A black unicorn with a white mane strewn with red and gold stood before us. Velvet Remedy had crossed the barren wasteland, now NCR-claimed, to address us, Fillydelphians. For the occasion, we’d gathered in the recess dug in one of the hillsides that enclosed the outskirts of the city. A wooden stage had been set for her, built from the remains of the nearby houses. The desolation of the place couldn’t afford anypony better amenities.
“Hatred fueled this day and age. Yet, we no longer need to suffer the wrath of unnecessary evils.” With a wide berth of her hoof, she exposed the lay of the land to show the fittest of example. The massive walls of Fillydelphia still stood defiantly in the background. “We’ve let our homes be open to rage and destruction. We’ve depleted everything, resources, hope, and lives. All the wealth and richness Equestria once accumulated, gathered for over a millennium, now gone. We cannot conduct our lives anymore down the path to annihilation. We need not an empire of dust.”
Standing in front of a thousand of us and flanked by two large speakers, the Lightbringer’s companion hugged a patched-up microphone we’d scrapped for her. She blended with the ashen sky, her coat akin to the soot-blackened walls of the former slaver city. Even though the war had ended a few months ago, the city had barely changed. It kept bellowing squeals of steel. Its gardens of buildings and crooked metal skeletons creaked under the wind and roared in their collapses. Foul smokes still rose from the ever-burning craters and body piles. Only keen eyes could spot the premises of the endeavor tasked to the ponies still allowed by the NCR to roam around the city. A work of an upcoming decade that would see us erase the place, leave nothing of this Equestrian urban scar. All of us were recruits, former Fillydelphians, or soldiers, all brought up to the task. And soon enough, we hoped, we would harness the long-rumored Gardens of Equestria to cleanse this hallmark of cement, steel, and pain.
“The Wasteland is over,” Velvet Remedy said with a silk-like voice impaired by the chaffing ash blowing over us. “This land enters its renaissance, a slow but steady change. It will be a common effort from us all an only the future will tell us if we deserve this second chance. If hope was dead, we can rejuvenate it. I hope home will be back again. For you. For everypony. And maybe, maybe… for her.”
My throat tightened as a yellow pegasus, gaunt to the point of sickness, climbed her way up to the stage. She sighed and closed her eyes, fighting for her composure. We all knew her from a poster, a billboard, or at least from somewhere. As she neared towards the microphone, we hung at her every heavy breath, the clearing of her throat, eagerly expecting each of her rasping words. Words from another age, a better time of greens, yellows, and colors we’d never seen until recent days.
“Eh- Hello,” the pegasus murmured, brushing off the sweat gleaming on her forehead. “My name is Fluttershy. You must know me as I a- was a ministry mare. A long time ago. If my ministry once stood for an ideal, it was for a shared vision of the future. A future of healing and peace and restoration. I have stood by powerless as ponies enslaved, killed, or brought one down under the might of another. I cannot bear it now as I couldn’t bear it back then.”
I looked behind my shoulder at the assembly. We were febrile, assaulted by the elements and nasty grime carried by the winds from the city. Manes flew and snapped as gusts obscured our ranks. We were exhausted, our traits dirtied by the engineering work in and around the city. Though we had not put on the tunic of slaves, we sure had its look. At least the NCR fed us all. The army needed workers and many of us were eager to be employed.
My closest neighbor jabbed his elbow into my side, inviting me with a nod to focus back on the stage. Fluttershy was struggling with the sand and filth brought by the gale that ran in between her wings and legs. Velvet constantly kept by her side, helping her stand though she struggled herself.
“This common voice… we need to share it,” Fluttershy rasped. “We ought to make allies, friends, not enemies. We need builders, savants, leaders, whether plain or striped. Let’s welcome those who will join us in a common and shared project of hope. For once, let’s show kindness and make the first step. Without fear, without hatred, without shackles. Joining in for a better future will be our personal accomplishment.”
