• Published 30th Oct 2013
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Fallout: Equestria - Knights of Day - sirustalcelion



A prequel to Fallout: Equestria. What happened to Celestia's Guards after the megaspell apocalypse?

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Prologue and Chapter 1

Fallout: Equestria

Knights of Day

By Sirustalcelion

Prologue

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria…

War. War never changes. Such a blisteringly simple fact, but a thousand years of peace and prosperity under the rule of Princess Celestia had caused ponies to forget the horrors of war. When the world finally exploded in a devastating war of attrition, they were utterly unprepared for the cost both in physical terms and the damage to their collective national psyche.

Despite this, pre-war ponies were not entirely pacifists. Equestria had long maintained a small but elite military. These noble stallions and mares formed what was known as the Royal Guard and its airborne sister, the Equestrian Skyguard. To the public, they largely served a ceremonial role, but they had also been trained to take care of threats to Equestria, whether from an occasional dragon or the rare marauding band of griffin sky pirates.

Unfortunately, Celestia’s Royal Guard was completely unprepared for the needs of industrial scale warfare, with entire nations’ populations thrown to feed the machine of war. And so, as the ranks of ponies swelled, these proud soldiers vanished, absorbed by the larger Equestrian Army or simply killed in action. The final blow to their organization came when Princess Celestia finally abdicated her throne, and Luna’s own guards took the once-proud position for themselves.

But the Royal Guards were not forgotten.

Instead, they and their families were gathered by Stable-Tec and given a stable of their own in which to wait out the necromantic holocaust, just one of the hundreds of social experiments that Stable-Tec had tried.

A hundred years later, after the balefire and residual necromantic energies retreated to acceptable levels, their thirteen-ton door was one of the first to reopen…


Chapter 1

Stupid

“Now Atom is a youngster and pretty hard to handle
But we better step in and stop that scandal...”

The bracing wind ruffled my mane. I savored it, and the clean air refreshed my senses. Stretching against my battle-saddle, I allowed the breeze to flow through it and dry the sweat that had gathered in my coat. I slowly picked my way from rock to rock, careful to keep my hooves from indenting the hock-deep snow of the mountaintop.

This was a stealth mission, after all.

It wasn’t long before I found my first mark, a zebra scout. I just needed to kill him and get into the base, where I could set my charges to destroy the anti-air weapons and allow my Skyguard Pegasi comrades to attack this station en masse, claiming a victory for Celestia. Straightforward.

His black and white striped coat made it difficult to pick him out between the white snow and granite cliffs, just as my own white coat aided my camouflage. He stepped out onto a concrete ledge, silhouetted against the clear blue sky, and I readied the saddle, my tongue sliding over the breath-heated bit. I pulled it forward a bit to extend the distance at which my bullets would intersect, a distance which coincided with my mark’s chest. I pondered the shot, keeping my breath minimal and steadying my beating heart.

He muttered something into his radio, his eyes sweeping the landscape, completely missing me. He’d made his report. Now was the time! Fire!

Instead, my mind wandered. I didn’t know much zebra, but I could pick out a few of the unfamiliar words. Area (something something) clear (something something) Centurion. I wondered who the centurion was. What kind of pony – zebra – was he? Did he have the same calculating, smiling disposition of my own General Orders? Perhaps this zebra was like me, simply doing his duty, following the mandates of his country and his faith? Did he like to tell those fantastical zebra tribal tales? Questions abounded in my mind, and with each passing thought my desire to fire lessened. Eventually he turned around, continuing on his patrol path.

It occurred to me that I need not fight him at all. While it was impossible to simply walk past this zebra, I was certain that if I just had a chance to talk, pony-to-zebra, we could resolve our problems. I could even start a zebra sub-culture movement that was pony-friendly! My delusions of potential grandeur ran wild for a moment.

There was nothing for it. I released the bit in my mouth, lowered it, then stepped out of the shadows and onto the concrete platform, making sure my hooves crunched in the snow. Thus alerted, the zebra legionary spun around, looking at me with blank, expressionless eyes. “Dedi,” I said, or ‘I surrender,’ in the Propoli tongue. At least, I hoped that was what I was saying.

I didn’t even blink as he opened fire, and I heard the ‘waah-wah-waaaaah’ of a trombone signaling my failure.

The sky pixelated and bloomed into white, a clean horizontal gash opening up in it ready to bear my consciousness away, back into reality. I felt the comforting fizzle of my nerves being disconnected from the Stable-Tec Sim Pod, and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the lower lighting in the room.

“Pardon my language, but WHAT in the HOOF was THAT?” My instructor, Smoothbore was positively livid at me. I climbed down from the sim pod with a calm demeanor, no sense in getting worked up. I’d only failed my graduation program, after all. “A Guard never surrenders, especially not to some measly magical projection AI!”

This wasn’t the first time I had received this run down. This was, after all, the third time I had failed this test. She went on to criticize nearly everything I had done in that short simulation. The lecture went in one ear and out the other, and I allowed my thoughts to wander. It’s not like the test mattered for somepony like myself. The C.A.T. (Cutie-mark aptitude test, useful for determining careers for ponies like me who either were late bloomers in their cutie marks, or, like me, had cutie marks that were utterly useless in determining a career path) that I had taken last year decreed that I was destined to be the stable chaplain. It was an important role, I was assured. I was vital to the morale of the stable, assuring that our fellow guards knew that there was more to our lives than simply waiting and endless drills inside the narrow halls of our stable.

