In the previously star-studded streets of Applewood, the once entertainment capital of Equestria, the lives of a scribe, a farmer, three spies, an inventor, a store clerk, a broken-hearted warrior and a bodyguard cross paths in a tale of deceit and corruption.
Can friendship survive a power struggle?
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The Time Dilation Paradox: The effects of Party-Time Mint-als on mRNA
“No.”
Project #2187: The implementation of robotic assistance in situations of information extraction and retrieval
“What? This doesn't even...”
Budget of the Royal Equestrian Government: contains the Budget Message of Princess Luna, expense reports of the last fiscal year arranged by agency with analyses, projected expenditures and appropriations.
“Aha, the first thread. Thank you, Equestrian accountants, for being so damned meticulous. I'm sure I won't find anything at all out of the ordinary in the financial depths of the Lunar government.”
Shortly after the incident earlier in the day, High Scribe Marrow holed himself up in his quarters, dredging up old files long-irrelevant to anypony, his terminal screen covering everything in his room in a sickly, green phosphorescence, like some unholy, necromantic ritual. Never before had he been this interested in long-lost accounts of inconclusive, Ministry of Arcane Science experiments nor financial reports of a failed nation. But what happened earlier that day was no ordinary occurrence. Now, if he could only focus long enough to read through the massive wall of text that laid before him...
As he started his journey through the intricate labyrinth of accounting tricks and deceits of forgotten ghosts, his mind began to wander off on a side road. This was the path to his most cherished memories. He suddenly recalled the first time he had acquired arcane technology for the order. An entire stockroom of industrial Toshzebra capacitors, several boxes of assorted vacuum tubes and an honest-to-goddesses Pipbuck 1,000 model. Marrow knew this was not the most incredible of finds, but with these materials not only was he was able to keep power running to the chapter's bunker, repair and craft several new radios and public address systems, he also got himself a fun, new toy in the process. In one, carefully-timed maneuver he solidified his importance to his Steel Ranger chapter. And it only cost him the full use of two of his legs.
No matter, he thought, as he rubbed the fused joint on his left foreleg. Civilian life suits me better. And he was right. Rising through the ranks to become the youngest High Scribe in his chapter's history was no small feat, but Marrow was a pony of persistence. Though he was under the order of the Quill, Marrow had repaired weapons, fashioned new ones, increased the bunker's defenses and even had the audacity to spar with then Senior Knight Pozole and win.
“Yes,” Marrow chuckled to himself, savoring the memories of his past triumphs. “Far better...Shhhhhhhit!” He realized he was on his fifth reading of the same, riveting financial spreadsheet. “Focus, Marrow, focus!”
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGH!
The sound of the door buzzer shocked him out of his feel-good procrastination. “What were the old Elders thinking when they tied that system into the alarm,”he moaned to himself, rubbing his temples with his hooves. “Efficiency should have its limits.” Marrow pressed the intercom button he had rigged to his desk, “Enter!”
In walked a powerful, beige stallion with a blue, anodized, titanium locket swinging about his neck. Though slightly smaller than Marrow, he appeared older and had a heavenly presence about him that battled the darkness abiding in Marrow's foul lair.
Marrow quickly broke the silence before it even started, “Paladin Trueheart, so nice to see your lovely face this fine day,” he lied, groaning as he stretched out in his chair, rubbing his face with his fore-hooves. “What compels you to brave my 'den of evil'?”
Always the gentlepony, Trueheart tried valiantly to hide his disgust at the High Scribe's offensive demeanor, “High Scribe Marrow, it's great to see you in such fine spirits...”
“Horseapples! Why the Hell are you in here, bothering me, Trueheart? You must realize how much research I have in front of me!”
Ever the stoic sentinel, Trueheart waited until Marrow's barrage was finished before he responded. “I was appointed by Head Paladin Pozole to lead a team to requisition the asset needed to retrieve the information you requested.”
Marrow did not like the idea of Trueheart being in charge of his pet project, but was so relieved his plan had been approved at all that he didn't show any resentment. “Excellent,” he said, gathering up a stack of papers, sliding them into a manila folder, and handing it in turn to Trueheart. “Here's everything you'll need to brief your troops on the mission. Contact me once you reach the next stage of plan.”
“Of course,” Trueheart said. “I'm sure we'll find a way to get that vertibuck back up in the air.”
With a slight nod, Trueheart departed and left Marrow to his information scavenging. The high scribe allowed himself a deep sigh and returned to his work.
Table 5.1—Expenditures by Agency and Function
---
In millions of bits
---
National Defense............. 82,975
Health & Pony Resources...... 340
Education & Employment. 87
Health................. 347
Veterans Benefits...... -211
Waste Management....... 117
“Now, wait,” Marrow muttered to himself when he reached the last line. “This can't be right.” Switching over to his second terminal, he put in a search for the waste management budget for the five years leading up to the final year.
Waste management....... 1.5
Waste management....... 1.3
Waste management....... 2.4
Waste management....... 5.2
Waste management....... 60.7
Waste management....... 117.3
“What the hell were they working on that would need one-hundred and seventeen million bits allocated to manage waste,” Marrow asked his flickering companion. The terminal just sat there with its hidden knowledge buried even deeper in discarded government files. “Alright,” Marrow wheezed as he sat up straight and cracked his neck. “Let's see who these waste management contractors are.” It couldn't be this simple, he thought. It couldn't just be a straight line leading directly to fortune and glory. There has to be some trick.
Marrow dug a little deeper and searched for the companies contracted out for this massive, waste management project:
Search results: 3,965 entries
Oh, well, there you go, Marrow thought as he found himself reaching around his middle for his chain of beads, each bead bearing a sigil of past triumphs. The chain was long. His hooves fumbled with the chain until they came to settle on one particularly fond memory.
It was four years ago. Marrow had been...
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGH!
After several seconds of obscenities and a long sigh to himself, Marrow pressed his intercom button and answered the door. “Enter!”
The door opened and a young stallion in an ill-fitting, hand-me-down scribe's habit appeared, waiting on the other side. The colt hesitated for a brief moment, perhaps wondering if he was going to be able to walk back out of the room with his body intact. Thankfully, before too long his training took over, and with much feigned confidence the frail scribe strode into Marrow's cramped quarters, slightly tripping over the threshold as he did. He composed himself when he reached the middle of the room and stood as straight and tall as his little body would allow.
“Apprentice Rewire,” said High Scribe Marrow, addressing himself as much as his guest, as if he just received an answer for some trivia game. “Now, I took you on as my assistant because I was told you were highly intelligent.” Marrow knew the chain of command was the chain that binds, but due to his intense desire to help his chapter dominate in the wastes and his past victories, his superior, Head Scribe Breakdown, didn't begrudge him this one luxury of having a secretary. Marrow sat, staring at Rewire's face, awaiting the apprentice's response.
“Sir, what are you...?” Rewire asked, quizzically tipping his head to one side.
“Ahtatatatatata,” Marrow motioned his apprentice to hold his tongue with a waving hoof. He slowly stood up from his massive, stainless steel desk while Rewire tried not to notice the powerful muscles flex under his superior's blood-red habit as Marrow's imposing form slowly moved to the center of the room. Even after having to retire his power armor, Marrow could still inspire fear and obedience in his fellow ranger. Rewire took this as a sign to stand at attention and stare blankly ahead at what he was surely hoping was not his ending fate. “They told me that you were a problem solver,” the High Scribe continued as he began circling the small, sweating statue of his assistant. “That you knew what you were doing...that you could even stop a problem before it starts.” Marrow stopped at this to stare, almost lovingly at his wine glass as he gently caressed it and stirred the dregs. He languidly turned his head to face little Rewire. “Is this true?”
“Uh, y-y-y-yes...s-sir?” Rewire asked like a child seeking approval.
Marrow slowly smiled and nodded, and walked over to stand nose to nose with Rewire. “Then why the FUCK would you leave your duties just to interrupt my research?” he spat, overemphasizing each and every consonant. He took a step back, raised his eyebrows and waited patiently for a response from his now shaking apprentice.
“Sir,” Rewire's voice cracked. He took a deep breath and steeled himself once more, remembering bedtime stories of heroes fighting fearlessly against all manner of vicious beast. Marrow could see the anger and fear sublimate from his tiny form and was ever-so-slightly impressed. Truly, he had chosen the correct candidate for his assistant. Rewire, now purified of terror, let his high tenor voice ring out against the halls, like a true knight of steel, “Proctor, your presence is required in the viewing room. The creature is agitated.”
“And why bother me? Am I the game warden? Would it seem to you that I have a calming effect on those around me?” Marrow made a grand, sweeping gesture to emphasize his sarcasm as he shuffled his way back to his chair. “Get back to the cataloging I sent you to...”
“She's calling you by name, sir,” Rewire blurted, before he could think about interrupting his superior.
Marrow froze. She had been babbling incoherently when they found her. Did she somehow regain her cognizance in the past ten hours? He turned to stare at his assistant. “What?”
“Indeed, sir, she's been calling your name for the past twenty minutes,” Rewire said.
Marrow let slip a look of incredulity with the slightest micro-expression of the satisfaction a large cat experiences when his teeth drain the life from his prey. “And what is Elder Gazpacho's take on this?”
“He's the one who sent me, sir. After Head Scribe Breakdown failed at getting it to do anything but say your name, Elder Gazpacho sent me to fetch you, sir. Your service is required, sir, not requested.”
“Walk with me, Rewire,” Marrow said as he prepped to leave, quickly loading his findings onto his pipbuck. “Let's go craft a victory.” ______________________________________________________________________________
The two ponies made their way swiftly down the hall, Marrow hobbling along next to Rewire's sprightlier trot. Marrow didn't notice this distinction, however, even after the two flights of stairs. No, the mission before him was the sole occupant of his brain. He couldn't help but believe the secret of the creature would unravel and lead the Steel Rangers to the formation of a new form of the Equestrian government and its absolute control. The technology learned from this one incident could even alter the future course of pony evolution.
The pair slowed as they met the gaze of two fully-armored security knights and their automatic weapons.
“High Scribe Marrow, sir,” said what apparently was a mare on the left, with a nod. “Head Scribe Breakdown and Elder Gazpacho are awaiting your arrival in the test chamber. As for you, Apprentice Rewire, you are required to report to Senior Scribe Ohms in his workshop; those new, power armor modifications aren’t going to develop themselves.”
Marrow noted the way Rewire quickly scampered off to play with electronics with Ohms; they both were unsure as to what would occur in the test chamber and that thrilled Marrow and filled him with anticipation as much as it filled little Rewire with dread. The secure hatch unlocked and swung open.
Marrow took a few steps inside, and his heart began to beat faster and faster. His limbs started to feel lighter and his head started spinning slightly, like a foal unable to go to sleep on Hearthswarming eve. It was nice enough to be charged with discovering the origin of this gift, but even better was the fact his present was calling his name. Seeing Head Scribe Breakdown in her bright red habit trimmed in white silk was just icing on the gingerbread house. If only it was snowing, he thought, giving one, snorting laugh through his wry smile.
He trotted up the left stairs of the large octagonal room to find the conspicuously un-jolly Head Scribe awash in the heated, thorium glow of so many vacuum tubes, giving the observation roost and its inhabitants a warm, fireplace-like glimmer. She did not look pleased.
“She's been at this for a half an hour, now; where the hell have you been?” she asked him. Never seen her this out of sorts, Marrow noted. She's definitely not enjoying the idea that the creature is fond of me. Heh, I don't blame her.
“Where do you need me, ma'am?” Marrow asked. He predicted the answer, but he knew his place, especially when confronted with the older members of the order. The chain of command was the chain that binds.
“Down there, on de chamber floor,” croaked a recognizable, smokey voice. Elder Gazpacho slowly stepped out from behind one of the larger computer cabinets, the light from his cigar lending an unearthly radiance to the strong fumes emanating from his mouth and nostrils. The Elder was not exactly a rare sight in the chapter, given his hooves-on approach and family-oriented values, but seeing him like this, a shepherd isolated from the majority of his flock, just staring out with an inscrutable gaze onto the catalyst for a new fate for the Rangers, Marrow couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive. The elder continued addressing Marrow with his gentle, refined, San Palomino accent, “We need you to comfort de poor thing; I think she's frightened.” The elder gestured down towards the middle of the chamber before taking one last puff from his cigar and putting it out in his hooves. “She also e-seems very delusional. She does not remember who she ees or how she came to be out on de dunes by her-e-self.”
“I'll extract as much information as possible, sir.”
“Just make her e-stop e-saying jour name. Perhaps then we'll have something we can work with. And, Marrow.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Be careful. We don' know anything about her. What plague she may carry, how her brain works. Nothing.” Gazpacho directed a look of grave concern Marrow's way.
“Yes, sir.”
With nods from both Gazpacho and Breakdown, Marrow took his leave to walk down the stairs and arrived in front of the test chamber door. He hesitated a moment, feeling the bead of each victory pressing against his body, soothing and preparing himself for what could be a painfully long test to his patience. His ability to be diplomatic, to comprehend the mind of others, was on trial, and though the elder respected Marrow for his tenacity, loyalty and ability to lead, Gazpacho was a family-pony, and was already grooming his son, Head Paladin Pozole, to succeed him. Pozole lacked any social graces, however, and was not beloved by the elder council, leaving Marrow a possible opening.
This was his chance. The entire interaction would be documented and handed over to the elder council for review. He let out one last sigh, and with it all his tension and thoughts of the past and future. There were only two creatures in this tiny island of the present and if he had any desire to explore the oceans of the future and past again, then he must learn to work together with whomever this other being was.
The door unlatched, slid open and Marrow stepped inside.
At first, the reflection of the fluorescent lights off of the stainless steel floor blinded him, but after a few seconds the shine was replaced by a cool, turquoise pallor. From here he could see the forms of Head Scribe Breakdown and Elder Gazpacho far above him in the observation room, silhouetted against the gentle, almost cheery light of the computer equipment. Marrow moved cautiously across the cold steel floor to the center of the room.
There she was. Magnificent.
The alicorn was strapped to two large, stainless steel operating tables. They cleaned her up, Marrow noticed, as his eyes traced the curves of her oil-slick colored body. Wonderful. As he examined her, he drew upon his comprehension of the princesses of the past and how they were portrayed in art and photographs. Here was a creature very similar in shape, size and beauty, but she did not exude the same unearthly atmosphere as her historical doppelgangers. She was a completely real and living alicorn, but Marrow couldn't help but feel somewhat let down by her apparent lack of a radiant presence.
He was pleased they set her up with an IV, as she was looking unnaturally thin. Her chest and head were covered in all manner of electrodes running to an EKG and an EEG machine, respectively. Oh, what the Enclave would do to see these test results, he mused.
He made his way to her vacuous, but otherwise lovely face. Her eyes had no color or focus, but her mouth was moving with abandon.
He studied her a moment longer and whispered, “Hey. I'm here.”
“...arrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrow,” she stopped suddenly and was breathlessly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Then, without warning her face screwed up in terror and Marrow thought she was going to scream. The alicorn, instead, took a very loud and deep breath in, exhaled, relaxed, and returned to a normal breathing pattern. Marrow looked up to try to spot a reaction on his superiors. There was movement in the observation room, but he couldn't decipher its meaning.
“Are you off this Saturday?” the creature asked him in a voice far too low and gruff to be coming out of her body.
Marrow had to raise an eyebrow at that one. “Pardon?”
“Because, if you're off this Saturday we can go to the pool hall and shooooooohas shown no signs of change since the introduction of the chemical,” she said, changing to a young mare's voice in the middle of the...sentence? Marrow's heart started pumping faster with the adrenaline of the situation. Clearly this situation had many, completely, unknown variables and that thrilled him beyond his wildest dreams. “Magical theory dictates some metamorphosis should have occurred at least three hours after exposure. Huh. I dunno. Maybe it's tthhhhhhhhh's havin' a baby, c'n you believe it? I know, she's barely got a cutie mark herself, what's she doin' with a baby already?”
“Hello?” Marrow asked in a fairly strong tone. “Hello, can you hear me?”
“Of course ah c'n hear you dahlin',” she exclaimed, switching to another stallion's voice. “'N how's mah little baby boy? You feed'n him only once a day, right? And tak'n him fuh walks at night?”
Marrow produced a flashlight and pointed it directly in the alicorn's eyes, but there were no pupils to check. There weren't even any capillaries. Just pure white with an unusual, black clouding of the outside edges of the eyes. That is, until the clouds quickly gathered together in the center of the eyes to make a set of perfect pupils, staring right at him.
The tempo of the EKG machine's beeping increased rapidly. Marrow flinched, dropped the flashlight and stared back into those highly intelligent eyes with a combined look of surprise, relief and concern. This until-recently catatonic creature who was previously looking through him, was now looking through into him. It was unsettling. “He-hello?” he asked. “Can you hear me?” There was no response. “Can you understand what I'm saying? Is someone in there?”
“I know you,” she said to him, in an unfathomably deep voice of what sounded like the multitude of souls bellowing from beyond the gates of Tartarus. The beeping kept a quick and steady tempo. “I've never seen your face nor heard you speak, but I know who you are. You will know me. You will know.”
Marrow just stood there with his mouth agape as he watched her fall back into her catatonic state. The color in her eyes dissipated once more as the tempo of the EKG machine fell to an extremely slow rhythm. Marrow watched in a confusing combination of wonder and horror as her side rose and fell, until he was interrupted by an old and gnarled voice over the PA in the room.
“High Scribe Marrow!”
Marrow turned his head slowly away from his frightening treasure, his eyes lingering for as long as his neck allowed. He spotted the Head Scribe's frowning, haggard face pressed close to the glass of the observation post, illuminated by a desk lamp. A microphone was close to her lips.
He took a few breaths, but soon Marrow worked up the awareness to respond. “I'm fine,” he shouted back as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the alicorn again. He looked back on her ailing body and felt like he had been pulled into a torrential river on its way to termination in the ocean. No doubt I'm going to be the popular one, now, he thought.
“Good. Follow de-contamination protocols and meet Elder Gazpacho and me in his ready room in fifteen,” Breakdown said, right on cue.
“Yes, ma'am.” He watched them as they exited the observation room, then turned his gaze back to the alicorn, and slowly let out a deep breath. Well, he thought to himself as he studied her curvature more intently. It seems I'm not getting any sleep tonight.
This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link: Equestria Daily
Who put up this wallpaper? Plough thought, studying the intricate, beige and mud colored, damask patterns which adorned the walls in his room. Perhaps the colors were a much more vibrant monochrome in the past, but time had etched its likeness upon the walls, leaving only hints as to what things truly were. More importantly, he continued his internal lecture to himself, what were they thinking as they did? What made them come to the conclusion that this wallpaper would be the best for this room? What happened to them?
The early morning aroma of his mother's polenta easily tore him from his bed of piecemeal fabric on bare springs. He carefully made his bed look as neat as was possible for the materials used in its craft, and started walking towards the door, stopping for a moment to admire his book and periodical collection. Plough had always been interested in pony psychology and had the book collection to prove it. Herd Psychology: A Behavioral Analysis by Dr. Merciful Hooves, an incredibly used and abused copy of Awaken the Dragon Within by the minotaur Iron Will, a cherished, translated, half-copy of Zebra Infiltration Tactics which was poorly attached to a large pile of crumpled notes, and a pristine copy of Motivational Secrets of Da Magicks by Photo Finish and apparently a host of ghost writers and translators.
Pushing Awaken the Dragon Within into the makeshift bookshelf to be flush with the other books, he opened his room's door and charged downstairs. The house the Maize family had come to call “home” had held up quite well over the years, and the stairs Plough abused at meal times only creaked and groaned moderately, lending a much-needed soundtrack to the normally dense silence of the house. The crude, but newly fashioned windows let in the cracked and irradiated light of the wasteland, giving everything it touched the appearance of an old book, its parchment scribbled with stories that were slowly bleaching away by the light over decades. To Plough, this yellowish light just reminded him of the breakfast that was sure to be waiting for him in the kitchen.
He stopped in the door frame to the kitchen to sniff the sweet, earthy scent. He saw his mother scooping up large helpings of the golden porridge with a steel spoon and letting them fall, in steamy chunks, into three bowls she had set out. “Good morning, mom,” he said with a smile.
He stood there as Kandy gave a look of surprise, spat the large spoon into the sink and walked over to give her colt a little nuzzle and kiss on the cheek. “And how's my favorite child doing today?” she asked as she looked back, lovingly at Plough's face.
Plough noticed a little crack in his mother's cheery facade through a slight, unintentional eye-twitch she gave. Dad must've had a bad night, he thought. I wonder what she'll do when he finally goes. His father, Shucks, had been nearing death's door for months, now. The cancerous blight afflicting everypony in the town was working its might on the old stallion and he surely wasn't getting any better. Plough's mother, Kandy, a trained nurse, was keeping him alive through no small feat, using every manner of medical gadget she could obtain, and some other, extremely rare and dangerous materials. In this case, the poison was also the remedy. The balefire radiation that surely caused his suffering was also destroying the disease that was killing him. The whole ordeal was exacting a massive toll not only from Shucks' body but also from his mother, Plough knew. “I'm doing wonderfully, mom. Thanks,” he said gently, placating her.
“That's fabulous, honey!” she said walking back to the table where she set the bowls and pointed at one. “Here, take this to your father. He's having trouble getting up and down the stairs right now, so we'll have to help him out a little. I'm sure he'll be fine in a few days.” She gave him another big smile and went back to her work, ignoring her own meal, slowly cooling off on the table.
It's been months, mom, Plough thought as he let out a little sigh. He shook his head, nabbed his father's breakfast and headed down, toward the basement. I only wish you were really here so we could meet this together.
As he carefully descended the concrete steps to the basement, he heard his father give a few, juicy coughs followed by particularly nasty hacking that was complex enough to be its own foreign language. It was a language Shucks had become all too fluent in over the past six months. Plough reached the basement floor and walked past the beeping machines his mother repaired and used to help keep her husband alive. The light above them was laboriously buzzing out an inadequate, bluish light, adding a low drone to the soft symphony of noise, which seemed to strain to be something more appealing, but failed, miserably.
Plough gently put the bowl of warm cornmeal on the tray next to his reclining father, whereupon the old stallion looked from the yellowish mush in the white bowl to his son and asked, “' The Hell is thee-us?”
“It's your breakfast, sir. Polenta. Mom made it for...”
“Don't gimme no lip, bow-ay, I know whut it ee-uz!” Shucks gave another deep cough and was rewarded with a nice chunk of phlegm that he quickly spat at Plough's hooves. “Yer goin' to th' store t'day. We need some * COUGH * s'mmore 'o them applecakes 'n whutever else you c'n * mmm, mmm, hmmm * you c'n find.” He motioned his hoof to point at nothing in particular. “After yer done plowin' fer t'day, pack up th' wagon with some o' them books o' yers 'n head out t' see if'n yuh cane't get sum'm good fer 'em; ah'm tired o' thee-us crap!” he said glancing at the bowl of now cool mush.
“Right, sir,” Plough said, giving no emotion, positive or negative to his father, not wanting to allow him any ammunition; his father's stockpile was already full enough, and if Shucks ever ran out, he was sure to craft some more. Plough turned from the sore-laden, living corpse he once called “dad” to head up stairs.
“Colt! Ah'm not finished with yew!”
Plough turned his head, careful to not show his crestfallen attitude nor his loathing of the old, cancer-stricken pony before him. “Yes, sir?”
“You don't tell NO-body 'bout err-thang yer mom does fer me!” he said in what was neither a whisper nor a yell. “Nuthin' 'bout these machines, nuthin' 'bout th' batteries...nuthin'. 'S bad enough we got yer mom waggin' her damn jaw tuh err-body 'bout my illness 'n whatnot. Yew got that, colt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mmm,” his father grunted as he gave a terse nod and waved his hoof as he started going for his food. “Now, go on.”
Plough didn't need to be told twice. He somewhat stiffly turned around and walked up the stairs, back to the kitchen. After eating his room-temperature, though deliciously agave-sweetened breakfast, and giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, he opened the back door.
He was met with a gust of oven-like air. It was hot. Real hot. His body resisted going out the door to the furnace outside, making him simultaneously scrunch up his eyes and sweat. This has to be why they called this place Balk, he thought. It's too damn hot to want to do anything.
He squinted through the powerful, yellow light which reigned during the day. After his eyes became accustomed to the vast, yellowed expanse, he trotted out to the dilapidated, old barn, which had been “fixed” with so many pieces of carriages, fences, tin roofing and other such garbage. If Plough noticed the barn's ramshackle nature, he didn't show it, as he lifted its locking bar and threw open its doors to reveal his entire life up to this point.
A plow. His plow. Complete with retractable wheels. Plough maneuvered his head through the heavy, rubber tire he used as a yoke and felt its weight bear down onto the callous which had formed around his neck after years of its use. He may have missed the nice ring of chestnut coat and dark, brown mane now gone from his body, but at least he no longer felt the sting of its chafe. Only its weight.
Without much effort he released the brake, bore his immense mass against the yoke and coerced the monstrosity out of the barn and into the field that was to be left fallow for the next season. He had already strewn most of the field with as much manure as he could gather from the town. It wasn't the most pleasant job, but it at least gave him a reason to meet with the people in the town and develop the ability to relate to others, making him a master at telling jokes and stories. Around others Plough felt at home. Around others he felt powerful, in control and able to make bold decisions. Plowing his father's manure covered field wasn't exactly the most personally enriching activity. I am a piece of shit, he thought. A piece of shit plowing an island made of shit, floating in an ocean of piss and my son will use my bones to fertilize his fields. Plough didn't much appreciate his brain for that metaphor.
“I just need a reason,” he muttered to the dirt and feces littered around in the field. “A reason good enough to leave this hole.” He turned the corner to face the town's center. A large, brick structure with white, stone archways supported by similarly white columns dominated the small town. The old train station, like much of the town, was fairly well preserved since before the balefire blasts that ended the war. Unlike the rest of the town, it was constantly being groomed as if being prepped for a beauty pageant. He eyed its gleaming heights cooly, then looked at his own, chewed-up, ragged coat. The contrast was not lost on Plough, who had been consumed by the idea that the mayor had been hiding a cure for the blight wreaking suffering on the poor citizens of Balk, just as his coat was being consumed by the sickness, producing sores and other such maladies on his nonetheless powerful body. “Maybe I'll take that fucker down with me.”
Plough was brought back to the present through the acrid smell of something burning and a muffled, sizzling sound. He looked at his forelegs and noticed that he had inadvertently opened one of his scabs, which was dripping his caustic blood upon the ground, leaving a trail of smoke and ash. “Aw, crap,” he groaned as he finished his work. He hurriedly stowed the plow and yoke in the barn, drips of his blood eating small holes in the cement foundation. After he closed and locked the barn he called his mother outside to help him with his wound.
“Mom, another one opened up!”
“I'll be right there, sweetie!”
He stood there watching his life force burn off portions of his tan coat making small ravines of naked skin. Everypony Plough knew had their own mutation. Normally these abnormalities were expressed in less pronounced ways, such as Digger's cloven hooves, Drainpipe's donkey-like tail, or even Cheese Curd's outrageous second pair of ears. Plough's mutation, on the other hand, was different; it proved it could could be quite dangerous. The first time he noticed the mutation he had fallen and scraped his knee on one of the large boulders in the outcroppings on the outskirts of their farm. Plough knew better than to cry to his father. He had to prove himself a big pony and held back the tears of pain. Not that he needed reinforcement. The sight of his blood burning through the rock horrified him into a sense of awe. His shock was only magnified when his father attempted to bandage the scrape and burned off nearly half of his hoof. Yes, everyone had their own mutation, except for the caravaners, the mayor and his family and, as Plough often noted, some especially comely fillies.
His mother came dashing out of the house, a bucket, plastic wrap and a smooth piece of glass in her mouth. When she was close, she spat them out onto the ground.
“Mama's here, baby,” she said to him with her most concerned look. “Take the piece of glass, baby, I'll wrap you up.”
After his mother poured the contents of the bucket over his leg, Plough scooped up the worn bottom of a Sparkle~Cola bottle and gently placed it on his wound, taking care not to get any blood on his hooves. He then helped her wrap the glass piece onto his leg with the plastic wrap. I swear, he thought. Where would I be without this stuff?
“Are you going to be okay?” his mother started. “Do you need to sit down? You don't need to go into town right now. We'll sit you down by the radio. Maybe the Adventures of General Mare is on, I know how much you love that show!”
“I'll be fine, mom,” he smiled, chuckling. “We need some food and...other...supplies.” He gave her a pained grin.
“Are you sure? I don't want you falling down half way and skidding your knees or something. What if somepony...”
“I...I'll be fine, mom. And so will you. If anything at all happens, remember I'll be within walking distance. Just right down by the store, okay?”
His mother gave a little sigh and smiled at him. “Well, then, hurry back, now. Don't stay out too late. And make sure to say 'hello' to that Chaff girl! I like her!” she emphasized every syllable with a little jab to Plough's ribs.Maybe you two could spend a little time together this week. You know, I heard there was this great party over at...”
“I'll talk to her, mom, I promise,” he swore.He gave his mother a little nuzzle and trotted up to his room. He gave a glance to his cherished library of old books. “Don't worry boys,” he mentioned to them. “You're safe.” Passing them up to look under his bed, he pulled out a canvas bag he had filled with bottle caps, the undisputed currency of the wasteland. He smirked at his own bartering prowess and guile as he tossed the bag of caps into his agave fiber saddle bags, headed downstairs and out of the front door.
Plough hitched himself to the family wagon through another tire-turned-yoke, and heaved his great bulk against it. The wheels gave way to his strength and soon he was alone on the road to the center of town. The creaky sound of the ever spinning wagon wheels lending their groaning to the soundtrack of Plough's ever-fleeting thoughts of escaping the grinding toil of his life in Balk. At least I get to talk to Chaff, he mused. Yeah. At least there's that.
This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link:Equestria Daily
By the time he got up from bed, the heat and humidity in the small, tin room had made breathing far less comfortable for Raze. He let his body fall into his morning routine of zebra stretching techniques and forehoof-stand pushups and was rewarded by several crunching sounds from his spine. “Serenity,” he breathed. “Peace.” He inhaled the rank odor steaming off from all his parts and licked his salty lips, a smile spreading across his bright, orange face. This was a particularly nasty job, but he was certainly enjoying the perks.
He turned his head to a groan emanating from the covers on the bed. “Mmmmmm....” Raze knew that he had already over-stayed his welcome and began putting on his disguise for the day: a disheveled, old, gray, dash-addicted, stallion suit. The whole thing wouldn't take but a moment to put on, but unfortunately for Raze...
“Mmmmm?” the sea green mare rolled to her other side to get a better look at Raze, disturbing the sheets even more. “Where do you think you're going, brandy buns?”
Raze took the jeering over his Dashite mark with the tact and polish one would expect from any professional spy, “Hey, fuck you.”
She gave a little giggle at his ridiculous Fillydelphia accent and stretched languidly on the bed, her strong muscles moving under her smooth coat like soothing waves one would find in the middle of the ocean. The Ranjuhss sure do make 'em ruyt, he thought. His continuous stare of her lithe body belied his calloused words. “Pshhh, shut up, you like it,” she teased.
“Yeah, you keep sayin' 'nat.” He did like it, but the sun was already up and Raze had a meeting to keep so he continued with his disguise. “Hey, tanks for last nuyt, but Oi got somewhere Oi gotta be. You take care 'o yourself, ruyt?”
She snickered at his accent, “Heh, right.”
He gave her one last, derisive look and took his leave, carefully closing the door behind him. He moved unnoticed down the rickety stairs of the inn to the empty bar, and maneuvered silently past its many empty and broken bottles and sleeping patrons. It had definitely been an easy thing, slipping up to one of the rooms the previous night with all of the non-stop partying, which apparently did have a stopping point, but now he had the challenge of making it out of the back door.
A cream-colored unicorn stallion slowly walked out of the stock room rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with a hoof. After a few blinks he noticed the unkempt, gray drug fiend standing in his bar. There was a pause while both ponies waited for their brains to start working again. Creamy pony was first, “ The Hell? ... Get your Dash-addicted ass outta my bar!” He grabbed a broom with his magic and began to jab Raze in the ribs with its handle.
Raze, ever the professional, knew exactly how to handle the situation. “Naw, cuz I don't even want yo' snake!” he started as he began to punch imaginary parasprites with his hooves. “You ain't gonna eat ol' Fish Row! Flim won the election and ain't no amount 'uh canny c'n mehke Luna say otherwise!” That got the bar owner's confused attention, but the cream-colored pony really started questioning his control of the situation when Raze started punching his own face and yelling, “Celestia's burnin' snot holes, help me! Rape! Rape! Lil' Creamy's gon' beat up ol' Fish Row with his rapin' pole! Aaaaahhhhhhh!!!” Raze hunkered down on the floor and held his forehooves over his head to block any more jabs from the creamy pony's dreaded broomstick.
The bewildered looks from the newly awoken patrons, hungover from the night before, forced the bar owner to show a bit of mercy. “Hey, I'm sorry about that old timer, but you really have to leave,” he said with a slightly worried and defeated look on his face.
Raze slowly got back up and gave a nice hacking cough and wheeze. “That's alight, creamy, that's alright,” he explained. “Hey...you got any free caps, son?”
“Get the HELL outta my bar!” creamy said as he chased Raze out of the back door and into the alleyway. Raze allowed himself the laugh of a drug-crazed maniac as he shambled down the alley towards the street, onlookers giving him a brief glance before focusing even more on continuing in their respective directions. Raze smiled. Ol' Fish Row was always a favorite role of his; even more so than Colonel Cream Puff the ghoul soldier or Red Light Sparkle, whom Raze was particularly proud of, a tranvestite prostitute. But Ol' Fish Row not only allowed Raze to act completely out of his mind, he also could stumble away from nearly any extreme situation by being unintelligible and unapproachable, which made him the prime get-away persona for jobs like information retrieval and assassination.
He meandered slowly down the city street, asking for spare caps and talking to invisible figures about stews until the sound of an explosion shot out from the room in which he had been staying, sending anypony walking or standing near the building into a staring shock. As the citizenry watched smoke billow out one of the upper rooms, Raze used the distraction to scream more bizarre word combinations as he slipped into a nearby alley.
He staggered down the alley a distance and made a left turn at the edge of the ruined concrete building, heading into a dead end. He quickly peeled off the Ol' Fish Row disguise and after throwing it in his skin-tight saddle bags, leaped effortlessly over the massive brick wall at the end of the alley. His wings enjoyed the taste of freedom for only a moment as he dove into a garbage bin on the other side of the wall, closing the lid after himself. For a brief moment there was silence in the refuse-strewn alleyway, until Raze emerged in a beautiful black, suit jacket with navy-blue pinstripes, and a matching tie hugging a crisp, white shirt. Nopony checks da dum'sters anymore, he smirked as he reached into his inside coat pocket and deftly produced a pair of jet-black, rectangular sunglasses which he then threw into the air and looking up, let land perfectly onto his face. He let out a sigh of sweet, shady relief and began winding his way through the labyrinthine ruins of the Withershire district.
The long walk home after a job was always a time for reflection for Raze. His latest job. His betrayal. Grandma. Aw, what's she gonna 'ink about dis last job, he asked himself. For his entire surface life she had become his moral compass and mentor. He could confide anything to her. No matter how distasteful the job he took, she had a story with an equal or greater future regret. He was paid to publicly humiliate somepony for cheating on his wife? She had to ruin a pony's life to cover up a government blunder. He had to spend a night with a mare in order to dig up some dirt on her husband? She had to do that several times with mares and stallions and was sometimes forced to put their respective spouses in the dirt. So, what made this time so different?
It was a simple assassination, nothing more. Sneak into her room, plant a device or poison of some kind and leave. But, Raze spent the night with her. And, not just for the cardio workout, either; he opened up and let her see him as he truly was. It was liberating to be himself around somepony other than Grandma. More freeing still to exhibit his deepest thoughts and emotions to somepony he knew wouldn't live to see the next day. He and Grandma had done worse, so why did this one feel so different? Was it some kind of emotional affair to be himself around another pony, a mare at that? Was it some kind of sadistic satisfaction he got when he knew she wouldn't live to do anything with the information he imparted? Or, was he simply just cracking and this vulnerability was the first sign of weakness. Raze tried to put this out of his mind when he got within viewing distance of the yawning chasm of the Red Line metro tunnel. Almost home.
