Salvage

by Rollem Bones


Bastards


Chapter 8: Bastards
“We all get by with a little help from our friends.”
 
There I stood, dressed tip to tail in the slickest suit Manehattan had ever seen. It was midnight black to make my coat stand out and my mane pop. There was even a little gloss to the fabric. No real reason, just that everypony likes a little bit of shiny now and again. Right there on top of my head was one of those hats from before the war. It was made of straw, flat on the top, and had a little band around it. It didn’t go with my suit one little bit, but damn it if that wasn’t the whole point. I looked good, I felt good, and I had two gorgeous mares at my side.
 
To my right stood Summer Bounty, the tradesmare and long standing guest star when the good dreams rolled around. The little red and yellow number she wore gave the fireball of a mare an appearance to suit her personality. She went and leaned against me, smiling and look up to me, content as could be. She still had that air about her that she wanted to sell me something. It was a dream, not a fantasy.
 
This time, this dream, was just a little different from ones in the past. The inclusion of a tall, stunning pink unicorn with a mane that was mostly yellow with a bit of white, name was Cherry. She had big eyes that looked right into that honest part of a pony and knew what made it hurt. Even better, all she wanted to do was mend that hurt. Right now, she was looking at me with the kindest smile I ever had the pleasure of seeing.
 
The three of us watched a glowing pre-war city I had never seen before drift by from the deck of a riverboat. I did not know why and I certainly did not have a damn to give. This was pure. This was happiness. This was all I could have wanted.
 
I woke up on the dirty floor of a radio station’s lobby using my new broadcaster as a pillow. It was all thanks to a clanging sound coming from just outside the station. I tried to ignore the stealer of dreams and contemplated many a fitting punishment for such a crime. Nothing too extreme, I just wanted to hold his head under water until the bubbles stopped.
 
Cheery fantasies aside, I lurched to my hooves and took quick stock around me. Daisy and Two-Shot were with one another. She took up the bench while he took the floor beside her. Daisy’s hoof draped off the side and rested against Two-Shot’s shoulder. Looking over, I found Fizzy. She was all curled up and using her lab coat as a blanket. I wouldn’t let her know that I saw the smiling yellow face of Mister Boom tucked against her chin. Correction, I wouldn’t let her know until I felt it was funny.
 
Since there were only four of us, a headcount was quick. We were all inside, and the clanging was outside. I looked over to where Old Friend lay. There was no time to deal with strapping on an industrial tool. Besides, I had Sharp Retort and for once, I could use it properly. I slipped over to door and readied myself. Just me and the noisemaker. Pony against just about whatever the hell it was on the other side.
 
Realizing the danger probability had just presented me, I undertook a little supplementary readying. With my second attempt, I threw open the doors to confront the dream thief.
 
The thief was a zebra standing on his hind legs to pick through the medicart. Tall, broad, he was roughly my size all around. Black with white, or white with black, either way he had stripes. His mane looked like Fizzy’s, but longer, and with significantly less vibrant colors. Most jarring of all, though, was that he was clean, very clean. He also had a scarf around his neck. The wool kind with the little tassels. Strange as he was, he looked very familiar.
 
“Haki?” I ventured a guess. The fight left me the moment I began to take stock of this supposed threat that I gaped at from the door.
 
The zebra stopped digging through my stuff. He looked at me and smiled, dropping back to all fours. “I have been waiting for you, Curtain Call,” he spoke in a slightly accented tone, trying for musical yet still somewhat nasally, “I am glad to see you’ve decided to come and speak with me.”
 
“You’re wearing a scarf?” Of all the things to be confounded by given my situation, my brain chose the most obvious.
 
“I,” the zebra paused, blindsided by my choice of question, “I don’t think that is very important right now.”
 
“’I’m tired, and you are not my usual delusion. Humor me.”
 
Haki looked left and right in hopes of finding a wayward answer. “It gets cold here.”
 
I nodded. It was a good enough answer to satisfy me. The real reason he wore a scarf was that Haki wore a scarf in one of the pictures I saw of him in High Rise’s memory. I knew that, but I was not about to let my imagination off that easy.
 
Haki looked pleased with himself. “I am glad you are satisfied, Curtain Call. Now perhaps we may speak.”
 
The zebra approached, smiling openly, and I noticed the mark on his flank. It wasn’t exactly square, more square-like; certainly reminiscent and evocative of squares and square things. My guess was, given my experience with cutie marks, it was a building. That was the idea I went with.
 
“You have discovered a great tool, and I do not mean my old friend,” the zebra told me. His easy smile slipped into a frown, as he grew closer. “But I find myself asking, what will you do with it?”
 
I wasn’t surprised that Haki knew I had the broadcast equipment. I was more surprised he asked about it. That wasn’t standard hallucination speak. I shook my head to make sure I heard him right and then I found myself at a loss for words. “I guess I’m going to give running a station a shot. Sure, Fizzy says it’s short range, but I think it I can get something out of it.”
 
Haki looked amused in a sort of condescending way. He nodded and looked away from me, back to the medicart. It was a look with purpose, but I couldn’t guess just what. “You intend to build with no plans in mind? What good will you do with that, my friend?”
 
He started to walk away and I followed. “Who says I need to do good?” I asked him. “It’s just a thing to do. My chance to entertain, to give ponies something to enjoy.”
 
“Fucking knew he’s a hypocritical ass,” a growly, wet voice crackled from inside the medicart.
 
“Hello, Radio. Good to see you too,” I muttered, watching Haki stand to pull a radio from the back of the medicart. It’s always nice to see illusions working together.
 
The radio cracked and popped when Haki set it down on the edge of the cart. It balanced as precariously as a radio that didn’t exist could balance. “Red tells me all the time he’s going to do something good in this world,” the rough voice spoke, “Guess not so much now.”
 
“Hey, hey,” I stepped in with a glare at the radio’s blinking dial. “I’m not saying that something good can’t be done with this It’s just that I don’t know what. I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”
 
Haki looked on approvingly. “Something to enjoy is good, there are many, not just ponies, who need a voice for good.”
 
I shook my head. I was starting to notice the zebra’s game. “The wasteland already has DJ-Pon3. I can’t do anything better than he can.”
 
“That’s what I’m talking about. You ain’t got it. You can’t do what he can. You’re just a foal with a toy,” The radio popped. “Good to see you finally fucking learn.”
 
The zebra shook his head. The sadness on his face was palpable. “So it seems,” his words were heavy, but as I looked at him, I caught his eye. There was a glimmer within his eye. A hope, a crinkle at the corner that told me the zebra was clever for a hallucination. “But have you not the heart of a good pony?”
 
Radio did a double take inasmuch as a radio can. “He doesn’t. He’s full of shit. Only in it for himself.”
 
“Hey!” I snapped at the radio, jabbing my hoof at the illusory device. “You know, I’m getting sick and tired of this crap. You’re always looking for the worst in me. What do I have to do to shut you up?”
 
“What have you got?” countered the radio.
 
“And is one thing enough?” echoed Haki.
 
“Call?” A curious and infinitely more welcome voice came from behind my back. “I could hear you all the way inside. Who are you arguing with?”
 
I looked back to Fizzy and shook my head. “No, no one at all,” I answered. Turning back, I looked at the medicart and the empty spaces there. Out behind it was light dimly growing through the clouds.
 
“Oh,” Fizzy’s tone held confusion and doubt. She stepped up beside me and sat. Thank Celestia that Fizzy decided to take today off from being curious.
 
Together we sat and shared those few early moments of the day where peace still existed, and for a moment, you could imagine yourself in a completely different world.
 
“Fizzy, you ever think we’ll see a real sunrise?” I asked, reaching into the heart for a moment of poignant reflection.
 
“Barring untimely deaths and provided certain situations occur that are required in order to dissipate the current cloud cover, and providing those situations occur within our natural life spans then we will. So, yes, there does stand a possibility if not exactly a probability that one or both of us will witness a sunrise.”
 
“You really have a way with words, Fizzy,” I sighed and smiled all the same.
 

“Did any of you guys find out the name of that place?” The question I posed to the rest of our little caravan was a legitimate one. I was trying to put together something to broadcast. I didn’t exactly have a collection of music to play. Even if I could do a little song and dance, only half of that carried over the airwaves well. What I did have, however, was immediacy. I was on the spot. I was among the ponies. Or I would be when there were more ponies than just the four of us. And when those additional ponies weren’t trying to kill us. The point was that all I had was the ability to impart the here and now to the area around said here and now. I saw opportunity in getting word out that an entire town had apparently upped and vanished. My problem being I didn’t have a name for the town. Turns out it is a little difficult passing on information when you yourself had none to begin with.
 