In reality, it was a useless position, and everypony, especially me, knew it. I had hoped to be some sort of technician, providing a tangible, vital service to my fellow ponies, even if I had neither the inherent aggression or the physical aptitude for frontline military work. I even learned how to work the replicator talisman, a recycler that turned waste of all kinds into usable food, clothing, whatever. But both the CAT and my cutie mark suggested I was good for only one thing, talking, and one job that involved primarily talking was Stable Chaplain. Though, as I had been told by the Senior Chaplain Cross, the position actually was more about listening than talking.

And speaking of listening, I hadn’t paid attention to a word Smoothbore had said. “…useless.” She finished, echoing my own self-pitying reverie. She gave me a narrow look. “Have you even paid a lick of attention to what I’m saying?”

Honesty compelled me to shake my head. Stable chaplains shouldn’t lie, and in any case Smoothbore was something of a lie detection spell in pony form. She face hoofed. “Just... just get going. I’ll talk with you later. When you’re in the mood to listen.” She waved me out, ready to invite the next candidate in for this round of testing.

+ + +

That ‘later’ was now. Smoothbore looked over a sheaf of papers containing documentation of everything I had ever done in Stable Seven worth noting. She couldn’t go past a page without sighing. “What am I going to do with you, Silver?” she said. Smoothbore had been my teacher longer than I could remember. Stable Seven had two teachers, Chaplain Cross and Smoothbore, and together we stable-dwelling ponies were ensured a thorough education.

“Let me pass anyway?” I suggested helpfully. She gave a gentle smile, a sharp contrast from her drill sergeant mode from earlier today.

“No, I can’t just do that. By your test scores alone, you should be on your way to Captain by now. In two thirds of the test, they’re better than Bolt Action’s. But you’re utterly failing the last third! Sparring, explosives, the simulation, all zeroes!”

I gave a wry grin. I liked the way I had failed the explosives test, the objective of which was to get from one room to another through a locked door by using as few materials as possible. Instead of blowing up the door and letting the repair talisman regenerate it like usual, I simply knocked on it and told the test examiner on the other side that the exam was over, and he opened it himself. It had not gone over well. I still argued that I had achieved the objective perfectly. “A sixty-six per cent is still a ‘D,’ though, right? You can pass me. I know Click Clack passed with less.”

It didn’t work that way, though, and the look on Smoothbore’s face reminded me that she knew it, too. Nopony else had zeroes in the combat portions of the test, and nopony could pass if they had a zero in any one area. It was just unusual that anypony with a zero in anything both existed and was still averaging a passing grade.

I watched Smoothbore carefully. She was considering it, which was more than I had expected. I needed to press a bit more. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I shouldn’t try to press you. You’ve always been such a good teacher, and I don’t want to burden you any more than you already are. I know you have your forehooves full and your hindlegs tied.” Careful now, Silver, don’t push too much. None of this was untrue, of course. Now was just a good time to repeat it. “It’s just I can’t seem to bring myself to actually hurt anypony. I know what to do, I just can’t, y’know, do it. Is that so bad?”

“I know what you’re trying to do, SIlver.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work.”

She sighed again and read over my test scores. Very few ponies ever broke rules in Stable Seven, and retribution was normally swift but fair. Smoothbore was not a rule-breaking type of pony, and neither was I. This wasn’t working, I needed to change my tack a little. I’d have to be a little bit more creative. “I don’t want to break any rules, but maybe we can work something out. I’m supposed to be the Chaplain, after all. It’s not a fighting role. I don’t need to be able to kill a zebra or anything. Maybe we could change the sim, replace the ponies with robots, or something. Then I could pass, I’m sure.”

She put the papers down. “I’ll think about it. I’m not saying anything more. Dismissed.”

Well, that was all I was going to get for now. Turning, I trod out of the old classroom.

+ + +

“…and it’s not like I don’t have the skills, I just can’t do it! It goes against everything we teach!” Senior Chaplain Cross nodded, listening. I had been giving him an earful for at least a half hour. Most of it was just me thinking out loud. Cross didn’t seem to mind, as long as I worked while I ran my mouth. I had already swept and mopped both the chapel and the nearby hallways, and now I was cleaning the stubborn dust out of the corners carved into a statue of the Goddess holding an infant Princess Celestia. It just seemed wrong to emphasize all those principles of getting along and finding peaceful solutions to your problems when you had to be able to kill to earn full Stable citizenship.

Chaplain Cross didn’t need to say anything, I knew the counter-arguments to my position. Soldiering provisions had arisen quickly in Faustian philosophy, and were readily available in the library at the back of the chapel.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to actually follow the peaceful lessons that Princess Celestia had given to her guard centuries ago? The irradiated surface outside the stable seemed adequate proof that I was right. Cross still didn’t say anything. Well, not like it mattered, he had passed all his tests the first try. I didn’t have to listen to him.

