Smuggler Anon: Applejack's Stolen Shipment

Previously: https://pastebin.com/0ufKJ2Nb

“Now, let’s see here… Twist this here, take this off and---“
>You hardly have time to react more than closing your eyes and mouth as a coil full of fluid releases its contents onto your face.
>After the hose-like contraption is emptied, you reach for a rag and bring it up to wipe yourself clean.
>Once the offending runoff is mostly cleaned, you let out a long, heavy sigh.
“I probably deserved that.”
>After reconnecting the runoff distributor, and checking the integrity of the fuel line transistor, you decide that you’ve had enough ‘fun’ working on the innards of the Star Turtle for today.
>You crawl out of the hatch you had opened and back your way down a small ladder onto the hangar floor.
>As you do, Apple Bloom runs by, carrying a fusion cutter in one hand and a multi-goo gun in the other.
>”Hello, Mr. Anon!” she says with a wide, toothy grin.
>She’s almost as dirty as you are; her small jumpsuit is stained in all sorts of places and her hair is a mess, but that’s normal for her.
>The tools are for her brother, Big Mac, who is underneath the Star Turtle and is working on one of its landing struts.
>He’s tall enough to be able to reach up into the innards of the vessel without the use of a ladder.
>If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was part wookiee.
>”Here ya go, bro!” Apple Bloom says, setting the tools at his feet.
>”Eeyup.”
>His vocabulary isn’t much better than a wookiee’s, that for certain.
>Your attention is drawn upwards as Applejack pokes her head over the side of the Star Turtle’s hull, calling down.
>”Anybody got a size seven hydrospanner down there?”
“I’ll get it,” you say, approaching a nearby toolkit. You remove the tool and face her. “Catch!”
>She holds up a gloved hand and catches the tool as you throw it up to her.

>With a smile and a thumbs-up, she gets back to work.
>You had no idea these Dantooine farm folk were so handy with tools on a starship.
>Perhaps it comes from repairing farm equipment and their droids so much.
>Though the Star Turtle suffered a relatively small amount of damage during the encounter with Starlight Glimmer’s Interdictor, and its collision with Sunset Shimmer’s vessel the Solar Scythe, your freighter has been overdue for a good tune-up.
>You’re taking the time to do so now, since you have the capable help of the Apple Family.
>Deciding to give Applejack a hand, you reposition the ladder and extend it to the top of the hull, climbing onto the ‘shell’ of the Star Turtle.
>Minor dents and scrapes all around its surface can be seen, including one particularly large one from the impact with the Starlight-class light freighter.
>It’s probably going to need to be replaced, but Applejack has assured you that she can bang it out.
>You kneel down next to her as she bends over an exposed panel, working on some wire housings that were damaged in the collision.
“Thanks again for all of this.”
>”Ain’t nothing,” she says with a chipper tone. “Always happy to lend a hand.”
“I gotta say, I didn’t expect you and your siblings to know your way around a ship like you do, with how much you talked down spacers when we first met.”
>”Well, ships are one thing, but the people in them are another,” she points out. “’Sides, you ain’t so bad; proved yourself through honest effort, when you coulda flown right off, an’ you stuck around after.”

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t for the offer on free maintenance, at least partially.”
>”Oh? That’s all? Hah, I bet.” She leans back and wipes a greasy glove on her forehead. Her freckled cheeks are stained somewhat, along with a small amount of oil on the tip of her nose. She sees you staring. “What?”
“There’s a little, uh,” you point at your nose.
>”Oh.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve, then blushes slightly. “How’s that?”
“Perfect. Not a stain anywhere else.”
>”Aw, shut it, you.” She gives you a playful shove. “Gonna need a good shower after this one; can’t greet a cousin properly all covered in oil.”
“Is Pinkie having another party?”
>Applejack looks over with a cocked brow. “Hm? Oh! No, not Pinkie, my actual cousin. Braeburn’s his name.”
You scrunch your face in thought. “Braeburn… that name sounds familiar. Is he a smuggler?”
>”He likes to think he is. Truth is, he ain’t smuggled a thing in his life, he’s too… well, honest, I ‘spose.”
“Ah, he doesn’t have the natural scumminess needed to be a real dashing rogue, like myself, hm?”
>She chuckles into her palm. “Right. He’s just a transporter, flies a cargo hauler, thinks it makes him some kinda space ace.”
“Sure, the galaxy is full of guys like that. Of course, the real mark of a smuggler is someone who’s willing to take the risk for the ultimate reward.” You straighten the collar of your jumpsuit and motion with your hand at the horizon. “Out there, flying fast and loose by the seat of your pants, never knowing when the long arm of the law will catch up to you, that’s smuggling.”
>”Y’all certainly got a romantic idea of it,” she says with a smirk as she closes up the panel she was working on.
“What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.” You stand up and offer her your hand, which she playfully smacks away.

>”Save the mushy stuff for the other gals, flyboy. Rarity told me where your tastes lie.”
>You feel some of the color drain out of your face.
“Oh. She, uh… mentioned that, did she?”
>Applejack picks up her hat, stands up, and with an arched brow she holds up her fingers and makes air quotes with them. "’Lingerie enthusiast.’ And I’m a hutt in human skin.”
>You shiver inwardly at the mention of a hutt.
>Nothing escapes this sharp-eyed cowgirl. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. Just, uh, imagining a hutt in lingerie.”
>She sticks out her tongue. “Aw, yuck, now I got that in my mind too!”
>The two of you share a laugh as you approach the ladder.
“I’ll have you know that it’s not just other species that I appreciate. I mean, I had to come from somewhere too, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t find human girls attractive.”
>”But we ain’t got horns an’ lekku an’ pointy ears an’ skin that’s ever color of the rainbow, do we?”
“Well, I mean---“
>”I’m just playin’ with ya,” she says, lightly elbowing you in the ribs. “Say, being that your ship’s right here an’ all, mind if I shower up in it?”
“Be my guest. It’s the least I can do.”
>She stops after getting on the ladder, then fixes you with a suspicious look. “You ain’t got cameras in there, do ya? No lyin’.”
“Of course not. What do you take me for?”
>”In your own words, a scummy smuggler,” she answers flatly in a teasing tone before she climbs the rest of the way down.
“…Eh, fair enough.”

>You bring Applejack into your ship, giving her a brief tour and showing her where the refresher is.
>”Cozy place,” she says, looking into the guest room. “Guess it’d need to be if you’re gonna be livin’ in it for so long in space.”
“A man’s ship is his flying castle,” you reply, leaning up against the doorframe. “You can use the shower in here. Towels are in the upper cabinet.”
>”Thanks,” she says, suddenly surprising you with how comfortable she feels by zipping down the front of her jumpsuit.
>Your brows shoot up as you catch a glimpse of a red bra containing her firm breasts and a toned tummy beneath them, slightly shining with a layer of sweat.
>Clearly, farm work and her experience with hunting and combat has been kind to her.
>She catches your eyes and you look up to meet hers.
“What?” you ask, unapologetically.
>She smirks, rolls her eyes and takes off her hat before shoving it in your face, pushing you back slightly and out of the doorframe so she may close it.
>Left with her hat, you shrug and approach the cockpit to run some simple diagnostics on the ship’s systems after today’s maintenance.
>Once you sit down in your unbelievably comfortable captain’s chair, you stretch out your legs and start turning on a few subsystems as you look at her hat.
>You briefly muse about its origins; perhaps a family heirloom of some kind?
>Experimentally, you plop it onto your head.
“Not a bad fit,” you think, tipping it upward.
>You pause for a moment as you consider the girl; despite your taste for the exotic, you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t find her attractive.
‘Those shower cameras are starting to sound like a good idea,’ you think to yourself as you scratch your chin. ‘But how to hide them?’
>You shake your head and take the hat off.
‘I’m not THAT much of a creep.’

>Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.
>Though, picturing the water running down her strong, supple, farm-grown body, blonde hair splayed against her back, her muscled arms and legs relaxing under the warmth as the steam begins to rise…
>You cough into your hand; suddenly, you have the urge to use the refresher in your room.
>Or perhaps join the one in use…
>Quelling the thoughts for a moment, you focus on finishing up the tests.
>Looks like everything internally is back up to your standards; a little more fine-tuning will have your ship running perfectly again.
>You hear some noise from down below, the patter of feet and the dripping of water as someone approaches the cockpit ladder well and climbs up.
>Having borrowed a spare jumpsuit you keep for just such an occasion, Applejack joins you in the cockpit and takes a seat next to you, picking up her hat and placing it over her damp hair.
>”Thanks. Clean as a whistle again. Nice chair.”
“Thank you. So, about your cousin; is he arriving here?”
>”Actually, I was hopin’ we could take your ship out to rendezvous with him and make sure he gets here alright. It’ll give you an excuse to see how well the Apple family can fix up any old hunk ‘a junk.”
“Ouch, and after using my shower?”
>”No offense intended,” she says, crossing her legs. “How about it, flyboy? Show me how you can handle this thing.”
>She’s playing you again, knowing that she can simply imply that you’re not up to a challenge, no matter how small, and get you to do what she wants.
>And even though you recognize it, you know she’s right.

>With a cocky grin, you start up the ship’s engines and go through the routine of preparing for takeoff.
>Apple Bloom and Big Mac are below, beneath the cockpit near the hangar entrance, waving you off.
>Applejack leans forward and waves at them as you begin to lift the ship, retracting the landing gear and hovering it upwards.
>The Star Turtle raises through the open hangar and out over the top of Canterlot Colony, turning until the atmospheric processory is out of view before blasting forwards.
>Applejack falls back in her seat, her eyes wide and with a smile on her face. “Yeeeehaw! This baby’s got come kick!”
“You have no idea,” you reply with a chuckle, angling upwards to head into the atmosphere.
>She grips the arms of her seat for a moment as your ship rumbles through the upper layers, eventually breaching them and soaring out into open space.
>Throwing a sidelong glance at her, she meets your gaze and smiles back, toughing it out.
“And here I thought you didn’t like flying.”
>”Never said I didn’t. I see the appeal, don’t get me wrong. It’s you smuggler types I have to watch out for.”
“Now whatever might you be implying? My intentions are only of noble caliber. I even selflessly saved the entire colony out of the goodness of my heart.”
>”As you keep reminding anyone at the drop of a hat, as if anyone forgot,” she chides. Reaching into her pocket, she takes out a piece of paper. “Here, I wrote down the coordinates for the meetup. We’ll be a bit early, but it ain’t far. We can wait there until he shows up.”
“Some quality time in space with a fine-looking girl is something I’ve never said no to. It’ll let us get to know each other better.”
>She playfully snaps back with, “Just so long as you stay on your side of the cockpit, flyboy.”
“And give up my chair? Never.”
>After setting the coordinates in, you take off for the meeting place in a nearby system.

Settling back for the short hyperspace jump, you look over at your guest and ask, “So, how does a dantooinian farmgirl and her family end up on a dustball in the Outer Rim in an Alliance colony, anyway?”
>She sits back, folding her arms. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m a patient listener.”
>”We lost the family farm on Dantooine to corporate sector slimeballs. They were buyin’ up whole swathes of the planet, damn near a whole hemisphere, and we were smack-dab in the middle. At first we refused to give up our land; the Apple family’s held it for a long, long time.”
“Let me guess where this is going: they started playing dirty.”
>”You’re right on the credits, flyboy. They hired mercenaries to harass us, damage our property and intimidate us into giving up the land. We resisted, stubbornly; that’s the Apple way. But they kept escalating.”
>She stares off into the void of hyperspace as you silently sit and listen; she’s clearly brewing a lot of anger over this.
>You turn in your chair to your left, where you have a small mini-fridge and open it up.
>A number of drinks and snacks are inside; small comforts for those long hours up in the cockpit and you’re too bored to go down into the living area.
>Taking out a capsule containing a drink, you twist off the top and hand it to her, nudging her in the shoulder slightly.
>”Hm? Oh, thanks. Mighty kind.” She takes a sip. “As it turns out, the corporate sector was actin’ on the interests of the Lunar Empire. They were buyin’ up land not to mass-farm it, but to set up some kind of remote outpost for them. We caught wind they were comin’, and we were able to get out… just before they bombed our family home.”

“Bombed? How’d they get away with that?”
>”You know how it is. Dantooine is in the Outer Rim. Quiet, not much representation in the galaxy at large. The Lunar Empire claims it was just a ‘routine training operation.’ We knew we’d never see reprimands or justice from them, not when it conveniently allowed their corporate sector bootlickers to get the last bit of land they needed.”
“What came next?”
>”We knew that the only justice we’d find is what we took for ourselves, so we spoke to some of the extended family. We’re spread out across the galaxy, you know.”
“Really? My family is very small. But go on.”
>”A distant relative put us in contact with the Alliance. We figured we wouldn’t get their attention, what with the war in the Core Worlds an’ all, but we managed to meet with someone who understood our situation. They recognized that we had talents that could help a project, and that project was Equanus. Now we’re here.”
“Seems like an odd way to take revenge,” you say with a small shrug. “If I wanted to get back at someone, I’d start shooting.”
>”It’s a big empire. The best revenge we can have is being successful and supporting their enemies. Although… it DID feel good to blast a few bucket-heads when they showed up on our doorstop.”
“That it did,” you reply, popping open a drink for yourself.
>You and she clink your capsules against each other and drink.
>”What about you, flyboy? What’s your story?”
“Oh, nothing much. Dad was a smuggler. Now I am.”
>”Come on now, there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

“Well, my old man was a legend. He’d run blockades, bust up slavery rings, get spice past any port---and I mean ANY port---and he was a hell of a gambler, too. Notorious in the Outer Rim, and beyond.”
>”You look up to him?”
“Well sure. He was everything a smuggler should be.” You clear your throat.
You pause. “I admire the lifestyle, and he embodied it… but that didn’t leave any time for me. Then, one day, he shows up out of nowhere and ditches this ship; said he was on the run. Never saw him again.”
>”And your mother?”
You take another drink. “She’s gone.”
>Her eyes drift downwards. “Mine too. At least your old man might still be alive out there somewhere, right?”
“Maybe… I don’t really hate him, I know that it’s just part of the life. Still…” You look over at her. “Your parents died in the bombing?”
>”No, long before. We live with our granny; she’s back on the ranch in the colony. It’s a rough galaxy sometimes.”
“You’re telling me.”
>”Even after all that’s happened, we have to stay strong to stay alive.” She smirks. “Hm. Never thought I’d have anything in common with a smuggler.”
“I thought the same about you farmer-types.”
>You meet her green eyes, which seem to sparkle in the light of hyperspace.
>A light that suddenly fades as your ship leaves that dimension, entering realspace once more.
“We’re here,” you say, breaking away to check your coordinates; they match what Applejack provided. “I’m not picking up any ships, so I guess we’re early like you said.”

