Chapter 10 – A Slave to Time
"Biting off more than you can chew is just what I’m afraid of…"

A long time ago, in the magical land of Equestria...

The sky carriage ploughed smoothly through the clouds as Red Heart and I raced towards Edinbuck. On Pinkie Pie's orders, I had been afforded a travel visa, top level security clearance, and an unmarked Ministry of Morale sky carriage (which, considering that it was painted jet black and pulled by a pair of fully armoured pegasus sentries, was about as inconspicuous as a moderately sized circus tent). We had departed almost immediately after Pinkie Pie had left the briefing room, venturing quickly into a dense morning fog that had settled onto the surrounding landscape. My PipBuck told me that it was just coming up for 05:00, but the 'special' confection of Pinkie Pie's had energised me to the point that fatigue was now as alien as the Darlocks.

'You shouldn't joke about them,' the little voice in my head told me, as condensation began to moisten my barding. 'They're the absolute antithesis of a laughing matter.'

'Yeah, yeah,' I responded, rolling a pair of imaginery meta-eyes at my prudish side.

I glanced sideways towards my companion, studying her implacable expression for any hint of emotion or a clue as to what she may have been thinking. Red Heart hadn't spoken a word to me since we had left the Ministry of Morale facility, and had only looked in my direction twice, each time firing daggers of hot distrust at me with her eyes.

"Are you going to say anything?" I asked, as the carriage rose further into the dense clouds. "Or am I going to have to develop telepathic powers?"

Silence continued to reign as the mint-maned mare ignored my words, opting instead to continue her frowning perusal of the opaque, moist air in front of us.

"Oh, come on!" I grunted angrily, turning my head so eye contact became impossible. "I didn't mean to upset you, Red Heart, but I needed your help! I mean...what the hell was I supposed to do!?"

I considered my position as beads of morning dew dribbled down from the tip of my snout, pooling just under my chin. Honestly, what did she expect? A colour illustration of the Equestrian Wasteland in all its gory, disgusting detail!? It'd give her nightmares for the rest of her life (and probably even for some time afterwards)!

"Excuse me, Corporal," came the sudden unmistakable sound of Red Heart's voice. "Could you please tell the buck sitting next to me that he was supposed to tell me the truth from the start, rather than lying through his teeth just to grab hold of my sympathies?"

"Pardon me, Ma'am?" the pegasus on the right said, as he turned back to face Red Heart in confusion.

"If you'd be so kind," she replied sweetly, in a tone so cold it could preserve food.

"Uh..." the soldier said, turning uncertainly to face me. "Sir? The passenger sitting next to you would like you to know that you should have-"

"Oh, no!" I replied, turning to face Red Heart as anger began to flush my lungs with combative fire. "We are not going down that route! We're going to have a conversation, Red Heart! A proper one!"

Red Heart's jaw tightened subtly as she clenched her teeth inside her mouth, her frown deepening into a scowl.

"Corporal, please tell the...buck next to me that he doesn't deserve a direct response, and that he won't get one until he tells me the truth."

"I'd...rather not get involved, ma'am," the soldier responded, as his colleague once again took over the navigation of the carriage.

"Red Heart!" I shouted, turning angrily to face her again. "I-! You-! You're acting like a fool!"

Her frown deepened, as did the silence surrounding her. I could do naught but try to find a focus for my gaze besides her implacable face, but was left to roll my eyes around the carriage in vain.

"Look..." I grumbled, when it became clear that I wasn't going to win. "I-... Everything I told you was the truth. It's just...the stuff I didn't tell you...might count as a-...a lie of omission..."

I exhaled slowly, a strange, light feeling overcoming my being as the truth was forcibly teased from me. I turned back to Red Heart to continue my awkward exposition, only to be struck silent by the sudden sight the awaited me as I did so. Red Heart was looking straight at me, her gaze harsh and her frown deep.

"That," she said after a momentary pause, "is probably the first whole truth you've spouted since we met."

"Well..." I said quietly, my nose chilling to freezing point in the mist. "Consider it the first of many. I want you to know that I trust you, Red Heart. And that I need you."

Her expression softened as I spoke, providing me with the first genuine relief I had felt for several days.

"I know you need me," she said slowly. "That's the only reason I've stayed around."

"I appreciate that," I replied, sighing happily as a golden hue began to suddenly permeate the thinning fog. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

"You'd better," she responded quietly. "Because I'm not giving you a second chance."

I regarded her blankly for a few seconds, before nodding gently in acquiescence. In unison, we turned to face forwards as the carriage rose above the top of the dense morning cloud layer, exposing us to the bare, awesome beauty of Celestia's sun. I gasped in a vacant, breathless expression of awe, my first glorious sunrise warming my hide, as my first unfettered sliver of truth warmed my soul.

<<<<< O >>>>>

Meanwhile, somewhere else in time and space

The time rotor pulsed noisily as I manipulated the TARDIS controls, sweeping the sturdy old timeship back and forth through history in search of the Master.

"Doc, we've been at this for almost an hour!" Applebloom said, her forelegs wrapped tightly around one of the console room's structural members. "All this to-in' an fro-in's making me sick!"

"Don't worry Applebloom!" I shouted over the din of the artron manipulator's waltz with the helmic regulator. "We'll find him soon!"

"That's what you said an hour ago!" she replied angrily, her little yellow form swinging left and right around the pillar. "And Ah've yet t'see a single one o' those little indicators do anything different! Please tell me you're not just going back and forward through time looking out the window for him!"

"Of course I'm not!" I replied indignantly. "I'm scanning for further traces of Time Lord technology in the immediate vicinity of that bloody war of yours. When I find one, it'll either be him or me, and I'll know straight away if it's me."

"Yep!" I said, staunchly refusing to rise to the bait. "Easy-peasy-lemon-...hmm..."

"For a moment..." I replied unsurely. "I saw...something...on the scanner. Like a temporal echo rolling back through time."

"An echo of what?" Apple bloom asked, her eyes spinning with the wild undulation of the TARDIS interior.

"A causality loop," I said. "A big one. But it was probably just a glitch - only the most serious of pre-destination paradoxes could create a loop signature that big!"

"Not yet!" I replied, rolling my eyes as the TARDIS vworped its way back through another six months of real time (I've always hated that phrase, but Equestrian language is pretty inelegant when it comes to describing temporal science. Unlike old High Gallopfreyan, which has over seven thousand different words for time and phenomena related thereto.)

"Doctor!?" Ditzy shouted from the railing surrounding the console's raised platform. "I thought Time Lord technology was really rare! What makes you think you'll find it again!? Besides, wouldn't the TARDIS just run straight for it like it did when we first landed!?"

"You've got to remember, Ditzy," I said, as the entire console room took a sharp ninety degree turn, "that time is in a permanent state of flux! As travellers in the fourth dimension we can affect events before, during our even after they've occurred, so if and when the Master's plan approaches fruition, we're bound to detect his interference in the timeline. Until he acts though, we're flying blind - we just have to keep looking!"

"But... doesn't that mean that we're doing exactly what Applebloom just said?" Ditzy asked slowly. "Aren't we just going back and forward looking for traces of the Master as we go?"

"Well... technically... yes," I replied, as my vast lexicon tried and failed to produce an appropriate response. "It's a lot more complicated than that though! I'm coordinating a space-time travel pod that usually requires a crew of at least six fully trained Time Lord pilots on my own at the same time as mentally figuring out the necessary inputs for five dimensional course corrections!"

"But y'all are still just hanging yer head out the window ta look fer him, aren't ya!?" Applebloom shouted.

"Well...yes. But I'm-! You don't-!" I stammered, as the part of the brain responsible for witty comebacks flicked an obscene hoof gesture at me. "Oh, that's enough! No more hassling the designated driver!"

"You can shout at us all ya want!" shouted Applebloom. "But the fact remains that y'all are probably gonna see mah friggin' lunch before we find the Master!"

At that, I closed my eyes, sighed in frustration, and queued up another sweep of the continuum.

<<<<< O >>>>>

Meanwhile, in the Equestrian Wasteland...

It should have been too much. I should have been frothing at the mouth with rage, battering Atom and Bulkhead's skulls to putty or crying my eyes out in a state of psyche-crushing depression.

For whatever reason though, I wasn't. In fact, I was actually pretty calm - I'd passed through something; some sort of barrier where after everything hurt ever so slightly less. The edge had been taken from loss, and a dull, manageable ache had appeared in its place. I looked into myself for a moment, wondering: after however many hundreds of years the Doctor had lived, how much of this had he felt? Did suffering so much make one immune to its effects? Did it ever get any...easier...?

Luna's Moon was hidden, as was the norm, behind an impenetrable layer of clouds as I exited the now empty tunnel. I looked up at the soft patch of light in the sky and sighed, gently closing my eyes as I did so. 'What next...?' I thought inwardly, my mood trudging around in the murky, unknown depths beyond sadness, fear and depression.

A hoof was gently laid upon my shoulder as I watched the overcast sky, making me flinch slightly as it made contact with my hide.

"No," I replied bluntly, without turning around to face her. "But I don't have the luxury of introspection just now Mo. Your father's still in danger, and I'll be dammed if my sulking's going to stop us from getting him back."

"A few minutes of it might help your mood though," Mo said jokingly, a forced, jovial little smile crossing her mouth. "I know how you like to sulk."

I turned around to fully face her, causing her hopeful expression to drop away into nothingness. I stepped forward a couple of paces, making Mo shrink almost all the way down to the ground as I closed on her.

"Moon," I said, my voice quiet and uneven as I invoked her given name, "while I appreciate what you're trying to do, I can practically guarantee that it won't work. I've just lost my home, and along with it, what was quite possibly my one and only chance to get everypony in Stable 52 out into the world alive. I don't know why I'm so calm, and I don't know how long it'll last, so, for now at least, I would advise that you to do one thing: Leave. Me. Alone."

Mo drew herself back up and regarded me silently, her cold, blue eyes staring into the turgid mire of my heart. In deference to my advice, she leaned forward in a slow, wordless hug, wrapping my shoulders in a grip of sincerest support. At first, my body clenched as the urge to break her neck flitted momentarily into my conscious mind. But as the warmth of her breast began to seep through my barding, the dam at the centre of my heart - that which held back my emotions and moods - crumbled into dust.

