CHAPTER FORTY-NINE - SAFETY
"It is the obligation of every person born in a safer room to open the door when someone in danger knocks.” — Dina Nayeri

The three of us ended up riding with the Wasteland stranger in this weird, self-driving carriage-type thingie.

It wasn't anything like a train. Nor like one of those giant "trucks" that us Trottica kids had escaped in. No. Mr. Goggles' rusty steel carriage looked like a mechanical incarnation of those what's-wrong-with-this-picture puzzles you find in magazines at the dentist's office.

It had six trapezoidal conveyor-belt-a-majigs where wheels ought to have been. A giant rusty dog cage where the buggy should have been. And a sheet metal door-flap in the back that looked like it had been ripped off some other buggy entirely, and secured to this one with an ounce of chewing gum and a pound of hope.

But we climbed in without protest. 'Cause Mr. Goggles - weird and twitchy and terrified though he may have been - was something of a magical find in the Wasteland: somepony who seemed almost obsequiously determined to ensure our safety.

"Maybe the future isn't as unfriendly as you thought," Cliff spoke into my ear. Loud enough for me to hear him over the deafening rattle of Mr. Goggles' contraption. But not so loud as to betray our privacy.

I turned my head and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Think about it!" Cliff said. "Last time you were here, how much of the Wasteland did you actually see?"

"It's not just what I saw," I snapped. "It's what I heard - the stories that those Trottica kids shared. About what their lives had been like before the cloak-o's...And the soldiers in the trenches! They told stories too. About how much everything had totally sucked before the Lightbringer Littlebill had come along."

Cliff sat back in his seat. Thought about it for a solid minute as we both vibrated in place - and by 'vibrated,' I mean 'thumped around violently'.

"Maybe we just lucked out," he said at last. "Found the good part of town?"

"Hay, what're you two talking about?" Foster leaned over me. All bright and bouncy and eager for gossip.

"We're talking about the Wasteland," I said.

"...How it might not be what we expected." Cliff added.

"I know!" Foster giggled. "Isn't it the best!"

She twisted herself around in her safety belt. Put her back on my lap and her belly in the air.

I smiled faintly. It was good to see Bananas Foster so happy. So free. Even if the circumstances were a bit unsettling. I ran a hoof through her mane. And thargrgrgrgrrrrp!!! The buggy veered hard right. Mashed the three of us into one another.

"Sorry, kids." Mr. Goggles winced as he craned his neck to look our way.

"We're fine!" Cliff hollered.

I peeked between the bars that made up the walls of Mr. Goggles' buggy, and the splintered glass that passed for a window, and the chicken wire that held it all together.

The outside was nothing but brick walls and ruins. Super mega close to us on both sides.

"He's trying to avoid being seen," I said to Cliff under the grinding hum of the machinery.

We'd taken yet another turn down yet another crummy side street.

Cliff nodded. "Okay, so it's not exactly Ponyville out there."

"What do you think he's hiding from?" Foster sat up and asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But if it can hurt us while we're inside this big metal box, I don't wanna know."

"Honestly, I think he is more afraid of me than anything," Cliff Diver added. "He keeps staring in his mirror. It's weird."

"I think he's staring at all of us." I watched the mirror carefully as the stallion's eyes darted in our direction. Then pretended not to.

Eventually the buggy ground to a halt. And with a shunk of a couple of levers, the grinding sound stopped too. Us kids sat there for a moment. Heads tingling. Chests still rumbling in the aftermath of the shaky ride, even after the carriage had gone deafeningly quiet. Then, as if by hive-mind, Click! Off with our safety belts. And zip! The three of us dashed straight for the "windows." Teeny slots in the side of the buggy that actually provided an unobstructed view.

But all we saw was more of the same. Crumbly brick walls on both sides.

"Sorry, kids!" Mr. Goggles called out over the ringing in our ears. "We'll get you to safety soon. Just gotta charge up the old wagon." He laughed. Stole a nervous glance at Cliff in the process.

"Umm... that's okay," Cliff replied, equally unsettled. He pressed his face against the slot and tried to lay a decent eyeball on the world outside.

"Gee. You don't have to apologize, mister," Bananas said, radiating saccharine out of her every pore. "We're just reeeaally happy that you decided to help."

Mr. Goggles' false grin softened into an actual smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad to hear that. You have no idea."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, you know," he stammered a bit, utterly perplexed by the question. "I guess it's like they say, Innocence is Sacred."

He added a firm nod. To emphasize that he had stated the obvious - that there could not possibly be anything more to say on the subject.

But I just sorta plopped my flank down in shock. "Innocence is sacred," I whispered to myself as memories of the High Priestess of Trottica kicked me in the brain-eyes. Her annoying speeches. Her motivational posters. Her tribe of brainwashed townsponies, all proclaiming Innocence is sin.

When I'd first crashed through the portal of a million screams, and landed in this weird world, my brain clock had placed us at roughly twenty years after Trottica. Could this be the world that the mine-o kids had made for themselves? One that did the polar fucking opposite, and worshipped their young instead of blaming them for the world's ills?

No. Impossible. I was tethered to their timeline. I couldn't just...run into them again twenty years later. Could I?

A tidal wave of confusing ducky-time-thoughts blasted into my brain.

Strawberry Lemonade had to survive. Didn't she? That was the whole point of the fucking mission. But there I was. In the Wasteland. Twenty years later. Occupying the same universe as her.

How was that even possible? Was she fucking dead now?! Had I somehow undone all that we'd accomplished in Trottica...simply by opening Misty's door?

