Mass Effect: Continuum

by Oceansama

Rating: teen
Tags: Mass Effect, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Human, Main 6, Other, Mystery, Science Fiction, Adventure, Crossover, Profanity, Little Strongheart
Length: 44527

Shepard and Anderson are tossed into Equestria shortly following the activation of the Crucible super-weapon. Once there, they meet a tribe of buffalo who seem to know exactly who Shepard is.

(Post-Mass Effect 3)(FemShep)
When the Reapers were defeated, the galaxy believed that Shepard and Anderson were both lost in the final battle. However, the two long-time friends were also known for not letting death stand in their way.

Waking up, in the middle of a desert, on an uncharted planet they both embark on their strangest mission yet. Attempting to find their way back to the Human Alliance, a place called Canterlot may hold the answers they seek. But first, they had to get there while trying not to draw too much attention to themselves.

Too bad for Anderson since massive explosions and collateral damage followed Shepard wherever she went, without fail.

Crossover of My Little Pony and Mass Effect.
Cover image credit goes to: CSImadmax at http://csimadmax.deviantart.com/
Chapters 1 - 6 proofread by: http://www.fimfiction.net/user/GermanDash (Pre-March 2021 update)

Published 2012-05-03 06:34:02 UTC
Last updated 2021-04-24 07:49:35 UTC

0. Prologue (March 2021)

Mass Effect: Continuum

Chapter 0: Prologue

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

It was on the human calendar year of 2183 A.D. that the entire galactic community of the Milky Way galaxy had been forced to learn a horrible truth. That every fifty-thousand years an advanced race of sentient machines, known as the Reapers, had swept through the galaxy harvest and destroy all organic civilizations that had progressed beyond the limits of their home worlds. The tales of such complete annihilation began as dark whispers amongst those on the fringe of known space; the archeologist who studied the ruins of past civilizations and the scavengers who plundered such places for technology and treasure.

It was not until the abrupt discovery of an unknown alien artifact on the human colony of Eden Prime that the horrible truth was given a voice. An Alliance Commander, the human known as Shepard, had come into contact with a device known as a Beacon and it was this ancient technology that had shown the Commander warnings about the Reapers and their inevitable return. Yet, the only person who believed Shepard's story, unconditionally, was her mentor and close friend Admiral Anderson.

For four long years, both Anderson and Shepard had dedicated their lives into trying to unify the civilized galaxy in opposition to the Reapers and it was only after numerous and arduous sacrifices that they were finally successful in uniting the divided space-faring races. Shepard’s victory was a path paid for in an unbroken trail of blood and death; some of her own crew and friends were laid to rest amongst the many, many bodies of her enemies. In the end they had succeeded in focusing the might of an entire galaxy to bear down on the Reapers. With humanity at the helm, the future would remember this final battle, this one last push, as either the day the Reapers were finally vanquished once and for all, or as another chapter of organic genocide. Either way, there would not be, could never be, a happy ending to this tale.

Utilizing a new weapon called the Crucible, a super-weapon that was hastily assembled to defeat the Reapers. It had been designed long ago by an alien race long since forgotten by the annuals of time. The designs had been passed down through the millennia, undergoing countless upgrades, redesigns, and improvements as each descendant species had attempted to save themselves and end the cycle of destruction.

It had never worked, not once, even after hundreds of cycles and countless trillions dead. The result was always the same, the Reapers had full reign of the galaxy to harvest and conquer as they saw fit.

Now it was humanity’s turn. Building upon the sacrifices of the past, the Crucible was finally ready. Humanity had perfected it, built it in cooperation with the other races, and it was now the time to end the Reaper menace; once and for all. Every soul in the galaxy was watching, with hope in their hearts.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Anderson and Shepard sat beside each other, their bodies bloodied and broken. Multiple lacerations, and horrible burns decorated them like some macabre display of sadistic punishment. Anderson clutched a hand to his side were a gunshot wound had sealed his fate. He knew that soon he would be dead and he feared his companion would follow not long after. Yet facing down his mortality, there was only peace. Relaxed and content to share their hard earned victory together as more than just mentor and student, but as friends.

They had come so far and now it was almost over, the war was almost won. Soon the Reapers would never be able to threaten the galaxy again.

“Commander,” the dark-skinned male mused weakly to the woman beside him. Shepard acknowledged with an exhausted exhale.

“Anderson, we did it sir.”

“Yes..., we did. We both did.” He swallowed, his mouth dry. The two of them were propped up against a small circular pedestal as they watched the spectacle unfold before them. Beyond the safety of the space station’s dome shaped observation tower was a majestic and troubling vantage point of Earth in all its failing beauty. The Reapers had already reduced most of Humanity’s cradle to so many cinders.

“It’s a... quite a view.” He continued, eyes focused on the black speck where London used to be.

“Best seats in the house.” Shepard agreed, trying to mask the pain in her voice.

“God,…feels like years since I just...sat down.”

“I think you’ve earned a rest.”

“You ever wonder how things would’ve been different?" Anderson said, turning to watch as an Alliance dreadnought seemed to casually sail overhead. "How our lives would be... different if this hadn’t happened?”

Whatever Shepard had said in replay, it was lost to Anderson. Yet, he somehow managed a reply, but that too failed to register in his mind. The conversation went on like this for a time as he felt an encroaching, numbing cold.

“Anderson? Stay with me. We’re almost through this.” Shepard’s words finally sparked Anderson’s mind to clear for a moment.

“You did good, child, you did good. I’m... proud of you.” He whispered, his body slumping to the side. His last thought was one of regret that he wouldn’t be there to see a future free from the Reapers before he quietly slipped away.

“Anderson?”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Shepard limped down a lonely steel walkway, her right hand limply clung to her pistol, as she left Anderson’s body behind. There was no greater desire for her than to mourn him, but her duty kept her shuffling forward to see this struggle to its conclusion. It was what Anderson would have wanted. In a way she was glad that Anderson had died before a cruel reality had soaked in.

The Crucible super-weapon was a dud. Despite utilizing the finest in resources, scientists, and engineers across the galaxy there was now no way to stop the Reapers. The hope and confidence for victory that she had used to unite her crew and a galaxy was now was just another broken promise. It hurt, it ate at her heart like a voracious parasite and every instinct was screaming that there was no point in trying to fight fate. Agonizing step by agonizing step; moving as fast as her nearly dead body would allow, Shepard had arrived at a large room atop the Citadel. A room which would have been exposed to the vacuum of space if not for the dome shaped force field. It was a place that hadn’t been visited by a single living individual since the end of the previous cycle. Here she was presented with a opportunity.

Four possible paths existed. All that was left was a single choice.

One avenue she could take was to destroy the Reapers. The consequences of that action meant disabling the technology that many space faring races depended on as well as the murder of all synthetic life, including an entire race of sentient AIs who had willingly pledged their aid towards defeating the Reapers.

She could, instead, take control of the Reapers for herself. To become their new Commander and lead the massive machines into aiding the galaxy instead of wiping it clean. That path would require for her body to die and a copy of her mind, memories, and personality to be uploaded and converted into a Reaper A.I.

Then there was synthesis; to force unto the galaxy the final stage in the evolution of all life; a novel framework of organic and synthetic existence woven out of a new DNA. But there would be no salvation for Shepard as the process required her own body, augmented with numerous implants, as a template. She questioned if the galaxy was ready for such a transformation.

The final option was to not choose. After all steps had already been enacted to ensure knowledge of this cycle survived into the next so that future civilizations had the technology and means to face the Reapers proactively

Shepard had carefully, but quickly, considered the merits and consequences of each path. No matter which one she ultimately chose she wouldn’t survive. The war hero made her decision; the path was clear. One choice to make and she had done just that.

Commander Shepard, a single woman alone, walked forward; into the future and entered into the halls of legend.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

High above Earth the Alliance's fleet continued its doomed resistance against the Reapers. The two massive fleets exchanged weapons fire of mass destruction in a visceral feast of light. The sky was full of exploding stars. Each star a ship lost, along with the crew that had served aboard them. Yet, the united fleet fought on trying to give Anderson and Shepard the time they needed to arm and fire the Crucible dreadnought.

Their loyalty to the stalling effort was duly rewarded as the crucible suddenly and gloriously sparked to life. Trails of light, slowly at first, weaved and crossed along its armored hull; spreading tendrils of luminescence coalescing into a single focal point. A blinding flash was seen before the energy burst forth in a sphere-shaped blast, releasing unimaginable level of energy. The sphere grew exponentially, at light speed and striking the Earth. The wave engulfed the damaged planet from pole to pole in its tsunami of power. Every being on Earth, human, alien, and reaper, stared in confusion or horror only to be overtaken and drowned in the shock wave. The cataclysm soon had claimed every planet in the Sol system.

The energy still flew on to touch the Sol Mass Relay, Earth’s only connection to the rest of the galaxy. The Mass Relay crumbled and detonated under the Crucible’s onslaught. Yet, uninterrupted, the energy shot forth into the neighboring solar system, then onto the next system; destroying each Mass Relay as it went, cutting off the intergalactic highway. The energy would cleanse the galaxy; reach far into dark space, and beyond. Holding fast, strangling, any and all Reapers it touched. The enemy had been defeated; the endless cycle was finished.

It was a new beginning.

1. The Ending is the Beginning (March 2021)

Author's Note

This story takes place post-Mass Effect 3 and there will be some spoilers for the game’s ending.

Many thanks to http://www.fimfiction.net/user/GermanDash for proofreading this chapter.

BTW, I am fully aware of the indoctrination theory of the Mass Effect ending. While I find the theory to be very well thought out and researched, I can’t agree with it. It's just my opinion on the matter, and yes I am trying to be deliberately vague as to the ending. It’ll make the story much more interesting. Trust me.

1. The Ending is the Beginning (March 2021)

Chapter One: The Ending is the Beginning

Mass Effect: Continuum

Chapter One: The Ending is the Beginning

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

The crisp air of the clear summer night was filled with the gentle sound of a lazy breeze working its way through the sparse desert vegetation. A dry sound of rustling flora intermixed with the chirping songs of crickets and the quiet disturbance of small night creatures; the perfect ambiance calm and enjoyable summer night. The sun having set less than an hour ago was quickly plunging the temperature to chilling levels. While the luminous glow of the lunar body, and the countless shining stars overhead, ignited the sky with their beauty. Most were already settled into their homes for dinner, yet the night sky hadn’t gone unnoticed by a single pony stallion.

“Boy howdy, that sure is a pretty sight.” He quietly mused to himself while admiring the endless expanse. He was cantering through the cool desert with a purposeful stride. His appreciation of the heavens was temporarily interrupted as he sidestepped to avoid sticking himself on the spikes of an organ pipe cactus. Giving the cacti a respectable distance he playfully chided himself for a time when he had accidentally bumped into one as a small colt. Leaning in he did risk a deep whiff of the flowers that had recently blossomed on the prickly plant and a contented smile at the sweet scent.

On the horizon the stallion spotted the telltale light of a cluster of campfires. The smoke left lazy spiral columns which could be seen for miles in the clear night air. He knew that the fires belonged to the local buffalo tribe that migrated daily throughout the desert lands. During the stampeding season it was common for the tribe of nomads to settle in different places each night. It made contact between them and the nearby pony town of Appleloosa exceptionally difficult at even the best of times. Normally he wouldn’t be bothered to attempt a dialogue with the tribe unless they came closer to the town, for the occasional trade, but tonight was a special night.

As the stallion approached the campsite several of the buffalo waved their hooves at him along with warm smiles, or a respectful nod. The stallion reciprocated, but he was here to see a certain bufflo tonight. He needed to speak to the leader, the wise shaman Chief Thunder Hooves.

“Braeburn!” A young female voiced erupted with an excited squeal. The stallion turned to the voice and saw a skinny buffalo cow with a coat the color of orange amber, galloping towards him. Her shining black eyes were filled with cheerful joy at seeing him. Her mane was of a pale yellow which waved freely along with the white and black feathers of her headdress.

“Howdy and good evenin', Little Strong Heart,” the stallion greeted back, a wide goofy grin ballooned across his face. “A mighty fine evening to ya.”

“Yes,” Little Strong Heart came to a resting stop. “It is a very beautiful indeed. The moon is full and the stars are strangely brighter than before. Among my tribe it is a good omen, speaking of prosperity and good tidings.” She looked up high, still a frown suddenly sprung up, “Though I’ve never seen them quite this alive with such intensity before. Princess Luna has certainly outdone herself.” The smile returned as she regarded her pony visitor, taking a moment to scrutinize his well-groomed light golden coat and dark orange mane. She also saw he was wearing his favorite brown Stetson hat. She never told him, but she found him more handsome when he went without that accessory.

“Is something wrong?” Braeburn inquired, his pistachio-colored eyes softening with worry at her staring. From what limited time they’d gotten to spend with each other, he’d become accustomed to her acting rather shy around him. This time, however, it seemed there was less shyness and more curiosity on her mind. Maybe it was just his own nervousness concerning the talk with the chief, but he noticed that she was continuously looking up to study the stars as if she was expecting something more to happen than sparkly lights.

“Oh, it’s nothing at all.” Strong Heart deflected with a wave of her hoof. “I’m just wondering what brings you out here tonight.” Braeburn crooked an eyebrow at what had felt was an obvious dodge on her part.

“Well, ah came out here ta speak with your father, tha chief. Y’see, mah family is soon goin’ to gather together for another Apple reunion and they decided ta meet up round in Appleloosa this year.”

“The last time was in Ponyville, two years ago, right?” Strong Heart inquired.

“Eeyup,” Braeburn gave an enthusiastic nod, “that was quite the shindig, what with Nightmare Moon appearin’ an’ all.” He stood a tentative step toward the buffalo girl, “So, Little Strongheart, ah was wondering if you and tha rest of your tribe would like to join me in tha festivities and meet tha rest of mah kin. Since, ya’know... ah think you’d all get along like apple pie and ice cream.”

He absently played with a rock, worried that such a simple request might have overstepped some tribal law. After all, he was a simple farmer and Little Strongheart was a buffalo chieftess in training. He cursed himself for not spending more time trying to learn her tribal laws. It was important to try and build a future between their two societies.

“I mean... if it’s alright with you that is. My cousin Applejack will be there, and you remember Rainbow Dash, right?”

“Of course I remember them,” Heart put a hoof to his muzzle and directed him to acknowledge her directly in the eyes, “I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’m sure father would love to see them again and even if not, I’ll go for sure.” She then hesitantly closed the distance between her and the stallion, putting a hoof on his shoulder encouragingly.

“I’m just glad that you remembered me... us,” Heart playfully gave the stallion a playful push, “despite the terrible history between our people.” She had remembered it well, even suffering nightmares about it from time to time.

“Well, I hope ya father does come. I’m a little sad that some of mah cousin’s other friends couldn’t make it. But, really, Ah want tha chief to try and talk with tha Sheriff about this humdinger of a problem brewin’.”

“Oh,what kind of problem?”

Little Strong Heart’s question, had just left her lips when the very next instance an ear shattering boom shook the ground and nearly sent both of them tumbling. The sudden and intense change in air pressure popped their ears and scrambled their brains. Braeburn would have heard Strongheart screaming if the mighty cacophony had not left both of them temporarily deaf. Then the cataclysmic event was joined by a mighty wall of light appearing over the horizon in the east.

The illumination blanketed the land with an ethereal energy that caused the hair on their bodies to stand up as it approached faster than a sonic rainboom. Closer and faster it came growing exponentially in size until it was impossible to glean anything past its veil which flowed and snapped like lightning arcing through water.

They slammed their eyes shut against the frightening sight and embraced each other in a desperate hug, wondering if this unexplained phenomenon was to be their end. The air was supercharged and became nearly unbearably hot. Then, they had felt it its force slam into. Existence had become disorienting as they were sent tumbling across the ground.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Vanishing past the opposing horizon with nary a hint of its existence, save for the stench of ozone. The sounds of wildlife had ceased and all that was left was a complete and absolute silence.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Some miles away a steam-powered locomotive chugged contentedly along its rails and was a mere few hours from its destination of Appleloosa. The voluminous sound of the engine whistle gave a whistle of alarm to the nightly creatures; a warning to distance themselves from the train’s tracks. The train was traveling a speedy pace despite the array of a dozen cargo haulers behind it, mostly boxcars with a few tankers too. There was also one passenger car attached at the end of the train almost as an afterthought.

Onboard this passenger car, a sleeper car, there were about five different ponies. One of them was Applejack perched at the end of her bunk. The light orange coated apple farmer, and rodeo aficionado, hummed a homely tune while she brushed her long blonde mane. Normally she wasn’t all that concerned with her appearance; however she did want to be presentable for her family at the reunion tomorrow. There were going to be a lot of family branches represented there and she didn’t want to come across the odd one out.

Looking down the sleeper car, she spied the other four traveling ponies inside. A bunk over was her little sister Appleboom, already soundly sleeping soundly. In the bed across from Applejack there was one of her best friends. The loud and brash Pegasus called Rainbow Dash who, although not by blood, was considered as close as family. This despite their many, many, stiff competitive rivalries when it came to matters athletic. There was also cousin Apple Fritter comfortably settled upon her bed. The somewhat aloof yellow mare was busily chewing on one of her emerald green pigtails while she slowly wrote in a journal of sorts. Finally, rounding out the members of their traveling group was AJ’s big brother, Big Macintosh, who was confined to the far end of the car, and behind a curtain, due to reasons of gentlecolt etiquette.

“So AJ,” Dash asked, turning another page in the latest Daring Doo adventure novel, “could you tell me why you didn’t invite all of our friends to this little get together of yours?” To which the apple farmer rolled her eyes while tying her mane into a ponytail.

“I done already told ya, RD, everypony already had their own business to attend ta. Not much ah could do about that. Though both Applebloom and ah felt bad that Granny Smith couldn’t make it.”

“Why not?” Dash looked up from her book.

“Granny did want ta come, but she ain’t fit enough ta make the journey,” AJ smoothed out her mane before placing her stetson upon her head. “At least not until the doctor has given her tha all clear.”

“Is it her bad hip again?” Rainbow asked, lowering her book.

AJ chewed her lower lip,“She has been gettin’ on in years and mah family is mighty concerned.” She then smiled, “I wouldn’t worry about her, she as stubborn as Apples go and she’s confessin’ not to be goin’ anywhere until she sees some grandfoals.”

“Guess some pony had to watch the farm, huh.” Rainbow concluded, raised her book then lowered it again. “Hey, speaking of ponies who should’ve come, why isn’t Pinkie Pie with us? Of all the ponies we know, she always manages to find time for parties and celebrations, busy or not.”

“Sugarcube, I aimed ta trying to talk her outta comin’ along. I love that gal, but ah don’t want a repeat of what she did last time she visited Appleloosa.” AJ concluded with and unsure frown.

“I guess,” Dash reluctantly agreed, “so, how DID you manage to convince her? I’ve never heard of Pinkie willingly turning down a party.”

“Turned out to be right easy, ah didn’t have ta say a thing.” AJ shrugged, “She said somethin’ about a new pony comin’ to town soon. So she had’ta stay behind to give tha greenhorn a proper Pinkie welcome.”

“Heh,” Dash chuckled, “that sounds like her, I wonder what...” Dash’s curiosity halted the moment she spotted a bright light out of the corner of her eye; a strange illumination originating from outside her window. She turned to look at the strange sight just in time to be blinded by a flash as intense as the sun. AJ saw Dash’s shocked expression and turned to see the pulse just as it was upon them, but had managed to shield her eyes with a foreleg.

“Everypony get down!” AJ shouted before pulling Dash down from the bunk and using her body as a shield for her Pegasus friend. Covering her friend’s head with her forelegs and pulling her Stetson down. There was just enough time to register a sudden spike in the temperature as the cabin became very hot.

Then the wall of energy hit, saturated, and then had quickly passed through the train. The force sent the cabin to list dangerously to one side and for a moment there was a fear it might derail the train completely. It lasted only for a second or two before the cabin came crashing back down onto the rails with a shrill screech of metal. Luggage was let loose by the tremor and went tumbling down from the overhead compartments. AJ released an uncharacteristic squeal of pain as a trunk cracked against her skull and caused her world to swim about sporadically, followed by a bout of dizziness coupled with nausea.

“What in the buck was that?!” the, now panicked Pegasus gasped, brain frozen in confusion as she tried to unpin herself from the floorboards. Her blurry vision snapped to her friend for answers. She couldn’t make out the expression on the orange farmer’s face, but the noticeable tint of red trailing down from under her hat overrode all other concerns.

“I don’t know,” Aj answered with gritted teeth as she rolled off of Dash while gingerly cradling her head. She passed a quick thanks to Faust that she had had the sheer fortune to have been born with a thick skull. “I’ve never seen any kind of weather like that before. Ya’ll wouldn’t know what could cause something like that?”

“There is no weather factory that would allow something like that.” Rainbow Dash responded with a dubious shrug. “At least none that I know of.”

“Applejack!” the shrill scream of a young filly silenced the two adults. Applejack felt the impact of a small body grabbing onto her. She righted herself and found her younger sister crying. Her adolescent eyes were flooded with hot tears and her body trembled in fright.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright Applebloom.” AJ held onto the little filly before climbed onto nearby bed. She then took the opportunity to wrap her hooves around the foal in an effort to provide a modicum of comfort. Even Dash joined in the embrace, equally as worried, though she was trying with all her might not to show it.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Unknown the both AJ and Dash, the effects of the energy storm were to be inflicted across the whole surface of the planet Equus. Every city, town, forest, and living being was subjected to its uncaring crusade. It was an event that no one alive had ever witnessed before and at a level of power beyond anyone’s ability to comprehend or control. Those that had been sleeping soundly, minds filled with the pleasant dreams of innocence, were wrenched awake by the shouts and mindless panic the event left in its wake.