Her words shone like a beacon of light in darkness. But light didn’t go so far through the smog of Fillydelphia. Many of us were dubious of such grand parables from another time. Hope could only buy its way into gullible hearts. We had chosen the pragmatic deal. Though we weren’t conscripts, we still received orders from sergeants and NCR envoys. They would tell us to build walls, fill holes, salvage scraps. That was tangible. To rebuild was too uncertain and hazy. Bright visions of the future never went so far or worse, did walk thousands over the wrong cliff even in recent days. Such heartfelt speeches warmed the hearts but it didn’t fill plates.
Commandment had not drilled us into the hillside only for surprise invitees and propaganda, though. We’d been called, picked up out of the army lists for specific jobs we could fill. This charade was recruitment for an upcoming expedition. The NCR needed volunteers as another megaproject was coming up to shove. That they brought jewels to dangle like baits in front of our eyes triggered our suspicion.
“The NCR has refitted a troopship, the HMS Canterlot,” Velvet Remedy announced as she leaned over the microphone, raising eyebrows at the mention of such an old name. “We need a crew to pony it up and go… abroad.”
Whispers rose from among the crowd as two NCR higher-ups trotted up onto the stage. A major and a colonel walked imperturbably until they stopped by Fluttershy. Transfixed for a few seconds, their eyes lit in earnest and both beamed at the old mare. Fluttershy curled over at the sign of respect, trying to slip away. Only Velvet Remedy’s tender words calmed her down. A moment passed before Fluttershy looked up and returned a forced but gracious smile to the two military ponies. The Pegasus startled as the colonel sprung into a salute. Two hundred years might have passed, yet controversy still couldn’t outclass the rank of ministry mare.
The former Ministry of Peace hung her head low, rubbing one forehoof over the other. One of the star-spangled NCR representatives lingered with a compassionate smile. With a dawdled sigh, the major turned to the microphone and broke the silence we had all come to share. His voice was coarse and gritty, betraying a long habit of heavy smoking.
“We are currently lacking volunteers,” the major admitted. “The war, the wastes, the opening of the sky, and Red Eye. All worked together to take many in needless warring. Some may say, even testify, that we’re only a sliver from what we were or could have become. Rebuilding will only come to pass if we find ways to survive.”
We weren’t silent anymore. The crowd spoke rumors born in the instant. We looked at each other expectantly. We were offered on a plate the opportunity to leave Fillydephia and its filth. Yet, the words of going abroad sowed angst and distrust.
“The NCR is struggling to find technology, industrial assets, tools… anything we can salvage or trade. In the latter case, if possible, negotiate to hire skilled workers to help us in the effort.” He brushed his mane back behind his ear and looked over to his superior who returned an approving nod. The major continued, “The HMS Canterlot is ready to sail. The route, charted as we speak. The NCR council is planning a round trip from Baltimare further East across the ocean. A straight two thousand nautical miles to Zebrica, and another five-hundred sailed along its northernmost coastline to the Saddle.”
Zebrica. The sinister name tolled legends, unknowns, and dangers yet to be discovered. It spread through the crowd like wildfire, sparking cries of protest against the idea and a flurry of hoof stomps that clattered in the dust. Disgruntled ponies broke rank to walk away.
“Why?” somepony shouted only to be met with rumbling approval from us all.
“Because the Gardens of Equestria aren’t working for us,” the major gratingly replied, striking the ground with one heavy thud. “At least for now. The elements of Magic and Generosity are still nowhere to be found!”
Sullenness censored the crowd into silence. Some ponies on the verge of leaving stopped in their track to face the stage with heaving chests. As we stomached the news, we observed Fluttershy wince. A first sob darted through the air. A tinge of despair filled my heart as Fluttershy’s eyes began to glisten.
“This information will be broadcast today on the airwaves. Maybe it has already been. Due to unforeseen consequences and events, the NCR has activated its contingency plans. One of which is taking the HMS Canterlot and reaching Saddle Arabia. The target would be the ruins of Mustangbal, the Saddle’s capital.”
“Sounds like old time ranger shit!” a green unicorn near me burst out as the outcry exploded with renewed momentum. “I’m outta here.”