Or was the duckyverse flexible enough to stick us on a mission soooo faaar away from her that we couldn't possibly run into any weird time glitches and stuff?

I mused and mused and mused and mused and mused. But my speculation got cut short. 'Cause an odd smell flooded the buggy. Like if you put an empty baking pan in the oven, and forgot about it for a couple of hours.

"Fire!" I said, and leaped up in the air, spinning all around, looking for signs of danger. But all I found was a buggy full of ponies who thought I was crazy. Even Mr. Goggles raised an eyebrow.

Clearly I'd missed something.

The driver got back to what he was doing. Picked up a pair of steel tongs with his teeth. Plunged his face into some panel or other. And emerged with what looked like a spear-blade made out of coal.

Clink. He dropped it into a slot. And Shunk. Jerked a heavy lever. Then Fwoosh! Ping. The smoky black thing dropped to somewhere unseen beneath the buggy.

Mr. Goggles went over to a box, and produced a lavender crystal, which he gripped casually with his teeth. No salad tongs necessary.

"Gem power," Cliff said, eyes sparkling with awe.

"Wait," I said. "This buggy is powered by gems like that?"

I rushed forward to have a better look. Caught sight of the fresh, unspent crystal just before Mr. Goggles jerked a series of levers and latches to secure it in place, and seal up the panel.

The whole thing left my heart racing. "What would happen if you ran out of gems?" I asked aloud.

Mr. Goggles raised a hoof as if to answer, but I didn't let him get a word in.

"I mean if everypony ran out of gems? Not just you."

"You mean the whole world? I don't think you have to worry about that."

"But like, what about a town? Built around a remote gem mine. And their...I dunno...economy, or whatever you call it, relied on trucks?"

"Oh, dear," said Mr. Goggles, cheeks as pale as fog.

The horror written all over his face told me everything.

Trottica had resorted to child slavery to keep its gem mine going after the grown-ups couldn't fit down the shafts anymore. To do otherwise meant getting cut off from the rest of the world. To do otherwise meant condemning the whole town to poverty, starvation and death. Mare, and stallion - filly, colt, and foal alike.

A moment of sympathy flickered across my heart. Just a moment.

I hated myself for it. And hated Trottica all the more for having a reason. For taking away the one good thing that our revolution had left me with - moral certainty.

But it was just a glimmer. A spasm of the spirit. It hurt way too much for me to allow it to become anything more.

"I am sooo sorry." Mr. Goggles looked to me, for once not with fear, but with kindness. "I know how hard it can be whe--;"

"Fuck 'em," I said.
…

…

…

"Well," Mr. Goggles sighed. Put his hoof on my shoulder. "That's a feeling we all know."

Then, even as the echoes of a whole bunch of conflictifying emotions still lingered in my blood - too complicated to give themselves names - this stranger's voice. His calm. Somehow cut through it all. 'Cause he understood.

Really, truly, verily, actually, profoundly understood.

Mr. Goggles knelt down to my level without ever prying his eyes away from mine. "But you know what?" Hope stirred in his warbly vocal chords.

I shook my head in reply.

"You're in a much better place now," he answered. "And they're not."

Goggles smiled at me softly. And I hugged him. I didn't mean to hurl myself at him. I just sorta did it.

And he hugged me back. Weird as this whole trip had been for him. Afraid as he was of...whatever the fuck was going on...he hugged me back without so much as a moment to think twice about it.

After that, Goggles invited me to ride up front with him. With my friends' enthusiastic approval, I obliged. The front "passenger seat" - if it could be called such a thing - was just a crate facing a whole bunch of panels and weird glass rectangles that had lights and displays and stuff all over them. It was filthy. Even by Wasteland standards. So I'd bet anything that this seat was where Mr. Goggles' friend, Sooty, usually sat.

There were no special perks to riding in the grownup seat. Except a cool helmet. A construction style hard hat that was really, really, really, really big on me. But still totally fucking neat. We could talk to each other in it and everything! Without needing to shout.

"So what are you doing out here?" I said. Knowing that it was a safe thing to ask. Because wherever we were, it was obviously far off from wherever this guy called home.

"Oh, this and that," he said. Back to his nervous old self. Pretending to focus on the road for longer than he could possibly have needed to. "Science things mostly," he added at long last.

"Oh," I said. "That's good, I guess...Like these panels and stuff." I gestured - non-specific-like - at Sooty's station of magic rectangles.

"Yeah," he replied.

We rolled through the abandoned city in rumbly silence. (If such a thing can be said to exist). I didn't wanna press Mr. Goggles too hard for answers. He had been kind to me. But after the cage-buggy had plowed over a couple more miles of cornflake asphalt, he spoke up again on his own.

"I'm surveying," he said. But just as it was starting to kinda, sorta look like I would finally get some answers...maybe, Goggles nodded to himself. As if that - in and of itself - had been a thorough and sufficient reply.

He just...went quiet again after that, offering no further details at all! No matter how long I waited.

"Yeeeah," I finally remarked. "Your friend seems pretty good with that, you know, science stuff." I gestured at the glass rectangles on the dashboard that looked like the tools that she had been carrying. Covered with the same kind of dirt.

"Let's not draw too much attention to her," he said. Calm, and gentle, and warm. Just like our hug had been. It was a total shutdown of any and all information sharing. But somehow, he made it brotherly.

"How about you?" Mr. Goggles retorted. "I could ask you the same question. Did you kids just feel like exploring? Get out of your element?"

"You could say that," I replied. Equally neutral.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

It was hypnotic - watching the road get beaten into submission beneath us. I stared in silence as it rolled by. The streets. The structures. It all became a blur.