Nowhere was this phenomenon as hard hitting than it was in Canterlot, capital city Equestria. It wasn’t just because it was the center of government, the workplace of countless politicians, or even the home of the rich and famous; though those had their own part to play. It was mainly due to the two ruling Monarchs, Celestia and Luna, resided. They had been caught just as flat hooved as the rest of their nation. This, for beings who had lived for many thousands of years and had believed to have seen everything in life, it was a most unwelcomed reckoning.

The two princesses both knew that very soon their subjects would come to them seeking answers to whit neither princess was capable of giving. With long practiced dignity and grace they had quickly decided to set into motion a series of investigations and inquiries so they might solve this newest threat to their nation. May Faust have mercy on whoever had been responsible for this insult, they would be found and brought to justice to answer for their actions.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

There was an acrid smell of burning hair and smoke filling the air. The offensive stench served to quickly return Braeburn to consciousness yet, he hesitated to acknowledge his surroundings for fear of what he’d see. Images of two burnt bodies and a charred landscape finally rousted him. If he was injured then Strong Heart and her fellow buffalo would be too and they would all need to seek help soon.

Yet, there was not a single call of pain or for immediate aid and after a few strained moments of silence both stallion and the buffaloes slowly realized that it was safe to come out of hiding and take measure of their surroundings. To their simultaneous relief and wonder absolutely nothing had been destroyed or damaged. Apart from a light cloud of dust and sand lazily settling to the ground, and a telltale sign of blackened hair along their bodies, everyone in at the camp emerged unharmed.

“Is every creature alright?” Breaburn asked of no one in particular; receiving a few positive grunts and vocal replies. Little Strong Heart arose onto her hooves still a little shaken.

“I’m alright too.” The light sweat soaked in her fur rapidly cooling as the temperature returned to its normal nightly chill. After a lazy shaking of her head she began to pace about and muttering things under her breath. Braeburn politely waited while she argued something with herself.

“I was afraid something like this might happen.” The buffalo girl finally concluded and looked to Braeburn with a very fierce glare.

“Afraid of what? What just happened?” Braeburn dusted off his fur, unsure how to react to such an atypical reaction from her.

“It’s my father... um...” Heart hesitated.

“Chief Thunderhooves? What about him?” Braeburn looked around for the chief in question, a snort of uncertainty accidently escaped his muzzle. The adrenaline flowing in his veins threatened to override any further patience he had for finding answers to what had just occurred. Truthfully, he was scared, straight to the core of his being.

“Well... you know how I said the stars were glowing with more light than before.” Strong Heart began, to an affirmative nod from her companion.

“Yup, and ya’ll had said it was a good sign. But ah think we can both agree that that was hardly a good thing that just happened.” He had noticed the odd appearance of the stars before Heart had said anything, but he’d simply dismissed it as Princess Luna being in an uncharacteristically good mood; not as a foretelling of any significance.

“I did say that, but that wasn’t all.” She hooved the ground for a bit, “Its just that my father felt it was the first sign. I don’t know how to better tell it. A sign of...” Again she glared worryingly at the stellar bodies.

“An sign?” His sigh emerged more as a groan, “That doesn’t sound dandy apples, ah’ll be honest. I can say ah don’t rightly believe in such tall tales of portents and fortune tellin’.”

“It’s a hard thing to describe to an outsider, but I’ve always deeply respect my father and his love of the old ways,” Heart walked a few steps away from the stallion, then turned and showed a knowing smile, “though sometimes I did doubt his words, but now...”

“But now?”

“There have been tales passed down by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, and...” the tribal girl face-hoofed, “gah, now he’s got me doing it.” she lightly giggled with embarrassment before growing serious again.

“Anyway, it's not just the stars or the tales, a part of it is instinctual; a connection to the lands that we stampede. The stars were the beginning, but we believe that what we just saw was the second sign and that it something big is about to happen.”

“Ya’ll are talking about some sort a prophecy coming true?” the stallion’s face twisted in an expression of equal skepticism and intrigue before he was interrupted by a deep bass male voice singing.

“The providence of stars,

in the ether of night,

with holy divinity alight.

Foretell that of a foe,

born a million eyes,

has fallen to their demise.

Braeburn and Strong Heart turned to face the singer and were greeted by the grim visage of Chief Thunder Hooves.

The imposing buffalo, who was easily five times the sheer mass of Braeburn, was wearing his traditional ceremonial headdress, consisting of a blue fabric band with a peacock-like display of white and brown feathers signifying his rank. Thunder’s dark brown coat was beginning to show a few touches of gray and gave off a full bodied smell of burning wood and calumet pipe smoked tobacco.

The heavens will shatter,

with a light to unfold,

purge the land of danger untold.

Witness, the time is passed,

the shepherd is near,

be they of dark heart or friend dear?”

With his song finished, the chief snorted for emphasis while panning his hoof about for dramatic flair.

“This tale has been passed down through many generation of my tribe. This night marks the birth of a new age,” he continued, “foretelling of the arrival of a being known only as ‘The Shepherd.’ Not even the harbingers of the sun and moon can hope to stop them.” Braeburn just stared slack-jawed as the Chief’s declaration.

“What are ya’ll on about?” Braeburn growled as bewilderment melted into indignation. “Are ya’ll saying that there is a threat to Equestria? What your spittin’ is total nonsense anyway, but why haven’t you told tha princesses about it anyway?”

“Hold your tongue pony.” The Chief bit back, “I speak only of that which is already in motion. Still your unease, your princesses are in no immediate peril. Just that they have no say or recourse in what will happen next once the final sign comes to pass.”

“What must we do now father?” Little Strongheart asked; both eager and terrified.

“You will not address me as such in front of the others, Little Strongheart!” Thunder Hooves harshly reprimanded his daughter.

“Sorry, Chief.” Heart backpedaled with a submissive bow. Braeburn had to fight to keep his anger in check; both for being ignored and for the callous way he had treated Little Heart. It was fortunate that he had kept his calm as he was still surrounded by a tribe of buffalo who had all congregated around them to heed the Chief’s words.

“We must seek out the one who has been chosen to serve as the living vessel of ‘The Shepherd.’ They will carry with them the proof of their sacred purpose; to serve the world as either the savior of all life or as the vanguard of its destruction.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

There had been a passage of time, but for how long he was unable to comprehend. It had seemed only a moment ago that he had felt the familiar background of thrumming of electronics, human chatter, and air recyclers turning over. Pain, there had been pain too; a throbbing ache in his stomach. Now the there was just was the sounds and sensation of a cold night’s wind. The exact moment when the former had distorted into the latter was gradual, yet subtly inexorable. The chilling caress over his ragged body was only servant to amplify the discomfort he was feeling in his back and lower gut.

His brown eyes had slowly opened, to drink in his surroundings. The expanse around him was reminiscent of an Earthly desert; sand, cactus and even a nearby howl of a coyote. He pushed himself into a seated position, leaning against a large jagged rock before he had leaned forward to stand upright. The movement was rewarded with an incredible amount of pain from his stomach wound. He collapsed forward, hands and knees impacting the sand. A few calming breaths and the man stood up again before brushing the excess sand off of himself.

Admiral David Anderson had died, but he was still here.

His left hand caressed the hole in his Alliance uniform where the gunshot had pierced it. When he hadn’t felt any wetness he inspected his hand. It was dry, which meant the bleeding had stopped but the loss had left him a feeling of deathly fatigue. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let loose a groan.

As a distraction he had decided to observe his surroundings for any recognizable features and landmarks. Despite the similarities, preliminary evidence gave Anderson strong reason to suspect that he was not, in fact, on Earth. The landscape was too pristine with no signs that indicated that the Reapers had recently razed the entire area. The cacti were healthy and numerous in a postcard like setting that was peaceful, serene, and not reduced into a lifeless, dust choked, and debris filled wasteland.

In that vein the sky, apart from a few clouds, was also clear of smog which allowed an unobstructed view of the moon. Anderson had spent a good portion of his pre-military youth enjoying London’s nightlife and navigating the streets by moonlight. Later on, while learning astronomy in the naval academy, he’d been intrigued by the myths of the ‘man in the moon,’ and paid particular notice to historical accounts of the moon’s effect on cultural symbolism and religious practices. To whit lead to the man coming to the realization that the astral body presented before him was too large, or too close, to be Earth’s Luna.

Anderson found himself assuming a contemplative posture as he mulled over his position. It was strange and even a little concerning, yet he didn’t feel overly alarmed by it. He had plenty of questions on the nature of his arrival on an alien world that strangely mirrored his own. Nonetheless he’d traveled the galaxy dozens of times over, and it’d reached the point where very little surprised him anymore. The most important thing now was that he was still alive. Anderson was more troubled in figuring out if there was anyone else around or if he was alone.

“Alliance actual, this is Admiral Anderson calling for any personnel still transmitting on this frequency, over.” The dark-skinned, career military, soldier pressed his fingers against his headset, activating it for broadband transmission. His ear was filled with a hiss of white noise as he waited for a reply. He took a few measured breaths as he silently prayed for a connection.

“I repeat, this is Admiral Anderson, calling for any Alliance personnel in the area? Please respond, over.” Again there was no reply and he felt his gut start to clench in fear. “I say again, this is Admiral Anderson to any survivors monitoring this frequency, requesting immediate evac and medical attention. Over.” Again his calls were anwered only by a hissing taunt.

“Alliance actual, this is Admiral David Anderson. Is anyone out there?” he began to pace about, his voice gaining an edge of desperation, “Admiral Hackett? Commander Shepard, Sword fleet, Hammerhead, anyone?”

Only silence, and Anderson’s fingers fell away from his headset.

A few seconds later.

“Anderson, this is Commander Shepard, I read you, over.” a slightly distorted female voice answered with a tone of relief.

“Shepard, damn it’s good to hear your voice again.” Anderson could not help but feel unrestrained relief, yet he resisted showing it in his tone.

“Likewise, I’ve been trying to get a signal through for the last half hour. No responses, except for you.”

“Understood Commander, you’re coming in clear so you must be close by.” Anderson turned about attempting to spot his fellow human nearby. “Commander, do you have any information on our whereabouts or how we arrived here?” He said calmly despite the strained effort it took to use a nearby rock to help him stand on his own feet.

“Not a clue,” Shepard vocally shrugged, “all I know is that I found myself here after the Crucible activated.” Shepard com lined remained open for a couple of heartbeats before she released a sad sigh, “Unfortunatly we appear to have another problem on our hands.”

“That’s par for the course by now, Commander. For now let’s keep our eyes and ears open and try to reconnoiter nearby.”

“Understood, do you see any identifiable landmarks at your location?” She asked simply, but Anderson’s trained instincts detected something unusual in Shepard’s terse response. Her tone carried an unusual edge, but it was hard to place what it was exactly.

“I do not see anything nearby that stands out to me, it’s mostly empty flatland. How is it on your end?”

“A lot of rocks, and some bones, but I’ve spotted a small river close to me. I’ll signal my position from there.”

Anderson had not long to wait before an orb of purple biotic light shot up in a near vertical arc in the air. Anderson surveyed the orb’s origin and had quickly spotted the river in question. It was not very far away, a couple minutes travel. Even from where he was he could spot movement on the banks edge.

“I see it. Sit tight Commander, I’m on my way.” The Admiral took a measured step to his destination when his foot made contact with something that felt like metal. He looked down and found he had bumped into his trusty M-3 pistol. Carefully he reached down and retrieved the weapon before promptly holstered it.

Neither Anderson nor Shepard could have realized that the nearby tribe of buffalo had also taken notice of Shepard's signal.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Anderson didn’t want to accidentally open up his wound, so he forced himself to remain extra vigilant of any rocks, needle-filled flora, or dangerous creatures that he might encounter. Thankfully, the trek passed slowly and with minimal incidence before he had arrived at the clear blue waters of the nearby river. The stream flowed with a pure and natural beauty; crisp and clear. Anderson couldn’t help but spare a moment to appreciate such an untainted sight. Yet, soon, he began to fidget in place while trying to find any sign of his friend. He had spun around a few time trying to gain a glimpse as to where she was, but grew dismayed when he had failed to spot her. Anderson keyed his headset again.

“Shepard, I’ve reached the river. What is your location?”

“Right behind you.” the Commander replied. Anderson eagerly turned to greet his friend and was slightly dismayed when he again proved incapable at spotting her. At least until he realized that something else was there instead. Angling down slightly he spotted a strange quadruped creature standing before him. The creature’s full height had barely managed to reach past his waist and it was looking straight up at him with a pair of large green eyes.

“Surprised to see me Anderson?” the alien spoke with Commander Shepard’s voice before it sat down on its rear like an expectant dog. Both Anderson and the alien critically examined each the other before…

“Shepard? Is that you?” The admiral asked slowly, disbelieve mixed with a touch of fear. It wasn’t the sight of a new extraterrestrial species that had upset him. After all he’d seen so many diverse forms of life over his career that it’d become routine, and even a little uninteresting. This, however, was unprecedented and even a little disconcerting.

“It is,” the creature rubbed its two hoofed forelimbs together nervously, “well, some of me anyways.”

The life form bore more than a passing resemblance to an Earth-bred species of horses, only smaller, a pony would have been a more accurate description. The one sitting before Anderson had a light tan coat of hair that covered its entire body and was complemented with an unkempt, fire-red mane, complete with unruly bangs, and a similarly styled tail. As he studied the pony with poorly disguised fascination, so did the equine follow him with its large pair of jade green eyes that reflected a personality with the hardness of stone and yet, oddly, charming, and set into a face covered with small brown freckles.

Any doubt Anderson had about this pony claiming to be Commander Shepard had faded when he examined the suit of blackened-charred armor the equine wore. Most of the suit was melted into a state beyond usefulness. Yet, it still bore a faded N7 logo on the breastplate. No matter what, his instinct told him that this couldn’t be real and still, Anderson was convinced that this was Commander Shepard; still alive somehow, physical form to the contrary.

The reality of the situation was still a blaster bolt to the face, and the shock was clear in his face.

“Good god child! What’s happened to you. You’re...”

“I think the word you’re looking for is cute,” she crooked an eyebrow, “adorable maybe…”

“In the same sentence as Commander Shepard? Dying once is enough, I’d like to keep on breathing if it's all the same to you.” Anderson had known Shepard for years and he had to admit that she had never been hard on the eyes. Maybe, if he’d been thirty years younger, he might’ve made a pass at her. Regardless of all of that, Anderson found his present company was better described as being more cute than sexy, and more adorable than deadly. Of course he’d never utter such things in front of her; he wasn’t suicidal after all.

Anderson raised his right arm at Shepard, the orange-yellow color of his holographic omni-tool had come alive. The semi-transparent display was comprised of a complex user-interface along with screens that could display a staggering amount of data. Using the highly sophisticated computer, he made several cursory scans of Shepard’s new body.

“Strange. my omni-tool confirms you really are Commander Shepard. However, it seems to believe that you’re still a human.” A 3D image of her human form materialized over the computer. Shepard spared but a moment to familiarize herself with her old body before letting out a defeated sign.

“So you believe that I am me.” Shepard released a seized breath. “That’s good because I didn’t know how to convince you otherwise. Maybe you have some idea on how we got here?”

Before either could contemplate further their attention was robbed by the long tone of a howling coyote. A call that was soon returned and echoed across the night from different directions.

“I think this will make for a very interesting story, but right now we should find someplace safe.” Despite her alternative and less threatening form her commanding voice was as deep and grim as ever.

“Agreed.” Anderson nodded as he followed Shepard’s trot.

“I already did some preliminary recon around the immediate area.” Shepard pointed towards the south, “I think I might’ve spotted a nearby settlement. We should make our way there.”

2. Priority: Appleloosa (April 2021)

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.

Author's Note

Shepard is poor

3. Medical Supplies (April 2021)

Chapter Three: Medical Supplies

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Chief Thunder Hooves was angrily pacing up and down the bank of a river where his tribe had settled retreated to after the Braeburn pony had left their previous resting spot. The calm rolling of the free water stood a stark contrast to the buffalo’s agitated demeanor, grunting with bottled fury every couple of steps. This was a sacred place and located deep in buffalo territory. Not even the ponies in the nearby town were aware of its existence and, as such, no fires were lit to give its position away.

He, along with a select chosen group of followers, were investigating ground zero where they’d earlier observed a bolt of magical light. Shortly after the storm had passed a separate light had been seen shooting straight up into the air like a signal flare. As it had originated upon a part of the buffalo’s traditional stomping grounds, it was a most critical matter that needed to be resolved. The Chief sniffed the air and the ground in equal measure trying to determine the origin of this second unexplained event.

“Chief!” Little Strong Heart called out while running straight up to him, a look of deep worry etched on her face.

“What is it little one?” he halted in place giving her his full attention.

“We found something, you need to see it!” She said quickly before retreating in the direction she had come from. Swiftly he followed, hooves kicking up clouds of dust as his heavy gait cut through desert ground.

“What treachery is this!” The chief roared in indignation at the sight presented before him. By this point the stench of a recent fire had mostly cleared but it left a carpet of charred brushes and cacti that had been blown into piecemeal leaving only the stumps behind. Rocks had been shattered, with the many sharp pieces embedded in the ground like a bed of nails. It hadn’t taken long for the Chief to realize that the source of all this destruction radiated out from a central point.

That focus was a, still, warm crater that reached half a foot deep, and a diameter the width of five buffaloes. Thunder Hooves could feel the powerful magic that lingered in the air, obviously the cause of the explosion. While the magical arts were unknown by him or his people, every creature contained some magic within them and could sense the residue left behind after a recent magical events of this magnitude. It felt like a fizzing sensation, akin to pins and needles tapping ever so lightly on his skin but it wasn’t painful.

“Hmm...” He circled around the crater several time, observing the destruction with a keen eye, looking for any clue as to what might have caused this. There were tracks that started from the crater and departed the area, but not a trail to be found leading towards the crater. By this time the wind had taken its toll and eroded most of the hoof prints and soon would erase them completely. But still enough remained for him to get a good idea of who the perpetrator of this crime was.

“Unicorn pony!” The chief snorted, steam escaping his nostrils as his blood pressure rose to catastrophic levels, “I want this trespasser, this defiler, this...Appleloosan found for they have dishonored the Great Spirit Cante Pejute!”

For only a little over a year the Appleloosans and Buffalo had agreed on a peace agreement that allowed ponies free passage over his land, and to live and farm on a specific portion of it in the interest of good will and delicious apple pies, but that was the end of it. Spirits curse him if he sat idly by and allowed the ponies to encroach upon even more of his ancestor’s lands.

“Hold it Chief,” Little Strongheart warned, gingerly placing a hoof on his shoulder, “I don’t believe that the Appleloosans would risk another war by breaking their agreement.”

“What makes you believe that?” He regarded her suspiciously.

“Well, I know that Braeburn said...” The Chief interrupted her with an annoyed snort.

“Must I warn you again, my daughter, that you misplace your trust. That stallion is a pony and he will always be so. He would say anything to protect his own kind. Do not waste your time with him.”

“He was one of the few ponies who tried to listen to us before. Just hear me out Fa...Chief.” Strong Heart stared him straight in the face. “The Appleloosan ponies have nothing to gain by causing trouble. We don’t even know for sure if it was them or an outsider trying to cause trouble.” The bigger buffalo made to interject but a raised hoof from Strong Heart silenced any rebuttal.

“Plus, Appleloosa is mostly Earth-ponies with very few unicorns. Finding the one who did this shouldn’t be a big problem.”

“What do you speak of?”

“Braeburn taught me that the color of a unicorn’s magic is unique to each individual. We need only to ask the townsfolk to help us find the one who emits a purple glow from their horn. Besides, if we hurry we might be able to track them down before they take the railroad in the morning.”

“And if they have already escaped by this so called road, what do you suggest we do then?” The lead buffalo felt his anger subside slightly as he listened. “Some pony must be held accountable for this insult.”

“Then leave it to me to find them. Just, please, lets not implicate the whole town over the actions of one pony. I don’t want a repeat of last time, and I know you don’t either.” Her pouting eyes make it difficult for the Chieftain to refuse her. His tribe knew better than to question his will, but he felt a swell of pride in his daughter for she was truly different, patient and wise beyond her years.

“Very well,” he relented, trying to keep a scowl despite his pride threatening to birth a smile. “I will stay my hoof for the time being. Now, let us not waste anymore time here.”

“Thank you.” Little Strong Heart shot forward and embraced the Chief in a hug, wrapping her forelegs tightly around his neck. He was about to admonish her for such a public display of affection, instead he reluctantly wrapped a foreleg around her. Smiling, he stroked her back for just a moment. Afterward he broke the embrace and any traces of emotion vanished.

“The tracks lead towards the river, further south than we were before.” He redirected to the matter of the hunt.

The pony tracks they followed were soon joined by a second pair of hoof prints belonging to a creature they had never encountered before.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Shepard lifted her second shot of the night to her lips and in one swift motion she downed the warm, amber liquid in record time. The bourbon burned well going down and it added a much needed warmth in her belly. The alcohol was strong and had a hint of a smoky hickory taste that spoke of its natural fermenting process in a wooden cask. It was a taste that was sadly lacking in a lot of mass produced liquors that she had sample from across the galaxy. Though it was certainly still no substitute for Serrice-Ice brandy, but after all the crap she’d been through recently, a stiff one was just what she needed to bring back a little sanity.

She slammed the empty glass down with a sigh of pleasure, savoring the taste. Feeling her mood had started to improve, it was hatefully soured when her instincts picked up on her host’s jittery body language. He was trying to hide it by keeping his expression neutral, yet, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his nervousness was punctuated by excessive sweating and a refusal to look her in the eyes. He had been all calm before, so she was confused as to what had changed since then.

She internally cursed herself for having gotten far too familiar with a society that was not her own. Because, despite the similarities, there was probably a thousand and one ways in which she could easily cross a cultural taboo, break an unknown law, or simply cause personal offense. As an Alliance soldier, captain of a military vessel, and a representative of humanity she had been responsible for learning about the customs of each and every single foreign species known. Back home she had had free and instant access to information concerning each cultural and historical aspect across a dozen and a half alien races. That was no longer a luxury that was afforded her on this world. She had to learn from firsthand experience; in other words, ‘the hard way.’

