Take my bits. Take my band,

Take me where I cannot land.

I don't care. I'm still free.

You can't take sweet flight from me.

Leave the clouds; where they fly.

Weather teams can quit the sky.

Lost my job. Lost my dream.

You can't take sweet flight from me.

“This, is a bad idea,” Ardor said, wiping a dirty hoof on the lapels of his trench coat. He then used that same hoof to wipe his sweaty brow. Looking up, he could see the tiny forms of ships zipping by over the crowded marketplace. Hundreds of ponies, griffons and even some of the more exotic races lined the streets, peering over each other at the wares haphazardly laid out on rickety tables. Gang members strutted around, their clothes bearing the tags of their alliances as they kept undisciplined thieves at bay. There was even the occasional Alliance citizen in their finery, walking around as slaves held up dark umbrellas, keeping their masters cool. “Yeah, this is a really bad idea,” he said again, a brown hoof absently checking his guns before turning to his partner.

The griffon at his side grunted, digging an exposed talon into the dirty ground and shifting the weight of his holster from one large shoulder to another.

“Come on, Brief Wind,” said the dark brown earth pony, tapping the griffon on his shoulder. “We need to get going.” The entire market teemed with jovial life. Rich smells of cooking pastries were spun by the wind. More than one set of nostrils flared at the tempting smell. Everywhere he looked, Ardor saw smiling faces, but the eyes were sad, always glancing towards the nearby towers. Each tower proudly bore the banner of the Alliance sun.

Shaking his head, he rid himself of the thought and began walking forward, twisting to avoid a group of running foals as they scampered along, huge smiles adorning their faces as they screamed and yelled at each other playfully.

Brief Wind sighed, then shot a talon out, grabbing one of the foals by the scruff of his neck before throwing him onto the ground with a little ‘oomph’. A puff of dust rose as the foal struggled in the griffon’s hold.

Ardor looked behind him and sighed in turn upon seeing the usually gentle griffon pinning the foal to the roadway. “Brief Wind, this isn’t the time, or place, to go around beating ponies up, ‘specially not a kid...” Ardor’s eyes wandered to the nearest tower where an armoured pony sat, slumped against a rifle.

Ardor smiled sheepishly to the dozen ponies that had stopped and were now staring at the scene. Trotting forward, he slapped the griffon’s arm lightly, then helped the foal up. “You okay kid?” he asked, holding the young adolescent and inspecting him.

The earth pony child was scrawny and wore the ragged remains of a vest that reeked of mildew and urine. Amongst the rags was a dark, leather wallet, barely held by a thin strap sewn into the vest. “Um, kid,” Ardor began, smiling slyly. “Is that my wallet?” With a quick swipe of his hoof, Ardor snatched the wallet. Flicking it open he stared at an image of his own face.

The foal gulped, pulling uselessly against Ardor’s grip in a vain attempt to run away.

A smile crossed Ardor’s face again before he threw the foal onto the ground, raising his hoof in the air he prepared himself to punch the foal. “Why, you little ingrate son-of-a-whore, I ought to pummel you so hard your mother’s going to--” Ardor stopped as a clawed hand grabbed his arm. “What?!” he screamed into Brief Wind’s face.

“Captain Ardor, this isn’t the time, nor the place, to go about beating up ponies... ‘Specially not a kid...” The two locked eyes.

“He-he’s right sir! Don’t hurt me; I need the money for my sister’s operation...” The foal struggled around for a moment under the captain’s stare. “She’s only three, sir. Got a nasty disease, gonna die if we don’t get her a doctor.” Little tears speckled the corners of the foals eyes.

Ardor hesitated, his bright blue eyes locking with the foal’s muddy brown eyes. "That's a nice story, kid, so how about we pretend you didn't just try to take this?" Ardor pushed the foal away, letting him scamper to his waiting friends who cried out joyfully at meeting him. “Come on, Brief Wing, let’s get outta here...” The stallion turned and began walking away.