Until I saw it. Another buggy thing. An actual truck. Just like the ones that us Trottica kids had escaped in. I only caught a fleeting glimpse before it went about its trucky business, sailing down some faraway road that kept itself well hidden behind a forest of broken buildings. But it was still a sign of life!

"...Well, you know you shouldn't," Goggles picked up our old conversation as though no time had passed at all.

"What?"

"You really shouldn't go sneaking off like that. It's dangerous."

"I know," I muttered.

"What if you'd cut your leg on a piece of rotted wood or something? Think of the infection!"

"Yeah, um...There is that," I said, rubbing the spot where my hoof had gone through the floorboards a few hours before.

The stranger kicked a lever sideways, and the buggy jerked left. Out of the ruins, down some tiny street or another, and swung hard right onto a wide thoroughfare. Murky with dust.

I couldn't make anything out at all, but I sensed that there might've been some kinda vehicle up ahead.

"Looks different up close, doesn't it?" Mr. Goggles said with a grin. He didn't even seem to notice the dust rolling into the buggy.

"Yeah." I hacked and wheezed and spat. "I don't even recognize it."

My friends joined me in a chorus of coughing.

"We've almost made it to safety!" Mr. Goggles shouted to them.

The buggy drifted out of the dust cloud, eased off the boulevard onto a tight little street. We chugged away, loud and noxious as ever, but slower now. Gliding over the roads like a duck on a pond filled with olive oil.

The terrain was no longer made out of jagged cornflakes. More like lumpy oatmeal.

"Hay, Rose!" Cliff Diver called out to me. Just a little too loudly now that the buggy noise had died down a little. "Whattaya see?"

"Uh, buildings and stuff!" I replied, careful not to expose ourselves as foreigners.

"Right," Cliff said. "Of course." He winked at me.

"You'll recognize it soon enough." Goggles jerked a bunch of levers, sending the wagon bobbing and weaving through yet more side streets.

The aforementioned buildings and stuff that whizzed by turned out to be pretty damn remarkable after all. Peering out the front "window" of the buggy was like seeing the world through wet cheesecloth in the dark, but the structures on this side of town had shape. You know, normal rectangles. Instead of beat up old skeletons with their rubble-guts spilling out onto the street.

Half a dozen zigs, and about twenty-seven zags later, the buggy slammed to a halt. Mr. Goggles pivoted the final dial, and everything went spookily-fucking-tranquil.

The air around us was silent. The floor, motionless beneath our hooves and flanks.

"Phew." Mr. Goggles sank into his chair like drooping candle wax. Sighed at the ceiling. "Some ride, huh?"

"Yeah," said Cliff.

"Thanks a lot," Foster added. "You're the bestest."

With a moan and a stretch, Goggles emerged from his chair. Twisted his neck till it crackled like bubble wrap. "Okay." He yanked a chain with his teeth. A light above us came on. "Let's have a look at you."

He smiled at my friends. Approached. Leaned in close to make sure they weren't all fucked up. Blew on their manes as though they were made out of ancient library books. "No dust residue," he said. "Good. Good."

Then he just sorta...nodded, and...kept on nodding. Until at last, he closed his eyes. Chuckled nervously to himself, and told us what was really on his mind. "I, um...I don't know how to put this, so I'll just be direct with you. Before we get you kids...um...situated, it's important that we're all on the same page. Do you understand?"

Foster nodded.

Cliff and I shook our heads no.

Goggles laughed. "Okay." He rubbed his forehooves together. "Let's start from the beginning. When we first ran into each other, what exactly did you see?"

My friends and I shot one another glances. Like a game of hot potato, but with our eyeballs.

"There was, like, a...you know...a gash in the road?" Cliff answered. "And you and your friend crawled out of it to introduce yourselves. Well, technically, you didn't introduce yourself. I still don't know your name. Your friend's name either." Cliff smiled. Extended a forehoof. "I'm Cliff Diver. Nice to meet you."

Mr. Goggles bumped it. "Rock Breaker," he said. "And...what friend are you talking about?"

"You know," Cliff answered. "The mare you were wi---;"

Foster nudged him. Threw him a couple of eye daggers. "What friend?"

"Ow. Hey!" He snapped. "Oh. Um. Yeah. What friend?" Cliff nodded at Rock Breaker aka Mr. Goggles. "You don't have any friends."

"That's right!" Goggles exploded with a great big fat grin. "I don't! And any friends that I do have - or might have had - remained in that chasm in the street. Where you couldn't see them, hear them, or notice them."

"Of course." Cliff put his forehoof to his heart like he was making one of those oaths of old. When pirates swore to abandon the land, and the law. To live the rest of their days as fugitives. To lie and cheat and steal and plunder. But never from one another.

"And on the ride over," Rock Breaker spun around to me. "You and I talked about…" He held his breath. Smiled. Waited for me to answer.

"Um...Nothing?"

"That's right! I did not interfere with your emotional education in any way."

"Emotional what?" I said.

"Exactly!" He clopped his forehooves together, and flashed a yellow-toothed smile a mile wide. "You ready?" Rock Breaker bucked open the flap in the back of the buggy. Pointed at the outside world.

"Yeah!" Us kids said in unison. Even though we hadn't the faintest idea what we were getting into.

Probably some kinda Trottica compound. I thought. Judging by Rock Breaker's obvious terror, his false enthusiasm, and penchant for creepy buzz words.

But I followed him out the 'door' just the same. Prepared for anything. Prepared for nothing. 'Cause what other choice did we have?

