such smooth, efficient, and confident strides it wasn’t hard to imagine her being someone of importance in the Royal Guard. Yet, she lacked a cutie-mark which was just plain confusing. He had never before heard of any pony, of adult age, failing to discover their special talent. It was laughable even disconcerting, but given her extreme reaction he doubted any sane and sober pony would ever again dare to call her out on it again. “Greetings and welcome to the Salt Block, ma’am. My name is Morton Saltworthy and I do apologize for the offense of one of my patrons.” He spoke in a gentlecoltly fashion, trying to avoid her bad side. A second thing that was strange about the mare was her eyes. They were the same size as most females, but the pupils were constricted to half the width, giving her dark green irises were frozen in a seemingly permanent stare that was both piercing and intimidating. “You must be new around these parts.” “It’s that obvious, huh?” She sarcastically toned, before sitting upon the barstool directly in front of Morton. “Quite, I have never seen you around before and you stand out from the usual townsfolk.” Morton placed and empty glass in front of her as well as a complimentary bowl of peanuts. “Yeah, and it looks like I just missed the party.” she said casually while taking the glass. “A shot of your strongest, please.” “What do you mean, ma’am?” he retrieved a two bottles containing amber liquid. One was labeled ‘Apple Daniels Black’ and the other was ‘Wild Bird Bourbon.’ “I noticed a lot of cleanup work on the way in.” Shepard selected the Wild Bird and the bartender poured her a generous amount. “Well that was the result of that sudden electrical storm passed through. Got done cleaning most of it up in here before the crowd came in and a good thing I put most of my bottles in locked cabinets, so I only lost a few instead of all of them.” He took a momentary glance at the shelves of alcoholic drinks behind him. Three long rows of drinks ranging from a mild cider to the Wild Bird brand. “What storm?” the mare inquired, curiosity genuinely reflected in her expression. “Don’t tell me you missed it.” she just gave him a blank look, “The large cascade of blue that passed through the town and across the land?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh that thing,” she replied, but Morton could tell it was a lie, “didn’t realize it was the cause of so much damage.” The red mane looked about the tavern, none of the other patrons acknowledging her, “I see the locals don’t seem to mind.” “My dear mare, these are the regulars, they’re always here.” Morton smiled and started cleaning another mug with his rag. “Not even the return of Nightmare Moon and eternal night could keep them from indulging their love of salt and drink. Speaking of which,” the bartender ducked down behind the bar, and returned a moment later, “here have a round. On the house.” he placed a small serving dish front of her, upon which a single salt square was set. It wasn’t a full sized cube, a sampler really compared to what paying customers received. “What’s the occasion?” She asked confused, but smiling in appreciation of the gesture nonetheless. “To keep you happy and not causing trouble.” Morton mused silently, only answering the question with a ‘why not,’ shrug of his shoulders. “Thanks.” the mare smiled while studying the salt cube as if she’d never seen one before. When she had smiled Morton saw a most frightening sight that made his hair stand on end. It was a grim grin more fitting in the mouth of a predator. She did not have the normal flat teeth of a pony, but rather multiple canines and incisor shaped teeth, like a carnivores. “Why not,” the mare quietly intoned before raising the dish the dish to her mouth and giving the salt an experimental lick. While she ruminated on the taste Morton decided that he seriously wanted this mare out of his establishment as soon as possible, but was now too afraid to tell her that.