“Didn’t bother to look,” Two-Shot answered from behind the medicart. He had once again taken up residence in the rear to watch the road we were putting behind us. The sniper was doing a good job of it and outside of a few critters; we had been in the clear. There hadn’t even been a sighting of Scorched Earth or any of the Manticore gang since Two-Shot gunned down the two scouts. While I wanted to consider that a good thing, the truth was, not seeing them made me more suspicious than ever.
 
Daisy’s head popped up from the cart. “Same,” she wheezed as she had been since the fight last night. “Nopony there, nopony cares.” She attempted to laugh, coughed, and hissed down to a weak moan. In the back of the medicart, she grumbled angry little words about uselessness. I couldn’t tell what was wrong with her, none of us could. All we knew was she had a pain in her side since using her battle saddle in the radio station. She blamed it on the kick of the gun. Without anything else, we did as well.
 
“Actually, I think I do,” Fizzy finally spoke up, eyes popping over the folds of map that floated about her head. “I don’t know for certain, but given the distance we have traveled since Manehattan I think we were in a place called Haven. It’s supposed to be a friendly town.”
 
“You’ve been there and didn’t tell us?” Two-Shot got to the question before I could.
 
“No,” Fizzy answered in a matter of fact way. “The pony that made the map for me drew a happy face next to it.”
 
Sound enough logic for us. We pushed onward. It was just another gray day on a brown path in a world with only the occasional hint of green to keep our hopes up. Thank Celestia I had my radio. I swung the microphone pivot around to my mouth, had Fizzy hit the switch, and I was live.
 
“From the road to your radio, this is Curtain Call speaking. We got a newsflash for you, coming straight from Broncton Postal Trail to your ears, courtesy of me. We’ve got ghost towns out here on the roadside, and I ain’t talking about the old world, either. That friendly little town, Haven, is gone, baby, gone. I mean it, too. Seen it with my own eyes, too, folks. There ain’t a soul left in town. Sad state of affairs, my little ponies, if whole towns start pulling disappearing acts.”
 
I looked back and forth at our little group, my friends, for lack of a better term. They could see the shit I was cooking up a mile away, they’d been there too. They knew it as well as I that we really didn’t have a lick of information to give, but I’d be damned if that was going to stop me. Not a one of them looked apprehensive about it. I doubted any of them truly cared about what I was saying, but in a way, I took their silence as tacit approval. It felt good to have. I looked forward, cracked open a fresh grin, and plowed on ahead.
 
“Current information on the how and the why is nil. So, if you got any inside knowledge to the disappearance of these good ponies, well you’ll just have to let me know. How will you know? Look for the dashing red pony with the masks on his flank and the radio on his back. That’s right, fillies and colts, this is a roadbound radio. We’ll be traveling along, so if you see us, get your news ready.”
 
Now Two-Shot was giving me a curious look. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to congratulate me or throw a bottle at my head for my shear stupidity. Most likely it was both. I knew there was danger in getting identity out there, it was inviting trouble doing anything to get your name known. I knew there was a safety in it as well. If we were lucky, I could get it out there that we were on the right side of things. Never did hurt to make friends.
 
“That ain’t the end of the story, folks. Cause stories in these wastes they never end. Things just keep on going. Haven will keep on going. And you, my listeners, can be the ones to make it happen. If any of you down in Manehattan can here this, I know for a fact, jack, that the old city is having a fair bit of trouble with fires recently. Whole town is just waiting with open arms for you. Any of you out there wandering, needing and looking for a place to make a stand, to make something of your own, well you to have your opportunity. We’ve got all the pieces of a world to work with, so let’s get building something special. From the road to your radio, this has been Curtain Call. Stay gold, ponies. Stay gold.”
 
The microphone clicked off when I slid it back into position. I felt a sense of pride run through me, Self-indulgent as it was, I had done something, taken a chance, and hopefully kick started some kind of recovery for the little town that no pony lived in. Part of me wondered if I should have cleaned up the radio station of the various levels of gore strewn about in our visit. I felt the better option was to conveniently ignoring that little part.
                      
“You know that just lit a flare to attract every raider and scavenger in the area,” Two-Shot was the first to point out. His monotone drone was matter-of-fact and somehow still rounding on snide. “They’ll pick the carcass clean and be on their way.”
 
“Though I suspect that several ponies that truly need a place to stay will also arrive,” Fizzy leapt to my defense. “Of course, it will just put them into the path of the raiders that also come.” And promptly shot me in the back.
 
“I’m banking on there being more of the latter than the former. Give enough wasteland and you’ll find good ponies out there. It may be tough, but they can do it. You mark my words, Haven will come back, it won’t be easy, but it will earn its name again.” I defended myself with pride in the certainty I had for the ghost town’s future.
 
“Doesn’t hurt that it isn’t you that has to deal with the shit,” Two-Shot pointed out.
 
“Nail on the head,” I replied, grinning, “I’ve always had faith in the ability of others.”
 
“I hope it works out.”
 
We stopped and looked in on the medicart. Two-Shot and Fizzy looked in on the medicart. I just stood and craned my head in a pathetic attempt to see what was happening behind me. Mirrors quickly found themselves high on my procurement priority list.
 
“How is it any different from what we tried to do?” Daisy was sitting in the back of the cart, nose to nose with Two-Shot. “That was our plan, wasn’t it? Trying to make a place for all of us? We aren’t the only ponies out there who just want to live. We aren’t the ponies who just want to live and can defend ourselves, either. I think Curtain Call has a good idea. If we get the right word to the right ponies, we can put them in the right places. We’re out here because of Cherry, you know she would want to do good, no matter the risk. You got that, loverboy?”
 
A little pony in the back of my mind waved a pennant with Daisy’s name on it. I grinned while Two-Shot took a pained breath. Daisy echoed the breath, but for an entirely different pain. The two looked back at one another and Two-Shot broke first. “You’re right. It’ll probably go to shit first, but no point in not having some hope.” He looked back at me with a pointed expression. “Now let’s get going. We’ve got places to go and doctors to find.”


The tags were first. We had been seeing them since the hospital a few days back and again in Haven. The scarecrows were second. I call them scarecrows but I doubt they were there to keep crows away. Maybe scarepony was a better term. They weren’t complicated constructs. Each one was a post with a skull; the kind didn’t seem to matter, unicorn, earth pony, griffin, even brahmin. The skulls all wore helmets of different style and quality. Some had ornaments be it feathers, horns, or spikes, but all were black with a letter B stamped on the front. The message was clear, “This is our territory, stay back if you know what’s good for you”.
 
Not being the types to let macabre lawn ornaments dictate our travel plans, we continued. Skull after skull, we passed the scarecrows. Each one looked down the road in the direction we had come, all part of the message to let us know we were being watched. As we looked on down the postal trail, we could follow the line of helmeted skulls all the way down to a large building. The way the old structure looked, it survived by virtue of just being too damn tough to beat. A swooping curve built of brick and mortar, at least what we could see of it. Most of it was out of view, hidden by a hulking barrier made with the carcasses of old train cars. Given that the natural state of an abandoned train car wasn’t in a “defensive perimeter” layout, the sight was just a touch suspicious. The giant horned letter B was a bit gauche, though.
 
“Three guesses, guys, as to who lives there. First two don’t count.” I grinned to the others.
 
“Bakers?” Two-Shot’s head popped around the side of the medicart.
 
“Beekeepers?” Daisy asked. She’d felt good enough to ride sitting up. It made me much happier to see her moving about.
 
“Bastards,” Fizzy said, finally dropping the map from in front of her eyes. Her head tilted to the side, a querying look to the trains. “But I kind of want it to be bakers.”
 
I sat a hoof on the steel colored unicorn’s shoulder. “If we were only so lucky, Fizzy,” I intoned with utter solemnity, “If we were only so lucky.”
 
We gave the moment it’s due seriousness and mourned the passing dream that was the fortress of baking. Then Two-Shot stepped around the back of the medicart. His rifle floated alongside him. “Scouting time,” he told us, stopping by the medicart just long enough for Daisy to toss out a dust colored blanket. The blanket fell about Two-Shot, covering his noticeably white coat and red mane. “Back in a minute.” Then he was off.
 
