• Published 31st May 2019
  • 4,185 Views, 148 Comments

The Teacher - Flyingboat Boy



Houston has gone by many titles. The Star Player. The Courier. But to the ponies of Equestria he goes by a different name. The Teacher.

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Flight

"Engine One? Check. Engine two? Check. Hydraulics? Check. Pressurized Cabin? Check" Houston ticked off the boxes as his eyes skimmed the instructions on his clipboard and compared them to the flight apparatuses on his dashboard.

"Prototype Big MT Transportalponder?" his eyes trailed down to the bulky square object installed underneath. A bright blue handle stuck out of it, requiring him to pull it when he reached the appropriate altitude and cruising speed. "Yep. Installed and ready"

Throwing his stupid checklist over his shoulder, Houston reached over and retrieved his headset. "This is Vegas Flight 001. All pre-flight checks reporting in green. Permission to take off on runway one?"

"Affirmative Vegas 001. Standby" replied the static voice. Despite the sputters in the radio system, Houston can still make out the voice of Jack, the Boomer he helped find a wife two years back.

He helped the Boomers with quite a lot of things now that he thought about it. Looking out the window of his cockpit, he noticed many Boomers clearing the runway as they performed the last inspections on his aircraft. Four pre-war jet fighters scavenged from the Searchlight Airport were parked to the left of his plane, their pilots lounging on the wings and watching his plane amicably as the grounds teams repaired their engines. Off in the distance, Houston saw a small jet plane scavenged from Jean's Sky Diving land on runway two.

The year is 2283, two years following the 2nd Battle of Hoover Dam, which resulted in the Free Economic Zone of New Vegas being established under Mr. House. Caesar's Legion had been shattered and broken, forced to retreat back to Arizona after being beaten back by a combined force of the NCR and the V.I.A ( Vegas Independence Army). The NCR had also been pushed out of New Vegas, forced to accept Mr. House as the undisputed ruler of New Vegas.

They, of course, complained and grumbled on their way out, threatening Vegas with military strength and trade embargos. However, their military was so crippled by the war with the Legion and corrupt politicians that their threats were as empty as their banks.

Houston inquired with House his fears, that the NCR will return one day to annex Vegas once more. House's response left him with just as many questions as he started with.

"Oh, they will be back" replied House as he and Houston stood on the edge of a cliff facing the burning Hoover Dam, "Vegas is too much of a prize for them to just let go. No matter how much their 'democracy' swings against it, the greed of their politicians will force them to forever chase the 'Shining Jewel of the Mojave'. By my calculations, the tourist will return in one year, their military in five. But I have full confidence in my odds. They cannot be stacked against me, for I have my Securitrons...and you"

"Come Courier" continued House as he beckoned the still thinking Houston towards the shining city in the distance, "Vegas awaits its hero. Besides...don't you have better things to be doing?"

And better things he did do. In the two years following the battle, he's done many things. Opening the Lucky 38 for business, restoring Freeside with the help of the Kings and the Followers, forming a military alliance with the Great Khans up in Wyoming, reactivating HELIOS ONE, and most importantly securing an airforce for the V.I.A.

Under the contract, the Boomers agreed to act as a paramilitary contractor for the V.I.A. In return for securing Vegas airspace and blowing up whoever House points his finger at, the Boomers are gifted all scavenged aircraft found in the Mojave, given full independence, and a massive supply of ordnance to sustain their trigger happy nature.

Many Boomers were skeptical of the deal at first, but many grew to embrace it as part of their identity. They felt proud to carry the honor as the V.I.A's 'only' airforce. Currently, their force consists of two Vertibirds, six Fighter Jets, two Jet Planes, and five Transport Planes. Two had been refurbished as transports, another two as medium bombers. The last one was sold to Houston.

"Vegas 001, this is Boomer Air Traffic Control. You are clear to proceed on runway 1"

"Affirmative Air Traffic Control. Tell Janet I said hi" the voice chuckled at the other end.

"Copy that Houston"

Easing the throttle forwards, the transport plane slowly picked up speed as Houston used the yoke to correctly line the plane with the runway. He then flicked a few switches to keep the engines running as he looked over to the clock.

"Time now is 2000. This is Vegas Flight 001 taking off"

"Copy that Vegas 001. Goodnight and safe travels"

Houston pushed the throttle the rest of the way, getting thrown back in his seat as the plane quickly gained speed. The old plane groaned and buckled underneath the strain from its new engines, yet it held firm as the plane reached near the end of the runway and gained the appropriate speeds. Houston then pulled back the yoke and let the plane lift itself off the ground.