Ugh. Darn it, I just wanted to be a good pony. Being a good pony meant never hurting another pony, right? Being a good pony also meant doing your duty. Right now my duty was to kill another equine in simulation. I knew it wasn’t a real zebra. But he was programmed to be as realistic as possible, and it still felt like killing. That was half the point of the simulation.

I rubbed the statue harder, using the edge of my hoof to get into a dusty corner underneath the Goddess’ red mane. I pushed at it, taking out my frustration at being a failure at something anypony in the stable could do.


Chaplain Cross cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, and I immediately looked up at him. Maybe he had something, some clever quote of a philosopher pony long dead, that would resolve my problem. “Don’t scrub too hard. You might break it, or chip the paint.”

Well, that was profound. Chaplain Cross got up to leave, heading for the door in the back of the small chapel, probably planning to go get some dinner. Making sure he wasn’t looking, I stepped back off the statue’s pedestal, and focused on the motes of dust. A blue aura appeared around them and my horn, and I magically pulled them away. This was unproductive.

I let out an exasperated sigh and hit my head against the nearest wall, hard enough to sting, but not hard enough for my horn to dent the wall. Maybe I could get the graduation stuff resolved without hurting anypony, and put all of that behind me. After that, I wouldn’t ever need to shoot anything even resembling a pony. It’s not like the stable was going to go to war with anypony.

+ + +

I chewed down my nutrition chips, careful to keep my mouth full so that I wouldn’t have to discuss anything with my fellow trainees. My last two failures had been fast-spreading news, the first one earning me pity, the second earning gaffes at my expense. My ears were perked to listen to the conversations around me, though I didn’t actually attempt to engage in any myself. There was no mention of my test performance, which simultaneously relieved and annoyed me. I hated being the butt of jokes or pity, but I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed the attention of the other stable ponies in equal measure.

Instead there was nervous murmuring about life outside, something opening, and scouting teams. That was unusual. Ponies in the stable rarely, if ever, acknowledged that there was a world beyond our thirteen-ton gear-shaped door. It made the monotony of life inside our narrow grey corridors easier to bear.

An ice blue earth pony mare sat down across from me. Her name was Bolt Action, a former classmate up until three months ago when she, and the rest of my class, passed the graduation program in the sim pod. She eyed me for a moment, and then decided not to say what I knew was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she simply said, “Did’ja hear the news, Silver?”

“What news?” I grunted, sure I was about to hear directly from her whatever the other ponies were talking about.

Bolt Action continued, “The announcement over the P.A. The vault is able to open now, it says.”

That was news indeed. I swallowed the imitation hay fry I had been chewing. “So that’s it, then? We get to go and recolonize the wasteland, ‘forging anew the glories of Equestria’?” I quoted the advertising material that was scattered on the remaining posters left over from when the vault was first constructed, a hundred and twenty years ago.

“Maybe,” she said through a mouthful of Fancy Buck snack cakes. Replicated, of course. “But General Orders isn’t going to ship us all out. Not right away. She’s sending out scout teams. Find out what we’re up against. She put out volunteer signup lists on her door. Yours truly already signed up, of course.”

I grunted again, demonstrating the eloquence my name, Silver Tongue, advertised. And yes, I’ve heard every dirty joke relating to tongues and the things that a pony can do with them. I was just lucky my cutie mark was more abstract than having a tongue on my butt.

“Don’t act that way, I’m telling you this for a reason. You should sign up.” Her amber eyes glared into my own, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

I grunted again, and chomped on another replicated hay fry. All my essay writing and class speeches went into it, a genuine polished gem of communication skills.

“Look, I know you failed again. I don’t care if you’re upset and want to wallow in self-pity for the next month until you can re-fail the test again. If you’re serious about wanting to help the stable, you should sign up.”

I opened my mouth to say something barbed and potentially witty, but whatever uncalled-for insult I was about to give died on my lips. Instead, I simply said, “Aren’t the signups full? I figure everypony would want to take a little vacation outside.” And anypony else would be more qualified, I silently added. Buck, was I going to mope all day?

“Why don’t you get off your flank and go check for yourself?” Before I could grunt yet another reply, she said, “I’m serious, just go sign up. Will you do that? I gave a halfhearted little nod. With that, she picked up her now empty tray and walked off. When had she had time to actually eat? I wondered. I watched her black power armor under-barding disappear through a powered blast door, the same as all the doors here in the stable.

She did have a point. And in any case, walking and making excuses for myself was better than sitting and making excuses for myself.

+ + +

In short order, I was standing outside the Overmare’s office, reading the bulletin board listings. In the center, framed, was a transcript by somepony named Scootaloo, describing our stable’s function and project goal. It had been marked, ‘TOP SECRET: OVERMARE EYES ONLY.’ It then went on to describe how this was a military stable, and all members of Stable Seven were either Royal Guard, or the families of the Guard. It went on to say how this stable should follow a military command hierarchy, and should be completely open and honest with the ponies of Stable Seven. Guess they didn’t count on the first Overmare-General taking the ‘open and honest’ bit to heart, and posting this for everypony to see. Every colt and filly wrote dozens of essays on this particular document, it was as well known to us as the Oath of Service. Next to it were eleven framed photographs, taken once every ten years, each one showing roughly six hundred ponies. They were either predominantly white-coated, blue-maned ponies like myself, or else dark brown and ash-maned ponies. More colorful ponies, like Bolt Action and her brothers, were definitely the minority, although our books declared that ponies normally came in all colors imaginable.

