Chapter Fourteen: Return to the Coast
Welcome to Scenic Brittle Pass
It had been a long time since I’d last seen that sign; over four months had passed since I’d navigated Brittle Pass and evaded its vigilant robotic protectors. It had been early spring then; now it was late summer. I hadn’t noticed the heat up in the mountains, but during my trip back down through the valley, the weather had become increasingly warm. It was strange to see seasons changing when Equestria had been more or less static.
Getting overwarm in my jumpsuit and coat were the least of my worries right now, though. The Dogs of War had nearly caught me last time, and I’d only been saved by their sudden and inexplicable loss of interest. I’d destroyed one of them since then, but that had been with the aid of a smelting plant, which I wouldn’t have access to in Scenic Brittle Pass. Nor would I have a prayer at fighting more than one at once; unfortunately, they normally seemed to travel in packs. My best bet was going to be sneaking past them again, though that task was riskier than I’d previously thought. Now I knew all the pass’s automatons were able to communicate with the Dogs and potentially report on my whereabouts. I badly desired to go to the Rockfall Hotel and check if its maneframes were like the ones at Stalwart Steelworks. Doing so would be tantamount to suicide, however, since the Gabby concierge system would bring the cyberhounds down on me the moment I set hoof through the door.
With that thought in mind, I squeezed my way through the tangled wall of wrecked vehicles that closed off the eastern entrance to the pass and began my three-day journey to the other side. I couldn’t stay in the Rockfall Hotel this time, so I had to be on the lookout for places to hole up and sleep before nightfall, when the Dogs were most active.
A couple hours into the journey, I spotted a billboard that gave me an idea. “Flight Lessons Available” it read, with a faded map that pointed the way to an airstrip. After following the map to its destination, I was pleased to discover that the flight lessons had not required students to be born with wings. Brittle Pass had been a tourist destination during the War for griffins and ponies alike, and many businesses included accommodations for flightless patrons. Taking in the abandoned flight school, I noted a few badly decayed hoppers sitting in front of the small office and hangar. Upon examining them, it became apparent that even if I could get the engines running, the bodies wouldn’t stay together long enough to lift me far into the air. Fortunately, I found some hoppers in a better state residing in the hangar. With a little effort, I could get one of these going and fly over the Dogs of War instead of trying to sneak past them.
Using some tools stored in a back shed, I was able to make one of the hoppers workable, swapping any irreparable parts with working ones salvaged from other engines. The aircraft sputtered to life, and I let out a cry of joy before putting away the tools. I needed to take off quickly before any Dogs of War or other robots were drawn to the sound of the engine. I tossed my saddlebags on and jumped into the pilot’s seat just as the engine died. Everything seemed to be in working order, but I’d neglected one thing: it was out of fuel.
***
It was a tense journey back to the road in search of a petrol station. I spotted two Dogs of War restlessly patrolling on the way and had to remain hidden and very still until I was sure they’d gone. Once I did find a station, I nearly threw that success away in my eagerness to refuel and get out of there. A robotic attendant kept an eye on the pumps, suspending down from the overhang. I managed to stay out of its sight as I snuck behind the station and severed every wire I could find in the power box. That seemed to do the trick because the attendant was dead when I crept around to the front of the station.
I’d replaced my saddlebags with jerricans for the expedition and quickly set about filling them from the pumps. The attendant thankfully was not a vital part of the system, and I was able to fill up even with it deactivated. I was capping off the second container when the sound of metallic claws on asphalt pierced the air, belying the approach of a Dog of War. I scrambled toward the station’s store as fast as I could, leapt through a broken window, and hid beneath tipped-over shelves that had been emptied of their valuable contents ages ago.
I watched FITS as the Dog of War patrolled the exterior of the station, lingering around my abandoned jerricans and the disabled attendant. It then stalked to the back of the station, where the power box was located. I’d remembered to close it up, but the sound of wrenching metal alerted me that the cyberhound had clawed the cover off to examine the wires within. I kept my pistol from Stalwart Steelworks within reach as the Dog entered the store and plodded around, its bulk shifting the shelves I was hidden beneath as it brushed up against them. It stayed for far longer than was comfortable—I began to wonder if it was toying with me—but eventually it did go, leaving me drenched in sweat and unwilling to move until I was certain it was gone. My jerricans were still outside, and I made sure to pick them all back up before starting the trek back to the airstrip, praying I wouldn’t run into anymore Dogs of War on the way.
