9
Chapter Three: Medical Supplies
(…)
Chief Thunderhooves was angrily pacing up and down along the bank of the nearby river. 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. He was standing in a sacred place, located deep in buffalo territory. He, and a chosen group of his closest followers, were investigating the bank of the river right about in the general area where he'd earlier observed a bolt of magical light shooting straight up into the air. It had originated upon a part of their traditional stomping grounds, and since his people did not have magical talents, then it could only have come from a unicorn living in the nearby town of Appleloosa. Or was a side effect from the massive cascadence of light mere hours ago, so he reasoned. He sniffed the air and the ground in equal measure trying to determine the nature of the sharp smell of oxidation and smoke.
"Chief!" Little Strongheart called out, breaking his inner turmoil, as she ran straight up to him. There was a look of deep worry etched deep 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'd come from. Swiftly he'd followed, hooves kicking up clouds of dust as his heavy gait cut through the night air to swiftly deliver him at his destination.
"What treachery is this!" The chief roared in indignation at the sight presented before him. The stench of a recent fire hung heavy in the atmosphere. Countless shriveled desert grass patches and bushes had been cooked to cinders, flaming embers still alive to finish the job. Rocks had been cleaved apart, shattered, with the many sharp pieces adorned with scorch marks like artwork painted with violent strokes. All of the debris and other bits of unidentifiable detritus appeared to have been blown out from a central point.
At the focus of that point was a freshly made crater, half a foot deep, and a diameter the length of five buffaloes. Contained within the crater was a circle of desecrated cactus that had been blown away into piecemeal; with only the stumps remaining. It still was hot from what must have been a localized explosion caused by powerful magics, he could feel the mystic power saturating the air. While the magical arts were unknown by him or his people, even non-mages could sense the residue left behind after a recent magical event of this magnitude. It felt like a fizzing sensation, like pins and needles tapping ever so lightly on his skin.
"Hmm..." He observed the destruction with equal parts rage, worry, and curiosity; slowly circling the perimeter of the crater. Around him his kin searched high and low across the region trying to find signs of of the perpetrator and the cause of such destruction.
"Chief, look!" One of the buffalo announced with the enthusiasm of a small child seeking praise from their parents. "Pony tracks, and they come out of the crater!"
"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!" This was an affront to his honor, a betrayal of their treaty, a pony had desecrated holy ground and the loss of so many cactai was not only a blow to their food supply, but it dishonored the great spirit Naypioa, patron of the buffalo tribe.
It was true that he had opened the Appleloosans to free passage over his land, and to live and farm on a specific, limited, 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."
"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. You should 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." Strongheart stared him straight in the face. "Appleloosa is mostly Earth-ponies, there are very few unicorns there. Finding the one who did this shouldn't be a big problem."
"What do you mean?" he crooked an eyebrow.
"Braeburn taught me that the color of a unicorn's magic is unique to each individual. We need to only 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 reach safety in the town."
"And if they have escaped into the town? What do you suggest we do then?" The lead buffalo felt his anger subside slightly as he listened.
"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." Her pouting eyes make it difficult for him to resist. His tribe knew better than to question his will. Little Strongheart was different, wise beyond her years and even-hoofed.
"Very well," he kept his face neutral, a feeling of pride threatened to birth a smile. More and more he was beginning to rely upon her patience and wisdom. She was growing up so fast.
"I will stay my hoof for the time being. Let us not waste anymore time."
"Thank you." Little Strongheart shot forward and embraced the Chief in a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He was about to admonish her for such a public display of affection. Instead he 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.
"I see the tracks lead towards the river, further south than we were before." He said returning 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 the beer mug to her lips and in one swift motion she downed the cold, amber gold, liquid in record time. The cascade of fermented drink passing her throat was deeply invigorating and refreshing. The taste of the alcoholic drink, bitter and with just a hint of sweetness, was somewhat weaker compared to the kinds of alien lagers and Earthen brews she was used to and certainly no substitute for Serrice-Ice brandy. Nonetheless, it chilled her mouth as well as her stomach, sending a blissful and relaxing sensation coursing through her body. After all the crap she'd been through recently, a cold one was just what she needed to bring back a little sanity.
She then had slammed the empty mug 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, fidgeting, and an obvious refusal to look her in the eyes. She wondered what it was she had said or done to cause such a polar shift in his attitude.
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. Data readily available through military reports, personal contacts, and simple extranet queries. That was no longer a luxury that was afforded her on this world. She had to learn from first hand experience; in other words, 'the hard way.' She needed context and to acquire it without somehow drawing even more attention to herself then she already had.