I started to cry...again. There were only a few scant tears at first, but as the seconds passed, and the emotions just kept on battering against me, my hushed blubbering turned into an angry, mournful wail. Great globules of salt water steamed from my eyes as I began to cough and splutter almost uncontrollably. Streams of mucus trekked viscously down and out of my nostrils, running along my top lip and joining the tears at the lower extremities of my muzzle.

"Oh, Goddess, Mo!" I shouted, burying my soaking face into her coat. "Why!? Wh-Why couldn't e-everypony have just g-gotten along!? Is it t-too much to ask for them t-to just listen to each other!?"

Mo didn't respond, clearly recognising that I wasn't in the mood for an in-depth conversation or an intellectual debate. All I needed at that point in time was to vent, and for somepony - anypony - to listen.

"It c-could have b-been fantastic!" I continued loudly, stuttering through shuddered cries. "W-We could have d-done so much good! B-but instead, all we m-managed was v-vengeance and hate!"

Between sobs, I heard the light clop of approaching hooves, echoing through the cave. I opened my eyes just long enough to observe Bulkhead and Atom emerging sheepishly into the Wasteland night. They looked around anxiously as Buckshot brought up their rear, his shotgun trained on their flanks. I looked at the their faces, noting the contrast between the uncertainty and fear etched in them with the empty, despondent rage that they had worn only minutes earlier.

I had to say something. I wasn't sure what it would be, but I felt in my heart that it wouldn't need much in terms of forethought. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and pushed the tears back down my throat, pulling away from Mo's shoulder. I thanked her with a deep gaze and a slow nod before approaching my former stablemates. With my eyes still glistening, I trotted in front of them, drawing their gazes away from the frightening, alien world around them.

They looked so small all of a sudden. Not just physically, but...generally. Their lives had been turned upside down and inside out in less time than it takes to drink a cup of coffee. I knew the feeling, and I pitied them infinitely for having had experienced it.

Somehow, though, that pity didn't assuage my anger - I felt it simmering in my gut; bubbling just under the surface of my otherwise teary and moribund demeanour. I stared them down silently, revelling in the way they seemed to shrink as my diffuse, moonlight shadow engulfed them in their first natural darkness.

I sucked in a long breath through gritted teeth. What would I say? What screaming tirade would I unleash to admonish this pair of vengeful idiots? What horrors would I promise to bestow upon them for ruining that which could have been so beautiful?

"I'm..." I began with a threatening crackle as the balance of emotions in my mind collapsed into a solitary expression. "...sorry..."

Silence. Four pairs of eyes squinted at me as the expected explosion of fiery anger failed to materialise.

"S-sorry?" whispered Atom, her head cocked to one side in confusion. "You're...sorry? For...for what...?"

"For you," I said quietly, my face a picture of sadness. "I'm sorry for all that's befallen you. And I'm sorry for all that's about to. You're in the same position now that I was at the start of last week, and I can safely say that the past few days have been the most difficult of my life."

"So..." said Bulkhead slowly. "We're, uh...we're all good...? Y-you're not going to just...leave us out here...right?"

"Oh, of course not," I said warmly, as I offered a tiny smile to the pair in front of me. They relaxed visibly as I spoke, my warm, forgiving expression relieving the tension of the moment. Unfortunately for them, however, I was by no means finished - the smile immediately dropped off of my face and my eyes narrowed as I continued to speak: "Of course we're not 'all good'. Don't think for a moment that you're off the hook - you'll be making up for your actions for the rest of your lives."

"What!?" Atom said loudly. "What did we do!? That damned Maneframe was the one who started all this! Why aren't you blaming her!?"

"Y-yeah!" added Bulkhead. "We don't owe anypony anything! She wronged us! You can't possibly expect us...to...uh..."

My frown felt as if it could bury mountains, and the look on Bulkhead's face as I stared angrily into his eyes was evidence of its gravity. Atom acted similarly, staying quiet and trying her best to blend into the nothingness of my peripheral vision.

"You owe me," I began after I was sure they had been satisfactorily silenced, "because you ruined what could have otherwise been an amazing new chapter in Equestrian history, and the beginning of new lives for all of us. You owe Mo and Buckshot because your antics have made our pending rescue mission a thousand times harder. You owe everypony in Equestria because you've denied them a skilled workforce of over 36000 ponies who would be only too glad to help getting our world back on its hooves. You owe Petri, and all the other residents of Stable 52 because you totally screwed up my negotiations with the Maneframe. And finally, you owe the Maneframe herself."

"No fucking way!" shouted Atom, in a voice so full of anger that Buckshot instinctively brought his shotgun to the ready. "All we owe that bitch is a low level formatting! You heard her in there, Compass - she admitted to murdering our friends! She was experimenting on all of us for Luna's sake!"

"You owe her," I continued evenly, ignoring Atom's input, "because she was about to turn the most important corner in the course of her existence; to finally see the error of her ways and start to set things right...and yet you still tried to kill her."

"Bu...but-" began Atom, her little voice belying the uncertainty in her argument.

"No buts," I interrupted, "You're coming with us whether you like it or not - it's not safe out here unless you know what you're doing...in fact, scratch that - it's not safe out here period. Besides, you have the first part of your debt to repay. Buckshot, have you got those sample collars with you?"

My Coltish companion nodded silently, before flinging me a pair of salvaged slave collars that he had brought along with him earlier. Originally, the plan was that my stablemates would fabricate a batch of fakes so we could infiltrate Stone Tower's fortress and, at the same time, figure out how to disable them en masse, so that we could liberate all of his captives in one fell swoop. Now though, they were nothing more than props in what I was sure would soon turn into a risky and highly dangerous gambit.

"Wh-what are these...?" Bulkhead asked, his voice shaking as the device landed in front of him, "We're not meant to...wear these, are we...?"

"Bulkhead," I began softly, as I picked up one of the collars and gently draped it over his broad neck. My slow, deliberate movements kept him still and calm as I slid the catch into its locking mechanism, "You're meant to do whatever the fuck I tell you to. Because, from this point onward...you're a slave."

His eyes widened in shock as the definitive click and beep of the collar's lock met his ears. The device itself was empty of course, the explosives ensconced inside having long been removed and added to Buckshot's private stash of things that go boom.

"A-a what!?" Bulkhead cried, his hooves clawing uselessly at the high security jewellery, "You can't be serious! G-get it off! Get it off!"

"Hey!" I shouted, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him close enough for our muzzles to touch, "You're going to help me fool a slave trader, and you're going to like it! Remember Bulkhead, you owe me, so play the part and shut up! I don't care if you act downtrodden and defeated or struggle like a feral animal, as long as you keep it in your thick skull that, for all intents and purposes, you're my property until further notice!"

Bulkhead's lower lip wobbled slightly as he silently absorbed my words. I could tell what was going on in his head - the conflict between his fear of abandonment and dread of what I was planning was cringe-worthy to watch. In his defence though, he did take it rather well, all things considered. With a shallow gulp and a nod, Bulkhead finally spoke:

"Alright," he whispered, looking me straight in the eyes, "I'm trusting you, Compass. I'll go along with your plan and I'll...I'll pretend to be your s-slave..."

"Good," I said quietly, smiling as my hooves cradled his face, "You'll see, Bulkhead. Everything will be just fi-...wait...where's Atom!? Buckshot, did you see where she- oh my...!"

As I turned to try and locate my diminutive stablemate, I looked to Buckshot, and immediately felt the dual urge to both cover my eyes and yet stare intently at his nether regions. A line of drool had snaked its way down from his mouth and was now contentedly pooling at the bottom of his chin; his eyes had also glazed over, a look of lustful longing plastered goofily over his face. Mo's angry tones forced me to pry my eyes away from Buckshot's...stallionhood, as she flapped her wings and took to the air to look for Atom:

"Oh, for Goddess' sake, Buckshot!" she shouted, "You were meant to be watching her, not having a sexy daydream! Put that back in your barding and help me find her."

"H-huh?" Buckshot responded, snorting as if he'd just been woken up, "Whit's that? Sorry, Ah wasnae listenin' - got a wee bit, uh...distracted, heh heh."

"I don't care!" Mo shouted as she swooped out of sight to begin aerially surveying our surroundings, "Just find her before she gets herself eaten!"

Buckshot quickly examined our locale, counting those present, his eyes wandering hurriedly back and forth. His gaze lingered for a moment on the locked collar around Bulkhead's neck before he vanished from view, having concluded that Atom was indeed missing.

"What was that all about?" Bulkhead asked incredulously, "And what the hay was that pink thing on his belly!?"

"You'll, uh, find out soon enough," I said uncertainly. "Just...be sure to look in a mirror before you talk to anypony in the mornings."

"Huh...?" Bulkhead said, cocking his head slightly in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Oh, you will," I said. "But we can discuss all that later. I'm seriously starting to worry about Atom - where the hell did she run off too!?"

I turned to start and help reconnoitre our immediate surroundings, but was stopped from moving by a hoof on my shoulder. Bulkhead was looking right at me, an impassive expression resting upon his brow.

"Look Bulkhead," I responded. "This plan's as good as it's going to get. I admit it's far from perfect, but we have to go through with it. Otherwise-"

"No, not your plan," Bulkhead said as he shook his head. "I meant in general - out here, in this...this place. Do you-...do you have somewhere you belong? Something to, I dunno...believe in?"

I blinked - that was one doozy of a question. My brow furrowed involuntarily as I realised that I didn't actually have an answer to it.

"Honestly..." I said after my moment of self-reflection. "I haven't given it much thought. All I've been concentrating on is getting back to Stable 52 and saving you guys. I suppose... I suppose I'm just as lost as you and Atom, really..."

"Oh..." Bulkhead replied, his head hanging sadly. I put my foreleg around his shoulders and pulled him close as the tangy smell of copper wafted into my nostrils.

"Don't worry, Bulkhead - you've got me and Atom to keep you sane," I said, smiling at him. "We can find our new destinies together; our true destinies. All we have to do is look hard enough and-"

'Wait,' I thought suddenly. 'Where the hell is that smell coming from? And why is it so strong; so...acidic? I can practically taste it on the win-'

An image of an eviscerated Griffon flashed before my mind's eye, the thick, acidic, coppery stench of her bloodied corpse making me mentally gag.

