La Vida de Doctor Caballeron

When the first pioneers ventured out into the desert many years ago, the mission at Santo Palomino was constructed. It served as a shelter, a hospital, a market, a place of residence. It was a temporary destination for the caravans and settlers that were making their way to what at the time were infant desert cities. But as these cities grew, as the roads and trails were established, Santo Palomino slowly began to wither away. First, it saw fewer travelers. Then, trade suffered. Eventually, the cost of supplying Santo Palomino outgrew the need, and the remainder of the inhabitants left for Appleloosa, Río de los Cólicos, and Las Pegasus. Santo Palomino was not forgotten, but it was left to decay.

Throughout the years, control of Santo Palomino changed time and time again. First, it was taken by the Garrochistas, who used it as center of operations during their campaign to stop the banditos that terrorized the region. Later, a battle was fought between the Garrochistas and the irregulars from Appleloosa over a dispute for claim to the land. It was at this famous battle that Antonio Gallopez, the famous general of the Lusitano Brigade, lost his leg when he was struck by a cannonball. After being abandoned by the Garrochistas in the years after, it became a hideout for the criminal element of the desert. It changed hands from one posse to another. The law knew what had become of the old mission, but refused to waste any further time, energy, or horsepower to keep it out of the wrong hooves. It was considered to be a lost cause.

Now, the resident renegados of Santo Palomino were none other than Raúl Espada and his merry band of outlaws.

At the very center of the mission, in the largest structure within the walls - once the center of Garrochista field operations - Dr. Caballeron, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Spike found themselves tied to the thick, wooden posts that supported the crumbling roof. Espada’s bandana-wearing thugs reclined happily in the creaky wooden seats at one of the room’s many tables as the counted the garnets that they had taken from the site of the ambush. Small crates of food and supplies sat in various places about the room. On the far wall was the old weapon rack that still held a few rusty Esperanto Lances - the standard arms of the Garrochistas. Light streamed weakly through the holes in the ceiling as the sun was setting in the late afternoon. Small oil lamps were already lit in preparation for the darkness of night. The light of the flames danced and flickered, reflecting off the old amber-colored tequila bottles on the counters.

Caballeron had yet to see Rosita in the compound. He struggled against the ropes that bound him to the posts, but to no avail. Rarity and friends had long since given up struggling. They sat solemnly, wondering how a seemingly innocent trek into the desert had not only brought them face to face with Daring Do’s rival, but too landed them in the clutches of dangerous outlaws.

“I wouldn’t call it a jackpot, but it’s something,” the bandana-wearing pegasus said pleasantly as he pushed his pile of garnets to the center of the table. “And for such an easy job, I can’t complain.”

“What did you plan on doing with these things anyway, Caballeron?” asked another of Espada’s stallions. “Buy the freedom of your precious Rosita?”

    “That’s Doctor Caballeron to you, pendejo,” the treasure-hunter seethed as he continued to struggle.

“Oye, se me olvidó,” the brown stallion laughed. “I completely forgot, we’re dealing with a doctor, here.” The other two outlaws cackled at the remark. The brown stallion approached Caballeron and presented one of his hind legs. “I came up lame left hind last week, Doctor Caballeron. Maybe you could give me a physical.”

“I’ll snap your leg in two,” Caballeron growled.

“You know you can’t buy Espada off,” the stallion snapped. “So what were these for? Planned on buying yourself a few new lances?”

“I keep telling you, I wasn’t the one looking for garnets!” Caballeron protested. “It was these three jokers, over here. Those pebbles are nothing to a stallion of my archeological prowess.”

The pegasus with the bandana stood up and stepped over to Rarity and Pinkie Pie.

“Two frail little schoolgirls,” the pegasus said with a grin, shaking his head. “And their pipsqueak pet. Is that really the best you could do?”

“I have no idea who they are, and I have no idea why they wanted these garnets,” Caballeron sighed in defeat. “I left for Santo Palomino by myself. I didn’t plan on running into anypony along the way, save for a couple of banditos, maybe.”

“Don’t give us that,” the third outlaw spoke up. “We saw you talking for a good long time.”

“We didn’t expect to see him, either! Caballeron came out of nowhere and saved us from two bandits!” Rarity argued.

“Yeah, and he only did it by accident,” Spike grunted.

“You know how idiotic that whole story sounds, verdad?” the pegasus with the bandana asked. “The three of us may not be ‘doctors,’ but we’re not total idiots, either.”

