//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 - Jailhouse Rock // Story: Fallout Equestria: Blue Destiny // by MagnetBolt //------------------------------// I had a headache. Like, a really bad one. Probably it was from being hit in the head, but also maybe being shot a few times with stun bolts, which might rhyme with fun but are otherwise completely unrelated. On top of that, well, have you ever taken a nap, and it goes on just a little too long and you wake up and you have absolutely no idea what time it is? I had that in spades. I groaned and tried to sit up. The steel bench under me creaked and rocked. I could feel we were moving before I was really aware of what that meant. “Hey you, you’re finally awake.” The voice made my headache even worse. I had gunk in my eyes, and when I tried to rub them, I then discovered two amazing facts -- hoofcuffs worked and that I was wearing a shiny new pair. I’m not a very bright pegasus but I was pretty sure that was a bad sign. “What happened?” I groaned, trying to clear my head. It was hard. Things didn't want to come into focus. I'd had concussions before but this one was a doozy and felt like something else had gotten mixed in with it, but it was taking me a while to remember what. “You got arrested,” the stallion said. “Same as me, the old-timer over there, and that piece of work.” Oh right. That explained the hoofcuffs and the way I felt like hooves had been applied to me in a professional, but annoyed manner such as an officer of the law might use when dealing with an unruly prisoner. Me, for instance. My vision had cleared enough that I could at least get a little look around. Not that there was much to see. We were in a metal box with a bench that was somehow less comfortable than sitting on the floor. It was like somepony had converted a skywagon into a prisoner transport by welding a shipping container to the back and throwing a lock on the door, which was probably exactly what they had done, actually. The pegasus across from me had that kind of mangy look that usually means they haven’t eaten anything in a while and was giving me a look of honest concern. He seemed like a nice guy. So... even odds on if he stole a loaf of bread or was a serial killer, because I was not good at judging ponies. That was one reason I'd gotten fired from my last job. The other reasons we'll get to in a bit. As a wonderful contrast to the worry of a total stranger, my father glared at me from where he was chained to the bench with naked disappointment and anger. “We wouldn’t have gotten arrested if Chamomile wasn’t an idiot,” he snapped. “Oh great,” I said. “So they arrested you too, Dad?” “If you hadn’t made such a mess of things we would be at home right now,” he said. “We shouldn’t be here. It’s these thieves and rebels the Enclave wants, not us.” “I’m sure they’ll be happy to listen to reason when we get where we’re going,” the last pony said. She was a small, yellow pegasus, but she didn’t have the scruffy look I usually expected from a thief. Actually, I could have sworn I saw her before somewhere. She winked at me when I met her gaze. She looked totally unconcerned, like being stuck in here was part of her plan for the day. “Hey, I’m just an honest thief,” the scrawny stallion said. He nodded to the yellow mare. “Her, though, I hear she’s actually a rebel. Don’t get too close or she might try and convert you.” “Oh yes, how awful,” Dad said. “Then we might do something stupid and end up getting arrested and shipped off to some prison camp! Oh wait! That's exactly what's happening, Chamomile!” “Here we go again,” I mumbled. “Always my fault.” “Yes, Chamomile! It’s always your fault!” Dad snapped. “What do I always tell you? Be careful! And what do you never do? Be careful!” “Really Dad, you want to do this now? You think this is a good time for an argument?” I huffed. “Maybe next you’ll tell me I need to clean my prison cell and make my cot every morning!” “Discipline is important, not that I expect that from you at this point,” he said. “Mostly I just expect you to break anything you touch and for me to have to pay the bill since you’re about as good with money as you are with ballet.” I huffed. “Then I guess that means you don’t want me to help you get out of here,” I said. “You can’t even help yourself,” Dad said. “Oh yeah?” I smirked. “Watch this!” Now, I don’t like to brag, but I’m pretty strong compared to the average pegasus. I might not be smart, or fast, or good at flying… you know this is just starting to sound like a list of all the things I’m not good at. The point is, the hoofcuffs were just some cheap metal and thin chain. I started pulling at them, trying to get the right leverage. Dad sighed. “Chamomile, you can’t break those cuffs.” “Shut up, Dad!” He was always trying to tell me I couldn’t do things. He never wanted to admit that I could do anything. I was going to prove him wrong. I strained, and I could feel it. I could feel the metal starting to give and bend. We hit a bump, and I lost the leverage I had, the back of my head slamming into the wall hard enough to leave a dent. In me, and the wall. I felt blood trickle down my neck. “Ow,” I mumbled. “Keep doing that and you won’t even make it all the way to the Smokestack,” the rebel said, not even bothering to look at me. She was she was