By some strange wrinkle in the universe she was a pony like them now, that or maybe god had personal vendetta against her. Shepard rubbed her temple trying to focus on the now and it was important that she needed to try and think like a pony, not a human. Complicated as the familiarity of location and language was mixed with an previously unobserved culture and alien race. She knew how to act and yet didn’t at the same time, which didn’t make any sense, but neither did the existence of this world.

Next to her empty glass was the bowl with the offered peanuts. With a mind to forge ahead, she scooped a small amount into the ‘bowl’ of her hoof and slammed them into her mouth. They were unsalted, but might not have been peanuts, or maybe it was due to her altered physiology, the taste sensation that exploded in her mouth was different. For a moment her brain rebelled against it, having expected one thing, yet receiving another. After a moment of chewing she found the experience not entirely unpleasant; different, nutty, and somehow better than a peanut.

“Is there something wrong?” Mortan asked uneasily, “I assure you they are freshly harvested.”

“Are they?” Shepard didn’t pay the stallion much consideration as she focused on identifying the taste. Upon swallowing her meal she spotted the remainder of the salt cube from before. With a mind to compare the two tastes against each other she took the bowl and ate the cube whole. Upon biting down, an audible crunch, and a very salty taste to bloomed all over her tongue.

A slight burn turned into an exploding firecracker to the degree that it completely overpowered her senses. Her center of balance was suddenly sent spiraling all over the place. Both fore hooves caught the edge of the counter to save her from falling over and further embarrassment. Her face scrunched up as she rode the rollercoaster of heightened excitement and nausea. She hadn’t felt like this since that one time she’d nearly been poisoned by a devious bartender in the Afterlife bar on Omega. The feelings washed over her for a moment and then receded in a groan of displeasure.

“Whoa, take it easy. You’re supposed to lick it not eat it whole.” Morton seemed to overcome his shyness long enough to scolded her harshly while sliding over a glass of water. “Good thing I only gave you a sample then. Any ‘normal’ pony would’ve been knocked onto their flank if they’d done that.

“Duly noted.” Shepard took note of the strange emphasis the bartender used on describing her as normal. Setting that concern aside she shook her head, trying to clear her blurred vision. If it was possible to stuff her head full of cotton then this was how it felt.

“Don’t they serve salt where you’re from?”

“They do, normally it’s mixed in with food.” she replied off-hand, not sure why it mattered.

“Then what fool idea possessed you to eat it straight if you’re not used to it? Here, salt is harvested from the finest salt mines in all of Equestria and is traditionally served straight up, not in food.” His scorning attitude suddenly transformed into honest curiosity as he twirled his mustache in thought.

“So, what do you mix it with?” It was as if he’d suddenly hit upon a sudden epiphany, a moment of genius elightenment. Shepard wasn’t sure if he was asking because he was genuinely interested and fishing for ideas, or just trying to make small talk. Whatever the reason, his earlier nervousness had subsided for the time being.

“Um...,” she felt like her eyes were sliding off objects, “lots of things.” She searched for legitimate examples. Sure, she was talking salt and food with a brightly colored equine, but that was far more preferable than lingering on the feeling of her head imploding again and again.

“Like?” He egged her on.

“Ah, a lot of things,” she repeated, still in a daze, “uhh...soups, pasta,…um steak...” At the mention of the latter the stallion took two large steps backwards.

“Steak?” he whispered to himself, “so she really does eat meat?!” Although he’d spoken to himself with horror on his lips, Shepard could sense the room had been listening in on their conversation. Silence gripped the room and she could feel the stares crawling up her back.

There was a feeling of adrenaline kicking in as she realized that she’d committed yet another faux pas. She mentally punched herself at her lack of foresight, wondering how she hadn’t made the connection that these aliens were herbivores. Especially given their tangential similarities to the Terran native species. cringed, hard, because of course she had to land in a world that frowned upon eating steak, and she freaking loved steak. Could this day possibly turn out to be the worst possible thing to ever happen to her ever?

“What?” was her weak reply, before she shut her mouth with an audible clack and reconsidered her response.

“Ehhu...ha...I was making a joke.” Shepard quickly backpedaled, smirking coyly and forced a chuckle out on her own trick. Morton seemed to relax slightly, if only just, but was still giving her the evil eye that spoke loudly of disbelief. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, but I’m not feeling well, so I should go.” Shepard put a hoof to her stomach and amped up acting sick as best as she was able. “Do you think you could point me towards a Doctor?”

“YES!” Morton sprung back to life with such surprising enthusiasm that it nearly caused Shepard to jump back instinctively into a combat-ready position. Still the moment cause her to frown severely, and reaching instinctively for a pistol that wasn’t there. Grasping that she’d been in no real danger, Shepard still struggled to relax given the already tense atmosphere.

Fortunately, no further dispute arose as the bartender pointed her in the direction of the local pharmacy. Shepard then thanked the stallion, paid her tab, and then properly marched out the door.

Her pride only slightly bruised.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

The commander broke into a paced jog down the now nearly empty street towards her destination. The air had grown still and the only sound now was the metallic click-clicking of her dog tags swinging on her neck and the chirping of crickets. Where once there had been scores of ponies sweeping up trash or conducting basic repairs, now only one or two of them would occasionally pass her by, but paid her no mind. Though, she had a feeling that would soon change when the gossip mill began to spread about the debacle at the saloon.

At least it hadn’t turned into a bar room brawl, that was progress at least. As experienced and powerful a biotic as she was, taking on that many at once would not have lead to an unacceptable outcome for her, and most of them as well. If she still had her weapons and armor, however, she could’ve easily painted the room red, littered the floor with a stack of bodies, she could rip...

A sharp shake of the head interrupted that dark line of thinking.

“Must be the salt playing with my mind.” She dismissed her sudden macabre thoughts. Hurting civilians and innocent bystanders was not what the Alliance had taught her. Even as a council Specter she couldn’t engaged in such wanton destruction at will unless she had a god reason; at least a better excuse than a case of cross-cultural confusion. Still, a feeling of worry squeezed at her chest like a bad case of heartburn.

Knowing where she was going hadn’t stopped her from observing every detail along the way, exploring every road and alley with her eyes. The forgotten corners of the town where one would have expected to find trash and filth, hiding spots where the homeless and rejected stalked, where just as clean as the rest of the area. Not that she desired to see unnecessary suffering or waste, but the lack of evidence to the dregs of society was a little odd.

The Commander turned left at an intersection and quickly spotted the Doctor’s building directly ahead, just as Morton said it would be. The structure was nearly identical to its neighbors with the sole exception being the sign. It was mounted on the second floor, between two gabled windows, and just over the front door. It was a picture of a blue medicine bottle with a cork on top and a label sporting a red cross.

“Found it.” Shepard celebrated while informing Anderson of the situation.

“Commander, I know you’re not a fan of the gentle approach. Still I feel a little more ‘purposeful discretion,’ of the situation is required.” Shepard’s earbud did nothing to mute the punctuation lacing his displeasure.

“Fair enough.” She reflected, remembering that he had been rather put out when she’d reported on the bar room incident. “Yes sir, and under normal operating procedures I would have slapped that creep with a shockwave before putting two in his ten-spot. But we’re both making sacrifices tonight.” She replied with a joking sarcasm, then rubbed her forehead with a hoof.

“Damn it Commander, you know what I mean. Beating a drunken old man and scaring the citizens isn’t the way I picture us gaining allies and, for that matter, neither is stealing.”

“I didn’t steal his money,” she protested, “I was simply exercising my rights as a Spectre to requisition financial aid for injuries sustained to my person and for emotional distress.” Her reasoning didn’t sound as good spoken as it had in her head.

“That may placate a Council-member race, maybe, but again I don’t think the local police recognize Spectre authority. Hell, there may not even be a Council or a Spectre organization left anymore, not after the Reapers took control of the Citadel.”

“Anderson, the way I see it we just saved their asses from having to fight the Reapers in the next cycle.” She returned, adding an edge of irritation. “Whether they know it or not, they owe us and I think they can spare a few handouts in appreciation.”

“Need I repeat the point that we need to avoid a cross-species incident? Don’t forget that, as your direct superior, your actions reflect on me too.” Drill sergeants had less patronizing tones than Anderson did.

Shepard had to stop for a moment and ruminate on that point; really, there was not much to it. Being a Spectre had allowed her to dance fast and loose with the rule book, if not outright disregard it plus, with a war on, most people tended to turn a blind eye to minor instances of bending the rules. Now with neither the excuse of war, her military connections, and lacking the support of the Council she would never get away with even half of the crap she’d pulled off in the last couple hours.

“Alright Anderson, you win. I promise I’ll try and be more discreet and play it strictly by the book from now on. We still need those supplies, but I’m still keeping the money for the supplies we need. We can think of a way to pay it back later.”

“Anderson?” She repeated after an unusual length of silence.

“I spotted some movement in the distance. A large group of creatures; two, maybe three, squads in strength.” She could barely understand him, he whispered so low.

“Creatures? More of the natives?”

“Hard to tell from here, but too big to be them. They seem to be looking for something.”

“Are you hidden from sight? Need backup?” Slight, subconscious, twitches in her tail mirrored her unease.

“Don’t worry about me. Just do what you have to and get out of there ASAP. I’m going to lay low for now, but remain in contact for now.”

“Roger that.” She finished just as the connection was severed. All she was able to feel right then was a kind of volatile trepidation. The same kind of fear she had felt when she’d been forced to abandon Anderson on a Reaper-controlled Earth. That day, as the Normandy took off, she had made a promise that she would not stop until she saw him again.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

As wild west shops went, the pharmacy was noticeably smaller when contrasted against the town average. Approaching the grass green front door she spotted a printed flyer that had been nailed to a billboard. The brown crusted post was faded with age, but still legible.

‘Appleloosa Frontier Pharmaceuticals,’ the post began, ‘for all your equestrian medicinal, tonic, and herbal supplemental needs, wants, and desires; for whatever ails you. Owned and operated by the one true medicine stallion, Dr. Snake Oil.’ The bottom half of the flyer listed a set of business hours which went largely ignored by Shepard apart from the fact that the office was long closed at this hour.

“Dr. Snake Oil?” She rolled her eyes, “Now that’s a name that inspires confidence. What’s next? Dr. Malpractice? Dishonest John? Professor Pain?”

“It might not mean the same here as it does for us.” The Commander reasoned as she placed a hoof on the door handle only to find it locked. Then she tried knocking on the door; three swift and firm raps. After several long moments of silence she deduced that no one was there.

“Of course it couldn’t be that easy,” Shepard huffed as she circled the building, heading towards the back, “so not only is this place one giant stereotype, but a pun factory as well. Joker would’ve loved it here; I swear the horse jokes would never end.” She mused aloud, and then switched to her best emulation of the jester pilot.

“Shepard, let’s saddle-up and kill some bad guys. You’re all ponied up, hot date tonight? Say again Commander, you're sounding a little horse. What’s the difference between Commander Shepard and a Krogan? One has four hooves and the other four testicles.”

“Commander,” Anderson whispered, suddenly sounding rather jovial and much to Shepard’s dismay at forgetting the line was still open, “stop foaling around and get off your high-horse.” A cartoonish squeal of rubber against pavement released as Shepard came to a complete and utter stop.

“What did you just say to me?” She was so blown away with incredulity that she almost forgot to be offended.

“I said its goddamn cold out here. Quit horsing around and double time it, Commander.”

“Wow,” she slowly drew out the word, as if the world had suddenly gone mad and she had been the last one to know, “I didn’t know you had it in you, sir.”

“Tonight has just been full of surprises. Right, Shepard?”

“Uh-huh, that is has Anderson.” Filing the conversation away to be concluded later, Shepard returned to the task at hand. Finding that there was a door at the back she tried the door handle. There was a soft click as the door opened without resistance.

5. The Shepard (April 2021)

Chapter 5: The Shepard

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

At some point the wind had picked up speed, adding an extra bite to the already freezing air making the desert feel like the inside of an ice box. While the atmosphere was so dry that frost had nothing to use in which to form. The land had grown eerily quiet as the desert fauna had long since retreated to their burrows. Not even the crickets chirped anymore.

Unfortunately for the two stranded soldiers they had no place with which to warm and shelter themselves from the elements than a small grove of rocks and each other. They both slept uneasily with bed sheets and blankets wrapped around tightly around them.

“Its quite a view.” Anderson finally spoke, having awoken sometime as the first hints of sun started to show on the horizon. He felt a small sense of deja vu at having said the same thing atop the Citadel.

“Second best seats.” Shepard reciprocated. Grateful that they were both well enough to truly enjoy the view this time. The situation was still not ideal, but they had both learned how to adapt.

‘Work with what you have,’ she reminded herself, ‘and make the best of a bad situation.’

“Thinking of Earth?” The red-maned pony curiously asked as she had been reflecting on home as well. Wondering what had happened to Admiral Hackett and the allied fleet and just how many had survived the final battle.

“Hmm,” The Admiral droned in agreement, “thinking about all the people we left behind. It was months of running and hiding from the Reapers. We never stayed in one place for too long.” He took a moment to listen, “It was never this quiet either, it’ll take some time to get used to it. I do wonder, was it enough? Did I do enough?” Anderson turned to look at her, but she remained transfixed at the fading starscape.

“Of course you did.” she crossed her forelimbs across her stomach, “I can admit I thought you were a fool for staying behind, but I’m not so big that I can’t admit you were right.” She finally looked the human in the face, “The final push would’ve been dead in the water if you hadn’t held onto Earth.”

“Everything I did, Commander, would have been useless if you hadn’t united the entire galaxy to retake Earth.” Anderson seemed to drift away, returning to silence.

“‘Do you know how many times I’ve had my ass handed to me over the years?’ I remember you telling me that once when I thought I’d lost the war. We can shake this off, Anderson. We both had our roles to play. Was it enough? No one can ever really answer that question. Not me, and especially not you.” Growing tired of the feeling of sandy dirt in her new fur, Shepard cast the blanket to the side and stood up.

“But we have to believe it was. I wish I knew, but I don’t. My biggest regret is that I can’t remember exactly happened on the Citadel. I had a choice to make, but I can’t remember what it was.”

“The Reapers are gone, so I say it was the right call, whatever it was.” the human shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah. I guess, we’ve both have had to make a lot of tough calls. I know I’ve made many mistakes along the way. I think about them all the time.”

The Commander felt the bottom give out from her stomach as she thought about the the memorial wall on the Normandy, half full with the names of lost friends. Were their names now a part of that monument?

“We’ve come this far, so...we must’ve done something right.” Shepard tried desperately to convince herself and failed. Secretly she wished that she had not survived. Death would’ve been a kinder mercy than to live on with the guilt of so many dead.

“I know I complain that I’m getting too old for this,” he gave a hopeful grin and cracked his knuckles in emphasis, “but I’m relieved to be here. Think of it as another grand mission, to chart another exotic world where no Human has been before. Like how things used to be.”

“Not quite how you imagined your twilight years.” Shepard had a knowing gleam.

“Exactly, Shepard.” Anderson chuckled to himself. A genuine sound as the two old friends put an arm around the other, content to just enjoy each other’s presence.

“Anderson, it’s almost morning,” Shepard hated to end on such a sudden note, but knew they had a busy day ahead of them. “We still need to tend to that wound.””

“And what about you, Commander?” He poked her shoulder for emphasis.

“Yeah,” Shepard scratched the back of her neck; the feel of her own hoof was starting to feel normal which concerned her greatly. “I think maybe it’d be easier to believe that this is all a cruel joke., or…maybe…penance.” She looked morosely at herself, something was beginning to bother her.

“Let’s not start up that conversation again.”

“Noted.” With the topic concluded, and the sun beginning to cast its dawn light, Shepard took the opportunity to really examine her new body. Without realizing it she had adopted a sitting position that was more natural for humans and not for ponies. Strangely it did not feel abnormal nor did it bother her anatomy in anyway, she had already seen evidence that these ponies could flex and behave in ways their Terran counterparts couldn’t. A couple of bruises from her fight with Snake Oil were proof of that much, as well as the simple act of being able to feel the back of her neck.

For the first time, without the armor, she saw that the fur on her body was a peach color.

“Wait.” Instinctively she jerked at the blankets, wrapping them more tightly around her than ever before in an effort to preserve her modesty. The Commander gave the Admiral a death glare, as if she was trying to lay the blame solely at his feet.

Anderson had indeed taken notice of his subordinate’s of the pony’s attempt to cover up and had wanted to assure her that it was an accident. But the mare was already on to him and her expression seemed to say, “Keep those eyes straight and not a single word from you, mister!” Yet the mixture of serious and adorableness made it seem more akin to, “Mark my words. Say something, anything, and we’ll see if my biotic charge leaves a rainbow trail as I implode your face. Like a boss!”

He was sure that Shepard was serious; she always was, at least, when she wasn’t being a sarcastic cynic. Yet, her efforts to that purpose had been hopelessly sabotaged by the overtly delightful quality intrinsic to her pony face; a look of a pouting, petulant child. Her expressive, larger than life, eyes didn’t help either. He knew it wasn’t her fault that her message was coming out crossed. Out of respect for his friend, Anderson looked away silently, and managed to disguise an amused chuckle as a cough.

“Speaking of clothes, Commander,” Anderson grew serious once more, “perhaps we should fashion you some from the sheets and string?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever worn a toga before, but that is…acceptable to the alternative.”

“Alright, Commander, while we do that why don’t you tell me more about what you remember on the Citadel and this choice you had to make.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“Wake up.” A voice spoke, a child’s voice intertwined with a resonance of Shepard’s own and unknown adult male. The emotion in the speaker was a mixed choir that reflected concern and irritation, hope and despair, and it echoed unnaturally through the massive, open-topped, room.

“What? Where am I?” She addressed the unknown speaker. The creature before her had the appearance of an adolescent male child composed entirely of blue, semi-transparent, tendrils of energy that shifted and changed like ripples in the ocean.

Numbed from blood loss, a head full of cotton, Shepard slowly and painfully rose to her two human feet. Grimacing through the agony, she took in her surroundings and saw that she was outside the Presidium Tower, on the top of the central Citadel spire. The one place no soul had ever stood before. She could see the infinite black of space all around her; interrupted only on one side by breathtaking view of planet Earth. Even from here she could see the orange blaze and plumes of smoke as whole cities and nations burned under the Reaper’s assault.

Her mind told her she should’ve been dead already, if not from her injuries, but from the fact she was standing outside the Citadel in the vacuum of space. The answer to the latter came quickly when she saw the shimmer of a Mass field surrounding the area, trapping a breathable atmosphere in its canopy.

“The Citadel. It’s my home.” The construct said, matter-of-factly.

The Citadel was stretched out kilometers beneath her. The mega station was many times larger than even the biggest Reaper, she could imagine the hexagonal design that reached out in six long arm. Each arm a metropolis onto itself; shops, houses, and factories connected to each other via the web-like roads and skyways.

Above her, anchored to the station by four metal grappling beams was the Crucible; with an uninterrupted column of energy channeling the unfathomable energies of the Citadel into the Crucible and prevented the two super structures from collapsing upon each other.

In between the station and dreadnaught was a gap of space where Shepard was able to watch the massive space battled between the allied fleets and the Reapers. Ships from the various galactic races fought with all their might against the Reaper drones which swarmed like clouds of angry locusts. Super charged projectiles erupted from both sides in a dance of red and blue lights. Striking, missing, and spinning amongst a sea of superheated debris and hulking steel behemoths. The conflagration of detonating fusion and mass effect cores painted the vacuum orange and yellow, almost all of them were allied ships.

There was the Human dreadnought, the Tokyo, as it was cleanly dissected in twain by a red beam trailing across its midsection. The doomed vessel was spraying debris everywhere and it’s two halves had spiraled out of control. Not an eye blink later it´s eezo core had detonated in a visceral flash, claiming all onboard. Shepard had to look away from the rapid birth, then death, of the miniature star, knowing that a crew comprised of thousands had been vaporized in an instant.

There was also a heavily damaged Reaper as it was continuously pummeled under the concentrated fire of a trio of Asari battleships and a dozen cruisers; comprised of Human, Turian, Volus, and mercenary ships. One of the battleships, a Turian vessel, seemed to melt into slag and boil away as it was rent asunder by the Reaper’s counter attack. A Human cruiser soon followed a similar fate, with no possible chance for either ship’s crew to escape or even be allowed to scream. Thankfully it had been the Reaper’s final act to defiance as a chain reaction of explosions traveled the entire length of the machine’s two kilometer body as lasers, torpedoes, and kinetic projectiles shattered it into hundreds of fragments.

It was a small victory, one whose cost was too terrible to imagine. Yet, Shepard felt a spark of hope as the Reaper finally died. She could almost hear the defiant, agonizing, cries of the enemy as every crevice of its form reached critical mass and it shattered like a pane of glass.

As the chaos continued, seemingly without an end in sight, no sound other than the hum of nearby machinery was heard. Everything seemed so far away, yet so close at the same time, as Shepard stood in her silent vigil.

As she was forced to watch the end of everything.

“Who are you?” She turned back to the entity at her side.

“I am the Catalyst.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“So that was the Catalyst. Not the Citadel as we first thought.” Anderson scratched his chin in contemplation.

“I was just as surprised as you are.” Shepard shrugged, “It was an advanced A.I. far beyond anything I had ever come across. It claimed that it was the one controlling the Reapers, and to have been created by the very species who would become the first Reaper and begin the cycle.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“How do the Reapers solve anything?” Shepard sneered at the A.I.

“Organics create synthetics to improve their own existence, but those improvements have limits. To exceed those limits, synthetics must be allowed to evolve. They must, by definition, surpass their creators. The result is conflict, destruction, chaos; it is inevitable.” The Catalyst fell silent for a time, contemplating carefully.

