//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: The Slave // Story: Fallout: Equestria. We're no Heroes // by otherunicorn //------------------------------// Chapter 4: The Slave "It's sad. I was with her, and I didn't even realize she had died." Lee had an amusing idea of being on watch. She sat there and watched. She watched as the slavers led their chained merchandise past where we slept. She watched as they locked the slaves into a wire enclosure about three houses away from us. Only when the slavers were finally settled around a camp fire, did she wake me. I guess she didn't have much experience at it. I kept forgetting that she was no longer the mare I knew. Opening my eyes to discover it was still dark, I quietly asked her what the problem was. "Do you like slavers?" she whispered. "Only when they are dead," I responded. "Did you have a particular reason to wake me to ask?" "We have a small band of them close enough to be a threat. They have made camp a few doors down," she explained. "Definitely slavers?" I asked. "Four fillies in chains being herded by three stallions who were not," she explained, "so either they are slavers, or the strangest family I've seen." "Sex trade," I muttered. "Poor young things off to be prostitutes or some bastard's personal toy." "The last time I came across pricks like that, they tried to capture me. I killed them all, with a little help," Lee whispered emphatically. "It is something I would rather like to do again." Okay, okay, alien Lee, the one who isn't my pacifistic mother, kills slavers. I could get to like this Lee. "Wake Saffron, while I get my legs on," I suggested. "There's no time like the present." I hadn't even got to my prosthetic legs when things went bad. My Eyes Forward Sparkle flashed up the red ring that indicated an incoming grenade. Judging its arc, I bounced up onto my rear hooves, taking a couple of quick steps towards it just in time to kick it away with my forehoof. It barely cleared the wall when it exploded, showering us with shrapnel, the blast knocking me onto my back. I felt the stinging of several puncture wounds, as well as the general extreme discomfort left by the concussion. My cybernetic ears were designed to dampen explosive sounds, so I wasn't left deafened. Fortunately, the wall had partially shielded us from the blast, and the grenade had travelled far enough away to not kill us outright. Thank goodness for the E.F.S. Without it, spotting the moving grenade in these light conditions would have been near impossible. Glancing to my left, I saw that Lee had joined me against the wall, also lying in a heap. Unlike me, she was still wearing her barding. For a fleeting moment I wondered if the blast would have knocked some sense into her, or if she was still the confused mare of the last few days. I hoped Saffron was doing okay. I hadn't heard a peep from him, so either he was laying low, or unconscious, because there was no way he was still asleep. When the head of a slaver, pistol in mouth, appeared at the top of the stair case I got my answer as Saffron's minigun roared into life, the cascade of slugs converting the slaver's head into a bloody wall-covering within moments. The next thing to go down the stairs was one of Saffron's own grenades, followed moments after it exploded by Saffron himself. "Damn. Not fair, I'm not missing out again!" Lee squeaked, bouncing back to her feet, and drawing her pistol. With that clamped firmly between her teeth, she leaped out through one of the window openings. I heard the thump of her landing, followed by three sharp cracks, indicating that she had worked out how to operate the tongue trigger. It went quiet, save for the sound of hoof steps, and the distant squeals and cries of the captive fillies, no doubt terrified by the battle, and wondering what was in store for them. "Is that all of 'em?" I heard Saffron ask Lee. "Headless on the stairs, gutless on the floor downstairs, and brainless here? Yup, that's all of them." Lee responded cheerily. "At least I got one this time!" "Are you okay?" Saffron asked. "And what about Anne?" "I'm fine. Nothing more than a scratch or two, and a little bruising. I'll slop some whisky on the scratches. They aren't bad enough to waste medical supplies on," Lee responded. "Anne, however, is upside down against the wall in there. She wasn't armored. She was moving though, so she can't be too bad. What about you?" "Ringing ears, but that's all." He answered. "Now let's go help your daughter." "My who? Oh, Anne," Lee said. "This 'having a daughter' thing is taking some getting used to." It's so wonderful to be loved. My "real" mother would have been more concerned about me than about getting the chance to kill slavers. At least this one had the order right, even if her reasons were wrong. There wasn't a lot of sense in patching wounds while you were still being shot. It was far smarter to stop the shooter first! While they sorted themselves out downstairs, I set about getting the shrapnel out of myself. Using my magic, I felt around inside my wounds until I found the offending pieces of metal and masonry. It hurt like crazy! Gently I eased them out, flicking them away as soon as they