His hooves clacked gently as he walked along the steel rails. When he reached the opening to the subway station he was welcomed with a breeze of cool air carrying the unmistakable stench of death and decay. Home was exceptionally dark, but he was used to it, and at least Grandma left a barrel fire light out for him. It's dim, orange light lent an air of a night out in the wastes, under the stars, like in those old, western movie posters he had seen around Applewood. He flew up to the tiled platform and looked at the new group of those pesky, mutated insects: radroaches, come to lay claim to his food, no doubt. The odor may have chased away any and all living ponies out of the metro tunnels, but these bugs were a different story entirely. Did Grandma just exude radroach pheromones? Raze shivered at the thought as he smashed in the heads of the skittering interlopers.
Finishing off the last one with a sickening crunch underneath his hoof, he trotted over to the derelict metro car and wiped his hooves off on the towel hanging near its door. Well, he thought. Here Oi go.
He pulled the makeshift lever attached to the frame of the train car making an obnoxious squeaking sound which rang through the cavernous station as the door simultaneously opened. He stepped through the door into the dimly lit subway car. Raze normally welcomed the atrocious smell in the car, but this time it fueled his trepidation. No matter how well he would try to hide his feelings and actions of the past twenty-four hours, Grandma would know. Grandma always knew.
“Raze?” he heard Grandma's broken, smoky voice echoing from the adjoining car. “Raze, so nice of you to come home; I was worried sick about you!” Her Bucklyn accent might have been chewed up due to her ghoulification, but she was still able to make it comfortably sing-songy. She walked up to the adjoining car door. “Naw, fuck awf, I knew you were alright, ya big wuss!” She must have caught the look in Raze's eye right before he attempted a smirking laugh at her ridiculous nature, because she immediately changed the atmosphere. She patted an oily pillow on the ground with her hoof and started to console him, “Okay, baby, siddown, let Gran'ma fix you sumthin' ta eat and you can tell me what happened. I wanna hear everything you have ta say. Who was she? Did she break your heart? Does Gran'ma need bust out and cut a pony?”
That last question made him laugh in spite of his feelings as he walked over to sit on the pillow. They shared a smile, Grandma's toothy grin peeking out of the gaping hole in her right cheek. It's times like these which reminded him how much he loved this ancient mare; why he loved her. And why the thought of the conversation he was about to have with her was eating him from the inside out. He was so afraid that if he let out his thoughts, they would consume her, too. He looked up at her with a sense of adoration and a disappointment in himself. “No, you don't need tuh cut uh Pony, Gra'ma,” he explained.
Grandma had nabbed a freeze-dried, carrot and celery salad from their homespun pantry, opened the corner to the bowl and began to pour water into it from a pretty, pink carafe, festooned with hearts. She replaced the lid to the bowl and started shaking it. “It's yah favorite,” she beamed. “Cool ranch! I don't know who came up with these names, but these don't taste like any kind of ranch I've been to. Ah-haaa-haaa-haaaaa! Now eat'chah lunch befo-ah it gets warm.” She walked over to lie down on a particularly oily pillow. “And tell us the story! C'mon!”
Raze took his lunch, opened the top, and looked at the slightly yellowish and brown contents as if to ask it for help in how to account for the last day. The so-called carrots and celery just sat in the bowl, silent. Tanks for da help, guys, he thought as he began to eat. He closed his eyes and sighed as the gentle taste of “cool ranch” relaxed his tongue. “Well, gram'ma,” he started. “It's luyk dis...”
He recounted the past twenty-four hours in detail. From spotting the AWOL paladin at the bar and throwing back drinks with her, to following her up to one of the free rooms and planting the explosive in her saddle bag. “It was all goin' perfect until she didn't pass out,” he said, putting a hoof to his head. “I didn't know whut else ta do, so, yuh know, we fucked.”
Grandma attempted a “pshh” sound as she rolled her eyes. “I swe-ah, you stallions and yo'ah parts,” she said. She shook her head. “You-ah going to get into trouble if ya keep thinking with that thing! But, go on dea-ah.”
Raze took another bite of his “salad” and continued, “Lemme fuckin' finish, eh?! So...der we were, ruyt? Aftehwards?” He stared at the ground, legs outstretched, looking for the inspiration to come to the crux of his issue. After a few, silent chin movements, he was able to finish. “An' Oi start spillin' muy guts ta dis mare.” He looked straight into the face of the ghoul, seeking approval and finding nothing but a nod. “Oi told 'er about getting' kicked out ' da Enclave 'cause uh Willow Wind; about whut it's luyk bein' a pegasus in'nis world; whut muy fuckin' future plans were, gram'ma Oi told 'er everyfing!” He paused for another moment to swallow the lump that had slowly crept into his throat and slowly breathed a few times. “Gram'ma I'm sorry....Da fuck is wrong wit' me?”
The old ghoul smiled as best she could and let out a dry rattle in place of a sigh. “Let Grandma tell you a story,” she said, getting up and heading to her bunk in the other train car. She opened up her old trunk which contained her entire life before before the bombs fell. After a few moments of rummaging and talking to herself she found what she was looking for, “Aha!” Walking back to the car in which Raze was sitting, Grandma asked him gently, “What do you see in this picture?” She tenderly placed the photo in front of him.
He glanced at the aged, black and white photo and looked back up at Grandma. “It's a filly,” he said. She looked at him as if he got an answer wrong on a test. “Uhhh...cute...liddle filly?” She just stood there, breathing. “Oi got nut'n.”
With great reverence, she picked up the photo with her teeth and lay down on her pillow again, placing the picture on the small, coffee table in front of her. “Did I ever tell you of the story of Bayrun?” she asked.
“Dat pony who you ruined 'is luyfe? Yeah. Some muckety-muck, government official dat 'e knew was havin' an affair wit' some skanky intern, but 'e was too impor'nt for Bay tuh do anyfing about it, so you had tuh ruin 'is reputation. Dat about ruyt?”
“Heheh,” she laughed without a hint of a smile. “Let me clarify some things for ya. First awff, yeah, the 'muckety-muck' was Rapidfi-ya, an ex-Wonderbolt, one-time Shadowbolt and wounded war hero. He was the face of the Forlorn Fighter project to help impaired veterans get back on the-ah hooves. His 'skanky intern' was...um...well, I forget. Some whorish unicorn, anyway. The point is, Bayrun, which is one of the stupidest names evah by the way, who in the-ah right mind would name the-ah foal Bayrun? I bet you he got picked on in school.”
Raze began to wane as the barrage of words continued unabated. Grandma noticed the exhausted look on his face and continued the important part of the story in earnest. “ANYWAY, he found those two 'in flagrante delicto', if you catch my drift, and a massive blow to national morale was exactly what Princess Luna didn't need at that time, what with the dwindling resources and all. So my team and I were dispatched to clean up his mess.” Grandma rolled over on to her back and gesticulated even more expressively with her hooves. “The may'ah was easy to buy awff; probably because I scared the crap outta her when I told her the alternative. Ha! That was always fun when it worked. Poo-ah bad-luck Bayrun, that schmoe, had already gone to the pay-puhs so we had to discredit him. We hung every bit of dirty laundry that colt had out to dry, though to be shu-ah, we had to fabricate some awful things for him to have done.”
The ghoul sat back up to once again look at the photograph, exuding a palpable sense of longing as thick as peanut butter. She traced the outline of the picture with her hoof, gave it a couple taps and continued at a hushed volume, “We didn't know his job was the only thing keeping his marriage tuh-ge-thah. We didn't know how hard we pushed the public against him.” She looked up to stare Raze right in his eyes. “This is a picture of Pearly, his little filly. Three months after ou-wah intervention, Bayrun purchased a gun, and shot his estranged wife and filly before hanging himself on an Equestrian Broadcasting System tower with his suicide note attached to his neck, describing, in detail, the happenings of the previous few months.” She leaned back, stretching. “Suffice it to say, things wound up worse for everyone involved. Rapidfi-yah was made into a spectacle of govuhment corrruption, the intern was forevah in the tabloids and an inquirey ordah'd for my team. Worst of awll, this young filly's life was cut sho-aht due to my not understanding my tah-get.”
Raze felt sad but also confused. “Dat's horrible...but Oi don' see how awll dat applies...”
“Just hold awn a second, I'm getting to the point!” She sighed. “The-ah are a lot of lessons to be learned from this story, but the one that stuck with me the most is this: I look at this picture and I don't just see my fail-yah to save this foal. I see it as my fail-yah to have one of my own. To even have a stallion to come home to and show-ah me with love. I didn't have anypony to shay-ah this stuff with and it took its toll on me, Raze.” She pointed a hoof at him. “You think you went crazy because you tawlked with a tah-get? At least you tawlked with a real pony. I stah-ted having full conversations with things in my apuahtment, trying to work through awll my problems.”
With much effort and a lot of creaking, the old pegasus stood up and walked over to the now misty-eyed Raze. She gave him the type of hug that only grandmothers can give and stroked his mane. “Grandma knows, sweetheart. Grandma always knows. Don't you feel like you-ah cheating on me by confiding in anothah pony, you he-ah? One of these days you'll meet somepony who will help you through awll you-ah trust problems, and they'll change you. You'll meet that may-uh who you'll be able to tawlk to like an equal so you won't feel so isolated in you-ah little colt cave. You won't need old Grandma anymo-ah.”
Raze gave a sniff and dried his eyes a little. “Dat'll never h-happen, gram'ma,” he said, damming up his tears with a smile. “Dat'll never happen because you mares are nuthin' but a bunch 'o bitches.”
“Aw, quit bein' a little fuck,” she quipped, smacking a bruise onto his shoulder with a strong hoof. They both shared a much needed chuckle. “Seriously though. You need to find some ponies you feel you can trust, okay? Don't be a schmuck, though. Use you-ah common sense to know who can be trusted, okay?”
“Okay.”
“How's ya salad?”
“Tastes like crap.”
“I know it does, sweetie. HEY! I'm going out dancing tonight with my oth-ah oldah friends! Whaddya think 'o that?”
“Oh, no you're not! You know how crazy da patrols get at nuyt.” The ponies of Celestia's Acre, beneath what used to be Los Pegasus, were fond of capturing ghoul ponies and their crazed, feral cousins and forcing them into a sporting arena for deathmatches. Never placing ghoul against ghoul, as the wild, zombie-like ferals would never attack any other ghoul, the deathmatches were rigged to always let the living ponies remain alive, thereby placating the populace's thirst for blood and giving the ponies who enjoyed the fights the righteous feeling of retaining their dignity and destroying the horrors of the world. But, some of these ghouls were just as alert and present as they were before the balefire radiation of the bombs changed their physical nature all those years ago. Some of these ponies were scientists, nurses, teachers, musicians. None of that mattered to the citizens of Celestia's Acre. Newer was always better to them and the dwindling numbers of the generation of yesteryear was subject to the wanton desires of the ignorant youth. It was easy for anypony to understand Raze's concern. “Remember wut happened wit' Jacks!” he said, raising his eyebrows for effect.
“Jacks was a jack-ass! That mule always made poo-ah choices. Besides, he went feral befo-ah they forced him into his first fight.” She stood up and walked into her train-car-turned-room to search for the right outfit to wear, taking the photograph with her and placing it back into her trunk. “Now, I'm going out tonight, but don't worry; we-ah taking every precaution by holding it up in the Applewood Hills. Nopony goes up there anymore, anyway. Oh yeah,” she turned around to point a hoof at him. “And I was commanding spec. ops. Teams before you-ah grandfathah took his first shit, so relax, huh?”
Raze couldn't help but chuckle. He knew there was no changing Grandma's mind when she was in one of these moods. “Well den,” he started wiping the rest of the warm moisture from around his eyes with a hoof. “Lemme at least give ya a walk up dere. Oi'm headin' up to Applewood muyself tuh get paid, an' hopefully meet up wit' Galena on da way.”
The ghoul walked out of the other car wearing a fairly spotless dress-blue skirt suit with matching blue, folded cap. “Oh! Galena? I like her! You almost nevah see griffons on this coast anymoah. She must get really lonely in those hills without a boyfriend or anything to keep her company.” Grandma gussied herself up as she looked into the small mirror hanging from one of the overhead hoof-rails. “We should bring her something. Hey, maybe I have a book or something she can read.” Raze watched her hurry back to her car and heard a lot of rustling until finally he heard her exclaim, “Aha!” She walked back into the car while carrying a thick book in her mouth which she spat over at Raze. “Awaken the Dragon Within. I love Iron Will; everybody should read his books. Ya can't go wrong!”
Grandma continued her primping while Raze kept his mind busy, dwelling on the past twenty-four hours. He had always been good at figuring out a pony's heart, mind and desires. He prided himself on being able to know somepony's deepest and darkest thoughts even if they, themselves didn't know them. Knowing what is behind those surface thoughts, the shallow end, was important in order to determine the next course of action for the mark. Trouble with Raze was that his deep, dark thoughts had just been taken over by unknown forces whose beliefs were totally at odds with its previous tenants'. This left Raze feeling like he had just lost a lifelong friend, and that was the friend had helped guide him through every event in his life. Raze might've been able to predict somepony else's next steps, but when it came to himself he was now completely alone to make entirely new decisions.
Raze got up to his hooves. He felt dizzy and weightless, as if dropping from the sky, blindfolded. He steadied himself and walked over to one of the cabinets which adorned the end of the car. He out took his bottle of Filthy Rich cognac and his snifter. He poured himself a sip and savored the complex flavors hidden in its deep, amber hue and breathed a smile onto his face as the confusing warm/cool sensation calmed the the waters of his mind. The walk up to Applewood would do him well. Perhaps he could begin to discover what damage his mind had done to itself.
The strange couple finished preparing for their long walk, and after locking up their home (which included closing the door and setting a trap) they started to walk northwest down the quietly howling tunnel towards Applewood, a small lantern, their only light. To break the droning silence, Grandma told him stories of her past in wartime Applewood and the city that hovered in the air just south of it, Los Pegasus and the two other cities which nearly shared its name (how anypony thought naming three close-by cities Los Pegasus, Las Pegasus and Las Pegas was a good idea was far beyond Raze's and Grandma's comprehension). She told him about all the different weirdos who made their home in the area, about the best places to get a slice of pizza at four in the morning, and about that one time she met Hairerion Trot, the actress who played Daring Do in all of the Daring Do movies.
“Huh!” Raze exclaimed. “'Dja say anyfing to 'er?”
“Yeah,” Grandma explained. “I said, 'Hey, aren't you Hairerion Trot who played Daring Do in awll those movies?'”
“What'd she say?”
“Ha! She just walks past me and she says, 'Fuck awff!'”
Their laughs echoed through the massive veins of tunnels making up the city's underbelly, shattering the near silence and warming their spirits even as the reverberations became more chill and haunting. A chittering sound took over when their echos died down. The Applewood bloodwings were deadly, but didn't tend to stir during the daylight hours, not that it mattered to two, highly-trained pegasi spies, though it did help keep the majority of ponies away from their residence in the metro station and the north part of the city. The pegasus ghoul shook off her grin and looked tenderly into Raze's handsome, young face. “You'll find you-ah true friends someday, Raze,” she said as she walked next to him. “You'll be able to tell them you-ah secrets and they'll help you through you-ah pains.”
Raze argued with himself as to if her sentiment were true as the two made their way up a non-operational escalator to the Twilight Sparkle Boulevard station. The station had seen better days. Bottles and and overturned trash bins littered the floor of the raised walkway, there was large, indecipherable graffiti on nearly every surface and the walls leaked their detritus upon the floor. They were the only souls in the station. “Oi don't see how dat's possible, gram'ma,” he said, staring at a ruined Sparkle~Cola machine he was passing by. “Not anymore, anyways.”
“It is, Raze, it is.” They reached the top of the steps of a second, broken escalator and looked out onto the deserted street. The pavement was cracked. Then again, it had been cracked since before the war. The stores, twenty-four hour pizza shops and music venues had been derelict for years, and all around there was a suffocating silence which made Raze's ears ring. The perfect area for dangerous, clandestine meetings of distorted minds and fading souls. They walked in near silence for a few hundred yards, until Raze heard a little sound as if somepony were rummaging through an old attic.
Scavengers.
This far north in the city, there were only a few types of ponies crazy enough or well-equipped enough to brave the possibilities of coming face-to-face with bloodwings or feral ghouls, and Raze had no desire to meet with any of them. The two walked more cautiously down the street, keeping to the late afternoon shadows in between the buildings. As they approached the building which was emanating the sounds, Raze heard a familiar voice, talking to itself.
“Seen it. Seen it. Ugh, wish I hadn't seen it. Seen it. Wrote fan-fiction about it. Saw it and all of its sequels....” The silly, high-pitched voice was punctuated by the sound of small pieces of metal being clicked together and the sound was accelerating. “Oh my GAWD! Isn't there anything in here worth...” The speech was cut short by a massive back-breath as Raze opened the door to the memorabilia shop.
“Yo,” Raze called out, nonchalantly leaning against the door frame. “How's it goin' 'Lena?”
The young griffon who was sitting, sifting through a wooden box full of old holotapes, quickly turned around with one of the small reels in her claws. “Ohmigosh, Raze! Have. You. Seen this movie?” Raze breathed in to reply, but Galena just went right on talking. “Escape from Canterlot? Burnt Brussels plays a bad-ass in a post-apocalyptic ... yeah I guess you wouldn't have seen it, all things considered,” she said, looking around at the ruined remains of a metropolis which surrounded them. “Pshh, you like all those hipster movies like Rebel Without Claws or those weird, eleven minute, foreign art pieces, blerg!”
Raze ignored what she was saying. “What'cha doin' 'Lena?”
“Oh, oh, oh! I'm looking through this box of...wait you gotta know...so, I thought this place had been completely picked clean, before and, wait, the first part of the story...SO, I was flying around this morning and I decided to...”
“Galena! Come on!”
“Dude!” she yelled, furrowing her brow. “That's what I'm s-...you know what? I took this box of holotapes outta that wall safe no one else could get into. There. You ruined my story. Hope you're happy with a boring story...uh...uh...Chaise!” With that Galena turned back to her wooden box of treasures, handling them not quite as nicely as before.
Grandma finally shoved the pegasus out of the way, making room for herself in the little shop. “Galena!” she beamed as brightly she could.
“Grandma!” Galena yelled with a poorly constructed smile of surprise that was unfortunately rife with disappointment. She steadied her stomach as best she could for the hug that was racing for her. Raze watched and chuckled to himself as he watched her face go from feigned delight to a worried chipmunk expression as she tried, desperately to keep her lunch down (which was probably candy as Raze thought about it, and this fact made him laugh all the more). The griffon always had a difficult time being around Grandma, or any ghoul for that matter, on account of her unusually sensitive sense of smell.“It's so good to -urp- see you!”
Grandma ignored her pleas for fresh air and stayed close to the griffon. “So, what's this? A box of old movies? Got anything good?”
Galena brightened up at the prospect of being able to talk movies, forgot completely about the putrid smell and started taking the holotapes out of the box, one at a time. “Ohmigosh! Escape from Canterlot, we got Omega Pony, A Colt and his Dog...I think I see a pattern emerg-,” she stopped short as her mouth flung open and seemed to breath in all of the air from the room. There, in the box, undisturbed for almost two centuries, was the entire collection of Daring Do movies on holotape. She made several failed attempts at speaking before letting out a worried, little, “Whaaaaat?” She looked up at Grandma with the face of a child who had just received the best birthday gift, ever as she began to cry and found it difficult to keep in more than a gulp of air for each syllable as she tried to talk, “Gran'ma … I … sniff … ne-ver seen The Trials of Un-ni-ty!”
Grandma patted her head with a gentle hoof. “It's a good one, sweetie,” she said, ruffling Galena's head feathers and looking over at Raze. “Definitely one you should watch with friends; you'll have to have us ov-ah.” She hunkered down to look the griffon in the eyes. “Hey! Did I tell you about the time I met Hairerion Trot?”
Galena perked up and wiped the tears and snot off of her beak. “What?! No! Ohmigosh, that's so cool! Tell me what happened! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!” Her youthful vigor made the old ghoul smile.
Raze showed his impatience taking a glance outside and stretching. “Yo! Yiz guys gonna be okay if Oi leave?” he asked.
“We'll be fine, sweetie,” Grandma said, giving Galena's shoulder a rub. “You can go awf to you-ah meeting.”
“'Lena, you take care of Gram'ma, ruyt? Make sure she gets ta where she needs ta go?”
The griffon sat straight up as regal as she could be and gave Raze a grim salute even as she pulled out a massive, home-made weapon from her side holster. “Don't worry, sarge,” she grumbled as she clicked a button and the gun-like weapon made a rising, electronic whine. “I got this.”
The orange pegasus chortled through a smirk and put on his sunglasses before backing out of the shop onto the empty street. He heard them wish him a good day and start chatting as he walked away from the building. He was alone with his troubling thoughts once again.
He bemoaned his past. The story played out in his mind like a bad soap opera. Success. Rejection. A loss. A fall. The thirst for vengeance which drove him until recently. His hatred had masked his hurt for so long he had almost forgotten what had hurt him in the first place. Rejection. Willow Wind. Unfortunately, this long-standing hatred had now tossed in another problem for Raze to juggle. He felt like he knew everypony, but he knew nopony knew him. This loneliness gave him a feeling of being tantalized by the fruit of friendship and acceptance he had witnessed in the relationships of others. Somepony with whom to share and talk? Raze didn't have that. Grandma was close, but they both kept secrets from each-other; that was modus operandi for their careers.
Maybe it was time to look for a new line of work.
Raze turned right down a dark alley, a large, brick building on his left blocking the light of the setting sun and casting a deep shadow over the alleyway and what used to be a twenty-four-hour pizza place on his right. He saw a lumbering movement in the darkness.
“Didja hear the one about Fillydelphia?” asked an impossibly gruff and blown-out voice from the shadows. Raze heard the click of a revolver preparing to fire.
“I heard it exploded,” he said in a perfect, Trottingham accent, to the shadow. “Twice.”
This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link:Equestria Daily
“So good to see you up and around, Mr. Basket!” the bright yellow pony exclaimed, carefully weaving through the crowd.
“Well, you too, sweetie! It does these old bones good to hear your cheery voice.”
She smiled and noticed another stallion’s empty cup. “Oh, I'm sorry sir, would you like some more coffee?”
“Yes, please and thank you!”
She noticed the mare sitting in the booth behind him. “Wow, miss! Your mane looks amazing; what do you use in order to make it stick straight back like that?”
“Uh, ancient pegasus secret? Ha-ha!”
“How's that jukebox coming along, Delta?” she shouted over at the blue unicorn fixing the jukebox.
“Almost there. Should be ready before happy hour. Make sure your dad has those caps ready.”
“Good to hear, and I will!”
Quitclaim's combination shop/restaurant/watering hole was bustling with the tales and ramblings of many a pony that day. The bar and booths were full of stories of the seemingly endless desert outside and many a wastelander waited talkatively in a massive line for the bartering counter. There were stories of raiders taking over a town to the east, tales of unusual Steel Ranger movement close to Balk, news of the serial killer dubbed “The Crusher”, tales of fear and death far and wide. But there were also tales of hope and joy as the cries of at least two foals filled the ears of the patrons. The cries, though annoying, helped to buttress confidence everypony had for the future. Any town which provided shelter and such an ability to trade also inadvertently provided free psychological care in the form of commiserating with other wasteland ponies. A town like Balk, however, contained a special ingredient: a little ray of sunshine known as Chaff.
“Here, let me fill that cup up for you, you poor thing,” she offered a three-legged pony whose face had enough scars to look like a topographical map of the San Palomino mountain range. “Those mean ponies in Celestia's Acre should be ashamed! Cutting off a pony's leg just for stealing some food? What is wrong with them?” The scarred, old stallion gave her a slight nod and stared at his now full cup of hot coffee, not having the heart to tell her what else he had stolen from the 'mean ponies' at Celestia's Acre.
Chaff weaved through the two, hot, crowded rooms of the front of the store, offering coffee, breakfasts and cheer warm enough to soften the hearts of the iciest pony. There were, however, those who would view her bright demeanor as a weakness and take advantage of it. She felt a slap of a hoof on her backside, triggering memories she tried everyday to forget. She heard the raucous laughter behind her.
“What did I tell you, Tracks?” a weather-beaten pony in a leather jacket asked his equally mean-looking companion. “The sweetest, little thing around. You ain't never seen cheeks like that.” His friend shook his head and gave a low, obscene chuckle. Chaff shook with fear and rage, not knowing how to sublimate either. She urged her legs to cooperate and move her forward, but all they could muster was a jerky step or two, like a broken, clockwork automaton. Her body trapped her there, readying itself for the advances she knew he would make. “Now, hold on there!” She heard him get up and walk toward her. She felt a heavy leg on her withers. “I apologize, we haven't been properly introduced. Name's Bottleneck. Friends call me Chokie, if you can believe it.” He gave a disgusting wink. “Me 'n my buddy, Tracks over there want to know when you're off work.”
Chaff felt like her hooves were becoming part of the floor as her breathing quickened. She moved her head to better face Bottleneck, but kept her eyes focused on the wall in front of her as she did her best to answer in the most forceful way she could muster. “Oh ... uh … I, um … it'll be very late.”
“Oh, we don't mind waitin',” Bottleneck said. Chaff could smell the strange stench of rotting teeth in his breath. “We're not plannin' on doin' anything else today but sit here and maybe get a little drunk. Heh, sounds boring, right?” He gave a little sigh with his feigned, deflated look, then perked right up as he said, “I know! Y'all live around here, right? Maybe you have a better idea of what we can all do tonight. Whaddya say?”
Chaff's sea-green eyes went wide as she attempted to cower away from his grasp. “Oh! I … uh … sorry. I have … um … things to get back to, haha!”
“Aw, that's too bad. Are you sure we couldn't help you with anything?”
“Oh, no … you … uhhh … you wouldn't want to, uh ...”
“Wouldn't want to, what?” Bottleneck looked her over and faked a gasp. “Wait, are you trying to … to find reasons not to be around us?”
“No! I mean … what I meant to say was ...”
“What's wrong with us? Is there something you don't like about us? What, you feel you're too good to spend time with the likes of us?”
She felt his grip around her tighten as she tensed her muscles and began shaking slightly, but uncontrollably. “Th-th-that's not what I meant! I don't think I'm better than anypony!”
“Oh, well that's good. No harm done. Come on, give us a kiss!” He brought over his left hoof to her chin, pulling her face over to his as he puckered his whitened, cracked lips.
“N-no ...” she whimpered as she struggled against his strength. Her ears tickled with the sound of laughter coming from his companion and several other particularly nasty-sounding ponies.
“Come on! One kiss. I know you'll like it.” He slowly moved his right foreleg down her back, searching for a more enjoyable way to restrain her.
“P-please, stop.”
“Hey, buddy,” growled an alarmingly low voice from behind Bottleneck. “You might want to stop bothering the help, unless you want to change your name to Brokeneck.”
Bottleneck turned his head around to see where the foalish threat had come, finding only the silhouette of what looked like a pony etched out of iron standing in front of the blinding light of the desert bleeding in from the window. “Leave it alone, friend,” he said, pointing up with his nose at the dark form. “This needn't concern you.”
The silhouetted figure moved and the toughest looking mule he had ever seen in his life stepped into Bottleneck's field of vision, the mule's incredibly wide-brimmed hat hiding his features from the rest of the room. The mule was wearing a brown, tan, black and white sarape, but Bottleneck could still see every muscle and vein in the mule pushing, pulling, pulsating, ready for any order they were given. The mule's barely visible but obviously bullet-chewed barding bore testament to its owner's fortitude. “Everybody's business,” the mule's gravelly voice imparted as he tossed his huge hat aside, showing off his gleaming aviator sunglasses, a toothpick sticking out of his smug grin. “Is everybody's business.”
The room held its breath as Bottleneck stared back at himself in the reflection of the mule's sunglasses. Dust motes were slowly climbing the rays of light pouring through the windows like some backwards-moving waterfall. Chaff didn't know what would happen next. She had seen her share of barroom fights, working in her father's multipurpose store for so long, but this situation was different. For often she had seen drunk brawlers come and go, she hadn't seen any creature stand, unflinching, with such poise as the mule in front of her. He was a loaded gun in equine form … and he was far from drunk. Chaff could feel Bottleneck's heart quicken beside her, and she took some security in knowing the scumbag stood no chance against this guy.
Bottleneck gave a bouncy little laugh. “Oh, I'm just foolin' about,” he said.
“Well, then I have to applaud you,” the mule started. “I'm a Goddess-damned mule and you're the one doing a very good job of making an ass-clown out of himself.”
Bottleneck's neck hairs began to rise as he took a step toward the mule, who just stood there, motionless.
“Okay, Chokie, I think you've had enough!” Tracks yelled as he moved in between the two and started pushing his friend toward the door. Bottleneck must have agreed with Tracks' sentiment, because he turned around and started walking out, a look which promised vengeance seething on his face. “Don't mind him,” Tracks said, walking backwards out the door. “He's just drunk, that's all! Hey, Chokie, wait up! You didn't want her, anyway,” Chaff clearly heard him say as his voice started fading away. “Damaged goods.”
There was a pause while the room let out it's held breath. One by one, the ponies in the store and bar began talking to each other until it was bustling as if nothing had happened at all. Chaff slowly deepened her own, bated breath as she looked up at her tall savior who was chewing on his toothpick and staring out of the front door to make sure the threat had left for good. He turned his neck to face her and pushed up his sunglasses with a hoof to let them rest on top of his head. Chaff noticed the smile lines in his reddish-brown face, even in the dim light of the barroom. This frightening tower of intimidation had a kind face, which at the moment bore a look of concern. “Are you okay, Miss Sunshine?” he asked in his rumbling voice. “Those two were a nasty pair. Pretty sure they're slavers, too. Look self-righteous enough, anyway...”
Chaff stood, staring at him. She didn't know where to begin. Her brain had finished processing what happened but her heart and instincts were far from finished sorting through the mixed emotions and threat signals, respectively. Her tormenters were frightened off by something even more powerful, and that something seemed nice and genuinely concerned with her safety. Like having a pet tiger, she felt the fear of having a wild animal around and the security of knowing it was on her side. Her internal monologue was becoming so lengthy and confusing she didn't hear the mule give his order.
“Hey, Miss Sunshine!” he yelled, waving his forelegs in front of her face to get her attention. “I said I'd like a Sunrise Sarsaparilla! Equestria to Luna, do you copy? Can you hear me way up there on the moon?”
She snapped to her senses. “What? Uh … OH! Sorry, sorry! I didn't … HA!” She didn't know what to say, so she drew a deep breath, put on her professional act and sighed through a relaxed smile. “Sunrise Sarsaparilla, be right up.”
Chaff went to procure a sarsaparilla for her new mule friend. She felt odd. She had been accosted by ponies like Bottleneck on a regular basis, but only occasionally did these situations lead to triggering flashbacks of unwanted memories and emotions. Was it because these ponies were slavers? No, she had faced slaver ponies far more vulgar and obnoxious than these two. Did she get enough sleep the night before? Yes, very good sleep, actually and she had eaten not to long before the incident. What was so different?
She set the warm bottle of sarsaparilla on the bar in front of the wastelander mule who had already tossed a small bag of precious bottle caps onto the plastic-laminate counter top. “This'll probably get me about three more, right?” he asked, savoring the tastes of the vine and licorice root with just a hint of wintergreen mint. He let out an approving growl. “Oh, that's the stuff. I stock up whenever I can. Nothing beats a cool one of these after walking around with those caravans all day.” He took another swig. “Though this one’s a little warm, whew!”
“You guard the caravans?” Chaff asked counting out enough the right number of caps for the transaction. She was still shaking, trying to put on a good enough act to seem together, and she was doing a good job of it too, but it did feel to her like trying to replace the water in a broken aquarium.
“What gave me away? Oh, and just keep the change; those caps weigh more than you'd think.” He gave her a little wink, trying to lighten her mood.
“Thank you. And what gave you away? Just your general badassery, I suppose.” She winked back, her expression brightening slightly from the little care and civility he showed her.
The mule let out a braying laugh which forced Chaff to hide her smile with her hooves. “Sure, sure, I'll take that.” They smiled at eachother until the moment drifted away, carrying their grins with it. “Oh! So, my name's Jimmy. Jimmy the Mule. Yeah, that's right, not every mule's name is 'Sal'. What's yours, sunshine?”
“Chaff. My dad, Quitclaim, owns this fine establishment, but I tend to be the one running it,” she said, pouring drinks all the while until there were no more clean glasses. She took out a small piece of fabric and went to work on a pile of cups.
“I'm very happy to meet you, Chaff. You seem to be quite the positive exhortationist around here.”
“I … don't think that's a real word...”
“You inspire ponies to do good, girl. You have an ability; a power to see the best in others, to pull it out and show them in hopes that they are driven to do more in that direction. You don't just look like a ray of sunshine, you are a ray of sunshine.”
Chaff blushed. “Aw, that's so sweet of you to say.”
“But there's something wrong,” he said, changing the tone in his voice. Chaff immediately felt uncomfortably exposed. “I see how you run this place. You could have handled those two idiots on your own.” She put a clean cup on the bar and shied away. “Don't worry. I'm not going to ask about it. It's none of my business.” A wry smile formed on his lips, coaxing a nervous laugh from Chaff. “How about I change the pace a little and tell you a little fairytale?”
Chaff hesitated, not knowing his intentions, but being the agreeable sort she said, “Okay, sure.”
“Have you heard...” Jimmy began to ask, searching for the right question. “Have you heard the old donkey story called 'The Dreaming Hydras'?”
Chaff wore a bemused expression as she responded, chuckling. “Uh, no, sorry. I can't say that I have. What is it about?”
Jimmy motioned for her to take a seat next to him at the bar. “Let me tell you a quick, little story that my grandmother used to tell me,” he started, letting his voice fall into a perfect flow of words and rhythm as chaff sat next to him. “Many years ago, even before I was born … I know that line was better when my grandmother said it, but bear with me. Many years ago, before the land of the wastes, before the land of Equestria, before the thrones of the sun and moon, the sky cradled only the stars, and the stars needed nothing more than to be caressed with the velvety hand of the night or so the old zebra shamans say. But one star shone its light upon the world and saw that it was beautiful and wanted forever to be with it, so it left its brothers and sisters in the sky and flew into the world, deep underground and became stuck in the liquid center of our world. So, it slept.
“The star slept until the time had come that it had regained enough of its strength to escape the world and return to the embrace of the sky. Upon breaking through the surface, however, it discovered the sky was now dominated by one, giant, hot ball of light which burned the star's bright flesh orange. And there were other things, now, too. Tiny creatures trotted across the land; the land which was rightfully his! How dare they! So he grew angry and made an ugly face in order to scare these new 'equines' away. This worked with the first creature he met whom he chased and chased until his neck was just so long!
“After scaring a few donk-... I mean, ponies this way, he discovered that just scaring one at a time wasn't enough, so he grew a second head so he could scare two of them at the same time. He did this over and over again until he had six of them. That's one for each of the elements, mind you.
“Decades of chasing ponies around in order to scare them made him powerfully hungry, and he had discovered that the ponies could never run fast enough to truly leave him in peace, so he began to gobble them up! One after another he gobbled them up until they were not only fewer and farther between, but also more quick, agile and clever. They began to outsmart him at every turn until he became so tired of not catching anypony he felt he needed to sleep, and besides, the sun did burn him so.
“He made his way to a bog and let himself sink into the cool muck, never to be seen for maybe a thousand years, until his hunger woke him and he started the cycle over again only with a more voracious appetite and malignant heart every time. The creature is still there to this day, lying in wait until disturbed, because no one knows how to get rid of it.”