“Reapers harvest all life, organic and synthetic, preserving them before they are forever lost to this conflict.”

“We’re at war with the Reapers right now!” Shepard pointed an accusing finger towards the destruction unfolding all around them.

“You may be in conflict with the Reapers, but they are not interested in war.” The AI replied as if it were obvious.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“When fire burns is it at war? Is it in conflict, or is it simply doing what it was created to do? We are no different.” The child walked a few paces away, observing the battle outside with cold detachment. “We harvest your bodies, your knowledge, your creations; we preserve it to be reborn in the form of a new Reaper. Like a cleansing fire we restore balance.” The A.I. then spun to face Shepard again.

“New life, both organic and synthetic, can once again flourish.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“All that aside, it also told me how the Crucible could be used to end the Reaper’s harvest once and for all.” Shepard concluded her brief recounting.

“And it did, right? The Reapers destroyed?” The Admiral leaned closer, his voice elevated with hope, but guarded for possible bad news.

“I...,” A feeling of dread gripped at Shepard’s heart. There was only darkness where memories should have been. “I don’t know for certain. It’s a feeling, more than anything, that they were stopped, but I can’t say they were destroyed. Not for certain.” The words tasted bitter and poisonous.

“You don’t know for certain” A shadow fell across the Admiral’s face. “Commander, everything we fought for was depending on the Crucible. Are you saying that it didn’t work even after all we sacrificed to build it?”

“No! It worked. I know I activated it. Hell, I remember there being multiple different ways in which to use the Crucible against them.”

“Multiple ways? I’m not sure I understand.”

“I don’t know!” Shepard repeated, if she still had hands she’d be pulling her own hair out at this very moment. Instead she was limited to just running her hooves quickly through her mane. She was supposed to have the answers, she had lived through the whole ordeal herself.

Why could she not remember?

“The AI told me about the solutions. I know it happened, but I can’t remember the details. All I see is light all around me, intense pain, and then I woke up on this planet looking like an alien.”

“Commander, you realize the Catalyst could have been lying in order to save itself.”

“What do you want from me, Anderson? I had considered that too, but there was no time for twenty questions, my back was against the wall. Our plan was always a gamble at best.” By this point Shepard was nearly screaming at the Admiral. “You said it yourself. Somehow we’ve been shot across the galaxy to an alien world. I know, It! Did! Something!” Shepard emphasized each word with a sharp stomp of a hoof. “If that something included destroying the Reapers I can’t confirm it. Not anymore and especially not from here! To do that...”

“We’d have to contact the Alliance.” Anderson completed the sentence, hand held in a placating manner. Thankfully, Shepard noticed this and quickly brought her temper into check.

“Yes, which may be...problematic. To turn a phrase.”

“There may be a way, though it a long shot at best.”

“How?” She bushed a stray hair to the side.

“For two years I served on the Council as humanity's representative...”

“A job I volunteered you for,” she snarked, “and I never did get a thank you, by the way.”

“Shooting me in the head would’ve been a lot faster.” he quipped.

“You know very well you were the best choice,” the former human defended herself, “and Udina’s betrayal made that fact abundantly clear.”

“The point is that while I served on the council I would, from time to time, receive reports concerning the discovery of new pre-spaceflight species by deep space explorers and prospectors. I never paid much attention since the Reapers were likely to bypass those species for the time being. Conving the rest of the councilors of the Reaper threat was the objective.”

“So, it may be possible that this planet could already be on the star charts?” Shepard hopeful at the possibility, but Anderson’s expression showed he didn’t share this ideal.

“Not so fast, Commander, any military garrison or observation team would have been recalled on account of the war. Still, it is a real possibility there are leftover comm buoys and sensor satellites left in the system.”

“So if we can build a signal booster and antenna we may be able to broadcast a message from our omni-tools.”

“Exactly, it´s a desperate plan at best.” Anderson finished with a by rolling his shoulder, giving off an audible crack.

“Beating the odds is what we’re best at, besides it´s better than sitting around.” Shepard wasn’t one to brag, but it was the truth. Both of them could have been terminated in any of a million different ways, yet they continued to survive. “Though how we explain ‘me’ will be interesting. I don’t look forward to being put in a lab again.”

Having settled on a mission plan Murphy’s Law wasted no time inserting a monkey wrench into the gear box. It started with a low rumbling, growing more violent by the second, and by the time the Human and mare had located its source the sound of dozens of cloven hoof stomping the earth filled the like rolling thunder.

The quaking ground made standing difficult, but not impossible. Their sight was soon obscured by a large cloud of dust and sand rolling over them as large creatures of quadrupedal design quickly formed a tight circle around them. Rocks and boulders were easily knocked aside to make room for even more of the creatures.

“We’re surrounded.” Shepard whispered to her partner, the two of them positioned back to back.

“I am aware of the tactical situation, Commander.” Anderson drew his heavy pistol and promptly took aim. The condensed mass accelerator weapon promptly unfolded in his grip, finger on the trigger guard and ready to take down any attacker that looked ready to venture closer.

“Anderson, you were on Shanxi. What advice do you have on first-contact combat situations?”

Shanxi, the First-Contact war, as it had become known by, had been a brutal, if brief, skirmish that had started when a Turian task force had wiped out a human flotilla trying to study and unlock a newly discovered Mass Relay. Afterward the Turians invaded the colony of Shanxi until they were beaten into a full retreat by the Alliance Navy.

“You were the one who woke up the Prothean on Eden Prime, Commander. You tell me.”

“Wisdom before beauty.” Shepard’s body took on a noticeable aura of purple as her biotic powers were made ready.

Now completely surrounded the attackers came to a halt, snorts and grunps replaced crashing hoof falls. When the dust had cleared the Alliance officers were face to face with a sizable crowd of very large, and very angry, buffalo bulls. They were massive in size with bodies thicker than a human’s in width and the climax of their bell-curve backs reaching up to Anderson’s chin. Yet the head was positioned low to the ground, at equal height to a pony’s. Though they were capable of surprising speed for their size their legs seemed to stubby and inadequate to hold their bulk upright.

“If I remember correctly, the rules say to assume hostiles.” The buffaloes showed nothing but barely restrained aggression, snorting out wisps of steam. Digging furrows into the ground and ready to charge at the drop of a needle, yet they did not move closer.

“I say we’ve got that covered, now what?” A shimmering of purple static momentarily surrounded Shepard as she raised her biotic barrier, the invisible shield that protected her against both projectile and melee strikes.

“We go to war and kill each other until a third party forcefully brokers peace.” Anderson reluctantly offered.

“I’m all in favor for skipping right to the ‘making peace,’ part.”

“As am I, Commander.”

“Ah, so the heretics have been found,” a deep booming voice interrupted, full of righteous passion, “the ones who dared to desecrate our sacred stomping grounds.”

Neither of the soldiers could see who had spoken, but at the sound of the orator’s bass tones the platoon of bulls had begun to tighten the circle. One side would take a half step and, when one of the Alliance officers turned to face them, then the opposite side would follow with their own half step. The noose was tightening and any avenue of escape had been tied off. Their attention seemed to be solely directed upon Shepard, but several regarded Anderson with equal wrath.

“Stand down,” Anderson bellowed the command, “or you will force us to defend ourselves!” He placed his index finger against the pistol trigger and fired a warning shot into the ground. A flash of yellow jumped from the pistol’s muzzle to the sharp sound of a whip-crack, followed by a powerful thump as the dirt in front of one of the buffalos erupted into a haze, leaving behind a head sized pit.

Instantly the attitude of the herd changed. Some had grown red faced with ire, while others had become paralyzed, but all had understood the danger and had halted their advance. They did not retreat; instead it had become another waiting game. One which Anderson and Shepard knew they couldn’t play; eventually, whether from exposure, fatigue, or a lack sustenance, they would eventually be unable to resist. Their only choice was to fight even though they were outnumbered.

The boisterous bass voice from before returned, and this time it was grunting out orders in a language neither of the officers could understand. The circle of bulls parted to allow the passage of the largest buffalo yet. A headdress made of a blue band with an arrangement of white feathers, with brown tips, adorned his head. At his side was a female buffalo that was slightly shorter than Shepard and lankier. Despite that she seemed just as confident as her larger male counterpart had been.

“By the great spirits, the eye does deceive me,” the leader adopted an air of caution and curiosity, “Two impossibilities stand before me, an Earth-pony using magic alongside a being of the past, a...human.” The declaration sent the other buffalo into hushed whispers and mumbles.

“You know what I am?” Anderson felt unnerved by the change in attitude, but slowly lowered his weapon, if only slightly.

“Indeed, human, your kind is well known amongst my tribe,” The Chief buffalo jabbed a foreleg towards the heavens, “many stories retold down the centuries speak of your species and the impact they had on the history of my tribe. The ponies, as well, have knowledge of these stories that have been passed down to us from our ancestors, and their ancestors before them, and their ancestors before them...”

“Yes,’ the female calf interrupted with an eagerness that only the young could manage, “it´s a pleasure to meet you and we apologize for the harsh welcome,” she then gave a bow, “I’m Little Strong Heart and this is Chief Thunder Hooves, and we’d be honored to commune with you and share our hospitality and stories. But right now we are busy trying to track down a unicorn that caused a lot of damaged to our ancestor’s land.” Her attention hovered between the two officers, but mostly on Shepard.

“Oh, damn it!” Shepard cringed under the radar. She knew exactly what Strong Heart was talking about.

“If you’ve seen them then we would appreciate the help.” The girl gave a diplomatic smile, eyes alight with wonderment. She wasn’t the only one judging as many of her fellow tribe had joined in.

“We’re flattered,” Anderson holstered the pistol, “but we haven’t seen any unicorns out here.” The Admiral answered truthfully, returning his best poker face. It was met with the Chief slamming both forehooves into the ground in anger.

“Not a unicorn, but one who should not know of magic,” he scowled at Shepard, “all this night we have tracked the heretics responsible for this dishonor. Human, we know you met with this pony, your path have crossed. Reveal their identity or you will both be punished in their place and we do not wish harm to you Human.” He took a threatening step forward.

“There was never any unicorn involved.” Shepard denied, it was the truth and the only unicorn she’d seen was the good doctor, but wasn’t about to use him as a scapegoat.

“Do not take us for fools, little pony. Magic, you may yield, but no simple earther could match the power of a unicorn to cause so much devastation. Their tracks were seen meeting the human before entering Appleloosa. If you will not reveal them to us then the two of you will have to be judged in their steed.” The leader declared only for Shepard to kick sand at him.

“It was me.” Shepard blurted out, inserting herself directly between the Chief and the Admiral. Desires of self preservation overridden by the need to protect. “Yes, I did it. It was an accident, but still my fault.”

“Chief Thunder, I…” The admiral attempted to be a voice of reason.

“Shut up, Anderson!”

“So the little pony has teeth.” The Chief spat condescendingly, his disbelief clear. “Your desire to defend your own is honorable, but meaningless.”

“Shove it you walking shag carpet!” Now it was Shepard’s turn to step forward, “I may not be a unicorn, but I have a magic of my own!”

A stream of biotic energy supercharged her implants and forced her body to begin burning calories at a highly accelerated rate. The flow went up her spin and into the L5n amplifier at the base of her skull. The amp was the focus that made her many times more powerful than an unaided Human biotic. It was a short hop from the amp to her right hoof; thrusting the appendage forward a purple bolt jumped from an array of microscopic emitters with a whoosh of air. It impacted one of the bulls at the Chief’s side. The unfortunate creature was instantly encased in a lavender aura which was, in fact, a mass negating field. The bull began to float upwards into the air as gravity’s influence no longer applied to him. His companions watched helplessly as the trapped creature was helpless to resist, crying out in terror, but unharmed.

“What black sorcery is this?” The impossible reality before him caused the Chief to as if an explosion had detonated right beside him.

“By the Great Spirit, it was you!” Strong Heart wasn’t as affected, instead her smile only seemed to beam brighter.

“Now get back! You’ve seen what I am capable of and if you want a repeat performance I can oblige.” The buffalo looked to each other with uncertainty before they retreated several feet. None particularly enthused to join their still floating compatriot.

“Chief, I don’t think she’s bluffing,” the female calf stepped in, placing an arm over the Chief's neck, “We should all calm down and talk this over.” The lead bull’s eyes were wide with wrath, irises like pinpricks. He looked ready to attack regardless of the danger.

“Such crimes against nature and our tribe cannot go unpunished. The ancestors are not forgiving,” He spoke slowly, every word punctuated, “nor do they suffer those who corrupt the land with dark powers.”

Strong Heart bit her lip and slugged the bull across one of his horns. It seemed to snap him out of it and he faced the little calf with an emotional hurt clearly written across his face

“This isn’t Appleloosa a year ago, Chief. A fight now will hurt more than more than an apple pie did. Besides, if it was an accident, she might be willing to settle this peacefully” She said calmly, yet firmly.

“Then what would you suggest?” By this time gravity had reasserted itself over the floating bull and he fell back to earth like a sack of potatoes.

“Let me talk to them. Perhaps I’m sure we can reason with them without the need for violence. Besides,” she began to whisper, while looking at Anderson “this is a genuine chance to talk to a real precursor.” She backed away while the stubborn Chief traded looks between her and Shepard. Finally he gave a nod of acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry about all this,” the calf apologized as she walked up to Shepard, “please understand that this land is sacred to us buffalo.” She put on a brave face, but her legs were shaking slightly, thought it was difficult to tell if it was due to excitement or nervousness.

“I gathered as much.” The former-human said plainly.

“So...were you telling the truth?...About it all being an accident, I mean.”

“Yes,” Shepard looked away in shame, “I lost control and did something I shouldn’t have.” She hated admitting to failure.

“We would like to avoid any more misunderstandings,” Anderson keenly contributed, “we did not come here to cause problems between our people.”

“You do seem sincere and I know I’d…I mean, we’d like to avoid any violence. I’m sure that we can come to an agreement Mr...” Strong Heart offering her hoof.

“I’m Admiral David Anderson, Alliance Navy.” He kneeled, gently taking hold of her thin limb and shook it.

“And you are?” Strongheart repeated the gesture to Shepard.

“Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. N7 grade special forces.” The fire-mane pony gave a curt nod. She did not release her hold on her barrier, but it didn’t trigger as she accepted the hoof shake. At the mention of her name, excited conversations had begun to pass among the assembled buffalo, slowly gaining in volume. Both Strongheart and Thunderhooves were giving her guarded looks.

“Did you say Shepard?” Strong Heart seemed cautious and elated at the same time.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” Something in the young buffalo, the sudden growth of growing reverence in her attitude, that put the Commander on alert.

“As in, ‘The Shepard,’ Shepard?”

“My name is Shepard. I’m not, ‘The Shepard,’ of anything that I’m currently aware of.” she frowned at the mock title.

By now Chief Thunderhooves had walked up to the Commander and had begun to circle her to better examine the otherworldly pony before him.

“Hmm...” he intoned, “Earth Pony who is a master of unicorn magic, traveling with a human for a companion,” he examined her blank flank, much to Shepard’s clear irritation, “no pony mark; the a sign of an undecided future.”

“And the jewelry around your neck.” Strong Heart hoofed Shepard’s dog tags, the N7 logo shining in the moonlight. The invasion of her personal space irked the Commander, but she fought to remain calm under the impromptu examination.

“I think we found the vessel. Maybe it´s time you asked her the question.” Strong Heart civilly suggested.

“Yes, little heretic,” The Chief met Shepard’s eyes with his own, “answer this question correctly and your crimes shall be forgiven.”

“Alright,” she crossed her arms, “what is it?”

“What is ‘The Shepard’s’ full name?” He asked with all the seriousness of a hangman’s ax.

“That’s it? My name?”

“If you are ‘The Shepard’ then their name will be your name. Three simple words you may think, but a name that is known only by myself, Goddesses of the sun and moon. Those of us who have gazed upon the codex.” The Chief declared with finality.

Shepard was not sure of what to make of the odd request. What really made her curious was the mention of a codex that listed her specifically by name. Questions to what this codex was, where, and who had found it. One thing for certain was that it highly unlikely there was a public access terminal nearby. If there had been then finding her full name was a single extra-net search away.

Shepard opened her mouth to speak, but a cloven hoof silenced her as it was jabbed mere inches from her head.

“It would be unwise to speak such a name aloud. Words have meaning and names hold power.” Thunderhooves reprimanded. Shepard nodded and moved herself centimeters from the Chief’s ear, cupping her hooves over her mouth. Quietly she told him her name, her full name. The way the Chief reacted next, the Commander suspected biting his ear off would’ve produced a more subdued response.

Suddenly the Chief kneeled down and had prostrated himself before her. Strongheart and the rest of the tribe followed in their leader’s shadow.

“What are you doing.” Shepard backpedaled while raising an arm in defense as if she’d been attacked.

“Please forgive my hubris and my rude behavior from before,” The Chief apologized sincerely.

“Uhh, its alright, I mean, I understand what I did was…”

“You are the one the prophecy foretold of. You are the ‘The Shepard,’ whose arrival will herald the day of judgement as a goddess either salvation or destruction.”

“What are you talking about?” She felt the world spinning around her.

“Come my brothers. Let us set up camp here for the night. Tomorrow we shall tell of the good news to the rest of the tribe.” Thunder Hooves politely dismissed himself as the tribe began to pull out rolled up tee-pees, blankets, wood, and other supplies that had been inconspicuously hidden in their thick fur coats.

“What the hell just happened?” She turned to Anderson as the tribe dispersed to perform their tasks.

“I think you just got a field promotion to a god.” The Admiral replied just as dumbfounded as his XO.

“What?!” The red-head shouted again. All of her mental faculties crashed, forcing a hard restart of all systems lest her sanity be permanently damaged. Her body was rigid as a statue with an O-expression frozen on her lips. She stayed like that for a minute till her brain turned back on.

A part of her had always envisioned herself being promoted to Admiral one day. Maybe even the captain of an Everest-class dreadnaught, the biggest Starship class humanity had ever built, the SSV Elbrus being the target of her ambitions. After all she couldn’t stay on the Normandy forever and dreaded the day she would have to leave the magnificent little ship behind.

But a goddess? It was absurd, stupid, and unwanted; not worth it to even entertain such a ridiculous idea. Being a pony was crazy enough; a goddess: insane. Shepard found herself looking upwards.

“Kill me now.”

“Shepard? Are you alright?” Anderson watched the mare stiffen up and decided to give her a gentle shake.

“No!” her shriek drew the attention of the tribe. “A goddess? Me? Screw that noise!”

“Why not, Commander? I can’t think of anyone more deserving of it than you.” the Admiral gave her a congratulatory pat on the back. She just regarded him with a ‘are you serious’ face. “Think of it this way, now you can say you finally outrank me.”

“Anderson…,” she whinnied, “just…no.” but she couldn’t hold back a smile.

6. Broken (April 2021)

Chapter 6: Broken

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

After tempers had calmed down Shepard found she desired nothing more than a little alone time to reflect. Assuring Anderson that she would return shortly, she had wandered into the desert far enough to assure no one was within hearing distance. Causing a racket was not her intention, but with the way she was feeling, her pride forbade onlookers.

The morning sun was casting its comforting warmth down upon the land, in a little while it would reach its unholy intensity. But for the moment everything seemed right with the world, but it made the mare wonder when she had last watched a natural sunrise. Sure she had noticed sunrises come and go, but had she actually ‘seen’ one?

For some sudden and unexplained reason she’d a need to make up for this oversight. So, she sat down and watched.

And watched.

She had continued to watch until she felt something crawling down her face. Reaching up she realized that she’d been crying. She fought back against it, but once it’d started she couldn’t hold it back. The salty tears came unabated until both her cheeks were soaked and her hooves tried, and ultimately failed, to hold them in.

Another mood swing, she tried to reason, but the excuse felt hollow. Things were spiraling out of control faster than she could adapt. She only felt grateful that no one else was around to see her like this. The Buffalo had called her a goddess, and she wanted to believe there had been a mistake, a misunderstanding somewhere.

The Buffalo didn’t think so, Shepard had seen it in their eyes, they believed in her without question. They had faith in her, unquestionable, regardless of how hard she fought to dispel their optimistic notions.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“I don’t know what your game is and I don’t care. Never call me that, ever!” Shepard’s pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, sunlight reflecting off her pointed incisors for all to see. “The vanguard of destruction?! The last creature that called itself that, I took great pleasure in blowing them all the way straight to hell. I am not them, never compare me to them!” The very atmosphere had become electric as her biotic power reached saturation.

“I’m sorry,” Little Strong Heart seemed to melt into herself against Shepards wrath, “we meant no offense. Perhaps you’d prefer to be called princess like the others.”

“No! That’s worse. I am not ‘the Shepard’ that you’ve been look for, I’m just a soldier. I do not want to be a part of your superstitious backwater nonsense.

“The prophecy is clear,” The chief buffalo simply shook his head in disagreement. “the signs have come to pass. To deny your existence or address you below your station would be an unforgivable offense. You are ‘The Shepard’ and,” the Chief swept a hoof across his tribe, “we will guide you down the path of justice. However, there will be many who will try to sway you down a darker path.”

“Why? How do I know you’re not just making this up? How do you know I’m the one? Because of my name? I could have said it was ‘Baron von Matlock vas Qwib Qwib of the Rebel Fleet’ and you could make the same claim. Where is the proof?”

“Commander,” Anderson brought his full authority to his voice, “you need to settle down. I’m sure they have reason for it, and I am curious about how they know your name as well, but...”

“No, Anderson, don’t you get it! This is a all a huge mistake!” Her eyes swam wildly about; she was pale, and drenched in a cold sweat. Neither Strong Heart nor Thunder Hooves took back their words.

To everyone’s horror, Shepard began lifting her forelegs over her head. Biotic attacks were activated by a set of muscular movements and nerve impulses that were programmed into the amplifier implant’s minicomputer. Only the Admiral understood that this was a clear signal that Shepard was preparing a biotic charge. Yet, she hesitated and he understood why.