were clear. A few pieces of grenade, a couple of pieces of concrete or brick, and an annoying collection of grime and sand had to be purged. As soon as they were clear, I directed my horn's force to apply pressure to the wounds to stop the slow bleeding while I pondered my next step. I wasn't going to bleed to death, but there were a few too many areas with holes for the cybernetics to completely reroute my blood flow to avoid leaks. "Wow, that's the first time I've ever seen someone get un-shot," Saffron commented, referring to my surgical technique. Apparently he had stepped into the roofless room in time to see me eject the last of the shrapnel. "How are you? How bad are the wounds?" He bent forward and looked closer at my chest. "Hmm. I'll get you a healing potion," he stated. "Don't forget I am a cyborg," I replied. "Is it worth wasting a potion on these?" "Yup," he replied as he rummaged through the storage compartment of his armor. "First, those holes in you don't look that good. Second, I want you up and about now to help with the screamers, now that their captors are dead." He removed the lid from the container of magical healing potion and carefully held it to my lips. As I was still lying on my back, swallowing wasn't the easiest, but he made allowances for it. "And third, we would have to use a potion or bandages, so we may as well do the job properly," he stated. I was delighted at the rapid relief the potion afforded me. Within a very short time I was intact again, albeit somewhat bloody. I righted myself, and used my magic to clean the mess out of my coat. Hopping over to my armor-legs, I set about becoming a quadruped again. I had programmed fitting and removal sequences into the armored legs, and into my Pipgirl, making taking them off and putting them on a lot less fuss than when I had first done it. Levitate the right armor leg, insert my shortened limb, trigger the closing sequence, levitate the left armor leg, trigger the resizing of the Pipgirl so it dropped to the floor. Step into the left leg, trigger the closing sequence, step into the Pipgirl, levitate it, and trigger its closing sequence. I had tried to incorporate it all into a single sequence, but every time I fumbled, resulting in something closing without my leg in it. Once the legs were secure, I put on my barding and battle saddle. Getting one set of holes put in me was enough for tonight! Right, now it was time to go sort out this slave problem. "Why do you think they attacked?" I heard Lee ask Saffron. "Offense is the best defense," he responded. "They probably saw you watching them, and thought you were sneaking up." "We were going to clobber them, weren't we?" I piped up as I walked past. "So they were right. Let's go meet these fillies." In the dim ambience created by the moon trying to shine through the layers of permanent cloud cover, supplemented by the glow of my Pipgirl lamp, I looked at the pegasus filly standing in front of me. She stood, unmoving, facing to my right, her head and tail hanging. Unlike the other young slaves, she hadn't run the moment her chains had been unlocked and removed. She hadn't even moved, the cuffs still lying where they had fallen around her hooves. She was quite something to look at too; her white coat promised to be dazzling if it was washed. The jet black of her mane and tail only emphasized it further. But then, the area in which she had been caged had no roof, so if she had wanted to leave, even hobbled by the chains, she could have any time she wished. That led me to think about other slaves my mother and I had freed before, only to find they preferred the hell of being a slave to the hell of being free. She wasn't even wearing a slaver collar. None of them had been. I wasn't overly surprised that the moment their hooves were free, the other three had bolted without even taking time to thank us. They had seen their opportunity and taken it, rather than risk being captured again. Admittedly as they made their hasty getaway, a couple of them called back, "thanks for saving us." I hoped they knew what they were doing, and that they had somewhere safe to go. I would hate to find their corpses up the road in a day or two. With any luck, they were locals and would be home and safe within a few hours. I returned my attention to the filly in front of me. "You aren't going to run?" I asked. "Why bother?" she grumbled, not even turning to look at me. "What the hell do I know about surviving out in the wastes?" "Take time to learn," I suggested. It seemed she did not think she had a home to return to. I had not heard of any slavers wiping out any towns of late, and this small band would not have been capable of doing so. If anything, we had run into a collection team working for a larger syndicate. "Why bother," she muttered again, her gaze still fixed on the dirt at her hooves. "So you can live," I responded. "That's why." "Why bother," she muttered yet again. "Life sucks, and then you die, eh?" I responded. "How did a pegasus get caught by slavers in the first place?" Saffron interrupted. "I am NOT a bloody pegasus!" she screamed at him. That animated her! "Then what's that?" Saffron challenged her, pointing to her