leaning back with her eyes closed and acting all relaxed like she was on vacation and not a prison transport. “What’s the Smokestack?” I mumbled. “Have you ever seen a mountain?” the rebel asked. “A couple of them,” I said. “I don’t remember how many. They feel really weird to stand on.” She nodded. “Most ponies up here haven’t. They’re basically parts of the ground that stick up so far they come through the clouds, right?” “The ground does that?” the thief asked, surprised. Dad sighed. “The elevation of the ground varies widely,” he explained. “Mountains tend to run in long chains. The highest of them can peak above cloud level. Unfortunately, maps of the ground tend to be restricted material in the Enclave, so it makes finding mountains of the right height extremely difficult.” The thief looked confused. “Why would they be restricted?” “Having maps of the ground is something you only need if you’re a Dashite or a traitor or a smuggler or something,” the rebel explained. “Why else would you care about what’s under the clouds?” “The mountains are important for archaeology,” my Dad said. “Sure, we’ve maintained a lot of equipment and research from before the war, but things get forgotten or lost. Important things. If we want to find anything worked by earth ponies or unicorns, it isn’t going to be discovered in some old cloud house sealed for a century or on a drifting half-wild cloud. It’ll be on solid ground.” “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would they take us to a mountain?” “Maybe it’s a good sign,” the thief suggested. “If I was going to build a prison I’d want solid walls instead of clouds.” “It’s astounding how low standards have gotten that going to prison means things are looking up,” my Dad said. “It means they don’t want us dead, or they wouldn’t bother,” the rebel said. “Or it means they want to torture us first,” Dad said. “What are your names?” the rebel asked. “We might as well get to know each other.” “Chamomile,” I said. “But, uh, I think Dad already mentioned that.” “I’m Quattro Formaggio,” the rebel said. “You can just call me Quattro.” The thief sighed. “Spirit Level. You know, before I was a thief I built cloud houses, but--” “Oh for buck’s sake, no one cares about your life story!” Dad snapped. “Next you’ll tell us some tall tale about how you were arrested for stealing a loaf of bread for your dying grandmother.” “I hope I’m not in the same cell as you,” Spirit Level mumbled. “I don’t know why they say solitary is a punishment for prisoners when right now I’d give anything to be alone,” Dad said. The skywagon shook and jerked. It felt like we dropped six inches in a heartbeat. “We’re about to land,” Quattro said. “Hang on to something!” “To what?!” Dad demanded. “My hooves are literally tied!” Before he could complain about anything else, we slammed into something hard enough to throw us from the benches, yanked around by the chains binding us to them. My shoulder was yanked back, and I landed with my wing under me in an awkward position. “Ow,” I mumbled, from the floor. “Did anypony break anything?” Quattro asked. “At least my headache has friends now,” I said. Quattro laughed a little and helped me up. “Twisted my wing pretty badly. I guess I’m not flying out of here.” “Probably right,” Quattro agreed. “Not for the reason you think.” The door was pulled open from outside, and blinding sunlight streamed in, the sudden flash enough to dazzle all of us. “Welcome to the Smokestack,” a pony from outside said. “Emerald Sheen, get them sorted.” When I could see again, there were three ponies in power armor stomping into the skywagon. One of them, a small mare, unhooked my cuffs from the bench and stepped back. “Outside, let’s go,” she said. “Don’t do anything stupid.” “It’s a little late to warn her about that,” Dad said, apparently unable to resist getting one more jab in. We were marched outside, and the ground crunched under my hooves. The Smokestack was one of the most desolate places I’ve ever seen, and considering some of the places around the wasteland, that’s saying something. In the Enclave you got used to things mostly being white. That’s just how it works when your house and everypony else’s houses and your entire town and the landscape as far as you can see is all made out of clouds. The Smokestack was black, more black than the night sky, like something had burned the whole mountain to a crisp. The soil under my hooves crunched unpleasantly, all sharp edges and tiny pebbles. Above us, the sky was almost as black as the ground. Smoke poured out of the top of the mountain and turned into a roof above us. Grey flakes fell around us from the dark cloud, and everything smelled like rotten eggs and ozone. From somewhere I couldn’t see, red and orange light shone up to reflect back down on us like perpetual twilight. The leader of the three armored ponies looked over us. All of them were sort of short. I expected soldiers to be taller. At least as tall as I was, anyway. Even the pony in charge only came up to my chin. “Really, this is all we caught today?” he asked. “Most of them don’t even seem like they’d survive a day in the mines.” “Mines?” Spirit Level asked. “All of you have committed crimes against the Enclave,” the soldier said. “We have survived as a society because we know how to use our resources, and