It was at that critical moment that Anderson sprung into action. Decades of military instinct kick in and he charged at Shepard just as the power began to coalesce around her. He grabbed her right foreleg, and used his weight to force her down and breaking her concentration. His attack had caught the Commander completely off guard and the Admiral had either misjudged his use of force, or the flexibility of Shepard’s new pony body.

The mare screamed in pain as her shoulder joint became dislocated with a brutal popping sound. Yet, the sickening noise did little to stop him as he shoved the pony into the ground, pinning her free foreleg with his other arm and resting his knee on the small of her back. Shepard’s muzzle hit the ground hard, giving her a bloody nose and leaving her winded. Through it all, she did not resist or fight back.

“Stand down, Commander! That’s an order!” The Admiral had declared moments before he’d tackled his friend. His hands had begun to tingle and grow numb the moment he had touched her. The interruption of her biotic field had sent waves of energy coiling around his arms, negating his body’s mass and fluctuating gravity.

The buffalos stared incredulous at the sight. The chief and his daughter were both terrified as they’d watched ‘The Shepard’ being thrown down and restrained. They felt compelled to intercede on her behalf, but stopped themselves as the flow of purple energy began to diminish. Even so Anderson did not relent on his grip.

“As an officer and a representative of the Alliance, your behavior is unacceptable.” Anderson was shouting his words by this point. He didn’t want to do this, but Shepard’s behavior was out of control, and it made him both angry and deeply concerned. “I cannot overlook your poor lack of judgment and breach of protocol that has endangered multiple innocents and endangered a first contact situation. As such, you’ve left me no choice in the matter…”

“Anderson…,” Shepard quietly begged, still struggling to escape his grasp despite the intense pain in her dislocated joint. A feeling of betrayal gripped her heart and yet she couldn’t help but empathize with her friend.

“…until further notice, the use of your biotics is suspended…”

“…please don’t do this!” She clamped her eyes shut, unable to observe the crowd that was privy to her public disgrace. She cried out again, twisting and kicking violently in an attempt to throw her attacker off her back. Ultimately her efforts were futile right from the start since she couldn’t bring herself to hurt her commanding officer, her teacher, her friend.

The only family she had left.

“…and are placed on disciplinary parole until further notice. Do you understand me, Commander?” The declaration from the Admiral struck like a hammer and for a moment Shepard was tempted to disobey. Resistance was the only option and she tried to throw her weight around, but her soul was not into it.

“Shepard…please let it go, the fight is over.” He gently pleaded with her, relaxing his hold and hoping that she would not take advantage of it. He had known the Commander for well over a decade; before and after she’d been enrolled in the N7 program. She had a penchant for destruction and survival in the face of overwhelming odds, but right now she was all over the place emotionally.

“Yes sir.” Her reply was so weak, so subdued, that Anderson feared that she’d finally been broken. He released his clutch on her and apprehensively took several steps back. Her ruined foreleg sat limply by her side she had draped her other good foreleg across her muzzle. It was an effort both to hide her shame and muffle the choking and strangled sounds of despair.

Several of the buffalo dared to approach, Strong Heart included, with concern on their faces.

“No, leave her alone,” Anderson cut them off with a wave of his hand, “just…give her some time.” He then gestured towards the Chief, indicating that he wished to speak to the lead buffalo in private.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“I’m sorry about this,” the elderly human nodded sincerely, “Shepard isn’t normally like this. I’ve worked with her for years and…well,” he shifted his weight uneasily, “we’ve been through hell and back in the past couple of months, but…I think it’s finally started to get to her.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Little Strong Heart felt tiny against the towering Human and, at the same time, felt reassurance in his presence.

While the Admiral had busied himself into assuring the tiny female buffalo that the threat had passed, Little Strong Heart found herself obsessing over the violent red-mane mare. Early in her childhood she’d enjoyed listening to her father revel in the tales of the past; of stories from beyond the stars about legendary heroes of the past and prophecies concerning the future. Her favorites had been about ‘The Shepard’ and of her travels to spread friendship and harmony amongst the stars She had dreamed about standing by the goddess’ side as both a respected follower and moral guide. Now that the legend had come to life, Strong Heart only found herself stuck with a growing sense of doubt and worry.

Heart had had so many ideas of what ‘The Shepard’ would be like, but it certainly wasn’t the broken pony who was crying in a place she believed no one was watching.

Strong Heart laid herself down in the sand and carefully placed a leg over the Commander’s withers. The mare didn’t react to the touch, but did lean in for comfort.

It was strange, Heart mused, giving comfort to one who, mere moments ago, had instilled so much primal level of fear. She examined the pony’s dislocated leg and decided she should do something about that.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Sheriff Silver Star had finally managed to reach heaven, and that had come at the service end of the Salt Block bar. He was happily sitting there at the counter, a fresh mug of ale in his hoof and a content smile on his lips. It had been a very stressful night since the sudden shockwave had passed through town. Thankfully there had been only minor damage to homes and businesses; some injuries but only a thin assortment of sprains and bruises with no fatalities.

Appleloosians were tough and molded to live through the tough times, it gave the Sheriff a proud feeling to serve and protect the town. Now all he wanted was to drink his worries into a foggy haze before passing out onto his bed. It was around half an hour from last call at the bar and he didn’t want to waste any more time. His deputy, Braeburn, was sitting beside him and already finished with his second mug.

As the two peacekeepers paid for their drinks, turning to leave, a wild stallion interrupted by loudly bursting through the door and shouting into the establishment.

“My office, burgled! Plundered! Purloined! Ha! Ha!...loins.” The newcomer said in a strained and raspy voice. The few bar patrons that were left turned to gawk at the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and detached neutrality. Yet the more indifferent the patrons made themselves, the more obvious it became that they were leaning in to eavesdrop. The Sheriff had nearly lost the battle to suppress an irritated groan, blaming lady luck for all the misfortunes this night, and shame that new fuel had added itself to the fire in the form of the Sheriff’s least favorite pony.

“One of these days, Snake Oil, I’ll expose you as the fraud you are.” The very attractive thought of expelling the good doctor by way of hog tying him to the underside of a locomotive gave the law pony a warm, ecstatic, feeling. It lasted until he was forced to turn to the doctor. He was met, muzzle to muzzle, directly into the doctor’s bloodshot eyes and maniacal grin.

“By tha apple’s core! What in tha buckin’ world happened to ya?” Silver’s deep voice was thickly laced with concern as he examined the large bruise that circled the Doctor’s throat. The wide smile on Snake’s face only served to cause the Sheriff a moment of pause to wonder if the Doctor had finally lost it.

“A most grievous tragedy has fallen upon me.” The Doctor rambled halfway between a shout and a shriek. “I was attacked, maimed, assaulted. Ha! Ha!…A…”

“Finish that word an ah’ll brain ya!” The Sheriff cut in brutally. “We don’t take kindly to such language round these parts.” He growled, then took a moment to clear his throat and calmly compose himself. “Why don’t ya’ll start from tha beginnin’.”

“Well, my good Sheriff, as it so happens I was out making a house call to a,” Snake Oil dramatically placed a foreleg against his brow, “terrified young mare in need of comforting and my ‘special medicine’ to calm her trembling soul.” He finished with an effeminate and dramatic gasp.

“Special medicine, huh?” Deputy Braeburn deadpanned as he allowed his displeasure to show.

“Why, yes,” from his vest pocket the good doctor extracted a sealed bottle, filled with a yellow-orange fluid, “Dr. Snake Oil’s Amazing, Fantastical, Splendiferous, Cure-All Brew. Patent Pending. Organically grown and comes in five different flavors. Why do you ask?”

A few faint whispers of tobacco smoke wafted past while Dr. Oil posed, bottle in hoof, for a camera shot that wouldn’t come. He seemed completely oblivious to the deepening tension between him and the two law ponies.

“Oh my,” Oil fanned himself, “dear sirs, do please get your minds out of the gopher hole as it was.”

“Nothin’ like the kettle callin’ the tea pot black.” Braeburn added mockingly. Silver Star had to rub his temples to fend off an incoming migraine.

“So ya’ll was sayin’?”

“Twas mere moments ago that I had returned to my office to get more brew. It was there that a felon, most foul, pounced upon me like a cobra from the darkness. Alas, I struggled with all my might, but got the better of me.” He pointed to his neck bruise.

“Ah see,” Braeburn had pulled out a notepad and pencil and was furiously taking notes, “do ya’ll have a description of your attacker?”

“Neigh, it was from behind, I did not perceive the fiends true nature, but I believe it was a unicorn.”

“Why do ya say that?”

“Magical residue, my dear Deputy, and lots of it. Me’thinks they wasted it trying to pick a door that was unlocked the whole time. Just goes to show that a pony willing to steal from good, honest working businesses are of the lowest breed. A glass of water would have more common sense that these lowlifes.”

“Very well,” the sheriff resigned himself to his fate and pulled his mug of cider closer, “let me finish my mug here then we’ll mosey on over and take a gander.” The Sheriff would not get the opportunity as the victimized stallion interrupted.

“We cannot waste precious seconds!” The Doctor seemed to be teetering on the edge of outright hysterics. “My little black bag was taken from me. It was a personal gift from the Princess herself; very expensive.”

“Just a moment, Sheriff.” Spoke the slick and refined voice of the bartender, Morton Saltworthy. He spared the Doctor a brief moment of sympathy before giving the counter a brief wipe down.

“Ah hate ta drink and run, Mort. Just put tonight’s round on my tab.” The law pony wasted no more time, before chugging the liquid content of his mug.

“Don’t worry about that, I know you’re good for it Sheriff. I think I might know who did it.” Morton never raised his voice. Still he’d grabbing the attention of the two police ponies and the Doctor.

“You do?” Silver Star smiled, “That’s great! So we can wrap this thing up faster than’a frog on a hot rock!”

“Hold on just a moment, I said I ‘think’ I might know who did it.”

“Explain.”

Morton quickly gave his audience a quick summary of the strange events from earlier in the night. He told them all about the strange mare that had entered his establishment. He made sure to cover everything about her appearance, the encounter with Old Salty, and the somewhat creepy conversation that had occurred afterwards.

“Wait, so ya’ll are sayin’ there was a full grown mare about, oh, late twenties-early thirties who was also a blank flank?” Braeburn made it obvious he didn’t believe a whit of Mort’s story.

“Preposterous, I’ve never heard of such tripe,” agreed the Doctor, “besides it was a unicorn that assaulted and insulted me, not an earth-pony. And if you seriously expect me to believe a simple blank flank mare took down the great and talented Doctor Snake Oil then you, my dear barkeep, must be sampling your own wares.” Morton, to his credit, took the criticism with a gentle stallion’s stride.

“Hey! Gold Rush brothers!” Morton called out to four stallions that were busy playing poker on one of the tables in the corner, too far to make eavesdropping on the conversation a possibility. “Was there an adult mare with a red mane, green eyes, and a blank flank in here about an hour ago?” The Gold Rush brothers all turned as one and spoke in unison.

“Yup.”

“Darn toot’in.”

“Indubitably.”

“Lemon curry?” The last one replied in a Bitan accent. Like synchronized clockwork the four poker pony’s necks rotated back their game.

“There, you see, I have witnesses. And don’t forget she might not be working alone.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Once the initial excitement had died down the buffalo had wasted no time in getting to work. In minutes they had erected enough teepees to shelter everyone and had dug a shallow pit in the center of the camp. The pit was filled with wood and encircled by a ring of stones for an eventual campfire, but the daylight hours were becoming so hot that a campfire was not necessary at this moment. Shepard was still unsure as to where they’d found the wood necessary to fuel the fire, but didn’t ask questions. She was more intent on rotating her relocated arm after Little Strong Heart had popped it back in.

Her tears had dried up awhile ago; now she just felt drained, which made the small bowl of food placed before her very enticing. The bowl contained a kind of mushy brown slop that interestingly smelled like cornmeal and butter. The native buffalos had resorted to simply shoving their snouts into their respective bowls and gobbling the nutrients down with delightful abandon; creating a symphony of slurping and lip smacking noises.

Shepard wasn’t impressed and thus she was challenged with a real problem of how to eat her portion without half of it ending up on her face. She may be a pony now, but that didn’t mean she had to act like a mindless animal. Meanwhile Admiral Anderson had the luxury of using two of his fingers together as an improvised spoon.

“You lucky son of a bitch.” She cursed, looking enviously at his individual digits, then glared solemnly at her flat keratin stumps. “Why am I stuck with these clumsy dirty things?”

As the buffalo ate, Chief Thunder had come along and seated himself between her and the Admiral. A move she was grateful since she wanted nothing to do with Anderson for the time being. So she simply sat there in silence while the others finished their meal. With very little to keep her idle mind busy she noticed that Strong Heart had begun to rub a salve of some kind between her hooves. Then the female buffalo began to massage Shepard’s aching right shoulder with the concoction. The commander wanted to object at the unwarranted contact, but it felt so good, and soothing, that she just accepted it for now. But she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Why?”

“Hmm?” Strong Heart looked up while she cleaned her hooves on a piece of fabric.

“Why are you helping me? You don’t even really know me.”

“Well…I…I…,” the buffalo cow stuttered, before taking a deep breath, and looking Shepard straight in the sockets, “all my life I’ve grown up listening in the stories that my father passed onto me. To be honest, sometimes I found it hard to believe in any of them. But,” she smiled, “you exist, and you did come from beyond the stars?” Heart asked with such genuine wonder that Shepard felt touched by it.

“Yeah, I do. Not sure how Anderson and I ended up here, but,” she shrugged, “it is better than the alternatives.”

“So there is truth to the stories, and why I do want to help you.” The buffalo concluded with the satisfaction of one confident in their own logic. The lanky calf dragged her own bowl of food towards her and stuck her muzzle in, but made the act of eating somehow elegant and graceful.

“So,” the booming voice of the Chief carried over the entire camp, “Shepard you wanted to know how I learned your name.”

7. Hope and Faith (April 2021)

Chapter 7: Hope and Faith

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Shepard would be the first to admit that she’d killed many times before. Among the listed dead were bloodthirsty mercenaries, ruthless criminals, slavers, terrorists, hostile aliens, and sick machines with a fetish for galactic annihilation. The reasoning had always relied upon her duty as a soldier and in the name of preserving galactic peace.

The ends did justify the means.

Yet, there were always consequences to her choices and, as strong as she was, there was no way to control whether the outcome was good or bad. It was with that reluctant expectation that she awaited the buffalo’s explanation as to her alleged godhood

“Like it or not, Commander, you’re a hero to these men and women.”

Fatigue and shame replaced neutrality as her facial muscles went lax. The spark of curiosity shined through as her ears noticeably perked. Chief Thunder had wanted to explain where he’d learned of her name and background, and she would be a fool to ignore it.

“Please explain how you know my name and about humans as well?”

“Yes, I can do that.” The Chieftain grasped in his hooves a calumet. Otherwise known as a peace pipe, given how closely the tribe’s culture reflected that of ancient Native Americans back on Terra. The pipe was a long and narrow tube made of hollowed out clay baked into a solid cylinder and decorated with a chain of beads, feathers, and a couple of precious stones. At the far end, away from the mouth piece, was a bowl shaped receptacle where tobacco was packed in and set aflame. The Chieftain took several small puffs of the burning plant. The release of smoke gradually grew bigger as he orally stoked the flames.

After a couple of puffs, the Chieftan passed the calumet off to Sheard.

She took an experimental sniff of the released incense and realized that it wasn’t tobacco or ganja being used, but something entirely different. It was still a strangely familiar smell that spoke to long forgotten memories of when she was a teenager growing up on the far flung colony of Mindoir, at the border of the Terminus Systems.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

It was over twenty-one years ago, when she was fifteen, on Mindoir, Shepard had caught one of the workers in hydroponics red handed while they’d been harvesting and sampling a small harvest of cannabis in one of the rear growth chambers. The stash had been cleverly hidden amongst the various floras and other foodstuff. While cannabis had been legalized on Earth for well over a century, growing it in the utilitarian limitations of a colony’s hydroponics facility was considered a serious felony.

Shepard distinctly remembered being close friends with that worker, but she could not remember a name apart from the initials B.P. It had turned out that B.P. was making a small fortune selling the secretive crop to Salarian merchants who had been making infrequent deliveries of goods and equipment to the colony. Who would have thought that an advanced alien race, with a natural lifespan of thirty-five to forty years, would be transfixed on a drug meant to elicit feeling of euphoria and contentment? Of course smoking cannabis made them hungrier than a swarm of locusts and caused the drug to be banned all throughout the Salarian Union.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“Of all the memories of home why did that one come up” Shepard shook the thought off, but memories were persistent things. She couldn’t help but think of Mordin, the Salarian scientist who had perished setting a terrible tragedy to right.

“The sun sails high, so I shall make the tale as pithy as I can.” Thunder Hooves released a large cloud of smoke, as it flowed from his lips it contorted into strange images of roaming buffalo, and other desert life.

The sight was mesmerizing.

Shepard took the calumet into her hooves and was met with a moment of hesitation, as an active Alliance soldier she could be faced with sever disciplinary action if caught smoking the offered pipe, even off duty. Alcohol and tobacco were only permitted during diplomatic talks where said imbuement was part of a cultural or religious exchange. Even then there were strict limits on what was considered acceptable behavior. She dared a peek towards Anderson, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion and nodded his permission.

Shepard balanced the calumet with both of her forelegs, treating it as if it was a loaded firearm. She was a little reviled to put her mouth on the recently used mouthpiece, at the same time she was also curious. She put the pipe into her mouth and inhaled; then forcibly blew out in a spasm of uncontrollable coughing.

“What,” cough, “is that,” cough, “stuff?” She inquired, yet already anticipating the answer as she passed the pipe to Little Strong Heart. The female calf, unabashedly, showcased her skills at smoking the calumet. Exhaling a cloud that was a work of art in motion, a brilliant tapestry of bison and ponies playing together with a human added in.

“The finest Indica this side of the Appleloosian Mountains,” the lithe bovine said with a smile as she continued the calumet down the line, “those familiar with its use can reflect a part of themselves in the images revealed in the smoke.”

“I’ll take your word,” cough, “for it. Anyway you were going to explain about humans and my name.” Shepard was pounding a hoof on her chest, breathing still ragged and uneven.

“Yes.” Thunderhooves reached into his fur coat and pulled out a rectangular black box, with rounded edges. It was about the size and depth of three moderately sized text books. On the top was a circle indentation with, two more, progressively smaller circles set inside. Shepard immediately recognized the device and, without thinking, reached out to grab it.

Well, I suppose I did just write your name in the stars.

She frantically examined the device for any kind of identifying feature. The outer shell was scratched and buffeted with innumerable pocket marks and deep cuts. It looked ancient; it felt heavy with the weight of generations pressing upon it. Sadly the device was no longer functional because the eezo power core had been removed.

“Where did you get this?” Shepard demanded while holding the capsule like aonflicting emotions fought against her.

“As ‘The Shepard’ I know the name Liara T’Soni holds meaning for you.” The Chief’s held only the most stoic of expressions. “That is her voice carried down through the ages, to warn up of the Reapers.”

Even in the most optimistic of circumstances victory over the Reapers was, a dream built on a fragile hope, not reality. The immanent extinction of Humanity and the allied galactic fleets had all but been assured. Liara had not been satisfied with that reality and had built multiple time capsules that she’d intended to be seeded across the galaxy. A way to carry information into the future, to warn the next generation of organic life of the threat the Reapers represented.

Each capsule contained a staggering amount of data crammed into it. Everything from a virtual AI with multiple translation programs, to ship and weapon schematics, technological marvels, Reaper schematics, blueprints for the Crucible super weapon, and topped off by the aggregate of the cultural and historical collection of the dozen space faring races that met the Reapers head on without fear or hesitation.

“Liara,” the name carried a lead weight in the mare’s throat, “Liara was here? Is she still alive?”

“It all happened so very long ago,” the Chief shook his head in sorrow, “many, many generations have come and gone since the prophet T’Soni descended from the heavens. If she still lives, I do not know, her message foretold of your return to once again stand against the enemy that threatened all life. You know of whom I speak.”

“The Reapers…no,” Shepard felt her blood run cold as a core of dread seized her, “no, no, the Crucible was a success! The Reapers were defeated! The Crucible had to have worked, it had to. What else could have sent Anderson and me to this world?” She was adamant in her claims, yet that seed of doubt strengthened. The Chief took a moment time to adjust his headdress as he weighed his next words carefully.

“Many years ago, my great, great, great,…my distant ancestors abandoned,” he swept a hoof across the desert around him, “these ancient stomping grounds to live amongst the ponies as equals. We shared the pursuit of magic and science, to lift our selves above nature with thrones dedicated to our own ambitions. The goddess of the sun…,”

“Princess Celestia.” Little Strong Heart eagerly inserted.

“…was most benevolent in welcoming our kin into her kingdom. I hear that there are still great works of art and architecture made by buffalo hooves standing in the Royal City…,”

“Canterlot.” Strong Heart, again, amended.

“…to this day.”

“Canterlot? Don’t you mean Camelot?” Anderson inquired, subconsciously scratching his stubble.

“Sure, they may sound alike,” the lanky buffalo laughed, “but Camelot is the capital city of the camels in Humpbackistan, right next to Saddle Arabia.” Her explanation failed to address why the two Alliance soldiers smiled.

“It’s only a model.” Anderson started.

“It is a silly place.” Shepard finished, leaving the Chief and his daughter confused.

“You were warned about the Reapers, and yet you eventually returned to old traditions. Why?” Anderson inquired as he took another bite of the mush that was called food before noticing that Shepard had yet to even touch hers.

“Commander, you’re not eating?”