With a gentle flap of his wings, the large griffon followed. “Um, Captain, you know the kid emptied your pockets... right?”

“Son of a--” Ardor slapped his coat, feeling the lack of objects in them before confirming it by jabbing his hoof into his coat. “He stole my papers!” Swearing, he turned around, running a few meters before losing sight of the foals in the surging crowds. Frustrated, he kicked up a patch of dust that promptly fell in the still air. “Gah, nevermind. Let’s go Brief, we need to meet Shady.”

The griffon shook his head, gliding at the brown stallion’s side as the two made their way into the deeper parts of the ghetto. Nearby, the bustling marketplace ended, and a sea of tents began, all of it encircled by tall cracked, walls. Dotted along the fence were tall guard towers, most of which had the symbol of the Alliance sun on their sides. Across the fences, multi-level ship docks rose up into the sky, connecting to the richer and bulkier spacecraft as they cast thin, abstract shadows over the tent city where hundreds of ponies went about their business.

They fit in, thought Ardor; he, with his dirty trench coat and not-so-well-hidden guns, and Brief Wind, wearing his favorite bandolier with a trusty old assault rifle. Giving himself a tentative sniff, he concluded that they even smelled like the locals.

As they walked into the deeper parts of the tent city they met fewer ponies, most of whiom scurried away or inadvertently moved out of their path as they trod on the quieter and quieter roads. The only sound was the distant rumbling of ion-engines as ships came and went.

“We’re here,” said Ardor, pointing at a tent placed in the middle of a sea of tents. The tent itself was no different than all those around it. It was shoddily built, with holes in its tarp and wooden planksr with rusty nails of varying length to keep its sides in place. The one big difference was the rag-tag group of grunts hanging around its entrance, all of whom wore an impressive array of badly concealed weapons.

The griffon inspected the group from afar, raising his snout he took a great gulp of air. “Yeah, smells like Shady... You sure about this Captain?”

The captain wiped his forehead again. “Not much choice in the matter. Let’s get this over with.” He moved around the tent, boldly marching into view of the grunts.

“Hello, boys!” said Ardor, raising a hoof in salute. They turned to look at him, weapons zipped out of holsters and pointed towards the pair. Ardor smiled, noticing something very wrong with all of them. They were all mares. “...Girls...” Ardor coughed awkwardly. “I’m here to see Shady...”

One of them, a burly mare with more than one scar walked over from a nearby bench and shook her head towards the tent, grunting as she lowered her massive gun. “In there,” she said with a voice as smooth as sandpaper. She then trotted back to a bench, picking up a barrel and cloth and resumed the tedious task of cleaning three guns at once.

“Smooth, Captain,” said Brief Wind as he pulled the tent flap open for Ardor.

Grumbling, the stallion trotted in, and began choking on thick plumes of smoke that leaped out of the tent, lapping against his face with the intoxicating scent of cigar smoke, drugs, and mare’s perfume. “Goddess, whose in charge of cleaning this place?!” He backpedaled from the entrance, scuffing his hooves along the gravelly ground to remove some sticky substance of unknown origins from beneath it.

“I am,” said a gruff voice. 

Turning, Ardor looked at the muscular mare who was still cleaning her gun. “You-you’ve done a wonderful job!” he exclaimed before gulping and running into the tent.

Brief Wing grunted before following the captain into the tent, his face twisting in disgust.

A ruckus of sound and smells assaulted them as they entered the dimly lit confines of the tent. Ponies, griffons, and even a few zebras sat around well-worn tables talking, bartering or sniffing substances of dubious legality. A few glanced towards the captain and griffon, then refocused themselves on their own business. 

At the far end of the room was a bar, in front of which were a few rusty stools where even more patrons of the establishment sat, hunched over drinks as they spoke to each other in low hushes. At the end of the bar was a staircase, whose entrance was partially covered by a hatch made to look like a pile of crates.

“Well, this looks like a fun little hangout, doesn’t it, Brief Wing?” asked Ardor. The griffon grunted. “So... who should we ask?”  Ardor scanned the patrons, all of whom looked like they had just walked out of a fight, and wanted more.

