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; countless souls claimed by her own hands. The reasons for it all, the justification, always relied upon her duty as a soldier and in the name of preserving galactic peace. The ends did justify the means, but it only could go so far.
Not half an hour ago she'd come thoughtlessly close to crossing that very line; the cold-blooded murder of two innocents. And all over the harmless, if misguided, offense of claiming that she was a deity from one of their fairy tales. Since recovering from her sudden panic attack, she'd been somewhat successful in maintaining an emotionless mask and an air of apathy. Adrenaline and rage skill pumped through her veins and she had to keep it under control this time, lest she fly off the rails again.
That was until Chief Thunderhooves presented her with the opportunity to scrutinize his so-called proof of his for her alleged godhood. The simple offer caused a crack in her mask.
Like it or not, Commander, you're a hero to these men and women.
Massive fatigue and shame replaced neutrality as her facial muscles went lax. Still a small spark of curiosity shined through as her ears noticeably perked and she responded with a curt nod.
"As long as you explain how you know humans as well."
"Yes, I can do both at the same time." At some point the Chieftain had taken between his cloven hooves a calumet. What Shepard assumed was also called a peace pipe, given how closely the tribe's culture reflected that of ancient Native Americans back on Earth. The pipe itself was a long and narrow tube made of hollowed out clay baked into a solid and decorated with chains 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.
Shepard took an experimental sniff of the released incense and realized that it wasn't tobacco being used, but something else. It was 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, she was fifteen, and had caught one of the workers at the hydroponics facility red handed while she'd been harvesting and sampling a small gathering of cannabis in one of the rear growth chambers. The stash had been cleverly hidden amongst various other produce and while cannabis had been legalized on Earth for well over a century, to grow it in the authoritarian limitations of a colony's hydroponics facility was considered a series felony. Doubly so with unimportant and unauthorized luxuries were concerned.
What was her name? Shepard distinctly remembered being close friends with that worker, but could only summon up 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, who behaved like hamsters stuck on a permanent caffeine high, wouldn't adore a drug that helped them to relax in a state of euphoria every once in a while. Of course smoking cannabis made them hungrier than a swarm of locusts and caused the drug to be banned as a class one felony all throughout the Salarian Union.
Although legally bound to do so, Shepard failed to report on the illicit dealings. She didn't want to turn on her friend, but truthfully she was just too shy to stir up trouble and draw attention to herself.
(…)
'Of all the memories of home why did that one come up' Shepard shook the thought off.
"The moon sails high and the hour is growing late, so I shall make the tale as pithy as I can." Thunderhooves exhaled a large cloud of smoke. As the cloud was carried away by the night wind it flowed and contorted into strange images of roaming buffalo, and other desert life, living amongst the native flora. The sight was mesmerizing.
He offered the smoking pipe towards her and for a moment their met. It was only about a second or two, but it was enough for Shepard to discover the consequences of her actions. A small amount of reluctance and fear corrupted on his otherwise strong, chiseled visage.
Shepard was tackled with a moment of hesitation, as an Alliance soldier she could be faced with sever disciplinary action if caught smoking the offered drug while still an active serving member, even if she was off duty. Alcohol and tobacco were forever locked in as the limits to accepted recreational vices. The only time it was permitted was during an exchange of cultural or religious diplomatic talks with a foreign power. 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.
The Commander accepted the pipe, balancing it with both of her forelegs and treating it as if it was a loaded firearm. The last thing she needed was to drop and break it, creating another situational fubar. While a little reviled to put her mouth on the recently used mouthpiece, she was also curious. She put the pipe into her mouth and inhaled, filling her lungs; then had to forcibly blow them out in a spasm of uncontrollable coughing.
"What," cough, "is that," cough, "stuff?" She asked despite already having a passable idea; supplying the pipe back to the Chief. The large bison indicated that she should give it to the next one in line, which was Little Strongheart. She proceeded to showcase 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.
"The finest Indica this side of the Appleloosian Mountains," the lithe bovine said with a smile and 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 had pulled out a rectangular black box, with rounded edges. It was about the size and depth of three moderately sized text books stacked. On the top was circle indentation with two more, progressively smaller circles set inside. The Commander immediately recognized the device and without thinking reached out to grab it.
Well, I suppose I did just write your name in the stars.
Shepard frantically examined the device for clues. The outer shell was scratched and buffeted with innumerable pocket marks and deep cuts. Otherwise to describe it in one word would be: ancient. Sadly the device was no longer functional because the eezo power core had been removed.
"Where did you get this?" Shepard demanded, conflicting emotions fought against her.