>She nods and stands up. “Gonna stretch my legs an’ look at the rest of your ship. Let me know if he shows up, will you?”
>You nod back at her as she descends the ladder.
>Leaning back into your chair and cracking your knuckles, you settle in and wait, closing your eyes as you turn up the auto-detector so that if anything approaches, you’ll be awoken and alerted to it.
>Sleep comes easy to you in your criminally comfortable chair.
>Just when you are about to drift into a dream, you hear something fall and clatter on the metal floor underneath the cockpit, followed by a few more banging sounds.
>You sit up, somewhat startled, as you hear Applejack curse to herself and something scrape along the floor, likely as she picks it up.
>Driven by curiosity, you slide down the ladder and see that she found and opened your spare parts locker, and a pipe fell out, along with a spare panel and some loose tools.
>She looks over and blushes. “Ah, sorry. ‘Spose I made a ruckus.”
“Not at all. Let me give you a hand.”
>You kneel down and start picking up the tools.
>She reaches for the same tool that you do, resulting in her hand landing on top of yours.
>”Hah,” she chuckles, bashfully averting her eyes and retracting her hand. “Clumsy.”
“I don’t mind,” you say, picking it up and placing it back into the locker. “A lot of this stuff could use some reorganizing, anyway.”
>She stands up, brushing her hands on the borrowed jumpsuit. “Say, what do you spacers do for fun on these here long voyages, anyway?”
“I got a few things to keep me busy. Ever played dejarik?”
>”I’ve seen it a bunch. Why don’t you teach me how?”
“Right this way.”

>The dejarik table you have in the back is an older model, something of a hand-me-down as it came with the ship, but you haven’t been able to find the motivation to replace it.
>Perhaps that’s because it feels like part of the ship itself, but you try not to think too hard about such things.
>Deep down you’re a sentimental sort, despite what you try to appear to be.
>The lounge is a comfortable area of the ship, with good seating, lighting and a few amenities that make life aboard a starship more manageable.
>You take a seat in the booth around the hologram-projecting checkered table and she sits opposite you.
>After booting up the holograms of the small, strange alien creatures, you explain the basic rules to her about moving and killing enemy pieces.
>With that out of the way, the two of you play.
>She’s a beginner, so you go easy on her and explain some of the finer points during her turns so she can make more informed decisions.
>”Well how am I supposed to beat you if I do what you say I should do?”
“That’s fair, but I must warn you that I’ve played plenty of games against the computer.”
>She seems up to the challenge, and making her own choices.
>Moving her kintan strider up center, she makes a classic mistake, which you demonstrate by taking it out from the side with your ng'ok.
>”What? How’d that work?”
“You put a big piece out in the open with no defense flanking it. It was too juicy to not take out with no risk on my end.”
>”Shoot,” she says. “Alright, reset. I wanna go again.”
>You shrug and press a button on the side to reset the field.

>Three games later and she almost came close to beating you.
>She’s positioned her k'lor'slug and m'onnok pieces almost perfectly to take out your ghhhk.
>The keyword is ‘almost.’
>The look on her face when you sacrifice your ghhhk, which was bait, and then take out both of her pieces with the reach of your grimtaash is priceless.
>She scowls. “Ah, dangit!”
>Bringing up her hands, she slams them down on the surface of the table, causing it to loose some of its anchoring.
>Your eyes widen and you try to stop her, but it’s too late; the hologram starts flickering.
>”Oh no,” she says, sliding back some as you both look at the slightly-bent table.
>The holograms don’t stop flickering; the projector has lost its integrity along with the now-uneven surface.
“That table belonged to my father,” you say with a sigh.
>”Oh, Anon, I’m so sorry, I---I don’t know my own strength, I suppose.”
“It’s… fine. I should get a new one anyway.”
>”Let me! I gotta make it up to you somehow. I really didn’t mean to go an’ act all childish like that, I should know better.”
>You’re about to reply when your chrono beeps on your wrist.
>You check it; it’s the hour mark.
“We’ve been here for two hours,” you say. “When was your cousin supposed to arrive?”

>”Has it been that long? Heh, time flies…” She coughs into her hand, continuing with the new topic of conversation. “Braeburn should’ve been here by now. This was the agreed-upon meeting place.”
“Maybe we should try and get in touch.”
>The two of you slide out of the booth and she gives another forlorn look at the table as you turn it off.
>”Really, I’m sorry, honestly.”
“I know, I know, don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s old. The newer models have better graphics and more gamemodes anyway.”
>Applejack quietly follows you to the cockpit, clearly still thinking about the board but also Braeburn’s absence, both of which have thrown her off somewhat.
>Once you are both seated in the Star Turtle’s head, you watch as she opens a line of communication on a frequency she knows by heart.
>She tries to contact him a few times, using callsigns before outright saying, “Braeburn, are you out there? Come in, over.”
>No response.
“Maybe we should check back in with the colony,” you suggest. “Maybe he ended up there.”
>”He didn’t have the coordinates for it. Secrecy an’ all.” She still agrees with your idea, and takes a moment to get a communications channel open with the colony’s comms officer. “Derpy? Come in. This is Applejack.”
>”Reading you loud and---“ An interruption of static blares over her response. “---read me, over?”
>”A little fuzzy, but not bad. We’re at the meeting site for the shipment, but Braeburn hasn’t arrived.” Applejack casts her eyes downwards somewhat, clearly thinking of something. “Derpy… could you send me the coordinates you sent Braeburn?”
>”Uh, okay! One sec…”

>After a few moments of waiting, a message appears on the console and you open it.
>Both you and Applejack read it and realize at the same time that the coordinates are wrong; a letter and a number are both incorrect.
>”Derpy! These ain’t the coordinates I gave you to send to him! He’s ended up somewhere completely different!”
>”Oh, no… I’m sorry Applejack, I thought I recorded them just the way you said them. I just don’t know what went wrong!”
“Well, now we know where he is. He’s probably waiting for us.”
>Applejack slaps her face as she turns off the comms. “Can anything go right on this day?”
“Hey, it isn’t that bad. These coordinates aren’t far off, so it’ll only be a few minutes.”
>Locking the coordinates into the navicomputer, you angle the ship and surge forwards into hyperspace.
>Along the way, Applejack continues to shake her head.
>”Sorry for gettin’ you roped up into this.”
“Nah, it’s fine. Who else could get you where you’re going as fast?”
>”I’ll make sure you get compensated for the help and the table,” she says firmly. “That’s the honest truth and I mean it.”
>You decide to leave the matter there; once she’s made up her mind, you know it’s made up.
>Arriving at the new coordinates a minute later, you find yourselves in an empty stretch of space.
>Your shipboard sensors begin to ping with the telltale signals of another vessel nearby.
“Alright, that must be him. Let’s go and---Oh.”
>Applejack gasps as Braeburn’s ship comes into sight with the turning of your ship.
>Hanging there in the void is a large transport ship, covered in scorch marks and other signs of battle damage, with wires exposed shooting sparks off.
>The hull is compromised in several places, and the ship doesn’t seem to have any power.
“Well… that’s bad,” you say, an understatement if ever there was one.

>"We've gotta do something!" she says, jolting up from her seat and nearly pressing against the cockpit's glass. "He might still be on there!"
You hold up a hand. "Wait a moment. We need to consider what's happening!"
>She looks back at you with a betrayed expression. "Wait? We can't wait! My cousin was on that ship---might still be!"
"And I'm trying to not get mine blown up!" you retort, and that silences her. You straighten in your chair and lean forward. "Look. His ship was attacked. How do we know they won't come back?"
>She's hearing your logic, but her familial bonds win out. "My cousin's on that ship. I have to know if he's alright. I have to."
You see the determination in her eyes and sigh. "Alright. Let's take her in easy and dock."
>As you drift closer, deftly navigating the small debris field surrounding the vessel, Applejack surveys the damage.
>"What could have done this?" she wonders aloud, looking at a massive chunk of the cargo ship's side blown open and exposed to space.
"Pirates, probably," you reply. "Didn't think there'd be any out here."
>You scan the area again with your onboard sensors, but only return readings from the nearby damaged ship.
"I'm picking up some residual power on that thing," you tell her. "Backup life support and gravity generators, but no shields, propulsion or communications. He got hit pretty good."
>You notice out of the corner of your eye her putting her hands together.
>"Please be alright, cuz, please..."
>You're still wary of any signs of trouble, but locate an intact docking port and navigate the ship to connect with it.
>The computer handles the more advanced calculations, lining up with the port and matching its speed and rotation, aligning your vessel with it perfectly.
>Or, based on the sound of scraping that you hear a moment later as the ships meet, near-perfectly.