“Hey, you!” shouted a thick, heavy voice.

Ardor turned and pointed at himself while looking for the person who spoke. “Me?”

An enormous earth pony stepped up. “Yeah, you. The boss wants to see you. He’s waiting in the basement.” The pony leaned in. “Don’t make him wait.”

Ardor smiled sheepishly. “The boss man wants to see me, huh?”

A few chairs screeched as ponies got up suddenly. All of them stared at him as the room quieted down. The enormous earth pony spoke again. “You work for the Boss Man?” he asked, trotting nearer.

Ardor’s eyes wandered the bar before he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, don’t you?”

The earth pony fumed. “Why I ought to--” The pony reared up, his hooves glinting as his spiked metal shoes caught the room’s lanternlight.

Ardor hopped backwards, his rump bumping into the tent cloth. “Brief Wind, what did I say wrong?” whispered Ardor from the corner of his mouth.

“Boss Man is the chief of a rival clan,” deadpanned the griffon.

“Calm down, Reaver. That ain’t no way to treat a guest.” A unicorn wearing what had once been a good-looking suit walked into the room, giving the various gathered creatures a gap-toothed smile. “Constant Ardor here has a reputation for having a quick draw; you wouldn’t have time to hit him before you’d be deader than mah ma’.”

The suit-clad pony smiled at Ardor. “I’ll let you pummel him if he doesn’t pay up, alright?”

Reaver smiled, flexing his impressive muscles at the pair. “Yes sir, boss. I’d enjoy that, boss.” He trotted back to a stool on the far end of the quiet bar. The bench creaked as it took his weight.

The boss clopped forward, extending a dirty hoof which Ardor shook firmly. “Nice ta meech’ya. I’m Shady Business. C’mon, let’s go someplace where it’s a bit less... crowded.” Shady Business turned, leading Ardor and Brief Wind across the room while the ponies gathered remained respectfully quiet, until he trotted down the steps and into the basement.

“Please, sit,” said Shady Business. He waved an arm towards two once-luxurious couches that were laid out in front of a thick steel desk. He then trotted around the desk, sitting on a rickety chair illuminated by the evening sun that poured through a crack in the wall. He began shifting the papers on the desk, his eyes peeking up from under his bowler hat, alternating between Brief Wind, Ardor, and the three griffons that sat nearby, slumped on comfortable chairs.

Ardor met his glance, then looked away, first at the three well-armed griffons at the back of the room, then at an old, well-maintained grandfather clock. After a few more moments he began tapping his hooves impatiently, while Shady Business was still shuffling through his papers. Brief Wind touched his arm, stopping his tapping for a few seconds as they both shrugged at each other.

“So...” the captain finally said, trying to break the awkward silence filled only by the ticking of the clock. “How are you doing, Busy?”

The pony at the desk looked at him through his eyebrows, never lifting his head. “Could’ya please call me by mah full name, Constant?”

“Oh, please call me Ardor...” Shady Business looked back down to his paper. “So... you don’t like it when people call you Busy?” Brief Wing gave Ardor’s shin a swift kick, causing the captain to grimace slightly.

Shady Business sighed, removing his glasses with his magic before rubbing the bridge of his muzzle. “Mah ma used to call me Busy.” A warm smile, filled with fond memories and nostalgic thoughts crossed his lips. “I killed mah ma.” He locked eyes with Ardor. “Shall we get on with business then...? Pun not intended.”

Ardor smiled sheepishly, tugging at his collar. “Right, let’s start...”

Shady Business shook his head. “I’m going to regret this,” he muttered. “Alright, what I wanch’ya to do, is simple. Your ship, the Serenity--”

“Swift,” interrupted Ardor.

“What?”

“My ship, her name is Swift,” he said, looking around uncertainly.

Shady Business levitated a sheet from his desk over to himself and squinted at it. “Hmm, stupid name either way. Anyhow, I want you and the... Swift, to carry something for me. Just a box. A fragile box.” Shady business walked around the desk, standing so close to Ardor that he could smell the unicorn’s cheap cologne.