The world outside of Rock Breaker's buggy was...weird. Rows upon rows of clotheslines were draped between buildings. Like a giant spider web. White shirts browned with age. Blue jumpsuits like the one that Rock Breaker was wearing. And very little else. The clothes were all...same-ish. They flapped in the breeze like banners at a used carriage dealership, and parted to reveal buildings with infinitely more variety than the wardrobes on the clotheslines.

Each one looked like some kinda mosaic of chaos. Bricks of different shapes and sizes had been cut and mashed together to reconstruct the walls of the ancient apartment complexes, and storefronts, and depots.

But the streets were empty. Not a pony in sight.

"Where is everypony?" Cliff said.

"I dunno," I whispered back.

Bzzzztt! The buildings hummed like they were packed full of cicadas. And Ckkkkk! The boulevard hissed with the sound of distant buggies.

Life. Activity. Civilization. Everywhere. But it was a ghost town to look at.

"Bet you're not used to walking the streets this time of day," Rock Breaker said.

All three of us kids shook our heads in unison.

"Me neither," he replied. "It's weird how quiet it gets." Rock Breaker sucked in a deep breath. Savored the rotten egg smell as though it were crisp mountain air.

Brrrring. A distant bell rang. And from somewhere opposite the big ugly warehouse at the end of the block, a familiar roar spilled out over the Wasteland air. Children. Laughing. Playing. Stampeding out of some unseen schoolhouse door.

Recess. I'd know that sound anywhere.

"Aww," Cliff grumbled under his breath. "Don't tell me we traveled all over time and space just to have to go to school."

We reached the end of the warehouse, rounded the corner, and there it was. A playground. Framed by the narrow archway between two storage facilities. Like a filthy window into a courtyard filled with color.

There were fillies. Colts. Running around. Kicking balls. Playing some game I'd never seen before. Digging in dirt. Swinging. Climbing. Dancing to songs they made up as they went along. And other tunes they knew by heart, but I had never heard.

Foster threw her forelegs around me and clutched my shoulder tight. "I get to go to school!" Her eyes sparkled with wonder.

We all drifted in. Awestruck. The archway had big pink letters painted on it. A single word: SAFETY.

And the second we crossed that threshold, it lived up to its promise. The very air we breathed seemed to change. To sparkle. The buildings looked new. (And all made of the same material too.)

I spun around. Even that run down warehouse looked different on this side. A mural fifty feet high brought life to its great northern wall. Flowers. Animals prancing. Colors swirling all around.

It seemed like a totally different city.

"Hello," a voice from behind.

"Ahh!" I spun around.

There stood a mare. Orange coat. Lavender mane. Eyelashes to match, forty miles long. "Sorry to startle you," she said. "What's going on?" She threw her eyeballs over me to stare Rock Breaker down, who still stood all the way back at the threshold. Averting his gaze. Trembling. "You're not authorized to be here." The orange mare continued.

"Uh...uh...uh…" Rock stammered and babbled. 'Til his voice disintegrated into a helpless whimper. The kinda sound that only a foal makes.

"He helped us!" Foster jumped in. Super urgent-liike. "We were lost, and he saved us."

Rock Breaker struggled to catch his breath. While the big orange mare weighed Foster's words carefully. Until at last, she let loose a bright and sunny smile. "Oh! That's delightful." She turned to Rock Breaker. "Thank you for your service."

He gave a polite simper in return. But still shrunk his shoulders back. Cowered.

"What about you?" She chided me. "Why in Equestria did you wander off? Whose class are you in?"

"Um…"

A hundred, thousand, billion, zillion, million potential answers flashed through my brain. Explanations of where we were going. Where we'd been. Inquiries about Misty Mountain...and by the way, could you point us to his whereabouts before he completes his mission, and accidentally leaves us stranded here in this Celestia-forsaken corner of the ducky-time continuum forever?

But my tongue just mashed the inside of my face, all clumsy-like. "Um….uhhh.".

'Til the strange mare turned her attention away from me entirely. Gasped in awe. Literally brought her forehooves to her teeth and nibbled on them, all nervous-like. "A pegasus!" She exclaimed.

Suddenly, fwoosh! All of our eyeballs fired themselves in Cliff Diver's direction. Like ocular arrows.

Cliff spun around expecting to see...I don't know…a Wonderbolt or something behind him. But the orange mare was ogling him.

Just for being a pegasus.

A cluster of three or four fillies abandoned their hopscotch game to come on over, and do the same. Then a pair of bookish colts. Then a loner girl who'd been doodling in the dirt. Like water down a drain, the children of this strange little community all gravitated closer.

Cliff lifted a forehoof to his chest. As if to say, who me?

"Whoa." Rock Breaker snapped out of his trance o' terror. "Wait a minute. You're not from here?!" He looked to Cliff. Then to me. Then Foster. Then Wham! He jolted upright. As though a ghost had kicked him in the head, totally out of nowhere. "You mean... They're not from here?" His eyes shot back to the big orange mare. The lady who was obviously a teacher.

"Where did you find them?" She asked.

"Downtown," Rock answered. "Sector seventeen. What used to be Princess Luna Boulevard."

The mass of children closed in around us, forming a full circle that blocked the exit. Gossip spread through the crowd like flame racing over a puddle of rubbing alcohol.

"Something something something. Pegasus," one of them said.

"Something something something snuck inside," whispered another.

"Strangers," said a squeaky little voice in the back.

And all of it crescendo'd into a thunderstorm o' obnoxious kid noise that surrounded us on all sides.

