//------------------------------// // Chapter three: The nearly Commander // Story: Unexpected chances // by I had no idea //------------------------------// Many accuse Lyra of being carefree, slacking of most of the time, or spending time in public doing absolutely nothing work-related. In fact, some suspect she didn't even have a proper job, and Golden Harvest swears she didn't see the slightest hint of an instrument while visiting her house. Except, in her words, if she "left it out in the toilet, though that would make her music stink." In reality, she is simply incredibly bored with the simple life of a musician. Even though every performance is paid for generously, she refuses nearly every request, only accepting a few ones that she deems interesting, or necessary. This has already earned her an unwanted reputation of an eccentric genius; her contractors simply chose to interpret her lack of motivation as them not having sufficient social or political power. Thus, her every appearance was lauded as brilliant so far, some even claiming she is on par with the more famous Orchestra members. Needless to say, that didn't bring her much popularity with them—not that she cares about it much. Today, however, she decided to go on a walk. Trotting through the pleasant scenery of Whitetail Woods, she briefly passes a small clearing overshadowed by a tall oak tree. Then she backtracks when she sees a blue stallion with a red mane laying on his back, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Somehow, even though nothing would suggest it, there's a small dirt crater around him, nearly perfectly circular. No bruise wounds, however, no broken branches, no scorched surroundings. In other words, a mystery. Lyra grins. Her day is about to get interesting. She approaches the stranger without a hint of fear. "Wassssssssaaaaaaap?" she intones, deliberately elongating the vowels and consonants. The stranger looks at her, unimpressed. "From my position, you're up," he snorts. With a groan, he rolls over and rises to his hooves—only to pause, and observe his limbs with disbelief. Then he takes another look at Lyra, his expression becoming manic. "What happened to me? What are you? Did you do it?" he asks in rapid succession. Lyra waves her hoof dismissively. "What do you mean what am I? I'm a pony, duh. As for what happened to you, I guess you crashed into the earth, or something? And for the record, no, it didn't have anything to do with me." "Then how do you explain the lack of hands, huh?" the stallion asks triumphantly. Lyra shrugs. "Basic pony anatomy? Seriously, did you hit your head, or something? Why would you find a lack of hands surprising?" "Because I used to have two!" the stallion yells. "I'm not a pony, I'm a human you menthol monstrosity! I deserve to be treated better than an average animal—" The stallion stops, noticing that the mint unicorn doesn't really pay attention to him. "Lyra, the Menthol Monstrosity!" the mare muses. "Makes me mighty mad, mind ya." "...Please don't alliterate me." "Why? What's wrong with wordplay, weasely wimp?" "I warn you, if you continue to annoy me..." he began in a threatening voice, but Lyra cut him off. "Then what? Buck my face in? Real civilised, buddy. If you're gonna behave like that, I'm just gonna leave you here, alone." "But you're just an animal!" he protested weakly. "You're an animal too!" Lyra retorted. "I told you, I'm a human!" "Is that a type of plant?" "What? No!" "Mushroom, perhaps?" "No!" "Then, by process of elimination, you are an animal! Geez! You don't have many friends, do you?" The question strikes deep into the stallion's heart. He remembers his final moments... moments of betrayal, and a stern reminder of the difference between him, and... the original. At the end of the day, the difference was clear; the original was a hero, with people following him, and believing in him, while he was just a puppet of a xenophobic group, whose advocate betrayed him the instant things got hot. Seeing the brooding stallion, Lyra got a sudden moment of clarity. "Uh.. I... struck a nerve there, didn't I? Sorry. Hey, let's just start over. My name is Lyra. What's yours?" A strange urge takes hold of the stallion, genes transcending experience, and cloning. "I am Commander Shepard, and this is my favourite store on the Citadel!" Lyra carefully peers rightwards. The lack of a citadel was astounding. She shifts her gaze left. Not even a rotund in sight. Finally, she looks back at the beaming stallion. The picture is completely dominated by a lack of a castle. Before she could voice her concerns, the stallion laughs a little. "Oh, I've always wanted to say that! Never got the chance, though. I guess you can call me Shepard, like everybody did. I mean, that's what everyone called my original." "Your original?" Lyra asks with confusion. "It's a... long story. I've been cloned from the famous Commander Shepard... so, other than Clone Shepard, I didn't really get named anything in conversations. Makes me want to rename myself to something else, actually." "Well, what's holding you?" She waits patiently for a few minutes, but finally, she gets tired of it. "So?" The stallion paws at the ground, dejected. "I got nothing." "What's cloning, anyway?" "It's a method in which tissue from a person..." The clone goes into a lengthy explanation about cloning; both the technical, and ethical side. Not surprising, considering he spent a copious amount of time cramming all knowledge about the technology into his brain, in an attempt to justify his existence. Needless to say, it didn't work. It left him with a wide range of knowledge in biology—most of which probably can't be applied to his current predicatement. Nevertheless, Lyra listens intently, and when he finishes, she scratches her head. "Okay, so I didn't understand half of the words you just said. Despite that, I think I've gotten the general idea