"Atom!" I gasped, as a realisation burst into my consciousness. I whirled on the spot and started following my nose at a gallop. Bulkhead followed me as I sprinted back into the access tunnel, the distinct metallic scent collecting steadily at the back of my throat.

We arrived at the doorway in a matter of seconds and ventured into the unfinished entrance hall. The place reeked of blood, and I felt something wet on the bottom of my hooves as I trotted forward. I flipped open my horn and willed a light into being, casting a scant blue illumination upon the dark room. Bulkhead gasped suddenly and I turned quickly towards him, following his line of sight to the far wall.

A pulse of anguish ran down my spine and pulled out the base of my stomach as my eyes focused on the sight before me. There, propped up against the door-less inner wall of the real Stable 52, was the pale, dying form of Atom Spark. She was slouched in a large, dark pool of her own blood, a reddened shard of sheet metal laying beside one of her self-shredded forelegs. I shot forward and began to tear strips from my overcoat, improvising tourniquets as I barked at Bulkhead:

He nodded urgently and ran to fetch help, leaving me to stem the bleeding. I shouted myself hoarse as memories of Petri's first aid and classical triage lectures flooded my mind with procedures, treatments and obscure Latin terminology.

"Atom!" I screamed. "Atom! Wake up! Please, don't go like this! Not like this! Oh, Goddess, there's so much blood! Atom! ATOM!"

"Don't be sorry, just stay alive!" I shouted as I grabbed another strip of thick cloth with my teeth. "Focus on my voice - stay conscious, okay!?"

"I'm...not...strong enough...for all...all this..." she breathed sleepily. "I'm n-not even...real..."

"Don't say that!" I continued, as loudly as I could manage, "Dammit, why won't anypony listen!? You're so much more than just the sum of your parts, Atom! Remember what the Maneframe said: you've got more potential than you can imagine, and it's all right here, waiting for you to reach out and grab it! I mean, look at you! You're less than half my size, and you can still floor me! You're one of the smartest, most passionate, most beautiful ponies I've ever met! You can't die! You just can't!"

Her tiny hoof rose slowly up to cradle my cheek, and I felt a strange, empty calmness come over me as she did so.

A final breath escaped her lips as her head lolled to one side and the little foreleg at my face slumped to the ground. A complete and absolute silence descended upon me as I gazed at her blank, stationary face.

"Oh...oh my Goddess..." I whispered as I looked into her still open eyes. Only minutes earlier, they were full of fire, but now...now there was naught but ash. I leaned forward slowly, bringing my forward hooves together in front of me. I closed my eyes and tried in vain to steady my breathing as I began to pray amongst the empty, reverent silence of the cave.

"Goddesses," I whispered shakily. "Hear my prayer. My friend, Atom, is on her way to you now. Please...please take care of her. A-..."

Behind my closed eyelids, I could tell that something had changed. The lighting conditions directly in front of my face were different somehow - things were suddenly...brighter.

I resolved to open my eyes, expecting to once again be met by the tragic final form of Atom Spark, and braced my emotions in anticipation. As the veil was lifted from my vision, I felt my eyes widen in surprise, the sight before them driving my mind wild with a crazy mixture of hope and dread.

I sat perfectly still, my haunches resting on the floor of the cave as the hooves of my previously dead stablemate slowly rose into the air, positioning themselves on either side of my head. Suddenly, they shot inward, grasping my cranium in a distinctly familiar vice-grip. Atom's ghostly gaze seemed to focus on me - my face - even though there were no pupils left in those ghostly orbs to let in light.

"Hello again," came the eerie sound of a lyrical, heavily accented voice. "Since we last met, it has been less than one moon. Did you expect to see me again so soon?"

"Z-Zeanna...!?" I gawked, my mouth hanging open in both shock and discomfort. "But you-! We-! Ack! Y-you died! I saw it happen! I practically made it happen!"

"And a great service you did me that day," she continued, her grip relaxing slightly. "Fear not - I have not come to make you pay."

"B-but..." I stuttered, as my mind did a series of somersaults. "Wh-what the hell's going on!? How can you be...here!? What's happened to Atom!?"

"She is...resting for now," said Zeanna, as a soft smile spread across Atom's face. "My presence here - you're wondering how?"

"You're damn right I'm wondering how!" I responded loudly, as I wriggled free of her grip and stepped back a few paces. "This shouldn't be possible. I mean... I saw you die. Inches in front of me, with a great big bloody hole where your chest used to be!"

"Words on this matter, you have already said," she rhymed. "But it must be clear by now, that I am not dead."

"Well, yes - I'd gathered that much," I noted, as I fought the urge to roll my eyes (did she really have to rhyme everything like that?). "What I want to know is how!"

"Is it really so hard to believe?" Zeanna smiled, as she brought Atom's body up onto its hooves. "That you are not the only one who will not leave?"

"H-how did you know about my regeneration...?" I asked, frowning. "If you saw me fighting that monstrosity back in Edinbuck why didn't you intervene somehow!? I almost died in that silo, Zeanna!"

"I could not have helped, even though I desired," Zeanna said. "There are laws with which my adherence is required."

"Laws?" I replied, frowning. "What laws? You're a freaking ghost for Luna's sa-!"

"Compass," Zeanna said gently, somehow cleaving my expression neatly in two. "You must let bygones be bygones and not live in the past. I am here now to speak, not to be asked."

I ran my tongue roughly around my top arch of teeth in aggravation, but acquiesced to her demand to be heard. Nodding slightly, Zeanna's glowing stare seemed to brighten even more, illuminating the cave around us. She drew Atom's body up, tall and proud despite her small stature, and assumed a regal stance at the centre of the entrance hall. When next she spoke, her voice resonated throughout the confined space, making my every fibre vibrate with its power.

"Ah, my friend with horn of steel, you have tackled challenges many with both vigour and zeal. Although at times you may wish to quit, I say to you now, nopony is more fit! But young one, although far have you flown, I fear I must inform you, that you are not alone."

"Wh-what...!?" I asked incredulously, cocking my head in confusion. "What the hell is that supposed to mean!? I already know that I'm not alone - I've got my friends by my side. And why did you say that as if it was a bad th-?"

"That, for now, is all I can say," Zeanna said, interrupting me as her glow continued to saturate the cave with light. "I wish you well for this new day."

"N-no! Wait!" I shouted. "That can't be all you have to say! There's so much you can help with!"

My words fell upon deaf ears as Atom's tiny body began to rise chest first towards the ceiling, the brilliant ethereal energy within her spilling out of her eyelids as she did so.

"Zeanna!" I screamed, as another striking thought came to mind. "What about Atom!? You can't just leave her like this! Please! Give her another chance! She doesn't deserve this!"

The glowing body before me suddenly slowed its ascent as it focussed its brilliant eyes upon me once more. I stared into them, unflinching and determined, before Zeanna's warm, lyrical tones returned to echo through the cave.

"A gift I may grant at this time," she said with a smile. "A small use of my power would not be a crime."

At that, Zeanna's pristine white light rocketed forth from the orifices of Atom's face, blinding me in the process. Great plumes of warm, holy energy flooded the cave in less than a heartbeat, disappearing again less than three seconds later. There was a heavy thud as her body dropped to the ground and I fought to regain my sight as I fumbled about the dusty floor of the cave.

I stopped suddenly as my roaming hooves were met by a soft form laying prone on the ground. My breathing slowed to a standstill as the momentary contact stretched out towards infinity and the faintest warmth began to spread through my fetlock.

"A-Atom...!?" I whispered, as my vision played host to a kaleidoscopic vision of colourful flashes. "Atom? A-are you there?"

A silence followed my inquiry, and I failed to breath until my ears were met by the softest murmur.

"C...Com...pass..." breathed Atom, eliciting a euphoric wave of relief from my breast. "H...how...?"

"Oh Atom!" I blubbered as I lunged forward to embrace her tiny body. "It's okay; you're okay now! Everything's going to be fine!"

"But..." she responded sleepily, "...I don't...understand. Where was I? How did-?"

"Where is she!?" bellowed Buckshot suddenly as he and Mo swooped into the cave, a severely flushed Bulkhead leading them. I was promptly pushed out of the way as my friends sought to treat Atom's self-inflicted wounds and set about lighting the cave with luminescent glow-worms. Healing potions were administered by the litre, even intravenously at points, and thick dressings applied to Atom's forelegs in order to stem the torrential bleeding (honestly, I was amazed by the sheer volume of blood that such a small equine could carry). The infusion of magic liquid quickly closed her wounds and brought the colour back to her face, allowing Atom to settle into a stable state of rest as her body attempted to recover from the damage it had suffered.

We stayed in the cave that night, and didn't get much in the way of sleep - all eyes were on Atom's resting form as her healing continued. A fire was lit - I don't recall who by - in lieu of the feeble glow-worms, and we clustered around it, carefully positioning Atom so that she would be kept warm while avoiding the vast majority of the smoke. Nothing much was said for many hours as we all took turns in dressing her wounds - I could tell that Mo and Buckshot had encountered this sort of thing before, and that it was shocking and unwelcome regardless of how many times they had seen it previously.

Morning came slowly, a feeble grey light creeping along the cave wall and into the entrance hall. By that time, everypony's eyes were heavy with fatigue, but we soldiered on into the new day, preparing a simple meal of leftover InstaMash (with some Sugar Bombs for flavour) to keep our bodies fuelled. Atom awoke intermittently, achieving full awareness again just before noon. Her eyes moistened as the memory of what she had tried to do resurfaced painfully, and she graduated to full blown tears when it became clear that none of us had slept while caring for her. I consoled her as much as I could, but was unable to muster anything more than the simplest of sentiments on account of my own fatigue.

Thoughts of where she had been and what occurred while her body was under Zeanna's control failed to resurface, or at least failed to elicit any questions from her. It was probably for the best anyway - I had no answers for her, and didn't want any that she might have to give me. The realm of the dead was something that I simply did not want to talk about. Take from that what you will.

At one point, I excused myself as a slightly less exhausted Mo took over the latest redressing of Atom's forelegs and ventured out into the morning air to take a breather. Upon exiting the mouth of the cave I found Buckshot leaning against the rock, a cigarette poking out from in between his lips.

"Hell of a night, eh?" he said, removing the pack from his barding while rubbing his eyes with his other hoof. "Want one?"