Ardor backed into the creaky sofa, coughing lightly before he spoke.“I’ll need the dimensions of this box, and the address of where you want me to deliver it. I’ll assume that your ponies will bring it to my ship?”

“Everything will be ready for you. Ya just need an excuse to get off-planet, and over to Pheromone.”

Ardor nodded sagely. He’d done this kind of transaction before. “Would you mind if I carried passengers on board? Of course, I’ll make sure they don’t come anywhere near your... special cargo.”

“Hmm,” Shady Business tapped his chin in thought. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all... How about I... encourage a few ponies to take your ship off-world, rather than somepony else’s?”

Ardor and Brief quickly glanced at each other. “Sure, that would be great... Now about the payment...” asked the captain, nervously running a hoof in a circle on the couch’s supple material, as he glanced at the restless griffons.

“Eight hundred thousand bits.”

Ardor coughed before shifting his position in his seat. “Well, that’s a mighty adequate sum. This cargo must be really important... Not that the cargo matters... What does matter is your ability to pay up.”

The unicorn began laughing and was soon joined by his griffon guards. Wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye, he stared at Ardor, removing the bowler hat from his head and throwing it on the desk with a splat before talking, “Doesn’t my reputation precede me? I always pay up, and if you don’t deliver... Well, then I make you pay me back. Now leave.”

Brief Wind and Ardor hopped off of the uncomfortable couch and were politely escorted out of the room by the griffon guards.The door to the cellar slammed behind them as they once more entered the bar. Reaver smiled at them, gently pointing towards the exit and making a shooing motion with a fore-hoof.

Few ponies glanced at them as they made their way outside. There, the burly mare had finished cleaning her guns, and was now loading them up, bullet by bullet. Ardor smiled at her, then grabbed Brief Wind’s shoulder and dragged him back into the twisting corridor of tents.

“This is bad,” grumbled the griffon as they started making their way back to the Swift. The sun was beginning to set as the roads slowly thinned out. Ponies and griffons alike were returning to their homes, or preparing to sell a different type of merchandise.

“But eight hundred thousand bits is a lot of cash... We could buy enough fuel for a year, or maybe find a decent mechanic...” Ardor mused as he trotted along the familiar path.

“Still, sounds like trouble.”

The captain looked at his friend from the corner of his eye. He sighed. “You’re right. You’re always right. Okay, let’s get to the Swift, fire it up, and get outta here before the sun sets... I heard that the Apple Corps have some business offerings up. Maybe we could nab a job with them?”

The griffon nodded as they kept walking, his bird-like eyes on the ground. Suddenly, Ardor grabbed his arm, pulling him into a nearby tent. When Brief Wind tried to question the captain a brown hoof was placed over his beak, effectively shushing him.

The captain poked his head around the cloth of the stinking tent’s doorway, soon followed by the griffon’s own head.

On the nearby roadway were three unicorns, all of them wearing the ensemble of rich Alliance citizens as they walked haughtily down the well-trodden path. Around them, earth pony guards and servants absently looked from tent to tent, their eyes practically glazed over in boredom as their masters spoke to each other in high pitched voices.

Ardor growled lightly. “Alliance shits, here to inspect the poor. Prolly makes them feel good to rub it in.” His hoof absently ground against the tent floor.

A ruckus came from further along the road as half a dozen foals ran along, their cheerful cries almost eerie in the evening sun. Ardor’s eyes narrowed as he recognized one of them. The foals ran past the lazy guards, one of them happily bumping against the noble ponies as they raced along in a incomprehensible game of youth.

A horn glowed, casting a greenish aura against the yellowed tents nearby. One of the children, the one who had stolen from Ardor floated up as a ring of magic appeared around his throat. The kid’s eyes bulged as he squirmed uselessly in the unicorn’s magic. 