>Your ship is now positioned directly underneath the cargo hauler, connected to it with a docking tube.
>After flipping a few switches, you confirm with Applejack that the tube is ready for use.
>"Let's go," she says, but you grab her arm.
"Wait. We need to be careful. We have no idea what we're getting into on that thing."
>"All I know is that I've got family on there," she replies, heading for the ladder well.
>You bite your tongue, holding back a response along the lines of, 'Maybe not anymore.'
>Whatever's up there, she'll have to find for herself.
>Reaching over, you pick up the slugthrower given to you by Rainbow Dash and head to the ladder, sliding down to join Applejack as she approaches the access tube.
>She's armed with a rifle of her own, slung over her back as she grabs a medpac from a nearby wall and secures it to her utility belt.
>For a moment, you consider staying here.
>After all, what if you need to take off right away?
>Your inherent self-interest rears its head, but you know she wouldn't take kindly to you staying behind.
>The look on her face, her body language, everything about her screams that she is worried about her kin.
>Worried even to the point of putting herself at potential risk.
>It reminds you of how fiercely the colonists fought alongside each other in the battle, and how none of them were willing to back down.
>It reminds you of what you don’t have.
>As Applejack prepares to ascend the ladder, you get her attention.

"Wait," you say to her, gently touching her shoulder. "Let me go up first. I've done this kind of thing before."
>Her initial reaction is one of objection, but the look in her eyes changes when she meets yours.
>You've resolved to commit to her course, even though you have in fact never boarded a nearly destroyed vessel in the past.
>Well, there's a first time for everything, you suppose.
>It doesn't make you feeling comfortable, but you're not about to look like a coward in front of her.
>Just as you are about to climb up, a thought occurs to you: what if there was a fault in the life support system on the ship?
>You hesitate, then go to grab two breath masks, handing one to her.
"Just in case," you say as you slip the transparent cover over your lower face and secure the filter to your belt.
>She does the same and follows you up the ladder.
>You press a few buttons on the port control panel and the top twists open; a loud hiss is heard as the two atmospheres meet.
>Beyond is darkness.
"We should probably grab a glowrod," you say down to her.
>"I've got one. Here." She hands it up to you, reaching it past your legs.
>You take the handheld light and flick it on, then climb up into the ship, pausing at the halfway point to shine your light around.
>It is some kind of maintenance bay or workshop, judging by the scattered parts and worktables, but it's definitely seen better days.
>With no sign of danger, you climb all the way out and help her up.
"Ever been on this ship before?"
>"No, I've only ever heard about it from Braeburn," she replies.
"This must be one of the cargo bays, but converted into a workshop," you note. "I'm unfamiliar with its design, but the bridge was in that direction." You point towards one end of the room. "Let's be careful. If we open up the wrong door, we could be sucked out into space."

>You both approach the only door at that end of the bay, listening to the eerie quiet of the ship around you.
>Just in case, you both grab onto something solid; in your case, a pipe on the wall.
>When you open it, you both let out a tense breath of relief when it is only a narrow hallway.
>You take point and pass by several shut doors, pausing to open one of them.
"Crew quarters. Looks empty."
>"He told me he flew this ship by himself and a few droids to help."
"He'd have needed to. A big ship like this needs more than one person or droid to keep it running. But where are they now?"
>As if in response to your inquiry, a noise is heard from further up in the ship, like metal banging against metal.
>Both of you raise your weapons, startled, but then it comes again, and again.
>"It doesn’t sound like it's gettin' closer," she says, edging forward.
>You walk alongside her, approaching a shut door.
>The metal banging on the other side of it is clearer now; it sounds almost like a table being repeatedly pushed up against a wall.
>The two of you nod to each other, take up positions on either side of the door, and you open it.
>You both pop out and aim, only to discover that it is a gutted gonk droid walking into the wall, over and over and over.
>The back of its square body is missing a chunk, exposing wires with frayed ends and scorched parts.

>It walks into the wall, softly repeating, "Gonk... gonk... gonk..."
>"Poor little guy," Applejack says, kneeling alongside it and putting her hand on its boxy head. "Must've been damaged when the ship was attacked."
"No," you say, your eyes narrow. "Look." You lightly scrape your finger alongside the edge of the blasted hole, revealing scorched carbon. "This droid wasn't caught in a blast, it was shot."
>Applejack's face gets serious. "That means we weren't the first people to board this ship."
"Fair bet," you reply, raising your rifle and motioning towards a nearby ladder. "Leave the droid for now. We need to find your cousin."
>”So, do you think it was pirates?” she asks as you both climb the ladder to the upper level.
>Once there, you follow a passage that leads to the cockpit, but its doors are sealed shut.
>You’re about to consider alternatives when Applejack uses the butt of her rifle to bang on the doors, calling out, “Braeburn! Are you in there?”
>After a moment of silence, she tries again.
>”Braeburn! It’s your cousin! Please, open up!”
“I don’t think he’s---”
>The doors suddenly slide open, and a man’s groan can be heard from within.
“---here…” you finish saying as Applejack rushes inside.
>The cockpit is trashed; broken panels, cracked glass, a blown-up droid that looks gunned down in one corner, and its sole living occupant: Braeburn.
>As she hurries to the aid of the wounded man, who had crawled over to the door to open it, you get a good look at him, and realize why his name sounded familiar when she first mentioned him.
>You’ve met him before, though you can’t quite recall what bar on what planet it was, but he’s got an unforgettable kind of air around him.
>Shaggy blonde hair, a vest, and a hat that is similar to her own, along with a few tattoos up and down his arms.
>You can he got along well, though you thought he was kind of a tool for thinking he could be a hotshot spacer like you.

>He groans again. “That you… AJ?”
>”It’s alright, I’m here,” she assures while helping him to a sitting position.
>You take off your mask and look down at him more closely, seeing a large wound on his side; he’s trailing fresh blood from it.
>The attack can’t have happened more than an hour ago, and as she takes out the medpac, you piece together what you can from the room.

>You approach a nearby console and bring up the ship's log.
>Several details are made apparent to you.
>He arrived at this location about two hours ago, waited for an hour, then was approached by two other vessels that dropped out of hyperspace.
>He attempted to hail them, but to no response.
>The other ships immediately attacked, disabled and boarded his vessel.
>Your eyes narrow as you scan through the last lines of the report.
>Only one vessel boarded, while the other continued to circle around in a protective patrol.
>It seems their ships were relatively small, fast and heavily armed.
>His unarmed cargo ship didn’t have a chance, especially once they focused on his engines.
>It seems he tried to send out a distress beacon, but they took out his communications at about the same time.
“Definitely professionals,” you mutter to yourself. “They knew what to hit and when. Coordinated…”
>Behind you, Applejack finishes up tending to her cousin, then gives him some water from her canteen.
>"What happened?" she asks him after he finishes gulping it down and gasping.
>"Came outta nowhere..." he says, groaning and holding his now-bandaged side. "Two of 'em..."
You look back over your shoulder. "What color were their ships?"
>"What's that matter?" Applejack asks, but Braeburn coughs and answers all the same.
>"Yellow, both of 'em were bright yellow."
>Your brow furrows some more, and Applejack picks up on your expression. "Do you know who did this?"
"No, but it sounds familiar," you reply, turning to kneel in front of Braeburn. “Did you know who they were?”