"No thanks," I replied, taking up a position beside him on the rock. We sat in silence for several minutes, just watching the sun try in vain to poke its way through the cloud layer.

"How did that even happen...?" I asked with a sigh as the fumes from Buckshot's cigarette wafted into my nostrils in a not entirely unpleasant manner.

"The clouds?" Buckshot replied. "It wis the pegasi. The Zebras hit one o' their cities up in the sky before the Last Day, and they decided tae cut themselves aff from the rest o' Equestria in response. Havnae broken their isolation fer nigh on two hundred years."

I squinted at that, and turned to my coltfriend (as Mo informed me he was to be called).

"Actually," I said after a moment, "I was talking about last night. But what you said about the pegasi cutting themselves off doesn't make sense - I've seen loads of pegasus ponies roaming the Wasteland. And what about Mo? She's a pegasus, unless her wings are glued on our something."

"Well, ye didnae expect all of 'em tae adhere tae that doctrine for two centuries did you?" he said. "Mo's parents came down tae Earth tae try and help other ponies, but like a million-and-one who came before them, they weren't prepared fer whit the Wasteland had in store...it wis a bloody miracle that Sage found her when he did."

"They brought their daughter with them!?" I gawked. "What kind of nutters were they!?"

"As Ah gather, they were part of a movement among the pegasi called the Volunteer Corps." Buckshot explained. "It's this group o' do-gooders that flap their way down tae the surface and...well, try tae dae some good. They were meant tae be a more legitimate breed of Dashites, I suppose."

"Dashites," answered Buckshot. "A sort o' pegasus splinter group. They see themsels as the successors o' Rainbow Dash, the original Element o' Loyalty, and take it as their duty tae provide help and support tae anypony who needs it, regardless of race or origins. Stand-up bunch if ye ask me."

"So..." I said, frowning. "Why are they a 'splinter group' then? Surely that's what most ponies would do given the opportunity...or at least aspire to do...right?"

Buckshot sent a sidelong glance in my direction, subtly shifting the position of his cigarette as he did so.

"Sometimes Ah forget that ye've been oot here fer such a short length o' time," he said. "They're not just a splinter group, Compass. They're classed as criminals by the pegasi Enclave. If one o' them even so much as breaths a word against the pegasus state's isolationism, they get branded and exiled faster than ye can say 'feather-fucked'."

"Wow..." I whistled, as a worrying urge to 'fix' the skybourne state flushed my cheeks with a righteous indignation. I shook it off quickly, and moved further towards Buckshot, resting my head on the firm structure of his shoulder.

"How'd you know all this anyway?" I asked absentmindedly. "You're like a Wasteland encyclopaedia."

"The 'Guide'?" I asked sceptically. "The Wasteland has a Guide? Who's that for? Equestria's burgeoning tourist industry?"

"Ye can jest all ye like," replied Buckshot. "But Ah wouldnae know how tae disarm a mine or recognise grenade traps wi'out that book. That ghoul that wrote it did one hell o' a job wi' her research."

"Huh," I responded, nodding - I'd have to read that sometime. "Well then, what about the 'other ponies'? I thought you didn't like 'other ponies'." I said, chuckling.

"Ah may be an untrusting brute," said Buckshot, shrugging slightly and smiling. "But it just so happens that that makes me an attractive drinking buddy fer the right sort. Fer instance, that little titbit o' information Ah just shared came courtesy o' a Dashite pegasus who wis less than six months intae his exile when he wandered up tae Trotfell looking fer escort work. Nice guy, on the whole. Good wi' guns. Whit wis his name again...? Disaster or somethin'... Eh. It'll come tae me eventually..."

He trailed off as the sun continued to rise over the horizon, dropping us into a strangely uncomfortable and distinctly pregnant silence.

Sure enough, a few minutes of itchy quietness later, Buckshot spoke, his voice low and serious.

"Y'er no gonnae go through wi' it, are ye?" he said emptily. "Ye've decided that yer stable friends back there are too fragile for that plan o' yours..."

"Yep..." I sighed, without looking at Buckshot. We both knew where my plan had ended up. All we needed was for one of us to actually say it.

"Ye want Mo and me tae dae it, don't ye?" he said, when it became clear that I wasn't going to elaborate. "Ye want us tae pretend tae be slaves so that ye'll look credible when we get tae the fortress."

"Yep..." I repeated simply. Buckshot was silent for a moment, and closed his eyes while taking a deep breath in through his cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of diffuse white smoke, and resumed his unfocused perusal of the landscape before us.

"And ye knew that neither me nor Mo would refuse...because we both love Sage like a father..." he finally concluded.

"Yep..." I said again. Buckshot rose gently from the rock, giving me time to move my head from his shoulder, and turned to face me while extinguishing his cigarette under one of his forehooves.

"Compass," he said. "Know that when - and take note that Ah'm using when in place of if - we put those collars on, we'll be trustin' ye with more than our lives. We'll be trusting ye wi' our freedom. All it'll take is one wee mistake, and we won't need tae pretend tae be slaves. Are ye sure that y'er ready fer that responsibility?"

Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the mouth of cave, leaving me to watch the rest of the sunrise on my own.

It soon became clear that we would have to rest; to resupply and rejuvenate ourselves before embarking on our journey to Stone Tower's fortress.

We left the cave later that day, trotting slowly back towards Trotfell with Atom lashed securely to Buckshot's back. Amazingly, she seemed perfectly comfortable to fall asleep against the undulating texture of his hide, even as he tackled the rough, uneven terrain on the way down the hill.

Our journey lasted a little under forty minutes, after which we arrived at the reinforced main gates of Trotfell. As soon as we were inside and had undergone the usual disarmament, we dropped Atom off at the hospital for overnight observation, and then headed straight for Brandy Spritz's pub.

Trotting into the dark little building was like coming home after a long day's work - I felt safe, surrounded by friends and free to let my guard down. Mo had stayed with Atom in the hospital, so Buckshot and I were left to escort Bulkhead around on his first day in the Wasteland. To his credit, he handled his exodus much better than I had - he hadn't even been shot at once (although, there were still several hours of daylight left, so technically it wasn't out with the realm of possibility)! We started moving towards the bar to arrange our accommodation for Atom, Bulkhead and me, but before we could even so much as open our mouths, Brandy Spritz shot into view and vaulted over the counter.

"Oh, thank Celestia you lot are okay!" she shouted as she approached at a run, wrapping her forelegs around Buckshot and me when she was close enough. "You had me worried sick you did! Where are the others then? Getting some shut-eye?"

"Uh..." said Buckshot uncertainly. "Brandy...we-...we suffered some, eh...losses in Edinbuck."

"Wh-..." Brandy began, her huge hazel eyes sweeping back and forth between us. "H-how many...?"

"Three guards at Edinbuck - including Kerb Ah'm afraid. Armour Pierce lost a foreleg and Stone Tower managed tae grab Sage while we were gettin' our arses hoofed by the Sentinel."

"My Goddess..." Brandy breathed slowly, bowing her head and closing her rapidly moistening eyes. She grasped the nearest chair for support as her rear legs wobbled at the knees.

"And tae cap it all," Buckshot continued thoughtlessly, "Compass here took a dip in a vat of Taint and ended up wi' a horn."

Brandy's mouth fell open at this, and she dropped limply into the chair she was using to support herself. The three of us knelt down and clustered around her in a unified gesture of support. Her eyes stared dead ahead for a few seconds, her mind lost to the shock of all she'd just been told, before slowly turning to face me, her line of sight tilting up towards my forehead.

"Taint...? Oh, you poor thing," she whispered, stroking the new skin of my cheek with her hoof and turning to Buckshot. "Can... can he still understand us? Does he remember... being him?"

"Don't worry about me, Brandy," I said softly, startling the caring bartender nonetheless. "I got lucky."

She reached over to hug me, exhaling deeply in relief as she did so. It seemed that each and every blessing was counted with Brandy, and I found myself becoming vicariously happy for her - several of her friends had died, another had been maimed, and her town's father figure of a mayor had been kidnapped by a ruthless slaver, but yet she could still feel genuine relief that somepony she'd only met once beforehoof was still alive and well.

"Well then," she said, brightening again following our happy embrace. "Let's not get ourselves down in the dumps - you're here, you're safe, and by the looks of it, you found your stable again. So when can we expect all those friends of yours to come to town? I'm sure they'll be happy to help us get Sage back from that horrible slaver!"

"Uh..." I droned - it was my turn to divulge the bad news. "They might be a little, um... later... than I'd originally envisaged, Brandy..."

"Well...you remember all that nonsense that Mo was always spouting about the Doctor - you know, the main character from that radio series - being real?" I replied, eliciting a wall-eyed, empty nod from Brandy. "Well...turns out she was spot on the whole time. My stable wasn't a stable - it was a giant, self-aware, time travelling alien spaceship that decided to pick itself up and make a run for it as soon as we got too close. I'm afraid that Bulkhead here, and a little red-headed unicorn in the hospital are the only ones we managed to rescue."

Brandy blinked a number of times, her head perfectly still and her expression neutral. Wordlessly, she rose from her seat and moved towards the bar, returning a moment later with a tall bottle of alcohol and a quartet of short, stout glasses. She proceeded to gesture towards a nearby table, plonking herself down into one of the vacant chairs as Bulkhead, Buckshot and I followed her over.

"This round's on me," Brandy said, her tone soft and caring as she expertly poured out four equal measures from the bottle. Clearly, she had grabbed the wrong end of the stick - she must have assumed that we had returned to Trotfell defeated and downtrodden; limping home to lick our wounds. As much as I was both appreciative and tempted by her willingness to comfort us, I was still aware of what she must have been feeling - there was no doubt in my mind that her heart was breaking for both the loss of her friends and mine. In the end, it took me less than a second to make the decision to speak up.

"Brandy," I said forcefully, in spite of her welcoming, cushion-soft demeanour, "We're not back in Trotfell to mope around and mourn our losses! We're here to resupply - as soon as we have enough gear together we're going to get Sage back and find my bloody stable!"

Brandy looked straight at me as I spoke, her brow warping into a frown of disbelief.

"You're...going back out there...?" she asked, her voice awash with surprise. I nodded, causing Brandy to rise slowly from her chair and face me. "You're not just going to tuck your tail between your legs and quit...?"

"Absolutely not," I said with a coy smile. "We're going to get Sage back from Stone Tower and put an end to his slave business!"