"How'd they get over the wall?" One murmur jumped out of the static. Louder than the rest.

"He musta flown them over," said another voice so shrill, that it was impossible not to notice.

"No way. Check out his wings."

Cliff Diver recoiled. Hid his face behind his mane, and his head behind his blocky shoulders. Like a newly captured stray dog, cowering in the corner. Freaked out by everypony.

"Hay!" Bananas Foster threw herself in front of him. As if her body could shield him from words. "Leave him alone!"

The sea of students erupted like water bubbling at the surface of a pot. Totally out of control. The kids were mostly younger than us. But that just made it worse somehow. They seemed to shake and burst like popcorn kernels dancing on a hot pan. And they were everywhere! Pointing and staring and babbling about Cliff.

'Til it all just sorta stopped.

The mass of children fell needle-scraped-off-a-record-silent. Completely out of nowhere.

All that was left was the clonk-clonk, clonk-clonk, clonk-clonk sound of flat-heeled shoes clapping against pavement.

The crowd parted like a pair of curtains. At the end of it was a purple unicorn mare. Almost as small as us kids. Her mane was black and cropped short. Her blazer, tightly tailored, and prim.

The air seemed to hum all around her. Six dozen hooves all shuffled out of her way at once. It sounded like the dull shhh of a distant ocean.

And she approached leisurely-like. As though there were nothing unusual about any of this at all.

Clonk-clonk, clonk-clonk. Clonk-clonk, clonk-clonk. Clonk-clonk, clonk-clonk

Even the orange mare slid to the side.

Finally, the purple lady came straight up to me. Face to face. At eye level without even having to stoop.

"Hey, there, sweetie pie," she somehow managed to say without condescension.

"Um...hi?" I replied.

The kids all hurried away while the matronly figure had her back turned. The grown-ups made their escape too, herding the younger students toward the door in orderly clusters.

"May I?" The headmare gestured with her chin. Pointing at Cliff and Foster behind me.

"Oh, um. Yeah. Of course," I babbled, and shifted off to the side.

But Foster stood fast. Like she was itching to morph into a dragon and slash everypony into ribbons. All she needed was an excuse.

"I'm sorry," said the strange purple mare. Oozing a freaky amount of humility for somepony whose mere presence had just shocked a playground full of students and faculty into submission.

Cliff peeked his eyes out from behind his mane, and his head out from behind his shoulder.

"My name is Headmare Honeysuckle," the grown up said. "Though everypony calls me Miss Honey."

"Cliff Diver." Cliff straightened himself out. Rose up. Extended a hoof to bump.

Foster watched closely - ever protective of him - and studied Miss Honey too. Suspicion-rays blasted off of Foster like light from the Sun (if the Sun were standing right next to you, burning out your eyeballs with suspicion). But ultimately, she stepped aside. 'Cause Cliff Diver seemed at ease.

"Pleased to meet you," Miss Honey continued. "And you, and you."

She pointed to Foster and me.

"Rose Petal," I said.

"Welcome," she replied.

"Bananas Foster."

"I'm delighted to meet you," the headmare said. "All of you. And I'm very sorry for the conduct of my students. They know better...Faculty too." Miss Honey flashed a smile at the orange mare.

But Orange just recoiled in terror. Eyes the size of planets, and irises like little green grains of sand.

"It's not her fault," I snapped to her defense, purely on instinct. And immediately regretted it. 'Cause Headmare Honeysuckle turned her attention toward me. Smiling.

"Um…" I said. "Uh...I mean, I don't want anypony punished because of us….You know? It's not everyday you see a pegasus."

"Yeah," Cliff added. "I'm, er...weird."

"Who said anything about punishment?" Miss Honey replied. She smiled warmly.
And confidence oozed off of her - soothing confidence - compassionate confidence - confidence that made me feel stupid for even suggesting that punishment had ever been on the table. "Miss Mango," she said. "Take a thorough report from the gentleman over there." The headmare gestured at Rock Breaker as though he were furniture. "And I mean thorough. We need to know our borders are secure."

Miss Mango nodded firmly.

"When you're done," Headmare Honeysuckle added. "Do make sure he gets a commendation. I hope you can handle that?"

Miss Mango swallowed her throat apple and nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."

Headmare Honeysuckle tilted her nose up in the air - the only way to point over the crowd in Mr. Goggles' direction. "You! What's your name?"

"Rock Breaker, ma'am."

"Well, Rock Breaker," she said, all smiles and sunshine again. "Thank you for your service. You've done an honorable thing. It won't be forgotten."

Rock nodded enthusiastically. Like a captured pirate thrilled to have avoided the plank, but not yet returned to the safety of his own ship.

"Walk with me," Miss Honey said to us.

We obliged.

She led my friends and I across the playground. Which was really just a ring of tall buildings with a bunch of empty space in the middle, and a jungle gym for climbing on. But we had it all to ourselves. The other teachers were busy herding the kids into a sky blue building.

"Are you children alright?" Miss Honey asked.

"Yeah," we replied in unison, as if by reflex.

She chuckled. "That'd make you the first. Nopony here is alright." She gazed at the herd of kids. "But it's alright not to be alright." Miss Honey turned herself back around. Eyeballed us closely. "I'm gonna be straight with you," she said. "You three showing up the way you did - it's something strange. I'm not gonna lie.

'But I'm gonna treat you like everypony else...Unless there's a reason not to." She raised an eyebrow of doom. The kind of look that makes you want to hide under the kitchen table. "Now lemme tell you a little something about who we are and what we've accomplished here," she continued. "Safety is a haven for children. Our campus represents years of work, and acres of urban rejuvenation. We--;"

"Safety? 'Safety' is what this place is actually called?" Foster interrupted.