"Damn, this feels amazing" he had tried flying before on the Boomer's reality simulators, but even then those machines couldn't fully create the experience of flying. He felt his stomach drop as the plane reached more and more heights into the Mojave skies.

The plane eventually reached an altitude of 2,000 feet to which Houston then leveled it to gain one more glimpse of his home before leaving it for good.

Vegas. New Vegas.

True to its name, the 'Shining Jewel of the Mojave' stood proudly in the middle of the Mojave desert. Neon lights and signs illuminate its darkness as patrons flooded its streets on their way to one of the four casinos. All the while Securitrons, Robo-Scorpions, and Cyberdogs patrolled its streets with a vigilant eye.

Then came Freeside, not as grandeur as the Vegas Strip, but just as beautiful in its own rights. Its streets and buildings repaired, trash cleaned up, and people fed, clothed and housed. Houston still remembered the daunting task of cleaning up Freeside given to him by House. Even with the help of the Securitron Army, the Kings and the Followers backing him up, it had been particularly difficult to clean up Freeside, what with the raiders, junkies and local thugs. Even then their efforts weren't in vain and in time Freeside transformed into the perfect image of pre-war Vegas.

To ensure security and the loyalty of the populace, House took his Securitrons away from the area and left the Kings in charge of security, something they did with both swank and professionalism.

The Followers opted to remain in Mormon Fort, independent from House's influence, but still administering aid and medicine to the people of New Vegas. They declined when offered the chance to restore Old Mormon Fort. Something to do with providing Freesiders a place that they can still recognize despite the rapid changes to Vegas.

That didn't stop them from taking the Mark IX Auto-Docs that Houston offered them in House's name, however.

The boundaries of New Vegas were fast approaching now. The junk fence that once separated Vegas from the outside world was gone now, replaced with a solid concrete wall. After the NCR were forced to retreat, House and the Mojave locals moved into Quarry Junction and Boulder City. Using the limestone from the mines and the processing equipment from the city, House was able to commission the construction of a massive concrete wall all around New Vegas, ensuring its security and turning it into a veritable fortress.

"Goodbye Vegas" muttered Houston as his plane finally left the boundaries of Vegas airspace. He swears to god he saw Rex and Mean Sonofabitch waving at his plane as it left the glittering city of light behind him.

After flying for five more minutes, Houston spied the cliffsides of Black Mountain getting dangerously close. To avoid colliding with the side of the mountain, he pulled his yoke back steadily to allow the plane to climb at a rapid rate speed without too much loss in speed.

3,000 feet.

5,000 feet.

7,000 feet.

9,000 feet.

Houston leveled his plane as it broke through the clouds and reached the 9,000 feet mark. Flipping the necessary switches to activate the aircraft's custom-built autopilot, Houston pushed his chair back to have a better look at the device Klein gave him.

The installed Transportalponder was really just a bigger and bulkier version of the one Houston uses to get to and back from the Big Empty. After returning to the Big MT, Houston found a new responsibility as the facility's head inspector. His job was to review each of the Think Tank's projects and determine whether or not to release them into the Mojave. Several ones have already been approved such as the Auto-Docs and Cyberhounds, while others like the Y-17 trauma harnesses immediately disapproved.

Which leads to Klein's recent device.

To be fair, the concept of long ranged teleportation wasn't too far-fetched. In one of Klein's usual rants to escape the Big Empty, he had constructed a bigger and more powerful version of the standard Transportalponder. After Houston's return to Big MT, Klein had approached him and asked him to test out his latest device.

Theoretically, it was capable of teleporting Houston as far as Kansas, before taking twenty-four hours to cool down and use again. Once Houston proposed his intentions to Mr. House, he was surprised to see the old world businessman eager for him to test the device.

He had even funded the massive ammunition payment to the Boomers in order to buy the transport plane for Houston.

The reason for the plane, however, lies in the flaws of the machine.

The device had an effective radius of 1 mile, incinerating everything within it to ash. Another flaw was that the machine needed to be 'stimulated' with a large, and continuous discharge of energy. In summary, Houston needed to link the device up to a fast-moving device in an area away from population in order to get the machine working right.

Buying the plane wasn't the problem. It was learning how to fly it. So another truckload of ammunition later, four months of flight school, and Houston was ready to begin his journey.

"Let's see...altitude...9,000 feet" Houston compared the instruments on the dashboard to the instructions Klein printed out for him, "Yep that's optimal alright. Speed...188 miles per hour. Yep, that should be all good"

Just as Houston was about to reach down and pull the blue lever, a small beeping echoed within his cockpit.

"What is it now?" he groaned as he looked up and out of his cockpit window. What he saw genuinely made him feel like throwing up.