The incoherent brouhaha deafened Velvet Remedy’s calls as she stood at the microphone to reason with the crowd. Meanwhile, both NCR envoys retrieved yellowish papers from their saddlebags. A few minutes passed while they reviewed the documents.
The major and colonel threw worried glances at Velvet Remedy and Fluttershy. The four of them were stuck on the stage as masses of ponies blocked the stairs and road out of the hillside. The major leaned over to the colonel to exchange a few words before walking towards Velvet. He appeared to thank her despite her fruitless attempts. The unicorn then backed away from the microphone. Alone at the stand, the major weighed up the crowd who focused on him with darting, angry eyes. As the upset slowly receded, he drew a large breath and sighed.
“The NCR is in a dire situation,” he admitted. “We face downturns with water supply and food production, daily! We never have enough to feed everypony properly. We lack water for our future crops, and our needs keep growing. That’s why the NCR council has decided to send contingents across land and sea. To find anything that helps! The mission we are tasked to staff involves a twenty-day crossing, including fifteen in open ocean. Then, six months searching for assets at the destination before initiating a return. The expedition is dangerous but we’re not ordering anypony to go. We’re only looking for volunteers.”
Unphased, ponies clamored in disapproval. Many were walking away again, cruising by the stage and spitting at the ground to get at the envoys. Those who stayed drummed at the ground in a barrage of hoof stomps.
“We’re no steel rangers,” someone cried out. “Why would we even go steal from ponies on the other side of the world?”
The major and colonel shared a look of defeat. They gaped when Fluttershy left Velvet Remedy’s side and slithered past them to stand in front of the stage. As she tapped her soft hoof on the mic next to her, the vocal assault from the crowd settled into an eerie silence.
“Please, pretty please,” she pleaded before wiping the dust settling on her muzzle. “We’re not thieves. We are ambassadors. We do not wish to cause harm nor deprive anypony of their hard-earned labor. We do not wish you to kill, to steal or to lie.”
“Are we going to hand out megaspells like candy again?” spat a lone pony stallion hidden among us.
A brawl erupted around the culprit. As screams and audible punches split and shuffled the crowd, Fluttershy shrunk away from the front of the stage. Blanched, mute, she slumped to her haunches and broke into tears.
Velvet Remedy reached past her and grabbed the microphone. She brandished the improvised mallet and brought it down on the floorboard in a flurry of ear-splitting electrostatic shrieks. The combat grounded to a halt as the cacophony threw some of us to the ground covering our ears. As the saturation from the speakers died, everypony turned to the charcoal pony and the simper crawling on her face.
“You’re no more worth than raiders if you’re so eager to fight,” the unicorn chastised into the warped and beaten up contraption with an accusing hoof pointed at us. “The past is the past. If the HMS Canterlot finds survivors in that Saddle city, you will offer help! As ambassadors like Fluttershy said. Now you listen clear, ponies. We’re talking about the future of Equestria here. We’re done playing turf wars. Our survival in the short run is at stake. Your own survival.”
Security barged in to separate a writhing body gasping for air from a troop of hooligans. Blood was pooling under the huddled figure and a circle of red hoofprints separated him from the nearest pony. Fluttershy rushed over and cried for anypony to help her carry the victim to the nearest hospital tent.
Velvet Remedy took her leave from the two NCR envoys and ran to catch up with Fluttershy. Helpers paced behind her, lifting the makeshift stretcher and the crying pony tucked on. Fluttershy was still weeping when she left along with Velvet Remedy. They both split the horde of ponies huddled against the stage by their simple presence.
A long moment passed till the major took hold of the microphone. “Mustangbal is… was a ten thousand square miles city,” he resumed. “The largest city in the world pre-war. It’s locked between the Arabian deserts, mountain range, and sea. Back before the war, the city had a massive commercial harbor. That’s where the NCR council tasked the HMS Canterlot to go.”
The crowd erupted in complaints and refusals over the major’s stubbornness.