"Yes, of course, sugar."

"Why Safety?" Cliff asked.

"It stands for Students And Faculty Emancipating Today's Youth," Miss Honey replied. "And we take that word seriously. Emancipation. Ponies are more than hunks of flesh. We are our very own hearts. And that makes us tough to fix. Inside." She brought her hoof to her chest. "You hear what I'm saying? So, no matter who you are, or where you come from, or how long it's been since your chains were broken, we view emancipation as a work in progress." Miss Honey laughed to herself. "But who am I kidding? You don't care about highfalutin ideas right now. You wanna know where the food is. What's expected of you on the day-to-day. Whether or not we have blankets."

"How many kids there are," I said.

Miss Honey stopped. Gave me side-eye.

"Uh...We're sorta looking for somepony," I said. "And this place seems pretty big. If a random pony ended up here, I'm not sure how, well, you know…"

"We have three-hundred-and-forty-seven students here on our campus," Miss Honey replied. "I know all of them by name."

"All of them?" Foster asked.

"If you wanna know, just ask."

"Blueberry Milkshake," Cliff called out. Before I could say Misty. Not that I was going to say Misty. Merely mentioning his name could potentially fuck up his mission.

What we really needed was, like...a directory or something. A way to investigate his whereabouts in private.

"I'm so sorry," Miss Honey said with a heavy sigh. "No Blueberry Milkshakes here."

"I didn't think so," I said somberly. "Thanks."

Genuine sadness shrouded my heart like a doom-blanket. 'Cause the real Blueberry Milkshake was still out there. Suffering in that shadow castle. And I had fucked up so bad in making this massive detour into the future! I should have been out there helping her, and I couldn't even figure out how to get home.

"So sorry, child," Miss Honey said to me.

I bit my lip and nodded at her.

Miss Honey led us perpendicular-like from the way we'd come in. To hear her talk, it totally seemed like she was showing us around the place. But we didn't actually get very far into Safetyland. At all. We just sorta hugged the wall.

By the time I noticed what was going on, we were already there.

"This facility," Miss Honey gestured at a single story pink building attached to the warehouse that walled Safety's border. "...Is where we greet our newest students. There's warm meals inside, a place to relax, and when you're done, we've got some medics here who are gonna look you over. Make sure you're not injured, or in danger. And make sure you're not gonna bring anything contagious into our community that'll make our other students sick. It's just a precaution."

There was a big sign that said WELCOME! Beneath it, a pair of double doors swung open. And out stepped a blue mare. Red mane like a tangled rope. A laminated badge hung from a lanyard. Clipboard slung haphazard-like over her back, dangling by a string. A larger mare - green and smiling - stepped out behind her. Her long white lab coat flapped around like a flag in the breeze.

Bananas Foster backed away. Step by cautious step.

I gripped Cliff's foreleg. Without even realizing that I was doing it. If these weirdos figured out that Bananas was a changeling, we were all doomed. I mean, could they even figure it out? Foster had fooled Ponyville General Hospital, and she'd even stayed at Canterlot at some point too. So she'd fooled the best of the best.

"Nothing to be afraid of, sweetie pie," said Miss Honey. That calm, velvet voice that seemed as sturdy as the ground beneath our feet. But its magic didn't work on Bananas Foster. Her knees were shaking.

"I promise you, we're not looking to hurt you," Miss Honey added. "You have my word."

Foster nodded grimly.

I felt like I should say something. Do something. But what could I do besides dig my hooves into the ground and wait for the right moment? To strike. To run. To distract Miss Honey and her goons with a polka dance.

A tender smile eased across the headmare's face. But the second that she glanced away to gesture the "intake ponies" over, Foster broke into a gallop. Cheeks red. Tears streaming down her face. Primal terror in her eyes.

She made for the exit. The way we'd come in.

"Foster!" I ran too. Right past Miss Honey. But it was too late.

Thwoong! Bananas Foster was already enveloped in a bubble of unicorn magic. Her hooves scrambled against the pavement. Smashing themselves against the ground in blind panic. "No!" She shrieked so hard her vocal cords stretched and strained and tore. The sound could curdle milk.

I spotted the clipboard lady with the messy mane. Horn aglow. She was the one making the bubble.

I remembered what I'd done back in Trottica. With the rock that I'd hurled at Misty Mountain's' captor's head.

That's when the entire duckyverse went silent. Black. Everything just sorta...fwomp - narrowed down to a tiny little pinhole. Just like it had back in Trottica.

It was just me. And that glowing horn. And a smooth tiny rock on the pavement just beside my hooves.

I bent my knee back. Got ready to kick.

Somewhere far off I could hear Foster's cries. Indecipherable. Like being underwater. But the distant sound turned my stomach to a boiling pot, and my heart into a volcano that flooded my every vein with lava. Burning with blind, visceral rage.

"Let her go," I said through gritted teeth. As every ounce of my fury condensed at once into a single point at the tip of my swinging hoof - the part that connected with the rock.

My love. My fear. My anger. It all became a single projectile. Soaring through the air. Angry as a pirate's cannonball.

'Till, clunk! The damn thing landed three feet away from Clipboard Mare, and skipped off to somewhere unseen.

"Stop!" Cliff cried. "She used to be a prisoner. In a doctor's office!"

Bananas kept on struggling. Thrashing and wailing. As though she were in the bitter grip of the shadows themselves.

But the grown-ups all froze. Even Miss Honey.