"And...your friends...?" Brandy continued, her frown steadily turning into a teary, wildly optimistic grin. "You're going after that weird old stable of yours as well?"

"Brandy," I responded, now smiling like a madpony, "I'll find my friends even if it means building another time travelling stable just to chase the first one down!"

A light, airy giggle escaped Brandy's mouth as she quickly studied my expression for signs of deception or jest. There was no trace of either, of course, and it was immediately apparent that that confirmation was the last obstacle between us and a boundless reservoir of glee hidden within the hazel-eyed mare.

"Alright..." she whispered after a moment's pause, nodding ecstatically. "ALRIGHT!"

As her voice reached its exulting crescendo, Brandy reared up on her hind legs, flinging her forelegs up into the air in celebration before turning hurriedly back towards the bar. She threw a trio of keys at me, which I caught using my hooves (my magical control was still lacklustre as best).

"You and your stable friends can stay upstairs for free!" she announced gleefully. "And your meals are on the house until you leave - if you want to start gathering supplies now you should have about half an hour before your dinner's ready! Oh! And tell whatever shopkeepers you buy your stuff from that I'll be picking up the tab!"

"Are ye sure, Brandy?" Buckshot asked. "That's a lot of freebies ye'r givin' out there."

"Of course I'm sure, Buckshot!" she responded, her mouth sporting a huge, seemingly immovable grin. "I've not been this hyped in years! I mean look at you! You've been beaten, bruised and buggered, but you're still willing to dust yourselves off and keep going! If spirit like that's not worthy of a few freebies then I don't know what is!"

"Now that's what I call a pick-me-up!" Buckshot smiled, as Brandy danced into the back room of the pub. "C'mon guys! We've git a rescue mission tae plan for! Bulkhead, you go tae the hospital - take a left outside the pub, and it's second on yer right. Tell Mo and Atom what's happenin' an' grab as many healing items as they can spare!"

"Right!" shouted Bulkhead excitedly, as he turned around and began to sprint out of the building.

"Compass," Buckshot continued, "You go and see about gettin' our armour and weapons patched up, and Ah'll head aff tae buy ammo."

"Got it!" I shouted, as the air of optimism continued to saturate everypony in the room. The other patrons of the pub had taken notice of our conversation about a minute earlier, and shouts of encouragement and good wishes were flying at us from all angles by the time we ran out into the main street.

"I can't believe how much spirit everypony has all of a sudden!" I said in between breaths as we galloped up the main road. "Brandy's like a bottle of sunshine when she's in a good mood!"

"Aye, that she is!" replied Buckshot, smiling. "In Trotfell, Compass, if ye'r looking for moral advice, ye go tae Sage, but for morale ye go to Brandy Spritz!"

"You knew she'd get us up out of dumps, didn't you?" I said loudly. "I'll bet that's why the pub was our first stop!"

At that, we parted ways, still grinning at one another. Buckshot continued straight ahead while I veered off to the right, almost colliding head first with the proprietor of Trotfell's general store (who, as I had gathered during my first visit, was also resident craftspony).

"Bloody hell!" the pale blue mare in the doorway gasped as I skidded to a halt in front of her. "You're going like a bloodwing out of Tartarus, son! What's your rush!?"

"I've got some things I need repaired!" I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Brandy said she'd pick up the bill!"

"Yeah!" I replied, still panting. "We're going to get Sage back from Stone Tower!"

"Sweet merciful Luna!" the mare suddenly shouted. "That's where Sage is!? With that awful slaver!? By all means, lad, come in! I'll just get this delivery sorted out and I'll be right with you!"

I trotted into the dark, shadowy interior of the shop and stood impatiently beside the workbench within, shifting my weight from one hoof to the other. The blue mare quickly galloped to the other side of the room, sticking her head out of a small window in the wall and addressing somepony behind the building.

"I've got an emergency here, love!" she said hurriedly. "Could you finish the delivery by yourself?"

There was a brief sound of fumbling followed by what I was sure was chalk against slate.

"It's Sage - you know, our mayor?" she continued. "He's been nabbed by slavers!"

Another set of streaky sounds answered, this time delivered in hurried, staccato bursts of concern. 'Definitely a chalkboard,' I mused. 'Maybe whoever she's talking to can't speak...'

"Oh, you're a star, love," the blue mare replied when the sound of writing had once again ceased. "Thanks, Ditzy!"

"EH!?" my mouth autonomously shouted, as I suddenly lost my balance and fell to the floor. My hearts and stomach immediately began brawling with one another and I felt a sickening wave of dizziness wash over my perceptions as the blue mare turned back towards me.

"Oh, good heavens!" she shouted, rushing over and hoisting me up with her magic. "Are you okay!? What the buck happened!?"

"D-...Ditzy...!" I panted, grasping her shoulders for support. "Ditzy...who...!?"

"Who?" she replied. "No, love - Ditzy Doo. She's the mare that wrote the 'Wasteland Survival Guide', and she's the delivery pony for 'Absolutely Everything' over in New Appleoosa. Why? Do you know her from somewhere?"

'Good Goddess!' a little voice in my head shouted. "She's alive! You can ask her everything! Anything! She could tell you what happened to-!'

'Don't even think about it!' a Second voice interrupted urgently. 'You need to get out of there as fast as you can!'

'Huh!?' came voice One's reply, tainted by the most profound confusion. 'And why should he do that!? This could answer so many que-!'

'Oh, come on!' a Third voice interjected. 'It can't possibly be the same mare! Unless, of course-'

'Unless she's come to the future with the Doctor!' One shouted, realisation dawning. 'He could be with her right now! Get off your arse and go talk to her! She could fly off at any minute!'

'She won't be with the Doctor!' Two replied loudly, its urgency having been augmented with a distinct and itchy aggravation. 'And she certainly won't want to meet the buck that inherited all his baggage!'

'Yeah!' Three said. 'If it is her I'd imagine she'd be overjoyed to meet up with...well, whatever it is that we now qualify as! It'd be like a family reunion!'

'It wouldn't be anything even remotely like a reunion, you simpletons!' Two shouted, having clearly given itself over to bare-toothed anger. 'She's delivering goods, which would require hard-earned trust from a supplier! She wrote a famous guidebook about the entire Wasteland, for which she'd need to perform a huge volume of research! Both of which, ultimately, require time to do! She's obviously been here for years, which means that the Doctor isn't with her because there's no way he'd stay in one place that long! In short, you bunch of idiots, he abandoned her here! Which means that she probably, A: knows less than we do about what happened to him, and B: hates his guts!'

'Like I said,' Two continued, its imagined tones diminishing to a quiet, warning rumble, 'get out of there before she sees you. You simply cannot risk her figuring out what, let alone who, you are! You have no idea how it'll affect her!'

'Agreed,' said Three. 'You don't want to upset her after all - you've suffered at the hooves of the Doctor, so you know how it feels. For the love of Luna, don't dump that on anypony else!'

Having conferred with my inner monologue at the speed of thought, I quickly rose to my hooves, made a rushed excuse regarding personal hygiene to the shopkeeper, and began to gallop toward the door. Unfortunately though, I was in such a hurry to escape that I didn't actually look where I was going (until it was too late, that is). I turned my head to face forwards just in time to skid to halt, narrowly avoiding a collision with an anonymous, squishy figure standing bemusedly in front of me.

'What are you doing!?' Two screamed, as my momentum was lost to the rotting mass. 'Go! Now!'

My eyes widened in awe as I beheld a winged skeletal frame draped with the fleshy cuts of what I could only surmise was a turgid, burned existence - scars and scabs adorned the creature's leathery hide and glimpses of dry cartiledge and bleached bone shone through where time had poked into to its irradiated innards. Despite the horror of the physical reality standing before me, my vision was automatically drawn - whether by social protocol or evolution - to the expression on the remarkable edifice's face.

'You're not listening!' Two continued, its cerebral tones threatening to liquefy my consciousness. 'Get. Out. Of. There! NOW! You can't see her! You just can't!'

It was smiling. A truly strange expression for such a face, but I noted in astonishment that it also had a civilised, intelligent shape, indicative of fine muscle control and empathic awareness. This pile of animated flesh was alive, if different; a pony, like Buckshot or Mo - sentient and emotionally capable.

'Will one of you help me!?' Two cried desperately. 'He's completely unresponsive! Somepony, give him a seizure or something!'

As I gawked at the creature's outward appearance, my perusal of its face found the two large, jellied orbs that allowed it to stare back. My breath caught in my throat as, with a gasp unlike any I had previously uttered, I found that I recognised the misaligned, yellow gaze regarding me.

"Oh...my..." I whispered throatily, my jaw shaking as my eyes moistened of their own accord, and the cries of every voice in my mind - Two included - fell away into the void. "Oh, Ditzy... I'm so sorry..."

She - no longer 'it' - frowned silently, her head lolling to one side as she continued to study me. A rough rope around her neck held a small, well used blackboard in place, which currently had the words 'Stock's unloaded. What's happened to your mayor? Can I help!?' scrawled messily onto it in white chalk. A worn, pitted hoof mounted to the end of an equally dilapidated foreleg rose to pull it off, and the decaying mare set about re-adjusting the words on her little window of communication, having produced a small stick of chalk from a compartment on the back of the board. Presenting it to me, the creature - whom my mind would still only acknowledge as a female medical impossibility - began to converse in powdered script.

"Uh...I-..." I began, as my speech centre frantically struggled to cope with the plethora of chaos dancing through my mind.

"Oh, Ditzy, I'm sorry - how could I forget!?" the blue shopkeeper said, as she quickly drew abreast with me. "This is Compass, he's a buck from some stable over yonder. I doubt he's ever seen a ghoul before, so you'll have to cut him some slack."

At that, the gentle creature's smile returned, her head nodding precariously in knowing.

'In that case,' the little blackboard was made to say. "welcome to the Wasteland! The name's Ditzy Doo. And don't worry - I haven't bitten anypony in years."

I realised that the last statement was meant as a joke as soon as the strange, strangled sound of coughing - which was only just recognisable as laughter - began to emanate from the decaying mare's throat. I continued to stare intently at her eyes - her huge, happy windows to the horrible world around her - as I focussed on keeping my own tears contained. What resulted was a wordless silence, punctuated only by the light wind of breath and the occasional creaking report from the building's wizened structure.