Browsing over forgotten entrepreneurial ads (‘quarters cleaned, only one chocolate ration card apiece’) and ancient posters showing ponies in power armor, I finally came to a pair of lined pieces of paper, titled simply, ‘scouting duty volunteers.’ There were a large number of names on the first list, but the second one was nearly empty. Looking closely, I could see why. The first list was also labeled ‘short term,’ while the second, ‘extended.’ Apparently lots of ponies wanted to visit the outside, but only for a short while. I couldn’t blame them.

There were only two names on the second list, Bolt Action, written in stiff, earth-pony lip-writing, and Mobilization, in neat, regimented unicorn script. I glared hard at the name. Mobilization was the overmare’s son, and everypony expected him to take over his mother’s job when she retired. You could tell that she expected him to as well; the name Mobilization was just begging to have General attached to the front. I had never had more than two lines of conversation with him. A pony with more skill in writing and talking than hoof to hoof combat was beneath the notice of most ponies besides the teacher.

Two-pony scouting teams were the norm, and if there were only two names, both better qualified than myself, then I was unlikely to get the position. Good! I signed my name in my own small, flowing script, then again on the longer list. If all went as expected, both would be turned down, I would have kept my promise to Bolt Action, and I could just go right back to feeling sorry for myself for failing the sim pod simulation! Today was really looking up.

I replaced the quill into the ink dispensing pot attached to the bottom of the bulletin board and turned to make my exit back down the steel steps, passing Security and its confinement cells, and the Overmare’s private residence, a nice pair of rooms roughly the same as anypony else’s private quarters. I began to descend the steel steps, the first of four flights to get to my own quarters next to the stable chapel, when I heard the tnk-tnk of metal-clad hooves behind me. Nothing particularly unusual about that in a stable full of power armored ponies. I continued down, and a shadow fell over me, cast by the sterile magical lights that lined every hallway in Stable Seven.

“I saw you sign up for the extended scouting mission.”

I continued walking away from the voice and shadow. “Yeah?”

A steel-clad hoof reached over my neck and spun me around with the awkward jerkiness of somepony still getting used to wearing power armor, and I was whirled face-to-face with the dark brown coat, yellow eyes, and white mane of Mobilization. He was wearing his armor and its accompanying armored pip-buck, but he wasn’t wearing his helmet. Not that I blamed him, those things could be awfully stifling. His face was all too close for personal comfort, and I could smell his sour-milk breath. “That’s MY mission,” he snorted.

“Fine! Good for you!” So far, I had no idea why he was telling me this.

“It’s my mission…and it’s Bolt Action’s mission,” he shoved me down the stairs, into the landing that marked the halfway point. My horn struck the armored light casing, causing my head to throb. “Get it?”

I was beginning to get an idea, yes. I still didn’t see what the issue was, and the headache wasn’t aiding my logical reasoning. I mean, maybe he wanted to go out with Bolt Action or something. If he did, he should just ask her and get it over with. I certainly wasn’t standing in the way. There were any number of reasonable solutions that one could arrive at if – WHAM!

Iron shod hooves slammed into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I collapsed gasping for a couple seconds. This was not a situation to let my mind wander in!

I estimated that I was no match for nearly anypony in the vault normally, and with the added hydraulic and magical strength of the power armor, I had no chance of actually winning this fight. Instead, as I held my breath for a second to stabilize my diaphragm, my eyes scanned the stairwell for the smooth black orb of a security camera. There wasn’t one. I needed to get to the hallway for that to happen. Smart move on the part of Mobilization, but nopony was doubting his intelligence. His reasoning, on the other hoof… “So what’s (wheeze) this (wheeze, swallow) this got to do with me?” I gasped out, hoping that the conversation would allow me the chance I needed to make it down the rest of those stairs.

“Don’t give me that, you signed up for this!” His hooves shoved me against the cold wall, pressing against my sternum.

That was untrue. I hadn’t signed up for any fights, just a working vacation in the irradiated lands that surrounded Stable Seven. I didn’t voice those thoughts, however, as I threw my weight sideways in a bid for the opening at the bottom of the stairwell. I tumbled hock-over-horn sideways down the stairs, impacting every third unyielding steel tread, and landed unceremoniously in a splayed heap on the polished floor. My eyes opened and found the blessed black orb at the far end of the hall. Objective accomplished, though my tactics so far had done more damage to me than Mobilization had.

Swaggering down the steps, Mobilization was in no apparent rush to get me. My horn flashed blue as I telekinetically searched for a weapon I could use, and my mind alighted on my Pipbuck. I hadn’t given it a second thought in the past week or so, but one rarely-used feature included in the suite of Pipbuck tools was an audio recorder and player. I flicked it into record, hopefully it would include more than grunts and sounds of movement. I could give all this evidence to security, and probably get Mobilization court martialed for this. It seemed like a sound plan, in theory. My magical aura dissipated from my horn, and I struggled to my hooves.

I didn’t quite get all the way there, because, seeing that I had no weapon, Mobilization jumped on me and I was down again. “I don’t care what you were trying to accomplish, putting your name on the list, but a few broken limbs will ensure that you are removed from it!”