Chaff sat, looking at the fabric she had been using to clean the cups. She could feel her eyes puff up and shake as she felt moisture pressing in her mouth from both sides of her tongue. There was a tempest swirling in her head tossing everything around and flooding her mind with contradicting thoughts. Standing in the middle of it all, she couldn't help but to feel as if she was falling. “I … feel cold,” she muttered at last. “But, why? Everything's just so confusing right now.” She looked up at him, seeking a refuge from the chill. His gentle, black eyes bore her some warmth, but seemed to leave her with some leftover frost as if on purpose.
He looked at her. “Sunshine,” he said. “I can read it in your face, in how you act, and in how you react. You can't tell me that a star has never fallen in your life, that you have neither burned nor buried them only to have them keep coming back trying to gobble you up.” A tear began to run down her cheeks. “Hey. Hey, there, filly you don't need to fear.” He laid a solid hoof on the back of her neck. “As long as you have friends you can rely on and you assume some courage in spite of your fear, you'll be able to take your own hydras down, guaranteed.” Chaff heard the door open. “And I know.” She heard the familiar gait. “You have somepony.” The steps drew closer. “Who cares about you.” They slowed down. “Deeply.” They stopped. “I just know.”
“Hello Chaff,” said a welcome voice.
“Well,” Jimmy said, getting up from the table. “I'll leave you two alone.”
Plough watched as Jimmy picked up his hat off the countertop with his teeth, deftly threw it atop his head and walked out of the door into the overwhelming heat outside as Chaff quickly dried her tears. Without looking at her he asked, “So, who was tall, dark and creepy, over there?”
Chaff stifled a little sniffle and said, “A new friend, I think. Jimmy … is his name.”
Plough looked at her incredulously. “Jimmy? That's a peculiar sort of name. What does that even mean, anyway? It's not a talent, or a thing, or really much of-” His voice sank as he noticed her choking back some leftover emotions. “Hey. Are you doing okay? Is there anything I can help with?” He paused a moment, his upcoming question already leaving a strong taste of ash in his mouth. “Did … he hurt you, again?”
Chaff's eyes opened wide in shock at Plough's blunt question. She giggled the situation away as she answered, “No, no. I'm fine. Just … a story I'll have to tell you, sometime.” She threw the piece of fabric over her shoulder as she stood up and gave Plough one of her famous smiles. “So, what brings you to town today, Plough? Run out of your dad's favorite food, again?”
“Yes.”
“Figures. Come on, follow me over to the stockroom and I'll get you your stuff.”
The pair walked over to the guarded door in the back of the building. The tough pony standing there gave the two a nod as Chaff let them into the little room. The stockroom, though larger than most bedrooms, was piled high with all manner of tradable goods. Shelves full of various pickled fruits and vegetables pinned the two in the small, concrete walkway which cut through the middle of disarray, bags of fresh corn and beans trying their hardest to wiggle into the center of the room. Chaff found the boxes of old Shuck's beloved applecakes, still “fresh” after so many years, stacked a few of them in the center of the room, and went to work searching for something special she had hidden for Plough.
“Would you hand me that ladder, please?” she cooed, using the fabric to wipe as much sweat she could off her face.
“Hm? Oh, sure.” Plough seized the ladder, and leaned it against the shelf Chaff was eyeing.
“Thank you. This shouldn't take to long. I know it gets a little stuffy in here and I wouldn't want you to get heat exhaustion or something.”
“No, no,” he waved his hoof. “No need to rush.”
She flashed him a coy grin as she moved up the ladder. She pushed the pickled plums and cherries out of the way. It wasn't there. She let out an irritated sigh as she put the unusually colored glass jars back in their place.
“Is everything alright?” Plough asked.
“Yeah, I just … hmm …” She stood in thought for a moment, the heat of the room starting to really get to her as sweat started seeping from her every pore. She mimed hitting herself in the head with a hammer. “Oh, duh! It's on the top shelf. I'm so stupid!”
“Then you must not know my friend, Chaff, very well,” he called up to her as she made her way to the top of the ladder. “She's the most caring, thoughtful and wise pony I know.” If there was one thing Chaff knew about Plough, it was how much he enjoyed looking at the goods held in the stockroom. She made sure to reach further than she needed to.
Hiding the prize from Plough the best she could, she descended the ladder saying, “Funny, you didn't compliment my intelligence or say I wasn't stupid.”
Plough puffed out his chest in mock superiority. “Not everyone can be me. Give credit where credit is due, you know?”
She gently slapped his face which was dripping with perspiration. “You're such a jackass.”
“That's where you're wrong, you see. I'm no jackass, I'm the cold-blooded stallion you're heating up, baby!”
She laughed as she wrapped her forelegs around his huge, calloused neck and went in for a kiss. Plough responded in kind giving chase to her passions, opening up his bottled eagerness and drinking in his thirst for her. His hooves unable to find purchase on her slippery body, he let instinct take control as they stumbled into a shelf, knocking over a can of beans. The sound caused Chaff to suddenly freeze in shock as her brain made connections she did not desire. She wanted to. She wanted him, or at least felt pressured as if she should want him, but the shackles of her past were strong, keeping so many things tantalizingly out of her reach. Chaff loved the simple things in life, why did this area have to be so complicated?
She hugged Plough's massive frame close to her body as tightly as she could. In his embrace she could find security, a shield to the angst she felt of the future and a solace to the reality of the present. Though however safe she felt with him, she was never out of range of the fiery arrows of the past, the pain of which having been magnified by her encounters earlier in the day. She allowed a few tears to fall as she sniffled and skillfully swallowed the remainder of her feelings. “Such a jackass,” she whispered.
Not completely understanding the complexity of a mare's mind, Plough screwed up his face in confusion, though he quickly reminded himself of the difficulties Chaff had been facing the majority of her life; though he could not exactly comprehend them, he could at least sympathize. He patted her nuzzling head as her breathing slowed and became more regular. “And that line is so lame,” she added with a sigh.
“It worked didn't it?”
“Heh.”
Plough let the silence clean the situation for a minute or two before he broke it. “Speaking of jackasses,” he started. “What were you and that mule talking about, anyway? What kind of story did he tell you to get you all worked up like that?”
Chaff searched her mind for the right words and, having found none, said, “Can we save that discussion for later? It's getting a little hard to breathe in here, and you smell like fertilizer.”
Plough smiled. “As you wish, sweetie.” He collected his groceries from the ground and tossed them into his saddlebags as Chaff composed herself.
“Oh, yeah!” she said, giving him a delightfully colored, small, cardboard box. “Here it is. Possibly the only one in existence. The limited-run, ultra-rare 'Cracklin'-Corn™'version of General Mare's® Brand Star Swirl's® Cereal.”
Plough's eyes glistened as he reverently took the box and looked it over as if holding his first-born. “It's just so … beautiful. It beats the test.”
“And all the rest.”
“Star Swirls are the very best,” they sang in harmony. It made them giggle like little fillies.
He carefully put the box into the top part of his saddlebag, making sure to not put it anywhere near the canned food, so as not to be crushed, and gave the mare a kiss on her cheek. Chaff smiled coyly at him then opened the door and the two were greeted with a slightly less sweltering heat and a guard who was eyeing them with suspicion.
Plough did his best to look dignified, standing up straight and pushing a hoof through his dark mane. Clearing his throat he plead his case to the guard pony, “Some of the, uh, goods were hard to reach.” The guard just shook his head and motioned them to move along.
“Where on this planet could you have possibly found this box of Star Swirl's®?” he asked as they weaved their way through the crowds of trader caravans, farmers and a host of ponies whose professions were probably of the unsavory type. “I mean, I've only seen one ad for this and it was on a torn, back page of a magazine which was, itself, torn in half. Do you even think it tastes good, considering its short run?”
They stopped in the one open spot in the middle of the large room. “I don't think popularity means good, I mean, take Sparkle~Cola for instance. Who in their right mind would make a carrot-flavored s-...” The couple stopped in their tracks. Quitclaim stood before them barring them from the exit. “G-good morning, father. W-what may I help you with?”
The manilla-colored pony was chewing on something, making him produce an excess of brown saliva which he promptly spat at Plough's feet. “What do you have in th' bag, son?” he asked, fearlessly disregarding the almost double size differential between Plough and himself. Quitclaim put on the similar airs as a sheriff, albeit with twice the bravado and less than half the authority. “Thinkin' of stealin' from me?” His wispy, black moustache flinched as he waited for an answer.
“No, sir,” Plough said, standing straight and smiling proudly, easily hiding the loathing of Chaff's father from his tone and body language. “As a matter of fact, sir, I have some bottle caps with your name on them. Three boxes of those delicious applecakes, six cans of beans and one jar of pickled maraschino cherries. This, I believe should cover it.” He held out a hoof-full of caps to Quitclaim, and broadened his smile, knowing full well the caps weren't the biggest factor in the transaction. Plough stole a glance of Chaff whose discomfort was painted on the sides of her eyes. Her father, ever the the business pony didn't like letting his property go so cheaply.
Quitclam grunted as he counted out the caps. “Hmm. Yeah. That's right for the groceries. Move along now. I don't want no ...”
“Wooooowee!” screamed a dirty, wasteland pony from the front of the establishment. He was oozing happiness from his unsettlingly large grin, to his jingling saddlebags, to his gravity-defying hooves and didn't waste any time spreading his joy around. “Drinks are on me!” he shouted as he threw two hoof-fulls of caps into the air. The entire place erupted in triumph even as the blue unicorn in the corner was finally able to get the jukebox working and the captured sounds of a spirited moment caught on record rushed through everypony in attendance.
Quitclaim's eyes immediately saw profit so he forgot about the two young ponies and focused on the insanity happening at the bar, just as the new patron was making his way through the ruckus to the middle of the room. The wateland pony moved slowly through the crowd, receiving hug after kiss after hoof-bump, but he made it to the eye of the storm where Chaff was able to get his attention, “Well, look at you Mr. Party Pony! Aren't you just the most generous thing? What put you into such a sharing, caring mood?”
The wastelander had mysteriously acquired a full bottle of mezcal and a sparkly, pink party hat with a fountain of multi-colored streamers emitting from the top of its cone, like some party-time volcano. After taking a dangerously large swig of his mezcal he made his way over to Chaff. “Hey beautiful!” he yelled over the din of merrymaking happening around them. “Yeah, me and my buddies were scaving out near that old stable when who should appear but the mother-fucking-Steel-Rangers!” He took another drink. “Well, I just about pissed myself! I didn't think there was any way of getting out alive, 'cause you know how them tin cans can get when there's wartime technology around.” And another drink. “Anywaysh! There I was, about to get mmmmblown up when their leader, nice looking guy, blonde hair, tan, blue eyes, you know the type … anyway he come up to me and ashked me if I had any wartime technology to shell and I said, 'Fffffffuck, take anything you want!' And he's all, 'well what d'you have?' Sho I tell the guy what we're carrying and BOOM!” He stomped one of his hooves on the ground for greater emphasis as he stared like a lunatic into Chaff's eyes. “He jusht tosshes me this giant bag of caps. 'Great doin' business with ya!' 'Yeah, bro, you too!' Crazy night, let me tell ya.” Another big swig.
Plough felt it was his turn to chime in. “Wow that's crazy!” he agreed. “So there's this band of Steel Rangers just going around looking for … what, exactly?”
Another swig. It was a wonder the pony was still standing. “Yunno! Like, yunno … everything! Magishkal sparkh power sources-es, guns and bullets, pipbucks, robotssss, medical equipment ...”
“Medical equipment? You mean like, EKG machines, autodocs, drugs, powered scalpels, that kind of thing?”
“Well DUH! What elsh could I mean? Whipsh and chainsss?” He laughed a strange, inhaling laugh, obviously entertaining himself. “Yeah, anything tech-no-lo-gic. They have this kind of … detector … thing that can spot some kinds of power … stuff.” He turned back to Chaff. “Anyway, shweet thing, you wanna lose thish chump and find a fun place tuh party t'night? I'm rich.”
“Hey handsome,” said a pink unicorn mare standing next to the now drunk scavenger. He smiled, put his foreleg around her and hobbled over to the rowdiest, 8:30 AM party any of the witnesses had ever seen or heard. Chaff gave a grimacing smile at the sight and sighed, knowing it was going to be a long day. There was one pony, however, who was not enjoying himself.
“What's wrong?” Chaff asked Plough who was standing with a blank expression on his face, and then she realized. “Oh, Goddesses, your father.”
Plough gave a grim nod. “I have to go, Chaff,” he said as he hurried to the door. “I'll see you later.”
“Hold on, let me pack some water...”
“You need to stay here. Business as usual. We cannot allow any state of fear to take root. Don't worry about the Rangers doing anything too crazy, this squad leader of theirs doesn't seem like he really wants to gun down everypony he sees. I mean, trading caps for equipment? Doesn't that strike you as odd?”
“I'm still going to worry about you. Be careful. You never know what kind of nut-job is behind one of those masks. I don't know what I'd do if the love of my life were to be killed by those raiders.”
“They're not raiders, Chaff.”
“Might as well be.”
His lips formed a weary grin. “I'll come back as soon as I can.” He gave her a nuzzle.
“Keep that mother of yours safe, Mister. Tell her I'm thinking about her.”
“I will, Chaff. I'll see you, soon.”
With that Chaff was once again alone in the middle of the crowd. She sighed as she looked at the bedlam occurring in the barroom, all her thoughts only a little over a mile away. If the Steel Rangers were looking for rare, wartime technology they could do worse than the Corn family's household, at least as Plough had described it to her. An entire room of machines dedicated to keeping his father alive would be a huge find for those raiders in soldier uniforms. If she was certain of anything it was that Plough was going to lose his father.
“Hey, Chaff, are you okay?” Delta asked. Chaff jerked her gaze upwards, not realizing she had been staring at the ground.
Her look of concern washed away as she put on her social mask and responded, “Oh, sorry, Delta! Spaced out for a second, there. What'cha need?”
“Well, I just fixed the jukebox and was wondering about my compensation.”
“Right, of course. Let's talk to my dad and see if we can't get you paid.” As she walked Delta over to her father she stole a look out of the window to where Plough's cart still sat. A dust devil spun past making a coil of barbed wire sitting on a nearby boulder bounce in its wake. She felt a frightening but beautiful solitude consume her. Chaff prayed that everything would be alright.
This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link:Equestria Daily
“...has shown no signs of change since the introduction of the chemical. Magical theory dictates some metamorphosis should have occurred at least three hours after exposure. Huh. I dunno. Maybe it's just my lack of sleep, but I'm not entirely sure protein-rich lettuce is in the cards. Ah, well I think deserve a little relaxation before today's test. Now, where's that checklist?”
Marrow's pieced-together recording of the alicorn's mad ramblings stopped.
The test chamber was a mess. Marrow had taken up residence next to his mysterious subject. He ate in the test chamber. He slept in the test chamber. Other scribes were joking that he would die in the test chamber. He could not be torn away from any of his tests, theories, hypotheses, or observations for any reason save two, and although his trips to the facilities were infrequent, his multiple-hour exercise sessions became more and more prevalent. “It keeps me focused,” he would eventually have to explain to Elder Gazpacho, and the old stallion (knowing full well the passions that drive the young) recognized the truth in in the statement and ordered Marrow to take up sparring again, “at least for the time being.”
Something squished beneath his hoof. “Damn it!” he said, as he tried halfheartedly to wipe last night's food from his hoof. He finished his little jaunt over to the big cork-board which stood sentry on the side of the chamber furthest from the door. The poor board had been peppered with seemingly scattershot scrawlings, printouts of official files and maps all bound together with multi-colored string and tacks like some sick, sadistic form of modern art. He focused on the fully-formed quote until his eyes were carried off on a purple string to a long printout from the pony resources division of the old Ministry of Arcane Sciences which obliquely noted the suburb of Fetlock as a point of interest. He followed the turquoise string to its termination at a red pushpin sticking out of the far end of a map of the greater Manehatten area.
He kicked a steel medical tray across the room where it made a terrible racket, spilling two-day-old breakfast and coffee all over the floor. How does this all tie together, he mused. For all the effort he had put into deciphering the alicorn's quotes, pouring over mostly useless documents and the resulting collage of ancient clues they made together, Marrow still had very little to go on, not that he would be able to act on any tips if he had them, considering his limited resources and the closest known location for possible clues being thousands of miles away. “What am I missing?” he asked a photograph of the ministry mare, Twilight Sparkle. “What kind of power did you have to keep so secret? An entire Ministry of Image ad campaign? Really?” He massaged the space between his eyes and continued tracing the strands of yarn adorning his board, hoping to come across something he had missed.
Two soft tones rose and fell before the door ratcheted open. Marrow could hear the eight hooves shuffling over wantonly strewn papers and ticking on the steel beneath, but he paid them no mind. He heard the door shut, but kept studying the connections.
“High-Scribe Marrow?” called out a tiny voice, reverberating throughout the massive chamber.
“What is it, Rewire?”
“Head Paladin Pozole is here to see you, sir.” Marrow grimaced at the thought. He knew that the paladin had come to lord his position over him again, a position Marrow knew was stolen from him after he had the accident. This was sure to be bad news. “ ... and I brought you your breakfast.” Marrow's mouth dropped open as he turned his head to look at his alarm clock. I could have sworn it was only twenty-one-hundred hours, he thought. What happened to the time? His look of shock sunk into the knitted brow of concern. He had to prepare for his technology search-party he was leading the following day.Marrow looked around for his saddlebags in the disaster and, upon finding them, proceeded to toss piece after piece of equipment into them.
“Well, time flies, I guess,” he said, stuffing a sachet of Rad-Away into one of his bags.
“Marrow, time might be flying by for you while you 'probe' your filly-friend in the Elder's basement,” Pozole said as he nonchalantly strutted past tables of notes, microscopes and test tubes. He stopped a few steps behind the scribe, picking up a clipbord of test results to peruse. He quickly tired of it, letting it fall on the floor with a clatter. “But it's going to be up if the Elder Council doesn't start seeing any results. And soon.”
Marrow turned to glare at Pozole. He had always hated that paladin. The way he pranced about, showing off his golden mane to the way he used his father as a shield against those who would speak out against him, Marrow hated him for it all. Not the least annoying was Pozole's uncanny ability to climb the ranks so quickly to become head paladin of the chapter, no doubt due in no small part to his parents' positions as elders. “Do you have a good reason you're here, Head Paladin, or have you just come to make superfluous threats at me while I pack? I do have an expedition to head tomorrow.” The off-white pony began tossing things into a bag.
“Do you?” Pozole asked, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “Well, I should probably send a courier out to Paladin Trueheart to ask him to politely return because High Scribe Marrow wants to play Daring Do in the wasteland.” He chortled, watching Marrow's glare turn into a squint. “What, you didn't hear? The Elder wants you off of the mission. He didn't give a reason, not that he needed to, of course.” As the Head Paladin spoke, Marrow devised new methods of vivisection he intended to use on him. I suppose you'd have to act like that if you could get your ass handed to you by a crippled scribe, Marrow secretly thought, bringing a sneering grin to his face. He thought he heard a laugh, but shrugged and dismissed the thought. “No, you can stay here and play with the toys you have already.” Pozole motioned with his head to the form on the operating table. “No matter how … depraved your play.”
The bay stallion with the flowing, gold mane trampled through the morass of useless papers and experimental debris with his head held high. “Also, Marrow,” Pozole said without turning his head or slowing. “Please do the right thing and clean your room. Theeeeeere's a good colt.”
Marrow stared at the closed chamber door and flicked his tail once or twice. Rewire dared not stir the stew in which Pozole had left Marrow, so he kept his unspoken discussion to himself.
“That … pony,” said Marrow, unable to find an adequate diatribe. “Take me off of the expedition, what the fuck was he thinking? Trueheart's group couldn't find tech if it were biting their docks.”
“Sir,” Rewire offered. “They're only going to Balk. You don't really think they'll find much do-”
“Who the hell do you think gave the suggestion to dispatch a team to Balk? We're getting all sorts of power readings and low-level transmissions emanating from that dung-heap of a town. What? That doesn't seem strange to you?”
“Well, of course, sir I was just saying-”
“Rewire, if you don't have anything else important to say, you may leave.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Enjoy your breakfast, High Scribe.”
Marrow just grunted as the apprentice made his way out of the chamber. The scribe looked over his breakfast. “Oh, thank Celestia, coffee,” he sighed, grabbing the steel mug sipping its steaming contents. It might have tasted like the ashes of burnt fabric, but his body was already responding to the well-known flavor, making him more alert. He noticed a newly carved bead sitting next to the plate on the tray Rewire had brought in. Marrow scooped it up with his free hoof. On it, in tiny and intricate detail, was a relief of the alicorn's head with cartoonish lines emanating from her open mouth. Scribe Ohms was quite the master at carving these little trinkets. “Huh. Glad he finished it.” Marrow set his coffee down for the time being and deftly added the new bead to the rest of its family, wrapping his body in success.
He picked up the coffee once more and, taking a noisy sip, hobbled over to the operating table.
“Maybe I should put this in an IV for you … perk you up a bit.” His face hovered in front of hers, ignoring any personal boundary. “How would you like that? Would you like some coffee?” Her eyes just stared at him, blankly refusing any kind of connection no matter how much he pursued it. She had done nothing but repeat the same few dialogues every few hours, showing no signs of intelligence or actual personality whatsoever. Marrow couldn't help but to offer up prayers to old goddesses in hopes the cycle would break so he could finally sleep. Or work. Or do something other than wait.
The alicorn let out a sigh. “Well,” Marrow responded. “Thank you for your entertaining banter, madame. I daresay that was the most exciting story you told just now. Tell me, metabolizing oxygen sounds like what, again?”
“I would love some coffee!” the creature yelled in earnest, as if her life depended on the consumption of caffeinated beverages. Marrow dropped his cup, the warm, brown liquid seeping into a large quantity of papers littering the ground.
“Celestia, wha-,” he stammered, his hooves groping for the record button on his pipbuck. He heard the satisfying click and two beeps. “You said you would like some coffee?”
She breathed a number of times, leaving Marrow with an expecting look on his face. Something new was exactly what he needed to impress the elder council. If he could build a rapport with this lovely creature, that would just be the whipped cream on top. “Oh, yes! Coffee would be the perfect pick-me-up right now. I'll take mine with two sugars, pleassssse black and hurry it wwwwwould like a lactose-free Cappuccino a Macchiato, I don't care how you do it, with extra ninety-percent or higher cocoa shavings on top and could I get a side offfffff tea, Earl Grey, iced ooooone of those orange milkshake things? I can't have caffeine due to my heart.”
Marrow's eyes widened with shock and concern as the alicorn lay there exhibiting the most perfect madness. He scrambled for a clipboard, pen and paper as she went on, ceaselessly. Her tone quickly grew more chilling as she continued, her breath becoming irregular.
“Could I get that coffee, soon? IIIII feel so cold iiiiit's chilly in here right? Kkkhhhept at a pleasant sixty-eight degreesssss feel my legs! I can't feel my legs! … vvvvbed is getting so hard; I swear those cutbacks are really getting iiiiiisn't my room! Where am I? What happened to me? I don't feel … right … He won't answer us. ANSWER US!”
Sweating profusely, Marrow documented her symptoms. “Light convulsions, breath is shallow. Subject seems confused as to who she is and where she is. Probable dissociative identity disorder. Suggest expert evaluation by Scribe Red Book. As for now,” he said, finishing up with his clipboard and finding a spot for it on an experiment-filled workbench. “I will attempt vocal contact and communication with the subject.”
“Subject? I didn't sign up for the experiment today, it was the blue girl! The ministry mare's friend! You can't do this! I am a citizen of Equestria! I have rights! Hiiihe obviously wasn't talking about you, Sunny Hine ooooout there? We're all trapped in here together. Can you talk, maybe we can follow your voice? Hello?”
He furrowed his brow, focusing on taking in everything he could. “Hello.”
“H-hello? HELLO?! Oh, thank Celestia, I – I thought we were goners, for sure! Where are we? I don't think we're in the facility anymooooo How'd you come to that conclusion? Idiot.”
“Please, please. One personality at a time. Tell me, what do you last remember?”
“Touring the facilityyyyy were securing and storing more of the waste. Don't know why they need so many sanitation woooooo test today. It's been so much work getting to this point, and we … QUIET! You signed your NDA! We all signed it! No discussing Ministry business with-” She took a very deep breath in as the storm clouds which raged in her eyes solidified into those all-too-familiar pupils. Old pupils of patient terror. “Relax, everypony, and let me explain.” Her voice portrayed false warmth that both soothed and raised the hair on Marrow's mane and coat, but she spoke with the authority of one put in charge. Who was this personality? “There was an experiment at the facility. There were, however, some … unforeseen consequences and we were all caught in their wake. When it became apparent that not all of us could make it I had to think quickly to find a workable solution. Had I not been there, these ponies could have perished!”
Well, now that's a new one, he thought. Perhaps this is magical instead of psychological? “You. I have spoken with you before. Could you tell me what is wrong? Was it a memory spell or maybe a trapped memory orb? Damn, I wish Red Book were here.”
The alicorn gave a dismissive and haughty laugh. “Is that your psychotherapist? That is truly too cute. This goes far beyond any pedantic answer of simple memory spells cooked up by some unicorn professor in a stuffy, old library in Canterlot.” She giggled again, her smugness beginning to scratch at Marrow's patience. “No, what you see before you is the result of countless hours of research by the greatest minds Equestria has ever seen. No psychoanalyst has any hope of even beginning to understand this situation. Suffice it to say, these ponies are safe and in a kind of stasis. I'm helping them through this time of transition. Tell me, Marrow. How do you cope with the incompetence surrounding you?”
“How did you know my name?”
“I have ears, don't I?”
She had a point. Even in a catatonic state, this creature could have some functioning senses. That sent a chill up his spine.
“I asked you a question, High-Scribe.”
Marrow sighed. He had to keep the alicorn talking, but didn't want to incriminate himself. Why did he feel so compelled to talk to her? To tell her everything? He felt a force inciting his emotions and seducing his knowledge away. His tongue was drying out from allowing his mouth to hang open. He was powerless and needed to talk. “It's infuriating having to wait for others to catch up, seeing missions botched before my eyes, watching them as they fail over and over again.”
“You feel they have no place, like they couldn't get any better.”
“They cannot prove their value to even themselves! It's a wonder we are as organized as we are. Why could they not just-”
“Be more like you?”
Marrow stared at her, silently with an unfathomable expression. “Who are you?”
“I am just a pony upon whom fate has bestowed a blessing. Equestria is sick, Marrow. The land cries out for blood and the ponies living in it are more than happy to oblige. I believe you and I can change that. Can you imagine all of Equestria intelligent, fit … ageless? A perfect Equestria, united in a joint effort to take back the world and even reach out to conquer the stars? Free from all in-fighting, discord and disharmony? With you and I at the forefront, able to delegate tasks we know would be completed without fear of seeing them mishandled? Can you imagine this, Marrow?”
The stallion gave a slow but terse nod. “You need to prove your intentions before we can start trusting each-other. You know my name, but I still do not know yours.”
“Of course, High-Scribe. You may call me … Solidarity. You will start receiving gifts of great variety. Here is my first gift: you may wish to edit that recording.”
“Already started,” Marrow said, holding up his pipbuck for her to see. She smiled a weak, but mischievous grin.
“Marrow, I have a feeling you and I are going to become very close.”
She kissed at him as her face relaxed. Her pupils ripped apart and returned to acting like storm clouds in her eyes. Marrow chuckled as he finished editing the recording he had made of the conversation. If I knew she was that kind of mare, he thought, his mind buzzing off into many different directions. Maybe I would have approached the subject sooner. I wonder if her mutated cells are compatible. Where is she from?! Celestia damn, why didn't I ask that? Why did I feel comfortable telling her so much? And how is it morning? Have I been sleeping standing up? I suppose that would explain the headaches.
His musings were interrupted once again by two rising and falling tones and the ratcheting of the door.
“Marrow, my friend,” Elder Gazpacho said as he entered the room, walking over to the scribe. He smelled of cigar smoke, making the room seem a little cozier, somehow. “Any luck with our beautiful guest?”
“Quite a bit, sir,” Marrow said, picking up his clipboard and showing it to the elder. “All documented and nearly ready for your perusal. I should have a report ready for you by this evening.”
“Oh, that ees some great news; I cannot wait to read and listen to what joo have for me. Unfortunately, joo have other plans this evening.”
Marrow's eyebrows raised in expectation. “Sir? I thought I was taken off of the Balk excursion.”
“And joo still are. No, I have something more important. Remember our leettle trap?”
Marrow nodded. “Of course, sir.” How could he forget? This one act would secure at least four assets at once, and he was very curious to see what else said assets could snag them.
“Well we are going to e-spring it. Tonight.”
Marrow felt warmth rush to his face. “Did we find the spot?”
“Applewood. Sleepy Shores radioed us just before I e-stepped in dees room.”
“Is this really our most promising potential asset?”
“She mentioned something about him having some kind of a breakdown, but he ees the only one with the required e-skills. Dees ees our guy.”
“May I ask why I am requested to go? Wasn't the Head Paladin put on this mission? Trapping a spy seems a little dangerous for the likes of a scribe.”
“Well, nomber one: dees needs to be a stealth mission. Power armor would geef away our positions. And besides my friend, no matter how frightening my son can be in his armor, joo are a big, scary sonofabeetch!”
They shared a laugh, each knowing full well how ruthless Marrow could be. After the last echo of their mirth died, Marrow broke the silence. “So when do I leave?”
“Right now.”
This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link:Equestria Daily
The sun was setting. Its light was turning the ocean to fire, as if it were burning a sacrifice to the Goddesses. From her vantage point in the skyscraper, it was the clearest she'd ever seen. Her eyes stung from the shine, but she couldn't help but stare. After leaving the laboratory, she never missed an opportunity to look at a clear patch of sky. She gloried in the cloudy mornings as the wastes gave birth to the day in the east, and marveled at the explosions of color the sun made when it set in the west. Every once in a while, the wild clouds over the ocean would part to give her an unobstructed view. She didn't want to play favorites but, Celestia have mercy, she loved the rare glimpses of Luna's sky the most.
There had been nights when she enjoyed a lonely stroll along the beaches. Occasionally, she was rewarded with a view of the night sky. The moon, as often as she'd seen it, looked so clean up there. It seemed immune to the stains of the deep blues and rich purples of the inky void in which it lay. It was unsoiled by neglect and untarnished by the thoughts of wicked ponies. Perhaps it was the moon-white color of her coat or maybe it was the blue in her mane, but she felt an affinity for the Princess of the Night. Luna always had a certain quality she valued.
Luna was free. Free of decay, free of the rotting society of Celestia's Acre. She was freed from the bonds of her sister and released from the chains of her own nightmares. Free from her underground cage, Fate no longer felt the yoke of bondage. Enslavement comes in many forms, however, and Fate felt controlled by her own bitterness. Knowing there were still ponies in underground stables, slaves under haughty hooves, made her blood run backwards.
CRUNCH.
She jumped and looked at her hooves. Her mess kit was crushed in between them. She grunted a laugh, shaking her head at its new, discus shape and placed it gently at her side. I really hope nopony heard that. Chuckling at herself, she looked back over the water in the distance. Its cool breeze carried away her moment of levity as her face slackened into a look of longing. There were always patches of clear sky over the ocean.
But the sun was setting.
She had been waiting for hours, and she wasn't entirely keen to stick around Twilight Sparkle Boulevard after dusk. There was the fact that the entire area had been staked out and covered by power armor-less agents of the Steel Rangers. Then there was the fact that she knew the skeleton of the skyscraper she had been waiting in was being patrolled by those same Steel Rangers. Finally, there was the knowledge that any minute the bloodwings would start pouring out of the metro stations. She either had to find a place to hunker down for the night and pray to not be heard by the beasts' super-pony hearing, or else take her chances hoofing it back to the bunker in La Neighah. Being the logical pony she decided on the former. She had no desire to be eviscerated and eaten by ravenous, flying beasts.
Like it or not, she was stuck for the time being, and the sun was quickly sinking. Crazy Rich better be right about this pegasus, she thought. Or I'm shooting that fat-assed Fire Stone handler in the head. The earth pony levitated her binoculars and focused them on said fat-ass. Levitation: the greatest gift she never asked for, courtesy of the scientists from her privately-funded, underground stable. Similar to a Stable-Tec® stable in both build and aesthetic, this particular stable's ultimate purpose was to foster the advancement of cybernetic technology. To this earth pony its ultimate purpose was to use base-born ponies like herself as victims for their debased experiments.
She watched as he paced up and down the alleyway in his khaki trench coat and fedora, chain-smoking cigarettes. He occasionally reached up to scratch the back of his mane or blow his nose. She wondered why Crazy Rich even trusted a traitor to his own family. Well, at least the Fire Stone stuck to his own ideals, no matter how corrupt. That thought didn't keep her from frowning.
The sun was starting to sink into the ocean when she spotted him, the same burning orange color as the sidewalk and buildings at this time of day. He strode along in his blue, two-piece suit toward his appointment. She quietly set down her binoculars and raised her sniper rifle as the orange pegasus reached the alleyway. The weapon was outfitted with an arcane-powered listening device, perfect for eavesdropping. It was also a precaution. Firing at Crazy Rich's contact in order to keep the pegasus alive wasn't the most attractive option, but that orange stallion had to survive. She had to trust the plan. She had to trust in Crazy Rich.
She flicked a switch on the side of her weapon and the crystals attached to either side of its scope began to heat up and glow. Covering the crystals with a pair of dark socks, she activated her ear bloom and pointed her weapon directly at his head.
“...one about Fillydelphia?” the Fire Stone traitor said in a distinct, blown-out voice. She heard the unmistakable sound of a revolver being cocked. She aimed at the head of the larger pony, and clicked her amplifier to standby. One bullet could change the world.
Her breathing relaxed as she prepared to fire. The wind was toying with her hair, whipping streamers of blue across her face. She hesitated. Her company had only one shot at this.
A feeling of weightlessness overtook her.
She shook the hair from her eyes as she peered through the high-powered scope and watched as the Fire Stone lowered his weapon and hugged Raze vigorously. Very friendly, she thought. The two ponies began walking down the deserted boulevard towards Rainbow Dash's Bar & Grill, directly across the street from from her. The amplifier came back to life with a click as she exhaled a silent prayer of thanks to Celestia for not letting it all fall apart. She listened in on their conversation.
“I know! Between them and those vicious raider gangs how are we supposed to grow and maintain the city? I mean, really. As much as I like you, Raze, and enjoy all your accents and impersonations, I don't like having to deal with a trained assassin.”
“Oi'm a trained spy, Frank. It's your organization what pays me for doin' dat.”
The fat pony lit a cigarette and took a long drag. He scratched his mane again.
“ And I'm sure all those ponies you've … terminated for us thought the same way! 'Oh, he's a great spy. He's just killing me for money! It's just business. I understand, ha-ha!' The point is: this band of ex-stable-dwelling anarchists, Invictus, right? They're gaining a lot of sympathy from some of those gangs, BP-16 especially. What are we supposed to do if they succeed in ‘freeing’ one of the sealed stables? Do you know how much useful technology is in one of those places? You think Celestia's Acre can handle those combined forces if they get any new tech from a stable?”
The little voyeur scrunched her nose at those accusations. What gives him the right to dictate what other ponies do she asked herself. Doesn't he realize how enslaved the majority of these stable ponies are? Toiling away under an overmare or stallion who was given the title by birth or some rigged election? These ponies need to make their own choices. If he has the stupidity to think we're going to try to “take over” some place … That doesn't even make sense. I can't believe Crazy Rich trusts this guy.
Her own experience in a stable was a typical story of wartime-Equestrian society thrown into a cramped space underground and pressure-cooked for over a hundred years. A few scientists and political bigwigs eased into the life of the controlling bourgeois while the rest of the populace catered to their needs. It seemed a tired cliché, even more so when she made it to the surface and found society hadn't changed there, either. Every town had its own corrupt leaders. The ponies of Celestia's Acre even had a government. What was she to do? Stand by and watch Equestria rebuild itself on the backs of the bruised?