about the whole 'cloning' stuff. But the half I did recognise should not be possible with our technology! Where do you come from? Manechester? I heard they studied some pretty weird stuff there." The stallion frowned. "You mean Manchester." "Don't be ridiculous, that doesn't make sense! It's as if your totally oblivious to everything in Equestria!" She pauses, realising something. "You're not really a pony, are you?" "Gee, you think?" he asks sarcastically. "What gave it away, my constant mention of me being a human, for God's sake?!" He huffs indignantly, mumbling something about 'ignorant extraterrestrials'. "Relax, don't get your pants in a bunch!" she chides him. "I don't wear pants!" the stallion retorts. He pauses briefly, then bursts out louder, with panic. "I don't wear pants! I'm standing inside enemy territory completely naked!" Lyra muses on her options. She could just leave this weird pony here... but then she would probably miss out on a lot of fun stuff. "Say, are you hungry?" The question initially goes over his head, but after he gets tired of panicking, the meaning finally hits him. He ponders his options carefully. "That depends. Do you have salarian sklomp steak?" "What's a 'sklomp'?" "Tartar beefsteak?" "Yuck, no." "Bacon?" "Are you intent on eating somepony?" "I take that as a no, then. Omelette du fromage?" "Foreign languages ain't fair!" "There were many problems with that sentence, but have it your way. Scrambled eggs with cheese on top?" "Oh, I can do that." "Really?" the stallion asks with suspicion. "You milk cows?" "Yeah, sure, I mean, they didn't object. At least I think they don't." She pauses, running through the sentence again in her head. "And now I have images of cows faintly whispering objections against milking. Thanks." "You are weird," Shepard notes. Lyra raises one of her eybrows. "I'm weird? You just had mood swings the size of a smaller dragon, for Pete's sake!" Shepard furrows his brow. "Wait, what did you just say?" "I said you have mood swings—" The stallion shakes his head. "No, not that one. What do you mean, for Pete's sake?" "Um, it's supposed to represent exasperation with—" "No, I mean, why Pete?" Lyra ponders this for a while. "I don't know. Is it important?" "Peter is a very common name on Earth," Shepard says. "Pete is just another form of it." "Huh. I guess that is kind of unusual. So, Clone She – nah, this won't do. You need a proper name." Shepard looks hurt. "Hey, it's a proper name!" "So is Pen Issuer, but that doesn't mean it's any good!" The stallion is confused. "Why would you sue p – oh." He scratches his head. "I see, kind of like Dick Head, right?" Lyra blushes. "You pervert!" "What? I just said a name like you did!" he says quickly. "That wasn't a name! That didn't sound anything like a name!" "All right, what do you suggest, then?" he says with a snort. Still red, Lyra taps her chin. "How about... Wait, what is your cutie mark again?" "My what?" the stallion asks. "What in the blazes is a—" "Shut up and show me your butt." "Oh, so when you do it it's not sexual harassment?!" She tries to forcefully turn him around, but to her great surprise, he did a sudden movement, and in a moment, she was on the ground, with him holding her front hooves down. Slowly but surely, red creeps onto her face. "Would you please get off me?" "Only if you admit that you simply – Oof!" The last part is only said because Lyra simply chose to end the conversation with a well-placed kick. The stallion rolls off her, unintentionally squeezing the air from her lungs in the process. For a few moments, they lay there, panting for their own reasons. "You need to be put into a mental institute! Or put down!" the stallion says, not even trying to bother getting up. Lyra glances at him sheepishly. "Sorry, I-I panicked. The situation was exactly like on the self-defense course. Without the actual assault, of course. Are you in pain?" "I was once stabbed in the arm with an omni-tool, but that can't hold a candle to your surgical precision," the stallion replies. He was still on the ground, now kicking at leaves of grass. "Seriously, I had commando training, and still..." "Aw, can it, will you?" Lyra at last has a good view of the stallion's cutie mark. It looks like a white star within a circle, with the lower half of the circle slightly thicker than the rest. Try as she may, she can't really find a proper explanation for this pony's talent. "Happy?" the stallion asks. Lyra turns back to face him. "I was just trying to make sense of your special talent. You see, our cutie marks represent what our strongest points are." The clone squints his eyes as he tries to see his own cutie mark. Then he checks out Lyra's lyre. "I don't really see you playing a harp right now," he observes. "And I don't see you acting like a 'commando' besides going commando," Lyra says in return. "We were talking about names, so... Star? Starcircle? Starhyperglobe?" A word forms in the stallion's head. "Stargazer?" he suggests. Lyra runs this by herself a few times, then nods. "That's all right. In fact, it's a little cool, too. Hello, Stargazer." The newly christened Stargazer unconsciously stands at attention. Lyra suppresses a smile. "Now come on, I promised you some food, didn't I?" she says. The stallion hesitates. "Am I not imposing upon you?" Lyra briefly considers this. "Well, my landlord Bon Bon would probably go into a rabid rage upon seeing me bring home one more dinner guest. So no, not at all." "I think I'll try my luck with this bush here," the stallion says, ponting to a nearby bush laden with ripe berries. Lyra shrugs. "Well, if you like Ribes Rubrum, knock yourself out. Just don't come crying to me later." Stargazer hangs his head in defeat. "You win." Lyra lits up. "Great! Come on, don't be so gloomy! It'll be fun!" she says with a smile. The stallion sighs. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."