Well, so far my plan of ‘take hits and get Mobilization back later’ was going spectacularly. If only I could get out of the ‘take hits’ part. But if he just wanted my name off the list, he should have simply asked. I didn’t want to be on that stupid list anyway, except for the promise I had made to Bolt Action. I opened my mouth to say as much, but was rewarded by a swift metal hoof to the jaw. Ow. Caramel-colored magic lifted me up and threw me against the wall. I tried again to stand up, this time with no more plan than ‘get away,’ my former plan too painful to continue pursuing, but I was stamped back down. Careful hooves captured a foreleg, one holding it in place while the other began to attempt bending my joint in a manner quite opposite to its function. My mind raced. “Wait!” I wheezed. “You don’t need to do this! I didn’t wanna be on that stupid list anyway! Bolt put me up to it!” Wow, way to give away your friends there, Silver, I chided myself. I prepared a mental retort to myself when the pain, instead of going away, redoubled. The news had not helped my case as much as I thought it would.

“Exactly,” he grunted simply. His logic was incomprehensible to me at this point.

“Stop!” shouted another voice, this one female and quite distinct from either of ours. The tension in my knee did not decrease, though it stopped increasing. The voice was familiar, and though that descriptor applied to practically every voice in Stable Seven, this one was particularly relevant. The position I was being held in did not allow me to turn and look, but the advancing tnk-tnk of Bolt Action was all I needed to hear. “The buck are you doing, Moby?” I assumed that was some kind of nickname.

“I am thwarting this traitor, of course! I heard him threatening the Overmare!”

Huh. I had to admit, if our situations had been reversed, I would have had a much better excuse ready.

“Silver? He can’t even hurt a VR zebra, much less the Overmare!” Yeah! Score one for my incompetence! I focused on my trapped leg. Maybe if I twisted it in just the right fashion, I could extricate myself from Mobilization’s grip. I tried just that, and was rewarded with just a tighter vice for my efforts.

“You’re – you’re with him?” Mobilization’s tone of voice set off alarm bells in my head. A short pause. “Then you’re against us, too!” Us? What? Mobilization’s train of thought was getting even hard to foll-POP! My knee apparently decided that it couldn’t take anymore, and tore out of its socket with a sickening crunch. I gritted my teeth and hissed in pain, although it hadn’t hurt as much as I’d anticipated it would. It was more distant…disconnected. Like my mind couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that the bone was a good six inches away from where it normally was. It was still more painful than anything else I’d experienced in my sheltered life in Stable Seven.

I heard metal clanging on metal above me as Bolt Action leapt on top of Mobilization. I finally pulled away, focusing on the pain in my knee and cannon bone and extricating myself. A hoof fight between power armors was likely to leave me with more resemblance to cream filling than pony. I rolled out of the way and hobbled to my hooves. They were both trading scarily accurate blows, fighting with inequine precision and reflexes. I gaped for a moment, until I realized that they were fighting from the combat nirvana of SATS (Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell), a spell which my own Pipbuck also had. Launching into it at any time might have given me the time I needed to think of a way out of the situation, something I mentally catalogued for the unlikely event that I ever got into another situation like this. I could have facehoofed, it was so obvious. I would have, too, if I had not been stopped by a sudden fire in the joint I had been actively ignoring that brought me back to the present. I needed to get back up those stairs, and get help from Security. It wasn’t that far away, after all, though really, it was much farther than I wanted to go on three hooves. I began to hobble over in that direction.

Immediately I tripped and collapsed back on the floor, a sharp stabbing shooting again through my unfortunate foreleg. What? A lavender magical rope had appeared, and had me trussed like a baby dragon. I looked around, and more had appeared to tie up both Bolt Action and Mobilization, suspending both of them with what must have been a feat of telekinetic weightlifting.

A power-armored unicorn stallion, his horn’s magical aura visible even through the helmet, approached, flanked by two more power-armored earth ponies. Blue and yellow stripes marked them as Stable Security. “I don’t care who started it, what was where, or whose coltfriend this is.” The stallion’s voice was slightly tinny through his helmet, “But there will be no denting those suits!” He pulled us all off our feet, depositing me over the back of the mare on his left, sans rope, and carrying the other two roughly suspended in lavender magical auras where their hooves could find no purchase.

Nopony said a word as they delivered us back up those same stairs and took us into the confinement cells, with their magically reinforced steel bars. Both Mobilization and I had received conical magic impeders screwed onto our horns, the draining effect pulling at my conscious mind. The Overmare was waiting for us already. I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised, when her office and living space were directly across the hall. The mare who had carried me retrieved a dark purple healing potion from the nearby restroom first aid kit, and without my magic and only one forehoof working, I had to lap it out of a bowl like a pet. Humiliating.

The Overmare watched, with an arched eyebrow, both the footage caught on security and the accompanying audio from my Pipbuck. That was probably more embarrassing to me than anypony else, and much more humiliating than the dog dish full of purple liquid. What had I been thinking? I should have just slid into SATS and delivered a strong buck to Mobilization’s horn. That plan was much easier to pull off in my head than it probably would have been against the real Mobilization. She rested back on her haunches, her expression calculating but otherwise unreadable. “Well,” she began slowly, “I think it’s safe to say that my son Mobilization will most certainly not be leaving on the extended scouting mission. This behavior is entirely unacceptable.” Her yellow eyes held their gaze unblinkingly on me the entire time she spoke. “Mobilization, you will return to your room, where I will administer appropriate justice.”