She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her internal discourse and went back to paying attention to the conversation of the two shady ponies.
“In a world of balefire and suffering,” Raze said, using his best announcer voice and miming movie trailer explosions with his hooves. “One pony. Uses his power of worry … to change Equestria forever. Frankfurter Fire Stone is … boom! Your Mom. Based on a true story.”
Frank punched Raze in the chest as the pegasus just laughed it up.
“Yeah, you keep on acting like an ass while our government falls apart. We're trying to help ponies, Raze.”
“Da government does whatever it wants. It's luyk all dese gangs. Dey extort tings from ponies in exchange for a bit of 'security'. Fuck me, Frank, de only reason Oi ever work wit'choo is yiz guys in da Fire Stones have at least a bit of morality. Ya still remind me of da Enclave, bunch of fuckin' rats.”
Frankfurter ran his hoof through his mane and sighed. “I'm sorry they did that to you, Raze, I really am, but you have to start accepting the way the world works. You've seen what happens when there isn't any recognized law or police force. You've witnessed what gangs like the Crazy Eights do to towns outside of our reach.”
She squinted. The Crazy Eights were nothing but a pack of wild jackals, only attacking what they knew they could easily conquer. They ravaged the occasional, ill-guarded caravan that wandered out of the city limits on its way to the nowhere-towns of the desert. Sometimes the town, too. If you actually empowered the people, she thought. Instead of letting them live in a dream land of false security, they would have taken care of that problem long ago.
The sun was almost gone and she could hear chirping noises begin to grow in strength and number. There were no birds around this time of day. Whatever was going to happen needed to happen soon.
Raze looked at his companion, his expression losing all warmth. “Invictus, Crazy Eights, BP-16?” Raze asked, looking around. He checked all his points. His gaze stopped on her, almost like he was looking at her through the lens of her scope. She ducked, hoping he didn't see her. What am I doing out here? she asked herself. It was a good question. Observing Raze's shuffling from one fascist group to the next seemed hardly important, but somepony needed to keep an eye on him. Come on Fate, honey! Get it together! She closed her eyes for a moment and raised her rifle. Serenity. Peace. Tranquil waters.Luna save me, this wingboner's good but he's going to get us all killed.
“Whut about the Steel Ranjus?” Raze asked, still staring in Fate's direction. “Aren't you afraid o' dem?”
“Honestly, Raze? They scare me shitless.”
“It was nice knowing you, Frank.”
“Raze, hey … I'm sorry.”
The pegasus shoved Frank to the ground as his wings spread out from under the bottom of his suit jacket. Jumping high, a crazed look of survival stole his face. He knew what was coming for him. He didn't get very far before she saw three blue darts appear in his side. He flapped in vain, falling in a crumpled heap of feathers and fur. Frank got up and ran to the large, blue theater to the right of the bar & grill. His face bore a look of simultaneous shame and fear.
In seconds the street was flooded with the once-hidden Steel Ranger agents. Two carried off the unconscious pegasus, the rest covering all sides. They moved as one, across the street and into the theater building. Its thick walls denied her ability to listen in on the proceedings. It was time for her to move. After turning off and collapsing her rifle she put each piece carefully into its slot in the weapon's foam-padded case. The sun was down and the light of dusk wouldn't last much longer. She had to change. Opening the side compartment of her modified PipBuck, she pulled out her stealth outfit. Really nothing more than dark blue spandex, it offered her bright body the eye-confusing protection of darkness.
After slipping into the form-fitting suit, she strapped the rifle case across her back and crept across the third floor of the building. She moved silently, low to the ground across the length of the floor, the large metal desks her cover. Her Eyes-Forward Sparkle showed no signs of enemies nearby, but she remained cautious knowing the spell had trouble detecting the stealthiest adversaries. The cool, ocean wind sang its lonely thoughts through the empty window panes. The stillness surrounding her was unnerving, but she made it to the stairwell and down the stairs.
The pegasus had to survive this hand-off. She could only imagine the next time an Enclave-trained, pegasus spy who might be sympathetic to her cause would wander into Applewood. The plan had to work. Failing to protect him could completely erode Invictus’ designs for a revived Equestria, creating an even bigger rift between the factions. Maybe even incite another territorial war.
With trepidation, she entered the cavernous lobby on the ground level. The light outside had really started to wane, projecting a chilling blue color onto everything in the lobby. The chittering noise had morphed into the sound of leathery wings flapping. She had to move it to the theater if she wanted her body to stay intact.
The lobby echoed with the soft, punching sound of her hooves on its tile floor. The open space where the front door used to be was within her reach.
A Steel Ranger agent appeared, pointing a silenced pistol at her. It took her brain an awkward moment to realize she was out in the open. Three shots rang out as she dove behind a concrete pillar. Blending into the shadows, she scolded herself for not being careful enough. Squads of eight! Squads of eight! Why didn't I count them? Dammit! This guy probably heard me crush my mess kit. Gah! He's going to alert the rest of his squad! How did you not notice him, Fate?
He came into view, but he didn't seem to notice her. The rush she felt hiding from him made it difficult to breathe quietly. I don't want to fight this guy, she told herself, staring at the dangerous pony looking for her. I got to get out of here. This operation is screwed, anyway. Crazy Rich will pick his trail back up again. Rubble blocked her escape to her left. The lit, open spaces to her front and right were her only possible points of egress. She had no choice. She had to fight through this stallion.
She tensed as he put a hoof forward. His cautious step was rewarded with a buck to the face, dislodging the gun from his mouth. It rattled across the floor taking an incisor with it.
She threw another kick. Bleeding from the mouth, he leaned back and swatted it away. He countered. She ducked and hit him with two punches of her own to the side of his ribs. His subsequent cough peppered her face with blood.
He spun and backed away even as she lept at the nearby pillar and launched herself from it. Her flying punch connected, showering the dusty floor with blood and saliva. He tumbled backwards, end-over-end towards the street, landing on his back.
Doesn't he hear the fluttering, she asked herself, trying to run past him. If this idiot doesn't back off we're both going to die. He reached out and grabbed her leg, tripping her. Standing up, he started for her.
Her magical aura reached out to find something to make him let go. Finding a small stone, she hurled it at his head. The improvised bullet cracked against his skull. He winced and backed away, but shaking his head, bit onto a piece of loose rebar and tore it from the wall. Fate couldn't believe what she was seeing. Goddesses, is this guy's head made of concrete?
He lashed out at her. She leaned back, the rusty rebar missing her middle by inches. His technique was slow, but wide. She was being corralled. Another vicious swing, another step back into the corner. She tossed another levitated rock at him which he batted away. She was trapped again. The savage chain of oppression was once again searching for her. Its grip was warm and icy at the same time, like a mean relative one only sees on Hearthswarming Eve.
Fate had spent enough time in chains. Ducking under another swipe from the rebar, she pounced on her attacker, kicking off from the wall to gain more momentum and power. The two skidded across the floor, Fate landing on her hooves and her adversary on his back, disoriented.
She used his confusion to buy her time enough to run off into the street, but landed on her face instead. She held a hoof to her now-wounded nose and cursed the pony who had set the tripwire. There was a rumbling. Concrete boulders began to rain down around her. The majority of the rubble missed her as she rolled away, but her right rear leg up to the fetlock was caught in the debris.
She tugged at her leg. Struggling was no use. She was trapped. The Steel Ranger agent emerged from the concrete dust plume wielding his silenced pistol once more. With no real hope to escape, she watched him take aim. This is it, she thought. Brought down by a hunk of concrete and a tiny, lead slug. She stared into his eyes, defiant to the last, when he was knocked off his hooves by a dark blur..
He let out a furious roar as he kicked the bloodwing off himself. He staggered to his feet. Blood mingled with strands of saliva, dangling from his lips. Another of the bat-like creatures rammed into him, followed by another, and another. A steady stream of them erupted out of the nearby metro, chasing after the lead one which had taken its prize up in the air.
Fate used this distraction to dig her leg out of the rubble. She struggled to her hooves and started hobbling across the street. She craned her neck to watch the stallion successfully beat his flying captor unconscious. He fell, only to be snatched mid-air by three others. They pulled at his legs using their powerful wings as leverage against the air. Yelling turned to shrieking as Fate heard the juicy crunch of his leg being ripped from his body. She watched the lucky bloodwing fly away with its reward. The rest of him fell out of the pulsating swarm. Her hooves stumbled onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street when the screaming stopped with a crunching thud behind her. She grimaced, choking on her fear.
She staggered down the alleyway, looking for a back door to the Rocky Theater. A bloodwing landed in the alleyway, blocking her way. She hesitated, not knowing exactly what to do as the creature made its way toward her. Its massive fangs dripped with a mixture of blood and venom. Her eyes darted around, looking for anythingto use as a weapon. They spotted a piece of pipe further down the alleyway. She levitated it and pulled it into the back of the bloodwing's head with all the focus she could muster. It popped sickeningly through its skull, protruding out of its eye socket. She managed to run past the convulsing monster and down the alleyway. Slurps and gurgles of the savage feast continued behind her.
Shambling up the steps to the back door, she set to work on picking the lock. She had levitated out her home-made lockpick when everything went silent. The bloodwings had finished their meal and began their chirping to find another. The sound would have been adorable, had she not witnessed their previous meal. She tried to muffle the sound of the lockpick's work on the door. Each click of the lock's ratcheting tumblers was a gunshot in the near silence. Keep picking, she told herself. They can hear you, but you have to keep picking. The rasp of claws against the ground grew, along with the fluttering of wings and that incessant chirping. The lock was being stubborn; it was one of those locks that time had forgotten to weaken, making any progress in its violation painfully slow.
A gentle hiss touched her right eardrum.
Fate forced the bloodwing from her mind, though fear was gnawing at her gut. She focused on the lock and the relatively safe area behind it. For her there could be no fear, no bloodwing, only the lock. The mutated bat didn't see it that way as it prepared to jump to the platform on which Fate was standing, disregarding its stairs, entirely. Several more shapes joined their hungry friend on the platform and its railing, staring and hissing at her.
The obstinate lock finally succumbed to her caress even as three of the beasts hurled themselves at her, their dagger-like talons outstretched. The door opened. One of the bats lashed out with a claw. Leaning her head, she felt a slight tug at her ear. She stumbled inside as quickly as she could on her lamed leg. Closing the door seemed like it would be nearly as difficult as opening it had been, as the surging cloud of leathery flesh tried desperately to push through. The beasts were strong, heaving with all of their ravenous weight against the old, steel door. What they weren't, however, was clever. Fate used their frenzied state to her advantage as she levitated a mop and tossed it over their heads. Many of them chased after the motion, hoping for an easy meal. The remaining creatures were easily dissuaded from their assault with stabs from her survival knife.
She put a hoof to her ear. The talon had ripped a hole in her suit but luckily her ear was still intact. The door slammed shut, cutting off nearly all the sound from outside, leaving only the scratching noises of the bloodwings' claws tearing at it in vain. Lock the door! She wrenched the apparent lock lever, sinking three massive deadbolts deep in the wall. She leaned her back against the door. It was cold, and she could feel the vibrations of the bloodwings' fury through its steel.
Breathe.
She sighed and sunk to the floor, relieved to be through with the giant bat issue for the day. The shock and excitement of her fight for survival was quickly evaporating, allowing her to feel every pain signal her leg and nose were sending her brain. She eased herself off of the door and, wincing, stood up. Her leg was throbbing, but she couldn't waste time cradling it. There had to be a shadowy place to witness the transaction. She would never forgive herself if she missed something important.
Staring into the blackness before her, she clicked the light of her PipBuck on to get an idea of where she was. She looked around at the long, dark room. The holes she assumed used to be windows had long since been covered and reinforced by all manner of materials. Something to her left reflected the wan light of her PipBuck. It was a mirror, fairly well-preserved. The somewhat translucent shadows silhouetted against it suggested this room was a bar. Or at least it had been.
Ignoring the pain as best she could, Fate limped across the dusty old room to a wooden door. “Employees Only” stated a big plastic label. It was unlocked, and led to a narrow stairwell. Its ceiling and walls were plastered with every type of sticker and graffiti imaginable. Logos of musical groups and pop-culture references forgotten by time stared at her from all sides of the stairwell. Though her outfit covered her entirely (large gashes nonwithstanding), a chill ran down her spine as she put a hoof on the railing for balance. Even through the suit, she could feel every bump of goo left by decades of stickers.
The stairs led her to a little space at the bottom of the stairwell. Four doors greeted her and she could hear distant muttering emanating from the right-most. Noticing that the door was also leaking light from the space underneath, she clicked her PipBuck's light off . She pressed her ear to the door and could hear two voices and the trickle of water. The smaller voice was speaking.
“...right after, right?”
“Yeah,” the gruff voice answered. “We're not even gonna wait for all those bats tuh clear out. Can you believe that?.”
“Need me to hold your hoof all the way back home?”
“Pshh! Laugh all you want, bro. Sleepy Shores is back and you know how she gets when things go her way.”
“Aw, shit.”
Fate heard the gruff voice cough up a chuckle. “Good luck trying to get any sleep tonight, dude!”
Typical stallions, Fate thought to herself, massaging the space between her eyes again. Always a contest. Always a new conquest. There was a slight pause in their conversation as she heard the water slow to a stop.
“Are you sure any of that will happen with Marrow acting all manic?”
“Ugh, Fin! Why'd you have to go and screw up my night before it started?”
“Just sayin', Gat. His royal creepiness has a way of screwing things up for everypony. Other than the obvious, what do you think he wants with that pegasus?”
“I'm not even going to try 'n find out. Don't burden yourself with the secrets of scary ponies. Speaking of which, we better get back out there.”
“You go on ahead. I still have, um, some unfinished-”
The big voice snorted. “Still shy? Shit, you should'a been a scribe.”
“That's funny, Gatling. I'll have to remember that one the next time I have to save your ass from a slap-happy pimp.”
“Hey, I was wasted! It doesn't count!”
“Excuses. Still doesn't change the fact that he would've slapped you to death.”
“Whatever. Have fun playin' with yourself in the dark, duck-fucker.”
“Ass-hat.”
The sound of hooves told Fate of the big pony's departure. If they were just taking a bathroom break before they rejoined the rest of their brothers, it wouldn't take that long. She waited for another trickle of liquid to start, but it never came. Checking her Eyes-Forward Sparkle, she noticed the little green bar representing the pony who was apparently called “Fin” had not moved. Curious, she peered under the door. She saw four gray hooves standing right behind it.
Shit!
The door handle began to jiggle.
Fuck!
It was locked. Thank Celestia for small miracles, she thought, trying the other doors with her telekinesis. Two doors opened for her, the one with a star on it at the other end of the stairwell and another on the wall directly to the right of it with the word “Mares” emblazoned on its front. She left the door at the end opened as she hobbled into the mares’ room and closed its door behind her. She switched her PipBuck light back on to find a place to hide. It illuminated the two toilet stalls in the corner of the room. The entirety of the room that wasn't black tile was completely plastered with in band stickers and personal advertisements, each with matching seven-digit numbers. The smell was no better; the room reeked slightly of an almost sweet wetness, as if something had been turning fetid meat into candy. Her nose told her “no”, but she had to hide somewhere.
Choking back her lunch, she entered the corner-most stall, stood on its battered porcelain seat, turned off her PipBuck's light and closed her eyes. She tempered her breathing and reached out with her other senses. Fin had stopped fumbling with the lock. A sense of relaxation stole over her body. Then the crash came. Apparently the Steel Rangers taught their ranks a different style of lockpicking. Oh, please don't come in here, she prayed. Oh Celestia, sister of mercy, please don't let him come through that door. She had no way of making it out of this situation alive if she had to start killing Steel Rangers. They had her immeasurably outnumbered and out-gunned, and there weren’t many good hiding spots in the Rocky Theater. Leaving was, of course, suicide with the swarms of bloodwings outside. With her injured leg she would be too easy a meal to pass up.
Fin's hooves thundered down the little stairwell room. They stopped in the dressing room. Sounds of him milling about wafted through the restroom door, like he was looking for something. Celestia, sister of mercy, let him just walk back out of the room and return to his post. Please, just let him return to his post. She heard opening drawers and what sounded like furniture being overturned, then silence. Silence set in as Fate recognized her own shallow breathing. Luna, sister of the night, let him not hear me and pass on by.
He was quiet for what seemed like several minutes until Fate heard his defeated hoofsteps mercifully heading back to the door through which he originally came. Relaxing a bit, a smile moved across her face. Then she heard it. A clicking sound came from the stall next to hers. It was only a little bit at first, as if a rattle and a ratchet had a baby. But the noise grew louder and more dense. The air began to putrefy even as she breathed it, clinging to her nostrils like an obsessed stalker. Finally, with a belching slurp, many red bars began to populate her Eyes-Forward-Sparkle. In the pitch black of the restroom she couldn't see a thing, but she knew what they were.
She had to wait until the Steel Ranger sentry was gone, but the radroaches would find her eventually. Unfortunately for Fate, she couldn't hear anything else above the skittering of the- Wait! Hoofsteps. He was returning. Biting her bottom lip, Fate shook her head. Damn. Not your lucky day, is it?
The door crashed open and a bright, bluish light blew the darkness of the room away. The innumerable shiny, brown carapaces of the radroaches made the floor look like a rust-colored sea. She retched as she saw the light bounce and land in an awkward position. It was understandable. The shock and revulsion at opening a door to a sea of insects would make anypony drop their flashlight. Fate kept her dry heaves as quiet as she could, not that Fin would have been able to discern hers over his own.
“Oh! HMMMNNNG! Oh...oh, that's nasty! Oh Godde- HMMMPHGH!” One hoof holding his belly, he spat a few times on the ground and turned to face the radroach intrusion. His voice sounded a bit more weak when he said, “Okay, you guys gotta go.”
The light moved back to a higher position even as she heard the crunches. One-by-one Fin stomped through the mass until he came to the first stall, and bucked it open.
“Ah, so this is where you're coming from! Eugh! Die!”
It sounded like potato chips being stirred into a jar of mayonnaise.
CRUNCH … SLURP … CRUNCH … SLURP!
Fate was sweating. A bit of ocean breeze would have been sweet relief in that dank room. Even just the sound of empty space would do, but the other pony kept her trapped in the infested rest room. There was a bit of heavy breathing before she heard him back out of the stall. “Alright, I know there are a few more back here. Come and meet your maker.” His hooves squished to a stop in front of the stall she was in.
Oh crap!
Fate hurdled the wall over to the neighboring stall, touching the sticker-encrusted divider as little as possible. She peered over the last wall at the mass genocide Fin had wrought. Now was her only chance to get by undetected. She took a moment to build the courage to run out into the slippery, open floor. Please, dear Luna, sister of the night, let me move as a shadow through darkness, she prayed. With that she hopped the last wall and landed on the floor without a sound. She grit her teeth, stifling a scream brought on by her leg injury.
Fin was still quelling the radroach rebellion as she rounded the door and snuck into the next room. It was a slightly bigger area with concrete floors and a rusted, roll-up metal door. The loading bay once used by musicians and their roadies now lay derelict. The sticker motif continued into this room as well. Voices and a number of strange, metallic sounds were emanating from the theater. She was missing out on what was happening to her target, but Fin would soon be finished with pest control. She had to hide.
Something warm and wet splashed up her leg. Ew! Her expression soured as she looked down to find her hoof in a puddle. That's right, she remembered. She hung her head and sighed. What kind of slob would use the ground when there are toilets in the next room? Thinking a bit more about it, she remembered that not everypony was raised in a sterile environment. It still didn't change her disgust.
Ignoring her now-wet and quickly-cooling leg, she spotted an old equipment case and slipped into it. She opened the top slightly to peek out, waiting for Fin's return. As if on cue, the young stallion appeared from the restroom, looking rather smug. He trotted through the loading bay on his way back out to the main hall. Hmm, she mused. Blue coat. Cute face … Nice ass. He stopped as if sensing her thoughts, and carefully shined his light around the room. Fate closed the top of the case and froze in place, making sure not to make a sound. She bated her breath, taking in air only as much as she dared to smell. Filthy stallions.
After a few quiet and smelly moments, the sound of his hooves meandered out of the loading bay and echoed in the theater beyond. She silently pushed up on the case's top enough to make sure the room was empty. Thank you Luna, sister of the night, for your blessing, she prayed. Please be with me now. Moving like a spider in the darkest corner of a room, Fate slid out of the equipment case. She could hear echoing voices coming from the theater. Celestia damn me if I missed anything important. She looked for a place to listen in on the proceedings in the theater. There were stairs leading to a curtain-covered door jam. Bingo.
Without a sound, she edged up the little staircase leading to the stage and hid behind the curtains. Peering through the shredded holes the moths left behind, Fate had a good view of the majority of theater. Several battery-powered construction lights lent their yellowish glow to the hall. What they revealed surprised her.
There were four Steel Rangers already in power armor with one other just getting into his own. Damn, she swore to herself. There goes any possibility of taking them out. She could only assume they were the same Rangers from outside. They stood near the front door. Two were holding onto a pegasus ghoul mare, an extremely rare sight. The ghoul seemed worried as she stared over at Raze. That must be “Grandma,” she thought, thinking back to her briefing. Crazy Rich might have been crazy, but he was certainly thorough.
Toward stage left was a herd of ghoul ponies surrounded by a group of mercenaries led by a well-groomed mare in a plum colored suit. Well, that's different, she thought, staring at the strange sight. Next to the suit stood Frankfurter, who was still looking quite worried in his trench coat and fedora.
Her eyes moved to the middle of the room where she spotted her target, stripped of his suit and wearing a slave's collar. Fate hissed. Her own memories of slavery burned, hot in her mind. If the pegasus tried to escape or even got a certain distance away from the controller for his new neck-wear, the collar would relieve him of his head. She fought her indignation back. Nopony should be another's property. Celestia, sister of mercy, I pray for a delicate end to this situation.
Fate caught herself stroking her mane again in an attempt to soothe herself. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She repeated the mantra in her head. Serenity. Peace. Tranquil waters. The techniques were foreign to many, but effective. The knot that had wound up inside of her unraveled bit by bit, allowing her to open her eyes and focus once again.
Raze was tied to an old wooden chair. Next to him sat what looked like a large, metal coffin attached to a cart. That didn't exactly bolster Fate's optimism. Over Raze towered a massive pony in the vermillion habit of a Steel Ranger Scribe. Fin stood next to him, talking about something. The hulking scribe was nodding as he listened to what the little, blue stallion was saying, but he kept his hood-covered head pointed at Raze.
Fate didn't waste any time opening up her rifle case and putting her weapon together. She covered the glowing crystals of her listening device with the dark socks and switched on the device.
“All of them?” asked the gravelly-voiced scribe.
“All that I could see, High-Scribe,” Fin answered.
“Hmpf. At least it explains the red blips on my E.F.S. Fall in line and put your armor on, Knight; we're going to be leaving here shortly.”
“Yes, High Scribe.” He saluted and proceeded to trot over to where his armor lay on the ground.
The front door opened and another armor-clad Steel Ranger strode inside. He sounded out of breath as the speakers on his armor came to life. “Sir, Knight Repartee has fallen.”
The High Scribe craned his neck to look at the armored pony.“What?! You're sure?”
“Yes, sir. The bloodwings got him, sir. They left his remains in the middle of the street. I have his holotags.” The knight held out a hoof, the bloody tags dangling on a chain as proof.
The Scribe looked back at Raze. “Well, shit. Hey! Hey, asshole!” He took Raze's head in between his hooves and shook it. “Do you hear that? You cost me a pony!”
Raze's head lolled to the side as he groaned. He blinked several times, though lids weren't moving quite right. The tranquilizers had obviously performed their job with aplomb. “Mnn, hnng?” he asked, unable to focus on anything in particular.
“Oh, good! You're awake! I trust my little concoction isn't too much for your metabolism. A fit pony like yourself should have no trouble breaking down a weak sedative like this.”
“Ffffn yyyuuuhhh!”
The hall reverberated with the scribe's bellowing laugh. “Fighting already! You're going to be fun to work with.” He motioned over to the Rangers holding on to the pegasus ghoul. They dragged her over to sit within Raze's field of vision. Fate noticed a rope corseting the featherless wings to her body. Efficient. Around her neck hung the deadly collar of a slave, and her hooves were shackled. The big scribe smiled as Raze attempted to focus on what was before him. “Hello, Raze. Nice to finally meet you. My name is High-Scribe Marrow.”
Fate closed her eyes and dropped her head to the ground at the mention of his name. Stories of Marrow were well-known within the stable-born circles. First-hoof accounts of raids led by a callous, off-white stallion flooded her mind. Tales of his torturous interrogations would have reached mythic status, had she not herself seen the disfigurements he perpetrated against his captives. Shit, she thought. High-Scribe fucking Marrow. A murderous sociopath is exactly what my life was missing.
Marrow continued, “I have been sent here to procure equipment for the Steel Rangers. Namely you and Riverdance here.” Fate took mental note of her name even as she choked down the urge to shoot Marrow in his neck. Nopony should be another's property. “Sleepy Shores, please enlighten our guest as to why he is here.”
Marrow moved to the side of Raze and tapped away at the controls on the metal coffin. One of the armored Steel Rangers trotted over to stand in front of the pegasus. With much hissing, the Ranger's helmet came off and out flowed a shimmering, viridian mane. The sea green mare it was attached to smirked as she held her helmet with a foreleg. “Hiya, Brandy Buns!” she said. Raze let a small look of shock slip through his training, and Sleepy Shores just giggled in response. Fate didn't understand the significance. Who's this chick, she wondered to herself. Raze just sat there, silent.
“You sorta rushed out of bed earlier today,” she started. Well, there you go, thought Fate. She rolled her eyes as Sleepy Shores went on. “What's up with that, huh? Wait, no. Let me guess.” She tapped a hoof to her lips as she looked up in thought. “You had to re-arrange your cognac glasses? No? Okay … Oh! Your dolly needed her hair brushed, huh? No? Hmmm... Don't tell me you went to see your coltfriend?” Her eyes went wide as she backed up and looked around at the rest of the room. “Oh, Goddesses! I think I turned him gay, you guys!” That got a chuckle from much of the room. Fate rolled her eyes again in frustration. She had no desire to hear this loathsome mare spout her pedestrian insults.
“No? Oh, wait. You guys … He met a shady character in an alley in Applewood, right? That means there's something I have to check.” She kicked out her foreleg that wasn't holding her helmet and connected with a very sensitive area on Raze. The pegasus began coughing, shaking and wheezing. Apparently Marrow's sedative wasn't much of a pain-killer. “Oops! Not a mare! Sorry about that, buddy.”
“Knight Shores!” The rest of the room faded into silence as Marrow's deep voice rumbled forth like a controlled rock slide. “No harming the equipment, Ms. Shores. If he is unable to fulfill his duties there will be sanctions set upon you and I will personally see that they are carried out. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Mmm. You may return to your preparations.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Marrow took over Sleepy Shores' spot in front of Raze. “Forgive Knight Shores' exuberance; she's just excited at the prospect of traveling with you.” Finally, Fate thought. She pushed a silent button on her PipBuck to begin recording audio. Raze appeared nonplussed as he received the news. “She's going to keep an eye on you as you procure some equipment and information for us. Nothing an accomplished spy like you can't handle, I'm sure.”
Marrow smiled and walked around the pouting Raze. The whole scene reminded Fate of those old, educational films she was forced to sit through back in the lab. The timberwolves hunted in packs. Every pack member would eat from the kill, but only after the alpha had his fill. “You should be thanking us, you know. We're saving your life. No one wants you. The gangs know you're the one who's thinned their numbers. The families, too. You've been branded as a traitor to the skies, so that's out. Even in you were able to make it across the desert, from what I know the cities out east wouldn't exactly welcome you.
Fate's ears perked. Canterlot and The Bucklyn Bridge were sights she had always wanted to see. She was amazed by the heights ponykind could reach when they shared the same vision, and wondered what stories of the east Raze had in his collection. Marrow continued. “Fillydelphia, I've heard, has taken a turn for the worse and you were kicked out of Friendship City. And now you've come to this: living with an ex-wartime operative in the tunnels underneath Applewood. Just two pegasus spies 'shootin' the breeze.' You know, you should really consider moving out of your grandma's basement.”
The booming clack of Marrow's hooves echoed through the hall as he slowly circled Raze like a buzzard. Fate noticed her teeth clenching as she watched the scribe parade around with his air of smug superiority. The experience was unnerving for her. Marrow had quite a bit of leverage on Raze already, but if he were to hold true to his reputation as Fate feared, he was going to do something unkind. She tried to rein in her mind from flying off into the furthest realms of conjecture. Serenity. Peace. Tranquil waters.
Raze didn't appear to be doing much better. His head was doing figure-eights as he tried to hold it up. His face melted into the best scowl he could muster under the influence of the sedatives. “Yuh cnnnn't fnnnnngn' get a mmmme!” he imparted. He seemed to be breaking through the tranquilizers, though with much effort. He let out a drunken laugh. “How could yyyyou evfffffen tink dat? Sshhhhe doessssn't mean annnn-fing to me.”
Marrow stood still as he regarded Raze's statement, squinting. He didn't seem angry. He seemed … pleased? Fate felt her stomach drop. Her brain was describing what was coming. As much as she didn't want to continue watching, a detailed account of the meeting was required.
“Oh, yes she does, Raze. Yes, she does. But don't you worry about ol' Grandma. I'll personally make sure she's treated the way a dame like her should be.” Marrow brought up his hoof and stared at it like some priceless antique. “With great care and attention to detail. I mean, we don't want her escaping and tearing apart families again, do we? Anyway, I believe you Fire Stones have something to say.” The two Fire Stones meandered over to face Raze. The Mare in the plum suit spoke.
“Hi, Raze, honey. Looks like you made some powerful friends.”
“Flare,” Raze growled. “It had tuh be you, didn't it?”
“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, hon.”
“All dis.” He looked around at the Steel Rangers and at his own restraints. “And dat,” he said, pointing with the back of his head to the herd of ghouls.
Flare laughed a politician’s laugh. It gave Fate goosebumps. This was one of the heads of the Fire Stone family and political leader of the ponies of Celestia's Acre. The greater Applewood region was under their control. The idea that the leaders of the organization made dealings with an ex-enclave operative left a bitter flavor in Fate's mouth. Politics always had a way of dissolving into contests of might and deceit.
“You think I was behind all this?” Flare asked. “I wanted to retire you! Your friend, Frankfurter over there went far beyond my jurisdiction just to save your life. Set up a deal with that hot liaison you seem to know really well.” She leaned in close and gave him a wink. “Those zombies are the payment. Pretty good haul for a guy like you.”
Flare smiled as she took a step back. “Frank, do you have anything to say to your friend before he hits that long and dusty trail?”
Frankfurter stared at the ground. Through the scope, it looked like he was crying. It was obvious he never wanted this kind of situation to happen. He half-heartedly raised his head. “Raze I … I'm so sorry,” he said.
“Me too,” said Flare as she pulled a semi-automatic pistol from her suit and shot Frankfurter in his surprised eye. The bang bounced around the big room. Fate grimaced as she tore the ear bloom out of her ear. The feed back through her amplifier was deafening. Wiping a tear from her eye, she placed the ear bloom in her other ear.Marrow was staring in her direction. “Shit,” the whisper escaped her lips. Please, Luna, let them notnotice me.
“You sure you got all of them?” Marrow asked, disregarding Frankfurter's bleeding corpse.
“All of them that I saw, sir,” the fully-armored Fin replied. “But it was a swarm. It wouldn't surprise me if they've broken through the pipes again.”
Marrow chewed on Fin's words as he stared at the curtains at the back of the stage. His eyes didn't feel like normal pony eyes to Fate. They had the power to lay judgment, to condemn from across the room. Raze couldn't pull his eyes away from his dead friend as Flare stood over him, cleaning her weapon. Fate looked on his pain. He had just lost who appeared to be his only friend, and for what? So another pony could save face and keep controlling others? She could relate. Feelings of loss, of loneliness, of rage? Yes. She could relate.
Fate felt helpless as she waited and prayed for the scribe to go back to what he was doing. Her prayers were answered when, after a terrifying moment Marrow addressed his squad. “Alright, time to put him in the box!” his voice boomed. “This pegasus has to be in and out of surgery before tomorrow morning!” His Rangers flew into action, some tearing Raze out of the chair and others opening the mechanical coffin which hissed and steamed.
Marrow hobbled over to Raze as they were strapping the pegasus into the coffin. “Well, that was entertaining, wasn't it? Too bad about your Fire Stone friend. You understand why she had to do that?” His eyes lingering on Raze’s brand. He smiled. The coffin began to shut. “One last thing, pegasus. Make sure to play nice with Knight Shores. You're family now!”
The metal coffin closed with a hiss as Marrow chuckled wetly. He hitched himself to the wagon. Two Steel Rangers blindfolded Riverdance and threw her, mangled leg and all, in the wagon, next to the coffin. “Gatling Storm! Sharkfin Soup! Move up!” The two Rangers responded quickly, moving to the front doors. The entire squad vanished into the lobby. Fate could hear chirps and screeches followed by the booms of heavy weaponry. The Rangers would have an easy trip home. Mission accomplished. Her focus shifted to Flare and her bands of mercenaries and ghouls. Worries floated through her mind about what they'd do next, knowing she would have to share the building with them for the night.
“Shoot-Fire, please get one of your boys to toss that outside before he starts to stink.” She motioned at Frankfurter's lifeless body. “And start up a fire; I'm sure you're all starving.” She turned to smile at her ghoul prizes. Fate tasted the bitter, iron flavor again, but didn't act on it. Invictus had to be patient. These corrupt, tyrannical ponies would reap their karma in time.
Two ponies were dragging Frankfurter in her direction. Oh, “outside” back here? She switched off her device, but didn't have enough time to break down her rifle. Wrapping it and its case separately with her telekinesis, she gently put them into the equipment case before jumping back in, herself.
She heard the hoofsteps and dragging sounds of the mercenaries along with two muffled voices.
“Well, fuck me! I'm not haulin' this sack uh lard outside!”
“Yeah. Flare's crazy if she thinks I'm gonna go anywhere near them bloodwings when they're all uppity like that.”
“Throw him in that box, there?”
“I like your thinkin'.”
Oh, no, she thought. The dragging sound was already really close. Oh, Celestia, sister of mercy, no! The top of the box opened up and Fate's eyes went wide. Luna, please no! There were several grunts before she saw Frankfurter's horribly disfigured face leer at her over the side of the box, his tongue lolling out. A small tear of blood weeped out out of his empty eye socket and dripped onto the end of Fate's nose. She tensed every muscle in her body, bracing for impact. It was all she could do to not jump out of the box and run from the building, screaming all the way.
The case gave a great creak as the two ponies outside of it heaved the body over its side. Frankfurter landed roughly on Fate's middle, knocking the wind out of her. Then the top closed, shrouding her in darkness.
Finally freeing herself from under his fatty folds of flesh, she curled up in the corner of the case, panting. I should have stuck to gun maintenance! Crazy Rich can keep these horrible jobs! She was ready for a day off or, considering her surroundings, at least a day outside. She clicked her pipbuck's broadcaster on. Its red light eerily illuminated Frankfurter's shape. Ew.
“Luna One to the Moon,” she whispered, breathlessly at her pipbuck. “Luna One to the Moon.”
“The Moon reads you, Luna,” a grainy voice crackled in her ear. “Aren't you lonely up there, on the moon?”
“My friends are the stars and a rock named Skippy.”
“What have you got for me, girl?”
“I have a recording of the meeting. They're going for it.”
“Excellent. We'll keep a tag on him.”
“He's going in for surgery tonight. They're probably going to fit him with a slave chip. That's not going to be a problem, is it?”
“No, no problem. We'll send Doc out with you.”
“I need a shower.” Fate sniffed at her hoof. “A hot one.”
“I'll make sure the tank's full before you get back. How's the contact?”
She looked over the vague outline of Frank’s corpse. “He took a nap. I'm sorry.”
“That's a shame. Who's the perp?”
“Flare.”
“Of course it was. Well, at least the news won't go to waste. We'll talk when you get back. I am the master of my fate.”