The bubble stopped moving. And we were left standing there. Silent as the grave. As Bananas Foster sobbed and scratched against the walls of the bubble-prison.

"Get a table, four chairs and a kit," Miss Honey commanded of the earth pony in white. "We're doing it here."

The green orderly nodded. Dashed inside like she was running from a fire. And out of those same double doors stepped an older mare. Wearing battered tweed. Gold rimmed spectacles. She rushed to Foster's side.

Miss Clipboard held Foster and the magic bubble perfectly still. But looked away. Mortified. Waiting for orders one way or another. To keep holding on to Foster, or let her go.

"Child," Miss Honey leaned in close and said. "We didn't know." Her voice sounded like gravel crunching under iron horseshoes.

Foster struggled to catch her breath. And when the heaving stopped, she looked Miss Honey in the eyes.

"We're going to have a talk. And a doctor's going to scan you," the headmare assured her. "And that's all we're going to do. I swear. On the memory of my own child. I swear to you."

The already horrified silence of the grown-ups got even silencey-er. Gravity-er.

Miss Honey wasn't bullshitting.

"Now I'm gonna burst the bubble," she said. "There won't be any pain. You may need a shot depending on what our tests say - I gotta be honest with you about that. But it'll be fast and gentle. We have teeny tiny little needl--;"

"I'm not afraid of needles," Foster interrupted. Wiping the tears away, summoning what dignity she could muster. But when her soggy eyeballs drifted my way, utter shame and disgrace was written all over them.

"It's okay," I said.

But she just turned her head away again. Cast her gaze upon the floor. "No hospitals," she said. "No hospital beds. No locked...Rooms. No bubbles." She tapped the inside of the force field with scorn.

Miss Honeysuckle gave the nod. And with a sigh of relief, the Clipboard Lady let the bubble burst.

Bananas Foster stood there a moment. Seeing the world through her own eyes again instead of the force field's violet hue. But she didn't celebrate. Or even show a drop of relief. Instead, Foster sulked over to us. In disgrace and defeat.

Cliff and I rushed over to meet her. Threw our forelegs around her. 'Til she heaved. And sobbed. And wheezed. As I ran a hoof through her mane.

Meanwhile, Miss Honeysuckle frantically commanded her crew through a series of gestures and sour looks. They ran all around, grabbing weird devices and yelling into them.

When, at long last, Bananas Foster was herself again, she rolled over. Patted our heads, and pried herself away. As if to say, I'm gonna be alright. By the time she was upright, there was already a table and chair set up. The pony in tweed sat there waiting. The seat opposite her was empty.

A yellow unicorn that I didn't recognize at all stood beside a second table. Some kinda white suitcase sat unopened on it.

Foster looked to Miss Honey. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, child," Miss Honey replied. "Everypony's got something that sets 'em off."

Bananas Foster's eyelids flipped open wide like a pair of shades after you tug on the cord. Of all the reactions she'd prepared herself for, the normalcy of completely freaking the fuck out was not one of them.

"...But I do want you to see something," Miss Honeysuckle beckoned Bananas Foster over with her hooves.

Foster obliged.

"Now I'm not gonna make you go in there. But I want you to take a good, hard look." She extended a forehoof. Pointed in the direction of the double doors (which Clipboard Lady immediately swung open). "That's not a doctor's office. If you have a good look, you'll see it's just a normal place to hang out."

The inside looked like a lounge. Couches. Long hallways full of doors. Not like the wing at Ponyville General. More like one of those fancy buildings rich city folks live in.

It even had a chandelier.

Foster stared and stared and stared and stared. While the grown-ups all moved around her. Preparing us for an expedited in take. Al fresco.

The "tests" were weird little beepy things that they swiped over our hides without touching us. According to Miss Honeysuckle, we "got the good stuff." Equipment that they'd borrowed from the actual infirmary for emergencies. So we could pass our screenings quickly rather than having to wait in quarantine at the Welcoming Center that Bananas had panicked over.

Then there was the pony in tweed. She asked us questions. Lots of questions. But not the kind that mattered. Her intake was all about playing with blocks. Like we were little foals. And geography questions we didn't know the answers to. And showing us a bunch of ink blotches and stuff. Asking us to draw her some pictures of ourselves.

I failed my test. Miss Tweed told me it was impossible to pass or fail, but I know for a fact that I flunked.

I was real super careful not to doodle anything too revealing. No Roseluck - even though I was asked about my family. I wouldn't be able to explain her absence, nor could I lie and pretend to mourn her convincingly. So I only drew Foster, Cliff Diver, and me.

But Miss Tweed blink-bloinked when she saw the finished product. Face all micro-twitchitty as she did her best to disguise the fact that she found it unusual. "What's that big yellow thing right there?" She summoned her composure and asked.

I froze. Sensing that she was trying to ensnare me.

"Hey," Tweed said. "There are no wrong answers."

And of course she was lying her ass off. There were lots of potentially wrong answers. But I told what I thought to be a harmless truth. "The Sun."

"And what made you want to draw the sun?"

I just shrugged...The best answer possible. But my eyes drifted upwards. At the clouds. As dull and grey and dense as the hour the three of us had first arrived.

It had been like that in Trottica too. Both sneaking in, and busting out. The weather had been exactly the same.

Had Wastelanders ever seen the Sun?!! I shifted my chair. Fidgeted with my pencil. Avoided eye contact. Everything short of painting LIAR on my forehead.

"Thank you, Miss Rose Petal," Tweed said. "You passed."

"I did?"