“You’re making a mistake!” Rarity said in desperation.

The large, wooden doors at the front of the room began to creak open.

“We’ll let Espada decide who’s making the mistake,” one of the outlaws laughed as he turned toward the door frame.

Sporting his metal helmet and a lance across his back, the red stallion with the bushy beard stepped into the room, shadow preceding him. Raúl Espada eyed his captives one by one and nodded in approval.

“Muy bien hecho,” Espada said to his henchponies. “I figured Caballeron wouldn’t play by the rules.”

“What have you done with my Rosita?” the rugged treasure-hunter spat. “If I find so much as a scratch on her busty form, I swear I’ll-”

“Put a sock in it, Caballeron,” Raúl Espada interrupted after a roll of the eyes. “Your precious Rosita is getting along just fine. She’s been making flautas for us all morning. And, might I add, they’re absolutely delicious.” Espada drew one of the savory wraps from the bag on his back and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Diablos!” the doctor seethed. “Those flautas are far too exquisite for a palate such as yours!”

“Look at this!” Espada laughed to his henchponies. “Dr. Caballeron fancies himself a gourmet. But he probably cooks his burritos in the microwave when nopony’s looking.”

“How dare you!” Caballeron shouted.

“Enough,” Espada barked. The mysterious guitar music floated in from the windows as Espada did a short yet agile salsa dance.

“I knew the shmuck with the guitar was working for you!” Dr. Caballeron said.

Ending on his hinds with a hoof on his hip and another on his forehead, Raúl Espada rebutted, “As I explained to Rosita, I know not of the strange hombre who plays the music. But unlike you, I can appreciate his artistic touch. Amigos! It’s time.”

The three outlaws with the bandanas slowly proceeded through the doorway and shut it behind them, leaving the four captives alone with Raúl Espada.

“Will somebody PLEASE tell us what’s going on?” Spike asked.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Espada asked as he approached the tiny dragon. “Why don’t you tell me what Caballeron wanted with you three, before I have to beat it out of you?”

“Caballeron didn’t want anything to do with us!” Spike protested. “We ran into him in the desert by accident, and then those other guys captured us and brought us in here!”

“Likely story,” Raúl Espada retorted. “What were the precious gems for?”

“They were for my newest project,” Rarity explained. “I’m a clothing designer from Ponyville, and when I heard about the Fire Garnets, I wanted to come out here and find them. If I knew that any of this would have happened, I’d have just stayed in Appleloosa with my friends. This is all just a big misunderstanding.”

“While that sounds very outlandish,” Espada remarked, examining Rarity and Pinkie Pie closely, “I must admit that you three certainly don’t seem like you’re from anywhere around here. And you definitely don’t look like anyone that would ride with Caballeron.”

“Because they don’t,” the doctor stated.

“We only know who Dr. Caballeron is because we ran into him a long time ago in a jungle when our friend went looking for Daring Do,” Pinkie Pie explained.

“Oho, so you have seen the doctor before,” Espada said with a grin. Caballeron, Rarity, and Spike all shot Pinkie Pie an angry glance.

“Great going, Pinkie,” Spike sighed.

"Silence is golden, darling," Rarity added.

“But that’s all! That’s the truth!,” Pinkie squealed.

“I’ll decided what the truth is later,” Espada went on, returning to Caballeron’s side. “Right now, there are bigger fish to fry. Or, should I say, larger flautas to cook.”

“You sound all high-and-mighty now, but that’s because I’m tied to a post,” Caballeron laughed. “You’re a coward, Espada. Why don’t you untie me and then we can settle the score like real stallions?”

Raúl Espada closed his eyes and thought for several moments as the loose boards of the ceiling voiced their occasional moans and creaks.

“Yes, of course, there is the old score to settle, for your grave insult to me those years ago.”

“You mean YOUR insult to ME!” Caballeron roared.

    “As I said, Caballeron, your insult to me,” Espada corrected. “But you must know that I brought you here today for more than simply the rift between us.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You see, Augusto,” the bearded stallion explained, “I am not the only one who has a bone to pick with the famous Dr. Caballeron. There is another. And he has made a very long journey from home in hopes of meeting you again.”

Caballeron raised an eyebrow and watched Espada carefully as the stallion walked to one of the tables in the room and took a seat.