“I ate earlier, remember?” She waved with casual panache, recalling the yucca she’d nibbled before. Her stomach chose that moment to speak otherwise, letting out an audible groan. She austerely grinned and ignored the pain, not realizing she was flashing her slicing incisors and pointed canines for all to witness. Several of the bison instinctively retreated from the sight of the pony’s unnatural meat cutting teeth. Whether through ignorance or willpower, the Chieftain and his daughter refused to allow any reaction.

“It was the only way to avoid destruction. The prophet warned us of the avarice of dividing ourselves from the earth. Thus the ancestors were compelled to return to our stomping grounds and the olden traditions.” Thunder Hooves finished.

“I see. So they were convinced that the Reapers could be placated into seeing your race as a non-threat by regressing to a more prim…to a less advanced state and avoiding the development of advanced technology.” The human concluded just as he was given his turn at the calumet.

“It is as you say.” The chief nodded in conformation.

“Alright, maybe I can believe you learned about me and humans from this,” Shepard angrily tapped on the black box for emphasis, “but where did you find it and furthermore why has the power core been removed? You can’t access the database without it.”

“Patience Shepard, I am coming upon that,” Thunder Hooves set the mare’s hoof aside, “It was Chief Igneous Red that opened our eyes to the truth. He was a learned shaman who loved the earth and wished to study all of its secrets.”

“In other words, he was a geologist.” His daughter translated yet again, this time earning an annoyed scowl from him.

“One day he and several others of similar teachings…”

“The story mentioned a pony archeologist who had dreamed of finding rare and powerful artifacts.” Strong Heart vibrated like a fervent schoolgirl eager to prove herself, “and, and, and, the stories say there was a griffin with them as well. A biologist, I believe is the modern Equestrian word for it.”

“Ah, yes…those…” Thunderhooves intended to say more but surrendered the spotlight to his daughter since she was bursting with excitement.

“Three buffalo set out one day to cross the badlands. They wanted to explore the undiscovered territories that lay beyond the Equestrian border. Few would have been brave enough to travel a harsh wasteland where a terrible war had been fought against Discord and his magic” Heart’s initial enthusiasm became tempered at the mention of the god of chaos.

“They discovered the ruins of a long dead civilization,” the bison leader interjected, “located deep within the heart of the wastes. It was within those ruins that they found the codex.” He gently placed the time capsule in the dirt for all to see. “A wellspring of knowledge left behind by the prophet Liara.”

“It changed everything,” Strong Heart continued, “the codex revealed the existence of life beyond our plane of existence. Of the humans, their designs, their technology, and that they had to flee when their enemy came for them.”

“I can imagine that such a discovery must have caused quite a stir.” Anderson passed the calumet along.

“That it did. Tensions rose between the ponies, griffins, dragons, minotaurs, and our own kin over who had the dominant claim to the codex’s secrets. The end result was a terrible conflict that lasted many years. The sun goddess, in her infinite wisdom, decided that the world was not yet ready for such knowledge. She gave Chief Igneous Red one part of the codex and the other half to the Griffins, before ordering the human ruins to be sealed off and placed under the watchful eye of Equestria’s royal guard.” The large bison slumped as if under a terrible weight.

“Igneous Red’s piece of the codex is our gift to you, Shepard. Keep it close, keep it safe.” The bison hooved over what at first looked like half of a square. Upon receiving it she realized that the device was more like half of a laptop, and all she needed was the lower half. Lacking pockets she passed the device over to Anderson, who attached it to his tool belt.

“Sadly, we can do little else to help you, but I can show you the path ahead.”

“What path would that be?” Shepard felt more than a little worried. If the disparate races of this planet already knew, even a fraction, of the details concerning the Reapers then why were the species at odds with each other and locking the knowledge away? Hadn’t they gotten the hint that they needed a united front to stand a fighting chance against the machines?

“Go to the Royal City and speak with the Sun Goddess.” The Chief continued despite Shepard’s hesitance, “she will want to know of your return. It will be your first step, to convince her and the griffins to relinquish their holds the other pieces of the codex you seek. You must show the world that the ancient enemy of a million eyes may return.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Conversation around the campfire had turned to more relaxing subjects. Most of it was the Alliance soldiers listening intently as the buffalo regaling them with simple stories of everyday life on the prairie, traveling across the stomping grounds and occasionally finding landmarks of odd or surreal nature. Meanwhile Anderson demonstrated his sharpshooter skills using his pistol to shoot several rocks posed as targets. Shepard also was also granted an opportunity to show off her biotic skills in a more controlled fashion, to the cheers and hollers of the buffalo. Laughs and smiles were shared until the sun passed it apex, afterwards the buffalo shared their secret to foraging in the wild for food, water, and other basic necessities.

Shepard and Anderson followed closely; learning all they could till the sun had begun to disappear past the mountains.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

All of the teepees at the camp were big enough to comfortably accommodate two buffalo apiece. Anderson and Shepard had found themselves both sharing the same tent, which turned out to be double the size and set aside for important guests. Their inquiries revealed that they had been granted VIP access to the Chief’s own personal teepee. Naturally, they both had tried to turn down the favor, but surrendered once the Chief had made it clear that it would be a great dishonor of they refused.

The flap of the teepee was similar to hand stitched canvas, and was secured by several cloth laces threaded through holes in the material. The doctor’s stolen bag was thrown into a corner and the bed sheets were cleaned and neatly folded. Exhausted the soldier and vanguard laid the sheets out and settled for a quick night’s rest, accompanied by the sounds of crickets, snoring bison, and the odd nocturnal bird letting out is mating call. The two of them shared a silent moment that stretched into a single minute, and then passed ten, yet neither would yield to the other, until the mare in the room couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” Shepard finally opened up, though she spoke with no emotion. Her inner thoughts tortured by so many questions; clutching her dog tags to her chest.

“Granted.” Anderson replied with equal detachment.

“I’ve been thinking about something, Chief Thunder mentioned it before, but it has me worried. He said ‘many, many generations,’ and could be…,” she hesitated, taking a moment to steel her resolve. “could it mean we’ve not only been transported to a new world, but also into the future? It makes sense since Liara seeded those time capsules recently, but the Chief talks about them like it was hundreds of years ago. Would this mean the Alliance is…what about my crew? Edi, Joker, Grunt? What about Garrus? We had plans…we were going to be…”

“Commander,” Anderson quietly broke her out of her downward spiral; sitting up as he did so, “as compelling as their story is, it’s still filled with unverifiable accounts and hearsay. I don’t doubt their sincerity, but all we have to go on is a mix of religious fanaticism, folklore, and very little evidence. Let’s not come to any conclusions until we learn more.”

“The evidence seems pretty damning to me.” She ran a hoof over the broken codex. Her ears were limp and her mane seemed it had lost some of its fiery color.

“Shepard,” Anderson pulled a hand through his graying hair, “maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. Either way, we’re here and we must press on, if not for us, then for their sake.” The human could not stop the humorous chuckle, “besides I wonder what Garrus would have to say about being married to a living deity?” That got a smile out of Shepard.

“He’d call it bullshit, pun intended.”

“Then what do you recommend we do, Commander?”

“That…we should keep our eyes and ears open. If the Illusive man is out there we need to be ready and get ready to meet royalty.”

“Agreed, so we’ll make our way towards Canterlot; see if we can talk to the princesses and get access to the colony ruins. Find out which planet we’re on and how far we are from Alliance space.”

“Possibly find the salvage we need to build that transmitter. Weapons and armor too if we’re lucky.”

“For nowI think we should get some rest. We have a long road ahead of us.” The Admiral lowered himself back down, back still facing his subordinate. The previous days fatigue and mental strain was quickly catching up and his eyes grew heavy; slowly drifting off into quiet slumber.

“Anderson…” Her quiet murmur of his name deprived him of silent slumber, just for a moment.

“Something else on your mind, Commander?”

“Thanks…,” she released a tense breath, “for stopping me.”

“You’re one hell of a soldier and…well, I would’ve hated to lose you like that. So since we’re going to be stuck here for some time, it’d be best if we both take it easy. I think we’ve both earned deserved vacation.” He turned to give her a reassuring pat on the back.

“Is that an order?” She asked curiously.

“Do I need to make it one?”

“No,…no you don’t. It is about time I started cashing in all those vacation hours, anyway.” The color in her mane was returning as her speech grew stronger, “I had been hoping for someplace warm and tropical, but roughing it in the middle of freezing desert will do in a pinch. How about you?”

“Anywhere that has booze and lots of it.” He replied.

“I did find a nice little bar in town,” She shuffled back a touch, enjoying the sensation of shared body heat, “I’m sure you could, as ‘living legend,’ convince them to a couple of free rounds.”

“This legend,” he emphasized the word with strident sarcasm, “would much rather collect his retirement check and ride quietly into the sunset.”

“Hey,” she feigned offense, “just because I’m a pony now doesn’t mean I’m about to carry your ass into said sunset.”

“Perish the thought. I prefer my steed to be a majestic stallion, and not a sassy loudmouth.”

“Heh.” The Commander snickered as her tail eagerly flipped back and forth. It made her look so adorable that it was easy to forget that there was a trained killer and biotic powerhouse underneath it all.

“So much for a first-contact situation.” He coughed.

“We fubar-ed that one up the ass.” She nonchalantly agreed.

“I hate politics.” Anderson took a moment to scratch his chin stubble.

“Your not alone this time,” she pointed a hoof at herself, “does the phrase, ‘the entire galaxy united,’ remind you of anyone?”

“No offense, but your idea of diplomacy frequently involves punching people and shouting at them. Not the best way to spend a vacation.”

“That’s the beauty of it.” Her grin turned wicked. “Give me a loaded gun and a room full of politicians and just watch me unwind.” The two of them continued to trade shots back and forth until blissful sleep eventually claimed them.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

The Citadel council was in session. The central chambers was one of the few places where real pants were allowed to grow naturally. The design was laid out to better resemble a casual Sunday trip to the park for picnics and sandwiches. In reality it was home to numerous and frequent groups who had nothing better to do than argue all day about political matters and machinations.

There was a loud thump as the chamber doors blew apart as mare Shepard marched in with a pistol in one hoof and her omni-blade over the other.

EXPLOSIONS!

In the back a man named Conner let out a fan girlish squeal of delight, before fainting into a pile of instant noodles; with sauce. Without question or regard Shepard charged into the room with a reckless abandon spouting as the assembled politicians trembled in fear.

EVEN MORE EXPLOSIONS!!

“This cold war just got hot.”

“It’s tool time.”

DOUBLE SUN POOWWWEEEEEEEERRRR!!!

“Show me yours tough guy; bet mine’s bigger.”

“Knife to see you.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“F$%*” Shepard swore as she bolted straight up out of her dream. Apart from her outburst, nothing else was disturbed or out of place. “That’s the last time I smoke before bed.”

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“Father? Can I talk with you?” Little Strong Heart was feeling frightened and uncertain as she entered the patriarch’s tent. The makeshift hovel was largely unadorned and filled with indica smoke as the Chief continued to use the calumet. A small wooden box sat discarded at his hooves, it had once been used to safeguard the codex, but now it laid empty, apart from a slip of folded brown paper.

“Ah, my daughter, I see you can’t sleep as well. What concerns you?” He spoke in a much softer pitch than before, more fatherly and gentle this time.

“Father…I have a something to tell you.” She sat down, staring him straight in the sockets.

“It has to do with our ‘guests,’ does it not?” He dumped the spent ashes out of the pipe bowl and stomped them out.

“Yes, I…” she stopped and meditated for a short time, controlling her breathing with a slow gentle rhythm. She had practiced what she had wanted to say in her head, but her throat chose to tighten in protest. No member of the tribe had done what she was about to do since Chief Red Igneous had delivered the buffalo back to their ancestor’s traditions.

“I went to Shepard’s tent…I wanted to talk to her, but I just listened.”

“I am disappointed that you would commit such a deed. It is disrespectful and dangerous."

“I know, I know it’s wrong to eavesdrop, but I heard her and Anderson say some things…and I’ve come to a decision.” Thunderhooves waited patiently while his daughter built up her courage. Then, with the pounce of a lion, she made her declaration clear.

“When Shepard leaves for Canterlot, I’m going with her.”

“My…my daughter!” He spluttered, like he’d been sideswiped by a locomotive’s cattle catcher. “You don’t mean to…”

“I do father, I’m leaving the tribe.” she said with a steel conviction.

8. Without a QT-Mark (April 2021)

Chapter 8: Without a QT-Mark.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Commander Shepard tried not to dream. As a pony, her first foray into her subconscious was bizarre and crazy as hell. Temporary, as it was, it had also been a welcomed respite. She’d never told anyone, even her friends, of the terrible nightmares that had been growing more and more frequent as the Reaper war progressed. With each failure and setback, every death of a close friend, the terror had grown in intensity.

At some point the nightmares had become unbearable and had begun to invade her waking hours. The severe paranoia, the constant jumping at shadows, had reached a level that even her own crew had noticed it. All of her fears and failures repeatedly played out before her was torture. The voices of the deceased calling out to her for help; pleading, taunting, and sometimes laughing. They asked her for salvation, for a hope that had long since passed for them and for her.

At the worst of times Shepard forced herself to stay awake for as long as possible. Two, three, sometime as long as five days she operated on nothing but mess hall coffee and stimulant injections; something she’d managed to sneak out of Med-bay under Doctor Chakwas’ nose. Supplementing with work, exercise, games, and alcohol to distract her; she’d almost eliminated the dreams entirely.

But the consequences were almost as horrible, the bout of insomnia might have lasted far longer, even to the point she’d nearly collapsed several times. However, the good Doctor Chakwas had grown wise as to who was responsible for the disappearing inventory of stimulants from the Normandy.

The heated argument that followed was inevitable once Chakwas cornered Shepard in the Commander’s own private quarters. The face-off was short lived and ended amicably when Shepard finally broke down and confessed. The two had talked for hours, trading stories about the various horrors and doubts that they both had experienced during their times of service. In the end the Doctor had deemed that Shepard was unfit for duty and prescribed a mandatory two weeks rest and some tranquilizers to help her relax. Shepard was had been grateful and made a partial recovery. At least, until the disaster at Thessia, the Asari home world.

The birthplace of the most technologically advanced and biotic gifted race in the whole galaxy. It had been her mission to find the final piece to the Catalyst. In the end Shepard had failed to secure the information she needed and millions of Asari paid the price for it as their home burned. Billions more would soon follow as the war had become unwinnable, in any conventional sense.

Upon awakening from explosions and double suns, she felt marginally better than before. Her wounded shoulder still throbbed in time with her heartbeat, but it was more of a dull ache now.

Shepard had hoped that the previous night would dissolve into her awakening onboard the Normandy. Her quarters would be just as before; the lazy greeting of bubbling fish wandering their aquarium accompanied by the chime of an incoming message on her terminal. Alas it was not to be, she found herself waking to a fur covered, and still very naked, pony body.

She felt embarrassment lighting her cheeks having realized that she was on her back, arms and legs spread for all to see. Quickly she bunkered down and tucked her tail in to hide herself away from the prying world. Anderson was still fast asleep and so she spared an exhale of relief knowing that no one was around to catch her reluctant peep show.

It did nothing to help her already plummeting mood. While she was not one to waste time moping about, she’d raised herself up onto all four hooves. Stretching her aching limbs, her efforts were rewarded with several satisfactory pops and cracks from her joints and vertebrae.

Next to her, Anderson let out a low snore showing that he was still asleep. Shepard didn’t want to disturb him and quietly lifted the tent’s front flap to step out into the cool morning air. Taking a deep breath she savored the clean fresh air. Not a single buffalo was awake yet, and it almost felt as if she was the only living thing left in the world. A feeling she hated, but she could cope with for a little while.

Since when the tribe awoke it was going to be ‘Goddess,’ this and ‘grand destiny,’ that.

She quietly laughed at that thought. If destiny had a face then she planned to smack him so hard with a biotic shockwave powerful enough to make the ‘Big Bang’ weep with jealousy.

Slowly, Shepard had begun to walk away from the camp; the further she got the faster her steps became. There was no aim or goal in doing so, she just, for a moment, needed to be elsewhere. During the trek she had time to formulate several contingency plans concerning the observation and assimilation of…

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Shepard blinked, before releasing a throaty gasp, finding herself alone while the camp had retreated to a barely visible blemish on the horizon. Double checking her surroundings, she realized that she’d forgotten why she was out here in the first place.

Under normal circumstances she would begin the day with exercises; normally heading down to the Normandy’s cool and spacious shuttle bay to fulfill such needs. Out in this limitless expanse she found that she preferred the confined interior of the Normandy. Shepard desired to take advantage of the exercise equipment that was provided there; such as a pull-up bar, weights, and even a treadmill.

After exercising she would follow it up with a quick shower, basic hygiene, and then breakfast. Then the day would truly start, with paperwork. If the Alliance had actually still used paper she would’ve drowned in it years ago. Thankfully, everything was digital and easily filed over a terminal or omni-tool.

That didn’t even take into account the tons of other little duties required of her as Captain of a military vessel and an N7 operative. Very few people on the outside were cognizant on just how boring and tedious it could all be. It was a major reason as to why she would frequently wander around the Normandy and chat up the crew and her friends.

Seeing as how she was currently lacking a ship, crew; Shepard couldn’t help but grumble at the unfairness of it all, but at least she didn’t have to worry about the daily reports here.

“Thank someone for small favors.” Shepard tossed her worry aside, flicking a couple strands of hair from her eyes, and gave a final backwards glance at the buffalo camp.

Not everything concerning the use of four legs was easy, especially sit-ups which was its own brand of a futile nightmare, proving again that this flexible pony body was inferior to her Terran counterpart.

“This will be a problem if I ever see combat.” she ruminated. Reflection on how she’d handled herself back at the bar when she’d beaten the stuffing out of that lecherous old stallion, or when she’d subdued Doctor Snake. Sure enough her reservations proved substantial when she tried to test how quickly she could turn to the right and left, to face threats from her flanks. Attempt after attempt proved that while a human could spin like a top, she now had to get used to turning like a tank.

Working through the body mass and leg coordination, she found a level of control that would, hopefully, allow her to dominate the battlefield once more. A half-hour of experimentation was rewarded with multiple scrapes and bruises, but eventually had led to a somewhat surprising development. She could ‘jump’ with her hind legs, turning in the direction she wanted and while using one of her hindlegs as a pivot. It was a clumsy and inefficient method, but worked well enough for what she needed. Still not as quick and effortless as it had been when she was human.

Next she made an attempt at tumbling and rolling. She could not recall how many times she’d managed to avoid a bullet, or rocket, using this technique. Compared to quick turning, tumbling was a lot easier and she was able to grasp its pony equivalent in a few minutes as she only had to tuck her legs in when she rolled.

The real stumbling point was when it came to diving backwards and forwards. She discovered that going backwards required her to push off with her forelegs, while raising her back legs in a bucking motion, and using the momentum to tumble on her side and ending with all four hooves firmly planted again. The first couple of experimental leaps had left her with a sore jaw and a bloody muzzle after tripping and tangling herself on her own tail.

“This thing is coming right off as soon as I get a pair of scissors.’ She grimly promised herself, while biting down on the mass of hair.

The subject of her tail was equal parts frustration and curiosity, in a sense she could feel it like it was a fifth appendage; painless too as she attempted to pull it off with her teeth. She hated the hairy extension as it was continuously getting caught under hoof, in cactuses, or tangled up in bushes if she wasn't paying attention.

Minutes later Shepard was laid out on her back, spitting and fishing out strands of hair from her mouth. The infernal tail, as if having a mind of its own, was restless and almost seemed to mock her. After a few minutes she was aware of another presence nearby. Tilting her head back she spotted Little Strong Heart gazing down at her. The young bison’s face seemed confused as she examined Shepard’s collection of recent self-sustained injuries.

“Strong Heart.” Shepard said almost casually despite her breathless panting.

“Shepard,” the tribal returned with a weak smile, “are you alright?”

“Yup, just getting some exercise.” She flexed before cleaning the sweat from her brow.

“Um, that’s good, staying in shape is good, very healthy.” Strong Heart rambled, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact and she looked away. She could feel her blood pressure skyrocketing just by being in the presence of 'The Shepard.'

“Ugh,” Shepard groaned as she rolled onto her stomach and then stood up. “Is there a particular reason you're here? I don’t think you’d come all this way just for a friendly chat.” She brushed some of the dirt and tumbleweeds from her coat and mane. "Or maybe you think you can convince me of all this religious ‘Shepard’ talk. Well my advice is," Shepard leaned in with a scowl, "don't waste my time."

“I know you don’t believe, and maybe that’s for the best, but I know you are the Shepard, and you are destined to do great and terrible things.” She traced a hoof through the dirt wondering just who she was trying to convince more. “But you’re right," Heart met the Commander's scowl with one of her own, "there is another reason I’m here. I have something important to tell you.”

“And that would be...”

“I-I…want to come with you,” Strongheart felt her heart jump up her throat, “let me accompany you, not just to A-Appleloosa, but I want to go with you all the way to Canterlot to meet the twin Goddesses. I already talked to my fa...the Chief and he supports my decision.”

“No,” Shepard immediately brushed her off and started to walk away, “no chance in hell.”

“You don't get it Shepard!” The buffalo shouted her rebuttal, desperation twisted her face. Yet, her outburst was only met with silence. “I really, really, do want to help you. And I have my reasons, maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Alright,” Shepard closed the distance between the two of them, to the point they were nearly muzzle to muzzle. “I'm listening. But!,” She raised a hoof for emphasis, “I do not accept anyone into my crew unless they have something useful to contribute and can hold their own in combat. “ Shepard spoke with no kindness in her voice. “So what can you offer me?”

“You need me!” Strong Heart slapped down Shepard’s accusing hoof, though her aggressive attitude quickly faded when she remembered just who she was speaking to. “I k-know you have high standards for both ponies and h-h-humans. I don't know if I’ll be able to meet your expectations, but I will give it my all. Because I-I want to help you and to be your friend too.” She explained very softly, while trembling like a leaf.