you’ve squandered or stolen from those who needed it. The good news is, you’re being given a chance to repay the Enclave for your mistakes.” “Don’t you love that slave labor is the good news?” Quattro sighed. “You will all be staying here until your debt to society is repaid. The more you work, the faster that day comes. You will be fed and sheltered, as long as you keep to your quotas.” He paced up and down the rough like we formed, looking us over. He had to look up to meet my gaze and nodded approvingly. “Some of you won’t have problems with the work. If you don’t meet quotas, you’re going to have a bad time. If you’re cooperative and respectful, you’ll be out of here with a clean record and enough bits to start a new life.” He stopped in front of the rebel. “We’ll also expect you to answer questions. You’ll be rewarded for having the right answers. It could be years off your sentence. I’d ask if you had any questions, but I don’t care to answer to scum like you.” He spat at the ground, then nodded to the other guards. One of them pulled out a pair of shears and came at us. “What the buck is this?” I demanded. “We can’t have you flying away,” the guard said. “We have to clip your wings. We’re just going to trim your primaries. They’ll grow back and you’ll still be able to glide safely until they do.” “Don’t touch me!” Spirit Level snapped, when the guard grabbed for his wing. He kicked at the armored pony, and only managed to make him angry. “Calm down,” Quattro warned. “I’m not letting them clip me!” Spirit Level yelled, hobbling back in his hoofcuffs. I’m sort of an expert at telling when something is stupid because it’s usually exactly what I’d do, so when I saw him spread his wings, I recognized the stupid coming on quickly. “Don’t!” Dad yelled. He probably recognized it too. Spirit Level took to the air, flapping hard and aiming away from the mountain towards the sea of clouds. “Take him out,” the guard leader ordered. “Sir, we could just stun him--” “Emerald,” the leader repeated. “Take him out.” The smaller armored guard shook her head and took off. Unlike Spirit Level, she was rested, armored, and most important, armed. Bolts of green light hit him in the back, and his ashes joined the rest falling down around us. Emerald circled a few times before returning. “At least he managed to provide an object lesson,” the leader said, sounding oddly pleased. “Attempting to escape is a capital offense.” “You didn’t have to kill him,” Dad said. “No, but I didn’t have to keep him alive either,” the guard said. “What’s your name?” Dad asked. “I should at least be allowed to know the name of the pony that’ll probably be ordering my death because I can’t move rocks fast enough.” “Ah, drama and poetry,” the guard said. “You’re just like I expected. My name is Colonel Ohm, it’s a pleasure to meet you under these circumstances.” “I’m somewhat less charmed by them,” Dad grumbled. “We’ll see about that,” Ohm said. He nodded to the guard, and I felt him grab my wing and roughly pull it out. It was a struggle not to fight him on instinct. I had to force myself to stay still and not bend his spine into a new and interesting shape. He made short work of my primaries, cutting a few on each side right down to the coverts. “Don’t worry, you won’t be flying anywhere,” the guard said. “Maybe if you’re on your best behavior we’ll let you see the sky once in a while.” I bit back a retort and just waited for him to finish with Quattro and Dad. I had to just imagine what I’d do, given the chance. I didn’t have a great imagination, so it wasn’t really satisfying. “Now that that’s sorted, let’s go,” Ohm said. “The camp is near the caldera.” “What’s a caldera?” I asked. Apparently, a caldera was the word you used for a really shitty place where ponies shouldn’t go. The whole place stank, the ashes covered my hooves, and even though it looked like grey snow it was hot enough I couldn’t stop sweating. “Wonderful, we get to work ourselves to death in an active volcano,” Dad groused. The camp was mostly cargo containers and tarps surrounded by fences. It didn’t look like much of a prison, but I guess with our wings clipped they didn’t need much more than that. It was wedged between what looked like two half-collapsed buildings -- the one to the north was mostly intact, but the other one was buried by rock, and only parts of it were visible. “What’s a volcano?” I asked. “Oh you want to listen to me now?” Dad asked. “A volcano is a mountain created by magma welling up from deep below the surface. This one is still active, which means it might explode at any moment.” That was worrying. “Explode?” “Oh yes, Chamomile. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll get to see it go off like a megaspell before we collapse and die from overwork.” “Has anyone ever complimented you on your sunny disposition?” Quattro asked. Colonel Ohm held up a wing and we all came to a halt in front of a gate into the camp. “Emerald, Rain Shadow, take these two to processing,” Ohm said. He pointed to me and Quattro. “I’ll be taking the stallion to the Director. Special orders.” “Special orders?” Dad asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means you get the VIP treatment,” Ohm said. “I’d say you’re lucky, but knowing the Director…” Ohm hesitated. “Well, let’s just not keep anypony waiting.” “We’ll take care of this, sir,” Emerald said, saluting. The other pony, the one who’d clipped my wings, grabbed my shoulder. That’s not really like a great idea at the best of times. If I hadn’t been distracted by Ohm dragging my father off and the annoying itching from my cut feathers, I definitely wouldn’t have punched him. Now that I’ve said that, you can probably guess that I, uh, I punched the pony in power armor. I had hoofcuffs on so it wasn’t a great punch, but I was pissed off. His visor cracked, and he dropped like I’d shot him. “Uh…” I paled. “Not a bad punch,” Ohm commented, sounding less angry than I’d expected. “I’d have you shot where you stand for assaulting an officer, but I’m in a good mood and Rain Shadow apparently has a glass jaw if he can’t handle a light tap while he’s wearing a damn helmet.” A half-dozen more soldiers dropped down around us. “That punch was free,” Ohm said. “Don’t do it again.” I nodded mutely. “Let’s go,” Emerald said, quietly. She motioned for me to follow her. She sounded like she wanted to leave just as much as I did. I kept my head down and trotted after her, two of the guards flanking me to make sure I didn’t get any ideas. Not that I ever had ideas. “Well, that could have gone better,” Emerald said. The interrogation room was just a metal box with a camera in one corner, a table bolted to the floor, and a few chairs. One of the nameless guards shoved me in and slammed the door shut behind me. I fell on my face, the hoofcuffs keeping me from catching myself. “Come on,” Emerald sighed. She helped me up and into one of the chairs. “I should probably warn you that once we’re done here, the two guards waiting outside are probably going to rough you up for what you did to Rain Shadow.” “Something to look forward to,” I mumbled. “I’m glad you’ve still got a sense of humor.” She took off her helmet and put it on the table. Her coat was dark green, and her dark mane was pin-straight and cut in ruler-straight layers. “So what happens now?” I asked. “Is this going to be a good cop, bad cop kind of thing where you try and be my friend and get me to tell you something important? Because that’s gonna be an issue with me not knowing anything.” “Well, I do like to think I have a friendly face.” Emerald smiled. “I know you’re not a rebel.” “At least one pony knows that.” “You seem more like you just got caught up in this.” She pulled a folder from a box next to the door and put it on the table. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? Maybe we can get this whole thing cleared up.” “Okay, um…” I hesitated. “Where do I start?” “Why don’t we go with your name,” Emerald suggested. “Chamomile, right? I think that’s what the other pony called you.” “Yeah. That was my dad,” I said. She nodded and started writing. “Okay. A few of these I can fill out. Pegasus. White coat, teal mane… Has anypony ever told you you’re really big for a pegasus?” “Some of my ancestors were earth ponies,” I said. “I guess I have that going for me, at least.” “And I’m thinking your cutie mark is flowers?” I nodded. She motioned for me to show her and roughly sketched them onto the paperwork. “That’s sort of an unusual mark for a pegasus,” she mentioned while she was drawing. “I got it when I was on a trip with Dad,” I said. “It was the last one I took with him and Mom. They were digging on some mountain, they got into an argument, and I kind of ran off.” I shrugged. “I ended up in a field of flowers and ran right into what they’d been looking for the whole time.” “And what had they been looking for?” “Oh, I don’t know what it was exactly. Some kind of big metal thing made of triangles.” I shrugged. “I was a foal and I was kind of more excited about the flowers. Mom said I was a lucky charm and they’d never have found it without me because they were looking on the wrong side of the mountain.” Emerald smiled. “Sounds like a good memory.” “It was,” I sighed. “Is my cutie mark story really that important?” “No. Just being friendly.” She shuffled the papers in front of her. “I’ll be honest, most prisoners have at least a little paperwork that comes with them. All of you are kind of off-the-books. Your dad is probably the reason why you’re here. Any idea what the Director wants with him?” “He’s just a… a history nerd,” I said. “He studies old stuff.” “Right, he mentioned archaeology.” Emerald wrote something down. I tried to read what she was writing, but it was upside-down, and I couldn’t make it out. “It must have to do with the dig…” “The dig?” She shook her head. “I’m not at liberty to say much. You’ll find out what you need to know. It’s classified so… it’s better not to know, if you catch my drift.” “...I have no idea what you mean.” “Okay,” she said. “Just give me a second while I lower my expectations.” “Dad tells me that a lot.” “He does seem like the type to say that.” She smiled at me. “So how about we just talk and get this all cleared up? You tell me about how you got arrested and why you’re innocent and maybe I can convince somepony to get you on the next cloudship out of here?” “Do prisoners ever actually leave?” I asked. “This isn’t a death camp,” Emerald said. “I promise that whatever happens, I’ll do my best to get you out of here alive.” “I’ll take your word for it,” I sighed. “So I guess… I guess it started one night at the bar…”