It was roughly ten minutes before Two-Shot and his blanket returned. He looked, of all expressions in his repertoire, amused. I briefly entertained the thought that he did more scouting of the local drug and drink rather than the occupants of the train fort. However, he seemed coherent enough when he invited us to join him at the spot he picked out for observation. Consensus was that had to see what Two-Shot did.
 
I had the binoculars first. Settled in a small ditch to hide my body, I spied down the line, through a gap in the train cars to finally glimpse of the ponies that set up all those tags.
 
They weren’t ponies. Not all of them at least. The bulk of the tribe, their numbers too big and they too built up to call a gang, was made up ponies but I was counting a number of other species. More than I had seen gathered before. All of them seemed friendly enough to each other. Maybe they just had a strong sense of irony in choosing their names.
 
“So I’m looking at griffins. At least four of them,” I reported as I scanned the tribals milling about. “Few brahmin talking with, I think it’s a goat. Even a buffalo or two.”
 
“Bison,” Fizzy interrupted.
 
I shrugged. “Whatever. More important is how we’re going to approach this. I’m thinking us three go in with the medicart, and Two-Shot stays out here to provide cover in case we need to run. Agreed?”
 
The ‘ayes’ had it. Three of us were off to walk into a pack of tribals whose idea of decoration was skulls and pointy bits while our guardian junky watched over us. We all knew the dangers we were walking into. We trotted on in with our heads held high. Casual acceptance of death was just part and parcel of the wasteland experience.
 
Truth was, not a one of us accepted the danger with any sort of nonchalance. No matter how experienced and toughened by the roads we were. I looked around and I could see it. Fizzy’s breaths were quick and catching up to rapid, her eyes were wide and I was certain I could see the beginnings of an arcane spark on her horn. Looking back to check on Daisy, I could see she was fully exploiting her injured mare leeway. On her side, she looked frail and weak, a far cry from the mare I met in Manehattan. A far cry from even the mare that took on a giant white radscorpion. It was a good act, I was wondering where the lines of reality were blurring together.
 
We may not have been cool, calm, and collected. That was just because the three of us had lived out in the wastes our whole lives. The only ponies who aren’t scared are ponies with a trick up their sleeve or the soon to be dead. The real experienced survivors, they aren’t cool and calm, they’re just really good at faking it.
 
The entry to the tribal camp was between a pair of rust red boxcars. They may have looked better fresh and new, but the Bastards had reinforced the holes and bolstered the bulwarks. Not that the walls needed much looking at, since there was no gate to speak of. The train cars were spaced wide enough to make a sizeable avenue right into the heart of the camp where tents numbered enough to populate a small town.
 
The lack of a wall struck me as odd. I wondered why the tribe had gone to all the trouble to build a fortress without making a gate. It was imposing, but there was a nice big road leading down the center. It seemed very welcoming for a group that called themselves the Bastards.
 
“It’s a kill zone.” Daisy spoke up from the cart, her voice a quiet whisper. “If you see an encampment with one glaring weakness, you can bet that it’s anything but.” Her voice suggested an uncertain respect for the Bastards. The kind that most give very large dogs. You can respect that they can chew faces off, but don’t like that your face may be the entrée.
 
We walked into the camp under hard-eyed scrutiny. The kill zone became more apparent as we passed through the boxcars. I looked up to find a scrawny griffin staring back at me from a position on the train. His talons were crossed and he had a wicked grin. Then he pointed. I looked. Behind a slit in the car, I could see the faint haze of magically levitated assault rifle. The show of force made its point clear. We weren’t dead yet, but we could if the Bastards wanted.
 
I stopped pulling the medicart. Fizzy stopped alongside me. I couldn’t see the pony operating the rifle, the tribals that watched me from inside the tent city looked to be about as open and friendly as a bear trap. That left me with the griffin.
 
“Looking to trade for supplies and medical service,” I called up to the gangly griffin. Strictly business, I kept things direct and honest.
 
The griffin seemed unmoved, scratching at his neck and looking at the cloudy sky rather than focus on me. “Is that so?” he asked in a twang of a voice. He laughed, or tried to laugh, seemingly unable to produce anything above a titter. “What makes you think we won’t just take your shit and leave you for dead?”
 
“Because you haven’t already,” I replied, playing the old back and forth game. If the griffin wanted to posture, I’d give it to him. “Besides, you try anything, you die first.” I flicked my head behind me, out toward our cover fire.
 
The griffin twitched and scratched at his side. He took a moment to process what was out there waiting for him. When he did, he sniffed, looked back at us, and smirked. “Alright, you guys are cool. Wait here,” he told us before looking to the camp and screeching, “Brighteyes, we got two spuds and a sparkler. Order up.”
 
Convincing the griffin was quicker than I expected. He reclined as soon as he passed the bit and I determined he was more lazy than convinced. I could appreciate the attitude.
 
“What now, Shrike?” called out a soft bass voice. The kind of voice that made you think of a dragon trying to pick a flower, deep and dangerous and trying far too hard to be gentle.
 
The voice’s owner came around a tent and the shining light of reason came to me. He was big, bigger than I. Bigger than me with Fizzy on my back. He was also a bison, so the size wasn’t all that surprising. I had met some before, when I was a colt, but this was the first I’d seen since setting up camp in Manehattan. A light shade of tan, he blended in quite well with the dust and dirt of the trainyard. Not that he could possibly be stealthy with a body type that resembled the train cars that surrounded the camp. To his credit, he was light on his hooves, trotting toward us with easy quickness.
 
“We got two spuds and a sparkler, Brighteyes,” the scrawny griffin, Shrike apparently, said with feign annoyance. He waved a claw towards us so general as to encompass us and all points West in his direction. “You deal with them.”
 
The bison slowed to a walk, looking over the three of us. The look he gave us was one of off the record approval. A sort of mutual tolerance of the other’s existence. He reserved a withering glare of suspicion for the griffin on the boxcar. It lasted barely a second, however, as he softened to look back to Fizzy, the medicart, and I.
 
“So you’re armed, I can see that, and you have a sniper on us. Nice thinking,” he seemed to share the sentiments of the griffin. “Not going to let you in just yet, but don’t let Shrike fool you. We’re not going to rob you blind. Especially not him. Dash head up there could throw himself at the ground and still miss.”
 
“Love you too, asshole,” said the reclining Shrike.
 
“Anyways,” continued Brighteyes, still looking us over in judgment, “You’re welcome here, but don’t start any trouble because it won’t end well for you. We’ve got some space for outsiders, and if you’re here for anything more than a place to rest your head for the night, you should let me know.”
 
Fizzy and I explained what we would allow. Ditching Manehattan, Daisy being injured, the ghost town of Haven and the radio signal we interrupted. All wrapped up with our arrival. We left out the details, and stressed that we were only looking for barter and medical assistance if they had any to spare.
 
Brighteyes took it all in with a stone wall of a poker face. I couldn’t read a word about him from the moment we began speaking. When we finished, he only gave us a simple nod and looked to the boxcar turned gun nest. “Dozer. What’s your take?”
 
The side of the car slid open and the dark brown head of a unicorn pony popped out. He brushed some of his dirty white mane from his eyes and looked to Brighteyes. A shrug, a nod and a curious scrunching of his forehead told us that he figured we were telling the truth and could be believed. We were dangerous, but not hostile and therefore a comfort to have around. Also, he would like some coffee and a sandwich.
 
Fizzy and eye shared a glance, staring and wondering as the unicorn disappeared back into his boxcar. The two of us looked back to Brighteyes in unison.
 
“Dozer doesn’t talk much,” the bison said with a forgiving shrug. “But he seems to think you’re safe. That’s good enough for me.”
 
“Really? He doesn’t talk much?” I said with mock disbelief. “So yeah, you wouldn’t happen to have a doctor in the,” I looked about for the right word, “tent, would you?”
 
We followed Brighteyes into the encampment. Daisy gave the signal for Two-Shot to follow. None of us said anything about our sniper coming in with us; we just rather took the thought of his allowance for granted. Further, I assumed Two-Shot would find a way to make it in anyways. His drug stash was still in the medicart.
 