wing. She lifted the wing and flapped it. "It's a bloody wing. ONE bloody wing. How am I meant to fly with one bloody wing?" She moved now, turning so we could see her other side. There was no wing. There was no scar. It appeared there had never been a left wing. "I'm a bloody mutant," she spat. "Two earth pony parents, and I'm born with one bloody wing. They didn't want me. When food became a bit scare, they got rid of me. Can you believe they SOLD me to these bastard slavers? They sold their own daughter." She paused. "But then, I was never good enough for them. Nothing I ever did satisfied them, so I guess I should not be so surprised." "So what are you going to do, then?" Saffron asked. I didn't stay to listen to her answer, though I certainly could hear what she was saying. Words weren't going to work with this girl. I headed back towards the house where we had been sleeping, intent on looting the bodies of the three slavers that had been killed. "Lee, grab the water and food," I instructed her as I walked past, indicating the slavers' provisions. Their packs looked full enough to provide for us for a few days. Reaching the house where we had been trying to sleep, I set about collecting our booty. The first body was lying on the ground just outside the old house, not far from where Lee had landed, judging by the hoof shaped dents in the earth. This was obviously "brainless" and clearly Lee's effort, with several bullet holes in his head. If it had been Saffron's work, I doubt there would have been a head. I was able to salvage some reasonable barding, a decent set of saddle bags, two frag grenades, and a .44 revolver with some ammo. I wouldn't want to be holding that thing in my mouth when firing it! A decent sized stallion would have the strength required. It would probably knock me flying and dislocate my jaw at the same time, even with me being a cyborg. A few odds and ends lying around him indicated Lee had already raided this fellow for the keys to the slaves shackles, and for the whisky she had used to treat her own minor wounds. Like my Lee, she had not drunk a drop. Yay for sober ponies. A reasonable number of caps, a worn combat knife, and the mandatory canteen were the last of this slaver's belongings. I used my magic to clean them, before stashing what would fit in my own saddle compartments, and placing the rest aside. The grip and trigger arrangement of the .44 did have potential for me to convert to control Lee's battle saddle. I would look to the one on Saffron's suit for inspiration. Now that Saffron wasn't using a helmet, he had activated the alternative control, a neat grip and trigger with optional sight than extended on a telescoping arm from the body of his suit. It was too bad I hadn't found a similar attachment on the suit I had pulled apart! That would have saved me so much effort. The next source of potential supplies was "gutless", the recipient of Saffron's grenade. Not surprisingly, the barding, canteen and saddle bags were beyond help, with a similar amount of them spread around the lower storey room as the mid section of "gutless" himself. He must have been right on the grenade when it went off. I can see why Lee had chosen her nicknames these fellows. Her choices were remarkably appropriate. Like "brainless", "gutless" had another set of keys for the manacles we had removed from the slaves though they were somewhat bent. He also had a few magical bandages, and several 12 gauge shotgun shells that had somehow survived the blast intact. I suspected they had been shielded by his now somewhat squashed canteen. He had the same number of caps as his buddy. Share and share alike, perhaps? A little hunting around the debris in the room located where his gun had been thrown. It was a combat shotgun rigged for earth-pony use, equipped with a muzzle grip and shoulder rest. With some repairs would be a good weapon for Lee, until I could get her battle saddle working again, and then it would make an excellent addition to that, replacing Lee's original combat shotgun that I had purloined for myself. And that left "headless", the first slaver we had encountered when he stuck his head into our room to check on how well his grenade had worked. Unfortunately, Saffron's minigun had done as much damage to his muzzle gripped weapon as it had to his head. The remains were not even worth picking up. What model it had been was anyone's guess. His saddle bags and barding had fared much better, only suffering from a good soaking in his blood. The saddle bags proffered his second weapon, this time a small, silenced muzzle grip .22 pistol. It even had accessories. Perfect. I knew exactly what I was going to do with this. There were even a reasonable number of bullets for it. Like his buddies he had his share of caps, a key to the manacles and a canteen. The find that really pleased me was the healing potion. Yay. With respect to medical potions, this encounter I was breaking even! Once outside, I used my magic to blow the blood off everything, myself included. Levitating the salvaged saddle bags and barding, I walked back towards the camp fire where the others had gathered. Lee just standing watching, while Saffron and the youngster