Ardor’s hoof strayed into his coat, the butt of his sidearm clicking quietly as the weapon clamped itself to his hoof. Brief Wind glanced down at his captain, placing a clawed hand on his elbow in a silent plea to stop.

The entire road became quiet as the unicorn gracefully made his way around the foal, a gleeful smile on his clean face. Not so far away the other foals watched, wide-eyed in trepidation. “Hello, impoverished child,” said the nobel, giving the suffocating foal a mocking half-bow. The other two citizens laughed uproariously. The glow on the unicorn’s horn doubled as a pristine gilded wallet flew out of the throng in the foals coat.

“You tried to steal from me,” he said apathetically, it was not a question. “I’ll give you something, how would you like that?”

The foal spat out feebly, the gob of brown spit landing at the unicorn’s hooves. “Interesting... I’ll give you something, the name of your killer.” The unicorn smiled as the foal’s eyes widened even more. “My name is Valient, remember it until you die.” As the wallet floated to a nearby servant a gun slid out of Valiant's coat, pointing itself at the foal’s gut as it did so. “You won’t have to remember for long.”

Bang

“Let’s go.” The unicorn stepped over the bleeding body of the foal, rejoining his friends and co-citizens as they made their way into the deeper parts of the ghetto, their train of guards and servants in tow.

Ardor ran out, slamming his gun into his holster angrily as he walked towards the inanimate foal. Biting back a fury of angry swears he reached into the foals coat, pulling out his now-bloody- papers and shoving them into his own coat. “We’ll be late,” reminded Brief Wind.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said as he began trotting along, head low in shame. Suddenly a thought came to him. Reaching into his coat with his head he found a spotted yet mostly clean handkerchief.  Taking it with his mouth he ran back to the foal, gently placing it above his face before rejoining Brief Wind.

As they rounded another corner, Ardor saw the dead foal’s friends mourning around the body of their comrade. He began to walk faster.

“So, eight hundred thousand bits,” said Ardor, trying to rise up conversation in attempt to calm his nerves. “We could do a lot with that, food, fuel...”

“Captain.”

“Oh, and we really need a new converter, ours is about to go on the fritz...”

“Captain,” said the griffon a little more forcefully.

Ardor snapped out of his reverie. “What is it, Brief?”

Brief Wind lifted a taloned claw and pointed ahead of them. “It’s too late, Captain.”

Their cargo hauler the Swift was parked in front of them. Five of its six landing struts dug into the earth as the ship’s rear end touched the ground. At the fore, the control room jutted out, almost like an afterthought of the ship’s engineers. The rust red sides still had the faded markings of an apple transporter where real rust hadn't flaked it off yet. A gun turret sat atop the ship, welded on haphazardly by an obviously inexperienced hoof.

But Ardor didn’t notice any of this. What he did see was a crowd of twenty ponies milling around the base of the ship, some wearing over-stuffed saddlebags while others dilly-dallied around aimlessly. “Brief?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“What’s going on?”

“I think we have passengers, Captain,” he deadpanned.

Reaver appeared from amongst the group, a sly smile adorning his face. “Hello fellows, we have your package, and your passengers. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be waiting right here... under your ship...” He smiled at them again.

“How did... How did you get here?...” Ardor looked back from the direction they came, pointing uselessly with a fore-hoof. “But you were all the way...”

Instead of answering, the huge pony pointed to a nearby cargo lift. “Oh...”

“Well then Brief, my friend. Shall we get to it?” asked Ardor, suddenly chipper as he began trotting forward. The griffon grunted and followed the captain.

A light blue mare walked out of the group and towards the captain, heavily weighted down by a pair of saddlebags. “Is this The Crusader?” she asked. “I was supposed to take a charter to the planet...” She twisted around and, opening one of her bag’s lapels, pulled out a holopad. Tapping it with a hoof she read the name, “...Pheromone?”

“Hun, this ship is whatever you want to call it, and it’ll bring you wherever you want to go... So, what’s your name?” Ardor’s eyes scanned up and down the mare’s body as she blushed furiously.