The camp was open, taking advantage of the sizeable area granted by the rail yard. The Bastards within the compound corroborated what I had seen through the binoculars. A mix of several species made there way about. An earth pony and a griffin were talking tactics over drinks. A unicorn repaired arms alongside a buffalo sharpening metal on a treadle powered grind wheel. An old unicorn mare sat watch over a small group of foals playing tag and wrestling in the sand. However, that particular image was a little less wholesome for the long rifle that the old mare stroked like a beloved pet. Most of them wore some form of decoration. Feathers woven into manes, small bones and bullet shells served as jewelry. All of it worn in the scattershot and visually cacophonous manner that straddled the line between not knowing about taste and tastefully not giving a damn about it.
 
The Bastards seemed an all encompassing and loving tribe, allowing for the apparent casually armed style that seemed to dominate the tribe.
 
“So you say you were the one that turned off the broadcast coming from Haven?” Brighteyes dragged my attention away from the Bastards and back to him.
 
“Yeah, well, Fizzy here did most of the deconstruction work. I just stole the broadcaster for myself,” I explained, casually throwing my friend under the blame bus in case the Bastards approved of an all day every day advertisement.
 
“Should thank you,” the bison told Fizzy. “That noise has been playing non stop for weeks. Glad for him to finally be shut up.”
 
Fizzy grinned and my mind supplied the squeaking sound effect. “It was little trouble, we could possibly use the electronic supplies we salvaged from the station as barter for your medical services.”
 
The buffalo shook his head. “Take that up with the doctor. We just got her recently. Needed some help taking care of injuries around here since the last party came back with more wounds than worth. You want help for your friend, you make contract with the doctor herself. I’m just taking you there.”
 
Fizzy and I exchanged glances behind the buffalo’s back. This could make things either very easy, or very hard. Brighteyes had seemed reasonable, working through him would have been simple. Now we had to deal with an unknown. If Brighteyes wasn’t lying about the reason the Bastards needed a doctor, then we were looking with an overworked unknown.
 
My thoughts about the Bastards and the doctor took a flying leap when we arrived at a long tent on the far side of the camp, nearer to what I had gathered was the old rail yard’s roundhouse. A big pink butterfly had been painted on the side of the canvas just in case any pony had forgotten the tent’s purpose. Some past artist, in a moment of tribal expression, added horns to the butterfly. More important than the tent was the orange unicorn flank that stood outside.
 
“Summer?” I asked. There was no way she could have ended up out here. I knew she was a traveling caravan, and I had no knowledge of just what her route entailed, but I didn’t think she would come all the way out here. Further, she would be trading with tribals like the Bastards. Then again, I never really thought much about the actual Summer Bounty. She was always just a placeholder in my fantasies. Summer was the only mare I was in regular contact with while I was alone in Manehattan.
 
Summer Bounty looked back at me and her eyes bugged. “Curtain Call, what the buck are you doing out here?” her voice rose with surprise. She looked me over. Old Friend on one foreleg, busted PipBuck on the other, radio equipment on my back and all of me tied to an old medicart must have made me a strange sight. I couldn’t blame her for the slack jawed gawking.
 
“Funny story,” I gave my best grin as I told her, “it turns out all my stuff was flammable. A little bit of a design flaw.”
 
The gawking turned to pity. Summer’s face fell, looking sympathetically wounded. “All those materials,” she said in quiet respect not for me, but my stuff. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she added but it just left me with the feeling she was being very literal.
 
Not that she pitied anything for very long. Summer’s attention bolted toward Fizzy, who was being quietly curious and observing our quick back and forth. “So you did have a special somepony? She’s adorable!” Summer went from pity to avoiding in two sentences and greased with a very sudden grin. I noted hers didn’t squeak. It was practiced and very attractive, but not squeaky.
 
Fizzy and I looked at Summer in unison, speaking in similarly dull synchronicity. “What?”
 
Summer pointed an accusatory hoof at me. “You were flirting with me for how long and you had a filly like that at home?”
 
Fizzy and I decided to encore our “What” duet.
 
I snapped out of my stunned stupor first. “Wait, Fizzy and I? No, no, no. I just met her a few days, ago. Ran into her after my house went up in smoke. I’m just tagging along on her soda run.”
 
“Uh, guys?” A quiet voice spoke from behind. A quiet voice that was a solid kick square to the conscience. “If it’s okay with you, I can just walk into the tent.”
 
“Sorry Daisy,” I muttered so I couldn’t hear myself. “We got to get my friend in to see the doctor. Can you hold on a moment, Summer?” My question made after I already started to walk, Summer wasn’t getting any real option in the matter.
 
“Oh, damn, yeah, let me lend you a hoof,” Summer offered with the nervous grin of embarrassment. She never got the chance to act on it.
 
“Don’t bother!” Daisy wheezed. She came around the side of the cart, unsteady but on all fours. “You guys catch up, I just need to get poked at. Only a bruised bone, I bet.”
 
Her assurances fell on deaf ears. I dashed to her aid, only to realize I was still strapped into the medicart. So I, in a significantly less dramatic way, unclipped myself from the harness so I could catch her halfway to the hospital tent and do little more than walk alongside her. Behold the mighty gentlestallion.
 
“What?” Fizzy asked, still dealing with social inertia keeping her back a few minutes. She was still deeply engrossed with being dumbfounded when Daisy and I entered the tent.
 
A wash of rank air spilled over us as we entered the hospital tent. The heady scent of blood, disease, alcohol and alchemical reagents filled the air. Several cots lay about, a few empty, the others holding mostly ponies. They lay stretched out on sides, back and front. Whichever position, I assumed, was easier for the doctor to attend. They were all resting, sleeping away injuries while an apron clad griffin moved amongst them.
 
“Another one?” the griffin spoke in exasperated tones. “Fuck’s sake what is wrong with,” she paused when she saw me. “You?” she asked, pointing her talon at me.
 
“I don’t know whether I’m more surprised-.”
 
The griffin cut my quip down with a sudden shushing. “Never mind. You’re not important, she’s hurt. Get her over here so I can look at her.”
 
Daisy got up onto a table with some help from the doctor and I. She sat quiet, laying down onto her side. She gave the griffin a breakdown on the past few days, with some details left out. A few times her excuses had to be snuffed out by a sharp word from the griffin. Daisy relaxed after her explanation, sighing back into the cot to allow herself to be poked and prodded.
 
“We’ll get you patched up in no time,” the doctor assured Daisy. She had the side of her head against Daisy’s chest, tapping the side with the back of a talon. I had no idea why the doctor was knocking, but each rap made Daisy suck air to swallow the pain. This made the griffin perk. She tapped again to make Daisy twitch. The griffin’s eyes narrowed and there was a small tremble in her claws. “Who played doctor?” she asked in that very, very quiet voice that sounded like a rumble of thunder in the far distance.
 
I looked to Daisy, who didn’t seem to be too keen on answering. Taking a breath, I decided the right thing in the situation was to stonewall. I said nothing.
 
This just made the griffin bear down on me. “If it was you, tell me. This is more fucking important than your damn pride, meat,” she shouted at me, jabbing a talon into my chest. “I need to know so I can help her.”
 
The griffin was shouting, and even then, I could see the barely restrained fury behind her eyes. What made things worse was that she was probably right about things. I thought a quick apology to Fizzy and told the doctor about my friend’s attempt at doctoring.
 
Out the door like a tempest, the griffin raged. She batted the tent curtain aside with a wing and lunged her way over to Fizzy before the flap had time to settle.
 
I bolted out after her under the vain hope that I was somehow capable of stopping the fight that played out in my mind. I had to protect her, there was no doubting that. I needed her. We needed her. The doctor had no idea what kind of pony she was dealing with.
 
“You dumbfuck!” Not the words I wanted to hear first out of the griffin’s beak. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? No idea at all. Just fucking playing doctor. Think it’s easy to heal people because you have your precious magic. Think it’s easy, huh? You dumbass. You have no idea what you’ve done. Do you?”
 
Fizzy was just standing there, staring and listening. She looked about as emotive as a rock. Not gaping like she had been a minute ago, simply stone faced and stolid. No magic enveloped her horn, at least there was that. So far it looked like that griffin would only blow up in the much cleaner metaphorical sense.
 
“You could have killed her,” the griffin spoke in leaden tones, her beak inches from Fizzy’s nose. “Do you understand me, fuckwit? You could have killed her. You are an idiot.”
 
