BOAST OR BUST
The Sombran picked Trixie up, its fur singed from the raging inferno. Her heart froze as its black eyes glittered. It opened its mouth, forked tongue drooping to the side of its beak.
It tightened its grip, three-fingered hand closing around her windpipe. Trixie gasped for air, clutching at its arm. As the last bit of air escaped her throat, Trixie’s vision went black. The last fleeting bursts of energy in her mind were recollections of how she had gotten into this to begin with.
***
“Iron Will knows the pain, oh yea-a-a-h. He knows what’s goin’ down in the Royal Rumble.”
Beatrix – or Trixie, as she was better known – turned her eyes from the television, which was chattering not-so-softly to itself. Taking her grey-black coat off, she draped it across a chair. She hung her hat of the same colour and make on the chair as well.
It was time for routine repairs to the ALICORN “Amulet”, better known as the FTL drive. Trixie neither knew nor cared how the FTL worked, only that it did. And it did work, except on occasions like these where it didn’t.
Taking a few steps down the dark corridor to the ALICORN Amulet’s junction, Trixie sighed. It was hard work, being the only organic being aboard Lulamoon, and thereby being the only one able to fix things that broke. Once, she didn’t know how to fix things and had to flash distress signals all day. She ended up paying out the nose for a simple repair, and after that, she swore never to rely on others to get work done.
Ironic then, that others relied on her to get their work done. Except right now, for Lulamoon was currently empty, except for herself, a cargo of fireworks she couldn’t unload anywhere, and Spike. Speaking of Spike…
“Spike, how are things on your end?” Trixie asked.
“As smooth as can be expected, Miss Beatrix. Fuel is at 83 percent, navigational deflectors at 92 percent. There was a ship in-system a few minutes ago, but it’s jumped out. My guess is he’s going to Caprice, or maybe the Reman mines.”
Spike was the on-board virtual intelligence, VI for short. “He” had a very easy-going way of speaking. Trixie rather liked it. Most of the VI’s she’d met were stodgy machines who didn’t know a pun from a chicken joke. Spike, however, had been programmed with many jokes, each worse than the previous. Sometimes Trixie wanted to meet his programmer, and show him her thanks. By strangling him.
“Anything else?” she asked, prying open the front of the Amulet open with her synthetic hoof. It was an excellent mimic of an organic hoof, as it looked just like her other hoof.
“An increasingly irritating ‘ping’ from Caprice. Backtrace shows it as coming from an LLC. Should I patch it through?”
Trixie rolled under the Amulet, investigating the lower recesses of the terminal. “Might as well,” she said.
There was an audible click, and a smooth voice began to fill the room.
“Do I have the delight to speak to Miss Beatrix of the Lulamoon?”
“You would,” Trixie said, tinkering with an overflow motherboard. “What can the Great and Powerful Trixie do for you?”
“I am Blueblood of Blueblood Enterprises, LLC. I have some cargo that needs to get to the Outer Rim ASAP. I’ve been told you’re the best at quick, discreet transports, and that’s what I’m in need of.”
Trixie’s ears pricked up at the sound of that. Anything that was quick and discreet meant big payouts. “Where to?” she asked, trying to sound disinterested.
“To the colony of Ponyville.”
The unicorn paused in her tinkering. Ponyville… She couldn’t say she’d heard of it before.
“Ponyville is at the edge of the Outer Rim, near the Sombran Nebula,” Spike “whispered” into her ear implant.
“Ah, yes, near the Sombran Nebula,” Trixie said, making sure to sound as if she had known that already. “Quite a dangerous place. What kind of cargo is it?”
There was a long pause before Blueblood answered, his voice a little edgy. Or maybe that was just bad acoustics and speakers. “Very private cargo, if you get my drift. In fact, I’d wish to remain anonymous.”
Trixie nodded, which was a bad idea. For starters, he couldn’t see her, and secondly, she was in a tight space and only ended up banging her head against sensitive electronics. Swearing, she kicked until the cart she was laying on slid out from under the Amulet. With one last look at the offending terminal, she turned to look up at the speaker Blueblood’s voice was emanating from. “How much are you willing to pay?”