It was a mass of clouds, towering over his plane and making look like a tiny dot within the larger landscape. Unlike the clouds he'd seen over the Mojave, these clouds were a toxic green in color, moved in a way that was completely unnatural for puffs of evaporated water controlled by the wind, and completely blocked the sun's rays, making the entire sky a sickly green.

That's not even counting the lightning and thunder.

Houston heard many sounds in his life. The screams as Vault 18's reactors went up, the snarls of Deathclaws and Lobotomites, the creepy moanings of the Ghost People, and the cries of soldiers from Legion and NCR as the Hoover Dam crumbled into a flaming wreck of its former self. But all of them failed to shake his bones as the sounds of the thunder had.

It was loud and thunderous, echoing all over the night sky and in loud increments, similar to someone beating a war drum. In addition to this, there was an ungodly moan in its tune, like the heavens themselves were crying out in pain from the radiation every time the lightning struck.

"OH HELL!!" Houston quickly turned his plane hard left in order to avoid a collision with a lightning bolt. One thing was for sure, he had to quickly fire up the machine and get the HELL out of here.

Making sure that his plane was once again leveled, Houston once again reached down to pull the switch. But luck proved not on his side as at that precise moment, a lightning bolt struck his plane right on the wing, causing engine two to burst into flames.

This sudden jolt of electricity caused the machine in front of his face to burst into wild sparks. Shielding his eyes to avoid them getting scorched by the wildly flying blue sparks, Houston reached down into the slowly burning box, ignoring the burns they caused on his hands, and pulled the blue lever with all his strength.

As he felt the all too familiar sensation of being teleported, his head suddenly slammed forwards into the controls of his plane as turbulence rocked the aging machine, knocking him out instantly.

The last thing he saw before going under was the faint outline of blue light as the Transportalponder got to work.


At first, Houston thought he was dreaming. After all, since when was there the sounds of chirping birds in the Wasteland to begin with? However, this brief moment of consideration made him realize something bigger.

HE WAS ALIVE!!

And in a shitload of pain!

Houston swore as he shot himself off his chair, his vision obscured by the amount of dried blood that coated his face and his eyes. Stumbling wildly, he fumbled around in the air until he could feel the comforting feeling of the first aid kit attached near the exit of the cockpit. Ripping it open, and hissing in pain at his burnt fingers, Houston felt around until he could feel the shape of a bottle of purified water.

Using some of it, he poured it over his eyes, rubbing the dried blood away with his undamaged hand. Now that his vision was restored, he drank the rest of the bottle and proceeded to fix his other wounds, mainly the burnt fingers on his right hand and the split on his forehead.

After using up the last of the bandages to patch his head and hands, as well as a few syringes of Med-X, Houston took the moment to hold himself up and survey the damage.

The window of his cockpit was completely totaled, no doubt about that. Thankfully the controls were still in one piece, though the concern at the moment wasn't the controls but rather the melted machine that was installed underneath his seat.

Houston's heart sank as he realized the predicament he was in. It was most evident that the plane was damaged as it crash landed. While controls were fine, Houston was more concerned with the damages sustained on engine two and the prototype Transportalponder. Repairs for planes were extremely rare to find in the Wasteland, with most merchants most likely to shoot him for the treasure trove he was carrying. And he might as well kiss the Transportalponder goodbye, no chance of finding a replacement in the Wasteland, that was for sure.

"Let's just see what the damage is," said Houston as he unlocked the door to the rest of the plane. Luckily for him, the cargo in his plane remained relatively unscathed, as well as his robot companions who were still dormant in their storage pods.

"I'll activate you guys later" promised Houston as he tapped the pod containing ED-E, B-6-RK, and A L P H A. Pulling his modified plasma pistol out of his holster and readjusting it on his undamaged left hand, Houston walked over to the exit of the place, opening it cautiously in case of a raider attack.

To his genuine surprise, however, what he saw took his breath away. His wrecked plane was currently sitting in the middle of a beautiful meadow, surrounded by green grass, an array of colored flowers, and towering pine trees. Off in the distance, he could hear the sounds of woodland creatures, all completely foreign to him as they chattered amongst themselves. Clear blue skies and puffy white clouds were above him, all against a glowing sun that looked nowhere as harsh as the one in the Mojave desert.

He had no idea if this was a hallucination, or he had simply died and gone to heaven. However, what he could say as he holstered his gun was this.

"Damn...Kansas sure is beautiful"

Author's Note:

When I read MLP X Fallout stories, they mostly all have the Courier side with the NCR. Personally, I preferred to side with Mr. House, followed by Caesar, the NCR and then Yes man. So, therefore, the Courier in this story ended up siding with MR. House.