Fizzy cleared her throat and I awaited the boom. “Then correct my mistake by assisting Daisy rather than shouting at me, please.” Her words were quiet and firm, though I swear I heard a quaver in her breath.
 
The griffin’s eyes went wide. She groaned, looking skyward, slapping a talon against her forehead. “Shit,” she voiced the painful realization and looked back to the tent. “Alright, alright, you fucked up, so you get to watch. You’re going to see what you’ve done. Got it, meat?” she corrected herself, snapping back at Fizzy, jabbing her with a claw.
 
Fizzy nodded. She kept her cool and followed the griffin back into the tent. As Fizzy passed me, she looked me in the eye and nodded to let me know it was okay.
 
I was floored. I sat on the sand and watched as the tent flap flopped closed again. Fizzy was the smartest pony I had met. She was a little scattershot and maybe she did a few weird things but she wouldn’t have hurt Daisy on purpose. The whole scene sat sour in my stomach. I pawed at the ground and looked at the mechanical punch wrapped around my foreleg. My nerves steel, I marched into the tent. I was not about to let the griffin shout at my friend like that. I wasn’t going to take this sitting down.
 
That little spark of determination fizzled and died an ignoble death at what I saw inside the tent. The doctor had Fizzy alongside Daisy, pointing about the patient’s ribs.
 
“You gave her too many healing potions too quickly. That’s stupidity on a grand fucking scale, you know?” the griffin’s voice had dipped down to polite company even if her word choice hadn’t. “You got to set the bone first, clean out any foreign debris, prep the damn meat before you go about patching it up. Fuck, infection and misuse of magic kill more than anything else. You idiots are so damn used to your magic shit you forget the practical bits.”
 
Fizzy was watching with rapt intent. Her head nodding, mohawk bobbing as her attention whipped back and forth between the griffin and Daisy. It was impressive in its own way, Fizzy’s ability to absorb the griffin’s casual insults.
 
“Now watch, cause I want you to see what I have to do to fix your crap. Right now her ribs are trying to screw her lungs thanks to you,” the griffin procured a bottle from her blood stained apron. She poured the contents out on a rag and stuffed it into Daisy’s mouth. “You, bluebell, suck on this cause this is going to hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me.” A moment of limbering up and the griffin put her claws about Daisy’s chest.
 
I will never forget the sound of Daisy’s ribs breaking for as long as I live. It’s always expected that bones make a dry snapping crack when they break. That’s a clean sound, a good sound, a tolerable sound. This was nothing like that. It was a wet, ragged crunch. Sick and weak and the kind of sound that likes to curl up in your ear and stay a while.
 
Daisy’s muffled screaming did not help matter much, either.
 
Leaving the griffin, Fizzy and Daisy back in the tent of horrors, I flopped onto the sand beside the medicart. I proceeded to ignore the fact that I had actually done worse to ponies in my time, and very frequently done so up close and personal. There is just something different about it happening to a friend that could make a stomach dance. Mine was somewhere past the pony pokey and into some unknown realm of interpretive break dancing.
 
“So,” I spoke with my face at ground level, looking up at the still spectating Summer Bounty. “How long has your body guard been a doctor? More importantly, how long has she been able to speak?”
 
Summer Bounty looked down at me with a knowing grin plastered on her face. “Oh,” she told me with a flippant little laugh, “She’s always been able to talk. Shout, mostly. She just doesn’t talk around you.”
 
I picked myself up out of the dirt. The comment pricked at my pride. I had always considered myself quite easy to talk with and now this mouthy griffin was going to use me as the one reason to clam up. I needed answers. “So what’s her deal then? Why so closed beaked around me?”
 
Again, Summer chuckled my concern away. “It isn’t you, Curtain Call. Cutter just doesn’t have a head or heart for business. She doesn’t care, so she shuts up. Not like you ever really tried to talk to her.”
 
The lady had a point. I never did speak to Cutter. The assumption was just that she was a griffin mercenary and would just as soon eat me as shoot me. “Okay, fault mine,” I admitted with a nod. “That doesn’t explain the doctor thing. Every time I see her she’s toting around a beam gun and scowling at me. That is not very doctor-like.”
 
Summer retorted with a raised eyebrow, taunting me into thinking the situation. “You’re not an idiot, Curtain Call,” she told me.
 
I tapped at my chin, almost shoving Old Friend’s chisel bit up my nose. I made a note to stick to using the other hoof for thoughtful expressions in the future. “You’re covering your bases,” I said, starting to flesh out the reasoning. “She’s a merc like any other, but if you’re traveling long distance and in a pair, you’ll want a bigger package than just a hired gun. Savvy, Summer, savvy.”
 
We shared a smile. “And,” Summer added with a smart grin. “Cutter can’t hack a contract to save her life. She cares too much. I can negotiate her terms and she supplies medical know how and a zap gun. I think I make out better on the deal.”
 
“Sounds like a good partnership. At least a profitable one,” I agreed. I cast a look over the rest of the tent city of the Bastards. A loitering trio of armed ponies watched me back. “Interesting choice of trading partners.”
 
Summer exhaled and gave that laughing sigh that comes as the red flag before a problem is aired. “Truth is they found us. We were a ways outside of Manehattan when we were hit. A group of them came by and were very persuasive in letting us know we needed to help their tribe.”
 
“Persuasive, huh?” I asked with heavy lidded skepticism. “What kind of persuasive?”
 
“The guns and pointy object kind.”
 
“That’s pretty persuasive. Let me guess. That was when you let slip that Cutter is a doctor. Use that as leverage?”
 
Summer tapped her nose. “I wasn’t expecting them to up and kidnap us once they knew, but it got me a chance to broker a deal with one of their leaders.”
 
“Better than dead,” I pointed out the obvious with great skill, “Good to hear you got out with your head still attached. Assuming that’s part of the deal.”
 
“Cutter patches them up until she’s satisfied, I can trade with anypony here and we get out with our lives.”
 
“Funny. They were much kinder to us coming in here,” I looked around to the trio of ponies that were watching us. Counting them, I made out one orange earth pony, a one-eared unicorn, and a red unicorn with a deep scar around his throat. The thought of what they could have been other than friendly tapped me on the back of the mind to remind me danger was still about.
 
Summer picked up on my concern. She bumped her flank against my side. “Hey, just think, you don’t have a thing they want,” she reminded me, “You’re not important enough to hassle and they don’t need anything of yours to make it worth hassling. Sounds to me like a damn good position to be in.”
 
“Mutual unimportance and apathy keep us all safe.” I shared a conspiratorial chuckle with Summer.
 
A messenger cut our conversation short. Specifically, the conversation was cut when the messenger cratered into the ground, showering us with sand and rocks. When the dust cleared, the scrawny griffin from the entrance stood shaking debris from his wings. “Big Buck wants to speak with you,” Shrike told me, scratching at the feathers on his neck. “I’m taking you to him. Leave your shit here.”
 
I looked to Summer. She nodded, telling me the medicart would be safe. All the same, I didn’t want to put myself at a disadvantage. “I’m keeping the radio and my Old Friend. I won’t leave those.”
 
Shrike just shrugged. “You ain’t plucking my feathers. Come on he’s this way.” The griffin turned and took wing.
 
Before I left, I looked to the medical tent. By now, the sounds had died down from inside. I didn’t know if that made me feel good or terrified.
 
 
I was not certain what I was expecting the inside of the roundhouse to look like. In some ways I would not have been surprise if it were flush with pomp and circumstance. If it were regal palace of stone to stand opposite the collection of Bastards outside then it would have made sense. If it were a vile pit of death and blood, a raider’s pit of raider pits, then it would have made sense. I wanted something to tie to expectations. Either the pompous leader or the wretched despot, either of those would do.
 
The roundhouse didn’t give me so much as that. The cavernous building was dim. Most of the light streamed from the giant archways where trains once passed through. The tents located inside of the roundhouse were no different from the ones outside, simple, pragmatic and plain. I approached them first, drawn by the dim glow that backlit one of the tents, and by my guide.
 
Rounding the tent, I came to find two ponies, one unicorn and one earth, seated around a table with the largest buffalo I had ever seen. My attention immediately focused on him. He towered over me, sharp eyes staring down at me from between a pair of sharper looking horns. When I approached, he snorted, the sound echoed through the roundhouse. It made Shrike slink away. Unlike many of the other Bastards, he had no decoration about him. He was as he was, big, broad, covered in a dark chocolate coat, and big.  
 