>”Never got a good look at ‘em…” He does, however, get a good look at you now. “Do I… know you?
“I think we’ve met. Ever been to Rafa XI?”
>”No… ever been to Vanan?”
“Can’t say that I have. How about Dakuyl? There’s a little bar in the starport that---”
>”Alright, starhoppers, we got bigger things goin’ on,” Applejack cuts in. She puts a supporting hand on his shoulder. “We need to get you some medical attention.”
“Did one of them hit you?”
>”No… one of the consoles exploded. Managed to lock myself in here. Figured I’d just wait it out… I owe you big time, cuz.”
>”You just keep that kinda talk to yourself. Let’s get you out of here first.”
“One moment,” you say before turning back to the working console. You download the contents of the ship's log into a nearby datapad and pick it up. "I think we might be able to learn something from this."
>As you do this, Applejack helps her cousin up to his feet. "There, there, we're gonna get you somewhere safe, where there ain't no pirates."
>"But my ship..."
>"Sorry to say, it's toast." She gives him an apologetic look before her eyes stray over to look at you. "You comin'?"
>As you help him through the ship, he looks around at the damage.
>”Aw, shucks. Years and years of work I put into this thing. All the runs I made, the credits I saved up…”
"Well, the logs show that they took all your cargo. But I don't think these were pirates."

>Applejack gives you a strange look. "What makes you figure?"
"Pattern's all wrong. We're in the middle of nowhere; no pirates would wait here for an ambush. Plus, he was here for an hour before they arrived, which means that they didn't stumble upon him, they followed him here."
>"He was tracked?"
"All too familiar," you say, remembering when the Imperial Interdictor tracked you to the colony. "You have any idea who could have done this to you?”
>”No, I…” His voice trails off. “Shoot… I shoulda known it was too good to be true…”
“What?”
>Applejack pauses and he looks at you both. “I met these two guys at the port. They said they needed something shipped to Kail right away, and paid a lot of credits, with the promise of triple on the back end.”
>”You didn’t know them?”
>”You meet all kinds of people in this line ‘a work,” he says with a grimace. “I took the job, and put the crate in the hold, said I’d get to it as soon as my next job was done…”
“I think I know where this is going,” you say with a frown. “Let me guess: two of them?” He nods. “And they looked at your ship beforehand?” He nods again. “And they asked questions, right?”
>”They were friendly. Real charming fellers.”
>You give Applejack a serious look, and she returns it.
>Braeburn pieces it together a moment later. “You don’t mean…?”

“They scoped you out. Found you to be an easy mark. You brought the tracker onto your ship, then when the time was right, they got the drop on you. They knew just where to hit you to cripple your ship; they hit you hard and fast. Nothing you could’ve done, really. Except not trust two strangers promising triple pay for a simple job.”
>He lowers his head. “Aw, hell…”
>”It’s alright,” Applejack says, helping him along towards the port hatch. “What matters is that you’re alive.”
>While she helps him down into your ship, you think for a moment.
>Taking out the datapad, you examine the last environmental data it gathered.
>They took out the ship’s communications, but not its sensors, which still recorded everything.
>Once they were done, they must have felt confident, because they made the jump to hyperspace right then and there, in sensor range of the cargo hauler.
>With this data, you could cross-reference the time, location and angle of their trajectory and follow them to their destination.
>Well, not you personally, that would take a genius.
>There are ways around that, though.

>After helping Applejack get Braeburn down into your ship, you lay him down on a cushioned seat and help her tend more thoroughly to his wounds.
>Neither of you are exactly an accomplished medic, but you do have some additional supplies, like fresh water for him to drink.
>He gulps it down greedily, nearly choking when it goes down the wrong pipe; Applejack tells him to calm down.
>”Thanks, cuz,” he says to her before looking up at you. “And thanks to you to, pardner. I guess I was wrong ‘bout you.”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
>”I always thought you were kind of a tool,” he says with a half-smirk.
>You put your hands on your hips, digging your thumbs into your belt and stop yourself from snidely sniping back at him.
“I guess we’re more alike than I thought.”
>”You thought you were a tool too?”
“On second thought, nevermind.”
>Applejack stands up, wiping some of his blood from her hands on her jumpsuit. “We need to get his ship out of here.”
“I can’t exactly tow that thing,” you reply.
>”Well, we’re hooked up, ain’t we? Can’t we fly it back to Equanus like we are?”
“If you want his ship to be torn apart in hyperspace and take us with it, sure. My shields only cover my ship.”
>”So, we fix his shields.”
“My hyperdrive will fry if we try to carry that much external weight.”
>”So, we rig some kinda connection between his engines and yours.”

“His engines are fragged! We’d need a drydock and a whole crew to fix them and about a week’s worth of time to do it.”
>”So, we… well, shoot, I’m outta ideas.”
>”We can’t just leave my ship here! I just paid this baby off!”
“It’s not like it’s going anywhere,” you point out. “And I doubt those con men will come back.”
>”But they might,” she points out. “A ship like this is worth a lot in scrapped parts.”
>”They can’t take my ship apart! I’ll be ruined!” Braeburn sits up, then winces at the pain in his side, but continues to sit up anyway. “They can’t get away with stealing your cargo and my whole livelihood!”
>Applejack turns away and slams a fist into her palm. “Damn! I can’t stand those kinda people. Con men, liars, thieves---it’s a dishonest way of livin’! What I wouldn’t give to follow them and give them a taste of their own medicine…”
>Your ears perk up somewhat.
“Well… I know a way that could happen.”
>They both look at you in surprise as you hold up the datapad.
“Seems they left in a hurry. Their attack was well-done---no offense meant, Braeburn---but their exit wasn’t. Your ship’s sensors picked up their exit trajectory. A little work with the navicomputer and we might just figure out exactly where they went, or at least get a good guess.”
>”We could follow them,” Applejack says, her green eyes shining brightly. “Ambush them, like they ambushed him! Maybe even get back the supplies for the colony!”
“I thought you didn’t like pirates.”
>”Not pirates OF pirates!”
>”Them’s privateers, cuz,” Braeburn points out.
>”Don’t care! Anon, how soon can we leave?”

“Shouldn’t we get him some care?”
>”Aw, shoot, I’m fine,” Braeburn says, trying to stand and falling back onto the cushions. “Just… need to catch my breath, is all.”
>“We can’t let the trail get cold,” she says. “They won’t be expectin’ someone to follow them so soon, or maybe even at all!”
“Let’s just take a minute and—”
>”These people attacked my kin! I can’t forgive that!”
“What about reinforcements?”
>She hesitates for a moment before taking off her hat and holding it in front of her, her fingers rolling up its side somewhat in a fidgety motion.
>”I… don’t wanna go back empty-handed.”
“What? Why? His ship got blown up and raided, everyone would understand.”
>”It’s not just that! I got a reputation to uphold. I’m supposed to be reliable. If I lose this shipment, the others at the colony might lose faith in me, in my family.”
“But you’ve already lost it!” you point out, and they both look down, ashamed. You clear your throat and straighten slightly. “I might not have meant it quite so harshly. Look, I’m no stranger to wanting to keep up appearances. I just don’t want what happened to his ship to happen to mine.”
>She nods. “I understand that. I just…” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “These people remind me of the kinda folks who got us kicked off Dantooine. Not the Empire, the two-bit mercs and thieves hired by them. This galaxy’s got too much scum in it. Is it too much to want to get rid of some of ‘em, and get back what they took from us?”
“No, but…” You let out a sigh of your own and consider your response. You didn’t exactly expect to get dragged into this kind of thing when you took off today.

>Squaring yourself away, you look her in the eyes and deliver your ultimatum.
"I don't have a death wish, and my ship isn't getting scrapped over your pride. Either we get help, or we don't go."
>She visibly reacts, recoiling somewhat, balling her fists at first but then losing her bluster immediately after.
>Her shoulders slump as her eyes are cast downwards, and she lets out a resigned sigh.
>"Alright. We'll get help from the others."
>She's clearly affected by your choice, but you are happy she isn't rushing you (and your ship) headlong into danger anymore.
>You've done more than your fair share of reckless acts, but these con artists have already taken down one ship; they won't get their hands on yours.
Taking a step back, you clear your throat and say, "Alright, it's settled, then. I'll set the course for the colony."
>She nods, still avoiding eye contact, and Braeburn is quiet as well.
>Excusing yourself from the awkward moment, you head to the cockpit and start fiddling with the navicomputer, quickly calculating the fastest route to Equanus.
>As you do, you disconnect from Braeburn's vessel, gently pulling away with the sublight engines as you line up with the projected hyperspace corridor.
>When the ship reaches hyperspace, you sit back and think for a few moments about the situation.
>Going after con men like this, pirates and scrappers, can be extremely dangerous.
>They may operate alone, but they may have help, or bigger friends.
>But there is also an opportunity for profit.
>Men like this tend to have a storehouse or base of some sort where they bring their catches until they can offload them elsewhere.
>While you don't think that someone running this kind of racket would have nearly enough credits to pay off your bounty, every bit helps.