Appropriate justice? He broke my leg! “Ma’am?” I said, as Mobilization trotted out, and her arched eyebrow bade me speak. “He’s going to be grounded? He broke my bu—my leg!” I almost said ‘bucking leg,’ but not only was it bad manners, it was also inaccurate. My bucking legs were my hind ones.

The dark brown-grey mare said nothing and turned to leave, her eyes lingering on my mending leg until the last possible second. Then, “Scope, Baton, deliver them to my office as soon as that one’s leg mends.”

The two earth ponies saluted until the pneumatic door closed again. Then they broke off and went into a small room to the side. Their break room, I supposed. I conscientiously lowered my head back to drink the last of the potion, gripping the bowl with my teeth and tilting it with a twitch of my jaw. The bitter, syrupy mass trickled down my throat, and I could feel my knee healing. This stuff really was a miracle drug, the joint was almost as good as new! The pain receded a bit, but it would stay well after the actual injury had healed. The last drop trickled down my throat.

A hoof struck the now empty metal bowl from my mouth and it clattered to the prison floor. I looked at the only possible source of that hoof, Bolt Action. “What the hell, Silver?” she shouted. Her powder blue cheeks were positively purple with the blood rushing to them. She had removed her power armor before hitting me, thank goodness, I didn’t want to be taking any more healing potions today.

“Ow! What?” I snapped back.

“Why did you have to go get yourself into trouble?” She was pretty steamed, that was for sure. “I gave the Overmare’s son a black eye! A black eye! The Overmare’s son!” She pointed her hoof at her eye as if it would emphasize the point.

I’ll admit, I didn’t quite get what the big deal was about a black eye. Mobilization had just broken my knee, and even after the healing potion, I still had bruises on my withers, croup, and one on my dock that would make it painful to sit for a while. Healing potions only cared about serious and immediate injuries. With all that inequine SATS accuracy, a black eye was getting off lightly. Bolt Action was unscathed, her close-cropped fiery mane perhaps a bit messier than usual. “So what?”

“I’ve never been in trouble before! Well, I have, but not anything serious like this!” she amended. Bolt Action was the top of our class, and I’d never known her to get in trouble. I’d never been in serious trouble before either, so I didn’t have anything useful to say to that. The two of us put together had a cleaner record than the constantly polished walls of the stable hallways, today excluded of course. I’d never seen the Overmare-General up close before, either. Her reaction was a complete unknown. “Dangit, why did I jump in there? You should be able to fight for yourself!”

I could have tried to come up with something witty and biting, but honestly, I ached too much to retort to that last bit. It was humiliating to watch a video of myself just sit lie down and get kicked like a puppy, and then get rescued by a mare. Even a mare in power armor. “I dunno,” I said helpfully.

The statement hung in the air, needing a follow-up explanation. I still didn’t have anything witty to say, so I went with the truth, “But I’m glad you did.”

That seemed to take the fight out of her. Her cheeks faded back to their normal powder blue, and she smiled thinly at me.

Thank you, brain. My brain was now one-for-two on the talking myself out of bad situations counter. Still a failing grade, but better than zero.

Just then, the security ponies came back out of their break room. “Leg healed?” asked the mare. I nodded. The healing potion had done its job, and my leg was now functional. It was still tender, though, and I expected that my cannon bone wouldn’t be in top shape for at least a week.

They opened the cell door –which wasn’t locked, apparently – and we obediently rose to our hooves and trod out. The security ponies didn’t even follow us as we walked the dozen or so yards to the Overmare-General’s office. I guess they figured we wouldn’t run. They were right. Not that there was anywhere to run to.

I plodded past the bulletin board, and noticed that the long term scouting volunteer list had been removed from the bulletin board. In its place was a faded old Stable-Tec poster. I could barely make out a rearing power-armored stallion, whatever its written message long worn off in the constant light of the Stable Seven hallway. I turned my head back away in disgust. I really had seen enough power armor for one day. Instead, I looked at the fiery mane of my companion. It was fairly short, as was every active trainee. My own longer mane was a sign of my lower rank, and would be shorn off in the unlikely event that I actually passed that VR simulation.

Bolt Action knocked, and the pneumatic door hissed and dropped into the floor seamlessly. “Do come in,” the Overmare’s voice said pleasantly. Bolt Action threw me a worried look, which upset the butterflies that had suddenly gathered in my intestines. We both took deep breaths, and stepped into the office together.

The Overmare-General’s office was circular and pristine. In the back stood a large computer terminal built into the wall, which sported a portrait of a normal white-and-blue guardspony in purple archaic parade armor. “Captain Shining Armor,” read an engraved brass tag screwed into the frame. Next to it were smaller photographs of each Overmare-General, or Overstallion-General that had served as leaders of our stable. There were eight so far, with a printed name underneath each.

