//------------------------------// // Chapter 10: At the Fringes // Story: Fallout: Equestria - Common Ground // by FireOfTheNorth //------------------------------// Chapter Ten: At the Fringes I craned my neck up toward the sky as a flight of griffins passed overhead. Getting a closer look with my binoculars, I was able to make out that they were flying in a formation and wearing uniforms. Whether they were weather patrol or combat patrol for the nearby roost, I didn’t know, but they were certainly on the move. Perhaps the rumors in the south about conflict with the Grand Pegasus Enclave were more than just hearsay. Tension with the Enclave was most acute in these northern lands, where the artificial cloud cover over Equestria was nearest and not separated by leagues of ocean. After leaving Stalwart Steelworks, I’d made my way to Distribution Station 20, which I’d found thoroughly looted and stripped of everything valuable. Fortunately, the griffins who’d pilfered the station hadn’t seen any value in destroying the relay equipment. (That, or the Grand Marshal had forbidden demolishing the tech so it could still be used to spread Commonwealth broadcasts). I'd needed to jury-rig a connection between my PipBeak and the control room’s remaining systems, but I finally managed to set the station up to repeat Radio Free Wasteland and Radio PC once the signals reached it. Since then, I’d been moving through the valley and following the river. After the waterway split, I continued traveling north. The road wound its way up into the mountains, approaching a roost named Starhold. My last encounter in a griffin roost had been unpleasant and I’d been warned off the one after that, so I decided to avoid Starhold entirely and go straight for the nearby distribution station once the road reached a suitable point. It had required some precarious climbing to even get close, but the most dangerous part was yet to come. Distribution Station 6 was in sight, but reaching it was going to be far more difficult than any of the other distribution stations I’d encountered. The cliffside beneath the station had entirely fallen away, taking with it the access stairs and many of the supports that kept the station level. For a griffin, it would be relatively easy to reach the station—all they had to do was flap their wings and fly up—but for a pony, it was much harder. The cliffs around the station were almost sheer, and the wind didn’t show any signs of letting up. I clung to the cliff as securely as I could while cautiously inching along the narrow lip that ran along it to the distribution station. There was barely enough space to place my hooves side-by-side, and often not even that. I would have looked ridiculous to any griffins who might fly past: a pony pressed against the cliff face, hooves in a row, prosthetic claw reaching and grasping across his body at any protrusion or growth to keep him from plummeting to the ground below. By some miracle, I eventually managed to reach the distribution station, but my situation wasn’t much better even then. The loss of supports was causing the station’s platform to stretch out from the cliff at an odd angle. I had to be very careful to keep my footing, especially since some pieces of the platform had fallen away completely. It seemed possible that the damage done to the station wasn’t merely due to erosion or natural forces—with Starhold nearby, perhaps a megaspell or some lesser attack had also contributed to the decay. I made it into the main complex and clambered around missing floor panels to the control room, which was missing its entire floor. Gingerly, I made my way around the edge of the control room, stepping over dials, switches, and displays until I reached the main control panel. The station’s microspark reactor was miraculously still functional, and the transmission equipment showed green across the board. It was odd looking at the panel upside down, but with some trial and error, I figured out how to set things up appropriately; soon the station would be spreading radio signals across the land to countless settlements. This was especially promising because DS-6 was the penultimate link in the chain of stations leading all the way back through the north Griffin Commonwealth. I only had one more to activate to reach Radio Free Wasteland. But first … I’d need to find a way down. *** After managing to retrace my steps without breaking my neck, I headed back down into the valley before heading west and back up into the mountains. From scrounging through abandoned griffin cabins and offices, I’d found a map of paths through the mountains as well as topographical maps that would be of use in finding my way up to the final distribution station: DS-18. It was a long and twisted path through backcountry that was crawling with hostile wildlife, so I made sure to