"No," Tweed replied, gathering her papers into her saddlebag. "Because there is no passing or failing." She smirked. Just a little. "But now that we know a little bit more, we can place you with other children like you. So it'll be easier to make friends."

"Children like me," I said dryly.

"Mmhmm," Miss Tweed replied.

"And what kinda kid did the test tell you I was?"

"Well, altruistic for one," Miss Tweed set her saddlebag back down on the table. "You're smart. Stubborn."

"Trouble with authority," I replied.

"Actually, Rose, I was going to say that you're familiar with structure, and well-suited to an academic environment."

"Great." Just what I needed. More school.

"Most importantly, that you're coping with trauma - like everypony else here. And you've done a better job of it than you may think."

"Pffffffffffttttttttttttttttt!" I snorted.

"...And that you've been loved," she said. "By somepony."

Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore. I wanted to ask how she knew. But instead, my Rose Voices were dumbstruck. All I could think of were the Trottica kids who had never known love. Twink - who had been sold by her own parents. Strawberry Lemonade, who cringed at the very suggestion of physical touch. Even in Ponyville, Cliff Diver had known very little affection before he met Bananas and me.

How bad off were the other Safety kids if my being loved was worth mentioning at all? If Miss Tweed thought that I - of all ponies - was a fucking academic? Well suited to structure??!

"It's okay," said Miss Tweed, rising to her hooves. "You've still got a lot to take in. Why don't you have a seat over there with your friends while I confer with Miss Honey, and while the nurses process your lab results."

She extended her hoof. I bumped it in return. Automatic-like.

"Oh, and don't worry," Tweed added. "Wherever we place you, you won't be separated from your friends. That's not how we operate."

Cliff and Foster were already seated at a third table they'd dragged outside for us. A makeshift waiting room of sorts. Cliff shoveled some kinda mooshy substance - not entirely unlike cinnamon porridge - into his mouth. Foster had her head down on the table.

"Mmwhat do you thimk?" Cliff whispered to me, careful not to disturb her.

"I don't know," I answered. "I don't reckon they're gonna send us to the mines...At least not yet."

I bit into one of the bruised apples they'd left for us in a basket. Nothing like the fresh produce back home, but pretty damn impressive under the circumstances.

"...Blueberry Milkshake has got to be here, though," I continued, mouth full of honeycrisp, careful not to mention Misty's name, even though there were no grownups within ear shot.

"Yeah," Cliff replied, all ruminate-y. "We have to find him."

I sunk my teeth further into my apple, and ChoOoOmp! It exploded with the thunder of a million billion cannons.

I cringed. Pretended like it wasn't me. But Foster heard, and groaned in reply.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Bananas turned her head over. Buried her face deeper under her folded forehooves. "I wasn't asleep," she croaked.

Cliff and I swapped eyes with one another. He was thinking the same thing as me: It was time to speak up.

"You don't have anything to be ashamed of, you know," I reached out. Put a hoof on her head.

"Please don't," she replied.

I withdrew my hoof in shock. "Sorry," I tried to say, but couldn't find the breath for it.

"It was a totally normal reaction," Cliff added. "I woulda done the same if, like, they'd wanted to throw me from a height or something."

He stretched out one of his mangled wings. Winced in pain as it unfolded. But still managed to land a few feathers on Foster's shoulder.

Bananas picked her head up. Made sure her senses weren't lying to her.

She didn't have the heart to shrug his wing away. Not after all the work Cliff had put into getting it there. So she sighed instead. "No. You wouldn't do the same."

"You think I never freak out?!" Cliff whisper-shouted.

"I think you wouldn't abandon your friends."

"You messed up," I said. "You didn't even mess up. It was some messed up shit that messed you up."

"...And we don't hold it against you," Cliff added.

"I know," Foster whispered. "That's the worst part."

A hush fell over the table. Cliff Diver looked to me with giant puppy dog eyes. He desperately wanted to know what we should do, but I hadn't a clue what to tell him.

Fwoosh! A frosty breeze washed over us.

I pulled one of the blankets they'd given us over my shoulders. Cliff retracted his wing and used his teeth to drag a blanket over Bananas Foster.

But she just sat there. As indifferent to the blanket as she was to the cold.

"Bananas?" I prodded her with my words.

"I don't expect you to understand," she replied. "I've dreamt of this moment all my life. What I would do if I ever, by some phenomenal feat of magic, could move around. Freely. By myself. On a real mission...But now I know. The second I can finally move my legs around in the outside world. All they know how to do is run away. Your forgiveness can't fix that. It doesn't make me any less a coward. Any less a traitor." Foster spoke that last word to herself. I'm not even sure that we were meant to hear it at all. But in that moment, something inside of me snapped.

Clonk! I clocked Bananas Foster right in the head. Pretty hard too.

"Oww!" She sprung out of her seat. But I leapt after her. Got right in her face.

"Rose!" Cliff scrambled around the table to try and reach me.

But it was too late. My eyes were locked with Bananas Foster's. My hoof inches from her muzzle.

"You're my friend," I said. "And no one talks that way about my friends. Not even you."

And as I waved that hoof at Bananas Foster, threatening that 2x4 o' Friendship, something flickered to life in her eyes. Like a spell being broken.

"Okay," she said. Rubbing her scalp in pain.

Before I even realized what the fuck had just happened I found myself hugging her tightly. Like Twink would have.

When all was said and done, Bananas Foster pulled Cliff in reeeeal close. In what looked like a comforting hug. "Okay, listen," she whispered, fully herself again. "Tell me everything you said to them during your intake. They don't trust us any more than we trust them. If we're gonna get through this, we've got to get our stories straight…"