continued to argue. Saffron was failing to understand that brute stallion power was not going to change the mind of a traumatized filly, no matter how he expressed it. All he was managing to do was argue in circles while annoying her. I took the opportunity to take a few quick measurements from the filly with my magic, while she was distracted. She was very close to my size. Sitting on one of the slavers' bed rolls, I lay the two sets of barding on the ground in front of me. Two sets of oversized stallion barding in reasonable condition provided ample material to fashion into something decent for a filly. In fact, there was so much material, I would be able to layer it for greater protection. For the next hour, I carefully cut apart and rejoined the pieces of barding using my repairing magic, essentially the same magic I used to rejoin and repair damaged power wiring. The result was beautifully fused seams that would never chafe or irritate. It felt decidedly odd including a single hole for her wing. I didn't feel it was right to force her to keep it exposed though, especially as it was of no practical use, so I included a pocket and covering flap in which she could hide the wing if she desired. I also allowed for adjustment so she wouldn't grow out of it too rapidly. I stripped the lesser of the two pairs of saddle bags, using the best parts of leather to repair the better pair of saddle bags. Fortunately, the storage spells on them were intact, so they would fit a reasonable amount of accumulated junk. The remaining leather was used to create a neat little holster for the silenced .22 pistol. I attached one of the canteens, loaded some of the slavers food, the ammo for the .22 pistol and a small number of caps into it, then tried it for weight. It would do nicely. Saffron's voice again drew my attention. He was restarting his argument with the filly after an extended silence. After over an hour, I would have thought he would have the sense to know when he was beaten. "Do you think you are unique because you are missing some limb?" he barked. "Look at me - I've lost an eye. Anne over there with the limp is missing a leg, and her mother here is completely nuts. We haven't given up." "No," Lee interjected, "I am human, not 'nuts'." "Thank you for proving my point," he muttered. "Excuse me," I interrupted, as I levitated the resized barding and saddle bags over the white pony, dropping them onto her back. "Girl, you want to be a slave? Fine. Put on that barding and carry that." The tension seemed to leave her, and she slumped a little, or was it that she was just more relaxed? I could see that leaving her here alone would ultimately end in tragedy, and even if I wasn't around to see it, I didn't want it to happen. I figured that if she travelled with us, at least she might learn something about survival. "What's your name, girl?" I asked. She shrugged, then after a few moments said, "It's Demi. That's right, my parents called me 'half'." "Welcome to the club of ponies with strange names," I laughed. "Huh?" the filly seemed a little puzzled. "I'm Anne. That's it. My whole name. Apparently it is some sort of alien name," I explained. "Whatever it is, it's weird. And so is hers. She calls herself Lee now, not that her original name, Teresa, was any less weird." "Okay....." Demi drew the word out. After a few moments she continued. "And what happens if I decide to just walk off with this stuff?" she asked looking at what I had draped across her back. I knew there was near zero chance she would actually do so. After all, she was still here. "You'll have a reasonable chance of surviving for a few days," I responded, "by which time you will have hopefully come across more food, ammo, and perhaps somewhere to live." "So I'm not really your slave then, am I?" Demi questioned. "No. I don't take slaves. No pony should ever be owned by another," I responded." However, you can come with us, and work for us, if you want. The pay sucks. The lodgings suck, and it will no doubt be dangerous." Demi lifted her head and looked me in the eyes. "And if I don't go with you, the pay doesn't exist, the lodgings still suck, and it will no doubt be dangerous," she stated, almost smiling. "Yes, pretty much." I grinned, nodding. I staggered a little. Oops, I shouldn't have moved like that. Tiredness and blood loss were catching up with me in a rush. "What the hell, I may as well," she said as she shrugged. That was a good start. It almost counted as enthusiasm, in a round-about, subdued, conservative kind of way. Remembering that I had not given her the gun that fit the holster on her barding, I asked, "Have you ever fired a gun?" Demi shook her head. I guess that wasn't really surprising. She looked like the kind of kid that would usually hide herself away. "I'll give you some lessons tomorrow. I have nice little gun for you. There's even a holster for it on your new barding," I said. She looked back at the barding draped over her, studying it, before pulling it off and dangling it from her teeth. Carefully she lay it on the ground, and proceeded to examine its design, noticing the pockets, pouch for her wing, and the holster. She lifted the saddle bags from her