resupply from a traveling trader before leaving the main road. I’d purchased more than enough supplies with a single gold bar pilfered from Stalwart Steelworks, and the other still rested comfortably in my saddlebags. Now that my saddlebags were almost busting with provisions, I felt good to go. As I was cresting a ridge, the lip gave out beneath me suddenly, and I found myself sliding down the side, scree bouncing along with me. When I finally stopped sliding, I found myself near the bottom of the slope, which turned out to be merely one side of a sizeable crater. An organic mass of some size had been constructed in the crater’s center, resembling an insect nest of a kind I hadn’t seen before. FITS showed quite a few contacts within. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t a good idea to look too closely, so I continued on my way. As I was climbing out of the crater, a giant dragonfly zipped over the lip and headed straight for me. Its mark on FITS instantly switched to hostile as it dove, buzzing angrily. It was coming in fast, so I pulled out the revolver I’d picked up at Stalwart Steelworks, which my PipBeak had affectionately dubbed “Big Iron.” The shot echoed off the crater as the bullet tore through the dragonfly’s head and abdomen, killing it instantly. It fell out of the air and slammed right into me, covering me in bug goo before I could push it off. An ominous hum started rising from behind and I got up quickly, spotting numerous hostile marks on FITS in the direction of the nest. My shot had spooked whatever was in there, it seemed, and I didn’t want to be around when it came after me. I resumed my climb up the crater’s rim with newfound urgency, but I still wasn’t fast enough. More giant dragonflies emerged from the nest and flew toward me with a vengeance. I pulled a couple grenades from my saddlebags and teleported them into the nest’s exits, blowing it apart and killing the dragonflies as they tried to emerge. While I’d killed quite a few with that trick, I’d riled up the rest even more than before, and the insects assembled into a massive swarm. I checked to make sure my shotgun was fully loaded before firing at the bugs as they approached. I knew my shot was mostly ineffective at long ranges, but I didn’t want to wait for them to get closer, or risk missing them with my battle rifle or revolver. At the very least, I managed to shred some of their wings to keep them from arriving too quickly. Even with this hindrance, there were many dragonflies left—so many that I had trouble seeing the horizon behind them. Whenever I took one down, two more took its vacant spot. I tried retreating up the crater rim, but that turned out to be impossible if I wanted to keep firing at the advancing dragonflies. They had me cornered, backed against the slope, with no way out. When they inevitably reached me, I struck out with hooves and claws and hidden blade … but it was no use. They buffeted me with their tails and nipped at me with their mandibles. I could feel my limbs growing heavier as they injected me with toxin until I could no longer stand. I collapsed to the ground, my vision vacillating between clarity and fuzziness. Surprisingly, though, they didn’t kill me. Once I was immobile, one of them picked me up with its legs and carried me around with the swarm. It hovered over the destroyed nest for a moment with the others before the group of dragonflies split up, spreading out in all directions, possibly searching for a new nesting location. I had trouble keeping track of where the dragonfly was taking me, but we seemed to be headed northwest. It was the direction I wanted to go—just not the means of conveyance I’d hoped for. The dragonfly flitted around over trees and peaks and ridges, never staying in one place for long. Gradually, feeling began to return to my torso, and then to my limbs. I remained limp, especially as the dragonfly flew high over the ground, lest it decided to drop me. I didn’t know what its plans for me were, but I didn’t intend to stick around and find out. As the dragonfly crested a ridge, I struck my PipBeak’s blade into its abdomen, slicing it open and drenching myself in the bug’s innards. I dropped to the ground, driving the air from my lungs and inadvertently breathing in some of the ichor as the dragonfly’s corpse fell on top of me. I coughed and gagged until I’d expelled most of the gunk and attempted to wipe myself off before getting my bearings. Although my PipBeak’s map told me exactly where I was, that unfortunately didn’t count for much in the rough wilderness stretching out all around me. I had my maps and the path I’d plotted, so I tried to set out for that; but there always seemed to be a mountain, gorge, or some other natural feature in the way. I was stranded in the mountains, and without wings like a griffin, I didn’t know how to