***
The Goddesses must have heard me because I was able to make it back to the airstrip without the smell of petrol drawing Dogs of War to my location or running into any on patrol. The hopper I’d fixed up was still where I’d left it, along with my saddlebags, but the cyberhounds had been here and torn through the hangar. Still nervous from the encounter at the station, I kept a wary eye out and on FITS as I filled up the hopper’s fuel tank. The rest of the day passed mercifully undisturbed, and the sky was turning deep orange and purple with the sunset as I stowed my saddlebags and yanked on the hopper’s starter.
The engine puttered to life, but I gave it a second before I climbed onto the seat this time. As I settled in and grasped the controls, one with my claw and one with my magic, EFS lit up with hostile marks. In the distance, I spotted Dogs of War loping toward me from all directions. They’d probably arrived at the airstrip and fanned out to search after finding nopony there, but now that I’d fired the engine up again, they were converging on the sound. I engaged the rotor and the hopper lifted jerkily off the ground. I pushed the engine to its limit to ascend more quickly as the Dogs grew closer and began to shift into their attack configurations. Bullets and streams of magical energy ripped through the air as I maneuvered the hopper in an unpredictable pattern (mostly because I had no idea what I was doing). I clung tightly to the seat to keep from falling out, but it was touch and go for a few minutes. Eventually I was high enough that I was beyond the Dogs of War’s range, and they stopped firing at me. Now all I had to do was fly the hopper through a mountain pass in the dark. No problem.
***
Miraculously, I did manage to make it through Brittle Pass unscathed, at least in the sense of not crashing into anything. It was a tense and tiring night, navigating entirely by my PipBeak’s map and flashlight, and the seat of the hopper was not terribly comfortable. As nice as taking a break would’ve been, I never dared stop for fear that the Dogs of War would converge on me in the dark and tear me apart. Even when Celestia’s sun rose again, I never landed on the floor of the pass. There were plenty of structures built out from the cliffs and mountain peaks that I was now able to access. A good amount of them weren’t occupied by raiders, so I was able to land safely and refuel when the hopper’s engine ran low.
By the following afternoon, I was through Brittle Pass and landed to rest, for my own sake and the hopper’s. Although it was a decent machine, it had been pretty worn out even before being left to sit for over a century and wasn’t going to last much longer. Still, I intended to keep it going as long as possible and repaired whatever I could without spare parts on hoof before going to sleep for the night.
The following morning, I was able to get the hopper back into the air again and flew north. I wanted to see Gabby of Greta’s Grenadiers again and talk to her after having visited the griffin capital and meeting Grand Marshal Gideon in the flesh. As I approached the lodge where the mercenary company was based, I was met by a horrendous sight. The lodge was gone; apart from the stone foundations of some of the buildings, nothing remained. All the rest had been burned down, and there were signs of a fight. Hesitantly, in case there was a trap waiting for anyone foolish enough to land here, I set the hopper down and trotted into the ruins.
Walking through what remained of the lodge, it wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened. The bullet impacts and magical energy scorches on the stones told the tale, along with the large claw marks in the ground and through the flesh of the dead griffins lying around. There weren’t many remains of Greta’s Grenadiers; they’d obviously died months ago, killed by Dogs of War. I wondered if this is where the cyberhounds had all gone when I’d escaped Brittle Pass months ago. The timeline would line up. But what had caused the Dogs to leave the pass and attack griffins when they usually stayed cooped up? I had a theory in the works, but to prove it, I’d have to visit Rest ‘n’ Go.
***
It was nearing evening by the time I arrived at the hotel-turned-town. I’d been delayed by burying the bodies of the griffins I could find in the lodge’s ruins. I wasn’t sure if that was the griffin tradition, but I couldn’t bring myself to just leave them out in the open, where anything could find them. The hopper had taken me most of the way to the settlement but had sputtered to a halt a good hour away, and I hadn’t been able to get it started again. I came into Rest ‘n’ Go on hoof, once again an earthbound creature.
“You’re back. I thought you were dead,” an elderly griffin said grouchily as I trotted into town.
“Thanks, Hans,” I replied. I’d learned well on my last visit here that there was no pleasing him.
“What he means to say is that we were worried you hadn’t made it,” his granddaughter said as she stepped out of their home. “When Greta’s Grenadiers were here, Gabby said that you were planning to traverse Brittle Pass. And without wings, well…”
“I know, it was a risk, but I made it through,” I replied, then grew more serious. “How long after I left did Greta’s Grenadiers get here to kill the Dog of War?”