"As 'The Shepard' I know the name Liara T'Soni holds meaning for you." The Chief's expression softened at the goddess' obvious distress.
Even in the most optimistic of circumstances, victory over the Reapers was a dream built on hope, not reality. The immanent extinction of Humanity and the allied galactic fleets all but assured, Liara had built multiple time capsules to be seeded across the galaxy. It was a way to carry information into the future, to warn the next generation of solar nations to the Reaper threat.
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, data on the Reapers, blueprints for the Crucible super weapon, and topped off by the aggregate of the cultural and historical collection of over a dozen space faring races reaching back millennia.
"Liara," the name caught in the pony's throat, "Liara was here? Is she still alive?"
"It all happened so very long ago, many, many generations have come and gone since the prophet T'Soni descended from the heavens. If she is 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 seize 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 a seed of doubt had blossomed. Was she wrong? The Chief took a moment time to adjust his headdress as he weighed his next words.
"Many years ago, my great, great, great,…my distant ancestors abandoned," he swept a hoof across the desert around them, "these ancient stomping grounds to live amongst the ponies as equals. Sharing in the pursuit of magic and science, to lift our selves above nature with alters 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 that still stand in the Royal City…,"
"Canterlot." Strong Heart again amended.
"…to this day."
"Canterlot? Don't you mean Camelot?" Anderson inquired, subconsciously scratching the beginning of a beard.
"Sure, they may sound alike," the young female lectured, "but Camelot is the capital city of the camels in Humpbackistan, right next to Saddle Arabia." She failed to comprehend why the two Alliance soldiers had cringed.
"It appears that you eventually returned to your old ways, what happened to cause that?" Anderson asked. He took another bite of the enigmatic mush that was called food before noticing that Shepard had yet to even touch hers. "Commander, you're not eating?"
"I ate earlier, sir." She outright lied with casual panache. Her stomach had spoken otherwise, feeling ready to punch its way out of her gut. She austerely grinned and bore with the pain, not realizing she was flashing her slicing incisors and pointed canines for all to witness. Several of the bison instinctively retreated several inches from the sight of the pony's unnatural meat cutting teeth. Whether through ignorance or willpower, the Chieftain and his daughter had failed to show any reaction to it as the burly bison resumed his tale.
"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."
"I see. So they were convinced that the Reapers could be placated into seeing your race as a non-threat only by returning 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."
"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," Thunderhooves sighed, gazing upon the nearly full moon, "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…" Thunderhooves paused and proceeded to ponder for a moment, "oh, what were they called?"
"I recall that 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 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.
"The three set out one day to cross the badlands. They wanted to explore the undiscovered territories that lay beyond the Equestria border. Not many would have been brave enough to travel a harsh wasteland that was said to have been a place where a terrible war had been fought." Heart's initial enthusiasm became tempered at her mention of war. She shivered as the icy night winds blanketed the camp and she was overcome with unpleasant memories. A heavy silence was hanging heavily over those gathered.
"They discovered the ruins of a long dead civilization," the bison leader cut in, "located deep within the heart of the wastes. It was within those ruins that they found the codex." He reached over and touched the device in Shepard's grip. "A wellspring of knowledge left behind by the prophet Liara." By this point he'd realized that calumet had come full circle and he paused to again sample the aromatic fumes.
"It changed everything. The codex revealed the existence of life beyond our plane of existence. Of the humans, their design of the ruins, and that they had to ultimately flee when the enemy came for them." he took a second puff and offered the pipe to Shepard, who politely declined and passed it along.
"I can imagine that such a discovery must have caused quite a stir." Anderson said.
"That it did. Arguments started between the ponies, griffins, and our own kin over who had dominant claim to the codex's secrets. The end result was a terrible confict between Equestria and the griffins that lasted many years. The sun goddess, in her infinite wisdom, decided that the world was not yet ready for such knowledge and gave Chief Igneous Red one part of the codex. She then gave the other half to the Griffins, before she ordered the human ruins to be sealed off and placed under the watchful eye of Equestria." The large bison sighed, body 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." Thunderhooves abruptly became downcast. His strong story-teller voice retreated to one of humiliation.
"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 by the story. If the disparate races of this planet already knew, even just a fraction, of the details concerning Liara's forewarning about the Reapers and details pertaining to Shepard's role in it all. The question was than were the three races 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 Reapers should the machines still exist? At this point Shepard wasn't even sure one way or the other.
"Go to the Royal City and speak with the Sun Goddess." The Commander's vision was filled with the Chieftain's somber countenance, "she will want to know of your return. 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 may return." Shepard She examined the other buffalo amongst the campfire. Her unease tripling as everyone was looking at her. Their eyes filled with a stern conviction reserved only for the most hardcore of believers.