get out. Making the best of my predicament, I kept an eye on my compass and headed in the direction of my destination, taking whatever detours were required. I didn’t know if I’d be able to make it, but at least I had plenty of supplies. Besides, there had to be some way out eventually. *** It was a couple days after the encounter with the dragonflies that I spotted the first sign of civilization in a long time, and also the first bit of shelter. (And given the rumbling of thunder in the sky overhead, I’d soon have need of it.) Built on top of a rise was a log cabin, with light in the windows and smoke streaming from the chimney. Surrounding it were old, abandoned pieces of junk, and I picked my way through the maze of detritus on my way to the door. It was obvious that someone lived here, so just barging in would be rude, and I rapped on the door with a hoof. I stood waiting for a minute before the door was pulled open, revealing an elderly griffin who was completely white apart from grey speckles among his feathers. “Hmm, a pony,” the griffin said curiously. “How’d you get up here?” “Giant dragonflies,” I said, and the griffin smirked. “I’m Doc. Could I take shelter here with you?” “Hmm, yes, it seems like you’d better,” the griffin said as another peal of thunder rolled overhead. “You can stay the night and head out again in the morning for wherever it is you’re going.” The griffin pulled the door all the way open and stepped out of the doorway to let me enter. The inside of the cabin was dimly lit apart from the space near the hearth. Piles of things, many covered in tarps and cloths, filled the rest of the room. “Pardon my mess. I haven’t had visitors in …” the griffins said, and he paused to think, “Ever.” “You live up here all alone?” I asked as he led me over to the hearth, where I could take off my saddlebags. “Yes, it’s a hermit’s life for me. But not involuntarily, I assure you,” he said as he took a seat in a plush chair. “I came up here to get away from other griffins. I suppose a pony with a griffin’s arm is alright, though.” He quietly chuckled at his own joke as I lowered myself onto a worn couch. It was a cozy place to stay as the rain began to beat down outside. The hermit had a pot of vegetable stew boiling, and I partook of it as we talked. It was nice to finally rest and work out the soreness that came from constantly trekking through the mountains over the last couple of days. My host never told me his name, and when I asked him about it, he only ever replied that he was a hermit. I didn’t press the matter, and it didn’t hinder our conversation much. Eventually, talk turned to what I was doing up here, so far from any place a pony ought to be. “I’m headed to the distribution station north of here,” I told him as I sipped on a mug of after-dinner coffee. “Not to join the station, I hope,” the hermit said as his expression darkened. “What do you mean?” I asked. In reply, he reached over and turned on the radio next to his chair before tweaking the knob. “—and the Great Flood will come and wash away all the weak! Secure for yourself skykeeps! Take from those who are weaker than you and the Invisible Claw shall preserve the righteous from Destruction! Ascend! Ascend! The End is coming, so seize for yourself all that you can! Leave nothing behind and—” The hermit switched the radio off. At least now I knew what to expect when I arrived: raiders who’d taken to the airwaves to spread Mythologism. I could think of much better uses for the station’s power than that. “I’m planning to use the station to spread Radio Free Wasteland from Equestria to the Commonwealth,” I told the hermit, and he seemed to relax. “And I’ll stop these broadcasts in the process.” “Well, that’s all right then,” the hermit said. “A new radio station to listen to, huh? Just for me, unless you know how those stations work.” “Oh, I know,” I assured him. “I’ve been doing the same in stations all throughout the north Griffin Commonwealth.” “Really?” the hermit asked, “You must be some kind of important pony.” “Maybe I was, once,” I said, thinking back to my time in the Equestrian Wasteland and all I’d done there. “Now, though, I’m just trying to survive and add a little something to the world, if I can.” “And what if you’re still destined for great things?” the hermit asked ominously over his cup of coffee. “I don’t know if I’d want to be,” I answered honestly. “I don’t know if ‘wanting’ has much to do with it, sonny,” the griffin laughed before setting down his cup and rising from his chair. “Come with me.” Curiously, I rose and followed the old griffin as he led me among his piles of junk. He reached into the tangle and lit a lamp before pulling an old canvas tarp off what looked like a peculiar slot machine. After the hermit had wrestled around behind it for a bit, some of the lights that covered the