“To be honest, my quarrel with you was on the back-burner for quite some time,” Espada sighed as he rested his lance and backpack on the table. “But a short while ago, I was approached by another… somepony that has been looking for you for almost as long. And when he asked whether I would cooperate with him… such that we may both be able to settle our respective scores with Augusto Caballeron… And more importantly, with the reward he offered for your capture... I of course agreed to help.”

“And who is this?” Caballeron asked.

As the doors to the old building were pushed open again, Raúl Espada said,

“If you honestly don’t remember, then you’re about to find out.”

Two green-uniformed soldiers had pushed open the heavy doors and stood at attention on either side. The figure that remained outside was hidden by the shadow of the setting sun. He proceeded through the doorway hastily, with purpose. The mystery stallion sported a sharp-looking green coat with a pristine pair of jackboots. The red epaulettes on his shoulders matched the crimson star on his flank. An inordinate amount of medals hung from the fabric of the uniform - a display of extensive awards and honors. The massive visor on the stallion’s head bore a golden pin at the very center of the band. The entire getup was unmistakably that of Soviet Equestria. And as the decorated gray stallion walked toward Caballeron, the treasure-hunter gasped in surprise, for he knew exactly who it was.

“Trotsky!” Caballeron exclaimed. The Soviet stopped just a few feet away from Dr. Caballeron and flashed a toothy grin. Rarity, Pinkie, and Spike had no idea what to think about any of what was transpiring around them. “It can’t be!”

“Has been many of years, comrade Caballeron.” Trotskiy answered in his broken Equestrian, with a thick Equusian accent. He took another couple of steps closer, medals clinking together jovially as he walked. “You think we simply let you walk away for stunt you pulled in Soviet republic of Trotterstan?”

“Will somebody PLEASE tell me what the heck is going on?” Spike asked. An unnerving silence followed as Trotsky slowly turned his head toward the little dragon. As the Soviet’s eyes narrowed, Spike gulped and wished he hadn’t asked.

“Comrade Espada. Who these three are?” Trotskiy asked as Raúl Espada reclined in his seat.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” Espada answered. “They were with Caballeron in the desert, but we still haven’t figured out why.”

“It was an ACCIDENT!” Rarity and Pinkie shouted in unison. Trotskiy rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Cut to the chase, Trotsky,” Caballeron insisted. “What do you want?” Trotsky’s expression immediately soured.

“You KNOW what I want!” Trotsky raged, storming back over to Dr. Caballeron. “You play some game with me, da? You play dumb, or you actually are idiot? Where is the priceless Mustangi vase?”

“I’ve stolen a lot of things over the years, including the hearts of many beautiful mares,” Caballeron informed the Soviet. “You expect me to remember one particular piece?”

“WHO ARE YOU ALL AND WHAT THE HECK IS THIS?” Spike asked. Trotsky grunted in disgust, mumbling under his breath in his native Equusian that nopony in the room (except the Soviet soldiers) could understand.

“Many of year ago, this capitalist swine,” Trotsky seethed as he pointed a hoof at Dr. Caballeron, “stole from glorious museum of ethnography in Chymkanter, Trotterstan. As museum director and commissar of Red Army, is my duty to reclaim artifacts he steal. Most valuable of these artifacts was oldest known artisan craft from Soviet republic of Mustangistan - the priceless Mustangi vase.”

“Did you really follow Caballeron all the way from Soviet Equestria because of ONE VASE?” Spike asked.

“Believe me, dragon,” the Soviet said with a scowl, “This not only about simple theft of vase. Caballeron and his posse did many of unspeakable thing in Trotterstan. He enter without documents, he insult glorious Premier of Soviet Equestria, and make love to many married mares of Chymkanter!”

“Make love to married mares?” Pinkie and Rarity asked in unison. Even Raúl Espada seemed surprised by the remark.

“You’re even more of a jerk than I thought!” Spike shouted at Dr. Caballeron.

“Hey, it was only two or three!” Caballeron protested. “And they were all named Natasha and not a single one of them told me they were married!”

“But now you will spend many years in potassium mines in Trotterstan for your crime against Motherland, comrade Caballeron,” Trotsky said, turning and pacing away from the group of captives. “You will finally pay for what you do those many years ago… I remember as if were yesterday…”

“Spare us the flashback,” Caballeron begged.

“No!” Trotskiy barked. “You are of get flashback whether like or not.”