“My name’s Inky... Inky Scri--”

“Hey, Constant! How ‘bout you open her up so we can load this in?” screamed Reaver, who stood beside a large group of equally-large ponies. Inky huffed.

Sighing, the captain abandoned the confused blue mare and galloped over to his ship. The side hatch of the Swift was in much better condition than the rest of the flying wreck; he only had to kick it three times for it to squeal open on its broken and rusty hinges. Marching in, he ran through the dark ship, flicking on lights and powering on auxiliary controls as he made his way to the fore.

The control room was a messy affair. Wires dangled from the ceiling and many a button was missing from the consoles. Ardor sat in the dusty old command chair and began fiddling with the controls, all the while murmuring to himself. “Exterior pressure control, check. Fuel ignition, check. Lifeboat auxiliary systems... still don’t work. Ah, there you are, main cargo-bay door.” He mashed the button and waited.

The entire ship shook as the massive rear door slid down on old hydraulic pistons, colliding against the ground with a hard ‘thud’. Smiling to himself, Ardor patted the console before trotting out of the room, this time taking a different route through the ship’s many kerosene-smelling corridors to arrive in the main cargo hold’s upper ramp.

From his vantage point he could see the dozen or so uncertain new passengers as they cautiously made their way into the ship. “Hello, new passengers of the Swift. As your Captain for this journey I welcome you onboard, and would be overjoyed to present you to your quarters!”

“Where are our quarters?” asked one of the ponies, this one a unicorn in clean and proper clothing.

“If you continue down the main corridor of the ship, right before the engine room, you will find half a dozen small rooms, each filled with some of the things you need, and quite a few that you really don’t. Try to pick one that doesn’t smell like radiation.”

“Radiation doesn’t have a smell!”

“Exactly!” Ardor smiled down at the less-than-enthused ponies as he watched Shady Business’ workhorses carry a box into his ship. Curious, the captain climbed down the rickety steps of the staircase.

“You fellows need any help with that?” he asked politely.

Reaver, who was walking beside the group while carrying another, smaller, crate on his back, grunted a negatory. “Nah, we can handle it.” He turned to his ponies. “Leave ‘er right there, boys!” The ponies gently laid the heavy white box down with nary a thud.

“That’s the last of the passengers, Captain,” said Brief Wind from the entrance with his usual gruff voice. The griffon flew over, gliding into the ship with a few billowing flaps of his large wings. “Where we going to put the box?”

“You can leave it right here,” answered Reaver for him. “Now, I gotta ask...” The earth pony tucked a hoof into the folds of his coat. “What’re you going to do to the box during transport?”

“Nothing; I’ll leave it there ‘till whoever it is that you got on the other end picks it up,” said Ardor as he smiled at the passengers.

“You won’t open it?” Reaver frowned at him.

“Open it? Nah, ain’t no business of mine what’s in there. S’long as you pay, your cargo will be neat, tidy and well-kept when we deliver it. Now, about the pay part...” Ardor leaned in, placing an elbow against the heavy white box.

Reaver sighed, fretting around with his hoof until he pulled out a small black pouch. “Here’s your cash.” He tossed the bag towards Ardor who deftly caught it, jingling the contents with a sly smile before tossing it to Brief Wind.

“Shady said that you’d be ‘unfit for business’ if you asked about the box,” said the earth pony dismissively. Ardor gulped. Reaver bent over, dumping the other box that was on his back onto the ground. “These are provisions for the box,” he explained, opening the smaller package to reveal a dozen white squares. “Every day you take one of these...” He grabbed one of the squares, lifting it to show the captain, “...and do like this.” Trotting over to the much larger white box, he tapped on a small, square indentation. The indent hissed as it opened. Suddenly, a white square, identical to the one Reaver held, popped out and bounced across the floor. “Then you replace it with a new one.” The earth pony shoved his white square into the hole, shutting it with a click.