By some strange wrinkle in the universe she was one of them now, or maybe god had blinked, either way she was a pony of all things. How and why was not important right now. What was important was that she needed to act like one of their own. A feat made almost impossible by the intimately familiar being coupled with the strangely alien. 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. She'd never let fear compromise her before and she wouldn't start now.
Next to her empty mug was the bowl with the offered salt cube. With a mind to forge ahead, she had taken the bowl in her hoofs and proceeded to throw the salt cube into her mouth. She bit down, resulting in a crunching sound and, not surprisingly, a very salty taste to explode all over her tongue. Though whether due to her altered physiology or from an unknown ingredient added to the cube, the sensation that exploded in her mouth was beyond description. Not entirely unpleasant at first, it became like an exploding firecracker to the degree that it completely overpowered her senses.
Her balance was suddenly pulled violently right face to the fringe. Teetering on the edge, she had to catch herself on the bar or risk falling to the floor. Having saved herself further embarrassment, she lowered her head down onto the bar, arms on her head, and groaning in a mix of heightened euphoria and nausea. She hadn't felt this sick since that one time she'd nearly been poisoned by a racist bartender in the Afterlife bar.
"Whoa, take it easy. You're supposed to lick it not eat it whole." Morton scolded her while sliding over a glass of water. "Good thing I only gave you a sample then. Any pony would've been knocked onto their flank if they'd done that. A normal sized cube, well, you'd be on the way to the hospital, no doubt."
"Duly noted." Shepard 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, never used as a food additive." 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 revelation to elightenment. Shepard wasn't sure if he was asking because he was genuinely interested, fishing for ideas, or just trying to make small talk. What ever the reason, his earlier nervousness had subsided for the time being.
"Um...," she felt like her eyes were drifting away, trying to look in two directions at once, "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 endearing than having her head implode or being shot at by giant red lasers.
"Like?" He egged her on.
"Ah, a lot of things," she repeated, still in a daze, "uhh...soups, steak..."
"So you really do eat meat?" The bartender immediately recoiled in horror and disgust. Although she hadn't turned around, she could hear the silence descending to seize the room, and feel the stares directed her way.
"What?"
"Commander!" Anderson shouted over her earbud. She shut her mouth with an audible clak and reconsidered her response. A feeling adrenaline kicked her squarely in the frontal lobes and she realized that she'd committed yet another faux pas. Judging from his reaction the only logical conclusion was that these beasts were herbivores. She 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?
"Ehhu...ah...I...was making a joke." Shepard quickly backpedaled, smiling coyly. 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,' she thought and then inspiration hit, 'maybe I can use this.'
"I need to be going, but I don't feel very well," Shepard put a hoof to her stomach and amped up the acting as best as she was able. Making it appear as if she was dizzy and near the point of collapse, "Do you think you could point me towards a Doctor?"
"YES!" Morton had shouted with such surprising enthusiasm that it had caused Shepard to jump back instinctively. Flying backwards a respectable six feet from right off the top of the chair and landing into a threatening, combat ready, position. She scowled, head lowered and body rigid, reaching for a pistol that wasn't there. If the room hadn't already been silent it would have become so after her little display. Realizing that there had been no danger, Shepard still struggled to relax after the sudden adrenaline spike. It was ,yet if Morton's intention had been to attack her, then he would've been dead in short order. A possible future that he too had come to realize as well since he ducked behind the counter and very nervously gave her directions.
(…)
Shepard jogged down the nearly empty street, her destination now clear. The sound of a lazy breeze complimented the metallic click-clicking of her dog tags as they swung around her neck. The music of crickets was singing amidst the wooden groaning of houses and shops as they settled. The town seemed to have calmed down in the intermittent time. 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 word of the debacle in the bar began to spread.
At least it hadn't turned into a bar room brawl, that was progress at least. Even as experienced and powerful a biotic as she was, taking on that many at once would not have lead to an acceptable outcome for her, and most of them as well. In fact if she still had her weapons and armor she could've practically painted the room. She had to interrupt herself with sharp shake of the head.
'Must be the salt talking.' She mentally dismissed her sudden macabre thoughts. Still, a feeling of worry clung to the margins, like a bad case of heartburn.
She followed the bartender's directions, trusting that he had been honest with her and wasn't simply trying to get her out of his establishment and lost at the same time. If he had lied, well, there was still time to introduce him to the sharp of of a broken beer bottle.
Knowing where she was going hadn't stopped her from observing every detail, exploring every road and alley with her eyes. In places where one would have expected to find trash and filth, where the homeless and rejected stalked, there was nothing at all of the sort. The forgotten places of the town appeared to have been kept just as clean and well maintained as the main avenues and attractions. Not that she desired to see unnecessary suffering or waste, but it was the complete lack of it that was a little...odd.
