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.