“I am the captain of my soul.”
She clicked off the broadcaster and sat in the heavy darkness for a minute, trying to process her day. The first meeting, the fight, the flight, the second meeting, and now this? She wondered how else the Goddesses would toy with her.
Frankfurter suddenly gasped for air, convulsing. His hoof cracked Fate in the nose before he settled down to a stable breathing pattern. Fate rubbed her nose and swore. The broadcaster light clicked back on.
“Luna one to the Moon. Luna one to the Moon.”
“The Moon reads you, Luna. Aren't you lonely up there, on the moon?”
“My friends are the stars and a rock named Skippy.”
“What's up, Fate?”
“New developments, Rich.”
I want to give a MASSIVE thanks to yetanotherpony, who whipped my writing into shape and smashed this chapter until it was readable.
This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link:Equestria Daily
Kandy’s protests grew more frenzied. They had to tie her to a kitchen chair for her own protection. Her eyes were bloodshot and her voice crackled like a Dash fiend. Streams of tears soaked the hair on her cheeks. None of them gave her the slightest regard. None but Trueheart.
“My husband will die without those machines!”
Trueheart felt it all.
He stood there, helmet off and head unbowed, like some ancient statue. He surveyed his squad as they dismantled the tangled nest of medical devices. They needed a strong commanding officer, and he played the part well. For them he could be a hero. Still, in Kandy's now-raspy voice was the damning evidence he was the villain. There was little else he wanted more than to comfort the mare, but he couldn’t. Crystal Sheen had seen to that.
“Mrs. Corn,” he said. “Please stay calm. Your equipment has been requisitioned by the Steel Rangers. You will be given a fair market price for the equipment. You shall receive remuneration for any damages to your property while the extraction is taking place. Should you feel that you have been mistreated in any way, please remember that you are doing your part to bring about a better Equestria.” The rehearsed speech made him sound like some civil servant clerk.
She stared up at him, her lower lip quivering. “How-” her voice creaked. She cleared her throat and swallowed before she went on. “Do you think money could heal this? My husband is very sick. He won't last a week without those machines. How could you take a f-father away from his s-son?” Her head drooped as the sobbing returned.
His frosty stare betrayed nothing. Instead, he just lashed the new guilt with the old and tossed it into the well of his sin to be drowned at a better time. Nothing compared to the sea of tears poured out over Argent Soul. He patted his armored chest, knowing the locket hung there.
“You are a good citizen, Mrs. Corn. You are doing your part.” The words were like dandelions: pretty, but bitter.
Her husband, Shucks, had done nothing but stare at the pony in charge. His mane was stained and ragged, and his eyes protruded from his gelatin face. He didn't blink. Trueheart could feel the loathing shooting from his pupils. Or it was the radiation. The haggard pony had been hooked up to what amounted to a balefire egg in an attempt to purge his body. It wasn't safe, but Trueheart always forced himself to look into a pony's eyes when he took from them. He felt he deserved it.
“Paladin Trueheart?”
He turned, regarding the young Knight. “What is it, Knight Fluff?”
“Knight Umbrella Showers is requesting weapons free, sir.”
“Situation?”
Fluff leaned in, trying to whisper from within his power armor. “It's a pony, sir. He's big. Knight Showers is having a difficult time placating him. Wants let in. Says he's these ponies' son.” Amplified through his armor's external speakers, his scratchy voice was plenty loud enough for Kandy to overhear.
“My boy? My baby boy? Well, let him in. He needs his mama right now. I need to make sure he's okay.”
Trueheart looked into her pleading eyes. Their son.He chewed the thought. “Show me.”
He could hear her wails over the thuds of their power armor as they left the kitchen. “No! Don't … don't hurt him. Goddesses, leave my Plough alone! Let me see him!”
A large shape smashed through the living room window as they trotted out the front door. Mrs. Corn screamed from the other room. Stealing a glance at the figure sprawled out on the living room sofa, he recognized the shape of Umbrella Showers. Trueheart turned squinted through the bright light outside. There was a hulking pony shape standing within a plume of dust. In the dirt lay a broken mailbox. Steam rose from its rapidly disintegrating carcass.
“Fluff, take care of Knight Showers. Make sure she keeps that minigun of hers holstered.” He hastened across the front patch of dirt, stopping tentatively several yards away from massive, heaving pony. The heat radiating off the ground blasted his senses. He lifted a hoof to pacify the pony. “Relax, now. Relax. You're Plough, I assume?”
As the dust cleared, Trueheart got a better look at him. A sickening yellow liquid oozed from a cut at one of his shoulders, carrying much of his leg hair with it. The ground sizzled below him. A stench of sulfur rose in rings of smoke about his hooves, giving him the appearance of steel being quenched by water after being tempered in the forge. His shadow appeared to grow as the ground surrounding him charred. He just stood there, breathing. He didn't need to speak. His eyes answered for him.
“It's alright. Your parents are fine. They're inside. Maybe we can go have a word with them?” Trueheart evoked the most fatherly voice he could. He had little interest in soaring through the air like Knight Showers.
Plough didn't blink. Desperation. Trueheart knew that look. If Trueheart tried to stop Plough then and there, firepower would be the only distinguishing factor between himself and the host of murderous raiders scattered throughout the wasteland. Elder Gazpacho viewed Trueheart as his “hermano”, a pony after his own heart. Kandy Corn was right. Who was he to come between a father and his son?
“You stupid bag of shit!” roared a distorted voice from the house. Her armor dripped with the window's shattered remains as she marched out. Knight Showers steadied herself as her minigun rose from her armor and clicked into position at her side. Trueheart felt her intentions through her armor. She was going to break the chain.
“Knight Showers, stand down!” Trueheart ordered. “You secure that weapon, now!”
The three ponies stood their ground. Trueheart glared at Knight Showers, even as sweat stung his eyes. His stare was a wolf's who had just happened upon a lonely fawn.
A gust of wind swirled the dust between them.
Umbrella Showers' armor whirred. The gun retracted and secured itself with a click. Continuing to glower at Plough, she answered, “Yes, sir.”
Trueheart breathed and let his face relax into a more modest frown. “Knight Showers, when you were chosen for this mission, Head Paladin Pozole himself assured me you would be perfect for it. He said you follow orders well and could easily fit into my parameters of a successful mission. Now I will have to tell him he made a mistake.” Trueheart let that sink in. Umbrella Showers may have been young, but that was no excuse for this kind of open defiance in the field. Pozole would have to take a closer look at the training regimen for new troops after this mess. Trueheart stifled a smile. Anything which forced that mama's colt to do any work earned his stamp of approval. He sighed. “Report to Knight Helado. Please send him to me. You are now on retrieval duty.”
“Sir.”
After the required salute, she was gone. Trueheart looked over at Plough, who hadn't so much as flinched. “Please forgive that outburst. Knight Showers is … new.”
“She's rabble,” Plough said at last.
“Rabble? What makes you say th-”
“She's useless and we both know it. Can't control herself at all.”
The paladin was taken aback. The savages, or ponies of the wastes, rarely spent their time reading, let alone studying others. This, coupled with the strength to hurl a Knight in power armor, left Trueheart stunned as he regarded him through squinting eyes.
“You sent for me, sir?” said a voice from the house.
Trueheart craned his neck. “Yes,” he said. “Knight Helado, I need you to stand sentry.”
“You got it, Jefe.”
Trueheart turned back to Plough. “You gave Knight Showers quite the shock. How did you manage to throw her through that window, power armor and all?”
Plough tapped at the ground and recited, “It is simple to fight an enemy who fights herself.”
No way, Trueheart thought. No way this kid knows that book. He fielded another question. “Why haven't you attacked me?”
“You mean besides the fact you've carried yourself in a non-aggressive stance since you've been out here? Or that you were attempting to pacify the situation? It's because I know when I can and can't win.”
Plough nodded. “And as much as I'd love to chat strategy all day, I really need to get in that house.”
Upfront and to the point. Nice. “I can't let you in, right now. It'll only be a few more minutes. But really, how did you get a copy? It's not the easiest book to come by.” The smoking stallion lowered his head and sighed. He staggered towards Trueheart. The paladin prepared himself for anything. It was nearly impossible to know what these country bumpkins might do. A head-butt? A shank to the neck? He had already proven his strength and willingness to fight back. “That's far enough. Keep your distance.”
Plough stopped. “Please … What is your name?”
“Trueheart. Paladin of the Steel Rangers.”
“Trueheart, please. My mother's in a very delicate situation. My father's dying, as I'm sure you noticed. She can't cope with it alone. I could hear her screaming from out here. Please. You know the power of family. I'm begging you, let me be there for her.”
Trueheart hadn't noticed how close Plough had gotten. A wicked scar twisted his lower lip, keeping his mouth slightly open. Beyond his face grew a multitude of callouses and scars breaching his matted coat. Trueheart gawked at the leg bereft of hair. The acrid smoke swirling from it burned his nostrils. “Are you sure you're well enough to go inside?”
Plough lifted his hairless leg. “This is just a condition.” He tentatively placed it on Trueheart's chest, where it sizzled on the armor. “Please.”
Trueheart jumped back and looked at the blackened hoofprint now etched into his armor. His brow furrowed as he looked up at Plough, then back at the hoofprint. A grin cracked. His chuckle eased away the serious atmosphere. The day had certainly taken a turn for the strange. He half-expected Senior Scribe Ohms to pop out of the mailbox, dressed in a pink gown and sneeze glitter in his face. “Well then … You sure you'll be fine? No foalishness?”
Plough crossed his heart.
“Cute. Alright, inside. Slowly! Some of my Knights are a little jumpy today.”
The two ponies passed Knight Helado and entered the house. Mrs. Corn stopped sobbing as soon as her son entered the room. Plough rushed to her side and threw his non-smoking leg around her.
“Oh, thank the Goddesses! Plough, my baby are you alright? You’re hurt! I can smell it. Let me look at you.”
Plough backed up to give his mother a better look at his wound. She grimaced a smile as her tears fell, happy to see her son mostly intact. Though the old Paladin hadn't witnessed it in years, the love between mother and son was obvious. The way Plough inspected Kandy to make sure she was unharmed transported Trueheart back to a softer chapter in his life, filled with Hearthswarming wrapping paper and times playing catch. The look in her eyes, knowing her progeny would live on long after she had passed, pierced him. Her son would live to bury her and he envied that.
“They got yew, too, huh?” Shucks piped in. “Figgers.”
The boy ignored his father completely. “I'm okay, Mom. Are you hurt?”
“No, no. I'm fine. I'm fine.” She looked to her side. “Are you seeing this? They're taking away your father's machines. He's not going to last long without them. They're killing him, baby.” Her eyes welled and glistened.
Plough took to his knees and spoke gently. “Mom. Okay? Now, we've talked about this before. Dad's tumors have gone untreated for too long. You know they're too advanced. These ponies are almost doing us all a favor, okay? Sparing him from all his pains. We have to let him go with dignity.”
Shucks looked at his son like he had defiled a national relic. “The Hell is that supposed to mean? I’m right here. You ungrateful little shit. Treat yer father with some Goddesses-damned respect. Dammit, how much of a failure are you?”
Trueheart felt cheated. After all of Mrs. Corn's pleading, he envisioned the family dynamic as something different. Shucks had been silent for so long, Trueheart had already placed a different preconception over him: the strong, silent protector, keeping his family safe from the perils of the wastes. Shucks wasn't content with just shattering that notion. He needed to drag it in the mud and desecrate it. Before they passed, Trueheart's parents would always implore him to “spend as much time with loved ones as you are able. You never know when the dust of the wasteland will claim them.” This was so far removed from that sentiment, it wouldn't even be tolerated in the order.
“Just relax, Mom. Let me ask him. Paladin Trueheart? May I have a word with you, in the living room?”
Trueheart shook his mane as Plough snagged a box of plastic wrap. “Sure.”
The two ponies headed into the living room. The angry sun scorched the dirt outside and a breeze carried the heat through the shattered remains of the living room window. Their hooves crunched on the broken glass. A trail of scorch marks burned their way into the floor despite Plough's hopping, three-legged effort. He culled a particularly large piece of glass from the other shards and splinters of bannister and began to curiously smooth its edges with a pink hoof file. Trueheart felt like foil-wrapped-pony in his armor. He was tempted to put his helmet on and activate the armor's cooling protocols, but it was impolite and weak to hide your face when talking to somepony. At least, that's how he was raised. Intent to suffer through, he shook his mane out again. “Do you have a question?”
“Yes, well … More of a statement and a question.” Plough took a deep breath and leaned in, close. Trueheart watched his eyes steel. “My father is dying and there's no way to save him. We both know that.”
Plough cast a gaze over to his restrained mother and turned back to Trueheart. Trueheart peered into Plough's inscrutable eyes. Just like the helmet of a Knight in the Steel Rangers, they spoke nothing.
Plough continued, “But, my mom is still here. I'm going to have to take care of her after her husband is gone. Is there anything I can do to convince you to leave at least the Bio-Resonance Wave Generator with us? She only has a few memories left with him. Please let them be pleasant ones, all things considered.”
Bargaining, thought Trueheart. The truest display of a savage.The paladin dropped back into his civil servant voice as he answered, “This equipment has been requisitioned by the order of the Steel Rangers, and was chosen for your protection. Should this equipment fall into the hooves of an enemy of Equestria, the conse-”
“Don't patronize me with your meaningless speeches. Listen, I don't know why you want these machines and I don’t really care. This is my home. That's my family over there you tied up. I would do anything for them. Now, I just know you have somepony special to you. Wouldn't you do the same for them?”
Anything to bring them back. Trueheart's neck ground out a solemn nod. Plough's possessions were meager, his life utterly pathetic, but the defiance stampeding from his eyes told Trueheart a story of a young stallion desperate to create a more fulfilling life. He could feel Plough's desires to shift the reality of the wasteland into something more promising, a shift Plough had apparently wrought within himself.
“Wait here,” Trueheart commanded. Thoughts raced through his head. Is he right? Could he handle the lifestyle? How tightly will he cling to the chain? How tightly to his moral code? Does he even have one?
Have I really come to this? Looking outside the family for more fresh recruits? Bringing in savages?
The thought had occurred to him for some time, now. So many generations in such a small gene pool. It wasn't healthy. Elder Gazpacho and his family would, of course, tell him he'd rather “keep it en la familia.” He was, however, forced to accept savages in the past on occasion due to the chapter's dwindling numbers.
Ohms, Trueheart was sure, would hate the idea. The old Scribe always went on about the differences between the high- and low-born as if he lived in a world that cared what the word “aristocracy” meant.
Marrow shrouded himself in mystery, but always found a way to provoke Trueheart. From casually mentioning Trueheart's drinking habits in front of council members to making flippant remarks about his wife and child, Marrow was the great antagonist. Trueheart was almost thankful that Gazpacho endorsed his own family over all others. The thought of Marrow or his crew gaining seats on the Elder Council froze his blood, even in the heat of the desert. The future of the Steel Rangers’ Greater Los Pegasus chapter was as nebulous and impossible to touch as the clouds which made up its namesake.
He looked around at his squad. Each pony was fiercely loyal to him, with the exception of Knight Umbrella Showers. Each was worth at least two of any pony from Pozole's old squad, not that their integrity increased the weight of their political support. It still left him with only a handful of well-wishers. With the number of his allies thin, he had to take any chance of fattening it up.
He trotted back into the kitchen. “Knight Fluff.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Make sure this operation finishes cleanly. Treat these two ponies like equines. I don’t want casualties. And keep an eye on Knight Showers for me; she's acting up. I'm heading into town with their son, here, to see if I can't do something about this town's mutation problem without some ridiculous incident.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Glad to have you around, Knight. Carry on.”
“Sir.”
He walked back to the living room. His armor hissed and whirred as it fell away from his body. He stepped from his armored shell, dripping noticeably from his linen tunic. Plough raised an eyebrow. “It's hot,” Trueheart said. “Besides, can't go into town dressed like some kind of Robronco reject, can I?” Plough didn't flinch from his quizzical expression. “You want to help your parents, right? Well, I need you to do something for me, first. Consider it a trade.”
“What do I have to do?”
“We need to go have a chat with that scumbag mayor of yours.”
Slowly but surely, Plough's lips crooked up into a smirk as he nodded.
“At least raiders have th' decency to need whut they're stealing from yuh,” Trueheart heard Shucks yell as the two ponies trotted out of the house. “Damn Steel Rangers!”
Plough
“Sorry about my father,” Plough said. Apologizing for Shucks felt like a foreign language to him. His father's epithets had outlived their offensive power with the ponies of Balk, and Plough's shame had shriveled along with that power. At least his hoofprints were no longer smoldering. The replacement glass and plastic bandage worked its magic. The sore still stung, though, and he knew it was just a matter of time before sand and dirt scratched their way into it.
Trueheart dismissed the sentiment with a hoof. “Think nothing of it, Plough.” The militant tone in his voice battled the honesty expressed on his face. The conflict had raged for years if the warzone under his eyes told the truth. His stride, though short, was purposeful and Plough struggled to keep the tempo. “Really, I'm the one who needs to apologize. I am taking his life support away, after all.”
“Don't worry about old Shucks. He's had his day in the sun.”
“You seem very lackadaisical about your own father. What brought this on?”
“You've only glanced at his surface. So much more goes unnoticed and unpunished everyday. Besides, this might even be the event that brings my mom back to me.”
The loneliness of the wastes surrounded them. Plough squinted at the heatwaves radiating off the road to town. He mused that Balk should have been a sister city to Celestia's Acre. They could have called it Luna's oven. At least that would've been more honest. They walked in silence until Plough noticed the locket bouncing at Trueheart's chest. “You know, I don't mean to pry, but what's the story behind that necklace?”
“Huh?” Trueheart stopped in his tracks and held up the locket. It looked more like a tiny saddlebag, if saddlebags were inside-out pocket watches made from blue, anodized titanium.
“I mean, if you're comfortable relating the story. You don't have to if you don't want-”
“No, no, no. It's fine. It's fine.” He delicately pawed at the locket. It clicked several times as he pushed and twisted buttons and knobs on its surface. It looked like he was attempting to solve a puzzle cube. The show ended when he pulled a button on the front of the locket with his teeth. The locks all simultaneously ratcheted open and Trueheart carefully opened the locket like a storybook. A 3D image of a young colt hovered over Trueheart's outstretched hooves.
The rainbow hologram showed the little colt with one hoof stepping on a Steel Ranger helmet. He was striking a pose as if he had just defeated his most worthy adversary in battle. His eyes were fixed on the morning sun, with a determined look only youthful idealism could bring. His expression was as steely as any colt that young could ever hope to achieve. It was pretty cute.
“Who is that?” Plough asked. “Your son?”
“My son, yes. Argent Soul. My greatest achievement. My favorite pony in Equestria. He keeps me going. Reminds me what's important. The future. If colts and fillies like him can inherit a better world than the one we live in, now, then any sacrifice I make in my own life will be worth it.” He looked around at the desolation. “They don't deserve all this. They need serenity. Peace. Tranquil waters. Cool grass on which to run...”
Trueheart stared at Plough expectantly, wanting him to finish the line. Missing out on a reference wasn’t an everyday occurence, so Plough felt a stiff pang of shame at his own ignorance. “I'm sorry, but I don't get the reference. I was raised way out here in the middle of nowhere, you know? Not exactly a cultural epicenter.”
“No, it's alright,” said Trueheart as he closed and locked the locket. “It's from one of the zebra religious texts. I forget which tribe. We all have to learn it in the brotherhood. 'Know your enemy' and all that.” He went back to his speedy walk. “So, about your scumbag mayor...”
“Yeah, what about that? What could you possibly want with him?”
“Couple months back, one of my knights was on her initiation quest out here, looking for old tech. She told us about how everypony had some kind of sickness or mutation or something. There was even this foal she said was so riddled with lumpy tumors it looked like it ate a pile of rocks and stayed that shape.”
“The Coolers' daughter, Sunshine Sprinkles. She passed away last month.
Trueheart shut his eyes. The news was stabbing, but surely not unexpected. “I'm very sorry to hear that. How old was she?”
“Not quite old enough to read.”
“Well, that makes what we're doing more important. To get back to the story: She took her readings and, of course your house was marked as a target, but before she left she hit up that bar … store … thing. You know what I'm talking about.”
“Quitclaim's Snack Shack and Watering Hole.”
“Right. So, she goes into this place and orders up a drink. This slick-looking guy slides next to her and says to put the drink on his tab. Turns out it's your mayor. Anyway, long story short, he asks her up and she's … um … not keen on what he has to offer, but she agrees to see him because she wants to look around his compound. To see why he's so much healthier than anypony else in town.”
“I've always wondered that myself. He, his family and a few others are always doing better than the rest of us. They say it's 'genetics' or some crap. I don't buy it.”
“Well, get this: come to find out, this guy has his own, personal water purification talisman installed there. This thing could provide clean water for the entire town and he’s keeping it to himself. That kind of thing doesn't sit right with some of us in the order, so I made it kind of a 'side-mission' of mine, if you will.”
“I knew it was something like that. That prick. So, what do you need me for?”
“You are going to find a way to give that talisman back to the ponies without me lighting his coat on fire and stuffing a grenade in his mouth. In other words, I want you to do this without any bloodshed, if possible.”
“Why? Can't you just threaten him or something?”
“You obviously don't know how the Steel Rangers normally operate, do you? You ever heard of the town, Thermite?”
“Can't say I have.”
“That's because a colleague of mine leveled it. The Steel Rangers have made a pretty bad name for themselves around the Los Pegasus area, and maybe rightly so. Some of us value technology over lives, but I for one, am just trying to keep these powerful toys away from anypony who could do serious harm with them. Equestria needs peace and strength to rebuild herself. So, if the ponies here took the water talisman back for themselves, it would not only mean so much more, but would also keep the name of the Steel Rangers from becoming more rusted than it already is. Maybe you could steal it or make him confess or something?”
“I appreciate your sentiment, Trueheart. I really do.” Plough thought it through. Too difficult to steal with guards around. Will not confess. He watched as Quitclaim's shop passed them by. Freezing, he stared at it and his eyes brightened up. “Let's make a quick stop, Trueheart. I have an idea.”
-
“Once you're on that page, you use this one to download,” Trueheart explained, pointing it out on the PipBuck. They needed a special tool for a job like this and a PipBuck fit the bill, perfectly. He tossed Plough a bag of bottle caps. Trueheart didn't seem fond of such a simple plan, but Plough was nothing if not persistent.
“Excellent,” said Plough. He made sure the bag of caps was closed tight before he threw it in his saddlebags. “And you're sure the hacking system will work? I'm only going to have thirty seconds to a minute at his terminal. I don't want to miss this chance while I'm in there and then imagine some kind of way to weasel myself out.”
“That's the only part of the plan I have faith in. I may not look it, but I've hacked my share of Stable-Tec technology. Heck, I got her PipBuck working, haven't I?”
“Again, it's my dad's,” said Chaff. She eyed the Steel Ranger like some drunk leper. Of all the strange ponies Plough acquainted himself with, this was by far the most threatening. The Steel Rangers had the firepower to demolish Balk twice over. Seeing one out of his power armor calmly discussing how to overthrow the local government was simply more proof. “I shouldn't have even grabbed it. Please don't drop it.”
“Nonsense, miss!” said Trueheart. “This is Stable-Tec we're talking about. I'm pretty sure we can shoot it with a Gatling laser and it wouldn't even get scorch marks.” Chaff's eyebrows knitted even further at the mention of a Gatling laser. “I'm still concerned about this plan of yours. Are you sure it'll work?”
“Nothing's for certain,” Plough said, tightening his saddlebags. “But simpler is better. Not as many variables means fewer spinning plates to mind. Besides, Mayor Filibuckster will listen to anything that has the possibility of giving him more money or power. Now, remember: his office is in the northeast side of the building in that part that looks like a separate house. I don't remember which room, so just be ready. So, is that it? Nothing else?” He looked at their expressions as Trueheart fastened the PipBuck to his leg. Chaff chewed on her lip and the bags under Trueheart's eyes sagged heavier than normal. “Alright, time to go.” Plough left them in the alley behind the Balk Lanes Bowling Center and headed off to city hall.
-
“CASA DE ARENA” was carved in the south face of the building.The second floor balcony encircled the whole building, minus the northeast museum wing. It was all supported by a multitude of smooth, doric columns. Armed guards were stationed on either side of the front door. It's easy. He's just another pony. Not a genius. Not very strong. Just a normal conversation. “Don't be shy, look 'em in the eye.”
He crossed the threshold into the the station and was greeted by it's cool air. His stomach clenched despite the relief. Refreshing temperatures was one luxury no other pony in town enjoyed. The peace of mind brought by just stepping on a comfortable surface sickened him. There was rarely a reason to visit the place and he hoped he was using his last one.
Townsponies were making use of the long, wooden benches in the main hall. There were families, probably waiting for hours for a five minute audience with Filibuckster. A blue unicorn filly donning a newspaper pirate hat reared up on her hind legs. Standing on the back of a bench, she towered over everypony. “Hoiss the misses' mass! Batten down the hatches! We're off to find adventure!” she squeaked before being pulled down by a frazzled unicorn stallion. The rest of the station chuckled. “Daddy, I'm firsty!”
“Then get your water, sweetheart,” her father said with a voice more gentle and tired than he looked.
She rummaged through an agave fiber bag and pulled out a sippy cup plastered with a drawing of a happy sun. She brought it to her lips and gulped, loudly. Looking over her withers, she stared at Plough. Tainted water trickled out of the sides of her mouth and down her chin.
“Sorry about the outburst, folks. She just loves her stories.” Everypony laughed lightly and ignored the useless apology.
Plough shook his head and hurried himself to the museum wing. More armed guards. “Gonna have to wait in line, like everypony else,” the stallion to his right explained. “Unless you have an appointment.”
The security mare to his left snickered and shook her head. “Heh. Yeah, huh?”
“I don't need an appointment,” said Plough. “Tell Filibuckster I'm here to talk business.”
The security ponies looked at each-other and burst out, laughing. “You are here to 'talk business?'” the stallion asked. “Everyone knows you. You're that corn farmer's kid. Trust me, there's nothing you have that the mayor wants.”
“Is that a fact?” Plough rooted through his saddlebag and pulled out the bag of caps. He tossed it into the air with his teeth and caught it again with a hoof. It jangled as he gave it a little shake. “I suppose Quitclaim will have to take my money, then. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
As he turned to leave he heard some rustling over his withers. It made him smile. “Out! Out! Get out of the way!” A throat cleared. “Now, hold on a second, there, big fella. I have plenty of time for all of my constituents.”
Plough turned looked down on Filibuckster. The little, suited pony had the manestyle of a used cart salespony. It sported distinguished lines of gray running down the sides and parted only to display his opalescent horn. “Are you sure I won't be a bother? The way these two were talking, I was thinking you might-”
“Don't pay them any mind. They're just here to keep the peace, not my schedule.” Filibuckster squinted a dirty look at his cronies. “Now, let's head on up to my office and see if we can't come to some kind of understanding, alright?” He motioned Plough to follow him into the railroad museum. “Is that new?” He pointed to the PipBuck on Plough's leg.
“Oh. Yes and no. It's Quitclaim's. I'm doing some corn inventory for him to streamline his workflow. And make a few caps for myself, of course.”
“Well, money makes the world go 'round, right? I'm surprised he let you use it. He's pretty meticulous about his things. Shoot, I accidentally brush up to something in his store and he has a conniption. I can't hardly leave there without spending a fortune.”
“Chaff can be very persuasive.”
“Oh, that's right! You're dating his daughter! Now I know how you get under his skin. You get under hers! Am I right?!” He laughed and elbowed Plough in the ribs.
Plough bit at his feigned grin. “Oh, yeah. Ha-ha, that's right.” Ew.
The two ponies quickly passed through the railroad museum and trotted up the stairs. A bespectacled, young mare doodled mindlessly on a legal pad. At her left hung a door with a blurry window. It was guarded by another sentry, this one taller and more bulky. A large gash marred his face, and the intense stare he shot at Plough was nothing short of electric.
“Quitclaim's on the horn for you,” his secretary said, barely looking up from her doodling. Plough was able to make out several fine-looking dresses and a pile of gems in the squiggly lines. “Says he needs to speak with you, or something? I dunno.”
“Tell him I'm sending someone right over,” said Filibuckster. “And if he radios back complaining or something, please don't bother me with it. Just try to placate him.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Buck.”
“And, Gemmie? Remember to smile.” The two shared a statutory grin that gnawed at Plough's gut. “How's it goin', Hooftack?” The muscled pony snorted and glared at Plough as Filibuckster brought the farm pony into his office and closed the door. The room smelled like rotting newspapers.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Filibuckster asked. “I have scotch. Brandy?”
“No, thanks. I have to stay hydrated today.”
“Ha! Yeah, it's a scorcher, isn't it?” He rounded his impressive mahogany desk and reclined in his high-backed, green chair. “Almost makes you wish for Vanhoover, huh?”
Plough forced a laugh. “Ha-ha! Yeah, almost. Have you been able to keep cool?” The small talk chipped away at him. He felt his chest tense.
“Living in a train depot is not without it's perks. How are your folks?”
“Well, actually that's why I'm here. You know my father is terribly sick.”
Filibuckster dropped his forehooves on the desk and leaned in.“Oh, that's just awful. Cancer?”
“Yes. From taint.” Filibuckster clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “And, until recently, we had the equipment to keep him alive.”
“Had?”
“That's right. The Steel Rangers swept through our farm, 'appropriated' everything and left, but not without leaving us something in return.” Plough reached in his saddlebag and tossed the sachet of caps onto the desk. Filibuckster's eyes brightened, ever so slightly. “Since it is an emergency, I wanted to know if you or anypony you know has access to advanced medical equipment.”
“Medical equipment? That's a pretty tall order, son. Even if I could find anything, it won't come cheap.”
“Please, is there anything we can do. We're desparate.” The words tasted terrible. Always knowing the right thing to say and actually saying it lived on two different continents, and sailing between them fried the nerves. Plough hoped the mayor assumed it was just from family strife.
Filibuckster leaned back in his chair once more. “Well, I'll put the call out and see what I can do. No promises but I think, if we're lucky, we just might be able to-” There was a knock at the door. Plough's stomach dropped as he tried to keep his legs from shaking. “Hold on, one sec. Yes, come in!”
It was the smug-faced secretary. “Mr. Buck, Quitclaim's girl is here. It's about some kind of shipment. Says it came in early this month.”
“Oh, you know what, Plough? I have to take this. Sit right there and I'll be back in a flash. Come on, Gemmie, let's go see what Chaff has for us today.” He jerked his head to Hooftack on his way out. The guard pony trudged into the office, closed the door and stood in front of it.
His yellowed eyes fixed on Plough.
Damn it. How could he take this pony out? How could he even get close enough? He knew it didn't matter what he felt. Trueheart was counting on him. Chaff was risking her own safety. How could he let them down? What would become of his family if he allowed Filibuckster swindle them out of their money? What about the townsponies? Plough couldn't take another Sunshine Sprinkles. Before he could think himself out of it, he found himself creeping to the door.
“You ain't goin' anywhere, son.” The guard's graveled voice resonated in the floorboards. “Just sit right back in the chair and Mr. Buck will return to finish discussing any terms.”
“Oh, I just wanted to see if I could talk wi-”
“Back in the chair, son!” Hooftack bit down and whipped out a nightstick. His stare beckoned Plough for an excuse.
Every precious moment Plough spent thinking was a moment closer to ruin. It was now or never. How to approach? Hooftack was trained, and fast. Deflection.
“I'm selling these fine leather jackets,” said Plough. For a moment, Hooftack was taken off guard. This was all Plough needed. He lunged. His foreleg hooked around Hooftack's neck. Plough used the leverage to spin, like a drunk around a lamppost. He pulled the guard close. His leg squeezed around Hooftack's neck, tighter. Tighter. Through the PipBuck, he could feel Hooftack’s pulse.
Hooftack, however, leveraged his experience.
With a flick of his neck, the smaller pony swatted Plough in the eye. Waves of what would become pain surged through his quickly numbing head. The room began to spin. His grip slackened. No! He could hear Hooftack gasp for air.
Not another Sunshine.
Hooftack shook to dump Plough from his back.
Not another Kandy.
Plough twisted the same way, ripping Hooftack from his hooves. The two slammed against the floor. It didn't matter Hooftack landed on Plough. It didn't matter he kept beating him with the nightstick. Plough kept squeezing, only this time he hooked his pastern into the knee of his other foreleg. He used his leg’s remaining length to push on the back of Hooftack's head.
Within a few seconds the beating slowed, then stopped. Plough finally let go and heaved Hooftack off of himself. His body shook with adrenaline as he staggered to his feet. Thoughts eluded him. What did he have to do? A hoof found the side of his face. No feeling. The ground sizzled. A nosebleed. He wiped what he could onto his smoking coat and noticed the PipBuck.
Oh, yeah!
He stumbled over to Filibuckster's terminal, careful to keep his bleeding nose from the keyboard. He held up the PipBuck and watched as it went from double, back to single, back to double again. He closed his swelling eye to keep a better focus and fumbled with the controls.
Click. Click. Bzzzzzz. Click.
The terminal screen filled with a bunch of letters, numbers and symbols before resting on a screen:
Hello Mayor Filibuckster! Please make a selection:
1. Population Status
2. Water Status
3. Taint Status
4. Water Talisman Status
5. Personal logs
Despite his pre-existing suspicions, it still stung Plough to read the words. He mindlessly pressed the 1 key.
Plough snorted. Slight mutations, heh! The other numbers tempted Plough. All the information was right there. His hooves hovered over the keys for a few seconds, but his willpower won out in the end. He could read them later. Clicking through a few more menus on the PipBuck, static crackled and a distorted voice crunched out of the little speaker:
“...and pray to whatever Goddess you worship that this heat-wave fizzles out! Somebody get me a Sparkle~Cola®! I'm dyin' out here!” The sound of an opening bottle followed by it's fizzy contents being poured into a glass filled the little room.
Oh, crap, no! Wrong button!
“Some disturbing news in from Withershire,” the radio continued. He fumbled with the switches, trying to stem the noise, only making it louder. Screens flashed until both the PipBuck and terminal screens read:
Copy all: (Y/N)?
He stared for a moment, confused. Realizing what it was asking, he hurriedly tapped “Y.”
File transfer in progress. Please do not disrupt data stream. 1%
Plough watched the percent numbers creep up. Hurry up! Hurry up! The radio kept blaring.
“It seems our killer pony has struck again. The body of a yet-identified stallion was discovered by nearby residents who happened upon the gruesome scene in Withershire Park. And wouldn't you know, he was found under a boulder. Terrible, just terrible. If anyone has any information about The Crusher, his whereabouts, his acquaintences, anything at all, don't hesitate to hoof some information to me or any ACRE representative. With that, here's a track from Abacus Bits, recorded live at the gates of Tartarus about getting 'Caught with the Cookie Jar.'”
The percent number neared 100 when the music poured out, even more loud and distorted than the speech. Plough was fascinated. He hadn't heard live radio before. The distance of any broadcasting tower to Balk prohibited any such luck. He marveled at the power of the tiny device. Who else was out there listening to this broadcast? What were these other towns like? Who lived there? And, why was it a big deal that a pony was murdered? Didn't the gangs rule most of the wastes?
He shook his head to dislodge the thoughts and quickly regretted it. The side of his face pounded out his heartbeat.
Transfer complete. You may disconnect your Stable-Tec® PipBuck®.
Yes! He threw open the window at the back of the office. It rattled and slipped, so he propped it open with a hoof. Trueheart stood many feet below.
“Come on,” Trueheart hissed. “Toss it down.”
“Hold on, I gotta...” Plough bit and maneuvered his lips around the locking mechanism until it clicked and the unit fell free. “There.”
“Good. Meet you soon. You sure you're okay up there?”
“I'm good. Just go. I'll see you there.”
Plough leaned back inside, let the window slam and turned around just in time to see Filibuckster burst in the room.
“What the Hell?” he exclaimed after seeing Hooftack's snoozing body. His secretary curiously peeked her head around the corner and screamed. She turned and hoofed it down stairs, wailing all the while. “What... did you do?”