>Your ears pick up the sound of someone climbing up the ladder well and turn to look at Applejack as she quietly enters the cockpit and sits down.
>"Sorry about all that," she says, barely above a mumble. "Wasn't right to try an' drag you along on a vendetta like that. You know, they say anyone lookin' for revenge should dig two graves, but I was fixin' to dig a few more."
You blink a few times after she's finished. "Are you saying you're not going to try and go after them?"
>"I want to, I want to real bad, but you're the only ship who can take us. If you don't want to, I won't make you. I'll just... try and figure some way to make up for losing these supplies."
"Woah, woah, hold on, don't get me wrong. I'm all for going after these guys, I just want us to be as prepared as we can be. I don't like pirates either, you know."
>"You're right. I don't think too clearly when I get all hot-headed. I'm just very proud of the work my family's done for the colony, and... Well, I guess I'm just afraid of lookin' weak."
"That's very honest of you."
>She smirks. "Never was much one for the runaround."
"I understand. When we first met, you were pretty upfront about how much of a scumbag you thought I was."
>"Hey now, don't get it twisted, I had the colony's interests at heart."
"Let me correct myself: potential scumbag," you snipe back with a smile.
>She chuckles. "You were pretty scummy if I do say so myself. And you were a stranger."
"I'm not so strange now, am I?"
>"No, I 'spose you ain't."

>Your eyes meet briefly, and she blushes and looks away before tucking a strand of blonde hair behind an ear.
>The rest of the journey is uneventful, and not long after, you're back at the colony.
>After getting Braeburn to the local doctor, a very lovely togruta named Redheart, you and Applejack explain the situation to the others.
>It's mostly her, with you chipping in every now and then, as Twilight, Rainbow, Fluttershy, Rarity, Pinkie and the mayor listen.
>Behind the two of you stands Big Mac, tall and silent, with his arms folded.
>Applejack's hat is in her hands, held in front of her as she finishes.
>"So, that's that. I'm really sorry, folks."
>"For what?" Rainbow says, cocking a brow. "You didn't do anything."
>"I know, I know, it's just that I couldn't stomach the thought of losin' something so important. Part of the Apples being a part of this colony, a part of the Alliance, was takin' back control of our lives and gettin' back at those who took everything we had."
>She looks down and shakes her head. "And here we are, different planet, same problems. Maybe it's just bad luck."
>"Yeah, for those jerks who thought they could steal from us and get away with it," Rainbow says, walking around the table to put a hand on Applejack's shoulder. "They picked the wrong colony to mess with."
>Fluttershy steps forward, her hands together as she adds, "You may have had to do things alone once, but not anymore. We're all in this together. We're not just your neighbors, we're your friends."
>Pinkie Pie bounces over to offer a supportive hug. "No matter what, we stick together!"
>Rarity chips in as well. "Honestly, darling, how could you ever think we would think less of you?"

>Applejack scratches her arm. "I know it seems silly now, but I was just so worried that y'all would think less of me." She half-looks over her shoulder at her brother. "At my family. After Dantooine, we drifted a little while from place to place. This is the first colony where we've felt a real connection; not just to the planet, but to the people on it. It's the first place where we could feel like calling home again."
>Big Mac gives a single, solemn nod, affirmed by a deep and resounding, "Eeyup."
>From across the table, Twilight smiles warmly and then says, "We're all part of something greater than ourselves. Not only the Alliance, but a wonderful destiny. I believe that all of us are here for a reason, to bring this planet back from the ashes. We can only do that together. It is good to believe in yourself, but we should never forget to believe in each other."
>The others all nod in agreement as the mayor looks on approvingly.
>Even with your loner nature, it touches your heart how kind and loving they are towards their friends.
>But for every second you waste here, the potential credits these con men might have slips through your fingers.
After a moment, you clap your hands together, startling some of them. "So, how 'bout them pirates?"
>Rainbow's grin is wide and fiery. "I say we go teach them a lesson that sometimes the people you rob have friends!"
>The others all nod in agreement and split up to arm themselves; your ship is the agreed-upon meeting place.
>You approach Applejack and put your hands on your hips.
"See? What'd I say?"
>"I know, I know, try not to rub it in already. You ain't nearly as cute as you think you are."

"But I am at least a little cute, right?" you ask with a disarming smile.
>She rolls her eyes and gives you a light shove. "C'mon, flyboy. We got a job to do."
>You shrug and follow her out the entrance, with Big Mac accompanying you.
>Several minutes later, you're in front of the ship's entrance ramp, watching as the others make their way over.
>Applejack and her brother took the liberty of changing out of their work clothes into combat gear, pioneer armor with integrated load-bearing straps and pouches.
>For her part, Applejack is wielding a heavy blaster rifle, a model that's unfamiliar to you, but that's likely due to the heavy modifications present.
>Strapped to her back is something you've seen before, a modular backpack.
>It seems to contain both a storage unit and some kind of generator, the kind you could plug a weapon, droid or something else into to power it up.
>She also has a blaster pistol in a holster at her side, and some kind of heavy hydrospanner.
"What's that for?" you ask, pointing at the tool strapped to her back.
>She takes it out and holds it in front of her. "Fixin' problems." She then holds it like a bat before swinging it with surprising force, to the point of it making a whooshing sound. "All kinds of problems."
You look up at her hat. "Not going to wear a helmet?"
>She tips the brim upwards with a finger. "Are you?"
"Well, no. Can't find one that goes with my jacket."
>"And my hat is lucky."
>She turns as Big Mac approaches, carrying a missile tube over one shoulder and a heavy rotary cannon in his other hand.
>Both weapons look like they weigh more than half of you.
>Looking up at the missile tube, you recall its devastating effectiveness against the Stormtroopers during the attack on the colony.
>He wordlessly walks up the ramp, and you linger behind with Applejack.

"He knows not to use that thing in close quarters, right?" you ask her in a hushed tone, worried about the integrity of your vessel.
>"I'd worry more about Pinkie for that," she replies before following her brother up the ramp.
"Why?" You turn around, seeing the very same zeltron approaching, and your heart sinks.
>She's wearing two bandoliers across her chest, which is barely contained beneath a flak vest.
>In addition to the pink bombshells she smuggles under her shirt, the bandoliers are loaded with explosives; each one seems to be painted a different color, looking like colored eggs in a basket.
>Not only that, but she has a rifle with an underslung rocket launcher, with the tube painted a bright blue.
>She's wearing a headband and has blue face paint crudely applied to her cheeks in lines; you notice that her fingers are a matching shade of blue.
>It's not exactly the most conventional form of camouflage you've ever seen... but it would most likely only be effective at a carnival.
>She bounces over and snaps to a straight stance, offering a salute.
>"Private Pinkie requesting permission to come aboard, Cap'n!"
You blink. "So long as you promise to not use any of those bombs on my ship, sure thing..."
>She smiles widely. "Don't worry, Nonny! I only exercise the strictest restraint with my party favors!" She hops closer and leans in to whisper, holding up a hand to one side of her mouth. "Between you and me, the party favors aren't actually party favors! They're BOMBS!"
"I gathered."
>She beams as she gathers up her ridiculously, worryingly heavy-duty arsenal and skips up the ramp.