back, and placed them next to the barding, exploring the contents of them too. Curiosity satisfied, she lifted the barding by the collar, and gave it a flick that sent the other end arcing across her back. At just the right moment, she let go, bouncing a little, and stretching her neck up. Her head passed through the neck opening, the rest of the barding dropping more or less into place. I wondered how often she had practiced that move. Being a unicorn, I had never needed to learn such tricks. A little more wiggling, and a few tugs with her teeth saw a wing appear through the opening, before it vanished into the provided pocket. She dealt with her tail in much the same way. Acceptance. Great. She may have been reluctant and reserved, but she wasn't perverse. She wasn't simply going to fight everything we suggested for the sake of doing so. Now, at least, she was bullet resistant. I glanced up at the dark sky. It was only an hour or so until dawn, and getting back to sleeping was mighty appealing. I levitated my battle saddle off, placing it on the ground next to me. This time the barding and legs could stay on. "Excuse me while I regenerate some of the blood I lost earlier," I said to no one in particular, and face-planted on the slaver's bedroll. Who stood guard after that I don't know, because I was dead to the world. Eventually the light filtering through my eyelids penetrated my dreams enough for me to wake, feeling pleasantly refreshed what's more. I had been dreaming of one winged ponies and other strange creatures, though I wasn't entirely sure it had all been a dream. I felt surprisingly warm, or more to the point, my back felt warm. I glanced over my shoulder to see the white filly from my dream had curled up back to back with me, and was still sleeping soundly. The threads of the dream evaporated, the memories of last night's disturbed filly taking their place. Already she was showing me such trust. Demi and I were about the same size, so I estimated she would be somewhere between thirteen and fifteen years old. I was a little surprised to see her flank was still blank, but I had a suspicion I knew why. The poor girl had probably been berated by everyone she knew for her whole life, and that sort of treatment doesn't help you recognizing your special talent. Fortunately she did not have a cutie mark that reflected her former life. I wondered it her lack of cutie mark added to her lack of self worth, or if she was so busy hating her wing that she hadn't noticed. I could clearly remember that a couple of my generation had been slow to get their cutie marks, and I remembered the stress it caused them. Others, including me, used to tease them about it. Foals can be such heartless pricks. All too often adults spend so much time trying to protect foals from the nastiness of the world that they fail to realize the foals are that nastiness, just not grown up yet. They don't need to learn evil - they are born that way. It's good they need to be taught. I wondered what sort of nasty bitch I would have been if not for my mother's attempts to keep me on the right path. Thinking about it, I realized it was something she wouldn't be doing again, unless I could deal with this other personality that had taken her over. Back on the subject of cutie marks, if either of my companions made any snide remarks about Demi's lack of one, I would force feed them one of my hooves - or that cake of soap I had salvaged at Sweet Apple Acres. I had never been teased about having a blank flank myself, because somehow I'd managed to get my cutie mark before I started my schooling. It happened just after I'd found and fixed a wiring fault in the stable that was preventing me from being read my bed time story. Our home had been without power all day, thus was in near total darkness, and the official stable technicians were too busy to deal with it. I had wondered why they didn't fix it when it was so obvious. The power went down that wire, along there, and suddenly stopped, just inside that wall. By the dim glow of my baby horn, I had pushed a step ladder to the light switch, allowing me to climb up and rest my nub of a horn against it. With an enthusiastic sparkle, my horn had brightly lit, followed moments later by the room lights following suit. By the time I had stepped off the ladder, I had my cutie mark, and it was identical to my mother's, even though she specialized in a different field. A spanner and a screw driver formed an "x". I think the "x" was symbolic for the algebraic unknown quantity, or in simpler terms, it represented a problem that needed solving. The spanner and screwdriver clearly indicated the problems would be of a technical or mechanical nature. Amusingly it took several days before my parents realized I really had a cutie mark. The technicians had shown up the following day to fix a fault that no longer existed. They dismissed it as a case of double booking, assuming another team had dealt with it the day before - despite my claims to the contrary. After all, who was going to believe a preschooler could even understand electricity and wiring, let alone repair it without the use of tools. My new cutie mark they simply dismissed as a