Blueblood named a sum. Trixie whistled.
“I agree,” she said. “Half now, half on arrival?”
“All on arrival,” he said. “Everyone remembers the trick you pulled on the Discordians.”
Trixie smirked at that, remembering how she had tricked the Discordian cult into paying her all in advance, and then she sold her cargo to the cult of Nightmare Moon thereby ensuring the two cults would go to war. She found it fun, though the rest of the galaxy apparently didn’t.
“Fair enough,” she said. “Give my VI the details and we’ll be there in a few hours.”
Blueblood clicked off without even a word, leaving Trixie alone. Well, alone except for Spike. But that was still a type of alone.
And Trixie liked it that way.
***
The pickup went smoothly. The tough-looking pegasi loaded the mysterious cargo while Trixie watched, leaning on her gnarled wooden stave. She wouldn’t lie – she was very curious about what was in the cargo. A pegasus worker had warned her there was an anti-matter seal that would trigger if the wrong person opened it, and according to Spike, it was also shadow-doused which meant that any scans would just “sink” into it and fail.
She watched them with keen interest, largely to make sure they didn’t damage Lulamoon too much. The ship was practically her daughter. She wasn’t sure what that made Spike.
“We’re done here,” said the lead pegasus, flying up to her. “All three crates loaded. Sign here please.”
He proffered a clipboard. Trixie scanned the document attached, and scribbled her name at the bottom.
Time to get to work.
***
The ponies unloaded the cargo as Trixie watched, once again leaning on her stave. There were only mudders this time, no pegasi. Still, they made admirable time in getting the crates out. She made sure they left the fireworks. There was no point in removing them until she found a buyer. There was always the possibility she’d find somepony silly enough to buy a crateload of fireworks.
A few foals stood by and watched the process, a short, fat one, and a tall, skinny one. She shot them a tentative smile, but they didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh wow,” came a nasal voice. “Is that a Trickster-class ship?”
Trixie turned to see a purple unicorn with a metal band around her right fetlock. She was staring at Lulamoon intently, a half smile on her face.
“It is,” Trixie replied. “I am the Great and Powerful Trixie, importer and exporter supreme. Who are you?”
The unicorn blushed slightly. “Oh, wow. You’re the Trixie? The one that stole from the Discordians and the Nightmares? It’s such an honour to meet you.” She extended her hoof, and Trixie shook it. “I’m Twilight Sparkle, the librarian around here.”
Trixie couldn’t help but smile at how flustered the librarian was now that she knew who Trixie was. “I’m sure it is an honour, Miss Sparkle. Any questions you might have?”
As soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Instantly Twilight’s awestruck expression turned to a wide grin.
“Oh, good. I was wondering, when you single-hoofedly destroyed that Ursa Major-class cruiser piloted by canid pirates, how did you come up with the idea to pull off a Crazy Ivan in atmosphere?”
Sighing, Trixie began to lay out her reasoning, embellishing in a few points. Every time she told the story, she added a few minor details. No sense in telling the same story twice, she thought.
Out of the corner of her eye, Trixie could see an orange mudder with a cowpony hat approaching. She wore a vest with a shiny golden badge affixed to it. The sheriff? Trixie ran through a hoofful of laws she could have broken and came up with nothing. Admirably, she still continued the story.
“Twilight, are you buggin’ this pony?” the sheriff asked as she arrived.
“Not at all. Miss Trixie here was simply telling me about her exploits. It’s no bother.” She glanced at Trixie. “Er, is it?”
Trixie shook her head. She always liked to tell her stories and said so.
The sheriff only nodded. “So then I can assume yer the owner of this here ship?”
Trixie nodded in reply.
“Then maybe you can follow me and explain about it on the way to my office. We sure as hay didn’t order anything.”