“Oh, I think it was three days,” Gladys said as she tried to recollect. “They did a lot of setting up after they got here and negotiating with the town council, so they didn’t go up the mountain until the next day. Why?”
Four days after I’d left Rest ‘n’ Go, Greta’s Grenadiers had killed the Dog of War. That lined up with when the automatons had suddenly turned back from attacking me and headed west. Even without concrete proof, I felt sure I was right. After they’d killed a second Dog of War at the Greenbush Agriculturum, the robots had taken it personally and decided to massacre the Grenadiers in their home. I don’t know what was more terrifying: that they’d climbed a sheer cliff to do it, or that they’d known exactly who to go after. I’d already killed one Dog of War; if I killed another, would I be hunted down as well?
“Have you been to see Greta’s Grenadiers recently?” I asked.
“Well, no, we don’t usually head out to speak with them, and they send somegriffin here to pick up the payments for their services,” Gladys said. “Though, come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of them recently come to collect.”
“I’m afraid the Dogs of War got them,” I said. Gladys gasped, and even Hans’s eyes went wide. “I passed by on the way here; they were all dead. Are any Dogs of War at the Greenbush Agriculturum now?”
“No, we haven’t seen any since …” Gladys said, still shaken. “Do you think they’ll come for us?”
“Not directly, no,” I said. “They’re protectors of robotics networks. I have an idea of how to keep them away from you, but I don’t think your town council will like it very much.”
***
I was right. The town council didn’t like my plan, but they begrudgingly admitted that keeping Dogs of War away from the town was worth the cost. The next day, I ascended the mountain alone to the Greenbush Agriculturum. The greenhouses bore a impact marks inflicted by the Grenadiers’ varied arsenal of heavy weapons, but otherwise it was the same as I remembered it. Robots trundled around planters, tending them with precision in a dance beyond mortal ken and generally avoided getting too near to me.
Without a Dog of War pursuing me this time, I was able to examine the Greenbush Agriculturum more closely, including the blocky building at its center. Behind a locked door in its basement were the maneframes that directed all the robots outside. I managed to hack into the maneframes with ease but there was a second, newer layer of security that was much harder to crack. Like at Stalwart Steelworks, it was more like pony code than griffin. Once I managed to break through the defenses and examine the code more closely, this became even more apparent. Now that I knew what to look for, it was even clearer here that RoBronco code had been injected into the maneframe by the Dogs of War; they’d taken over the network, co-opting the robots here to report to them.
If this network remained, a Dog of War would inevitably return to “protect” the robots from the griffins—so I set to work destroying the maneframes in both a digital and physical sense. The room was filled with smoking scrap after I was finished, and when I stepped outside all, the robots were lying on the ground, inert. The residents of Rest ‘n’ Go would have to do the work themselves now to keep the Greenbush Agriculturum fruitful, but that was the cost to keep the Dogs of War away.
***
Grand Imperial was my next stop on the journey back to the Pleasure Coast as I retraced my path into the Commonwealth. I had reason to stop here as well, besides just resupplying. Since I’d left, I’d run into two post-War religions: Rokkism and mythologism. I had the Book of Rok to give my insight into the former, but for the latter I’d need an expert who wouldn’t immediately try to kill me. Grand Imperial had just such an expert, even if the townsgriffins didn’t seem to care much for his research.
“You’re here,” Grant said with surprise as I trotted into the theater that had given the town its name. “You must tell me everything you saw in Moonraze!”
News of what had happened in the distant roost had traveled quickly, aided by the Commonwealth Crooner on Radio PC. It made sense that Grant’s first thought upon seeing me was that I could give him a firsthoof account about mythologism in action.
“I will,” I promised. “Before that, though, I was hoping you could teach me a little about mythologism. Sure, I was subjected to it, but you’re the expert.”
My acknowledgement of Grant’s expertise seemed to make the snowy griffin puff up with pride.
“Of course, of course, step into the theater,” he said as he gestured past the ticket stand where he'd set up his office.
The theater was well preserved, though seats had been detached from the floor in some places and the stage beneath the movie screen had been extended outwards. Apparently, the griffins of Grand Imperial used it as a meeting hall at times. Grant had vanished upon entering the cavernous room but I heard banging from the projection booth, so I found a seat and let my hooves rest. After a few minutes, the projector came to life and pre-show animated advertisements for peanuts and Ishtva’s Spring Water danced across the screen. Grant flapped down after lowering the lights and took a seat next to me.