The eighth portrait matched the mare sitting in her ergonomic office chair. Her hooves were raised as if praying, but any thought towards piety was belied by the furrowed brow and unblinking stare of her yellow, eagle-like eyes. I had never seen an eagle, but I had once tried an ill-fated staring contest with a picture of one. My odds of winning a staring contest with Overmare-General Orders were equally bad.

General Orders did not offer us a seat, and even if she had, there were no chairs to sit on. Instead, Bolt Action and I simply stood at attention, though I was still favoring my left foreleg a bit.

“I would like to congratulate the two of you on a job well done, my ponies!” the Overmare began. Her voice was sweet, but her body language was tense and stern, setting off mental warning sirens.

We looked at each other incredulously. “Ma’am?” Bolt Action began, but the Overmare cut her off.

“My son was definitely acting out of line! You presented a fine example of the courage and fortitude we expect from everypony here in Stable Seven!” General Orders sported a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And you – Stable Chaplain-in-training, right? – You were so devoted to your duty and the laws of our stable that you refused to fight one of your peers! Such devotion and loyalty to the Stable are to be commended!”

That description of our actions, or at least mine, had more spin than the flywheel of a steam engine. Neither of us knew what to make of her words, so we both stood still in stunned silence, allowing General Orders to continue. She opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a mostly blank piece of paper, one I had signed less than an hour ago. “I see you two ponies are the only ones brave and courageous enough, besides my son, to apply for the honorable distinction of our extended scouting mission.”

A protest began to rise to my lips, but she silenced me with a wave of her hoof. “Now I understand that one of you,” she read the name, “Silver Tongue, have not passed your Power Armor Proficiency exam, and normally that would disqualify you from service outside. But in light of your unwavering loyalty, I will make an exception. Rest assured, if you complete this mission, I will personally clear your Power training!”

That didn’t sit well with me, though I had a hard time putting my hoof on why. I didn’t have time to think about it, as the Overmare-General continued apace, turning to Bolt Action. “Your test scores are the best in your class, so I know you are a serious student. I recognize that a mission like this would detract from your studies, but consider that when you succeed, and I know you will, you will receive your commission!”

I blinked. That was skipping six years of education that Bolt Action had yet to do. What exactly was entailed by this ‘extended scouting mission?’ Darn it Bolt Action, what did you make me sign up for? “Um,” Bolt Action offered helpfully.

I put a hoof forward. “So what, exactly, is this mission?”

The Overmare-General smiled again, in the same manner as before. “Possibly the most vital mission to the entire stable!” She examined her forehoof carefully, as if inspecting it as if planning for a hooficure. “Our scouts have picked up some infrequent, distant radio transmissions from someponies calling themselves the Steel Rangers. As you may recall from your history lessons, these ponies were the pioneers of the same kinds of Power Armor that we here in Stable Seven use, and are bastions of civilization and discipline much like ourselves.”

How could I forget? Half the posters down here were pro-Ranger. General Orders continued, “Your mission will be to locate and earn the favor of these ponies, and negotiate a deal whereby we may join together.”

Well. That was marvelously straightforward. Go out, talk, come back, awards. I was up for a long walk if it meant this kind of reward! Besides, I was still feeling ashamed of my weakness in that ‘fight’ with Mobilization. Something like this would be a chance to prove myself. The Overmare looked at us expectantly. Bolt Action still seemed stunned, so I stepped forward again. “Yes, of course Ma’am. If that is what the Stable needs of us, of course we will.”

“Fantastic,” she said in that saccharine tone of voice, “Let us put your hoof on the forms, and then we’ll be ready for your departure.” General Orders gave us both a pair of carbon pages, and I began reading. There was our provided gear and rations, all standard for a scouting mission, and a detailing of the only mission objective, making contact with and allying if possible with the ‘Steel Rangers.’ Below these were detailed listings promising both of us pretty much exactly what General Orders had offered. I looked closely for fine print, and didn’t find any.

I took a quill from the Overmare’s desk in my magical grip and inked my name in the lines at the bottom, then passed it to Bolt Action. She was a little more hesitant than I, but then she too signed hers. Orders took both pages up in her magic and separated them, passing us the receipt copies. Huh. I had half expected some funny business from her, I was definitely getting that vibe, but she had yet to show a hint of her true colors. Her lips pursed into an unreadable little smile. She pulled open a file and stored the papers away with dozens of other, similar pieces of paper in her filing cabinet. Most had probably never been touched after being placed there.

She turned around to the large computer terminal dominating the room, and muttered something that sounded like a string of numbers. I couldn’t quite make them out. Then she cleared her throat, and said in a much more audible tone, “Stock, please bring standard ready gear to the stable entrance room, please.” She pressed a button on the console, and the entire desk lifted up and out of the floor. Pistons two hooves across supported it. In the gap in the floor left by the desk were several regimented concrete steps leading down into a steel hallway lit internally in rainbow colors. I cocked an eyebrow. That was the most impressive secret passageway I’d ever seen. Or read about, I’d never seen any before. Stable Seven wasn’t big on secrets, or so we’d been told.

The Overmare- General beckoned with a hoof and began walking down through the stairs. I followed, and a still-silent Bolt Action tailed behind me.