“Do this once a day, every day... or else.” He smiled at the captain. Turning, the earth pony began trotting away, his heavy hoof-steps ringing across the hold. “C’mon guys, let’s get out of this dump.” Reaver, along with the ponies that had come with him, ran out of the Swift, all of them smiling and laughing as they left.

When the cargo hold had became quiet again, Brief grabbed Ardor’s shoulder. “Captain, this is trouble.”

“I know, Brief, but what do you want me to do about it?” Ardor glanced around, staring at the passengers that stilled milled about.

“Look at the box...” Brief Wind’s eyes pointed to the white square.

Listening, Ardor glanced at the crate as nonchalantly as possible. “Crap, that’s a Sparkle Tech symbol isn’t it?” he said, motioning towards the six pointed star on the box’s side.

Brief Wind grunted before trotting to the edge of the door, tapping the controls to shut it. With a screech, the massive door began to lift, small pieces of rust crumbling off its frame.

“Hey, wait up in there, I’m not in yet!” screamed a gruff voice from outside.

Ardor and Brief Wind looked at each other, then shrugged. The griffon tapped on the controls again, reversing the direction in which the door moved, causing it to slam against the ground once more. Outside stood an orange pegasus, a scowl adorning his scarred face as he lugged two massive black boxes like saddlebags.

“Heh, about to leave without me, huh?!” He smiled as he climbed up the ramp, straining slightly under the weight of his baggage. “So, where you two heading to?”

Ardor furrowed his brow. “Well, we’re goi-”

“Somewhere that’s not here! Excellent, let’s go!” The stallion bucked the controls, getting the door to shut once more.

Brief Wind stepped up in front of the pegasus, blocking his path. “That wasn’t polite.”

The pegasus laughed. “Well, I ain’t the polite kinda guy...”

The griffon grunted, inspecting the would-be passenger. The orange pegausi mimicked his movements. “Big bags; what’s in them?”

“Guns. Lots and lots of guns... I like guns... Do you like guns?” The pegasus twisted his head to one side, looking at the griffon. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Brief Wind grunted, shaking his head. “What’s your name?”

The pegasus looked around uncertainly, scratching the back of his head. “I’m... I’m er... Bolt Action, yeah, that’s a cool name. Call me Bolt Action!”

The griffon sighed, shifting his haunches on the cold metal floor. “You’re a pegasus.”

Bolt Action looked at him, surprised, then he began pointing things out. “Yeah, you’re a griffon, he’s a pony, that’s a box, and this is a space ship! Anything else you want to point out? I have four hooves? Wings? More wits than you?”

Brief Wind shook his head and turned towards the captain, his eyes questioning. “You have bits?”

Grumbling, the pegasus popped one of his boxes open, revealing half a dozen small guns all tucked together. As he twisted around to reach in, one of the guns fell out, clattering against the ground. His eyes widened as he scrambled after it, tenderly caressing it. “This one’s special, taken off the line by Pinkie herself,” he cooed before replacing it. “How much you need?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“The captain hummed to himself, seeing the clear opportunity to squeeze a few bits out of the pegasus. “Seeing as how we're already full up, and that we will have to reduce all our meals to compensate for you...” Ardor’s eyes glimmered. “Seventy-five bits.”

The pegasus stopped his searching to look at the captain. “Highway robbery... Fifty bits and I don’t test my guns...”

Ardor and Brief shared another look, before the griffon shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Let him stay, I’m already doing plenty of things I don’t want to today... Might as well add one more to the list.”

The captain trotted halfway up the ramp. “I’ll be resting. Think you can take care of the ship, Brief? Good... I need a nap. Wake me up when the ship crashes!” He walked out of the cargo hold, slamming the door behind him.

Big thank you to Burraku_Pansa for his wonderful help in editing this junk!

Eustatian Wings for the sweet poem at the top. (And for the quick pre-read to make sure everything felt... Firefly-y)

SALT for the pre-reading and the likes

This was practice in writing short crossovers. Specifically a crossover of Joss Whedon's Firefly.

Don’t worry, this is part one of the first arc.

All rights to whomever owns ‘em.