“It’s hard to know exactly what mythology existed prior to the Zebra-Pony War, since griffins weren’t very good at preserving records back then, but from my research I’ve been able to determine that most of it was fabricated by the Commonwealth’s corporations during the conflict,” Grant began his lesson. “Every product had to have a mascot, and every mascot had to have a story. Where there wasn’t an existing figure, a new one was created and meshed into whatever mythology was there before. For a while, though, it was all very slapdash, and stories changed all the time. Then, film was created.”
Grant directed my attention to the screen, where the advertisements had ended and a title card had appeared. “Legend of Ishtva and Gorphus” the card read, before switching away to a shot of mountains. The film moved to a group of griffins on the heights wearing impractical robes and paused momentarily to throw up placards identifying each one.
“It was once companies started making movies with their mascots, depicting them as mythical figures, that things really took off. The stories were laid down and locked in as the definitive versions, which then spread out to the other forms of advertising,” Grant said. “Billboards, music, comic books, they all outright copied or pointed to the stories being told in the films. Then, with mergers and cross-promotions, the stories of different brands’ figures began to come together, and the overall story became even more solid.”
“The cinematic and advertising universe that was created survived even after the megaspells fell. Those whom we call mythologists today draw their religion from the advertisements of the Old World, seeing the mythology as history. They have a whole pantheon of gods drawn from the advertisements, but there are three they especially venerate. There’s Ishtva, Lady of the Heights, whose mastery of peaks and sky appeal to their pursuit of aerial supremacy and the construction of sky keeps. Borghan is the God of Death, Fury, and War, who they venerate for obvious reasons. And finally, Nurkoo, Lord of the Sea, though their relationship with him is more contentious since they believe he will one day flood the world and wash away the unworthy,” Grant continued. “Interestingly, the source of that idea is from a comic series that ended on a cliffhanger and was never completed due to the megaspells dropping. I actually have a mostly intact copy in my collection.”
“And their desire to prove who’s strongest and leave the weak behind?” I asked. “Where does that come from? Borghan?”
“No, it’s more of a general theme you can find throughout everything,” Grant waved my suggestion off. “Survival of the fittest and all that, which you can see through the evolution of the advertisements over time as companies, and thus their mascots, were killed off or subjugated.”
“Do they not realize where their beliefs are coming from?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sure some do, but does it matter? Relics from the old world can be perceived differently depending on how you look at them. I’m sure if they knew what I had here in this theater, they’d see it as a holy shrine or else a ripe prize to be raided,” Grant said. “That’s a crash course in mythologism. Now, before we get into it more, I have some questions for you …”
***
Grant had plenty of questions all right, and I wasn’t able to answer all of them. I had spent most of my time in Moonraze in Downtown, working in the forges, so I hadn’t been able to get a good look at how the mythologists functioned in Uptown. I answered whatever I could and that seemed good enough for Grant, who was starved for any information on mythologism. He also seemed intrigued by the idea that mythologists still lived in Moonraze without ruling anymore, and I could tell he was thinking about taking a trip there despite never having gone too far from Grand Imperial his whole life.
I left Grand Imperial the next day and continued west, leaving the road to angle my course north. Before I returned to the Pleasure Coast, I had one more place to stop. Distribution Station 7, the first distribution station I’d activated, was spreading Radio PC across the Griffin Commonwealth, but when I’d been here before I hadn’t thought to tune it to spread Radio Free Wasteland as well. I was going to set that straight, even if the Commonwealth Crooner might not like competition on his airwaves over the Pleasure Coast. The station was free of raiders this time, though I had to fight off some extraordinarily large, mutated mosquitos before I could safely enter the control room.
“Gooooood evening, chiiiiiildren!” DJ Pon3’s voice erupted from the speakers in the control room as I tuned the station to begin the repeat.
The Pleasure Coast would now be graced by news not only of the Commonwealth but also of the Equestrian Wasteland. I didn’t know if anygriffin or anypony there would care, but I would. Finally, I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do when I’d left the Pleasure Coast. Radio Free Wasteland was now available all throughout the northern Griffin Commonwealth (apart from Shearpoint), and it had only taken me five months to do it.
Level Up
New Quest: What’s Next – You’ve accomplished your goal, so find something else to occupy yourself.
New Perk: Think Small Thoughts – +10 to Sneak when hiding from or evading Dogs of War.
Athletics +1 (35)
Barter +1 (109)
Electronics +4 (50)
Lockpick +2 (108)
Pilot +4 (30)
Repair +3 (110)
Science +1 (110)
Sneak +1 (112)
Survival +3 (57)