We regarded each other quietly. The two ponies at the table did much the same. We stood in silence for seconds that stretched out, took a walk around the block, and came back feeling like minutes. I didn’t feel like I was going to die here, but there was something disquieting about six very dangerous looking eyes staring at me that I didn’t quite like.
 
The unicorn was a mare. She was smaller, amber colored, but her eyes looked hollow and her half-open smile vicious. Her mane was pitch black and fell over one eye. She had feathers stuck behind her ear. I snuck a look and noticed she had a brick as a cutie mark. Not sure what that meant, I imagined from her expression that it didn’t bode well for me.
 
On the other side of the table, the earth pony appeared to be more sedate. He was older, age and hard life wore a sober stare into him. He was a dust colored, but his short mane was shockingly white. Looking at him, he bore a resemblance to the pony by the entrance only washed out and worn. He wore an old engineer’s cap on his head that sagged to the side.
 
“So you’re the one that shut off the radio,” the buffalo spoke. His voice was deep and fluid, lacking the gruffness that I had expected from the giant gang leader. “Then you took it and used it yourself. Didn’t you? It was you on the radio this morning.”
 
I could lie, but I had the feeling that the broadcast equipment that I was carting around would give me away. Sometimes honesty is the best policy. This is especially true if you would get caught in the lie. “Name’s Curtain Call. Broncton Postal Trail Radio at your service,” I introduced myself with a toothy grin.
 
The buffalo stood, looming over the table and assorted ponykind. “Well my name’s Big Buck Bastard!” he bellowed. The echo careened about the roundhouse, followed by the buffalo’s deep guffaw. His laughter caused his whole body to shake and tremor like a good-natured mountain.
 
Laughter was good. Laughter was me not having to fight for something. I could live with laughter. Most importantly, I saw my in with these ponies, and buffalo. “Well it’s damn good to meet all of you. You run a damn good camp here. Haven’t seen one this good since Manehattan.”
 
Big Buck laughed and the echo ran around the roundhouse again. “Don’t run anything,” he told me. “But thank you. The Bastards are my family and I like hearing good things about them.” He looked at the ponies at the table with him and stood. He began to circle the table. “Let me introduce you. This is Bad Road, brother to me,” he nodded to the sober looking earth pony. “And my little girl, Brickbat.” His walk ended behind the unicorn.
 
“I’m going to assume not blood related.” My jest made as I sat by the table to insert myself at the table.
 
“More to family than blood,” Big Buck told me with a deep nod. His voice became serious. “That’s one thing every Bastard knows.”
 
The laughter had echoed long and deep and the sudden lack of it made the mood settle like a lead blanket. I looked to the earth pony, Bad Road. He looked thoughtful, but as open as he was dour. I looked over to Brickbat but she just looked bored, keenly studying the dust motes in the air.
 
“Why don’t you and I talk, Curtain Call. I think these two have some strategy to talk over,” Big Buck said, standing and turning from the table. He cast a look over his shoulder, giving me a nod to follow. “Don’t let it surprise you, but Bad Road is a lot smarter than he looks.”
 
“Too bad he thinks so slow,” Brickbat shot a sharp eyed glare across the table to Bad Road. “We keep sitting around here doing jack shit while he sits on his hooves.”
 
Bad Road looked to Brickbat, dull and unimpressed. “Deliberation is not inaction, Brickbat. With greater insight into our maneuvering, we can achieve greater success. If we had taken care in planning your last raid, we wouldn’t be in the situation we’re in now. We were lucky to find the griffin medic.”
 
Brickbat snorted. “Don’t know why you even deal with those outsiders. Rough them up a little so they do what you want. We all know how outsiders think. If we don’t put pressure on them, they’ll stick a knife in our backs.”
 
Bad Road and Big Buck exchanged meaningful glances. I was quickly building a feeling I was meant to hear this conversation first. Big Buck was not making much of an attempt to drag me away.
 
“Simple rule of life, Brickbat, is never give the ponies that tend your wounds or cook your food reason to hate you. Do you truly feel that my actions aren’t the proper ones. If you do than you can do as you wish. Few here will stop you from putting the screws to an outsider.”
 
Brickbat looked down at the table and bit her lip. “I won’t. Not my thing anyways. Let’s just get back to talking about knocking in heads. I’m starting to go crazy doing nothing all day.”
 
I looked away long enough to see Big Buck’s surreptitious nod. He was as surreptitious as he could be with a head big enough to rival some pony’s bodies. I could see that this next part was not meant for my ears and I parted from the pair with a nod.
 
Big Buck and I walked together through the shadows that made up much of the roundhouse. Our steps were loud and growing louder as we put the only ponies in the building behind us. The further we walked, the more I appreciated how large the roundhouse was. There was a strange, alien peace this far into the house. I could look out on the tribe and yet couldn’t hear them. Witness action and activity and still be so very distant.
 
“I listened to you on the radio this morning,” Big Buck broke my internal musing. “You came from Haven?”
 
I nodded. “That’s what name on the map said. Not that there was anypony there when we passed through. I take it you know what happened?”
 
“I do,” Big Buck answered with a nod of his massive head. “Some time ago a mare came through with a radio pack like the one you wear. She spoke of Old Equestria and the work of some pony named Stardust. We had no use for her and sent her on her way. We know she went to Haven. Convinced the ponies there to leave their homes and travel north. All save for the Bastards who lived within Haven. They returned to us as the others parted.”
 
This was interesting. I hummed to myself and started to pay attention. “That answers that. Still have a few questions, though. Why did you throw her out?” I started with the freshest note on my mind. Back in the radio station I knew what the advertisement said was crap, but it was good to hear another agree with me.
 
Big Buck closed his eyes, looking in pain. “Why would we care of Old Equestria?” he answered my question with one of his own. “Look at the world we have now. That is the result of Old Equestria. Everything we have today is because of Old Equestria. They destroyed themselves. They failed. There is no reason to look back to them. We must do things our own way, in our own manner. We need to be better than Old Equestria. Burying our heads in the past will not serve any of us.”
 
I nodded, filing what Big Buck said for further dealings with the gang leader who wasn’t away for later. “I hear you,” I told him I agreed even as I thought about the recollector back in the medicart. “But what were some of your gang, tribe, doing back in Haven?”
 
“I told you that we are family,” He repeated, “While it is true that many of the Bastards look to me and respect me, as they do Bad Road and Brickbat, we do not lord over others.” He looked for a moment as though trying to find the words for the moment. A large sigh escaped the buffalo’s throat. “Allow me to start at the beginning, if you do not mind my speaking.”
 
I shook my head, every bit of information I could get would help with the favors I was already planning to ask of the gang. Emotional fulcrums were the basis on which deals could be made.
 
Big Buck’s smile grew and an all too aware look came to his eye. “I was born in a settlement a long, long ways away. My mama died soon after I was born and I never had a father to speak of. Wasn’t sad about it, cause the ponies in that town all sort of raised me together. They took care of me, but, never did get a name you see. I was, and am, a bastard. That’s where the name comes from. I am a bastard buck, and in case you haven’t noticed, a little on the large side of life.”
 
The buffalo laughed his old sorrows away. Putting down pain with humor and resolve, he looked out of the roundhouse to the dimming light.
 
“Could only live there so long. As I grew up, the ponies there were itching to use their bastard buck, their community muscle, as a tool. Told me to go out and run raids to curry favor with some gang they were paying for guards. That didn’t sit well with me. Told them where I stood. Told them with own four hooves where I stood. You may give someone food, you may give them shelter, you may heal their wounds but if you don’t even have the heart to give them a name you cannot say you cared for them. You cannot say you raised them. I was a kept outcast. When I got done talking, I cast myself out.”
 
I followed the buffalo’s words as I followed his gaze to the outside. We watched the inner part of the camp gathering supplies to build a fire. My host continued his speech.
 
“I left that town that bore me. I left, searching for other illegitimate children of the wastes with the spirit to survive. They would become my family and I would not refuse any with the spirit and the strength to survive. Look around and see the strength that lay in the wasteland refuse. A runt of a griffin cast aside. The last survivors of gangs and misfits ripped apart. The hungry and tired and discontent. Those who could not survive in the wild and who are refused survival in the supposedly civilized. They are my family. They are the Bastards. Not one of us is master to the other and not one of us is servant. If you have the strength in you to guard the back of your brother, they will have yours. That is how we survive here. Do you understand me?”
 