(…)
Conversation around the campfire had taken a sudden turn into less serious chit-chat soon afterwards. Most of it was the Alliance soldiers listening intently as the buffalo tribe members regaling them with simple stories of an entertaining nature. Until a voiceless consensus, meaning a lot of yawning, everyone had decided it was time to get some sleep.
All of the teepees at the campsite were only big enough to comfortably accommodate one buffalo apiece. Anderson and Shepard had both been assigned to the same tent which was double the size as the rest, able to fit three buffalo with room to spare. Turns out they had been given the Chief's own personal teepee since they were both 'honored' guests deserving of only the finest that the tribe could offer. The door of the teepee was a flap of material similar to canvas that was secured by several cloth laces that were threaded through holes and tied.
The doctor's stolen bag was thrown into a corner and the sheets were used as a sleeping surface as opposed to using the dirt ground. While the soldier and vanguard may have shared the same blanket, huddled for warmth, they had their backs to each other. A hostile silence was shared between them and neither one did anything to acknowledge the other's presence. Only the sounds of crickets, snoring bison, and the odd nocturnal bird could be heard. A single minute became ten and then sixty. Neither side would yield to the other nor were they any closer to blissful unconsciousness then when they'd stared.
"Permission to speak freely, Admiral." Shepard stepped up to the plate, though she spoke with no emotion. Her inner thoughts tortured by so many questions; clutching the nonfunctional computer to her chest.
Had it been any other soldier Anderson would have expected nothing less than formal textbook protocol when it came to addressing superior officers. Only a few close circle of friends were exempt from this rule. Shepard probably didn't even realize how much it hurt to have his trust thrown back into his face. Still, he bit his tongue fearing that to force the issue would only widen the rift between them.
'She'll come around eventually, she just needs some time.' He reasoned.
"Granted."
"I've been thinking about something that Chief Thunderhooves said. It has me worried, sir. I don't know how long ago, 'many, many generations,' is, but it could be…," she hesitated, taking a moment to reinforce her emotional detachment, "could it mean we've not only been transported to a new world, but also a different time. What could this mean for the Alliance? My crew? What if they're…"
"Commander," he snapped at her; sitting up quickly, "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 fantasy, folklore, and very little evidence. Let's not come to any conclusions until we learn more."
"The evidence seems pretty damning to me, sir." She pulled the black box closer. Her ears were limp and her mane seemed to have lost some of its fiery red color.
"Commander," Anderson yelled, not out of anger, but fear that he was losing the Commander to a downward spiral into despair, "are you suggesting that you believe that the Crucible was built not to destroy the Reapers? Instead it was meant to bring me back from the dead, reconstruct you as a different species, and then casually toss us through time and space to a world where I'm a living legend and you're a deity?"
"No sir!" She stiffly denied, "I call it bullshit. Pun intended, sir."
"Then what do you believe, Commander?"
"That…we should keep our eyes and ears open, sir."
"Affirmative, we'll make our way towards Canterlot. See if we can talk to this Celestia to allow us access to the colony ruins. Find out which planet we're on."
"Possibly find the salvage we need to build that transmitter. Weapons and armor too if we're lucky."
"Exactly, now I 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 temperature inside the teepee was comforting. 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 woke him up instantly.
"Something else on your mind, Commander?"
"Thanks…," she released a tense breath, "for stopping me."
"Anytime, 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 a rest." 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" she released a relieved sigh. She knew that sulking was never going to solve her problems. She tried to think of something else to say to pull her out of this emotional nosedive.
"Well, I guess it is about time I started cashing in all those vacation hours I've been saving." 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, daring a shallow smile.
"I did find a nice little bar in town," She slowly brought herself up into a seated position, facing the Admiral, "I'm sure a 'living legend,' walking in would be worth a few free rounds." The tiniest of grins played at the corners of her lips.
"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 around."
"You won't have to, so long as you never call me 'sir' again."
"Heh, deal." The Commander snickered. It was a genuine expression; a reassurance that she was going to be all right. Anderson found it difficult to look at her. The way her hind legs were tucked in, the light in her face as her mood was recovering, those big shining eyes, and the way her tail was eagerly flipping back and forth. It made her look so adorable that it was easy to forget that behind it all beat the heart and mind of deadliest soldiers in the galaxy and a biotic powerhouse.
"So much for avoiding a first-contact situation." He coughed while trying to hide his discomfort. He wondered if it would be prudent to inform Shepard of her unintentional cuteness, but decided not to spoil her good mood. He'd tell her tomorrow.