Trixie frowned, but followed the sheriff. “What’s your name? I am the Great and Powerful Trixie, famed smuggler.”
The sheriff cast a quick askance look at Trixie at her admission of guilt. “The name’s Applejack. I’m sheriff round these parts an’ interim mayor.”
Trixie coughed as a cart went by, kicking up a cloud of dust. Ponyville appeared to be a very dirty town. It reminded her of the old western vids she watched on television at times.
“So who hired you?” Applejack asked, stopping in front of a purple pony half asleep on the side of the road. She nudged the pony with a hoof, and the mare slowly got up and waddled away.
“He wished to remain anonymous,” Trixie said. “Given the price, I wasn’t about to ask questions.” A small lie, not too hurtful. But it was true in a way – Trixie wasn’t going to ask any questions with that paycheck on the line.
Applejack grunted, and stopped in front of a building. The sign adorning it read ‘Sheriff’. She fumbled for a key and started to turn it. “If’n I were you, I’d be mighty worried. Anonymous ain’t ever good, y’hear?”
Trixie nodded.
The two mares entered the office. It was barren but for a single metal crate to the side of a desk. In the back were a few cells and a walk-in closet. Even here they could not escape the dust and sand. Trixie sneezed as a particularly vile mote of dust entered her nose.
Applejack wandered over to the crate. She input the proper code, and pried the lid off the crate. She grimaced, and stepped away. Trixie leaned over to see what was inside. It was all mining equipment of some sort – plasma drills, vibropicks, and what looked to be siphons.
Applejack then glanced at the seal and scowled.
“Blueblood,” spat the sheriff/mayor. “Figures it’s him.”
“Something wrong?” Trixie frowned.
Applejack shot a glare at her, and sat down behind her desk. “A’course there is, sugarcube. Only you ain’t got a lick’a sense in ya and got wrapped up in things that are bigger than you.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “Ya see, this planet’s got plenty’a fresh water below the surface. Lots’a colonies would kill for fresh water. It’s Blueblood’s idea to strip-mine this whole planet for its fresh water an’ import it to those other worlds at a high cost.” Her face contorted into a snarl. “That son-of-a-nag’s been tryin’ all sorts’a things to run us off-world. I don’t know what the hay is in them crates but I don’t think we want ’em.”
“I hate to interrupt, but there’s a ship on approach vector. Ursa Minor-class.”
“What?” Trixie asked, forgetting that only she could hear Spike in her head.
“What?” Applejack repeated, vicious face replaced by a confused expression.
“My ship’s talking to me. There’s a ship coming in.”
“Shit!” The sheriff grabbed Trixie by the tail.
“Hey!”
“No time to explain,” snarled Applejack. “Jus’ get in the closet!”
“I resent this!” shouted Trixie. “Police brutality!”
Applejack threw Trixie into the closet and slammed the door shut. It was pitch black inside, and Trixie could hardly see her hooves in front of her face. To compensate she flicked a magical flame into existence, and leaned into the keyhole to see if she could see anything. There was only Applejack, pacing frantically, her hat askew for once.
After a few tense moments, the door burst in and Trixie found her breath catching.
Three shaggy, black haired beings strode in on satyr-like legs. Their upper bodies were scaly where there was no fur. Their heads were a bizarre cross between a lizard’s and a bird’s, for they ended in a beak.
The one in the centre rose its three-fingered hand and said something in a gruff voice.
“That cargo ain’t yours,” Applejack said. “We ain’t giving it up again.”
The satyr-lizard snarled and produced something from somewhere in its fur.
“Ya wouldn’t dare.”
It hissed.
Applejack stamped her hoof. “Fine! Take it, jus’ leave us alone!”
The things cackled. Two of them grabbed the crate, and they all started to leave. The centre one paused, and turned its head over its shoulder and rasped something. Applejack seemed to pale.
“Ya wouldn’t… Ya would.”
The creatures left the room, and Applejack sagged to the floor. Trixie tried to open her door, but found it locked tight. After a few frustrating moments, Applejack came over and opened the door.