daughter copying her mother, and had assumed I had found someone to make me a cutie transfer. After all, cutie transfers were nothing new; blank flanks had been using them for years. However, unlike a transfer, my cutie mark did not fade, nor did it come off in the bath, despite some determined scrubbing. Even mum's cleaning spell refused to move it. Only then did they understand what had happened. So I became the youngest filly in my stable to ever get a Pipbuck, as tradition demanded I be presented with one. Needless to say, it was way to big for me to actually wear on my leg, so most of the time I had to leave it at home. Traditionally I should have entered the work force at that time, but it didn't excuse me from general schooling. I was frequently dismissed from school early to go and watch other stable technicians at work, and to learn from them, or even to help them. I was soon apprenticed to an old stallion who had adopted the name Cutter to go with his wire-cutter Cutie mark. Often, after Cutter had isolated what systems were involved, I was the one to do the actual repairs. After all, it saved Cutter a lot of labor, and my repairs made the wiring as good as new, something that was particularly desirable in a sealed Stable with limited resources. Some of the other ponies in the repair department started calling me Cutter's favorite tool. I was fully qualified by the age of twelve, a few years earlier than the other ponies of my generation. The other significant effect of my tiny size at the time was that it inspired my mother to make a tiny Pipbuck for me. That ultimately led to the development of the resizable Pipgirls, and their abandonment of the traditional button and screen interface. In order to keep them small, all interactions with it were handled in the same way as the Stable Arcane Targeting System (S.A.T.S.) - as part of the virtually projected Eyes Forward Sparkle (E.F.S.). A quiet snuffle from Demi brought me out of my reverie. She raised her head, yawned, then looked back at me. "Morning," she managed, around a second yawn. "Morning, Demi," I replied, smiling. "I think we've slept half of it away, but it was so worth it! I feel a lot better." "After last night, yes," Demi commented. "I haven't had a decent sleep-in in quite a while. Thank you." Wow. What a change! I suspected there would be a lot of ups and downs in relating to this filly. It was very encouraging to see the ups though! I struggled to my feet, had my morning shake, and activated my cleaning magic to tidy myself up. My barding fluttered for a moment as the magic did its work, then settled back in place. I still felt a little unclean down in the armored legs though, but that could wait. I looked around, and found Lee on one of the other bed rolls, again lying on her back, legs sticking into the air. Saffron was not immediately visible. I slowly turned scanning my surroundings, and eventually spotted him, perched up on the exposed top floor of one of the nearby buildings. He waved a hoof at me, before standing and moving out of sight. Not long after, he appeared through a doorway, walking back towards us. I wondered if he had managed to get any sleep since the attack. "What's for breakfast?" Saffron asked when he was close enough to talk. "Grass cakes," I responded, "unless you want to risk whatever the slavers were going to cook last night. It's still in the pot." "It's radroach stew," Demi piped up. "Quite edible. I watched them make it at our last camp. It just needs reboiling." "Well there you go," I commented. I stirred up the smoldering remains of the fire, and tossed on a few more dried twigs, and stray pieces of window frame, and moved the pot onto it to cook. I produced four tin plates from my saddle bags, laid them on the ground, and dropped a grass cake on each. Demi wandered off, hunting around the immediate area for few minutes, before she came back with several leaves clamped between her teeth. Being careful not to singe herself, she dropped them into the pot. "Mix them in please," she suggested, so I did. Soon the pot was bubbling nicely, and I gave it the occasional stir with my magic. I don't know what particular plants Demi had raided, but the result smelled decidedly more appealing than radroach stew usually did. After a few minutes of boiling, I levitated the pot from the fire, and poured some of it onto each of our grass cakes, proportioning it according to the sizes of the intended recipients. "Demi, could you please wake Lee for us," I requested. Perhaps that was not the best idea. Who knows who Lee would think she was today. "Bad idea. I'll wake her myself." I said. Standing, I walked over to Lee's supine form and poked her with my forehoof. "Wake up, you. Food's ready." I prodded her again. "Okay, okay," she responded. "Morning, Anne." She rolled onto her stomach, and surveyed the camp. "Morning Saffron, morning Demi." Well, that was something. It was just the morning after the night before as far as she was concerned. At least she was being consistently insane. "Hey, that actually smells good!" Lee commented, going to investigate the stew covered grass cakes. "You have Demi to thank for that," I explained. "Keep it up, girl," Lee