“I know you have many questions,” he reassured. “We’re not recruiting volunteers for a plunder. Some of you may know that Saddle Arabia betrayed Equestria at the start of the war, two hundred years ago. Even though we fought them, technologies key to our survival were created there and only later retrieved by Equestrian forces during the war. The water talisman is the most important technology that came out of the Saddle and their Zebra allies.”
No water talisman factories survived in Equestria, long-lost or destroyed. Most ponies who’d never seen one thought they just produced water indefinitely. In reality, they simply were the best purification tools available to us. Their value was inestimable. Their price so high, talismans were targets by all the powers at play. It was worth a rich lifetime in Tenpony, a quick and swift attack by steel rangers, or the extermination of a pristine stable. The last factory had belonged to Red Eye. One of the marvels of one-eleven now lost after his demise and that of his city. The ruins of the factory now stood in the destruction wrought by Operation Cauterize, behind the Fillydelphia’s walls.
“That’s why going to the Saddle is so important,” the major hammered to us. “They had massive talisman factories before the war to desalt sea water, and we need to purify water for out agriculture. At an industrial scale! Without the Gardens, we won’t have enough crop production to feed both the Enclave refugees and the wasteland inhabitants banging at the NCR’s doors.”
“Just kick the chickens out,” someone derided. “What have they done for us? Look what they even did to us!”
The major sighed as he faced a tough panel of judgmental soldiers, workers, and former slaves. The colonel walked forward and took place by his peer before the microphone. Younger and taller, he gaged us from the extra height of the stage.
“We’ve already been bled dry and we can’t turn our muzzle up at valuable workforce,” the colonel quipped. “If we can find a talisman factory in the Saddle and bring it back here… It will afford us far more freedom of movement. It might even save the future of Equestria; It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Is there special pay for the job?” somepony inquired, sparking a wave of interests and agreements.
“No. Not upfront at least,” the colonel confessed. “The NCR is looking out to ensure peace in Equestria despite most supplies running low. The council decided to hedge our bet by sending contingents in different places at once. To make sure we increase our chances to get something that helps. This is why we need volunteers for a dangerous trip to the other side of the world. No riches. No glory. We’re not setting you up for a pillage or a trip to the moon. This is a military rescue mission.”
As the speech ended, the colonel drew up a long paper. With a booming voice, he listed the specificities of the trip, the skillsets the expedition sought after, the ranks and former experiences needed on board the ship. He had not yet finished speaking that several officers arrived by the road from Fillydelphia with tables to set alongside the edge of the track. From wooden crates, they drew large blank registries that would be filed by the end of the day. This was a career fair, old-world style.
“All volunteer, raise your hoof,” the major called. “We will also provide a series of names from ponies working around Fillydelphia we would personally like to see on board. We will pin the list to the wall of the resting camp.”
A substantial portion of the crowd raised their hooves. The rest turned and marched to our barracks, preferring dismantling Filly as a definite and more secure employment.
As an earth pony, I was neither a remarkable fighter nor an expert in any specific combat field. I was still raising my hoof. I would discover later that my name, Papercut, would figure on the colonel’s list. The ship needed a quartermaster and I was one of the available inventory managers and accountants attached to Fillydelphia’s operations. Of all of them, however, I was the only one with a firm advantage secured around my hoof, shining in the afternoon light above my head. A Pipbuck.
“Good evening, my little ponies,” the soothing voice of DJ-Pon3 dinged in my ear. “Every day we see more and more ponies coming to NCR territories, seeking food, water, security, whatever help to be found. Let’s not deny it, we have those in quantity. But for how long can we keep up this wonderful charity? If we do nothing, it will never be enough. My little ears told me the NCR is shifting in its plans. Their own words: to have security, we need stability. There is no best way to have the latter than when ponies are quenched and fed. But food needs water to grow. And water, the real kind I mean… not that common irradiated sludge… we’ve been low on it for a long time. It’s been a hard time for us all. Rationing is painful to deal with and it will only get harder in the future. To avoid another resource war, the NCR has launched a vast operation… one that will even lead some Equestrian hooves into places untrodden in two centuries.”