contraption lit up. “Now, let’s see if you’re still destined for greatness,” the griffin said cheerfully. “What is this thing?” I asked as I set my mug down on an old bar stool and inspected the machine before me. “They used to have these in Jubilee Park and Pleasure Coast,” the hermit said. “A tug of the lever, and it’ll tell your fortune. I used to be quite good at deciphering it. ‘Course, it wasn’t very popular in Pleasure Coast, since ponies aren’t great at grasping levers, so they got rid of them all. That’s where this beauty came from.” “You think a machine can tell my future?” I asked skeptically. “A magic machine,” the hermit said mystically, though I couldn’t sense anything magical from the box of cogs and wires. “Listen, just humor an old griffin who offered you shelter from the storm.” I decided to comply and reached out with my magic to pull the lever, but the griffin held up a claw and tut-tutted me before I could pull it. “Grasp it with your griffin claw,” he said. “If you use magic, it won’t work right.” “Let me get this straight,” I said. “I have to use a mechanical claw that’s not part of my body to pull the lever so this machine can tell my fortune, a magic machine that won’t work if I use magic?” “That’s right,” the griffin said with a smile. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” I sighed and reached out with my claw, grasped the lever, and clamped down around the trigger at the end before giving it a firm tug. Distorted bings sounded from the machine as some of the lights on the exterior flashed in an incomplete patten. From within, I could hear old machinery grinding and what sounded like cards being shuffled. After a minute of theatrics, a panel on the bottom of the machine’s face flipped open, showing a message: Your lucky numbers are: 5 6 6 9 8 7 5 “That’s it?” I asked, “I could have gotten that from my PipBeak. Those are my SPECIAL attribute stats.” “Clever, isn’t it? And not something the average pony or griffin would’ve realized back during the War,” the hermit said. “But no, that’s not all there is to it.” There were four more shutters on the face of the machine above the lucky numbers that had to be opened manually, and the hermit reached across to open the one on the far left. It revealed a slightly-off-center card which depicted golden coins falling from a cloudy sky toward a lake at the bottom of the card. In the margins was printed “DELUGE OF COINS.” “Deluge of Coins,” the griffin said. “You’re due a great amount of wealth.” “Am I?” I asked. “Yes, but see how they fall toward the lake?” he pointed out. “You will have great wealth for a short time, but it will soon slip through your claws. Or, your hooves? Magic? The metaphor doesn’t work so well for non-griffins.” A great wealth that I would lose? That had already happened to me back in Equestria, with all the caps I’d earned in Burnside that had later been taken away from me. Maybe there was something to this—but it seemed to be the past the machine was telling about, not the future. The hermit revealed another card. This one depicted a wave of water rushing through a valley, debris tumbling in its wake. “The Broken Dam,” the hermit said. “You will be broken so that you cannot be what you once were.” I looked down at my prosthetic limb. Again, it seemed this machine was telling me about my past. Even if it didn’t refer to my missing foreleg, it could have referred to how I’d been remade from Lord Lamplight to Doc through surgeries that had completely changed my physical appearance and erased my memories. The next card the hermit revealed showed a unicorn in ancient robes, light emanating from her horn. She had one foreleg wrapped around a wooden staff, which also emanated light from between the points at the end. “The Mage,” the hermit named it. “So, I’m a unicorn,” I said, growing impatient with this so-called fortune-telling. “I already know that.” “The Mage does not represent a unicorn, though it is one of the few cards in the deck that features a pony. The Mage represents change and leadership,” the hermit said. “And see, look in the background behind the Mage. The ruins from the Broken Dam. I’d never noticed that before. Whatever change you will bring, it will come after you are broken.” “One more, right?” I asked, getting tired of this game. The hermit flipped up the panel over the last card, revealing a griffin with many items gathered on his back. It was impossible to tell just what those items were, but they were all distinctly different shapes and colors. The griffin was bent over, picking up a feather from the ground with great enthusiasm. “The Collector,” the hermit said. “You will gather together many different things into one. And see him reaching down with delight? You will find something precious that was lost to you.” “Is that it?” I asked, unimpressed. “It’s your