commented, acknowledging Demi, before she started to eat. Saffron, Demi and I joined her in eating, and good it was. Okay, I admit food probably tasted better before the war when the lands were not polluted, but with a few select leaves, Demi had turned a boring meal into something that was enjoyable. I wasn't going to dump all meal preparations onto her, but I'd certainly welcome any help she offered in the future. With the meal over, I left Saffron and Lee to tidy up while I took time to teach Demi a little about gun handling. I led Demi around the corner of the nearby building, so the others would not be in the line of fire if things went wrong. A short distance away I set up a few old tin cans in a row. After double checking to make sure it was unloaded, I placed the .22 pistol on a convenient stump. "Okay Demi, time for your first lesson. Pick the gun up," I instructed. She bent forward, looking closely at the gun, but did not pick it up. After a few moments of concentrated studying, she carefully took the end of the grip between her lips, and gently turned the gun over, so the trigger and grip were to the left of the barrel. Again she studied it, until she found what she was looking for. Only then did she gently take the muzzle grip in her mouth, and lift the gun. "Okay, I want you to practice your aiming. Don't fire it. Just aim it at me," I told her. Just as gently, she carefully replaced the pistol on the stump. Once her mouth was clear of the weapon, she turned to me again. "Are you crazy?" she asked. "What if the gun accidently went off? You could get hurt!" "The safety catch is on," I stated. "Yes, I saw that, but still, it is too dangerous to aim it at you," she insisted. "Congratulations, Demi. You have just passed your first lesson with flying colors." I smiled at her. "Never point a gun at any pony you do not intend to shoot." I could see a glimmer of delight in her expression. As I suspected, praise must have been foreign to her. I removed a second item from my saddle bag and placed it on the stump. It was one of the accessories I had salvaged from the former owner's saddle bags the night before. It resembled a hoof sized ring. "Okay Demi, this is a tool to make using the gun easier. Put your left hoof in the ring please, so I can fit it. She obliged. Bending forward, I touched the tool with my horn, using my magic to gently reform it so it fit her delicate little hoof. "Okay, now tap that button on the side of it with your other hoof." I told her. She did, and was rewarded with a couple of little metal extensions folding out of the body of the ring. "Those little hooks are to help you load the gun. They also make it a lot easier to flick the safety catch on and off, and to engage the sights. Try poking the second button on the gun. Yes it's safe to do so; it's the button that unfolds the integral sights." Demi obliged, carefully using the tool to press the required button, and was rewarded with the iron sights gracefully unfolding from weapon. Atop the unfolded frame were nothing more that a simple ring and a small pointer a short distance apart, positioned so that you could look through them while holding the gun in your mouth. I would need to adjust them for Demi's use. Double checking the gun was unloaded (or was that triple checking?) I had her hold the gun while I made the adjustments. That done, I returned to the lesson. After an hour or so of weapon handling practice, I gave her a real bullet to try. Again, with her slow deliberateness, she prepared her weapon and carefully aimed. She squeezed the trigger with her tongue and was rewarded with a quiet click as the gun fired. The bullet made a lot more noise when it winged one of the tin cans, sending it bouncing sideways. Not bad for a first shot! "I even hit the one I was aiming for!" she exclaimed after returning her gun to the tree stump. "That is always a good thing," I assured her, passing her a few more bullets to practice with. About ten minutes later, a pleased filly followed me back to the camp, her new weapon holstered in her barding, and her spare clip tucked into the automatic clip reloading matrix of the saddle bags. She was still slow and deliberate when shooting, but no doubt that would improve with practice. Nonetheless, a tiny, stealthy pony firing slowly and deliberately - and hitting her targets - was a lot more use in a battle than some young hot head who rapidly wasted half her shots, and risked hitting her friends with the rest! Saffron was lying on one of the bed rolls, in full armor, with his weapons folded up behind his back, his one eye shut. I guess he hadn't had any sleep since the attack. As we approached, he lifted his head. "Are we ready?" he asked. "Are you?" I responded. "Indeed. All packed and ready to go." "Okay, let's hit the road." So our little group of adventurers started out late yet again, Demi walking close beside me. I wondered how long it would take for us to get there. I could only hope Lee's condition wouldn't deteriorate due to the delays. Footnote: Maximum Level. New perk: mother craft. You have what it takes to be an excellent mother. You gain extra speech options when dealing with younger ponies within your care.