A tumbleweed had crossed her path as she turned left at the intersection and quickly spotted the Doctor's building directly ahead. 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 blank label and a cork on top.
"Found it." Shepard whispered to her audience.
"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 disappointment from Anderson's world weary voice, punctuating his displeasure.
"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 more than just a hint of sarcasm, then rubbed her forehead with a hoof. 'What's wrong with me?' she mused. She wasn't normally this cynical. Maybe it was that time of the month again, did ponies even have that?
"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'm not going to steal anything from the Doctor," she protested, "I'm simply exercising my rights as a Spectre to requisition some supplies." Her reasoning didn't sound as good spoken as it had in her head.
"That may placate a Council-member race, but I don't think the local laws recognizes 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 said, adding an edge of frustration. "They owe us, whether they know it or not, and I think they can spare a few supplies 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." He said with the patronizing, though much more calm, tone of a drill instructor.
Shepard had to stop for a moment and contemplate on that fact. Though there was not much to really think about. Being a Spectre had allowed her to dance fast and loose with the rulebook, if not outright disregard it. Plus with a war on most people turned a blind eye to the small lapses in acceptable behavior as well. Now with neither the excuse of war, her rank, or the support of the Council to back her up she would never get away with even half of the crap she'd pulled off in the last four years.
"Alright, I'll try and be more discreet and play it by the book from now on. We still need those supplies, but I'll leave the bag of money behind. As a bonus I won't even shoot the place up this time." She chuckled lightly at her own joke, just for a moment. Then there was a breath of silence from the other end.
"Anderson?" She asked sharply. Her tactical mind already processing worst case scenarios and plans of action.
"I spotted some movement out there. A large group of creatures. Two, maybe three, squads 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."
"You going to be ok?" Slight, subconscious, twitches in her tail mirrored her unease.
"Don't worry about me. Just do what you have to and get back ASAP. We need to move out before I'm discovered."
"Roger that." She finished with a nervous trepidation. There was a sensation, a volatile emotion, that gripped her heart. It was the same kind of fear she experienced when she'd been forced to abandon Anderson on a Reaper-controlled Earth. She couldn't fathom the idea that she would never see him again or hear his reassuring voice. That day, as the Normandy took off and she saw him disappear into the rubble she had made a promise that she would never fail him.
As Appleloosan shops went, the Doctor's office was noticeably smaller when contrasted against the town average. Approaching the grass green front door she caught sight of a printed flyer that had been nailed at eye level. The brown crusted post was faded with age, but still legible.
'Frontier Pharmaceuticals,' the post began, 'for all your medicinal, tonic, and herbal supplement needs, wants, and desires; for whatever ails you. Owned and operated by the one true medicine man, Dr. Snake Oil.' The bottom half of the flyer listed a set of business hours which went largely ignored by Shepard.
"Dr. Snake Oil?" She rolled her eyes in disapproval, "Now that's a name that inspires confidence. What's next? Dr. Malpractice? Dishonest John?"
"It might not mean the same here as it does for us." The Admiral reasoned. Shepard placed a hoof on the door handle only to find it locked. Plan b: she tried knocking on the door, swift and firm. 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, then switched on her best emulation of the jester-minded 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."
"Sounds like Joker," Anderson agreed, suddenly sounding rather jolly, "using comedy to beat a dead horse." There was a surreal squeal of rubber on pavement as Shepard came to a complete and utter stop.
"What did you say to me?" Incredulity mixed with a little hurt.
"I said it's goddamn cold out here. Quit horsing around and double time it, Commander."
"Wow," she slowly intoned 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's just been full of surprises."
"Uh-huh, I'm at the back of the building now. There's a door here, I'll just try the lock." Surprisingly the handle turned and there was a soft click as the door opened without resistance.
"Ok, its open, I'm going in."
(…)
Author's Notes: Sorry if any spelling/grammar problems made it in. I need a beta-reader.
'Mass Effect 2 - DLC: The Equestrian Equation,' is a great fanfic by the talented Loyal2Luna. If you like Mass Effect / My Little Pony crossovers, you should check that story out. A unique feature is that the author lets the readers make occasional choices as to how Shepard reacts to certain situations. I had thought of doing something similar, but not sure if it'd work with my story here. What do you think?
So, I have this problem where I try to make every chapter as long, or longer, than previous ones. Sometime I think that kind of ideal intimidates me into doubt and non-productivity. So, I'm going to switch it up and try for more frequent updates with smaller chapters. Three to three and a half thousands words per chapter should work. Chapter four will be a little delayed since I need to update Pony Space next so the fans know I have not abandoned the story.