“Face it Shepard, you need a guide.” Heart suddenly felt a renewed sense of confidence. “You need someone who knows Equestria and I’ve learned a lot from ponies over the past years. I can advise you, like an advisor, advising about things like…advice?” Strong Heart just wanted to slap herself across the face for that pathetic last line; acting like a young girl confessing to her first crush.

“Also, I may have a few bits that I can spare to help your journey to Canterlot.” She added in as an embarrassed afterthought. To her relief the Commander did not appear to be offended.

“I thought your kind had no use for modern currency and comforts.” Shepard said, seemingly unconvinced.

“Normally no, but,” Heart felt her enthusiasm quickly dying, “I sometimes find lost bits or do odd jobs around town so I can treat my special somepony to dinner.”

“Special somepony?” the mare asked with an undertone of nostalgia.

“Yes, um, I think that’s what ponies call their loved ones.” She shifted her weight from side to side, “Do you have anyone like that?”

“I did,…once.” Shepard stared off into the distance, at something she could only see. After a prolonged silence, “Fine, welcome aboard.”

“Really?” Hope and relief washed over Strongheart.

“Yup; really, really. Your knowledge could prove useful in the long run. Still, I don’t completely approve of getting you involved, but I will give you a chance to prove me otherwise, but on three conditions.”

“Name them.” Heart was filled with renewed conviction.

“One, any talk about this Goddess prophecy business is right out,” Shepard punctuated with a stomp of her hoof, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sure, I can do that”

“Two, under no circumstance will you reveal that I am a biotic to anyone; a magic user without a horn, whatever. Subtlety is now the new rule of this game.”

"I agree, I think there would be a lot of angry unicorns if they knew even one Earth-pony surpassed them in magical power. And the last condition is?"

“I expect you to follow orders. I tell you to retreat, you do it without question.” Shepard stared daggers as the two of them locked eyes. “Furthermore, Anderson is my commanding officer and his orders supersede mine. You will show him the proper respect. Do you understand?!”

“Yes, Ma-am!” Heart followed up with a respectful salute.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

The pony and buffalo duo had quickly retreated to the camp. They only stayed long enough to inform Admiral Anderson and Chief Thunder that they intended to head back into Appleloosa. The trek was mostly unremarkable except that there had been times that the small wildlife would sometimes come up to Heart and try to pull her away. Their chattering and squeaking were more of a plea, while giving Shepard a wide berth, even throwing stones at her from time to time. At first the Commander was intrigued by this weird behavior, but it had quickly become irritating.

If there had been anything amiss, Heart made no indication of it. She appeared to simply be content with her present company; although she had made several attempts at conversation starters. All her efforts started with her opening her mouth before aborting with a loud crack of teeth and a disappointed frown.

“Shepard, you look troubled.” The young tribal eventually summoned the courage as they entered the pony town.

“Hm,” The pony’s expression didn’t move much, “I look troubled? I’m not the one who has been gaping like a fish for the past hour.” Heart only felt her cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

“I wanted to thank you for coming with me. I-I wanted to invite you to Braeburn’s family reunion party. It’s this afternoon.” Heart pleaded.

“Is he your special sompony?” the mare tripped over the last word, but Heart didn’t pay it any mind.

“Yes he is,” She stopped and could not help but hid her face, “I wanted to introduce you to him and his family.”

“Why?.” Shepard asked simply.

“Well,” Heart dragged a hoof in the dirt, “I know my father told you to speak with the princesses in Canterlot. Before that I wanted you to know that Applejack and Rainbow Dash will be at the party.” Heart added in with baited breath.

“I don’t recognize those names,” Shepard sounded impatient, “Are they people I should care about?”

“Applejack and Rainbow Dash are both Elements of Harmony. They’re very important ponies in Equestria and know the Goddesses of the sun and moon personally.” The buffalo pleaded before an idea struck her. “I’m sure if you made friends with them, the Princesses would be more open to helping you.”

“So I should appeal to their better nature and play the political angle,” Shepard shook her head, “I hate politics and politicians.”

“That…t-that’s not correct,” Heart stuttered, lost trying to find a reasonable way to explain.
“They are like you.”

“Oh?” Shepard’s ears perked, her interest fully captured.

“They obey Princess Celestia in the same way you follow Anderson.” The buffalo jabbed a hoof into the Commander’s chest. “I know you’ll like them, though a word of warning,”

“Yes?”

“Try to avoid the one called Pinkie Pie.” Heart whispered, as if she was afraid of being overheard. “I know she means well, but she creeps me out.”

“So, Rainbow, Applejack and Pinkie are three of six people who have strong ties with the monarchy?”

“Yes, though the one you really should meet is Twilight Sparkle, she became a princess a few weeks ago.”

Shepard nearly failed to suppress a groan of exasperation. Less than two days into a new world and she was already planning on meeting the heads of state. Meanwhile she had already committed several crimes, and was already considered a force beyond the princesses’ means. That left her in a stuck position, and she didn’t want to outright refuse Little Strong Heart’s offer since the girl had been nothing but open and honest so far.

“I’ll think about it.” Shepard managed, despite her misgivings. Her companion’s face fell, resigned to the reality that this was the best she could have expected.

A loud whistle struck through the air, one that they both had recognized belonging to a train engine, the clacking of wheels and squeal of brakes proved that the locomotive had just pulled into the Appleloosian station.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

It was a short jaunt to the unloading by of the train depot. Strong Heart had departed to await the arrival of her friends, leaving Shepard to explore the area on her own. Thankfully, she had spotted a large map hanging between the ticket booths. The map was hand drawn, but showed a master’s attention to detail, highlighting an intricate system of railroad lines and geological features.

The former human studied the map for a few moments. Canterlot was displayed proudly in the middle of the map; the route was simple enough to follow. Starting from Appleloosa, she would only have to pass through Dodge Junction and temporary stop in Ponyville.

Her studious observations were unexpectedly interrupted by a shrill, high-pitched, gasp erupting from behind her. Like the crack of a whip, Shepard turned with the expectation of facing horrible monstrosities. What she hadn’t expected was a young Earth-pony filly. The little foal’s ambient yellow fur and red mane framed the tears swimming in her young eyes. The red ribbon tied into her mane seemed to droop, mirroring her despairing mood.

“Ya…ya’ll don’t have a c-cutie mark?” Her southern accent sunk under the weight of a question that held the fate of the entire world upon it. The context was lost upon Shepard, as she had no idea what a qt-mark was, or why it was so important. There was no time to consider the situation as heard insulting remarks from a crowd that despised her for the crime of making a child cry.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shepard desperately looked towards Strongheart for assistance, but her companion was just too far away to be of any assistance.

“Applebloom!” An accented twang called out from the crowd. “Where tha heck did ya go girl?”

The foal didn’t notice as she’d fallen in to crying her eyes out. Shepard, however, spotted a pair of ponies, orange and red, coming her way and accompanied by a cyan Pegasus too.

9. False Accusations (April 2021)

Chapter 9: False Accusations

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Metal squealed against metal as the Equestion locomotive came to a screeching halt at the Appleloosa train station. The engineer pulled hard on the brakes while releasing the steam buildup in the engine, his skill assured that none of the passengers felt more than a minor discomfort at the deceleration. Once the train had halted to a complete stop, he pulled on an overhead cord and allowed the sharp whistle of the horn to announce their arrival.

The long line of cars then opened up and allowed ponies of all ages and colors to disembark, luggage in hoof or on their back, eager to enjoy their time in Appleloosa. Most of the patrons were earth-ponies, but there were also few unicorns and pegasi mixed in. Most were there on vacation or to visit family, their excited chatter made the day all the more bright.

Three members of the Apple family were happily counted amongst them, along with their loyal pegasus friend, Rainbow Dash. After the train staff had checked to make sure that there were no outstanding medical issued, they then opened the cabin doors and ushered everypony out onto the station proper.

Out of all of them, Applebloom was the most eager to leave the cramped metal box behind; though her head was hanging low, black bags visible under her eyes, and with tear stained cheeks. She had no energy to be bothered to watch where she was trotting, she simply didn’t care. She was content to simply let her hoof steps carry her along, slow and sluggish as they were.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

She’d been asleep when the storm hit; jolted awake with only a few precious seconds before the storm had swept across the train in a tsunami that had nearly toppled the train car outright. Thankfully, nopony had been critically injured even as reality had seemed to fall apart around them. Her family would say that she was too young to understand, but Applebloom was aware of just how close death had passed them by. She’d seen it, a monster big beyond imagining, cold and unfeeling, screaming into the night.

None of that mattered to Big Mac as he was not a stallion big on words. Silently he cradled his little sister close to his chest. His massive fore hoof, powerful and heavy, was surprisingly gentle as he stroked her back. At the same time her big sister whispered calm assurances that everything was going to be alright; that the threat had passed and they were all safe. Nearly an hour had passed before Applebloom was finally lulled back into an uneasy rest.

But the nightmare was still there; tall, dark, it seemed to be searching for something.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“Now ya behave and wait a tick here, Applebloom. We’ll just be done quicker than two shakes of a rabbit’s tail.” Applejack gave a reassuring rub to the filly’s mane. Reassurances aside, one minute quickly turned into two, then five, and then an agonizing ten as the filly struggled to keep her eyes open.

Applebloom leaned back onto the bench, completely bored, waited for her siblings to claim their luggage from the baggage car. She knew they had a lot to unload; most of it was ingredients and utensils for backing foods that Sweet Apple Acres was famous for. Pies, fritters, fizzy cider, apple uglies, brown betties and so much more; even including half a dozen barrels of Applejack’s world renowned hard liqueur; the adult-only variety. Though, at this point, transporting baked goods and fermented liquids was not foremost on her young mind. She only wanted to get to her uncle’s ranch and squeeze in a quick nap and shower before the reunion was to start.

Looking up and down the station platform, she felt a sudden unease. There were several market stands nearby that sold a variety of food and merchandise; hats, dresses, mini train models, snow globes, candies, caramel treats, peanut treats, caramel-peanut treats, more candies, and countless other cheap wares that had been made to lighten a tourist’s money purse.

That was not what bothered her.

The temperature, possibly, she had been waiting in the shade all this time yet, her coat was completely soaked in sweat. Applebloom pulled out a brush to clean herself as staying hygienic was important, especially now as she was about to meet her cousin, Bab Seed, for the first time and she wanted to make a good first impression.

Her thoughts drifted to her other friends; Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo and she wished they had been able to make it to the reunion as well. But the two of them had been grounded due to an unfortunate accident involving a cement mixer, fireworks, several cartons of salt-water taffy, and a rubber chicken. The aftermath made tree sap, by comparison, feel like a fine silk dress.

Applebloom couldn’t help but giggle, despite her brush having caught several knots in her mane. Only after defeating the knots, and affixing her mane bow to its proper place, did she happen to spot a most curious pony approaching the ticket booth; given that it was not a pony at all.

“Ah can’t believe it. A real live buffalo,” she spoke to herself in a mixture of curiosity and awe, “it might even be Little Strong Heart, ah heard so much about her.” Despite her sister’s insistence that she shouldn’t wander off, the filly bolted to greet the newcomer. “Ah can’t wait ta tell everypony back in Ponyville.” She had never met or seen a buffalo before, the only stories she knew of them were the ones Applejack had shared.

The station was incredibly crowded with ponies and employees wandering about as they attended their business. For such a small town, Applebloom had not expected it to be so unbelievably packed. Thanks to her small size, it was easy to maneuver her way under the various bodies. It made her feel super stealthy like those ninjas that Scootaloo always gushed over.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

The buffalo had company; a peach colored mare, with a fire red mane, was there and the two of them were discussing, something, while scrutinizing a map of the Equestrian railways. The filly dismissed it as boring adult stuff, choosing to sit nearby and let the two of them finish. She didn’t want to interrupt, after all, Applejack had taught her that it was very rude to do so.

Waiting, patiently, she had found herself looking over the mare’s mane. It was cut slightly shorter than what was generally considered, ‘in style,’ and looked badly in need of some T.L.C. Or maybe it was the mare herself, there just seemed to be something strange about her.

Applebloom had completely forgotten about the buffalo by this point. Intrigue was mixed with a little bit of fear and, for all the apples in Equestira, she didn’t know why she was feeling this way as the mare was not all that different from any other pony. That’s how it appeared at first till the filly, much to her shocked horror, realized the mare was undeniably a blank flank.

Applebloom hadn’t realized that she’d let loose a loud gasp of hysteria that drew everypony’s attention to her, including the buffalo and the strange mare.

“Ya…ya’ll don’t have a c-cutie mark?” Applebloom squeaked as tears began to form in the corner of her eyes. Maybe it was the stress from a lack of sleep, but the discovery that an adult could have a blank flank had broken something inside of her. Everypony always told her the same thing, that all ponies eventually discovered their Cutie-Mark, the very thing that defined their future. Maybe some ponies never did find their Cutie-Mark.

“No, ma big sister would neva lie!” With this horrific revelation, Applebloom finally felt the previous night’s stress and anxiety come crashing down. She ground with uncontrolled misery flooding from her eyes as her brain tried to comprehend a cold and unfeeling reality.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“What are you talking about.” Shepard felt an unaccounted guilt, confused as to why this yellow filly was breaking down in front of her with tears accompanied by shuddering hiccups and sniffles. She hated this, not because she was somehow the reason the child was in such distress, but that seeing such a sight, no matter the species, brought back terrible memories of her own.

“Hey, it’s going to be ok.” She said gently, carefully approaching the filly.

Bending over Shepard reached out with a hoof, but withdrew a moment before contact; suddenly self-conscious as to how other around her would perceive that scene. Surely the child’s parents were nearby and might interpret her gesture as something more sinister.

“I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” She sat down. “We’ll just wait here for your parents to find you. I’m sure they are around here.”

“I…,” the filly started to wipe the tears, “I’m sorry Miss, ya’ll didn’t do anythin’. I…I just got really scared when I saw…” the filly tried to say more, but stopped when an adult mare, with unkempt orange fur, and a stetson atop her head, approached the two of them.

The newcomer’s ears were perked and turned to the sniffling filly, yet, her face had a large frown that was reserved for the Commander only. Green eyes, both worried and challenging locked with Shepard’s red. So strong were these emotions from the Mare that Shepard decided to back up a few steps, while trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on here?” the mare put a hoof around the filly, dragging her back. “Applebloom what have Ah told ya about talkin’ to strangers.” The mare’s expression melting as she delicately brushed at the filly’s tears. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I was just trottin’ around when…when,” Applebloom didn’t look the mare in the eyes, “Tell me tha’ truth, Applejack. Am I gonna be a blank flank forever?”

“Applebloom, we’ve talked about this before. You know ya’ll will find her special talent eventually.”

As the sisters talked, Shepard felt a need to make herself scarce and there was no need for her presence any longer. As she turned to walk away she suddenly found herself blocked off by a large red wall of hair. Looking up she saw, built like a stone pillar, the largest stallion she’d seen; at least as far as the stallions on this world were concerned. He stood a clear two heads taller than her with a mane of sun-burnt yellow and a demeanor that was both calm and intimidating.

“Enope,” he plainly said.

“Aren’t you a big one.” Shepard quipped, hiding her concern with a smirk as she could his massive muscles moving beneath his coat as he moved to block her way. His size and toned physique was daunting, his movements seemed lazy but purposeful. Shepard was doubtful she could take him on in a straight up melee fight, but she had more than a few biotic tricks up her (nonexistent) sleeve. Which, she had to remind herself, were currently forbidden by order of the Admiral and their sudden unpredictable condition. With so many witnesses around, however, using biotics would have proven to be unwise regardless, especially if the reactions from the buffalo were any indication.

“What in tha sour apples did ya say to mah little sister?” Orange demanded, flanking Shepard from the other side before poking the Commander in the chest. “And who the plum high-heck do ya’ll think ya are? Picking on a littl’ filly like that?”

“Applejack,” The filly interrupted grabbing the larger mare by the hind leg, only to get shushed.

“Not now Applebloom, the big ponies are talking.”

When it came to fight or flight, Shepard rarely ever listened to the latter. The situation, however, was beginning to draw a large crowd of onlookers. Fighting would mean taking on the red giant and a pissed off sibling trtubg protecting her sister. She already had a negative reputation on this alien world, and she didn’t feel like adding anymore to it.

“Hey, whoa, let’s just relax for a moment,” she raised a fore-hoof to show she was unarmed, “I would never verbally accost a child. It’s unprofessional and beneath me.”

“Yeah, likely story,” With a harsh downward blast of air, a cyan colored pegasus, with a six-toned rainbow mane, came to a flying halt inches from the ground. The action threw up a cloud of dirt and sand causing Shepard to shield her face before finding the Pegasus planting her muzzle firmly against hers.

“You’re nothing but a big bully. Try picking on somepony your own size or do you think that teasing little fillies for their blank flanks makes feel like all that and a bag of hay chips?” The pegasus’ scratchy tomboyish voice was aggressive with an eagerness to throw down, while she scrutinized Shepard as one would an insect.

“Easy there, sugarcube” Applack pulled her friend back, “I want to hear what tha mare has to say.”

“Hmph, fine.” The pegaus leaned back with fore hooves crossed. Shepard already knew she didn’t like the Pegasus, but she grit her teeth, now was a time for careful diplomacy.

“If what ya’ll say is true, then why was my little sister crying her bow off in front of you?”

“Applejack was it?” the orange mare gave a nod, “I don’t know exactly what happened. Your sister said something to me about missing a QT-mark and then got really upset. I didn’t say anything cruel to her. I respect that you’re trying to protect her, but this has all been a big misunderstanding.”

“How can I know ya’ll are tellin’ the truth?”

“Just as her, I think that’s what she’s trying to tell you.”

“It’s true,” the filly jumped in one cue, grateful that somepony was going to listen. “It’s true, when I saw that she didn’t have cutie-mark, I got upset. I didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”

“Oh, sugarcube, I understand how much findin’ your special talent means to you.” She gave her sister an affectionate nuzzle, “But yer’ eye’s must’ve been playin’ trick on you or this mare’s cutie-mark is hard to see against her coat, so I’m sure ya’ll just missed it.”

“But,” she pointed a hoof at the Commander, “she doesn’t.”

“Now don’t be rude, Applebloom. I know you must be shaky after last night, but every pony finds their mark.”

“Oh pony feathers!” the Pegasus suddenly cried, “She doesn’t, she actually doesn’t have a mark.”

“Enope” Big Red agreed.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Applejack had to do a double take as the four of them took in the impossibility that was the mysterious mare, who looked very uncomfortable under their combined scrutiny. What Applebloom had said was true, the evidence was standing there right in front of them.

“How is this possible?” AJ circled the impossible mare “All ponies get their cutie-marks when they’re foals.” She reached out as if touching would make it any less ridiculous. A growl from the mare gave AJ second thoughts, instead she tapped her chin in thought. “Tha only time a pony is missing a cutie-mark is if they’ve been drained of their magic.”

“Doesn’t that leave them really weak and exhausted?” Rainbow added.

“Eyup.” AJ nodded, coming back around to face the mare “But ya look pretty spry ta me.”

“Yeah, you some kinda freak!” Rainbow leveraging an accusatory hoof, to which, the mare gave a scowl of offense exposing her predatory teeth. For AJ this set off all sorts of alarm bells. A pony unaffected by the lack of a mark, sharp teeth, and, the closer she looked, the mare had eyes that seemed to look through you. She had never seen a pony like this before, but was this even a pony to begin with.

“You are right Rainbow, not just a freak; a changlin’.” AJ concluded, the word seemed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth. The mare seemed confused. Meanwhile the gathered crowd began to mutter and gossip, while taking a few hesitant steps back. Rainbow Dash, on the other hoof looked mostly convinced, but still a little doubtful.

“Think Rainbow, back to Cadance’s weddin’ a few months ago. Not all of them changlin’s could make perfect copies of us. Some of them had tha wrong cutie-marks, or,” she gave the mystery mare a heated stare, “no cutie-mark at all.”

“I don’t know what a changeling is and I certain am not one,” the mare ran a hoof down her face and barrel, “this is just how I am, and I’ve never had a need for one of these QT-marks you’re obsessed with.” The mare’s stood proud at her words, not a hint of fear or doubt escaping her.

“Oh yeah!” Rainbow’s was positive now, “that’s just what a changeling would say.”

“I agree with Rainbow, every ponies destiny relies on it, only an apple-hatin’ changeling would not care about a cutie-mark” AJ took a step closer to the suspected changeling. “Ya’ll want us to believe you are not a changelin’, but I’ll prove ya are.”

“OK,” the mare sat down, back straight, “how?”

“Well, uhh…” AJ pondered the question, changelings usually copied their identity from a real pony and then ensnared the original someplace where nopony else could find them. Unfortunately they had no idea where the original pony would be; something to grill out of this changeling once they exposed her true nature. “how do we prove she is a changeling?” She asked Dash, who also was mulling over the problem and only shrugged.

“Got any ideas Big Mac?”

“Enope.”

“Well, it seems we are at an impasse.” The mare concluded, “So if you’ll excuse me, I should go.” She turned and stared to walk away.”

“I got it,” Dash proclaimed bringing one forehoof down on the other. “We knock her out.”

“What?.” Both AJ and the mare said in unison.

“When we were kicking flank and taking names, dishing out the the pain to the bugs, the changelings always lost their disguise after a good buck to the face.” Rainbow puffed out her tuft like she was being presented an award from the princess herself.

“Try it and I’ll break more than your face.” The mare slammed her hooves together, before rearing back defensively.

“Enope” Big Mac’s voice rumbled in warning, giving the mare a neutral, glance.

For several moments no pony made a move, the tension in the was air growing by the second. AJ and Dash whispered to each to a plan to take on the mysterious mare. One good hit would be all it would take to break the changeling's disguise. Off to the side an enterprising stallion had started a betting pool on if the mare in question was, or wasn’t a changeling, and who would be the pony to deliver the deciding blow between AJ, Dash, and Big Mac.