“What were those?” Trixie asked. She couldn’t place them. She’d seen many alien beings in her time – griffons, minotaurs, canids, but never those.
“Sombrans,” Applejack said.
Sombrans. Trixie had thought them to be legend. The legend that claimed they were creations of the mad scientist Sombra, formerly peace-loving beings before being corrupted by his nanomachines.
“They exist? I thought they were a foal’s tale!”
“They exist, and they’ve been preyin’ on us for months now.” Applejack doffed her hat with a grimace. “They even took the mayor to make sure we’d fall in line, an’ when we didn’t they destroyed the town hall completely.”
Trixie frowned. It was obvious by now Blueblood wouldn’t pay, but there was a good chance she’d get paid if she helped defeat the Sombrans. All she needed was a plan.
“I can defeat them with your assistance!” she cried.
Applejack snapped her head up, eyes widening. “You ain’t serious, Trixie! Ain’t nobody who can stop the Sombrans.”
“You forget who you are speaking to! I am the Great and Powerful Trixie, vanquisher of the Ursa Major! I promise to rid you of this infestation of evil! Are you in, or ain’t you nobody?” she finished, slipping into a mocking version of Applejack’s accent.
Applejack sighed. “You make a lotta promises there, Trixie. But I guess it all boils down to this. Boast or bust.”
Trixie smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I have a plan.” Or at least I will.
“Can I help?” came a nasally voice.
Trixie turned to see Twilight Sparkle standing in the doorway.
“I saw the Sombrans arrive by teleport. You two are really going to stand up to them?”
“Looks that way, sugarcube,” Applejack said. “But we ain’t got no plan, which is somethin’ Trixie here says she’s gonna work on.”
Trixie smiled tentatively. “Trixie always has a plan.” Her mind drifted to the fireworks. “In fact, Trixie has fireworks on her ship. Perhaps they could be used to dis-”
“I know!” Twilight shouted, a little too loudly. As the two other mares rubbed their sore ears, she continued. “If you have fireworks there’s an easy way to take out that Ursa Minor. You see, their teleporters won’t be able to pick up all three containers at the same time – if you look outside, you’ll see they left it behind. They’ll have to enter atmo – that’s atmosphere,” she added at Applejack’s confused look – “to pick them up. Then, we can fire some fireworks into their turbine vents. They’re large and undefended. A few good fireworks will gum up the system and damage it enough to force them to land.”
Applejack smiled, and patted the guns at her side. “Then Big Mac an’ Applebloom’ll get their share of fightin’ in.”
“Yes,” Trixie said, “but who’s stupid enough to get below a running Ursa Minor turbine and fire fireworks into it?”
They both turned to look at her.
“Ohhhh no, Trixie’s not hanging around here for–”
“Yer gonna have to. You think they’ll just let anypony leave while they’re up there?”
“Not a chance in Tartarus,” Trixie said with finality.
***
Trixie sat, forelegs crossed. Next to her was a set of fireworks, carefully set on a swiveling cannon. The words ‘Party Cannon’ were inscribed on the side in bright pink. Trixie had decided that she didn’t want to meet whoever’s cannon this was.
Soon, the Ursa Minor would enter atmo and hover over the town, ready to levitate the crates into its cargo hold. And soon, Trixie would be firing her fireworks into its vent and hopefully force it to land. It was a beautifully simple plan. The only problem was that Trixie had learned long ago was that even simple plans had the tendency to go awry.
She tapped her stave against the side of the cannon, awaiting the Ursa Minor’s arrival. She didn’t have to wait long. It was hardly an hour of waiting before the ship appeared on the horizon, a monolithic shadow blotting out the stars. Its ion drives glowed red in the darkness, casting an eerie light on the seemingly-empty town.
Trixie shrunk down, trying to shield her body from the wind kicked up by the ship’s engines. Closing one eye, she started to tilt the party cannon, aiming it for the vent on the side of the engine compartment. She could see a blue corona around it where the excess ion energy was escaping.