Plough clenched his legs, trying to conceal his shaking. “Well, Hooftack there-” His voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Hooftack there didn't want you to hear my offer.”
“Your offer. Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”
“You're a busy man, Filibuckster. I wouldn't dare waste your time with trifles. No, this one's important.” He stepped towards Filibuckster. “A copy of all your files is on its way to being printed and passed out to everypony in town.” Another step. “As much as this pains me, this town would suffer too much to take on you and your goons, so against my better judgement, I'm giving you a choice.” Another. “You can either live, let live, and be the hero...” He towered over the mayor. “...or damn the town and I hang you over the balcony like you deserve.”
Filibuckster gave Plough a suspicious, sideways glance. With his eyes he followed a drop of Plough's yellow blood drip onto the ground and fizzle. “You're bluffing.”
“Really?” Hooftack wheezed, shuttered and lay still once again. “He doesn't seem to think so.”
-
Quitclaim's Snack Shack and Watering Hole had become the embodiment of a fiesta by the time Plough made it back. Sing-a-longs and “woo”'s could be heard throughout the town, and their volume only doubled when he made it inside. If it was an oven outside then this was a pressure cooker. His sweat doubled as it mingled with the sweat and breath with those around him. Fans squeaked their laughter from the ceiling. It was only mid-day. There was no way this place was cooling down any time soon.
“Can you believe the Mayor found that talisman?”
“Yeah, and to think it was just an average travelling merchant who sold it to him.”
“This is the first time that lout has ever used our taxes in a good way.”
“I dunno about that. You've seen those fillies coming and going from that station.”
“I seen 'em coming!”
“Ooooooooooh!”
He squeezed through the throng of party ponies to the bar. The loud music hammered his head with each beat as every triumphant yell clawed at his ears. The rest of his body resonated with other pains he didn't even know how to describe. The eye socked by Hooftack was fully closed and he was nearing delirium as he felt a surprisingly pleasing slippery sensation latch around him.
“You did it! I can't believe it! I don't know what you said or did, but I don' – Oh, Goddesses! What in Equestria happened to your eye?!” Plough just sank his whirling head into Chaff's chest. “You poor thing! Let's see if we can't make some of that pain go away. HEY, TRUEHEART!!! LOOK WHO'S HERE!” Aw, Chaff. The most caring and gentle of ponies.
Trueheart put his foreleg around Plough and sat him in the stool next to himself. “Good job, my friend. That's a nice shiner you got there. You look like you could us a little something for the pain.”
“Oh, yes please.”
Chaff sat a lime-topped bottle of beer in front of him as Trueheart dropped a pill on the countertop. “Drink up. I must tell you, I would have let him burn for what he did, but this way might be better for the town. Nice and gentle. They may find out the truth one day, but at least they're safe from drinking poisoned water.” Trueheart looked over to see Plough's head, snoring next to an empty bottle on the countertop. He smiled as he took a swig from his sixth beer. “Lightweight.”
-
Plough woke up to splinters. The cart was moving. No, it wasn't. His head was spinning. He shambled on his knees to the side of the cart. Trueheart was there in his armor. The sun was setting.
“Oh, hey. Look who's awake. The squad is finished packing. We left a few pieces of equipment, like I promised. Hey... I wanted to ask you something. You don't have to answer right away.” He scratched at the hoofprint on his chest. “I'm not sure if you’re aware, but the Rangers are always looking for new recruits who show the positive character traits you've demonstrated today. I know this is a hard question, because your family is here. You could still visit, sometimes. I'm sure it would all work out, I mean- Anyway, what I'm trying to ask is: will you join my squad? Become a Knight in the Steel Rangers?”
Leave it all behind? Plough's head spun.He surveyed the landscape. The yellow wash of the earth burned his eyes. He saw the barn, loose boards tearing themselves away. Greenish-yellow stalks speared the ground in one field, the other sported tilled earth from earlier in the day. Two Steel Rangers were doing what they could to repair the hole in the front of the house. Another tile fell from the roof and shattered on the ground. Anyplace would be better than this dump.
“What about Chaff?” Plough asked.
“She's waiting to see what you'll do. She loves you, you know?”
Plough gave a drunken nod.
Trueheart continued. “But, yes. Her bags are already packed. I'm thankful she has the willingness to learn. Seems you two share something in common. She shouldn't be forced to live with that poor excuse for a father, either.”
“Hmm...” Plough doubted Chaff was the type of pony the Steel Rangers were looking for. He was sure Trueheart brought her along as a kindness to him. He stared at the house. A hot breeze swirled his greasy hair in front of his eyes. The right one throbbed with each hair. “How long do I have to say goodbye?”
“We're making camp outside of town and leaving tomorrow at dawn. I wanted to make sure you had enough time to think it over, and if you agreed, say goodbye.”
Plough lay back down in the cart. The splinters tried, in vain to pierce his thick hide. Waves of pain washed over his head from his closed eye. He tasted acid and his nose was blocked. It was hot, he was bleeding, and his muscles still ached from the fight and plowing the field earlier in the day. It didn't matter. The townsponies would have safe water to drink and he made it possible by swindling a crooked politician. Justice tasted wonderful, and Plough thirsted for more.
What about the Steel Rangers, though? They regularly stole and hoarded technology. How could his conscience make sense of that? Trueheart felt like an honest sort, but what about the rest of the order? How many ponies were there like Umbrella Showers? How many were worse? The point that stabbed at his heart the most, however, was: how in world could he abandon his mother to the volatile emotions of his father? She needed him now, but could his family actually be healed? Should it? “Huh. Would you mind helping me up?”
-
His mind was with his mother as the group's power armor pummeled the quiet hours of dawn. She had seemed to accept his lie; he was going to work for them in exchange for health care for Shucks. The tears were dry and the sobbing had shook itself out by the time hugs were shared. She laughed when Chaff brightened everyone's spirits with a new joke she learned from a water merchant, but the wrinkles around her eyes whispered the truth. A bump in the leg brought him back to present time.
“Hey,” said Chaff. “You sure you're okay with this?”
“Yeah. I know it's the right thing for me to do, but it hurts, you know?"
“Yeah, your mom's the greatest. I'm sure she'll be okay. I made sure to tell the Coolers to keep an eye on her. They might just take her in.”
“Yeah, they're great.”
The dirt thudded and scraped under their hooves. Plough looked back at his parent's house, silhouetted against the rising sun. It was once his house, too. No more. He breathed a broken sigh and glanced at Chaff. She was staring back at the city, too. He couldn't completely fathom what she was thinking, but the reflection in her eyes showed a smoldering crater.
“How about you?” Plough asked, wishing to not stir her demons inside, but hoping for a little connection.
“Are you kidding? This is the greatest thing that ever happened to me! I'm ready for anything those red-coats can throw at me. Balk can lick my dock!”
Plough smiled as she giggled at her own comment. He thought of all the other towns he could rescue, of all the other ponies under terrible rule and in bad situations. Dreams of throwing off chains, and becoming the hero to so many swirled through his head. In the fantasy he became the martyr for thousands. He fought and died so they could be free to rebuild the nation. They chanted his name as he was interned under a monument to his charity. Chaff gave the stirring eulogy. Her dear husband had changed the world.
“So, what's going on in your head?” Chaff asked.
Plough looked over at his girl. “Thinking about our future together.”
She smiled and leaned her head into his withers. Plough stared at the dark horizon in the west and continued the story in his head about the stallion who taught ponies how to rule themselves.
“My name is Raze, former operative of the Grand Pegasus Enclave and former security enforcer for the Fire Stone family. I am being treated well and have not been harmed in any way. I will not be released into your custody until the demands of my caretakers have been met. They require an audience with no more than three of your Steel Ranger representatives. This will include the Paladin known as Trueheart. The meeting will occur at seventeen-hundred hours at the Burrito Boss in Little Neighpon. Bring no weapons or power armor. Reinforcements will not be tolerated, will be seen as an act of aggression and will result in my explosive death. You dirt eaters better not fuck this up! I'm fuckin' hungry, what's f-”
//
“Did I not say dees before? Paladin Trueheart's squad should have accompanied heem. Now we're without de part and de pegasus to fly de thing.”
“Elder Horchata, I see what yer sayin', but Paladin Trueheart's reckless and noisy squad would've alerted the Enclave long before they reached their destination. It could've cost us more good ponies. Besides, we still have that ghoul.”
“That's all (sniff) irrelevant, anyway! The gangs are getting...bold. We have to, um...we have to start pruning them back before they become overgrown and choke out all the roads. I mean, the Fire Stones are having some issues with them, and-”
“'Lescha's teeth, Elder Green Hoof! Welcome to th' conversation. That's what we're discussin', yuh jackass. Maybe if yuh didn't waste all yer time enjoying yer stupid plants yuh could help out with yer share of the thinkin', or at least pay attention.”
The table erupted again with misguided emotions. The topics were as large and varied as the personalities discussing them. Trade with savages. The families and gangs. Sleepy Shores' failure.
Marrow was hardly paying attention. Rolls of pillows had sprouted below his eyes. Sleep had gone from dream-filled to beyond dreamless. Now, it seemed to Marrow, it was just the missing time in between work. He propped up his head with a hoof. A drunk smile stole his face. His plan may have failed, but that's why he always made a backup. That knowledge satisfied him more than any meal.
“Order!” Elder Gazpacho roared at the bickering ponies surrounding the table. He coughed roughly several times before continuing. “Order. Relax, my friends. Let's not e-speculate about such things. Come now. We're all smart ponies here. One of us must have some kind of especial plan. Elder Manzanita, you e-seem de most relaxed here. What are your thoughts on de matter?”
Elder Manzanita crooked one of her stern eyebrows as she answered. “Well, as I was sayin': we still have that ghoul, and she's more familiar with the technology than he ever was. I don't see why we don't just wait for Senior Scribe Ohms to finish his experiments with a replacement part to see if that works.”
“We can't wait another minute for Ohms to make something that'll work for that ridiculous contraption,” Elder Green Hoof interjected. “Things are becoming untenable in Celestia's Acre for just about everypony. We can't let the BP-16 and Crazy 8's run around and demolish whatever they want. I don't care what you hillbillies think; we need to wipe them out. We depend on groups like the Fire Stones for things like information, seeds and as much as you inbred hicks hate to admit it, some new genetic code to keep-”
“You don't talk about muh family that way, you hopped-up, ol' scab!” Elder Pinky Cripps flew from his chair, ready to defend his sister's honor against the shriveled, old stallion. Marrow couldn't tell if Green Hoof grimaced or smiled at the notion.
Marrow massaged his temples with his hooves. They were all right, of course. He hadn't even heard one clear argument. The meeting had become less about defining priorities and more about demanding respect and admiration. The Elder council had shifted their focus to rudderless bickering and the brotherhood would drift along with them, suffering.
As the aimless squabbles grew, Marrow found himself falling inward. BP-16, Crazy 8's, the families, the Enclave: these were only aggravations of the true enemies. A dwindling supply of resources and the power to control them. Of course these aggravations had to be cleansed. Of course trade with the savages, though distasteful, was useful, but the council had lost sight of its future and Marrow was already at work on his own vision.
A vision of enlightened individuals constantly destroying, erasing and improving. A place in which this zeal for perfection was embodied in a new master race, bound in solidarity and prepared to be shot into the heart of a new golden era. He felt himself pulling on the bow string, itching to let loose. Elder Gazpacho's hoof pinged repeatedly across the stainless table.
“Shut up! All of you! We are arguing over nothing.” Elder Gazpacho fell into another coughing fit. It took some time for the Elder to recover. He shuddered as he touched a hoof to his brow. “I thought we might need a different point of view. Dis is why I brought High Scribe Marrow. Maybe hees fresh perspective could shed some light on this situation.”
“Yeah, let 'im explain why his plan went straight tuh Hell,” Elder Pinky Cripps huffed.
Marrow stared at Elder Gazpacho. “May I speak now, sir?”
The Elder nodded.
“Alright.” Marrow lifted himself out of his chair, popped a few leg joints and proceeded to walk around the room. His rumbling voice conquered the room. “Please forgive me if my movement disturbs you all. It helps me focus. I'll be brief.
“We're all aware this is a delicate situation. We're dealing with a group of hostile savages. Idealistic, hostile savages: the worst. Paladin Trueheart may end up being a terrible sacrifice to pay, but while he and his newly-found savage friends distract them with talks of peace, we'll use that time to test the chain of this terrorist organization. I'm sure at least one of them is tired of living like a parasprite.”
12 Hours Earlier
Raze
It was a long walk, but it wasn't the distance that bothered him. Snaking through alleyways in BP-16 territory didn't trouble him in the slightest. He wasn't even too concerned about flying above the clouds to complete the mission they forced on him. It was that look. She stared at him as if he were the popular girl in school, and she was threatening to show the most embarrassing photo. Yet another in a long line of overseers. The futility of fighting back stung like the hot wind blasting his eyes. He shot her a sideways glance.
“Are you going to stare at me like that all the way to the skyport?” he asked.
“I might. So what if I do? You don't have to hide your accent around me, you know? I know all your little secrets.” Sleepy Shores savored the words like chocolate.
“Secrets? You don't even know the meaning of the word.” The lie did nothing to cover the pain of the truth. Sleepy Shores knew him like an old cliché.
“Don't I? I slapped that same flank she used to kiss. Her lipstick is still there.”
“I mean, the secrets business, ass. I have to keep this accent up for the time being. It's been a while since I've done something at all challenging.”
“I wasn't a challenge? Raze, I'm hurt.”
“Quit with the sophomore crap. We're here.”
The two reached the underside of an overpass. Raze tore through his bag and brought out the mechanic's coveralls he was given. He put them on in a hurry, wanting nothing more than to part company. Sleepy shores held out the PipBuck 1,000 he would have to use to identify a working Pegasus Magic Amplifier.
“You want this?” She turned her head coquettishly. She pulled the PipBuck back as he reached for it. “Ah, ah. Give us a kiss.”
Raze snatched it out of her hoof and pushed her aside.
She tapped her saddlebag. “Watch that attitude, mister. So help me, I'll press it.”
“I'm sure your superiors would love that. Marrow would do the same to you, only without the implanted explosives for that personal touch you so rightly deserve.”
“Oh, I'd miss you too, Brandy Buns.”
“Go suck an ass!” he yelled as he galloped and flapped his way into the air.
“Donkeys are a bit too big for me, but they might fit into your big mouth!”
Raze shook his head, happy to be racing out of earshot of Sleepy Shores. The PipBuck was tricky to wrap around his ankle as he flew, but his teeth and dexterous tongue made it work. The screen flashed as it clicked into place. It fizzled and popped a few times before it displayed the green boot up message along with a cheerful chiptune.
Pipbuck™ 1000
YEE-HAW!
Copyright Stable-Tec®, All Rights Reserved
Raze grinned at its quaint antiquity. It had been years since he wore Enclave technology, but even his childhood toys made this thing look stone age. It began to emit a horrendous whine which slowly squelched to a more manageable hiss. Its power crystals glowed intermittently. He half-expected one of them to pop, but they kept chugging along.
A familiar heads-up-display faded into view. “Uh oh.” This particular PipBuck's Eyes Forward Sparkle was green. A pleasant enough color, but not different enough from the blue and gray of the sky. He clicked a few knobs until the E.F.S. shone gold against the silver of the clouds. “Nice. Didn't expect you to be customizable. Stable-Tec thought of everything, didn't they?”
He reached the cloud layer and stopped. Years. Deep breath. It had been years. What had he missed? Who was in charge, now? He didn't even know the overseers of this area of the Grand Pegasus Enclave.
He smiled mischievously. One more deep breath and he was tearing through the clouds. Cold water droplets burned his eyes as the PipBuck's radiation meter played a ballad.
The sunlight blinded him as he shot above the cloud cover. His back slapped against the clouds as he dropped from the air and sneezed. He cursed the Steel Rangers for not giving him a pair of sunglasses as he rolled onto his hooves. “Fluffy as always,” he grunted, patting the cloud cover.
Vast, empty plains of clouds surrounded him in all directions, save one. Pegasi were milling about the airship yard and hangars in the distance. Somewhere, in one of those hangars was a sky-tank with a working Pegasus Magic Amplifier. The cool breeze of the elevation rustled through his feathers. The clouds below and clear sky above taunted him.
The amplifier could wait.
Wind roared in his ears as he twisted and twirled through the air. No blasted buildings. No subway cars, and certainly no coffin transports. After the third month of scorching heat in the concrete jungle, the chilled temperature and open nature of the sky reminded his bones what they were made for.
He thought of the past.
Enclave. Lies. Willow Wind. He had carried his regrets for so long they had weaved themselves into his character. Betrayal. Drifting. Lies. The repetitious nature of it all had eaten holes in his tapestry. Year by year, his handlers filled them up with their own yarns. No matter where he made his home a new boss was waiting. A new set of rules. The same desire. The same outcome.
“This is your target. Make it look like an accident. Gang-related. We need that information. That object. We must have it. We're not paying you to stand around. Do it. Now!”
Regardless of their orders, the job always ended the same. Death. Caps. More yarn.
What in the tapestry was truly him? What were the desires of his self-imposed masters? Flying ever higher, he opened his heart. Cares that were not his own revealed themselves, naked to the light. One by one he could feel the fetters drop from his mind and shrivel like insects in the sun. The yarn caught fire.
Faces passed him by. Furrowed brows. Smiling. Crying. Friends and bosses alike blew away like dust in a shaft of light as he floated down to the clouds.
Only one face stared back at him as he landed gently on the fluffy vapor. He stared at her enigmatic expression. You hurt me, Willow. Cut me off from every-fing and everypony. Left me tuh wander in da dirt. It molded me into who I had no sense in becoming. What were you tinkin'? Why did you do what you did?
Her image was inscrutable. It hovered, unblinking. He reached two hooves to the sky, as if cradling her face. I forgive you, baby. Goodbye.
The image scattered and dissolved into the air. Raze felt light-headed. He picked himself back up and felt a nimbleness. He hadn't noticed it had gone missing for so long. So relieved from the burden was he, Raze didn't recognize the emptiness that was stealing over him. This new virtue of forgiveness left him feeling threadbare. If he was no longer a collection of others' desires, then who was he?
But there was another thick yarn weaving itself in. It would take a lot of work to remove. He groaned at the thought. Images of Grandma Riverdance flooded his thoughts as the stitches on his neck burned and itched. One last boss, he thought. Gotta keep my head in the game.
He flapped his wings and headed for the airship yard, feeling foolish for all the time he used up.
The yard was massive. Pegasi by the scores were fixing, washing and inspecting the airships. There were several fairly large, Raptor-sized warships floating on the clouds. Between them were quite a number of bombing chariots being shined. No ThunderHead-Class ships, he noticed as he breathed a sigh of relief. Security will be much more relaxed.
He didn't see any sky-tanks in the field, but noticed a group of them gathered in a hangar The hangar was being “guarded” by a small group of mechanics. He quietly zipped past the mechanics on break and into the hangar. The floor was coated with a flat linoleum, perfect for keeping little parts from being claimed by the ruined city below. He began inspecting the crafts. The first three yielded no working amplifier. The fourth, on the other hand...
Item: WG: CDN: VAL:
Pegasus Magic Amplifier 20 88 1138
Bingo.
Raze hurridly unscrewed the three hoses attached to it, but the bolt holding it to the frame of the sky-tank gave him a fight. He heaved until his coveralls were covered all over with sweat.
“Need some help, there?”
Raze jumped and slammed a knee on the metal frame. “Ouch! Dammit!”
“Woah, now. Careful there son.” The muscled voice was exactly what he expected to hear from a barrel-chested stallion with a bushy, handlebar mustache. This was what Raze thought too, as he stared down at the lanky, wrinkled stallion. Raze thanked his lucky stars the stallion was wearing coveralls similar to his own and not a shiny badge on a crisp military jacket. “Here, let me give you a hoof.”
The cowpony-eyed stallion reached up to help Raze from his precarious position. Raze accepted the help and slid down the side of the sky-tank. He could feel the bruise begin to form on his knee. “Oh, thanks dude.”
The stallion cocked an eyebrow and looked him over. “Think nothing of it. Sorry for startling you.” He was chewing on something as he looked from Raze to the sky-tank and back to Raze. “So, what'cha doing to ol' Wynona, city boy?”
“That obvious, huh?” Raze asked, massaging the bruise.
“Natives down here don't use words like 'dude' willy-nilly. Just you cloud surfer types from Saddle Cruz. Anyway, as I asked: what are you doing to Wynona? I know she's got some problems, but we're not stripping her down yet, are we?”
“Hey, I'm not the one giving orders, brah. I just work here. But nah, I'm just gonna make sure this amplifier squeezes out a bit more juice. They want everything at peak efficiency. I had it my way, works of art like Wynona'd be used as, like, a demonstration for students on how, like, great the workmanship was in old Equestria. Name's Dorsal, by the way.”
“Bucket. Sun Bucket. Let me take a crack at that thing.” Sun Bucket hopped on top of the tank with bravado known only to old mechanics. He glanced around the stubborn bolt, eyelids at half-mast, and produced a ratchet from a pocket. After fitting it around the bolt, he bit down and gave it a lazy tug. The bolt gave away with ease. From then, with all the enthusiasm of a low wage earner on break, he used his hooves to maneuver the ratchet. “Yep, them uppity military types are always wanting a phoenix when all you got are eagles. I keep telling 'em, 'You keep pushing these old machines, they're gonna catch fire and ain't nothing gonna rise from them ashes.' Sometimes I find myself wishing they could all just learn to relax. That war was lost so long ago. She is a beaut, though ain't she?”
“She sure is. Dude, almost cherry, too. She hasn't seen any action in a while?”
Sun Bucket beamed. “Well, she was all kinds of tore up when I got a hold of her. Looked like she hadn't been cleaned up since the Final Day. So, I requisitioned a few parts and threw a little pastern grease into it and here we are. Still having a little trouble with some of the flight controls, but she's almost done.”
The bolt came free with the ratchet and clanged on the roof of the Sky-tank. Sun Bucket screwed the bolt back into the amplifier and floated to the hangar floor.
“Now, you be careful with this thing, you understand?” Sun Bucket commanded. “It might be able to boost enough pegasus power to run a vehicle, but it's still just one-third of the unit. Earth pony construction and unicorn technology'll make it sink in the clouds if you drop it.”
“You're tellin' me! This one time my bud Strato and I are checking out these crazy winds near the ocean and he slipped on a-”
An Enclave officer, full dress trotted in.
“Having fun in here, colts?” the officer asked. Raze could see their frozen reflections in her mirrored aviators.
“Sergeant Irons, ma'am,” Sun Bucket started. “I was just helping to remove this amplifying unit for maintenance.”
“So it would seem.” Raze could feel her eyes dart over to him. “Who's this kid.”
“My name is Dorsal, ma'am,” explained Raze. “I'm here from Saddle Cruz working as a unicorn tech specialist for your-”
“Can it, dust muncher!” In a rush, her glasses-less face was in his. “I was having a conversation with my good buddy, Rust Bucket. If I wanted to hear from you, don't you think I'd let you know?”
“Yes, ma'am!”
“Luna's laconic limbic system! I swear, there are more of you brain-dead, dropout, hacky-sackers than there are dimples on my granny's ass!” She took two deep breaths, careful not to break her stare. “Now, hop back to it, and don't let me catch you fraternizing with my pegasi again. I have enough trouble understanding these hicks without them saying stupid shit like, 'uh, yeah dude, whatever, bro!' Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Raze walked toward the open hangar door and took a stumble at the threshold. The amplifier flew out of his hooves and started sinking slowly into the clouds. He looked up at Sergeant Irons, mouth agape. “It's okay, I got it.”
“Back away from the unit. For your own safety we will have a soldier retrieve it.”
“No, it's okay. I think I can get it.” He reached.
“Do not retrieve the unit. Civilians must not break cloud cover. It's for your own protection”
Raze hovered in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a group of soldiers move in.
“I repeat: do not break cloud cover or we will drop you from the sky!” She unholstered her plasma pistol.
The E.F.S.'s lifesign indicator dots clicked from a sea of gold to an angry red. He cursed his unlucky stars and flipped backward into the clouds.
Sergeant Irons' orders rang behind him. The chase was on. He snagged the amplifier on his way down. Again the moisture burned his eyes. He wiped the tears away as he shot out of the clouds.
The ground rushed at him. Skyscrapers clawed upward to seize him. Raze flapped hard to meet their grasp. Heat waves from their concrete beat him as he weaved through their bones. His coveralls stuck with sweat.
Pink beams burned into nearby buildings. Energy weapons. Raze rounded a ruined hotel. A giant flying insect? No. Enclave power armor! He stopped flapping and plummeted, narrowly missing another beam. Its bright heat burned a colorful hole into his vision and made him sneeze, again.
He flapped blindly as he fell. The familiar zaps and heat surrounded him. The shuddering stopped. Eyes opened. Shapes of buildings took side-stage. The multicolored blindspot commanded center.
He fluttered erratically, as he tried to regain his bearings. He torpedoed through an alley. Around the corner. Past a greasy spoon. A pharmacy. Another alley.
He hit his bruised leg on a dumpster. “Ack! Fuck me!”
Come on, Raze. It hasn't been dat long since yiz seen Enclave armor. What were ya tinkin'?
More clicks and zaps. Raze took solace in their terrible aim, but knew he couldn't dodge them forever.
He hurled himself out the alleyway. “Yiz guys wanna fight five against one, eh?” he whispered to himself mid-flight. “Let's see if we can even duh odds.”
The barrage continued as he zig-zagged through the open air. A beam blazed through his coveralls and hit his flank. He jerked. The PipBuck beeped. Warning signals flashed throughout his E.F.S. Severe burns.
The amplifier fell from his grasp as both dropped altitude. Before they could hit pavement, he reached out and nabbed it. He sped off just above the street. The blast in his side felt almost icy. By now it was bubbling. Adrenaline alone kept him afloat.
He smelled corn and shark. The stew was strong. Moving yellow markers in his E.F.S. They were close by. Blasts scorched the ground as he dropped to the sidewalk. He limped on three legs, the bruised leg holding the amplifier.
Hooves clattered as he rounded another building. Smoke and fire were visible in its shadow. Ponies were milling about them. They turned and stared at him.
“¡Hermanas y hermanos!” he screamed. “¡Enclave! ¡Enclave! ¡En el cielo, mira!”
They followed his advice and stared up into the sky. Immediately after shouting came the cackle of machine gun fire. More shouting. A cheer.
Taking full advantage of the situation, he hopped through a windowless hole in the building and searched for stairs leading to the roof, looking out of the corners of his eyes all the while.
Shots had stopped and a cheer rose up as he opened the door to the roof. They must've had some bad casualties, Raze thought as the cheer vanished as quickly as it had come. It was replaced by the sound of wailing. The filly in Grandma's photograph came to mind. What was her name?
The amplifier felt heavier than before. He stared at it. It glowed and gleamed. In its entire existence it had not seen dirt. He looked down at the roof. Splintered mouths yawned in the its dusty gray. He bit his lip. Sensations of pressure built up at his side as the adrenaline wore off. He choked back a lump in his throat.
What was her name?
-
The walk back did little to lift his spirits. What would the Steel Rangers have him do next? Grandma was important to him, but guilt pushed in from all sides. Past, present, future. For the first time in a long time he thought about ponies other than himself and the backwash of emotion made him vomit.
Staggering from his own mess, he looked up. The overpass loomed before him. Back to his masters. Back to his cage.
Magical light from the amplifier mingled with the haunting glow of the PipBuck, casting dancing wisps in the gloom of the underpass.
Something felt off.
“Sleepy?” he muttered. The name bounced around like a moth in the dark. “Knight Shores.”
He flew to the other side of the overpass. Something bit hard near his wing and he tumbled to the ground. The pegasus magic amplifier bounced across the cracked road and skidded to a stop some yards away.
“Git 'im, git 'im, git 'im!”
Raze's head reeled. “Oh, you can't be serio-” He felt a gag tighten in his mouth. A black bag was thrown over his head. He found struggling difficult as each of his limbs was pinned by creatures of considerable weight.
“String 'im up. Doc, you have something to make his trip a little easier?”
“Judging by this burn, I believe we should withhold extreme anesthesia for surgery. Med-X on the other hoof...”
Raze grunted as the needle bit into him. It burned for a moment before a wave of numbness washed over him. Through dull senses he assumed he was being tied up. The cart they threw him on had nice shocks; it gently jostled from side to side. The triumvirate of movement, his wound and pain-killers united to seduce him into falling asleep. It was difficult to tell the difference between reality and dreams lying numb in the black bag.
And there she was, teeth too big and white to be real. Smiling eyes. Flowing mane.
A few tears rolled out. The lump in his throat wouldn't be held down any longer. “Why'd you do it, missy? What'd dey tell you?”
She frowned. Her mane cascaded out of the page and spilled onto the floor, fluttering in some mystical breeze. Her muzzle squared out and her fur burned into a golden orange. He stared back on himself.
Something rattled around in his mouth. He spat it out into a hoof. A tooth.
“Your choice,” said the paper specter.
The head began to inflate. It broke out of the page and crashed through the walls of his room. Pictures of memories followed plaster and bits of scratch paper into the abyss beyond. The planet of a face before him yawned. He fell slowly into the colossal version of his own mouth. Flapping and fluttering did nothing to hinder the pull. Like a boat caught in a maelstrom, annihilation was inevitable.
A molar cracked and its top shattered. The resulting whirlwind broke apart the remaining teeth and sucked them into the howling maw in the molar. Raze followed suit and found himself floating in a void. Wind whistling by his ears was his only indication he was falling.
*
Fate
The compound bustled with activity. With the arrival of Raze, plans for the liberation of Stable AW-10 ran through everyponys' minds. Fate passed through the armor prep room. Past the mural of a pony and a zebra bumping hooves. “TOGETHER WE ARE STRONG,” screamed the surrounding text. She walked across the rope bridge to gun maintenance without a glance to the asphalt, twenty stories below.
“How's it goin', Fate?” asked a yellow unicorn stallion, carefully cleaning firearms.
She stalled, making sure to give him a moment. “Going well, JB. You?”
“Just thankful I'm not on the bottom floor. That heat wave is still killer. Goin' to talk to the prisoner?”
“He's our guest, Jukebox. I hope you realize we don't intend to keep him incarcerated.”
“I get it. Just make it very attractive to stay, eh?” He circled a hoof around like he was disciplining a foal.
“Ugh. JB, grow up.” Her eyes made a barrel roll as she stormed out of the room. Jukebox's laughter followed her into the stairwell.
“One of these days, Fate, you're gonna have to learn how to lighten up, girl!”
Floor twenty-four: the highest in the main building and her stop. She opened the door to a dozen ponies, zonies and zebras hard at work. Each station was decorated by its own mural. There were several radio operators sending coded messages underneath silhouettes of a pony and zebra talking, denoted “COMMUNICATION.” More mohawked workers ticked away at terminals. There's was a painting of the same silhouettes sharing smiles and tears. “HISTORY.” A little zony colt sat on the floor next to his mother's desk and played with a miniature Sparkle~Cola® truck. Fate focused on a group huddled around the large, table map that dominated the center of the room. Looking down from the ceiling was the mural of the sun and moon swimming in a pool of stars.
“MANY SOULS. ONE HEART. INVICTVS.”
“Fate!” said a smiling stallion the color of old greenbacks. “Glad you're here. Planning to have a bit of a heart-to-heart with our little orange friend?”
“That's the idea. How's the liberation front?”
“Going well. Last time we spoke she mentioned how excited her filly is to stretch her wings outside. She seemed kinda … well … You know what? Nevermind. I'm sure it's nothing.”
“Come on, Richie. You know I won't stop until I know.”
His face screwed up as if he had taken a bite of something and was not sure if he liked it or not. “Well, she's garbling up some phrases and putting words in strange places. I mean, it could be a stroke or something as simple as that. Maybe I'm over-thinking it.”
“You know Stable-Tec. They ran experiments on almost every stable. Even though all these west-coast ones were privately funded, I’m sure they still found ways to screw things up. Hell, I'm a walking billboard for crazy, Stable-Tec experiments.”
“We all have those memoies, Fate, but there's a silver lining to each of our experiences. You have your telekinetic implant, I have my beguiling charms, and cute fillies and colts like little Warb over there would never have been born. Ah! And there I go playing Devil's advocate again. You go have your chat with orangie back there and I'll stay here trying to convince everypony that drilling into the side of the mountain is the silliest way possible to extract anypony. I mean really, what are you all thinking? I'm sure fate will have no problem convincing him to stay and help out. Even now, his own grandmother is incarcerated by the Steel Rangers. Can you imagine how that...”
Crazy Rich's monologue dimmed as she neared the room where Raze was kept. A pony and zony played cards outside the door.
“Hi, Fate.”
“Hey, Fate.”
“Hi guys,” she responded.
“Heading in?” Fate nodded. “Have fun.”
The room was nearly silent. Fate's breath reverberated deep within her skull. Raze shone like the sun against the blue sheets. The color had returned to his lips. Shakes were gone, too. Doc could certainly work wonders with very little equipment. The IV drip probably didn't hurt, either.
Fate's heart rate quickened. She had waited so long to help those poor pegasi trapped in that stable. Having suffered in the cramped spaces of a stable herself, the thought of living as a pegasus in those same conditions wrenched her heart. In the bed before her lay the best chance to cease their meaningless torment. She prayed.
Celestia, Sister of mercy, give me the words to sway his mind. Soften his heart and let him truly listen. Reveal the truth to him in Your light. Serenity. Peace. Tranquil waters.
Deep breath. “Wakey, wakey,” Fate said, flatly as she slammed the door behind her. Raze's eyelids struggled to open. Fate kicked Doc's stool bedside. She gently slapped his face. “Come on. Can't have you sleeping anymore.”
“Well, hello there,” Raze's drunk voice croaked. “Please tell me this is where my dreams go from freaky to fun.”
“So sorry to disappoint.” Her nonchalance remained steady. First impressions were important. She floated out the medical clipboard with Raze's prognosis and scanned it.
“Thank goodness. I thought a specimen as fine as you couldn't exist outside of fantasy.”
A specimen? Fate flashed back to scalpels and syringes. Observation. Detention. She sighed and muttered to herself, “Oh, Luna please no.” She assumed he meant no harm, but wasn't entirely pleased about the direction the meeting was taking. She looked over at him. His eyes were fixed on the floating clipboard.
“How are you...? I mean, what kind of...?”
“I was a science experiment. A specimen, if you will.”
“Oooh. Okay. You know what? I'm sorry. I was mostly just trying to say-”
“I know what you meant.” She wasted no time changing the subject. “So, I hear you're having Steel Ranger trouble. Also, you know you don't have to hide your accent here. We already know quite a bit about you.”
“Yeah, tanks. Dat makes me feel really safe. Along with deez bed straps I feel ruyght at home.”
“Oh. Didn't realize those were still on.” She started telekinetically unbuckling the belts holding his limbs to the bed frame. “You're a fairly violent sleeper. We thought you'd end up hurting yourself.”
“Ruyght. So, whut's up wit' you and da Steel Rangers? Why do you care?”
“The Steel Rangers are a plague. They see any piece of technology as theirs and are willing to kill to get it. Well, our group has needs too, and when we heard they were going to capture you and Riverdance, we couldn't help but pounce at the opportunity. Here, have some crackers.”
She floated the crackers over to his face. Raze munched at them, tentatively before grabbing the stack out of the air. He shook his head as he chewed. “I really don't follow.”
“Here. Let's get you out of this room. I'll show you around. Help you understand.” She pulled up a wheelchair. “Hop in.”
“Sister, I don't tink I'm gonna be hopping any time soon.” She helped him ease into the chair, careful to not disturb the bandage on his side. She used her telekinesis to push him and his IV out of the room and into the hallway.
The card-playing duo gave Raze a smile. “Glad to have you with us, buddy,” said the pony. He looked back to his zony friend. “Do you have any eight's?”
The zony leaned in. “Go. Fish.”