Big Mac just stood in place, passively observing the situation, yet ready to jump in if needed.

Having come to a decision Applejack and Rainbow gave each other a hoof-bump before moving in the attack.

“Oh, Shepard there you are. I see you found Applejack and Rainbow Dash.” A familiar voice interrupted, “I must’ve gotten the wrong train car.”

4. Waking Nightmare (April 2021)

Chapter Four: Waking Nightmare

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

The pharmacy’s rear entrance was unsecured; she pushed against the door opening it just enough to test for unwanted sounds. The door hinges did not make a peep and that gave her confidence enough to push it open a little more, and a bit more still, until the gap was adequate enough to allow Commander Shepard to take a tentative peek inside. The moon provided a pitiful amount of light through the windows and even with her eyes adjusted to night it was difficult to make out exact details of the interior.

Her ears swiveled side to side listening for any indication of habitation. It was an odd sensation to feel her ears capable of pivoting without requiring her to move her head, but for the moment she just went along with it. The creaking of wood as the building settled under it weight was the only thing audible for the moment, but still it sparked her nerves. She doubted that there was anything to fear in the dark, but experience said that she couldn’t lower her guard even for a moment. As even the most innocuous of places could be where monsters could be hiding. The kind of nightmarish creatures that loved to wait in the dark corners of the cosmos, planning and waiting for a chance to claim another victim.

Walls damp with organic growth, slick with slime and blood.

A wasteland choked by thousands of bodies waiting processing; their ooze slurping through mazes of pipes and pumps for an alien design.

A newborn Reaper dreadnaught, carved into human form, arising from hell to gazing upon her with cold unfeeling eyes.

Suddenly there was a sensation of a hammer striking against her chest. The whole of her ribcage felt gripped by a vice, crushing under an invisible force. Her life force had begun to beat rapidly in her veins, ready to punch its way out. She stumbled, placing a hoof on her chest while her breathing was accelerating, becoming fast and shallow. The former human fell away from the door and violently slammed herself against the wall, sliding down to rest in a crouched bipedal position.

“Not again, not here!” It was hard to think. Scattered thoughts followed by waves of panic slamming against her mental walls. It had started with nightmares, the ones that plagued her daily after the Reaper occupation of Earth. The slaughter of millions of people and none more terrible than a little boy; he had died right in front of her, it was her fault that his blood was on her hands; one more added upon the countless others she’d failed to save.

“They were all my responsibility. I should’ve been ready, should’ve prepared more.” The sound of grinding enamel from clenched teeth followed as countless emotions danced across her face; from manically happy to crushing depression. The frigid air chilled her to the bone and breathing was getting harder and faster.

“If only they had listened to me. I could have convinced them sooner! My fault!” Then the shaking started as every muscle in her body trembled, almost painfully so. Her body would not respond to her will, every thought was stuck on trying to remain calm as her very physical form was rejecting her. It was shortly after the nightmares that the trembling had started. Mildly at first and nothing she couldn’t handle. Nothing she was incapable of keeping hidden from the crew.

The biotic energy flowing through her implants was starting to spiral out of control, like water leaking from a broken vase. She couldn’t keep it contained, it was growing more and more unstable and she, unable to exercise her will, started to bleed biotic power causing her to glow a faint color of purple. It had never gotten this bad before until that time in the desert.

It had occurred when she first awoke, right after discharging the energy of the Crucible. She had been gasping and writhing in pain, in this new body. Shock gave way to disbelief and soon fell to despair, cries of anger, suffering then as much then as she was now. The same pressure and loss of balance, all control over her power evaporating and it had ended in the release of a massively powerful biotic blast. A circle of devastation was all around her, she had cooked the nearby plants and animals, vaporizing them into chunks of blackened carbon.

The tragedy was that the animals had seen her distress somehow knew she was in pain, somehow she could see it in their eyes, and they had approached her. Whether out of curiosity or concern she would never know. For their reward was a shallow open grave, a thin crater of ruin etched into the ground forever.

Shepard slapped herself hard across the jaw, snapping her back into reality.

She remained immobilized in that spot for a long time just breathing; in and out. Only when she was confident that the situation has settled did she open her eyes. She couldn’t remember when she had fallen against the wall over a dozen steps away from the pharmacy door. She sighed in relief when she examined her undamaged surroundings. The lack of nearby activity showed she had remained quiet during her episode.

“Where did that come from?” she flexed her aching jaw, suspecting that she was going to have a bruise. Steeling herself, she rose onto shaky hooves, breathing in deep measured rhythms, “I need a vacation.”

She clutched her dog tags tightly until her limbs were steady once again. The metal nametags reminded her of who she was; an Alliance soldier, an elite N7 rank operative, and Captain of the Normandy. It was her duty to stay strong, to be a leader, and overcome every obstacle placed before her. Anderson was still out there waiting, depending on her. What would he think if he saw her now? She was better than this. The Reapers were gone; this world would never have to suffer under their oppressive shadow.

There was safety here, yet she found herself reaching to her sides and back trying to find a weapon, something, anything, familiar that spoke safety and reassurance, but there was nothing for her. All in all, the ordeal only lasted maybe fifteen seconds.

“...herd...Commander Shepard!” The mare snapped to her earbud and the awareness that Anderson had been calling her name repeatedly since the waking nightmare had begun.

“I read you, Anderson.” She answered as normally as she could.

“Shepard, are you ok?” Anderson’s voice was filled with a tone of alarm and concern clearly evident. Shepard could only dread at what she could have possibly said or moaned across the open channel.

“I’m fine, Anderson” Shepard tried to sound as placating as possible. “I’m alright. Just...bad memories.” she wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Commander, it didn’t sound like you were fine earlier. Sounded like an ambush and you were panicked. You have never been very good at hiding your state of mind from me, so you are going to tell me what is going on.”

“It’s nothing,” she waved a dismissive hoof, and then more calmly, “I’m ok, alright. We can talk about it later, now is not the time.” A few seconds of silence followed before the dark human spoke with reluctant resignation.

“Roger, but I’m holding you to that. We will discuss this later, just be careful.”

“I will.” Shepard replied with more confidence than she felt.

Now recovered, the former human had returned to pushing the door further ajar, all the way open to expose the source of her unknown fear. Cursing the lack of a proper flashlight, she entered the pharmacy with a confident stride; the moonlight casting a long shadow behind her. Being a woman of action she took a quick reconnaissance of the room before jumping into a shadowed corner to hide her presence.

She saw that the pharmacy was cramped by all sorts of various items of furniture and decor. It looked as if the place doubled as a furniture store as well At the front of the store, to the left, there were around seven chairs arranged into a makeshift waiting room, with several columns of stacked chairs nearby. Next to that was an alcove where a flight of stairs led to the second floor. On the right were four, wood framed, spartan beds fully kitted, along with an overhead lamp, similar to ones used in dentist’s offices. A neighboring room was also filled with beds as well as piles of neatly folded sheets, pillows cases, and boxes of unknown contents.

The set beds and lamps were placed against the wall and arranged in a straight line that lead up to the centerpiece of the room which was a L-shaped service counter built out of polished wood. It smelled slightly of disinfectant and was connected to a series of shelves and glass cabinets that headed all the way from the counter around the remaining perimeter of the room and stopped just short of the, ‘waiting room,’ and alcove of stairs.

Limbs bent and belly hair tickled by her proximity to the floor, for maximum cover, Shepard was slowly and carefully crawling from her hiding place. The sound of her hooves scraping on the wooden floor seemed unusually loud. Sneaking like this leant itself to very strange feeling that up until now she hadn’t really given much consideration. Despite the newness of her body, locomotion had come to her almost as if she’d living this way her whole life.

Walking as a pony felt to be the human equivalent of crawling on her hands and knees, but crawling, as she was now, felt like she was shimmying on her elbows and knees. At least that is how her human mind translated it. A couple of theories, albeit brief, had taken their turns at attempting to explain this weird sensation as she pressed herself behind the L-shaped counter. All the drawers and sliding cabinets were easy to open since the handles were shaped to fit a hoof.

The ideal theories Shepard considered had included DNA and gene-alteration coupled with an extensive mental rewrite, or a mind-control chip, that was responsible. Such an idea suggested an external force was behind this. Possibly a scientific experiment of the sort Cerberus used to perform or it was a side effect of direct exposure to the dark energies of the Crucible. Perhaps her ability to adapt quickly was a side effect of having extensive cybernetic and biotic implants that augmented her natural abilities and allowed the manipulation of the mass effect fields, her biotics, around her body. It was all just one more mystery to add to the pile.

While such thoughts tumbled and turned, she was rummaging through all manner of oddities stuffed inside the cabinets. Cleaning chemicals and disinfectants, nothing unusual about that except the containers had a much more twenty-first century feel to them. With bright colors and star explosions boasting such feats as, ‘Cleans all known surfaces,’ ‘Kills 79.9 plus 20 percent of all germs,’ and the pièce de résistance, ‘The bestselling brand in all Equestria.’

“Equestria, huh? Another horse pun no doubt.” Shepard wondered if that was the name of the state or of the nation. Given its bold declaration her gut said it was the latter, but she couldn’t be certain. Turning from the counter cubbies to the wall mounted shelves she soon hit pay dirt and it was in the form of fresh pillows and blankets, rolled up and secured with string. She pulled two of each onto the floor next to her, claiming her prizes.

Perhaps the greatest trophy came in the form of a black medical bag, the kind doctor’s used in the old days when they still made private house calls. The bag was heavy and rattled with all sorts of instruments contained within. She eagerly removed it from storage and added it to her stash. All she had to do was open it and check its contents.

Now, Shepard had accomplished many incredible feats of skill in her time. Including tracking down serial killers, undercover operations, personally defeating three Reapers, and even surviving death twice. Yet the bag might proved to be her most significant challenge to date as all her attempts to do something as simple as opening the damned thing proved fruitless.

“Damn this wretched little bastard! So much for being acclimatized to this goddamn body” If Shepard wasn’t so worried about her unstable biotics she swore she would have tossed the satchel into the air and obliterated it with a Nova pulse. There were no clasps, locks, or zippers; the top looked like it should simply fold open, but some mysterious force kept it closed.

“This is why hands will always be superior to the hoof.” Not wanting to waste more time than she already had, Shepard chanced it by channeling a minor amout of biotic energy to her fore hooves, just enough to alter the gravitation properties of the bag with a minor Pull ability. A faint purple glow encompassed both the satchel and her hooves

Click.

Shepard gave herself mental pat on the back as the black bag was opened. Self congratulation became realization that her biotics had been the missing key required; which was an extraordinary find. Evidence that there were pony biotics in this world; it wouldn’t be the first time a species was gifted with a natural ability to use such a power. The Asari came to mind as each individual was naturally born with the gift.

The pony-human explored the contents of the bag, carefully setting each item aside as she did so and making sure to cause as little sound as possible. Inside were many familiar items; stethoscope, tweezers, scissors, three rolls of gauze bandages, surgical tape, otoscope, magnifying glass, and a miniature flashlight. Those she expected to find, next came the oddities; horseshoes, nails, a hammer, pliers, a nail file (or was that hoof file?), and...

“Is this a duckbill speculum?” Out of shock she had tried opening and closing it several times just to be sure, before feeling fully content to slide that particular piece far, far, far away from her. Sure the military required yearly physical examinations which naturally included scrutiny of such ‘private places,’ but at least scanner technology had progressed to the point that they didn’t need to actually touch anyone with such a primitive tool.

The tweezers, scissors, gauze, surgical tape, and flashlight were reintroduced to the black satchel. Satisfied with her catch, the mare was about to turn away when a gleam of moonlight off metal caught her attention. Right behind where the bag had been was a smooth metal flask; of the type popular for carrying shots of brandy or whiskey. Shepard reached out and took the object into her hooves.

Unscrewing the top she saw that the flask was filled to the brim with liquid and a quick sniff confirmed its contents. It smelled like really good whiskey, which was to say it hinted strongly of paint thinner and felt like a flame had traveled up her nose and down her sinuses. She let loose a loud sneeze, which taunted her with it clamorous echo in the silent room. On impulse she felt tempted to sample the beverage, but resisted. This was hardly the time or place for such indulgences. It had a better use as an improvised antiseptic, for which it was invaluable. She placed the flask in the black bag.

Finished with the drawers, she turned to face the arrangement of cabinets filled with medicine jars full with liquid, powder, crushed herb, or pill medications. Reading the various labels, she failed to recognize most of the names as she was not a pharmacist or a doctor by any wild stretch of the imagination. She was able to recognize a few bottles labeled, ‘aspirin,’ and another, laughably, marked ‘snake oil.’

She angled to make a reach for the aspirin, but was interrupted when the jingle of keys was followed by the rattling of a lock being undone. Sure enough there was the faint click of a door being opened at the store front, followed by the heavy set clopping of an interloper’s hooves upon the floor. Like a klaxon alarm had sounded, Shepard dropped everything she was doing and sequestered herself in the corner of the L-shaped counter, balancing herself on crouched hind legs.

“Augh, what a most miserable night.” an annoyed, yet suave male voice spoke; a deep breath followed by the door shutting. Shepard willed herself motionless and placed an arm over her mouth to muffle her breathing. Quickly coming to the realization that her only course of escape was either take the newcomer down without exposing herself or abort her mission and head back the way she came. A way which she left very much exposed as the rear entrance was still open.

“Sloppy,” she chastised, “you’re a damned idiot.” She briefly question when was the last time she had seen a manual door like the one she’d used. If the stallion in the room went to close it, he’d see her for sure. She wanted to beat her own skull in at such a careless slipup. She should’ve worried about opening that stupid bag only after gathering up everything and relocating to a safer location. if sensing her turmoil, the male began to make his way in her direction.

“Maybe he won’t notice.”

“Sweet merciful Celestia, did I forget to close the back door again.” the stallion moaned followed by a sigh.

“Damn it!”

He meandered past the counter and was headed right for the back door. As he passed, Shepard risked a peek to see who she was dealing with. The white coat and black mane were both well groomed and slicked back with some kind of hair product, also hinting of a strong scent from some unknown cologne. He was wearing a black vest and a similarly colored top hat, fitting the very description of a fallacious salesman. All he needed was a monocle to complete the set. Still, it was the horn jutting from his forehead that was the most unique quality of the male pony.

“A unicorn?” Shepard recoiled at the recognition. Here was a creature of Earth’s mythological past and something that should not have existed. She had no time to gawk at the childhood fantasy come to life, but rather a tactical assessment. The stallion didn’t appear to be armed apart from the horn, which didn’t look particularly sharp but it could still be used like a spear. He was also bigger than her in height and mass, though his muscle tone was imperceptible. His back was to her, which meant a rear attack put her in danger of a kick to the face. The only unknown was if the unicorn was capable of magic, like in the tales of old. Though she didn’t believe in magic, she recognized that if the black bag took a biotic charge to open then it was prudent to assume that the unicorn owner was the biotic of the species.

As fascinating as it was, to discover folk lore coming to life, Shepard remained steady in her spot. The stallion, she assumed to be Dr. Snake Oil, walked past her being none the wiser to the invader in his homestead.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“Oh...Oh my stars,” Oil stuck his head out the rear door looking for something, “what is this energy I sense? A unicorn was here recently. I wonder...,” Whatever he had to say next was viciously cut off as he was struck from behind. With the reflex of a king cobra, a forelimb was wrapped around his neck and pulled him back with crushing force. While another hoof clamped over his mouth, muffling his surprised cry.

Snake Oil jerked and kicked with the ferocity of a tiger, limps flailing trying desperately to break free of his assailant. A couple of his swings connected, still the assassin remained resolute. The hooves on his mouth and neck stopped him from turning his head and meet his aggressor’s face. He groaned and sputtered trying to beg for mercy, as the pressure behind his eyes felt as if his head wanted to explode. With every passing second his vision was growing darker and darker as he struggled with the desperation of a pony facing their imminent death.

The hat fell from atop his head, rolling away as Shepard dragged him into a dark corner to complete her sinful task.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

Shepard had her arm around his neck, and had the stallion been human the Commander’s unyielding grip would have been perfectly placed to squeeze out the flow of blood through the jugular veins, starving the brain of oxygen within seconds. She never relented, her grip was tightening with every passing moment. Whether by denying the brain or lungs, she was committed to the grim ending. Time slowed to the pace of molasses as the stallion’s spirited resistance weakened.

There was one final shudder before Snake Oil fell into unconsciousness as his body went limp. Immediately the former human released her hold and carefully lowered Oil’s body to the floor. Placing an ear against the doctor’s chest, Shepard muttered a thanks of relief when the stallion had continued to breathe along with a light heartbeat.

“Sorry about this and I don’t envy the headache you’ll have when you wake up.” Shepard apologized before placing the bag of bits upon the stallion’s chest.

Balancing the sheets and blankets upon her back, Shepard grabbed the satchel in her mouth before she made a break for it, running with all her might out of the pharmacy. Steering clear of the main road Shepard retraced her steps back the way she came and emerged clear of Appleloosa. She now had what she’d come for and it was time to report back to the Admiral.

She had considering a slight detour to collect her armor, but decided that it could wait until morning. Anderson needed her now.

(…………………………………………………………………………………………)

“It’s about time, Commander.” Anderson greeted upon her return. He waved a hand over several pieces of baking yucca fruit over a small campfire.

“Your welcome.” Shepard tossed him the doctor’s satchel from her mouth, before shaking off the sheets and blankets. “What’s with the fire? Did the patrol move on?”

Anderson nodded an affirmative

“They stampeded off further to the east. They weren’t subtle about it, I could feel the vibrations in the ground from here. Since then, nothing.” He then pointed at the fruit “I already checked the fruit, it should be edible enough.”

Helping herself to a piece, Shepard proceeded to fill the hole in her stomach. The fruit was sweet like molasses with a fig kind of taste.

“What happened, Commander?” He unbuckled the black armored vest he had been wearing, pulling it over his head. The action was stilted as he was still in pain and lightly shaking from heat loss due to prolonged exposure to the frigid night air.

“I was nearly spotted by the good doctor.” The vanguard pony said in between bites. “There is no need to worry, Anderson. I just knocked him out and I’m certain he didn’t get a clear look at me.” She finished off her meal, “Plus, I left him the money as compensation.”

“Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?” The Admiral shook his head. He removed the military jacket followed by his undershirt exposing his whole torso, still quite muscular and toned for his age despite a small paunch. His dog tags were still around his neck and gave quick jingle.

“It`s a gift.” She smiled though it didn’t reach her eyes as she took stock of Anderson’s chest. A myriad of scars, some young and some old, decorated him in a nonsensical pattern. A long healed gunshot wound was also displayed just under the collar bone on his heart’s side. Shepard was curious as to how and where he’d received such a near fatal blow, but she didn’t ask.

Her important concern was the crimson hole on Anderson’s lower torso, the left side specifically. The wound she had been forced to inflict upon him with a handgun, courtesy of the Illusive Man’s attempt to mind control them both. A single bullet, the size of a grain of sand accelerated to supersonic speed, hadn’t simply punched a hole through his gut, it had left a shredded mess of human hamburger. His combat vest was the only reason he hadn’t had his whole side blown off. Thankfully it had not begun to bleed again, but how Anderson had lasted this long with such a grisly wound was a goddamn miracle.

“Thank someone for small favors.” she mused.

Anderson cut two square patches of gauze and lightly soaked them with the amber colored alcohol from the flask. Shepard, positioned behind the Admiral, accepted one of the moist wipes and started to gently clean the exit wound. There was a soft touch on his back, not from the soaked gauze, but rather it was the feeling of her other hoof upon his back. He found it hard to describe what it felt like, certainly nothing like what he imagined a horse’s appendage to be. In three words, Anderson would categorize it as, ‘soft yet firm.’ It felt warm and comforting, more of the latter as it was coming from a trusted friend.

The Commander applied only the lighted of pressure necessary in tending to the wound as to cause him as little distress as was possible. Still, a grunt of displeasure rumbled from his throat from time to time. The pair was quick to clean the dried blood out and sterilize the wound; switching for fresh wipes as needed.

Afterwards, Anderson’s wound was secured in gauze, the two of them trading off the roll as it was wrapped around him. They hoped it would be enough to keep Anderson out of danger from contracting some alien disease. They would have felt a lot more optimistic about it if a significant amount of time hadn’t already passed by this point. Now it was a gambler’s game of chance.

After the Admiral redressed, the two of them extinguished the fire, gathered their supplied and had made a quick dash to a new location. They jogged for several minutes before they had located a grove of rocks arranged in a semi-circle. Bunking down for the night, the two had wrapped themselves in the sheets and blankets, staying in close proximity to share body heat. Silence reigned between them, neither having anything of importance to say. That is until Anderson lifted up the nearly empty flask.

“Commander.”

“Admiral.”

“Care for a drink?” he handed the flask off to Shepard. She, in turn, silently nursed the flask for a few moments. Stirring the contents around before lifting it to her lips and took a shot.

The whisky was powerful, overwhelmingly strong to the point of hilarity. Surely anyone who was willing to voluntarily pour the liquid down their throat deserved to be laughed at and ridiculed. There was also a heavy taste of apples, which would’ve been nice to the palette if said apples were not being deep fried in the blazing inferno of a starship’s reactor core. She could have sworn she snorting twin bursts of fire out of each nostril.

Somehow she managed to completely it without spraying a jet of it all over the place. The experience of her throat being cooked, however, reduced her into an involuntary fit of violent coughing.

“Very smooooth...” she squeaked like a Turian who’s jewels had been kicked in.

“It must be really good stuff. By the way, Commander, I have to ask. How are you doing that?” Anderson pointed at her.

She handed, or maybe she should start thinking of it as hoofing over, the flask back to Anderson who also took a shot of the volatile liquid. In a repeat performance he coughed and wheezed just as badly as she had.

“I was expecting something with a little more kick.” He wheezed, and they both laughed. Soon after, they both laid their heads down and slept.