For a secret access tunnel, this one was really well-lit. Hundreds of glowing multi-colored little spheres lined thin shelves along the entire hallway, casting us in their diffuse glow. Squinting through all the light, I could make out small names underneath each one, followed by two sets of times and dates connected by a hyphen. I wondered what they were. Unfortunately, I actually didn’t make any progress towards either that riddle or the Overmare herself before we exited the entrance and were confronted with that same large security stallion who arrested us. He was holding a set of saddlebags in his fuchsia magical grip.

“Now?” I asked, suddenly uncertain.

“Yes, of course.” General Orders dismissively waved a hoof, “This mission should be fulfilled with utmost urgency.” There was no urgency in her voice.

“But what about Chaplain Cross? Or Bolt Action’s parents? We have duties here, who will do them?”

“Taken care of.” She started tapping away at a freestanding console. I could see the massive iron door and a large steel battering ram-shaped object hung from the ceiling in front of it. Looking at it, I guessed that it was some sort of hydraulic opening mechanism. I wondered if it was magnetic or if there was some turn-and-lock feature that I couldn’t discern from here. I had a sinking realization that I would get to see exactly how it worked in all too much detail. The belt of some saddlebags wrapped itself roughly around my chest. It was about three smidgameters too tight.

Bolt Action sat, still mute and bewildered, as the head of security placed the armor’s helmet over her head and locked it in place. He fiddled with it, probably just making sure the systems initialized.

I had a bad feeling about this. The Overmare pushed a lever up with finality. Steam began to hiss and whistle as a series of hydraulic systems began to initialize above us. My ears lay flat against my head as I watched the movement in the ceiling. Steel cables whirred and pulled together in time with my intestines. No, this was a bad idea. A really bad plan. I couldn’t put my hoof on why. I wanted to run off back to my quarters, where I would have been if Bolt Action hadn’t made me sign up on that stupid sheet. What was I thinking? I didn’t want to go Outside! I wanted to stay in my room and get toasty under some blankets! Were there even blankets in scouting gear? I looked around, and saw that there was a bedroll.

Not at all the same. “Ah, if at all possible, I suddenly remembered I uh…left something on. Or something. I probably better go take care of that before I go. Just give me an hour or so! Bye!” I headed for the exit, and suddenly realized that the secret tunnel had closed into…somewhere. There was another door, right? I spun around in a circle, looking for a more normal exit, but I couldn’t discern one among the unmarked steel and rock walls and unfamiliar machinery. The Battering ram swung forward with the hum of a massive electromagnet and a resounding ‘clunk.’ The Overmare gave me a nonplussed look. The giant door squealed as it began to slide away from the Outside and in towards the stable. I did the same thing. Well, I almost squealed, but I was definitely sliding away. Lavender magic caught my Pipbuck and saddlebags, carrying me along with them. I marveled for a second at his magical strength, since normally ponies can’t just lift another pony like that, but then I noticed the velocity and direction I was flying in. Bright yellow light filtered in through the opening as the gear turned on its massive tracks, and I flew through that opening fast enough to see both sides of the gear before it had finished turning.

The Overmare pushed a still-stunned pony shaped piece of armor that contained Bolt Action after me. No, no, no! My insanely slow mind cast about for some valid reason to stay, my mouth blurting them out as quickly as they came to mind. I-I needed to use the bathroom! Yes! No! Come on brain, name, give me something to work with. Wait! Sending us is dangerous to the stable! We could reveal vital information. Finally having a good excuse for perhaps a couple more seconds, I readied it to shout as the clanging and screeching of the thirteen ton metal gear rendered all speech inaudible.

A final clang and I just sat there, staring at the number “7” inscribed inside a circle on the center of the immovable door. A small, mostly destroyed console stood next to the door. I contemplated trying to knock loudly, but the century old skeletons that had died with cracks in their hooves presumably from doing exactly that was a firm dissuader.

I turned to the power armored number one cadet next to me. She had been silent the entire time this travesty had taken place seemingly in a daze. As I watched her, she began to shake, so violently that you could see it through the three inches of steel covering her body.

We were trapped. Outside. Alone. I flipped through my Pipbuck radio channels, seeing a few pop up that I didn’t recognize. I was fixated on the only one that mattered: the Stable Seven PA broadcast system. My radio still could pick it up! That shouldn’t be possible, since the door and walls were designed to block any radiation, including radio waves. I guessed it must be coming through the broken down console that was next to us. I clicked it on, and Overmare-General Orders’ voice began resonating throughout the short cave we were in.

“…remind you that all traitors to the stable are to be dealt with immediately and harshly. Their positions will be filled shortly by the next most qualified individuals…” I clicked it off. Traitors, she said!

The unfairness, the finality, the absurdness of it all combined together and hit me like a vault door.

I began to shake, too.























Footnote: Level 1.
New Perk (Companion): Bastion - You are (thankfully) a victim of Bolt Action’s protective nature. +3 DT
Starting Trait: Good Neightured - +5 to speech, medicine, repair, barter, but -5 to Energy Weapons, Explosives, Guns, Melee, Unarmed


Author's Note:

Thank you and welcome to yet another (I know, I know) Fallout: Equestria Fanfiction. Many of you might think that the vault-dweller concept is played out, but I think there is at least one more story to tell, and I hope you give Silver a fair chance. Special thanks go to Polyphony for taking the time to edit me into a legible format.