3…
A door irised open at the bottom of the ship, and a blue glow encompassed the ground below it. The cargo bay tractor beam.
2…
Trixie’s horn glowed, a spark of magic lighting the fuse at her feet. She turned and ran down an alley, leaping to the ground as she turned the corner at its end.
1…
The fireworks lit up in a barrage of light and noise. The cannon, having not been made to stand up to heat, melted as the fireworks erupted from it. Some of the smaller fireworks bounced off the ship’s hull harmlessly, detonating in a colourful display of light. Several larger fireworks, and more than a few small ones slipped through the vents and exploded inside.
The Ursa Minor tilted to one side, an orange glow visible from its portholes. The ship moved off to just outside town, where it crashed to the ground, kicking up more dust and sand, covering the town in a momentary wave.
Sombrans emerged from the ship, a few batting out small fires on their fur. Trixie smirked at the sight. It was amusing to her, like a child burning ants with a magnifying lense. She didn’t have much time to gloat, as a Sombran rushed her, picking her up, its fur singed from the raging inferno. Her heart froze as its black eyes glittered. It opened its mouth in a snarl, forked tongue drooping to the side of its beak.
It tightened its grip, three-fingered hand closing around her windpipe. Trixie gasped for air, clutching at its arm. As the last bit of air escaped her throat, Trixie’s vision went black. She knew with a dreadful finality that she was done for.
“Allow me,” Spike’s voice rang in her ear.
Her cybernetic hoof rose up, and punched the Sombran in the face of its own accord. The Sombran dropped her, and she took in a deep breath as it reeled back from the impact. In one swift motion, Trixie grabbed her stave, and slammed the bulbous, prickly tip into the alien’s face. It stumbled backwards on its hindquarters, hissing as it did so.
The Sombran picked itself up, grabbing a small object from its belt. The object elongated into a delta-shaped device – a disruptor rifle! Those were banned in over twelve systems, and for good reason. A single shot would cause a festering wound, even if it barely missed.
In a panic, Trixie slammed the butt of the stave into the ground, and used it to launch herself feet first into the Sombran. Her kick proved successful as the Sombran dropped its rifle, which shattered on the ground. The creature flew backwards, landing on its belly. Once more, it stood up with a roar.
Trixie flipped into the air, landing next to her stave. She picked it up with her synthetic hoof and spun it, holding her other hoof out in front of her in a defencive posture. The Sombran produced a collapsible baton from its belt, and extended it with a hiss.
Trixie swung the stave, deflecting a blow from the baton. The Sombran had freakish strength – even with her cybernetic leg, she could hardly parry it. She thrust the small end of the stick into the Sombran’s stomach. It growled as the stave impacted, but the blow didn’t seem to have done much good.
It batted the stave away, and it was only by good luck that Trixie managed to keep hold of it. It swung the baton again, but she managed to slide between its legs. As she passed under it, she slammed her stave into its nethers. The Sombran fell to its knees with a high pitched sound. Standing over the Sombran, Trixie swung the stave at its neck. The stave struck home, and the Sombran collapsed in a heap, with nary a sound.
Looking around, she saw the other Sombrans on the ground, in various states of pain. Evidently the sheriff didn’t believe in lethal force. Applejack approached her, twirling Big Mac before holstering the gun.
“Sure looks like we beat ’em,” she said. “T’ be honest, I wasn’t expectin’ that.”
Trixie only smirked, wiping the sweat off her brow. “Well, you did have Trixie on your side. That helped things.”
Applejack smiled. “Now we got some leverage against the Sombrans, not to mention a pretty darn powerful ship to keep track’a things up above. Thank ya kindly, Trixie.” She extended her hoof, and Trixie shook it. “Kinda funny how jus’ some fireworks took down that thing lickety-split.”
“If you think that’s impressive, you should see how Trixie defeated a minotaur in single combat,” Trixie replied with a wink.