fortune,” the griffin said with a shrug. “If you’re disappointed with it, that’s your fault.” “Maybe I’d be impressed if it wasn’t showing me things I’ve already done,” I said. “All the things you spoke of have already happened to me.” “Does that mean they can’t happen again?” the griffin asked with a wry grin. “Maybe you think you’ve already fulfilled your destiny, but have you considered that you may be wrong? Maybe your story’s not done yet.” “Maybe,” I conceded, more to bring the conversation to an end than anything else, and the griffin humphed cryptically. “It’s late,” the hermit said as he pulled the canvas back over the machine. “You should get some sleep if you’re to be off in the morning. You can take the couch tonight.” *** In the morning, the hermit gave me directions on how to reach Distribution Station 18, along with directions on how to get back out of the mountains once I’d finished my work there. I was grateful for the help but still didn’t know what to make of the strange griffin. Had he gone through the whole rigamarole of telling my fortune because he thought I might be the only one he’d ever get to do it with? What was I to make of his predictions, when they all seemed to be looking to my past instead of my future? What weight did an old carnival game even have? I decided to put it behind me for now, with the rest of his interpretations. I reached the distribution station after a few days, meeting only a handful of hostile creatures on the way. There were no access stairs up to DS-18, but there was a path that wound its way around the peak upon which it had been built. As I ascended, I got a good view of this patch of the Griffin Commonwealth, on the very fringes of griffin territory. It mostly just looked like mountains, and I wondered how I’d ever made it all the way out here. These raiders hadn’t bothered to post any sentries on the path, and why would they? Any attacks were bound to come from the air—from other griffins, not some insane pony much higher up than he had any right to be. I was able to walk to the platform and get them in my sights with no trouble. FITS showed a surprisingly small gang, given how much game they’d talked on the radio. A group was out in the open, watching as one of their members practiced throwing knives at a set of targets suspended from a radio tower. One of them had a sniper rifle strapped to her back, so I zeroed in on her with my battle rifle and disturbed the (mostly) peaceful scene. Chaos broke loose as the griffins saw their comrade fall with a neat cluster of holes in her head. It didn’t take them long to spot me, and they grabbed their weapons while sending up shouts that they were under attack. As they came my way, I managed to take out one carrying a hunting rifle, clipping her wing and sending her spinning into a fellow raider before finishing her off. One of the raiders threw a grenade my way, and I ran from my position toward a stack of barrels. As the griffins fired at me, some of their shots hit the barrels, revealing them to be empty. When I reached the stack, I tipped it over and rolled them in the griffins’ direction, forcing them to move away or over the wooden containers and giving me a chance to take shots at my assailants. I knocked down three more with my battle rifle, assisted with ERSaTS, before switching to my shotgun and going on the offensive. The griffin who’d been throwing knives chucked one my way, but it glanced off my prosthetic arm. She had a look of confusion on her face as I reached her and fired my shotgun at her point-blank. I kept moving as the ruin of her body collapsed to the ground, running around behind the other raiders. They weren’t going to let me encircle them so easily, though, and took to the sky. I pulled a grenade from saddlebags, making sure they saw it, and they flew higher. Then, I pulled the pin and teleported it above them. They tried to scatter once they realized what I was doing, but it was too late, and they were blown out of the sky. A knife struck me in the flank, thrown by a reinforcement coming from behind, and I turned to face this new group of attackers. I didn’t turn very fast thanks to my newest wound, but this proved to be to my benefit; the next knife just missed my head, since the raider had anticipated a quicker spin. I ducked out of the way and finished off the last of the original raiders behind me with my revolver before pulling the blade out of my flank. The stab bled profusely, but I managed to apply a bandage under my doctor’s coat in time to staunch the bleeding. For good measure, I took a sip of a healing potion to stitch the wound up enough to keep fighting. I could see a griffin running around toward me on FITS, and I had an idea. I teleported the knife away, and the raider’s body thumped down beside me, knife embedded in her neck. A grenade landed near me