"Uh...Compass?" the shopkeeper asked quietly a few awkward moments later, sensing the tension in our interaction and clearly wanting no further part in it. "What was it you wanted repaired? I'll get on it straight away."

"All of it!?" the shopkeeper replied, shocked. "Good grief! I hope for your sake Brandy has deep pockets! Heh heh... I'll, uh...just be getting on with it then..."

She trotted off to attend to the mountain of work I had just saddled her with, leaving me alone with naught but the tragic shadow of Ditzy Doo for company. I found my face beginning to ache from all the gawking and wide-eyed staring that I'd been doing over the last few minutes, so I took the opportunity to swallow some excess saliva, engaging my vocal chords before my better judgement could overrule my will.

I licked my lips nervously as a host of possible replies were suggested and summarily discarded by the conversationally oriented parts of my brain.

"H-how...?" I began, without really thinking about how I would broach the no doubt delicate subject of her current appearance. She seemed to sense both my discomfort and my curiosity though, and with the soft gaze of the Goddess herself, gently began to write.

'How did I get like this?' her board asked, clarifying my query for me. I nodded dumbly, thankful that I had been spared the discomfort of putting such a question to such a creature.

'Well, in a nutshell, I was around before the first megaspells were cast,' she wrote with her compact, efficient scrawl, 'and I was still breathing when the last fires went out. FYI - balefire doesn't do your complexion any good.'

"You-...you lived through it all!?" I gawked as I read on. "The bombardment, the radiation, the raiders, the slavers!? You lived through all of that!?"

'Oh, it wasn't that bad,' the board replied. 'Sure, I won't be doing any voice acting any time soon, but I got to meet some decent folks along the way.'

I slowly looked up, returning my gaze to her rotten, smiling face. This time though, rather than kneeling in front of a decayed mare, I found myself prostrated in front of a divine being; humbled before a creature fashioned from love by the forces of Origin themselves. She was better, I realised. Better than me, and better than the Doctor. Ditzy Doo - for that was her name, I told myself - had bared more suffering than any soul I had ever encountered, and had not only survived, but actually thrived, even against apocalyptic adversity.

And all she had needed, throughout all those trials and all the evil that had beset her, was her smile.

I blinked several times as I straightened up, my every idea and perception regarding the fantastic mare reasserting themselves in my mind.

"You're..." I whispered as my face drew level with hers, the distance between us diminishing slowly to a hair's breadth. "Amazing..."

I was suddenly startled by a shadow of motion, just inside the range of my peripheral vision. My eyes darted to the offending shape, and I found to my sincerest surprise that my right hoof had, of its of volition, begun to move towards Ditzy's cheek as if to stroke it. I looked to my limb, unsure of what I could possibly say - as far as I knew, I had not moved it, nor had I consciously leant forward by any huge measure. There was no obvious way to explain why I was doing what I was, and I found myself feeling even more powerless than at any other point during our interaction.

The awkward moment stretched on as I slowly cast my gaze back toward Ditzy's face, discovering with a start that her eyes - now perfectly aligned and keenly focussed - were staring intently back into mine. She took in my face, my eyes, my clothes; the entirety of my body and my soul in the space of a single heartbeat. Her eyes slowly drew upwards to my horn, a misty, clouded bloom of recognition dawning in their depths.

My lower lip began to tremble as my breathing grew rushed and ragged. I was deep in panic even before Ditzy's jaw slackened, her mouth forming silent syllables of familiarity. Her hoof rose from the floor, closing achingly slowly towards my face.

The next thing I knew, I was panting like a buck possessed, running as fast as my legs would carry me through the streets of Trotfell. I came to a stop, my hearts still pounding like industrial pumps, behind the Trotfell pub, and almost immediately dropped to the barren ground in a heap of panic and sweat.

'Marvellous!' shouted Two, his harsh mental tones making me wince once more. 'That was absolutely bloody spectacular! Not only did you blatantly disregard your own best advice, but you also managed to singlehoofedly destroy that poor mare's-!'

'That's enough!' I roared back, my breath rumbling audibly through my throat. 'She's fine, you hear me!? She managed for two hundred years without the Doctor! I'm sure she can survive a single encounter with me!'

'How can you be certain of that!?' Two replied. 'You saw the way she looked at you, you idiot! She recognised you! Whether you're Him or not makes no difference! She saw His influence in you and she remembered him! After all she's suffered, you gave her that to contend with! You selfish, stupid, ignorant bloody fool!'

'She's strong,' I thought quietly, exhaling as the words were cast into my mind. 'Stronger than us...stronger than Him. She'll cope. And she'll smile. And, in the end...it'll all be fine...'

'That-!' answered Two suddenly, cutting himself off as quickly as he had started. 'Isn't entirely nonsensical, actually...'

'Hmph!' Two harrumphed. 'You can bet you've made it that little bit worse for her though! You might just have given her the biggest sense of false hope she's ever had!'

Two exhaled loudly into my consciousness, bringing a wave of unsettled hostility down upon my internal dialogue.

'You're parts of my conscious mind, right?' I thought, my jaw clenched in subtle anger. 'A mental sounding board so to speak; facets of my decision process; the voices that answer back with options and advice when I ask myself a question?'

'Well then,' I continued, 'it would stand to reason that anything you say must have already been in my mind somewhere, either consciously or subconsciously, right?'

'Uh...I suppose...' said One, as an imaginary pair of shoulders were shrugged towards Three and Two. 'What are you getting at?'

'Well,' I thought, my mind-voice now deep and menacing, 'I just realised that, even though I’m predisposed towards analysing things, I would never have figured out that Ditzy’s presence in the Wasteland was such a long-term affair, especially given the sudden stress of finding out she was here in the first place. Honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised if those conclusions regarding her being an author and a delivery mare had never occurred to me.'

'And,' I replied, 'Two immediately jumped to that line of thought, despite everything else that was going on in here at the time. Selfish though it is, that's not a consideration I would make under such circumstances. Which means...'

'Well, why not ask him yourselves?' I replied quietly. 'How about it, Two? Care to explain yourself?'

There was no response. I closed my eyes and centred my breathing, trying in vain to exhale my dark mood through my nostrils as the other sections of my conscious mind looked around within the landscape of my psyche.

'Do you really need to ask...?' I whispered, as tears began to pool near the corners of my eyes. I leant back slowly, casting my gaze up towards the blighted sky.

"Okay," said Mo, as she addressed Atom, Bulkhead and me. "Let's go over this one last time."

To my surprise, Mo had taken to my revised plan with as little resistance and just as much solemn reservation as Buckshot had. Over the course of our second day in Trotfell she had helped us to craft a new set of back stories for our respective characters along with several contingencies just in case anything went awry. We had assembled in the back room of the pub following Atom's discharge from the local hospital, and were now well into checking our gear after it had been returned by the craftspony.

Our story, such as it was, had myself, Atom and Bulkhead cast as disgruntled stable residents who had recently been ejected from our mutual home by a hostile element of the population. Upon exiting the facility, we had come across two hapless Wasteland ponies whom we promptly restrained with a pair of explosive collars that we happened to have with us at the time (they too were from the fictitious stable, but I'll get to that part in a moment). A little bit of wandering had then ensued during which we had arrived at Stone Tower's fortress, following a conversation with a slaver we had meet along the way.

And the reason we had made up for having explosive collars in our saddlebags? Well, we figured that the easiest thing for a slaver to trust would be another slaver, so we worked it into our lie - the stable that we had come from was to be home to a social experiment in which a certain percentage of the population had complete and utter control over the other. Hence: slavery.

Atom and Bulkhead had been quick to agree to the plan (and anything else I suggested for that matter). I sensed a need in them to please me that bordered on desperation, no doubt due to what had transpired two days previously, and the resulting admonishment that I had delivered. Atom learned her part enthusiastically, concentrating intently on memorising her character's motivations and back story just in case somepony got too inquisitive.

Bulkhead too was attending to his new duty as pretend slaver in classic Stable 52 fashion. In under an hour he had managed to disassemble the collars we had with us and reintroduce a few simple electronics to help us perpetuate our lie. He reconnected the remote that once triggered the collar's explosive charge and fitted a small crystal oscillator so that activating the remote made that collars vibrate audibly. That would be the cue for the wearer to drop down to the ground and 'writhe in agony' as if a pain inducing device were being used on them. That way, we could assuage doubt as to our intentions and create distractions when needed.

"So Bulkhead, Atom," said Mo as she nodded to the two individuals. "You get to keep your names for simplicity - nopony knows you out here so you should have a clean slate to work from. Buckshot and I will try to keep our heads down as much as possible since there's a much higher chance that we'll be recognised. As such, you can address us as 'the buck' and 'the mare' on account of our playing the part of your captives. If we are recognised though, it shouldn't be too much of a problem - just reiterate that we're your property and that we're not for sale under any circumstances."

"Now, Compass," she said. "Since you're the only one of us who's both known out in the Wasteland and required to do any speaking, you'll need to take on an alias and modify your appearance a little - the metal horn's a dead giveaway."

"Okay," I replied, nodding. "That shouldn't be too difficult to accomplish. I'll wrap my horn and part of my head in bandages. That way, it'll look like I was injured and it shouldn't attract too much attention. As for the name, how about I go for, uh...'Smith'?"

"...Smith...?" Mo said quietly after a momentary pause. "I-...is there any, uh... particular reason you want that as your alias...?"

"Well, it's short, so it'll be easy to remember," I replied with a frown. "And I like making things, just like ancient smiths used to. Why? Is there some reason I shouldn't pick that name in particular?"

"Uh... no..." Mo said sheepishly, as an awkward smile spread across her lips. "No reason at all..."

I frowned slightly, but before I could open my mouth to ask anything, Mo continued with her final run-down of our preparations.

"So, that's it for the names and back stories," she said, clapping her hooves together. "Now all we need is to complete our disguises. Comp- uh, I mean Smith, grab some bandages from my saddlebags and get Atom to help you put them on. Bulkhead, come and show me how to put this collar on."