***
A few days passed. The town was celebrating their victory over the Sombrans, who were locked up tight in the jail. They probably could have escaped easily, but some twisted honour they bore prevented them. No matter how long Trixie watched them, she couldn’t understand it.
As she stared at the Sombrans, their leader nodded at her. He seemed to respect her since she had beaten him. To be honest, she didn’t care.
The townsfolk regarded Trixie as a hero, some of the mudders even going as far to say they’d build a statue of her. She didn’t know what they’d build it out of, but they had three good-sized crates of mining equipment now so anything was possible.
She took all their praises well, her ego inflating with every song sung about her. It felt good to find somewhere she was loved and not looked at suspiciously. Were she a few decades older, she might have considered staying. In fact, Applejack even offered that.
“Anytime you want,” she said, “jus’ stop by and we’ll have a place for ya. You deserve it.”
But it wasn’t for Trixie. Her gypsy blood was too strong, and she soon yearned for the stars again. As she was heading off to the space port to leave, a familiar face appeared.
“Ah, Miss Trixie!” An all-too-familiar nasal voice pierced Trixie’s ears like a dentist’s drill. She glanced back to see Twilight Sparkle running after her. She had two pairs of full saddlebags slung on her back, plus a thick sack of what appeared to be books.
“Twilight Sparkle,” Trixie said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I… I…” Twilight swallowed hard. “I, uh, I want to come with you.”
Trixie blinked, trying to process this. She had no lack of sycophants across the sector, but never had any of them want to come with them. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
“No, I am! Ever since I was a filly, reading the Encyclopædia Galactica and the Pan-Galactic Surveyor, I’ve wanted to travel the galaxy. The most I did was come out here. There’s not much here,” she complained. “There’s just a lot of dirt. And as much as I love Applejack, nopony here is all that smart. I’ve wanted somepony who really understands things to talk to. You seem like that kind of pony.”
It sounded to Trixie like Twilight had a slight crush on her. “I’m kind of a lone wolf, kid.”
“I won’t get in the way, I promise! I’ll even help.”
Trixie opened her mouth to say no again, but she stopped. The only company she had was Spike, and he was no better than a rock. He was slightly more intelligent than the average VI due to her tinkering, but he was still not a very good travelling companion. And now she had a very intelligent and – dare she say it – attractive mare wanting to travel with her.
“I… You already packed everything, didn’t you?”
“Miss Cherry Jubilee is running the library now,” Twilight said. “Listen, Trixie. I’ve burnt every bridge for this I don’t want to be in Ponyville anymore. There’s nothing for me here. Please.”
“Really?” Trixie asked, surprise in her voice.
Twilight sighed. “I came here looking for adventure. Can you believe it?”
The other mare nodded. In her youth, she’d gone to many backwater planets mistakenly thinking they’d be full of adventures. Almost every time she’d been proven wrong, except on the planet with the metal lobsters. She rubbed where the cybernetics in her leg met flesh at the memory.
“And then I found nothing but boredom and being terrified every day that the Sombrans might come down and pulverize the town. I’m the kind of unicorn who needs more than just that to keep her mind active.”
“And you think joining up with a smuggler is going to help with that?” Trixie asked scornfully. “I’m wanted in three systems for illegal trafficking. Am I the type of pony you want to consort with?”
Twilight looked away for a moment, then her gaze whipped back to Trixie. “When I was a filly, my favourite books aside from the Daring-Do books were about pirates. Ponies who owned the seas and did what they felt. It got to the point where my mom took away all my pirate books because she felt they were corrupting me. I never stopped loving pirates. So yes, you are the type of pony I want to consort with.”
Trixie closed her eyes. “Are you absolutely sure?”
There was a long pause, pregnant with anticipation. “I’d be honoured to travel with you, Trixie.”
Trixie smiled. “All right, Twilight. You want to travel with me? Fine, get onboard. Let’s be bad guys.”
With a squeal, Twilight called out “Thank you!” and ran to the ship.
Trixie was no longer alone.
And she thought… She thought she’d enjoy that.