and I galloped away, the ground shifting slightly under my hooves as it went off. As I stumbled forward, I cast ERSaTS and zeroed in on the remaining raiders. There were three approaching me, and before time returned to normal, I took two of them down with well-placed revolver shots to their heads. When ERSaTS wore off, there was only one raider left standing, facing me down. She was wearing a headdress of bloody feathers and looked like she meant business. Held in her claws was a staff with a ripper on the end, the chain-blade grinding menacingly. Even with the extension, she was too far away to use her weapon on me, so I pointed my revolver at her and fired. With supernatural speed, she swung her staff down and parried my shot, catching the bullet on the ripper. The machine ground to a stop and she discarded it, drawing a machete with each claw from her belt. She rushed toward me, far too fast to be normal, and I realized she was wearing a PipBeak as well. There was a beauty to it, I’d thought, that the device allowed even non-unicorns to cast spells … but I was regretting that thought now as she used ERSaTS against me. I backed away, firing my revolver as she advanced and dodged every shot. She couldn’t keep it up forever, as I knew from personal experience. ERSaTS only lasted so long before it had to recharge, and at the rate she was using it, the spell was going to run out quickly. Her plan was to reach me before it could run out, but I wasn’t going to let that happen if I could help it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help it, and her blades were swinging at my head before I knew it. I cast ERSaTS myself and she returned to normal speed (from my perspective). I was able to dodge and get under her while her surprise lasted. Her ERSaTS ran out before mine did, and I placed my revolver barrel against her stomach and fired. With the raider leader lying on the ground bleeding out, I headed into the distribution station and made my way to the control room, where the last raider awaited. “—if you die in battle, you are unworthy, but not so unworthy as if you die in your sleep or are taken unaware!” he was yelling into the microphone in front of him as I entered the control room. The announcer had heard me enter even through his headphones and reached for the pistol on the control panel next to him, turning to face me. His claws never reached his weapon as I unloaded my revolver into him and he fell from his chair, pulling the headphones’ cord out of the control panel as he hit the ground. I pushed the last raider aside before digging into the system for repeating existing radio signals. It had been so long since I’d heard it, but I still knew the frequency to search for. I scrolled through until I found it, and a familiar voice burst from the control room’s speakers. “Goooood evening chiiiildren! This is your hostest with the mostest—the one, the only, the inimitable, DJ Pon3! I wanna tell you all about a very important thing today: propaganda. You see it everywhere, in the ‘Wipe the Stripes’ and ‘MoM is Watching You’ posters still clinging to crumbling walls. And you can hear it if you tune into that awful ‘Enclave Radio.’ The problem is, none of the promises you hear from it are true. You’ve only got to listen to Enclave Radio—not that I’d recommend that, dear listeners—to discover they’re playing the same messages from President Snowmane over and over on a loop. He promised to come save us in the Equestrian Wasteland over a hundred years ago, but where is he? Dead, that’s where, and the Enclave just wants to keep feeding us the same nonsense over and over until we believe it. Keep an eye and an ear out, children. If somepony insists on something over and over, something that seems too good to be true, it probably is. That’s your little tip for today. Nooooow, back to the music!” It was so good to hear Radio Free Wasteland again, even if the news didn’t apply to my surroundings. The voice was DJ Pon3’s dulcet tones, but I knew it was really Sage speaking the words. I longed to see her again, but that wouldn’t be possible for some time, so I had to be content with this for now. I set the station up to repeat the signal to its fellow outposts, spreading Radio Free Wasteland across everywhere I’d been in the Griffin Commonwealth. I couldn’t see Sage, and I couldn’t hear her real voice, but I could at least hear her again through DJ Pon3. That was good enough for now. Level Up New Perk: I Make My Own Luck – 10% chance on every level up of increasing your Luck attribute by 1. New Quest: How Do I Get Down from Here? – Find a way back to terrain more suitable for ponies. Athletics +2 (33) Barter +1 (102) Explosives +2 (112) Manipulation Magic +3 (35) Medicine +1 (120) Melee Weapons +1 (104) Small Guns +3 (120) Sneak +1 (111) Speech +1 (105) Survival +4 (54) Unarmed +1 (91)