For some time, I considered the silence after Big Buck’s question. I looked at the nascent flames licking and leaping for life out in the rail yard. He was attempting to manipulate my emotions, appeal to the sense of righteousness he had thought he heard over the radio. It was working, but to what end, I didn’t know.
 
“I understand,” I told him what he wanted to hear. “I just don’t understand what this has to do with Haven.”
 
“Not all of us agree on everything. You’ve seen that yourself,” Big Buck pointed out. Literally directing my attention back toward the lit table where Brickbat and Bad Road still debated. “We do not force our own to remain here if they don’t wish to. Many settled in Haven once leaving the tribe. The ponies of Haven had been allies in the past. They traded with us, and we would protect them from outsiders. Until the mare with the radio came through, and I believe you can see the rest.”
 
I nodded, understanding now as I put pieces together. I was beginning to see why Big Buck was talking to me so freely. “You need to have Haven back,” I stated, quietly certain of that fact. “You can raid for goods, you can run that road out there, but there are some things you can’t get from raids. Like decent medical care. That’s why you kidnapped Cutter.”
 
Big Buck smiled, pleased with my summation. “Brickbat is a terror on the battlefield, but she is not so talented at the negotiating table,” he told me, adding in a whisper, “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
 
“It can’t last forever,” Big Buck said quietly, returning to somber tones. “Eventually the griffin and her partner will want to leave. They are, like you, outsiders and we have no reservations with forcing them to work, but as Bad Road has said ‘do not anger your doctor’.”
 
My eyes narrowed as suspicion dictated. I could start to see where this was going. “You have a plan, and it hinges on me. And, you’re going to use Cutter and Summer as leverage.”
 
Once again, the buffalo nodded and smiled his knowing smile. “There is a settlement to the north of here with a mechanical doctor in their possession. They refuse to speak with us since they believe we’re raiders who don’t deserve their notice. Our medicine is limited, and we cannot afford more losses. We need an outsider to speak for us.”
 
“And why not Summer?”
 
“We kidnapped her and her friend. You come speaking of rebuilding for the good of all, pony and not. Who would you ask?”
 
“Point taken.”
 
“So you will agree to help us?” Big Buck asked without a sense of hope but one of expectation.
 
I considered the situation for a moment. Not that I had to think the matter over, I already had my terms, but it was rude to seem so eager. “You get your mechanical doctor and the two of them are free to go,” I told the buffalo. I was going to stand firm on this matter, no matter how hard the negotiation would be. No matter how long it would last.
 
“Sounds good. We won’t need the griffin afterwards anyways.”
 
Turns out not long at all.
 
“Of course,” Big Buck spoke through a pleasant chuckle. There was always an ‘of course’. “There is the matter of initiation.”
 
Eyebrows up in the proper quizzical position, I studied the buffalo. “And why would this be a thing we need to do?”
 
“Tribe doesn’t trust outsiders. May not kill you, but that doesn’t mean they’ll trust you. Difficult to trust a pony from the road coming by with good intentions.” Big Buck shook his head, but amusement colored his tone. “Even here there are politics at play.”
 
“That’s why you told me all that,” I said to the buffalo. “I’ll go through it. I can’t say the same of my friends, since like you, I do not control them. I can say this, I will go through your initiation. It may be of a different stripe, but I’m a bastard.”
 
“Then come morning you will be a Bastard, too.”
 
This time, both of our laughs echoed off the rafters of the roundhouse.


Two ponies fought in the crackling light of a bonfire. Hoof to hoof they beat each other to a pulp while a crowd cheered them on. Their bodies tangled half shadows, they had fought until first blood. Once that happened, they fought again for the sake of pride. The tribe did nothing to stop them, on the contrary they encouraged it. The fight was part of the night’s revelry. The tribe gathered to gamble on the outcome, to watch their brothers in arms beat the tar and frustration out of each other. A pair of foals mimicked their elders in preparation of the years to come. It was sweet in a terrible cycle of violence way.
 
Not that I could look down on it. There wasn’t one of us without blood on our hooves. In many cases literally where I was concerned.
 
I sat off to the side, watching the fire from a distance. After my discussion with Big Buck Bastard, I had little to do and the sun, what little we ever had, was gone. There was the fire though. A great fire built tall in the center of the camp. The fire was a flaming centerpiece for the Bastard’s flagrant enjoyment of life in the face of the wastelands. I wondered about it, and about the collected mix of species that called themselves a single tribe. They were killers, so was I, so were my friends. I could not truly see a line of distinction between us. There were stories, and I had heard many, of those beaten by the wasteland. I had to wonder what was wrong with all of us, then. Those who grew with the wasteland. Despite the wasteland. The hardscrabble grass that clawed to live in the cracks of pavement surrounded by tainted dirt. Like that grass, we seemed green. Like that grass, we would thrive as we had to. Such was life.
 
Moving from the fire, I passed on toward the medical tent to check on Daisy. I hoped that by now, everything was settled and I could see how she was coming along. Not to any surprise I found Two-Shot already there, standing outside the tent hard at work constructing a bottle pyramid. He was currently engaged in emptying one of his building materials of their pesky liquid fill.
 
“She’s sleeping. Doing better now,” said the white slip of a unicorn at my approach. He sighed in a way more relieved than simple alcohol could provide as he stacked the latest empty on the pile.
 
“Drinking alone, then?” I asked with a grin. “Cause if you got room to spare, I could use it.”
 
“Not alone.” Two-Shot pointed to a bottle that had been stomped upside-down into the dirt.
 
“Good.” My grin shifted to a smile. “Still could use any spares.”
 
A bottle floated over. I took it and took a drink. It was good, a little dirty tasting, but the warm burn of alcohol was welcome after a long day. I sat beside Two-Shot, joined in on watching the ponies, griffins, and various sorts of wasteland patchwork that made up the Bastards. Outsiders looking in, we took to being apart from them, together.
 
“You angry at Fizzy?” I asked, assuming that he would have found about Daisy in some way, shape, or form.
 
Two-Shot shook his head. “Wasn’t for boom-girl, Daisy wouldn’t be here at all. Fuck, if she hadn’t I would have and I would have done a worse job of it. No, I’d be a shit if I were angry with her.”
 
The unicorn sighed and looked at the level of liquor in his latest glass. It floated about him, swirling the piss colored booze around, fizzing and settling back to a frothy level. Worlds of thought sat behind his staring eyes.
 
I took the bait. “What’s on your mind?”
 
Two-Shot pointed the bottle at the fight by the fire. “Them.”
 
I tried to guess Two-Shot’s meaning, but all I saw were two ponies slugging it out in the dirt. “What about them? The Bastards? The fight? Because I really don’t want another few rounds with you. It was fun, but let’s not make it an everyday thing.”
 
“No, you idiot. Them.” Two-Shot shifted the bottle down. Following the invisible line, I was guided to the two foals wrestling in a youthful mirror of their elders.
 
“All that surprising? Big tribals come from little tribals. They have to start somewhere.”
 
Two-Shot shook his head. “Not that. Kind of that. Are you telling me you never noticed I spend all my time fucking two fantastic mares and there wasn’t one foal about that place?” he sounded offended by the fact I hadn’t asked about such things.
 
“Completely slipped my mind,” I lied. I just didn’t care.
 
Two-Shot’s look of disgust wounded me. The pitiful pull from his bottle afterwards hurt. “Funny,” he said in a quiet way that suggested in many ways that he was not talking about the ha-ha kind, “Most ponies, most of any species I know, they’d think I’m blessed by Celestia herself. Suck, snort and shoot anything without a care. Fuck without a thought cause nothing’s going to come back to haunt you. Sure, see me from the right angle and I make for a better looking mare than Daisy. But it isn’t true. It isn’t good at all.”
 
“Can’t say I’m sympathetic, Two-Shot.”
 
“Don’t expect you to. It’s just bitching. Don’t want your sympathy.” He took a long drink from the bottle. He took so long without air I was beginning to suspect he was trying to drown himself in the booze.
 
“Yeah, well.” I tapped him on the shoulder for some sense of contact. “You’ve saved lives, one of them very close to me. My own. So it can’t be all bad.”
 
“You’re a prick, Curtain Call,” I was told with more love than malice. “I think I just need some time with Cherry right now. You think you can leave well enough alone?”
 