>Rarity and Fluttershy arrive next.
>Fluttershy's armor is similar to Applejack and Big Mac's, looking like something a frontiersman would wear, with a green tunic over it with the hood currently lowered.
>She has a belt with several pouches, and a leather carrying bag, along with a backpack, giving her an appearance more in line with a hiker than a warrior.
>On the other side of the spectrum is Rarity, who is clad in a sleek black jumpsuit that hugs her natural curves, with painted blue lines running up her arms and legs, with a belt around her waist and a stylish jacket thrown on top, open in the middle.
>Her purple hair is as fabulous as ever, and she's wearing a silver necklace inlaid with sapphires and rings dot her fingers.
>You also note that she's wearing very nice and elegant white slippers with high heels.
Cocking a brow, wondering what they are armed with, you ask, "You do know we're going into a battle, right?"
>The nagai lifts a pearly hand and runs it through her hair in a stylish flourish. "What's the point of a fight if you're not going to look magnificent while doing so? I'll not be caught dead looking like a brute out for a brawl."
>You swallow, starting to regret your decision to bring the others in on this.
>You thought that it would increase your chances of survival, but now you're not so sure.
"What about weapons?"
>She holds up her hands, which are closed, then opens them, revealing a knife between each finger.
"Ever hear the phrase, 'Don't bring a knife to a blaster fight?'" you ask, remembering the encounter with the bounty hunter Sunset Shimmer.
>Rarity threw a knife at her, only for the Mandalorian to catch it and throw it back at her.
>Good on her for remaining so confident about her knives, but it still gives you pause.

>"One must always have a backup plan, darling," she says, putting the knives away and drawing a silver blaster from underneath her jacket.
>It's a sporting blaster, with a long barrel, and the entire surface is plated in a chrome-like material.
"Very pretty. Any good in a fight?"
>"Yes, I am, and yes, it is," she says with a confident, haughty tone
>You DID see her throw a knife with deadly accuracy during the battle, to be fair.
With an uncertain look, you regard Fluttershy. "What about you?"
>"Oh, I have this," the mirialan says, holding up what looks like an unstrung bow made from some kind of light metal.
"I'm unfamiliar," you remark, scanning your eyes up and down.
>"It's, um, an energy bow.”
“Where are the arrows?”
>”Um… They’re the energy part.”
“Oh. Never seen that before. Where’s it from?”
“I received it from a very nice tribal sisterhood during an expedition to study these cute and cuddly little critters on Dathomir!"
"Dathomir? Isn't that the planet full of rancors and witches?"
>"Oh, um, it's much nicer than you might have heard..." she says, looking downward. "They're not ALL witches... And the baby rancors were so cute…"
“Well, as long as you’re confident in it. You ARE confident in it, right?”
>”C-confident? Me? O-of course!” she says, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat. “V-very!”
“Then I can’t wait to see it in action.” You gesture towards the entry ramp. “After you, ladies.”

>As they walk up, Rainbow Dash’s speeder bike can be heard approaching your position.
>She rounds a corner and pulls a hasty stop in front of you, bringing the bike to a quiet purr as she lowers her goggles. “Got any room in your cargo hold for an awesome bike like mine?”
“You’re bringing that for the pirate fight?”
>She kicks one leg over the bike, still sitting on it but now facing you fully, as she takes out her slugthrower rifle.
>It’s different than the one that she gave to you, but still looks quite deadly.
>”No, THIS is what I’m bringing for the pirate fight. The bike’s just in case we need it.”
As you take out your remote activator and press the button for the cargo elevator to lower, you ask her, “You find yourself needing that thing a lot in space?”
>”I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Same with my guns. What if a high-speed chase were to suddenly break out? BOOM! There’s Rainbow Dash on her custom Zephyr-G.” The wroonian stands up, cupping her hands around her mouth and mimicking the sounds of a crowd before switching to her reacting to them. “And the crowd goes WILD! Thank you, thank you!” She sits back down on the bike and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “What can I say? They love the awesome.”
You raise a brow at her, then nod your head over your shoulder. “The lift is down.”
>”Oh, just you wait until this bad boy needs to come out of its box,” she says, walking it over to the lift.
>Once she and her bike are squarely on, you raise the lift, then take a moment to count off your fingers.
“Applejack, Big Mac, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and—”
>”Captain.”
>You nearly jump as you turn around to behold Twilight Sparkle, standing in her usual blue robes, holding a metal staff.

“Ah, Twilight, I was just wondering when you’d… Say, you know we’re probably going into a fight, right? Isn’t there any kind of armor or weapon you can wield?”
>”I am a pacifist. I do not believe in engaging in violence, but am more than happy to accompany you and offer aid in other ways.”
“And the staff?”
>”It’s good for walking.”
“Ever hit someone with it?”
>”It may or may not be good for that, too,” she says with a hint of playfulness lingering on the edge of her neutral tone. “But the greatest weapon I carry is one that cannot be seen.”
“Let me guess: the Force?”
>She smiles. “It’s hardly a guess when you know the answer, Captain.”
You return her smile and lean against the support strut of the ramp. “Still so formal, even after all we’ve been through?”
>The twi’lek nods towards the ramp. “The others are waiting. Shall we?”
>You nod and prepare to accompany her up the ramp when suddenly you hear a very familiar—and very annoying—beeping from behind.
>You look back to behold a certain purple and green astromech droid rolling up.
“Oh. Spike. You’re coming along too. How… nice.”
>The droid blerps something at you as Twilight holds a hand up to her mouth to hide her giggling.
>You roll your eyes and shake your head as the droid joins you both, and at the top of the ramp, you press the keypad and close the ramp behind you.
Shooting Spike another look, you tell him in a whisper as Twilight walks on, “You’re not getting in the cockpit this time, you little twerp.”

>The droid bleeps indignantly and rolls along after his master.
>Turning around, you see Rarity fussing with one of your shop rags, wiping at one of the walls.
>”This ship could use a good cleaning!” she says, biting her lip as she focuses on scrubbing away. “And goodness, could it use some more furniture!”
>Fluttershy, sitting in one of your cushioned alcoves, bounces lightly. “It’s not that bad…”
>Rainbow Dash walks over from the passage that leads to the cargo hold her bike is stored in. “It’s a working ship, Rarity, not a boutique.”
>”That’s hardly an excuse. One should never work in discomfort! Why, have you seen the Luxury Yachts from the SoroSuub line? Oh, they’re simply divine!”
>Rainbow scoffs. “For fancy parties and hoity-toity sissies, maybe.”
>Rarity scoffs back and turns her attention to you. “If you ever want this ship looking like a true luxury liner, you come and speak with me.”
>Pinkie Pie suddenly appears from within an open panel along the ceiling, hanging upside-down between you both, surprising the two of you. “There’s all sorts of neat stuff up here!”
You rush over. “Hey, get down from there!”
>”Oh, don’t worry! I’m not unplugging anything! Pinkie-promise!” She vanishes once more, crawling away out of sight.
You swallow. “That’s troubling to me.”
>Applejack nudges you as she walks past. “Don’t worry about her, she just does things like that. Let’s get goin’!”
>You climb up to the cockpit to lay in the course.
>As you do so, Applejack climbs up the ladder and takes a seat next to you.
>”Thanks,” she says as she settles in. “Y’know, for convincin’ me to get more help. And for stickin’ along. Was worried we’d have to use a company shuttle for this.”

“If there’s one thing I am, it’s reliable,” you reply. “I don’t blame you for wanting to seem that way in front of the others. I think none of us like to be seen as vulnerable”
>”Is that why you’ve stuck around? Finally found a place to be helpful to others?”
“Hah… maybe.”
>It’s definitely not because there’s soon to be a bounty the size of a mountain of credits on your head, if it doesn’t already exist.
>Best that the others don’t know that.
>The ship makes the jump to hyperspace; you’re travelling back to Braeburn’s ship so you can make a calculated jump to the next destination based on the data you collected earlier from his sensor array.
>Applejack waits for a moment, seeming like she wants to say something else, but doesn’t.
>She stands up and changes the subject. “Big Mac and I are gonna take a look at some weapons down in the cargo hold. You’re welcome to join us if you like.”