Atom silently began to wrap my horn and head in the thin fabric strips, avoiding my gaze the whole time. I'd never known her to act so demurely and subdued - it was an unbelievably awkward few minutes before she finished. I tried to focus on something other than the dichotomy of guilt and anger that see represented. On one hoof, she was no better than the Maneframe prior to its epiphany inducing transformation, with all her hate scrunched up into crude gestures of petty violence and revenge. On the other though, she was my lifelong friend and colleague. A pony I had always trusted and loved as part of my family. A pony who I was glad was alive.

Ultimately, I figured it would be better not to think about it, and avoided her eyes even as I was forced to stoop low so she could reach the back of my neck. I focused instead on Bulkhead's explanation of his modifications to the slave collars to Buckshot and Mo. They seemed simple enough, although he didn't have time to look at the locking mechanism, so they could still only be removed through use of the magically encoded transceiver on the remote.

As Atom was pinning the last bandage in place, I heard a click, a beep and a shudder as Bulkhead fitted Mo with her collar. Despite its modified nature as a mere prop, it was still obvious that Mo was physically repulsed by her new accoutrement. Her face seemed to be caught in a perpetual muted wince as she picked up the second collar and passed it to Bulkhead. As he approached Buckshot, the gruff tonnes of his Coltish accent rumbled through the dusty room.

"Huh?" I responded, as all eyes locked onto me. "You want me to put your collar on? What for? What difference will it make who-?"

"You remember whit Ah said outside the cave, right?" he interrupted. "I'm trusting you with my status as a free pony. I want you to promise me that you'll take that responsibility seriously. Don't get me wrong, y'er the best stallion Ah've ever met and we've been through a shitload together, but we've still only known each other for a little less than a fortnight. Ah need a gesture from ye, Compass. Ah need ye to put this collar oan me and swear on yer life that ye'll be the one tae take it off again later."

I stared into his large brown eyes for several seconds, a feeling of intense worry bubbling up though my stomach as the sheer seriousness of my coming task was made clear to me. I got up off of the floor and trotted slowly toward Buckshot, never once breaking eye contact with him. When I closed in, I gently stretched my forelegs around his muscular neck and nuzzled into his shoulder.

"...I promise." I whispered into his ear as his head lowered into the embrace. I drew back and Mo passed me the second of our two collars. Sharing Buckshot's gaze, I opened the device and passed it slowly around the back of his neck. Then, just as sedately, I pulled the two halves together, pausing just as the ratcheted catch sat in the mouth of locking mechanism. At that moment, I could have drowned in the deep, dark pools of Buckshot's eyes, his serious, unfaltering expression belying little about how close he was to panicking - I could feel his heart racing from the pulsing arteries in his neck, and the shortness of his breath as he tried valiantly to retain his composure.

With the stoicism of a statue, Buckshot gave me the slightest, most imperceptible nod, breaking our long gaze and sliding his eyes shut as he did so. Taking that as a cue, I quickly slammed the two halves of the collar together, wincing in unison with my coltfriend as the hardened alloy of the ratchet clicked definitively into place. Silence reigned throughout the cave as Buckshot swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. After a moment, he pulled me roughly into a strong, blind hug, squeezing the breath from my lungs with his tight grasp.

"Thank you..." he whispered, as his eyes began to moisten. I sucked in a breath and pulled myself deeper into the embrace, forcing my body up against his in an expression of deepest longing. I wanted to be one with him; to run away, and leave all this horror and difficulty behind. In a fantastic moment of haziness I lost myself to his scent and his aura of warmth - we were far away, a thousand light years from the Wasteland with an eternity between us and our problems. We were together, we were happy, and nothing in the universe could take that away from us.

It was the hardest feeling in the world when I was forced back to reality a split second later.

"Um, Buckshot...?" I said sheepishly, as his gargantuan forlegs continued to tightly encircle my neck. "Is that your-?"

Less than one hour later, we had completed our preparations and departed the cheery, welcoming warmth of Trotfell, our sights set firmly on Stone Tower's fortress.

The journey was rushed and exhausting, which on the whole was probably a good thing, given that by the time we reached the Fortress, we would appear to be as dishevelled and sweaty as one would expect from three new Wastelanders and their two new slaves. Our difficulties weren't all by design though - what looked like a squad of mercenaries had made their camp at Eagle Ridge (which I now knew was the de facto crossroads for the region), and since we could only guess as to their allegiance, we were forced to sleep in the damp, burnt-out remnants of a centuries old public lavatory a few miles away.

That evening was when I first saw the effects of the collars on my Wasteland friends. Gone was the solemn, almost professional optimism of earlier, replaced by an unmistakable mist of worry and sadness. I had actually been foolish enough to look forward to the camp, given the pleasant atmosphere that had been generated prior to our entry into Stable 52. But, this time, the feeling was completely different - stresses ran high, pulling everypony taught underneath their vestiges of coping. Conversations were short, decisions slow and apathetic, movements mechanical and unfeeling. Mo set a fire. Buckshot killed a radscorpion. We ate in silence with little objection from the uninitiated stable folk then laid down straight afterward. None of us slept.

However, as the next day came to dawn, Atom and Bulkhead seemed to find their tongues - they were surprisingly talkative as we trotted along, chatting freely to Buckshot, Mo and me about how interesting the sky was, how intricate certain rock formations were and how tragically fascinating the scattered remnants of old Equestria were. It was as if they were the captives (which, when you think about it, was more true than any other description of the situation), trying to talk the ears off of their captors so that when push came to shove there would be some tiny chance that they might not be the first ones to get butchered.

Buckshot and Mo, on the other hoof, were barely able to hold it together. The original idea was sound enough: wear the collars outside, get used to them, get into the mindset of your character on your way to the Fortress, have an excuse if encounter any real slavers. I mean it wasn't as if there'd be a set script or a prompt if something went wrong - we had to get this right first time, or we'd probably all end up in shackles. Or worse!

The practical side of that plan however meant that my two newest, and thus far most trustworthy, friends were now roaming their homeland with a stark, unremovable reminder of just how cruel reality can be fastened around each of their necks, pushing their minds to think in a way that they had been taught since birth to revile. To say that my heart, uh...hearts (dammit), bled for them was an understatement. It got so bad that I actually started avoiding eye contact at one point, opting instead to answer Bulkhead's many and varied questions about life, the Wasteland and everything. There was just such a pure, compressed sorrow flowing out of their faces that I couldn't bear to engage either in any way, shape or form.

Thankfully though, the journey didn't drag on (the myriad of weird and wonderful questions saw to that), and we reached the Fortress gates early in the afternoon. The stable itself was no doubt underground, hidden beneath what looked like the remains of a sky wagon refuelling station. At one point in time, it was probably an excellent disguise, allowing the secretive and exclusive facility to go unnoticed throughout its construction and eventual population before the Last Day.

Now however, the once innocuous sight stuck out of the landscape like a sore fetlock. For one, it as the only building still standing among a sea of ruins, indicating that its construction was something far from normal. There was also the ten foot tall fence surrounding it, the half-dozen guard towers dotted about the place and the hundreds of armed slaver ponies patrolling the perimeter to consider as well.

We approached gingerly, without seeking any reinforcement from each other before stepping out into the range of the tower-dwelling lookouts. I'm sure we were all thinking the same thing: that if we stopped, even for a moment, we would find ourselves turning around and running away.

As Atom and Bulkhead gulped at the sight of the imposing structure ahead of us, I looked to Buckshot and Mo. In their faces I saw a terror that I will remember for the rest of my days; a deep, dark foreboding nightmare being played out right in front of their eyes.

'Well,' I thought inwardly, 'At least if we get caught, it won't be for bad acting...'

"Stop right there! What's yer business 'ere?" grunted the rifle wielding unicorn guard as we approached. None of our company responded, prompting me to surreptitiously nudge Bulkhead from behind.

"We're here on business!" Atom suddenly blurted from his side, far louder than was really necessary. "We need to see Stone Tower! We're, uh...here on business!"

I thanked Celestia for the bandages enshrouding my face - they meant that I didn't need to cover the florid set of cringing expressions I was cycling through as my companions spoke.

"Right..." said the guard as he smirked to his singular colleague and eyed our diminutive band. "An' what sort o' business are ye meanin' on doin' with Mr. Tower? He don't deal with single slaves ye know - his minimum order's a hundred units."

"W-we know," stammered Atom, as she valiantly held her ground in the conversation. "Trust me, numbers won't be a problem for us. Just, uh, let us in, and we'll, um...make an appointment."

The guard looked down at her for a few long seconds, a considering expression wafting across his unfortunate features. After a heavily pregnant silence, he clicked his tongue and opened his mouth to speak:

"Awrite," he said sceptically, nodding. "I'll bite. That'll be ten thousand caps, love."

'Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!' I screamed into my own head. 'I forgot about the entrance fee! Caring Heart warned me! She said it right to my face and I just shrugged it off! Celestia damn me, I fucked up!'

I looked from each of my companions to the other, and was met each time by a pungent combination of shock and surprise at the outrageous price that the guard had set.

"Ten thousand whats!?" Atom cried, quickly realising that ten thousand of anything was probably too much (despite having no knowledge of the Wasteland economy). "We don't have that kind of...whatever those are!"

"Well then ye ain't gettin' in are ye?" the guard chuckled malevolently. "At least...not as buyers."

He moved his rifle round from his back, bringing it to bear in unison with his friend.

"N-now hold on!" interjected Bulkhead as Mo and Buckshot looked on in silent horror. "W-we could trade couldn't we? I mean we must have something that would do for your entrance fee!"

"Somehow, I doubt that," the guard sneered cruelly. "But y'er welcome to empty yer pockets. I like watchin' ponies squirm."

Immediately, Bulkhead and Mo's hooves shot into their barding pockets in a desperate attempt to find something valuable. Much to their credit, they had the presence of mind to shoot a pair of faux-dirty looks back at Mo and Buckshot; a subtle, dramatised threat of reprisal if they didn't start helping with the search for funds. I, on the other hoof, continued to reel internally at my own stupidity, rooted on the spot as the consequences of my actions played out before me.

"H-how about this?" asked Bulkhead as he offered the contents of one of his pockets: a shiny, medium sized wrench and small screwdriver set.

"Well now," the guard sniggered, as he levitated the wrench with his magic. "Ain't that somethin'? I ain't seen one o' these since this mornin'."

Bulkhead winced and returned to searching the other pouches of his garment. I turned away as a shiver of guilt ran down my spine, and in so doing caught Mo's eye as she continued to rummage through her own saddlebags. I felt my hearts break as the gleam of panicked tears shone onto my retinas. Oh, Goddess, what had I done!?