They strolled through the hallway and into the main room. Crazy Rich twisted his head and stared at the pathetic orange pegasus int the wheelchair. His face lit up.
“Thank the Goddesses and stars!” he said, rushing over. “I'm so glad to see you up and about. Well, almost up, but we'll get all that sorted. Fate, dear did you fill him in on what we're doing?”
“Not yet, Richie,” she said. “Giving him the tour right now. I think he'll figure it out.” She turned her head to notice Warb, the little zony colt admiring Raze's wings.
“Can I touch them?” he squeaked. Raze nodded with a slightly confused look on his face. Warb gently touched the feathers with his lips. “Can you weally fly? How fast can you go? Did you evoh meet the bad ponies in the sky?”
Fate watched the corners of Raze's mouth curl up. It was obvious to her that his experience with colts and fillies was limited as his answers weren't exactly forthcoming. He looked up at her, like a child asking permission. She nodded and gave a little smile of her own.
“To answer your questions,” Raze told the young zony. “Yes. Pretty fast and not all of da ponies in da sky are bad. Dey're just caught in a bad situation.”
“My mom says that soon, I'm going to get a lot of cousins who have wings, and we'll all live togethoh and they can fly.”
“Is dat so?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, dat's just great. I have to go talk with dis nice mare now, okay? Nice meeting you.” He put out his hoof for him to bump.
“Uh-huh,” Warb said as he ran back to his toy truck and created a scenario in which everypony died and was then brought back to life through some kind of star magic.
“That was adorable,” said Crazy Rich. “You two have fun talking. I have to have a chat with our other guest. She's having some issues adjusting. Nice meeting you face-to-face, Raze.”
“Likewise,” said Raze, trundling out of the room with Fate in tow.
-
“You gotta be kiddin' me,” Raze said as he toyed with the detonator.
“Sorry, Raze, but you're going to have to live with it until you can find some way to get it removed,” said Fate. Watching his face was a grab bag of emotions. Knowing the explosive was still inside of him but having the detonator to himself couldn't have been easy to accept. A change of subject seemed merciful. “Ordering you to stay goes against my values, so I really hope I convinced you to help us. It would change everything.”
“Dis is a really nice community you have here.” Raze stared out over the city of Applewood, and itched the stitches at the back of his neck. “Tank you, by da way. For saving Frank. I know he's a weasel and a dick wagon, but he's not so bad... specially for one uh dem Fire Stone types, right? Hope he didn't give you a hard time. Hmmph. Why do you feel you need to expand, anyway?”
“Yeah, Frank and I met under some interesting circumstances. Suffice it to say: the shower I had when I got back was the best I ever had.” Raze chuckled as Fate sighed. “It's not that we want to expand. We just want to make sure everypony is given the same chance. Nopony should have to live their live enslaved to others.” And if a lot of the freed ponies in that bunker wish to join the cause, I won't stop them, was the thought she kept to herself. Her hope beyond hope. All equines following their own heart, living up to their own standards, and living harmoniously together. It made butterflies dance in her stomach.
“Okay, okay. For my own benefit, lemme get dis all straight. Dere's a stable full of pegasi and you need me to get da door to open, because da terminal lock is made of cloud stuff. But it sucks, because it's ruyght in da middle of Applewood Hills wit' all doze bloodwings. So you're gonna need a pretty big Steel Ranger group to escort all da refugees back to safety. And you're gonna get said Steel Rangers by dangling me and what's-her-face as bait in front of dem. Dat about ruyght?”
“You forgot all the technology that will tempt them. But yes, that's basically it.”
“I still don't see whut I'm getting out of dis. Looks luyk I’m still gonna have to go back to da Rangers.”
“We're not going to stop until all ponies are free from tyranny, Raze.”
“Huh. Oh! I tink I'm beginning to see da picture. Listen, sister. Da Steel Rangers aren't a little group. How do you tink you're gonna be able to take 'em down wit' just who you got? Even wit' a few batallions, you're looking at a full-scale siege you're not gonna win.”
“Of course we can't beat their firepower, but we will have many opportunities to wreak havoc on the inside. Crazy Rich has an extensive plan. Reliable sources have already made it known that our ideology is spreading from within their ranks. Ponies are sick of being subject to the whims of others, especially when it preys on those less fortunate.”
“Reliable sources, huh?” Raze shook his head. “You ponies are batshit crazy. I like it!”
“So, you'll help us?”
“I'll be your bait only if you answer me one ting.”
“What is it?”
“Were you born on day zero?”
“What? What kind of question is that?”
“Because you're da bomb.”
“Pfff!” She turned tail and walked out of the room, but Raze's voice followed her into the stairwell.
“One of dese days I'm gonna show you how to lighten up, girl. Gonna have to get used to me seein' as how we're gonna be workin' together! Den we're gonna go on dat date I know you been tinkin' about!” Fate chuckled to herself at his desperation as she trudged down stairs. She enjoyed having the upper hoof.
Sleepy Shores
“I'm a married stallion, Knight Shores,” said Crazy Rich. Sleepy Shores slipped off her precarious position on the table and sunk to the floor. She had never before faced such stonewall rejection. “It's not going to work on me. Let's talk about Paladin Trueheart some more. His values seem to clash regularly with the higher-ups, isn't that right?”
Her eyes wandered about the room. They stopped on a reflection of bottle caps. Bottle caps on a green bottom. Her frustration melted. “What if I told you, you could be very rich.”
“I'm already crazy rich. Shoot, it's my name!” He laughed at his own attempt at humor. “I'm going to get rich off of this whole ordeal anyway.”
Her smile gained traction. “No, I don't think you understand me. The brotherhood is jumpy. I'm not sure they're going to keep the topside standing. It's not like they need anything from up here. We have all we need in the bunker.”
“That's not what I hear. From what I hear, you guys are scared you're going to lose your precious food supplies. Some of you are even trading with us 'savages.' I mean, that's saying something.”
“Fuck Trueheart. That nag isn't representative of the majority of us. The Elders want to wipe the slate clean. Start fresh.”
Crazy Rich shook his smirking head.
“Don't believe me?” she asked. “Fine. I won't tell you about what the BP-16 stole from the Mascarponies before they wiped them out. I also won't tell you about our Elders' final solution. I'm sure you'll change your tune when you and your family start frying in what's gonna be cooking.”
Knight Helado groaned. Blood poured from his gunshot wound. Trueheart yelled over his shoulder as he struggled to stymie the flow.
Two Invictus guards lay twitching in sticky pools. Zebras, or something like them. Even in death, their markings were eye-catching. The surviving mare gnashed her teeth and dove into the burrito stand. She levitated and shot her weapon, her own brand of response.
The pegasus had hit the dirt at the first shot. He huddled under a fast food table, swearing.
Knight Fluff sat next to Plough, under the counter of the burrito stand. He scowled like a disappointed deacon. Plough was certain a desire for some defense topped his list of thoughts.
Plumes of concrete exploded between them all. With bedlam falling around him, only one thought captivated Plough’s mind: I wonder how tasty these burritos were.
Chaff kept screaming.
“Plough!” He finally registered his own name being called. He whipped his head to the side. It was Trueheart. “Subway station! Move!”
Making it as far as his knees, a bullet ricochet pushed him back to his haunches.
“Shut da fuck up, dirt eater!” the pegasus screamed. “You’ll get us all killed! It’s late afternoon! The bloodwings’ll tear us apart!”
“You have a better idea, feather-brain?”
“Shut up, you two and just help think up a plan!” the Invictus mare quipped from inside the burrito stand.
A safe place to hide? Plough thought. A safe place. He sneaked a view behind the stand. Another dust plume was waiting for him. He pulled his head back, coughing and rubbing his eyes. Easier said than done.
“Mare!” he bellowed. “Hey, mare! Can you crack a safe?”
“What?” came the response.
“Can you crack a safe? From the inside?”
“Um, hold on!” More bullets. The pavement before them resembled the surface of the moon. “Yes! I think so!”
“Paladin Trueheart! The bank!” Trueheart looked bewildered for a second before his eyes widened in his most forceful “Hell no” expression. “It’s the best way to get out of this-ERGH-this firefight! We’ll avoid the bloodwings, too.”
Trueheart gave a reluctant nod. He lifted Knight Helado onto his back. “On three, run northeast as fast as you can!”
“Are you insane?” cried the mare. “That’s where they’re shooting from!”
“Remember to spread out and zig-zag! One!”
Plough wriggled the now-hoarse Chaff onto his own back. Her legs wrapped tight around him. Shallow breaths bounced dissonantly against her rapid heartbeat.
“Two!”
The pegasus fluttered over to Knight Fluff and clutched to him like a baby monkey. “Sorry, bro,” he said. “I need a lift.”
“THREE!”
The group sprang into action. The mare somersaulted out of the stand. Plough skidded around the corner. Chaff made him top-heavy.
His legs pumped. Bits of sidewalk exploded around him. Each zig and zag forced a skid. Legs squeezed his neck. Muscles burned. No breath. Stars twinkled in his vision. Each pounding hoof was a plea for sleep.
The stars flashed and gave way to comfortable non-existence.
Gasping for breath, he came to a second later. Throbbing headache. More stars in a field of olive gave way to blurry vision. He must’ve hit his head on the vault door.
With Knight Helado on his back, Paladin Trueheart tore through the building and into the vault.
Knight Fluff came into focus, the pegasus slung across his back. His knee exploded, catapulting the spasming orange shot into the building. The pegasus fluttered pathetically across Plough’s field of vision, and into the vault.
His line of sight cleared just in time to see Knight Fluff’s screams come to an end. Mockingbirds. He loves his sister.
Plough felt himself being dragged into the vault. The door creaked, then slammed shut. Locks ratcheted into place. Darkness. He didn’t realize he was falling asleep until he was already out.
*
But, I just talked to him. He was terrified for his sister’s safety. She was the one in danger, not him.
*
“Come on, buddy. Can't having you go to sleep with a possible concussion.” The friendly voice was encouraging and energetic, but the soothing warmth of sleep continued to swirl about him in a dance of seduction. The dance became more rough. His legs felt like spiders made of jelly. It dawned on him it wasn't a dance. “Up on your feet, initiate! We can't have you slipping into a coma before your ceremony.” His eyes fluttered open and caught a glimpse of Trueheart's hardened stare. “That's my boy! I have to go take- Hey, Plough. Eyes right here with me. Listen up. I need to check on Knight Helado. You go be with your mare. She needs you. Do you understand?”
Plough nodded drunkenly. Trueheart slowly made his way to Knight Helado, staring at something all the while. Plough followed his gaze to the barrel of the Invictus mare's glowing gun. Her appearance matched the exotic nature of her rifle. Standing in a corner, she blanketed the rest of the room with an air of suspicion. The pegasus in front of her fiddled with a lantern before lying belly-first on the ground, his face in his hooves.
Plough's eyes finally fell on Chaff. She cradled her trembling legs as she rocked herself. Her breathing kept the vault from being truly quiet. If eyes really were windows to the soul, her's said “vacancy.”
The floor was slick. Several times Plough slipped as he stumbled over to her. “Chaff,” he ventured. “Chaff, sweetheart.” The cold wall of safety deposit boxes sent shivers up his spine. He felt her shudder as he reached around her, pulling her close. “Come on, Chaffie. Your baby's right here. Everything is going to be okay.”
“She's never been in a firefight?” Plough circled his head over to the pegasus. The movement almost made him retch.
“Huh?” His head wobbled like ball on water.
The pegasus lay on his stomach, looking a bit like a filly staring at a teenage idol poster in her room. “Your girl. She's never been in a ganger or raider firefight?”
Plough looked at his mare. “No. When the Crazy Eights would try to hit Balk, her... father would keep her locked up in a cellar.”
“Daddy?” he heard Chaff whisper.
“No, love,” Plough countered. “Your dad's not here. You're safe. You're with your baby, Plough.”
“Daddy.” The word was more of a breath of reassurance than a whisper.
The pegasus must have read the look of confusion on Plough's face. “She'll be in shock for a while. Just stay with her.”
Her breathing slowed, but her eyes remained unmoved, fixed on avoiding her buried emotions. Plough took this time to attempt to retake control over himself. Iron will quotes fell like a monsoon in his mind. The imbibed thoughts put him back in control for a moment, but like a monsoon, the effect was temporary. The cracked desert waited for him, unquenchable.
Different thoughts and viewpoints pelted him from all angles. He questioned his choice to join the Steel Rangers, but wouldn’t they be useful against the slaughter he’d just witnessed outside? Trueheart seemed truly sincere, but was he competent enough for the power he wielded?
Perhaps most importantly, he regretted Chaff coming with him. She kept him anchored in a world so turbulent, but like an anchor would she keep him from sailing off to his calling? Chaff grew up with a fragile spirit, and like anything precious to him, Plough’s only thought was to keep her from more destruction. He looked over at the mare with the gun. Not to mention keep her from dangerous characters.
Farming, studying and protecting Balk from raider attacks prepared him for many things, he reasoned. True, removing a raider’s head from his body in adolescence was a profound experience, but it ill prepared him for the shock of seeing a mare as unearthly beautiful as this member of Invictus. Her body looked more like a sentient liquid than a real pony, an image only reinforced by the stark backdrop of safety deposit boxes. And then there were those eyes.
Plough looked down to the pegasus, who was shaking his head, a smug grin plastered on his face. He pointed over his shoulder to the mare then to himself, bringing that same face to a nod. The mare must have noticed, because she gave a solid kick to the pegasus’ ribs. He groaned and snickered as she rolled her eyes, sighing.
“So,” the pegasus choked out. “What’s the plan?” He exchanged glances with the mare before all their eyes fell on Trueheart.
“You hang tight for a bit, Helado,” Trueheart said, standing up.
He turned to glare at the mare. His eyebrows connected like a steel girder across his face: a pony trying to hide his rage behind an emotionless mask.
“Are you able to talk, now,” the mare asked.
“You,” Trueheart growled. He kicked away her gun and was at her throat in a second. “I lost a friend today because of you!”
“Take your hooves off of me.”
Plough could see his muscles tense, but it was useless. In what seemed like one motion the mare hunkered down, jumped up and with her hind legs latched onto Trueheart’s head. She spun in this position and launched him into the wall of safety deposit boxes. He landed upside down with a clanging thud. Chaff screamed before succumbing again to her blank expression. Plough looked the mare over and was thoroughly impressed.
The mare took a few deep breaths as she levitated her rifle back to her side. Plough still couldn’t find her horn. He wondered if it had been sheared off in an accident. Could they even use magic after an accident like that?
“Don’t be a fool, Ranger,” she scolded Trueheart as he was pushing himself to his hooves. “We both know who those ponies were out there, and if you didn’t notice, I lost two friends myself.”
Trueheart touched a hoof to his nose. Plough could see the glisten of blood. The Paladin hesitated for a moment. His rage at losing a friend was powerful, but he couldn’t hope to beat the mare in a fight. Anger imploded and turned into its true form. Pain. Trueheart impotently punched and head-butted the deposit boxes. “Damnit!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just I-”
“Okay, hold on, Fate,” the pegasus interrupted. “I’m going to suggest something, and I know it will sound a little weird right now, but we’re going to be waiting in here for some time. We should take this time to think and center ourselves before we start trying to kill each-other again.”
Fate. Was that her name?
Trueheart stared slack-jawed at the pegasus. Plough studied Trueheart’s eyes. Years of memories played like films projected onto the old Paladin’s face. He lowered his head and gave a bitter nod.
The pegasus sat up against the deposit boxes and took a deep breath, letting his forelegs drop to his sides. The intense atmosphere broke apart as he closed his eyes and let the sound of his breath fill the room. He spoke. “Serenity. Peace.”
Trueheart’s mouth slowly dropped open. “Tranquil waters,” he added.
The mare took the next line. “Cool grass on which to run.”
Plough’s heart raced. It felt strange to be so excited by something as simple as a poem, but Trueheart had talked it up enough to make it seem like some priceless relic. The rest of the poem sounded like a ritualistic incantation with all four ponies, including Helado, reciting every line with the same cadences.
“A warm sun. Play in its grace. Fertile ground to rest my weary bones. May my body feed the earth as it feeds my children. For these are my hopes, my dreams of the future, that my sons and daughters will have: the light of the moon in darkness, the breath of love in stillness, and tranquil waters, in fertile ground. Peace. Serenity.”
The end of the poem quickened Plough’s breath as much as it relaxed the others’. He was shocked at how the words matched his own beliefs, albeit in a less pessimistic way. Perhaps it was his constant worry over his parents or maybe it was all the time he spent memorizing book after book, but he hadn’t given much thought to his own mortality. He knew in his mind death was inevitable, but now he felt it. The words simultaneously set him on edge and charged him with hope. It felt as if the poem itself was reassuring him that his fate was not only inescapable, but benefitted the next generation of ponies.
A good death. One that meant something.
Plough shuddered and looked over at the others. Trueheart lay on his stomach, scratching at the ground with his hoof and mindlessly toying with his locket. The mare leaned against the deposit boxes still levitating her rifle, but was noticeably more calm.
The pegasus seemed positively chipper and ready to talk. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “That was fantastic. Almost like the pledge of allegiance.”
“I wouldn’t think your kind would learn to recite something like that,” said Trueheart. “Seems a more ‘down to earth’ kind of thing, if you catch my meaning.”
The pegasus motioned at the clouds and lightning shaped scar on his side. “Well, I am earthbound. But, yeah it was something we all had to learn growing up. Something about knowing your enemies.”
Trueheart cocked his head. “But do you really know its meaning?”
“It means you should leave the world better off than you found it,” the mare interjected. Trueheart regarded her with eyebrows raised. “That much like the pelican, we should give of our own blood if we have to, just so the generations to come after could live in more safety. And hopefully one day, a world without violence or slavery. Paladin Trueheart, what I have to say is simple. What we want i-”
“Excuse me, but how do you know me? How is it that I was called out by name to come out here? I’m not Head Paladin. I’m not Elder. I couldn’t even take those two to their initiation. Who is feeding you this information?”
The mare waited before responding. “I won’t discuss our tactics with you, Paladin. Suffice it to say, you were the only pony in the entirety of the Steel Rangers I would trust enough to fully understand what I am about to request.”
“Request?” Trueheart bit his lip and avoided her gaze. “I lost a dear friend today. I was there when he was foaled. I was there when...” He glared at her. “We were like brothers. I lost him coming out here to meet you and here you are asking for more? I don’t even know who you are.”
“I am sorry about your friend, I truly am. I made sacrifices coming out here as well. Even now I’m asking myself if it is worth it.” She sighed. “I am called Fate. An associate of mine found you after we discovered what the Steel Rangers were capable of under the guidance of a pony like Marrow. I don’t want massacres like his on my conscience.”
Trueheart blinked his resignation. Plough seemed the only one to notice. Fate continued. “You clung to the ideals we in my group hold dear. A desire for peace, for unity and to see Equestria brought back to life from whatever sleeping Hell she’s in.”
Trueheart paused. He stared at the ground through closed eyes. “Trade with outsiders,” he whispered. “Savages turned Initiates. Now I’m discussing politics with a terrorist. Alright...let’s hear the request.”
“You have ponies who massacre entire stables and I am the terrorist?”
Trueheart snorted.
“Change is on its way, Trueheart. The status quo cannot be sustained as it is. You may find ponies whom once you called brother, are more than willing to stab you in the heart. Our request is simple, really. We need an armed escort to and from a stable. There are ponies trapped inside. We’ve been in radio contact with them and they want out. In exchange, we’ll return Raze, here and the pegasus magic amplifier he lifted from the Enclave.”
Raze gave an unhelpful grin and shrug. Trueheart chewed on the words. “I see,” he said at last. “I see why you didn’t want Marrow’s input. They’re suffering? The ponies in the stable, I mean.”
“More than you or I know. They’re pegasi.”
“You’re kidding.”
Fate shook her head. “From what we’ve been told, not having enough room to fly around is extremely unhealthy for them. We need to do this soon.”
“I’ll talk with command. I’m sure they’ll listen. You do have them by the balls right now. I just wish you sent a ransom for that instead of bringing us out here…” Plough could tell the desire to vomit was not confined to himself. “But I understand why you’d like it kept from certain parties.”
“So Fate, honey,” Raze said like an unwelcomed relative. “I’m not sure how much air we have left in here. You gonna get started on that door any time soon?”
“Ugh,” Fate sighed as she pushed her way to the door. “Keep an eye on them, will you?”
She set to work on the delicate task of cracking the vault door as Raze sat staring at Plough. He nodded with pursed lips as if listening to an imaginary funk band. “What’s your story, slugger?” he asked Plough. Plough stared at the pegasus, who seemed genuinely interested. Fate’s magic warbled in the background, lending a surreal atmosphere to the room.
“Nothing you’d be interested in hearing,” said Plough. Raze nodded again. Plough studied his face. The expressions the pegasus wore were familiar, but not in a visual sense. It was almost like looking into a mirror. Reflections were perfect representations of something else, but could never be the actual thing reflected. There was always something in them that shattered the illusion. Plough was staring at a reflection of somepony, and he was curious to see what was behind the mirror.
“I suppose that’s true. You being a … farmer?” Plough kept his head still, unwilling to engage in the conversation. Raze took the slight in stride. “So, are you two an item?”
“Knock it off.”
“Jeez, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”
“It’s not the questions.”
Raze tilted his head, but seemed to catch on. His accent had come to haunt him yet again. He smiled and shook his head. “I guess it’s true what dey say: ‘Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.’”
-
“So den I say to Joist, I sez to him, ‘Well, at least the plumbing ain’t broke!”’ Plough shuddered and cried with laughter. “Now, you can’t tell me dat story isn’t funny as shit.”
Plough chuckled in agreement. It felt strange, laughing. Good. Like meeting an old friend and forgetting their name. Spend a little time with them and remember why you became friends in the first place.
“Okay, you win,” said Plough, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That was hilarious.” He looked down on Chaff who had fallen asleep. He kissed the top of her head. Her mane crunched against his lips.
“Damn,” said Raze as he shoved the safety deposit box he had been rifling through back into place. The scimitar-shaped tie tack he had found in one of the boxes dangled from his lips. He maneuvered the little, golden sword to the corner of his mouth. “My troat’s dry. Why don’t we turn on dat PipBuck you got and see if we can’t get some music. I’d ask Fate, but dat PipBuck what da Rangers gave me is so old it makes Celestia look like a foal. Besides, I tink Fate hates anyfing beautiful.” He winked.
“Shut up, Raze,” came a monotone response from the door. Raze rewarded himself with a smile at the successful ribbing.
Plough cycled through the pages of the PipBuck and clicked on the radio.
“-or a response she said, ‘We’ll stop hosting the games as soon as ponies stop attending or we run out of ghouls. Whatever comes first.’ Well, I’m not so sure about my feelings on the matter. Bloodsport doesn’t really entice an old nag like me, but I don’t want to see ponies rioting in the street on account of boredom.
“This next tune goes perfectly with my inflatable palm tree. Let’s hope we can all have a beach party in the next hundred years or so. Until then, shake me another room temperature margarita. It’s about that time of the day.”
As if answering his thoughts he heard Fate say, “It’s taking longer than I expected, but I’m making progress. Should be done in another hour or so.”
“Ouch,” said Raze. “Hopefully you can hurry it up. I’m not sure dis room has da best ventilation.”
“If you’re so worried about using up oxygen you could always die.”
Raze’s face scrunched and forehooves raised as if preparing to fight the air between them. He resigned to scratching the stitches on the back of his neck. His gaze spun over to Trueheart, keeping his vigil over Helado. “You two doin’ alright over dere?”
A silent stare shot back from Trueheart. Raze leaned against the wall and slumped to the ground. His head beat a rhythm of bored frustration against the boxes, like droplets from a leaky faucet.
“Plough,” said a weak voice from Plough’s chest. His breath caught in his throat.
“Chaff,” he whispered back. “Chaff, baby are you okay?”
“Yeah. We’re … We’re in a bank vault.” She sat up to get a look at Plough. Her forehead was knitted and a sneer quivered on and off. Plough couldn’t tell if she looked more like a hurt foal or a wild animal. “We were shot at?”
Plough nodded.
Her eyes welled as she pulled him in close. “I hate it here.” She nuzzled into his chest. Tears mingled with the dust of their journey, making a warm mud. “They can keep Celestia’s Acre. I want to go back home!”
“Shh, shh.” He pulled her quaking form in close. “Once we get to the Steel Ranger headquarters, you won’t have to deal with any of this again. You could just sit and mingle and study all day, every day. Ponies in armor and thick, steel doors will protect you and keep you and our fillies and colts safe.”
Chaff gave a weary smile and shuddered a cough-like chuckle. Thoughts of having her own foals tended to calm her down. She and Plough had agreed long before to raise their foals their own way. The right way. Not the way their own parents raised them.
“Attention!” Fate said as she backed away from her work. Her rifle hovered motionless. Ratcheting sounds bounced around the room. “Someone is breaking in. Get ready.”
Trueheart galloped to the corner of the door. He leaned into the wall. Eyeing the floating rifle, he asked, “You a good shot with that?”
“I usually don’t miss.”
Trueheart’s eyebrows could have knitted a sweater.
“I’m good, Paladin. Just be ready.”
Plough’s heart raced. He stood directly behind Trueheart. Every scenario played out in his head. Ten ponies? One? One of the big gangs? An army of Steel Rangers?
His muscles tensed as the door’s ratcheting grew louder. He gave a wink to Chaff who had curled into a quaking ball. At least her eyes were alert.
The loud clunk shook his eardrums. A choir of squeaks and a growing ribbon of light signaled the opening of the door. Trueheart’s jaw was set. Raze shielded his face from the light.
Fate stared, unblinking through the breach. It was unnerving.
For a moment there was nothing. No movement. No sound, save Plough’s own thoughts. Trueheart’s leg twitched. He was ready.
Ready when the shadow appeared in the doorway. The Paladin shot out of the door taking whatever was in his way with him, to the ground.
Plough swore he heard a squawk. Raze shot up, stumbled and got back up again.
Fate pounced outside, her weapon leading the charge. Plough craned his head around the opening.
Trueheart had the griffin in a headlock. The griffin clawed desperately at the sinewy legs about her throat. True to his nature, Trueheart showed restraint by not snapping her neck at once. After scanning the area, Fate trained her rifle at the griffin's head.
“Wait, wait!” Raze screamed as he shambled out the vault. “Hold on a second!” He tripped again but regained his balance enough to stand over Trueheart. “Let her go, Trueheart!” The griffin’s claws landed like butterflies on Trueheart’s iron grip. “She’s a friend, you smeg-guzzling sonofabitch!”
Trueheart unlocked his organic vise. The griffin fell to the ground like sack of trash, her breath the sound of aluminum cans.
Raze rushed to her side and held her up as best he could. The griffin was nearly the size of his old cart. Lanky as a lizard sunning itself. The size difference unearthed memories in Plough. Foals waking up on Hearthswarming Eve, and in turn waking their parents. This would have made him smile, but Plough kept the smiles to himself.
“Lena!” Raze yelled directly into his ward’s face. “Da fuck were you doin’ here? Didn’t ya see da action? Stupid BP-16 tryin’ to expand into Crazy 8 territory. Ya could’a been shot, you ass!”
She sat up and hunched over. “You’re welcome,” she rasped through fits of coughing. Plough raised his eyebrows at her foal-like squeak of a voice.
“Ya watched me all day?”
She nodded.
“Atta girl.” Raze pulled her in for a solid hug and gentle head-butt. He shook himself to his feet and faced the group. “Dis griffin here, her name is Galena. She has an incredible eye for a long shot…” he turned back to her. “And salvage. Anyway, she’s a friend, and I tink we could use a few o’ doze.”
Fate and Trueheart, though not sharing a glance, wore the same look of suspicion. Plough, on the other hoof, knew how to read Raze and the prose was clear. Galena was an asset.
Plough felt movement at his side. Chaff walked cautiously out of the vault. She stopped, dwarfed in front of the now standing griffin. She reached up with a hoof. Galena shied away slightly. Chaff moved in closer for her own brand of hug.
“Oh, it’s so good to meet you, Galena,” Chaff almost sang. “We’ve had such a horrible day. You’ve really brightened up the afternoon.”
The rest of the group shared a look of bemused shock, but Galena was far more decisive. She grasped Chaff in her talons, stood on her hind legs and squeezed. Then the dancing and twirling started.
“Ohmahgosh!” she exclaimed, holding Chaff at arm’s length. “Thank you so much for existing! You are the fucking greatest!” She brought her in close for what was more of a face squish than a nuzzle.
Chaff’s squashed, putty-face returned to its smiling state after Galena reluctantly set her back down.
“Hi guys.” Galena held up her wiggling talons. “How’s it goin’? Been, uh-hmm, trapped in a vault, huh?” Fate and Trueheart responded with trademark wary stares.
“Don’t worry about dem, Lena,” Raze placated. “Dey’ll be like dat for a while until dey get to know ya. Like dem Duke movies you always used to watch all da time.”
“Ooh. Strong, silent type. The Pony With no Name. I getcha. Well, I’m the plucky sidekick who’s always there to help the hero out of a jam, but don’t be jelly; I’ll help to preserve you, too.”
She smiled the only way anyone could smile after firing off such horrible puns. Plough swore he could see her beak sweating, waiting for a response from the two serious ponies. Fate kept her stone face intact, but Trueheart smiled the way fathers do when their children tell their first, terrible jokes.
Trueheart nodded. “It’s good to meet you, Galena.”
“Thanks for getting us out of that vault,” Plough added. “You probably just saved our skins.”
Fate said nothing. Plough knew he gained no points with her by praising Galena’s safe cracking abilities. It didn’t matter. Better to gain favor with the denizens of Celestia’s Acre than a terrorist leader. He knew he’d have powerful friends in the Steel Rangers soon enough.
“Awww,” Galena sang. “Thank you guys so much. The safe wasn’t so bad, but the groups here before were really goi-”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Trueheart blurted. “But we should head to a more secure location before more gangers show up. Bloodwings will be out in a little while, too.”
“We have a safe house ready,” said Fate. Plough heard the faint wavering of distant tears in her voice. “Originally for if things went well. Should still work.”
Trueheart grit his teeth and nodded.
After fetching Helado and placing him on Plough’s back, the group filed out of the bank lobby, and started the trek to the safe house.
“Keep walking,” said Trueheart. “I’ll catch up in a second.
The Paladin made like a shot to a lump on the ground. He rooted through the debris and rubble until he lifted his head, a shiny chain dangling from his lips. He caught back up in no time, tossing the chain around his neck.
Holotags. One had been split half way down. The other was still intact. Knight Fluff. Trueheart gave Plough a knowing glance. Plough agreed. Sleepy Shores was sure to be heartbroken.
Hooves clopped, paws padded and talons ticked on the pavement. For almost twenty seconds time passed like this, until Galena spoke up.
“So… Do you guys like movies?”
Plough thought heard a whisper from Raze’s direction. “Fuck.”
Jimmy
Another sweltering day. Humid, too. As intimidating as it was trading with the Steel Rangers, Jimmy enjoyed their blunt honesty.
Calling his boss a snake in the grass might’ve been enough. Calling him a “skulking pit viper who sold his own mother for two bits (four bits above the asking price)” might also have been enough. No, Jimmy didn’t lose it until “And get a new manestyle. What you got now makes you look like a dick.”
Jimmy had been wiping tears from his eyes for an hour, snickering each time he caught a glimpse of the boss’ shadow. The brahmin, though not the smartest animal in the barnyard, would occasionally exacerbate the situation with their own brand of sophomoric humor.
“Hey, Jimmy,” said one head of the brahmin.
“What’s up, Petunia?”
“The sun is really bright today. Mind if Colleen and I borrow your hat?”
“Yeah,” the other head agreed. “I think ‘el jefe’ could use a Jimmy hat.”
The twin heads guffawed at their tag-team cleverness. Jimmy chortled and looked up at the caravan leader, sitting in the driver’s seat of the cart.
“C’mon boss,” Jimmy offered. “It’s all in good fun. You’re still the best salespony in the Acre.”
“Hmph!” was all the driver responded as he sucked down his tepid coffee.
The brahmin stopped suddenly, shaking the cart. The remainder of the driver’s coffee splattered against his gelatinous girth.
“What’s going on, girls?” asked Jimmy.
“Petunia smells something. In front of us. A few miles off, maybe?”
Jimmy held up his binoculars. The haze did nothing to help with the focus.
“What do you see, Ji-”
“Shh!”
He saw them a ways off, down the mountain. A small group of ponies came into focus. Something larger strode along side them.
“Ponies. I count… four of them? There’s a griffin, too. A big one.”
“Dangerous?” asked the driver.
“Maybe. Get set up. Tea Leaf, help Colleen and petunia out of their harness. Ringo, keep an eye out for me while I check this group’s intent.”
The other mercenaries hopped into action as Jimmy jaunted down the hillside, following the zig-zagging trail. He didn’t notice the shadow until its owner touch downed in front of him.
“Good morning, wastelander,” said the griffin in an impossibly high, feminine voice that mismatched her size. Her homespun rifle whined in his face. “Mind telling me what you’re doing around here?”
Jimmy stared up at her. She stood on her hind legs. Bronze feathers cascaded down her head and chest and were slowly replaced by a sea of gold from mid to tail. She shined against the dull cloud cover.
“Not gonna ask you again.”
Jimmy caught a glimpse of himself in her reflective snow goggles, mouth agape.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, miss,” he said as he fumbled with his hat. “My name’s Jimmy. I saw your group from up top and had to come down to warn you.”
“Warn us of what?”
“Well, it can be dangerous up there with all the bloodwings, chupacabras and what-not. Not to mention more dangerous adversaries.”
The griffin seemed to miss his insinuation entirely. “You know, I still haven’t seen a chupacabra in real life. Only in the movie Night of the Chupacabra.”
“And Chupacabra II: Montezuma’s Revenge?”
The griffin lowered the sight of the rifle from her eye. “Chupacabra III: Chupacabra Versus the Mad Lich of Saddle Arabia?”
“Or when they thought putting numbers into the name was cool with Chupababr4: The Return?”
“But the best one…”
“...the one that sticks in everybody’s mind…”
“...a satire and homage to all things b-movie...”
They stared at each other. Jimmy felt his heart beat wildly. Excitement thundered through his veins as they exclaimed in unison, “Chupacabra Unchained: The Reckoning!”
They both burst out laughing and gave a hoof-to-fist bump. The griffin lowered her rifle and sat down against a boulder. Jimmy looked around tentatively. He wondered to himself what the best course of action would be. Looking down on the smiling beak, he shook his head and sat down by her side. Interesting characters always topped his list of priorities.
“Ohmahgosh, I like, never get to talk about movies! It’s like I’m the only cinephile in the desert, or whatever.”
“That’s a shame. Film has a unique ability to awaken things hidden in our subconscious.”
The griffin pulled her snow goggles up and stared at Jimmy with golden eyes. He noticed her left pupil remained dilated, imparting more quirk to her already strange nature. “That is so true. It’s like the world is spending so much time surviving they forgot there were other things to live for, or something.”
Jimmy considered his own life. Protecting the wealthy. Getting paid. Removing threats. Yet the time he felt most alive was spent swapping tales in podunk towns on the edge of nowhere.
Accepting the life fate had in store for him was easy. Long and lonely walks. Going from poor to rich in a paycheck, loneliness alleviated. Poor again. More lonely walks. After years of this life, he found no alternative. The fluttering in his stomach and lightness in his limbs unearthed new evidence to suggest otherwise.
-
By the time the rest of her group had caught up, Jimmy and his newfound friend, Galena were embroiled in a serious debate.
“But Sapphire Stone was Hairerion Trot’s breakout role, you silly griffin!” Galena stood, mouth agape and brow furrowed. Jimmy shined a hoof against his coat and inspected it like some blase debutante. “Besides, you just can’t beat Ahuizotl as the best nemesis of the series.”
“You ornery little… Aren’t you forgetting about Liam Neighson’s portrayal of Starswirl the Bearded in Staff?”
“You are such a punk. I knew you’d bring that up.” A menacing rifle floated up around the corner of the trail. “Looks like your friends are here.”