I nodded, turning to leave the unicorn behind. “Thanks for the drink,” I said over my shoulder.
 
“They provided them,” Two-Shot pointed to the Bastards. “Not that they know it. Even gave me the gift of filling up my chem stash.”
 
We shared a laugh at our host’s expense before I found myself alone again.
 
I staved off loneliness by finding Fizzy and the medicart. She had moved it off toward the side, along the wall of the trains. From here, the fire was hidden and only the crackling and cackling of drunken song were any signs of the Bastard presence.
 
Fizadora Tonic herself was behind even the medicart. She had bits and pieces scattered about her. A tin can here, a bottle of glowing Sparkle Cola, and a few different types of powder set apart from one another all lay in front of the unicorn. She was lost in her alchemical world and didn’t notice my approach.
 
I tapped on the medicart, “Fizz?” I asked, hoping to dislodge her from her focus gently. “How’re you doing after, you know?”
 
I didn’t get an answer right away. The bundles of powder began to glow and fold themselves up, packing themselves away in a magically methodical manner. “I’m fine,” she said, sounding anything but.
 
“Well,” I tread carefully, not wanting to set anything off. “I don’t think she had to yell at you. You were trying to save Daisy. You helped her.”
 
“Call. I told you I am not a doctor. I told all of you. You pushed me into it and made me think I could do it. I experimented. As a result, I nearly killed somepony. I don’t mind being shouted at.” She still looked away.
 
I tried to circle, to catch Fizzy’s eye. “You’ve killed ponies before. We all have.”
 
“That was the intent, Call. I know you are not that stupid. Please don’t try to make me feel better when it isn’t necessary. Now please. I have work to do. I bought a special reagent from that tradesmare and I want to work on it.”
 
She caught me looking at her things, “And I won’t explain it until I’m certain it’s a success,” she hastily added. “Now leave me be.”
 
The words cut me deep. I tried to get a hold of something, some kind of words to help but sometimes words don’t matter. I felt white hot blood rush to my face and turned to leave Fizzy alone. There was no reason to blame myself and I knew it, but knowing things didn’t always change the feeling. I left her, walking away so she could have peace. At least until I spotted her saddlebags in the back of the medicart. That gave me an idea.
 
I ruffled through the bags, digging through her things with the swift and silent abandon of a thief. Not that she would have noticed if I set off half the explosives I found in the bags, she was busy with an experiment again. I found what I was looking for and pulled it out.
 
With a light kick, I rolled Mister Boom alongside Fizzy and went on my way.
 
Again, I found myself alone. I wandered the perimeter of the encampment, looking for things to just look at and hopefully some pony to talk with. Little did I know that some pony was looking for me.
 
“And the kindly stranger comes in the hour of need.”
 
“Sweet fuckmothering Luna!” I nearly leapt out of my skin.
 
A dull, dust colored pony with a voice that actively denied the concept emotion materialized from the air beside me. He looked at me with bagged eyes from beneath the brim of an engineer’s cap. “You will do well of us to keep us out of conflict,” he told me, unsympathetic to the fact my heart was currently residing inside my throat.
 
Once I contained myself enough to speak, I informed him, “Big Buck already said you couldn’t afford a conflict. I already said I’d help.”
 
Bad Road shook his head. “He lied to you. You are just one point in his plan. He fully intends for you to fail. Once you do so, it will justify an assault.”
 
“But he told me -,”
 
“He told you what you needed to hear to build your spirit. We can more than afford an assault.”
 
“So how would I do well to keep you out of conflict?”
 
The dust colored pony sighed. It sounded like the weight of ages. “If we fight, we will win, but many will die. I have felt it as I have felt you. It will come to be. I don’t desire to add to our roadbound brothers. There are enough skulls there as it is.”
 
I thought about the scarecrows on the way in. “So those aren’t to scare ponies away?”
 
“Unintended side effect,” Bad Road said with a shake of his head. “We claim the skulls of our fallen and place them so that they may always watch out for us on the road ahead. Reverence, not psychological warfare.”
 
“I see,” I said with a quiet, thoughtful hum. “Still, I wonder how you knew I was coming. The radio, sure, but what’s all that about kindly strangers?”
 
Never again do I want to see a pony that seems to have only a vague awareness of emotions affect a smile. “The back of my right ear burned when I woke this morning. It was a sign,” he gave me an answer that answered nothing.
 
“Okay, okay. So I’m some prophesied savior? Now you’re just laying it on thick.”
 
“I had seen that I will fall on the battlefield by my son’s hoof and I have predicted my morning oatmeal was going to burn. Do not consider yourself special.” Bad Road showed a flash of anger in his words, a sense of fire and urgency that was quickly subsumed and hidden underneath the crust of a beaten lifetime. “If you do anything, do the opposite. The survival of this world hinges on the ascent of the humble.”
 
I sat back, eyes wide, just letting the air cool in the aftermath of the outburst. “I’m sorry,” I told the older pony. “Listen, I can tell you’re a little keener than the rest. I doesn’t take a genius to guess that you have a back up plan. Can you just be honest with me here?”
 
Bad Road nodded, strands of white mane fell in front of his eyes, obscuring them more than the brim of his cap as he looked into the ground. “While you speak with the settlers to the north, I will send a team into position. If you cannot get the mechanical doctor through words, we will take it without bloodshed. Should you both fail, then we will fight. We will win, but we will not all return.”
 
There was truth in his voice. A quiet and dead desperation. Whether or not he could predict events didn’t matter. I was part of a plan, either the buffer zone or lip service to peace before a war.
 
“Okay,” I told Bad Road, “I’m all wrapped up in this, and I’m apparently joining your tribe come tomorrow morning, but I hope this is worth it.”
 
The stallion was suddenly nose to nose with me. “There will come a day when being a Bastard will be what saves all of us,” he intoned with a dread finality, turning tail and walking away.
 
“It better.” I couldn’t work up a response any stronger.
 
“One more thing,” Bad Road said before he disappeared into the tent town, “The road of night is long, and you never know where you will sleep.”
 
Then the cryptic bastard was gone. Just like that. I still disliked well-spoken raiders.
 
Frustrated now at my lack of companionship but wide-awake thanks to the brief jumpstart my heart had at the hooves of Bad Road, I wandered about the camp. The fire still burned and the party was going well past drunk and into that state of mind from whence legends come. Yet I wasn’t a part of it. I was distant, the outsider, and now it was beginning to lose its charm.

I found my solace in Summer Bounty.
 
Summer’s cart was by the perimeter ring. I found her using a nearby train car for shelter. She was curled up on a sleeping roll, covered with a blanket. I almost left, turning away but I stopped when she made a sound, a quiet cough and laugh.
 
“So you’re awake?” I asked, speaking in a whisper though I doubted any others were close enough to hear us.
 
“Will that disappoint you?” she countered. She looked back at me with half-lidded eyes and a sneak thief’s grin. “Did you want to spy on sleeping mares?”
 
“Not particularly,” I answered, turning around and leaning on the rust dusted wall. “I find them more fun when they’re awake.”
 
Summer Bounty rolled to sit up. Her horn wreathed in orange, a pair of mugs and a bottle floated in from behind me. “Since we’re both terribly awake, share a drink?”
 
I laughed and moved into the train car, joining Summer on the sleeping roll. “I don’t think I’m sharing much here,” I said, taking the mug. They were much easier to hold than bottles.
 
“Oh, I think we both know what you’ll be giving me in payment for the drink.”
 
I looked out at the cloudy night sky, an inky black void that if you looked hard enough you could miss the clouds completely. “You mean getting you out of your deal with the Bastards so you and Cutter can go free?”
 
Summer shifted gear from flirtatious to intrigued. “Really now?” she questioned taking a long drink to give her time to think. “Too bad I know you, Curtain Call. What’s your gain out of it?”
 
She caught me. I tried an innocent chuckle but it turns out it’s hard to do those. “I’m hoping when you get done here you and Cutter can come along with us. Manehattan’s not safe anymore and I’ve got some insight into something that could be big.”
 
A nod from Summer. “Good. But it’s a little late to discuss business, don’t you think? There are a number of other things I’d like to discuss. After all, it’s been a long time since we had a night together.”
 
I clinked my mug against hers. “We got a lot to say; shame we’ll be too busy for small talk.”
 
Bad Road said I wouldn’t know where I slept. But I damn well knew who I’d be sleeping with.
 
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