"Well, what about these?" proffered Atom as she and Mo silently pushed a bag of caps and the remnants of our food supplies onto the ground. As all this was going on, a couple of patrolling guards had taken notice of our conversation and stopped close by to spectate.

"Hmm...let's see here..." the first guard said calmly as he pulled the bag's contents out into the air with his magic. "Ye know, that's not half bad. I reckon ye've only got about nine and a half thousand caps to go."

I glanced at Buckshot as the rummaging resumed, fully aware that the sum total of all our possessions was probably significantly less than the outrageous fee. He didn't see me looking in his direction, as despite his eyes being open to their fullest extent, he was staring into his saddlebags with a focussed expression verging on madness. His pupils had contracted to a ridiculously small size, and I could see sweat beading atop his brow as his hooves trembled. I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate, my intrinsic empathic reaction making me acutely receptive to my coltfriend's pain. In the meantime, a small crowd of guards had gathered, all of them eager to gawk at the new arrivals; the clueless would-be slavers who were steadily approaching becoming slaves themselves.

As our desperation mounted, saddlebags were emptied and pockets turned inside out - every item we carried was deposited onto the dead grass underhoof for the perusal of the unicorn guard. He examined our wares, counted our caps and even raised an impressed eyebrow once or twice at some of our equipment, but it soon became painfully obvious that we simply did not have the kind of funds he and the rest of his cohorts were looking for. I couldn't believe how quickly my plan had fallen into the deep deep chasm of failure! How could I have been so stupid!? As I bowed my head in disgust at my own arrogance, Bulkhead began to empty the last of the pockets in his barding in a desperate, last ditch attempt to find something of sufficient value. At the same time I tried to once again catch Mo and Buckshot's gazes so that I could give them the 'this is going to get ugly' face and establish my intention to run like my arse was on fire as soon as possible.

"A-all we've got left is...this..." said Bulkhead finally, his voice close to breaking.

Failing to attract the attention of either of my collared companions, I was forced to reflect upon our situation for another short moment, and in doing so arrived at a singular horrific truth regarding the whole affair: I was about to break my promise. Not just the one I had made to Buckshot, but also the silent, unsaid promise that had accompanied it. The one that saw me keeping my friends safe, regardless of the consequences or the effort involved therein. The fact that I was less than a single Angstrom away from failing in that capacity cut me deeper than seeing Mo cry, watching Buckshot panic or being naught but a spectator as Petri faded into the vortex. Hell, it cut me deeper than physically being cut! In all my life I had never felt such a sharp, intense disdain for myself as I felt at that-

'Hang on,' the voice I had come to know as One suddenly said, cutting through my self-loathing like a laser through butter. 'Where's the retort? That ugly bastard of a guard hasn't said anything scathing in well over a minute! And where's all the chatter from the crowd behind him gone?'

'Well I don't know, do I? I'm staring at the sodding ground!' I answered angrily, as the muscles of my brow began to form themselves into a frown at a comparatively glacial pace. 'Although, come to think of it, you're right - I can't hear a thing! Maybe I've gone deaf with stress...'

'Nope!' said Three. ‘Ears are all good - we're still picking up ambient noise. If there's a problem it's either outside or it's on your end.'

'Well I'm feeling fine,' said One again. 'So it must be something outside. You should look up and see what's going on out there.'

'How can you possibly self-diagnose madness?' I said. 'Surely that's something that somepony else has to-'

'Hey!' One interrupted loudly. 'If you don't do something soon you and your friends are going to end up as slaves for the rest of your lives! And then I'll have to put up with your incessant whining till you finally die of depression! So are you going to argue psychology with me or are you going to suck it up and see what's going on out there!?'

'Well I suppose I'm going to have to now, aren't I!?' I replied, as my brow finished furrowing.

I finally looked up, just in time to see everypony present staring wide-eyed at Bulkhead's hoof, their gazes transfixed by the object he was holding. He and Atom seemed to be as bemused as I was at the sudden aural void that had ensued and began to slowly shift the object back and forth in front of the assembled equines. As it moved, every head on every neck swivelled to follow it, and I was finally able to see what it was that he was holding.

There, flat against Bulkhead's hoof, was the gleaming, unspoilt form of a water talisman. The Wastelanders present continued to stare intently at the bright blue crystal as Bulkhead and Mo awkwardly turned around to look at me for guidance. I responded with a curt nod, trying desperately to keep up my bandaged stoicism.

"Is, uh...this going to be enough...?" Bulkhead asked as he turned back to face the guards.

The first guard to belittle us just stood there, wall-eyed and mute as his companion's lips began to move.

"Th-the banker...g-get the...banker..." he mumbled to nopony in particular. When no notice was taken, he turned around and started shouting to the crowd behind him. "Somepony get the banker! Now! We've got high rollers here!"

The group of guards dispersed quickly, snapped from their mutual trance states as if an alarm had suddenly sounded. In the ensuing confusion Bulkhead and Mo turned around, sporting a pair of thoroughly confused expressions.

"What the hay was all that about!?" whispered Bulkhead. "You'd think they'd never seen a-“

"What the fuck are you doing with your stable's water talisman!?" Mo suddenly hissed. "Without that all your friends will die!"

"Die!?" Atom shrieked, once again a little too loudly. "Of course they won't die! They can just use one of the other spares."

"Uh..." said Bulkhead, as he looked up to the sky in thought. "Well, including that one, which I was meant to install on level seven yesterday, uh...twelve. Seven in service, two for the redundant backup system and another three spare. Why? Are they, like, sought after out here or something?"

"S-sought after!?" Mo said, as if it was the dumbest question she had ever heard. "Bulkhead, you can buy a fucking city for one of those things! Clean water is unbelievably scarce in the Wasteland, so those talismans can make a huge difference!"

"Well it looks like it got us out of a jam," I whispered, leaning in. "But don't let this stroke of luck go to your heads. Remember, stay in character!"

Suddenly remembering how easily our position could still be compromised, my companions quickly resumed the standing positions they had been holding a few minutes earlier. At practically the same moment, a large hatch in the floor of the refuelling station swung open, and the platform of a cargo lift slid smoothly up to surface height, a single occupant on board.

The mare in transit was a pale grey unicorn with an immaculate flaxen mane and a cutie mark in the shape of a striking red bottle cap. She exuded confidence like a fountain as she strode up to us and bowed curtly, addressing myself, Bulkhead and Atom.

"Madame, sirs, welcome to the Indentured Servitude Emporium. My name is Chase, the emporium's financial manager and personal assistant to Mr. Tower. Can I offer you any kind of refreshment this afternoon?"

On cue, the guard who had originally delighted from watching us writhe in panic under his gaze appeared beside the unicorn, holding a tray in the aura of a levitation field and making sure to avoid direct eye contact with us. Atop the tray were assorted bottles and glasses containing Sparkle Cola, clear, sparkling water and the 'fun disinfectant' I'd had the displeasure of sampling back in Edinbuck. Although a little unexpected, I had a good idea of where to go with this particular interaction, my recent practice with dishonesty having refined my natural lying ability to a well-honed skill. Unfortunately however, before I could say anything, Atom decided that it was high time she shouted at something.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," she said quickly, frowning and waving her hooves in front of her face. "What the buck is all this!? A moment ago this bastard was threatening to enslave us if we couldn't pay to get in! And now you're offering us drinks!? What the hell kind of operation are you lot running here!?"

Chase the banker stared unflinchingly at Atom, a thin, lipless smile curving her mouth into what I'm sure was a very well-practiced expression of feigned submission.

"Yes ma'am, I am aware of your treatment by our security staff, and you have both my sincerest apologies and my assurances that it won't happen again," she said, in a voice so courteous and humble that it hobbled Atom's complaint on the spot. The pressure in my chest lessened slightly as the usually fiery little mare visibly relaxed, her desire for confrontation having suddenly dispersed.

"I'm told by the guards that you're here on a matter of business, is that right?" said Chase as she nonchalantly levitated one of the glasses of water towards her mouth. I found myself marvelling at her manipulative skills as Atom and Bulkhead fell into what could almost be described as a pleasant conversation, despite the inherent grimness of the subject matter.

"Uh, yes, it is," said Bulkhead, uncertainly at first, as he clumsily picked up a bottle of Sparkle Cola with his hooves. "We have several thousand ponies that we think would be perfect for St-, I mean, Mr. Tower's, um...workforce."

"Really?" Chase responded pleasantly, as if she was being told the most interesting thing in the world. "Well that is wonderful. Mr. Tower is always happy to find new sources of labour. Are you sure I can't offer you something to drink ma'am? What about your quiet friend in the back there? I'm sure he's tired after minding your slaves during your journey."

"Uh, don't mind him," said Atom quickly. "He's what you might call, uh...'damaged'. Kinda sad really - we need to feed him through a straw. Oh, and don't worry about being nice to him - the accident left him a little on the dim side. Isn't that right, Smith?"

'Damaged!? What do you mean damaged!?' I shouted inwardly. 'And who the hell are you calling dim, you little-!'

"I said isn't that right, Smith?" Atom repeated, this time far more forcefully. She was enjoying this far too much.

"I think Smith wants to rest, Atom," Bulkhead said, eyeing Atom curiously. "Miss, uh...Chase, wasn't it? Could we maybe go inside now? We've been walking for quite a while and we're all very tired."

"Oh of course sir!" Chase responded cheerfully. "If you'll just follow me inside we'll deposit your entry fee and I'll make arrangements to open a line of credit for use of all our facilities."

She turned and began to trot towards the lift platform, placing her glass back onto the tray as she passed the guard. We followed in formation, Bulkhead and Atom leading, with me bringing up the rear behind the forlorn, collared forms of Mo and Buckshot. Stepping onto the platform, we said our last silent goodbyes to the land above as we began to slowly descend into the underground fortress of Stone Tower.

New quest perk added: Paradise Has Fallen
The Wasteland is a harsh place, and you and your companions have learned that first hoof! As a result you are hardier, but at a cost: you are granted END +1 for your trouble, but SPEECH -10 for dragging them along with you.

Fallout: Equestria - Just Like Clockwork

by Starlight_Tinker

Chapter 10 - A Slave to Time (Part 1)