“I think I had better go find Pinkie. The last thing I need is a hyperactive zeltron rummaging around my ship’s circuits.”
>She laughs and replies, “Fair enough.”
>You follow her down the ladder well, pausing for a moment to listen to the sounds of the ship.
>She’s flying fine, but it’s another quality that is catching your ear: conversation.
>Twilight is speaking with Fluttershy in one of the alcoves as they sit upon an acceleration couch, and Rainbow Dash is trying to get your dejarik table as Rarity looks on, offering bits of relatively helpful advice.
>Spike beeps something out as he rolls past you, and Applejack joins her brother.
>It’s strange; the ship feels more “alive” with everyone on it.
>You’ve had plenty of company on board before, but this group feels special—is it the battle you’ve been through, or something else?
>Rainbow looks up at you from under the table. “Your game’s busted!” she says in a frustrated tone.
>You’re about to reply when Applejack sticks her head around the corner. “That one’s on me, I’m afraid. Sorry.” She shoots you another apologetic look and then jogs to the cargo hold.
“I’ll see about getting another one whenever I’m in port again,” you say with a shrug.
>Not that you plan on going anywhere anytime soon, that is.
>Moving past the group, you begin to look around to try finding Pinkie.
>You inspect the second cargo hold, both escape pods, the various sleeping quarters, all to no avail.
>You’re just about to leave the starboard engine room when you hear something clatter; you turn around and see an open panel in the ceiling, and then a small uni-wrench falls from it, banging on the floor.
“Pinkie? Is that you?”
>You approach the hole, only for her to suddenly fall out of it, facing you upside-down.
>She’s holding herself up with only her legs bent at the knees—she must have some strong thighs to perform such a thing so casually.

>”Hiya! I found a bunch of neat stuff!”
“Stuff? What stuff?”
>”Mostly just old tools, some scattered droid parts—oh, and this!”
>She takes out a box that has writing on it, but she’s holding it from her perspective, so it is upside-down for you.
“What is that?”
>”It reads, ‘For my son, Anonyous.’ Is it from your dad?”
>Your eyes suddenly widen, and you snatch it out of her hands.
“Give me that!” you demand, holding it close.
>”Woah!” She blinks a few times as she stabilizes herself. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing,” you’re quick to reply. “I just… I forgot this was up there, that’s all. Quit crawling around! It’s… dangerous!”
>She looks confused, and perhaps rightly so, but you turn around and bolt out.
>Heading to your quarters, you wait for the door to shut behind you and finally look at the box.
>It’s wooden, smooth and with a single latch; the writing on it is in marker.
>You can’t remember the last time you saw your father’s handwriting, but you know it’s his.
>You end up staring at the box for several long moments, contemplating what it could be.
>He left this for you?
>Why was it hidden?
>He vanished from your life without a trace—or so you thought.

>A number of conflicting emotions begin to bubble up inside, threatening to spill over, kept in check only by their contradictory nature.
>Part of you desperately wants to open it, to learn what he left for you.
>Another part wants to disregard it, due to unresolved issues from him never having said goodbye.
‘Why did this have to happen now?’ Your mind races as you try to come to a decision. ‘I want to open it, but… later. There’s too much going on now. Yeah, later.’
>You stash it under your bed, well out of sight, though you don’t know if it is out of fear of others finding it or fear of you being reminded that it exists.
‘He left me this ship and nothing else, not even a hint about where he’d gone or why…’
>Straightening your back, you take a deep breath and leave your quarters.
>You rejoin the others, but your mind is elsewhere, and Twilight seems to sense it.
>She looks up from speaking with Fluttershy as you pass.
>”Is something the matter?”
“No,” you quickly assure her—perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’m fine. Just… thinking about the fight we might run into once we find Braeburn’s boarders.”
>The twi’lek nods. “It is good to have caution in all things, but be wary of fear. Fear clouds judgment I believe we will need sound judgment for whatever lies in wait for us.”
“Yeah, uh, thanks,” you say, still not quite used to receiving words of wisdom from such a beautiful being.
>”But isn’t fear a good thing?” Fluttershy asks her. “So many animals rely on a kind of ‘fight-or-flight’ instinct to survive.”

>Twilight smiles. “I would say they are exercising good caution. A small animal knows not to tussle with a larger animal, especially if the relationship is prey and predator. Animals are creatures of instinct, and even though we are creatures ourselves, we have higher thought processes, and can therefore trick ourselves into fear when we need not be afraid. Mastering our fear is the first step on the road to self-control in the face of any kind of danger."
>Just as she finishes speaking, the ship has a familiar lull as it prepares to drop out of hyperspace.
>You climb up the ladder into the cockpit as it finishes re-entry into realspace.
>Calculating the jump from here is going to be tricky, but—
>Suddenly, the sensor panel lights up; it’s picking up signals.
>You’re flying silent, with no transmissions, so someone is talking out there, but who?
>With a furrowed brow, you flip on the receiver, but not the transponder, so you can listen in.
>”—ust remember to make this one a quick job, fellas. I don’t want to be around here before anyone comes snooping.”
>The radio crackles slightly as a response comes in. ”You worry too much, brother-o-mine! We’re in the middle of nowhere. Nothing could happen.”
>”Still, let’s not tarry, shall we? Get those hull mountings on so this bucket of rust will survive the trip. Caballeron won’t appreciate the salvage breaking up in transit.”
>You hesitate, suddenly feeling your blood run cold.
“Cabelleron,” you whisper.
>You know the name: a low-ranking Outer Rim gangster with his hands in all sorts of dirty business, from piracy to drug running to artifact stealing.
>That would make these two the ones who you thought they might be: Flim and Flam, petty crooks and con artists, rumored to run gigs for Cabelleron from time to time.
>But that’s not the real problem.
>Cabelleron works for the hutt.
>And not just any hutt—the one hutt in the galaxy who undoubtedly wants your head.

>You close your eyes, and all kinds of troublesome thoughts worm their way into your brain.
“Just when you think the galaxy is too big to run into people you don’t know,” you whisper to yourself.
>You put your hands in your face and think hard, putting aside future possibilities with the hutt and focusing solely on the situation you are in right now.
>Flim and Flam are here, which means they’re not at their base; you could swoop in, steal the supplies back, and get out before they ever knew you were there.
>Provided they don’t have someone watching it or added security, that is.
>Their chatter indicates they don’t know you’re here, meaning you’re just outside of their sensor range.
>They’re working to rig up the damaged vessel for hyperspace, which means they’re busy and distracted—the element of surprise would be yours if you attacked.
>But they work for Cabelleron, and Cabelleron works for the hutt, so why even risk anything?
>Perhaps you should just lie to the others, and act like you couldn’t make the calculations to find the pirate hideout.
>But then Twilight might have that droid of hers give it a shot.
>Maybe you should delete the data, so he can’t?
>Ah, what would they think of that, when they like you so much?
>To have come this far only for you to disappoint them like that?
>But this is your life on the line, possibly!
>If this gets back to Cabelleron, it’ll most certainly reach the hutt.
>And it isn’t like you can just tell AJ, Twilight and the others about your bounty; they’d never let you near the colony again, not if it could endanger their home.
>And then there’s trying to explain drug-running for a hutt in the first place, even if it was involuntary on your part—but would they really believe someone who worked for a galactic crime-lord slug?
>No… no, telling them the truth isn’t an option, not at all.

>You’re nearly biting your nails in nervousness.
‘Damn, I just wanted to lay low…’
>There are too many variables—too many bad potentialities.
>What to do?