"We're pretty much snafu on that one." She nonchalantly agreed; lowering herself down to lie on her stomach and crossing her forelegs.
"Strange, I hadn't thought that being the lead representative of both the Alliance and Humanity to a world of buffalo and equines was how I'd picture spending my twilight years. I hate politics." Anderson took a moment to scratch his chin stubble.
"You won't be 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 a lot of shouting. 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."
"Commander!" The firmness in his tone came off a little bit harsher than he'd intended. Shortly afterwards losing all severity as he broke out into muffled breathless chuckles. It was contagious and Shepard too joining the merriment even if she was unaware of what the Admiral had found so funny.
(…)
The Citadel council was in session. The central chambers was one of the few places where real flora was grown naturally; all designed to represent a relaxing park you'd find on a lazy summer's day. Diplomats and lobbyists all segregated into many small groups who argued all day about political matters and machinations. Jaws flopping like sunfish out of water.
Then rode in pony Shepard and, with a mighty buck, blew the chamber doors clean off their tracks with absurd concussive force. With a pistol in one hoof and an omni-blade over the other, she charged in with reckless abandon spouting terrible one-liners as she went.
"This cold war just got hot."
"It's tool time."
"Show me yours tough guy; bet mine's bigger."
"Knife to see you."
(…)
"At least could I punch a reporter or two? I find it therapeutic; was thinking of making it a hobby." She mirthfully surrendered the point. However, the light-hearted atmosphere dropped when Anderson started coughing spastically, and was clutching his wounded side.
"Sure you're ok?" She stepped closer to examine the bandages and saw a large red stain had started to form.
"Yes, I just I need a little time," he swallowed, "to recover first." The wound had flared up like he was being stabbed with a red hot poker. It lasted only a few tense moments before the worst of it died off. Meanwhile Shepard had retrieved the doctor's bag and aided the injured man in taking another dose of aspirin.
"In the meantime, you should take this opportunity to learn more about equestrian culture in Appleloosa. Their views about Humanity from their legends and stories." He winced as the bandages were slowly removed. "Find out as much as you can. If it seems safe, then I'll approach the town when I've recovered. If not, then we'll have to lay down an alternate plan."
"Here I thought you'd enjoy going clothes shopping with me tomorrow," she teased, "you know, look the part of a respectful ambassador. That hole in your jacket isn't hiding anything."
"I'll be fine for now. After all you need new clothes more than I do." He deadpanned, gesturing at the pony's naked, if fur covered, body.
"Touché." She curled up, embarrassed at the reminder. Tucking in her tail between her cheeks to preserve her modesty.
(…)
While they changed Anderson's bandages the two soldiers continued to chat, trading concerns and humorous jabs with each other. Eventually, exhaustion and weariness had teamed up against them and the human quickly succumbed to slumber. The pony on the other hand, had managed to stay awake for a few minutes more. Her thoughts drifting over the events of the past twenty-four hours, trying to come to terms on how much had happened and how much had changed.
All too soon her reflections settled on the black box and her missing friend, Liara T'soni. It was most specifically on a question that Liara had asked.
'I don't know how you do it. You've always stayed focused, even in the worst situations.'
'When there's so much at stake, I think about the people I'd lose if I failed.' had been Shepard's honest, if simple, reply.
"So, where do I go from here," She mumbled quietly, "what do I do if I've lost everyone I cared about?" When she found no answer a unfamiliar pressure started to build behind her eyes and in her heart. With all her willpower she pushed it away, she had to relax and clear her head. Anderson; she still had him and he was right about there being far too many unanswered variables. She had to focus on the mission, on Canterlot.
There was no inescapable ending yet, there was still hope…and it was all she had.
(…)
"Father? Can I talk with you?" Little Strong Heart was feeling frightened and uncertain as she entered Chief Thunderhooves tent. The makeshift hovel was largely unadorned and filled with indica smoke as the Chief continued to smoke the calumet. A small, simple, wooden box sat discarded at his hooves. The box was open and empty; its purpose of safeguarding the prophet's warning had been fulfilled, yet a brown slip of folded paper remained.
"Ah, my daughter, I see you can't sleep as well. What concerns you?" He spoke in a much softer pitch, gentle and concerned.
"Father…I have a something to tell you." She sat down, not daring to look at her father straight.
"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 jumped into a combat stance and made her choice.
"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.
(…)
Author's Notes: I find exposition a difficult thing to write and make interesting at the same time. Though I hope I made up for it in the second half; a little drama and comedy to lighten the mood.
Fubar = Fucked up beyond all recognition/any repair/all reason
Snafu = Situation normal: all fucked up