Galena turned her head.
“Galena!” A little orange pegasus limped up to her at a surprising pace. Jimmy studied his sallow cheeks and darkened eyes. He had the look of an addict but the spirit of a mustang. “Da fuck, Galena? We were waiting forever. Tought you might have been killed, but here you are talkin’ movies again.”
“Sorry, Raze, I…”
“Who is dis clown, anyway?”
“He’s my new friend…”
“JIMMY!” cried a familiar voice. The little mare galloped towards the mule.
“Little Miss Sunshine?” Jimmy opened his forelegs and let the mare crash into him. “What are you doing way out west, girl?”
“Jimmy, it’s so good to see you. We’ve been through a crazy few days.”
He scanned the other ponies in her party. She wasn’t joking. Looks of trepidation surrounded him. It was the natural distrust of the foreign. A strange but fitting image of wolves growling at a vacuum cleaner hung in his mind. “I can see that.”
Chaff finally caught the distrust hanging in the air. “Everypony, this is my good friend, Jimmy. He’s a bodyguard for a caravan. Jimmy, this is Raze, Fate, Trueheart, that’s Helado on the stretcher there, and my coltfriend, Plough.”
Jimmy waved an awkward hoof. “Howdy.” He kicked himself inwardly. Howdy? When have I ever said “howdy?”
“I see you’ve already met Galena.”
Jimmy looked over to her for support, but the griffin was already sporting her snow goggles and tinkering with her weird rifle. “Yep.”The atmosphere of suspicion remained, like a drunk uncle at a reunion.
Chaff’s gaze shifted from side to side. She tired quickly, watching the world’s slowest tennis match. “So, Jimmy. Where’s your caravan?”
Jimmy stared at her like she had just spoken a foreign language. Replaying the question in his mind brought about a different reaction. In the stream of movie conversations and chance meetings he had forgotten all about his responsibilities. They were probably even more ready for a fight than when he left them. “Aw, Hell.”
-
After many grumblings, amusing anecdotes and sideways glances, the two groups parted ways. Chaff’s group were supplied with a decent lunch and Jimmy’s received an unexpected bonus of caps.
Jimmy walked along the coarse trail, sweat dripping from his face forming beads of mud on the ground. It looked like even the earth was sweating. He questioned his own abilities. Not from a stance of overconfidence, but undervaluing the possibilities the world afforded him. The job made him a rich mule, but he felt an inkling that he was selling himself short.
He saw the shadow. She landed only a few steps behind him. Turning, he asked, “Galena? What do you need, sweetheart?”
She pounced at Jimmy, wrapping him in a solid hug. Tearing off his hat, she planted a firm kiss on him. Now, kissing a griffin was a new sensation for Jimmy and as such, his mind raced through several different steps before he was even able to comprehend the shock of having a massive, muscular creature inspecting his tonsils with her tongue.
Well this is odd. Hard. Sharp. Warmer than I expected. Almost feels like she’s going to eat my fa- Is that her tongue?! Oh, wow.
“In case we don’t see each other,” she whispered in his ear. She threw a wadded-up piece of paper into his hat and crushed it onto his head. Coyly wriggling her talons goodbye, she jumped into the air and disappeared in the haze.
Jimmy stood dumbfounded. He could feel the other caravaneers’ faces mirroring his own.
After a moment of stunned silence his boss gave the word and the caravan resumed its journey back to Celestia’s Acre. Jimmy stopped, reached under his hat and pulled out the ball of paper. He smoothed it out on a rock.
On it were coordinates and a message:
Three days. We can watch Trials of Unity together. See you then.
-Galena XOXOX
PS: You’re wrong. Staff of Starswirl is still the best!
Jimmy smiled. He wondered if the feeling he was experiencing was similar to that of a plant being pulled from the ground, but knowing it was going to be replanted in a nicer part of the garden.
“Jimmy come on! What are you doin’?”
“I’ll be right there, Colleen!”
Sliding the paper into the lining of his hat, he rushed up to the front of the caravan, a foalish grin on his face.
“Simmer down, Assanova,” said Colleen.
“And take care of that scratch on your face,” added Petunia.
Jimmy touched a hoof to his face. Blood. There was a little cut on his cheek where Galena’s beak was a bit too intrusive.
He chuckled to himself, dreaming of the new possibilities life was throwing his way. With Galena’s smiling face in each day dream, one thing was for certain: the trip into Celestia’s Acre would be more lonely but much less empty.
Fertile Ground
Serenity. Peace. Tranquil waters. Cool grass on which to run. A warm sun. Play in its grace. Fertile ground to rest my weary bones. May my body feed the earth as it feeds my children. For these are my hopes, my dreams for the future, That my sons and daughters will have: The light of the moon in darkness, The breath of love, in stillness, And tranquil waters, In fertile ground. Peace. Serenity.
The little pony slipped by. Hooves clasped around his neck and legs. His cheek hit the floor. The mat reeked with sweat. Losing fights wasn’t a thing he was accustomed to.
Leg locked and air-deprived, Plough heaved. He rolled as his attacker clung tenaciously. The leg flew up and over, slamming his adversary to the mat. Her grip loosened.
Plough slipped away, gasping. The other shook her head. Ready instantly. Jumping, she closed the gap between them.
Plough saw. In his heart he wanted to impress. Do fancy takedown. A lock of some kind. He reached into his mind. Nothing special.
He kicked. The kick connected.
The mare flew across the room until she was stopped by a wall. Her body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Medics rushed to her side.
Plough started toward her, afraid he had done something terrible. She sat up. A tin can rattled around in her throat, but she was alive.
Eyes wide, his hoof covered his mouth. Justice and change for the wasteland were his desires, not to accidentally kill sparring partners. He reached out a hoof, but thought better of it and returned it to his mouth.
She glanced at him as they carried her away in a stretcher, and winked.
He felt a towel around him. Dry. Noises. A voice, but through a long, misshapen pipe. The paladin was saying something, but Plough’s head had gone swimming. Plough nodded his head, unsure what he was agreeing to. This was the third match, but the only one requiring medical leave. He hoped for Knight Albondiga’s speedy recovery.
Being the size of a house and tough as a brick, strength-induced accidents were part of the territory. He recalled his first memory. Hungry. He had been hungry.
“More,” he told his mom.
“There is no more, sweetie,” Kandy replied. “You ate it all.”
There had to be more. “All of it?”
“All of it.”
“It’s all gone?”
“All gone yuh friggin’ leach!” his father chimed in.
His mother, as always came to his rescue. “Shucks!” If an interrobang were a face, her’s was it.
“Kandy, we’ll be here forever with th’ kid askin’ questions like that.”
“He’s just a colt. He’s hungry and curious.”
“Oh, here we go again…” The sandstorm of parents fighting bit at him even as his cheeks ran wet. Why was there no more? There should always be more! There had to be something he could do, but mom and dad were too big to stop once they got going. What else could he do?
He jumped from the table and screamed, “You shouldn’t have to fight like that! There should always be more!” With that he kicked two little holes in the wall, and scurried up the stairs to his room.
Sounds from the present dissipated the fog of the past. He recognized the words “medbay” and “okay.” He passed High Scribe Marrow as the Paladin led him out of the training room. A heavy hoof landed on Plough’s back as he heard the grizzled scribe say, “That’s the way, son. Good work.”
Plough wondered why Marrow had been so maligned by Trueheart and Fate. The scribe had been nothing but cordial and helpful since they had come to the bunker. His face screamed of the evil marauder who would lay waste to stables of ponies, but there was something in the back of Plough’s mind. There was a seed of trust he couldn’t explain, and Marrow’s good manners and fatherly demeanor were watering it daily.
A stallion screamed from down the hall. Suddenly he was not on the way to the medical bay.
Raze
Raze bounced the ball against the wall again and again. He had been in the hospital bed for two days. The trek to meet Trueheart and subsequent shootout weren’t the greatest things for a pegasus in recovery. Every few hours the Invictus doctor would force him to drink a disagreeable tea. It tasted like bark that had been buried in a swamp for months then cooked in a giant mushroom. Zebra magic was powerful, however. The infections were nearly gone.
The ball bounced back. He caught it in his hoof. Being laid up was nice. It gave him time to think.
The ball was green, the color of Grandma Riverdance.
How is dat old nag doin’? he thought. Visions of her chained to a wall flashed before him. There stood Marrow, stretching. Preparing to crush the defenseless. Enslave the free. Force obeisance from the poor in spirit.
Even as he bent her spine, Raze realized it would never come to that. They needed her, just as they needed him.
Another throw. The ball sounded hollow, smacking against the wall.
Scars from Willow Wind’s betrayal were finally healing properly after all these years. The only problems were those parts of Raze forever attached to her. As they fell off his spirit’s skin, he let them go. Buried them. He would never forget them, neither would he return.
Unfortunately for Raze, they were much larger than he dreamt. So much of his identity had been wrapped up in hating her for it, being pushed out of the clouds, forcing him into a life poorly-researched Enclave books could scarcely describe. As he watched his old self crumble to pieces, he wondered who would stand in its place. What material were they made of?
The ball bounced back to his hoof.
He hoped Frankfurter fared better. The Fire Stone was still unconscious. Raze supposed a gunshot to the face would have that kind of effect. Seriously, who survives a gunshot to da face?
Then there was Fate: another void he was eager to fill. She was a difficult lock to pick, however. Every stratagem he tried bounced off like the ball. Teasing banter? Bounce. Silly jokes? Bounce. Even just listening to her and getting to know her on a pony-to-pony level didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Persistence, he told himself. Wear her armor t’in, and when da time is right? Speared!
He chuckled. She was and interesting character, and Raze always went after the weirdos.
Bounce.
What would they do together in this world, anyway? Celestia’s Acre was one of the most pleasant Hell-holes in Equestria, but it was still a hole. She would never agree to shirk her responsibilities, damn the consequences and let the world burn around them. No, she was the type of nightingale who wanted nothing more than to just heal the world. It was what made her so irresistible.
How could he, then help change the course of the area? Steel Rangers, Invictus, Fire Stones and the rest. It was a complex problem with many variables. Which group was most dangerous? Who was likely to succeed? What was his place in this menacing equation?
The ball flew from the wall and bounced under his bed. His face told the room he had just won the bad luck lottery.
“Fuck me, I need a drink.”
Trueheart
The whiskey was almost gone, but that loathsome cur remained at the doorway. Trueheart studied the detritus falling from his mouth, but most came up gibberish. Not that he’d really want to know in the first place.
“The ‘rose in the desert.’ The shining example of Applejack’s moral code. Look at you. Disgraceful.”
Trueheart grit his teeth. Marrow was right, of course. No matter what he tried there was always some bramble, some snare to tear his skin and lay bear the devil inside. He turned on the bed and held himself up as dignified as he could.
*BURP*
Shit, he thought to himself. His nose reached for the air again. “You’re one t-to talk, Marrow,” He slurred. “You are a hhhorrible, hhorrible pony. You kill ponies jussst because they shtand in between you and a relic. You’re horrible!”
“You think stable dwellers give two shits about you? Hell, no. They’re selfish and stupid: the worst kind of pony. They reap the benefits of technology that could restore Equestria to her former glory and damn everypony else with their ignorance.”
“But, you’d round them up. You sshhhoot ‘em all. You’re a monster.”
“Tsk, tsk. Slander is a sure sign of defeat. And you forget your Zebra Infiltration Tactics, my friend. ‘Only victory is essential in war. No country benefits in protracted conflicts.’ If a mare or young colt need a still heart for the greater good, then I’m more than happy to oblige.”
Trueheart heaved the bottle Marrow’s direction. It shattered against the wall, littering the floor with crystalline sprinkles. The adversary’s eyes opened fire. “There’ss a room in Tartarus with your name on it, Marrow!”
“I’ll be sure to tell them who referred me.”
“I hope you choke.”
“Now who’s the monster?” Marrow was a ways down the corridor before he spoke again. “I’m going to go watch the new initiate attempt his trials. Hopefully this new son of your’s has more grit than what I’ve seen in the past.” The door closed behind him.
Trueheart was once again alone with his blurry thoughts. Not blurry enough.
He fell off the bed. Hooves stuttered syncopated rhythms across the floor. Lockers were difficult enough to open without magic. After he procured another bottle from it, however, he decided he must wield some kind of magic.
Pressure around the eyes. It felt like an invisible pony was choking him. He took a pull from the bottle. The gulp turned the invisible pony to ash and eased the pressure.
He toyed with Knight Fluff’s holotags.
“I miss you, bro,” he said as he kissed them. “I’ll make sure I’m the one who tells your big sister.”
A film projected in his mind. The little colt wrapped in a blanket. Poofy mane, fluffy coat, big eyes. Cute, little guy. His sister wouldn’t leave his side. Taught him to read, addition, subtraction, how to use logic to fool their father into giving them treats. The moment Senior Scribe Ohms taught him to program, she taught him to hack. The Elders were sure surprised when a crudely-drawn, intimate portrait of the cereal mascot, General Mare® popped up on every viewable screen in the bunker.
Trueheart was surprised when Fluff’s knee exploded.
No, none of that. He quickly downed another mouthful and closed his eyes.
Colors danced everywhere. Trueheart watched himself playing games as a child, watched his first kiss. He lingered at the scene where he and Crystal made their son. He felt a smile on his face. His boy could walk. Trouble at school. So apologetic.
“Dad? I love you, dad.”
The mental movies went on like this until the reel was left flipping, bereft of film.
Galena
Galena dumped the new box of movies on the floor. One reel canister tried to roll its way out the door.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Galena squeaked as she dove for her newfound treasure. Once it was in her talons it received many hugs and smooches. “You, my friend, belong in a museum. But I suppose a shrine will have to do.”
She passed the animatronic skeleton used in 1,000 Nights of the Horswulf. Ducked under the bigature model of the Spruce Moose. Snaked around the giant, jarred face of Shoe from the Dr. Whooves series.
There it stood. The shrine to all things Daring Do. Every poster, every figurine, every newspaper and magazine clipping she could scrounge, every prop and piece of memorabilia imaginable was laid out in meticulous fashion. It would have been a marvelous subject for a documentary if anypony were still making documentaries.
She placed the new canister in the empty spot next to the others, next to the pith helmet, under an autographed picture of Hairerion Trot, and encircled by the actual whip used in the first movie. She bowed in deference to its glory. Leaning in close, she whispered menacingly at the Trials of Unity canister, “You are so getting watched with friends when we get done with that stable thing.”
Galena was surprised Raze had asked for her help. Being so tall and awkward, close-quarter security wasn’t exactly her forte. Nor was being in extreme danger, now that she thought about it.
But she was apparently the best scavenger he knew. And a fantastic historian to boot, if I do say so myself, she thought as she surveyed her walls and mountains of books. She hopped to her bed and pulled out one particularly worn-looking tome from the cubbyhole-bookshelf under the window. A pen jumped out at her when she untied the lash. Picking it up, she wrote:
Dear diary,
I can’t wait to see my friends in a few days! We’re going to free some pegasi from their underground prison. I can’t imagine never being able to fly outside for your whole life. That’s gotta really SUCK! Everybody going is new to me except Raze, so I’m a little worried what to talk about on the way there. I wish Grandma was going. I miss her and her stinky face a bunch! I hope she’s doing okay in that horrible Steel Ranger bunker.
Hopefully we can get back in time so I don’t miss my date! I don’t know what gets me more: those wizened, old-soul eyes or the really (I mean, really) ripped body. ^_^
I do know that I feel safe to be myself around him. Even in that little amount of time we had together he saw my weirdness and raised it with his. I really hope I see him again.
-G.
P.S.: The complete collection looks great from here.
She held up her director’s talons and framed the Daring Do shrine with them.
The portraits were nearing completion. Fate hoped it could bring closure to the incident, but knew it would never stem the wounds. Some of the older zebras didn’t care for the portrait idea. “It’s unlucky to have images of the dead watch us,” they said. “Lest their desire to live becomes too great and they rise up to haunt us.”
Fate, however, knew that wasn’t how it worked. Her friends were with the sisters now, grazing in the cool grass.
Their families mourned in their own way. A cornucopia of traditions played against each-other. Shaved manes, lit candles. Days passed, but the music and dancing grew ever more rowdy. Working on the portraits in the upper stories was Fate’s only respite from the cacophony of wild spirits below.
The poor souls, she thought as Raze appeared in her mind. He lay on the asphalt. Haze surrounded them on all sides. His eyes looked up at her, asking, “Why?”
Banned from the sky. Prostituting his skills to any bidder just to survive. Time had not been kind to the unwanted pegasus, and Fate was a cog in its machinations. She knew it was for the greater good, but those eyes.
The same eyes that were staring at her from a striped head.
“Damnit.”
She worked the eyes into a slightly less horrified gaze. The brush followed wrinkles in her friend’s face, tracing his experiences back through time. Every wound was there. Every fight, every meal, every kiss. All moments were accounted for, but the abused look of betrayal worn by Raze still haunted the portrait.
She moaned. Try as she might, she couldn’t escape its judgemental glare. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult portrait. With her adept eyes and equally adroit magical abilities no artistic endeavor should elude her.
She sighed and moved to the other portrait. The painting was nearly complete, missing only small details in the coat. This zony had been so young, barely a stallion in his own right. When Fate had told his family, they were so distraught it seemed they might riot. His mother, however, just leaned against the wall and slumped to the ground. Too shocked to even cry.
There was a tiny bald patch here from a stairwell accident when he was a colt. It was there, nearly hidden by a stripe. This stripe curled up at the end like a crochet hook and this one had a white bulge in it that almost looked like a pear.
Nearly every strand of hair was perfect. The grays and blues worked together to bring the portrait to life.
Fate stepped back to critique her work. There was something missing. A spark of life. Something in the lower neck, maybe?
She brought her brush to bear. There it is. With each gliding stroke, the brush followed the curvature of muscles and tendons. She could almost see them move beneath the coat and skin.
Ever so gently the brush tickled the canvas. Each touch put Fate deeper into her trance. With reality unfolding before her, she reached out with her heart. She could feel them.
Muscles and tendons. A heartbeat. Warm breath. He was alive, but not blue and gray. An orange pegasus, his eyes as honest as they were kind, stood before her in her mind’s eye.
“You’re a good girl, Fate,” he said. “You’re a good girl and I forgive you.”
She felt the tightness coil around her neck. Her chin went taught.
“I understand, Fate. I understand.”
“Wow, Fate! Those look almost real!”
The brush dropped as she shuddered. Her eyes turned to the unwelcome interruption, cursing herself for leaving the door open. “Oh! Jukebox, hey. How’re you doing?”
He strode the rest of the way into the room. “Little jumpy, are we?”
She laughed as unmusically as she could muster. “Just enjoying the silence, JB.”
“Oh, I know how it is, and no, they haven’t stopped. They haven’t even taken a break. But, hey look at these. They’re amazing. I knew you were good, but they look more real than photographs, almost like they’re gonna walk right out of the canvas. There’s weight to them, know what I mean?”
“Thank you. Hey, has Crazy Rich talked to that Steel Ranger mare since we’ve been back?”
“Not that I know of. He keeps guards posted around her room. Makes sure she gets out to walk around. Has them give her books and play games. Have to keep her mind occupied, of course. Why do you ask?”
Because her brother died when they sent their negotiation team, her mind screamed. “Just curious. She’s a pony, too and I want to make sure we treat her as such.”
“Of course. You know how Crazy Rich is.”
She shooed him from the room. “Yep, I do. You don’t mind letting him know I’ll see him in an hour, do you? I have to freshen up.”
“Sure thing Fate. See you at dinner.”
Her heart was still keeping an upbeat tempo as she locked the door. A certain pegasus did loop de loops in her belly and lightened her steps.
“Shit,” she sighed as she put a hoof to her face. Lifting her mattress, she grabbed one of the many magazines she had stashed there and attempted to alleviate some of her loneliness.
Chaff
Their eyes pressed in on her. No laughing, no open ridicule, but the feeling was there. Two days in the bunker and Chaff was already labeled a pariah.
At least Senior Scribe Ohms was on her side. The old stallion was quick to shower her with warm smiles and praise, not that her historical knowledge or scrimshaw were worth lauding.
She stared at the miniature, plastic abomination taking up space on the table before her. Cross-referencing her abilities with even the young fillies and colts in the class didn’t shine a hopeful light on her future in the visual arts. It was an atrocious attempt at the holy sun and moon symbols. She assumed Ohms would be offended, but it was what the figure represented that caught his attention.
“You all could learn something from this wastelander,” he had scolded the class. “She lived her whole life as a surface-dwelling savage and yet she knows the Steel Rangers are Equestria’s best bet to reclaim her former glory.”
Chaff smiled tentatively. Rarely was she complimented on a feature that wasn’t her looks. Accomplishment felt quite different than a nice, though generic sentiment.
“Class dismissed.” Senior Scribe Ohms waved her over as his class filtered out.
“May I have a moment of your time, my dear?” he asked, stacking books into a little wagon. His raspy voice had the texture of a bonfire, smokey and warm. He must get extra resonance from that big gut and chipmunk-like cheeks, she thought, holding back a grin and chiding herself for having thought it in the first place.
“Of course, Senior Scribe Ohms. Would you like me to help you with those books there?”
“Hey, these old bones may not look it, but I can still stack books with the best of them. No, I want to thank you for using you as an example earlier. Now, I know I’ve been hard on you surface-dwellers in the past, but I see the way you carry yourself. You pay attention to the lectures. You care more than any of these entitled brats going to classes these days. They think things are fine, that everything will be perfect if you just leave it alone. But you’ve lived up there. You know how dangerous it can be. You know the only way to change things is to be the changer.”
Chaff wanted to say, “thank you for understanding”, or “that is so sweet for you to say”, but instead opted for the much more erudite, “Uh-huh.”
Ohms nodded at Head Paladin Pozole and Apprentice Rewire as they entered the room. It had been an everyday practice, it seemed. The Apprentice would assist the Senior Scribe in enhancing the Head Paladin’s power armor. To Chaff it seemed a waste of time and resources to upgrade powerful technologies when the rest of the world was still in flames. The average Steel Ranger fought with fire, he wasn’t a firefighter.
Ohms continued, “I want to make sure you’re given all the help you need in order to more adequately serve the Rangers. I know you’re probably having trouble adjusting to your new life, so starting tomorrow Apprentice Rewire is going to begin tutoring you after your technologies class. He’s one of the brightest ponies I know when it comes to computers and robotics. He may be a little impatient or aloof, but he’ll quickly get you to where you need to be.”
“Thank you so much, Senior Scribe,” Chaff said, as her stomach did a back flip. She bit her lip. The prospect of meeting daily with Rewire filled her with not just a little apprehension. The apprentice was a disciple of High Scribe Marrow, and as such ran errands for him. Chaff bore nothing but revulsion for Marrow. Atrocities swam in his eyes, and if the stories Fate relayed were true, those atrocities would some day be realized.
“I want you to be meticulous when you’re studying programming. It requires a laser-beam focus. Any mistake in the code, any mistake at all, could make hours of work seem meaningless. It’s not meaningless, though. You’re always improving.”
Ohms shrugged into the harness for his wagon. “Now, let’s get you to Scribe Red Book. I’m sure you have a lot you need to get off your back, what with moving from your hometown and that harrowing escape from the terrorists in Little Neighpon.”
“Thank you, Senior Scribe. I’m just happy there’s somepony to talk to who can help me through all of the garb-”
There was a scream from the corner of the room. Chaff turned.
Head Paladin Pozole lay on the floor. No helmet. The power armor looked small. Too small.
Rewire tore at the suit. Ohms fled the yoke and hastened over. He scanned Pozole’s metal shell. “Get Doctor Pinzette,” he yelled to Chaff. “Hurry!”
Chaff ran toward the medbay. What if she brought this bad fortune with her? In her mind she knew she had nothing to do with the suit malfunction, but she felt the unheard voices condemning her. To make matters worse, they also judged her for putting Pozole’s pain and fading health after her own concerns. At least with her father, she was the only one who had to weather anything. She wished she hadn’t come.
Marrow
“There’ss a room in Tartarus with your name on it,” Trueheart spat.
“I’ll be sure to tell them who referred me,” Marrow retorted.
“I hope you choke.”
“Now who’s the monster?” Marrow was a ways down the corridor before he spoke again. “I’m going to go watch the new initiate attempt his trials. Hopefully this new son of your’s has more grit than what I’ve seen in the past.”
“That stallion is so weak,” the voice in his head said. “How is he a Paladin, again?”
He wasn’t always like that, Marrow thought back.
“Hm.” There was a pause. “No, I suppose he wasn’t. What do you think about the new initiates?” Solidarity had been fairly quiet since the arrival of the new, savage initiates. Marrow wondered if she was planning something or was just observing. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his thoughts under wraps for long. She always found out.
I’m withholding judgement until I see results.
“What does your gut tell you, then?”
At least Solidarity was on his side. He found himself winning arguments and persuading others much more easily with her help. If only her help didn’t cost him so much.
The stallion is sharp. Knowledgeable, too. I’m curious to see how he fights. Hopefully we’ll be able to talk to him more before Elder Gazpacho sends them on their initiate quests.
“And the mare?”
What about her? A complication for dealing with the stallion. Useless otherwise.
“Don’t be too quick to dismiss what appears weak. Even flowers can be dangerous.”
You asked. I told you. I said I was reserving judgement.
“So you did. Touche.”
Marrow leaned against the wall and peered through the open doorway of the training room. What he saw was not terribly impressive.
Knight Albondigas dodged and blocked blow after blow. After mere moments, she took him to the floor. His floor game was even worse. Running out of breath with his cheek against the mat, he looked pathetic.
“Looks like your gut was proven wrong,” Solidarity’s voice whispered.
Take some of your own advice and relax. As he thought it, the new initiate rolled and flung Albondigas from himself. He coughed and sputtered, but Albondigas charged. Marrow heard the crack in her ribs from the kick. He didn’t hide his look of surprised satisfaction as the Knight flew, slamming into the wall at least ten feet away.
“Huh, I seem to give good advice, don’t I.” Marrow’s eyes almost rolled from their sockets.
The initiate followed Knight Albondigas’ stretcher out of the training room. As he passed, Marrow reached out a hoof and patted him on the back. “That’s the way, son,” he said. “Good work.”
“Son? Smooth.”
If you get everything you want without working at it, would your character grow at all? We have to give old Trueheart a challenge. I do believe I’ll make a good father.
Just then, Marrow heard a stallion scream from down the hall. He raced for it, limping as fast as his fused hoof would let him. He felt the adrenaline. The lightness, the rush. He came at last to the classroom.
He stood in the doorway, looking above the gawkers. Ohms was doing his best to look busy. Rewire was positively in shock, his eyes riveted to the scene.
He felt Elder Gazpacho push him to the side. “¡Fuera de mi camino!” he yelled. “¡Fuera! ¡Fuera! Out! Get back, all of you!” He rushed through the throng to his son’s side. “Mijo. Mi hijo. ¿Qué…?”
Marrow’s heart began to smile as Pozole failed to speak. The Head Paladin’s rasps could be heard while his father stroked his mane.
What do you think of the show? There was no answer. Solidarity?
“Not now, Marrow.”
What? Never had she been so adamant. So definitive in her rejection. She seemed to sense his unease, however.
“Just tending to my garden.”
What?
The new initiates turned to stare at him, blank slates as faces.
“He talked all night like some school-filly, Sal,” she said. “Cheesy as a quesadilla.” She stole up behind him. “The doctor will be in tonight if you have anything else to discuss.” Her hot breath made his mane bristle.
He sighed and slapped a bronze chip on the countertop.
It was the kind of morning when hitting the bar was the first and last thing on his mind. Like a famous pony’s son, the morning was overshadowed by the night preceding it. The sarsaparilla rode his tongue like an exotic dancer. It slipped down his throat but left a sticky residue.
Light glistened off the chip as he held it up.
“How long has it been?” the barmule asked. Sal was her name. The poor devil.
“Going on eleven years,” Jimmy replied.
“Was she really great enough to break your oath?”
He pictured Galena’s lifeless body, flung against chunks of concrete and rebar. So much knowledge undiscussed, so many smiles left ungrinned. Maybe the bloodwings got to her, or worse. He shook his head and downed the last drop of sarsaparilla.
“Yep,” Jimmy said, slamming down the chip. “Get me a jug of the oldest crap you got.” Sal nodded sadly and went to fetch a water-damaged jug off the bottom shelf.
The door bell jingled. “Hi there, welcome to Sal’s.” Jimmy turned. He watched as the young mare went to join her greasy-maned coltfriend at the end of the bar. It wouldn’t last. Jimmy was certain. That was the type of stallion who talked the talk but had four left legs. The moment he caught wind of a challenge, he’d buckle.
“Can you believe that?” Sal asked, rhetorically. “No ‘Hey, how ya doin’?’, ‘Hiya, Sal. How’s tricks?’ Not even a simple, ‘hello.’ I swear, this town’s only friendly when they want something from you.” Sal cleared her throat and held out a hoof. Jimmy looked at the upturned hoof until the flint in his mind made a spark. He tossed a small bag of caps to Sal who cheerfully threw it into her safe. Jimmy put the jug to his lips. “So, tell me about this filly.”
“Huh?” The acrid fumes from the jug teased his nostrils with promises of wearing a lampshade and dancing on tables. Behind that lay the possibility to forget. “Oh. She’s… Well she’s the most interesting creature I’ve ever come across.”
“Yeah?” Sal resigned herself to clean and dry glasses.
“And one of the best flyers I’ve ever seen.” He set the jug on the bar to correctly emphasize his point.
“A pegasus, huh? Was she a Dashite or…”
“Heh. Uh, no no no no. She’s no pegasus.”
Sal made the face somepony makes when they look at a check with three too many zeroes on it. “Oh.”
“Hey, look here. I don’t have to explain myself to y-”
“No, no! Sorry. It’s just a surprise is all. Trust me, if there’s anybody who knows how you feel, not quite fitting in on either side of the family, it’s me. When you know you’ll probably never have foals of your own it changes your outlook.”
“That’s the real shit right there.” The two mules shared a knowing hoof bump. “But, yeah. To be clear, I’m talking about a griffin. The way she cuts through the sky: so smooth.” Sal chuckled rakishly. “Yeah, you know. But it isn’t just her body, Sal. She argues like a squirrel and sticks to her position like a camel in heat.”
“I’ll have to take you at your word for that.”
“You haven’t seen a camel in heat?”
Sal put on her “are you kidding?” face and shook her head.
“Filly, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen that. It’s some scary stuff.”
The bell above the door rang again. Jimmy turned. It was some disheveled, old stallion.
“Hi Tweedy.”
“Hey Sal. I’ll have the usual.”
“Anyway,” Jimmy continued. “Just like mom always said ‘birds of a feather’ right? Well, I finally found a girl as stubborn as me, but I chose my job over spending what little time we have on this planet together.”
“Guy like you? I’m sure you’ll find sompony you like.”
“Not like her, Sal. Not like her.”
The bell rang again. Jimmy ignored it and grabbed the jug once more.
“Hi there, welcome to Sal’s: the best watering hole in the Acre. You all look like you’ve been through the ringer. What can I get you?”
“Beer.”
“Beer.”
“Water.”
“Cognac. Scotch. Whutever you got dat’ll get me hammered as fuck.”
“Whatever you got, make it a virgin. I’m saving myself for marriage! Ahahahahaaa… heh… hmm… Just get me something that’s like, mostly sugar.”
Jimmy held up the jug. “Here’s to you, Galena, wherever you are. The most perfect girl in the whole…” His head slowly scanned right. A familiar face was tearing up before him.
By the time the jug slammed on bar, the couple were already clutching each other.
“Oh em gee, Jimmy I am so sorry I missed our date,” Galena cried.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
“Please, don’t be. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He held her at leg’s length. “But look at you all. Galena, your wing! What happened?”
Raze buried his face into his hooves. “Where’s my fuckin’ booze?!”
Fate
“And then we’re all gonna fly around and I’m gonna show them some tricks. Ooh, and we can go to one of the movie sets in Applewood and I can show them where they filmed Ring of Destiny. Oh, oh, oh! Dude. We gotta at least show them some of the movies in my collection. Do you think they’ve seen all th-”
“Shut up! Just shut your mouth. Damn, I’m sick of it!” The big Steel Ranger Knight’s speakers crunched like dry cereal.
“You got that right, bro,” the smaller one chimed in.
Yes, Goddesses please, Fate agreed internally. Galena had been prattling on incessantly for the past few hours, scarcely pausing long enough to draw breath. Even the short, raunchy comedy attempt by Raze wasn’t powerful enough to slow her down for long.
Raze glared at the two Steel Rangers with serial killer eyes.
“What?” the bigger one asked, begging for a reason to run out of bullets for his gatling gun. Raze turned his attention back to the road.
Fate looked over at Galena whose head hung like a mother whose first clutch was eaten by wolves. The silence might have been golden, but a teammate's morale had been shot and an important mission was in play. Mustering all the motherliness she could, she crossed the group and put a shaking forehoof on Galena’s back.
Fate had been shaking since the call last night. The contact in the stable was even more confusing than before. Her sentences had been littered with mixed words and memory holes. Fate’s eyes were bloodshot. Luna had yet to visit.
“They don’t really mean that, Lena,” Fate said.
“Oh, yes we do,” retorted the small one.
Fate shot him the “really?” face and kept consoling Galena, even as she double-guessed her own judgement. “Just put it out of your mind. We’re all as excited to free a Stable full of trapped pegasi as you are. Most of us just need to psych ourselves out in a different way than you, that’s all.”
“No, it’s not them,” Galena responded. “It’s just something I’ve had to deal with my whole life. Griffins or… ponies, always tell me to shut up sooner or later. It’s like being me just isn’t socially acceptable. It’s why I started living alone. It’s almost easier to like, be alone so I can at least be myself, instead of having to be somebody else.”
“Well,” Fate choked. She chose her next words carefully as to not accidentally set off a chain reaction in a heavily-seeded minefield. “At least you get along with yourself, right? And what about Raze? Or grandma, or Chaff?”
“Yeah, I guess so. It could be worse, like I could not like my own self. Could you imagine how that would feel?”
Luna and her freedom in the sky galloped to the forefront of her mind. “Yeah, that’d be, uh, crazy.”
“Chaff is such a cool chick. I kinda wish she was with us, but yeah. I guess creepy old Stables are no place for Scribes with almost no weapons training.”
“You’ll see her again. Have Plough set up a time when you could meet. Until then,” Fate bit her lip. “You could talk to me.”
The interesting thing about regret is the things you end up regretting. Fate didn’t regret severing the bonds of her laboratory life, nor did she give credence to guilt heaped upon her by ponies of authority. Prison was a non-issue. When Galena’s eyes lit up, however, the rock in her gut told her it was simultaneously the most right and wrong thing to do at that moment.
The rest of the mercifully short trip was spent with Fate’s ear to Galena’s beak, Steel Ranger soldiers snickering all the while.
---
With blank stares and ears full of stories about x or y movie star, the group finally stood before the point of interest.
“Starlight Spanner’s Roadside Repair,” exclaimed the sign. A mare the color of fruit punch wearing classic, mechanic coveralls loomed before them, smugly tipping her hat with a wrench. The morning sun peeked just over the hills to the southeast, its light slowly filling the valley below. It was one of those days that seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself were throwing a temper tantrum and refusing to move.
The Steel Rangers stood watch by the garage doors as Fate, Galena, Plough and Raze moved through the attached convenience store. The cash register was missing. Shelves had been picked clean. The only thing filling the room were the sounds they brought with them.
Fate padded to the door leading to the garage. It was slightly ajar.
Click.
Fate swung her head. Plough looked up, bewildered. Fate signed to him in Zebrican tactical sign language, a language in which Plough was fluent. The discovery the hour before was elation itself for Fate, who had been praying for somepony with a tactical ability as useful as that. Plough, unfortunately was stealthy as an exploding cactus. The message was unmistakable.
|>|You. Out. Now.|<|
Plough looked to Galena and Raze for a second and third opinion. Raze sported the same disapproving look as Fate. Galena shrugged. “What can you do?” her face seemed to say.
He backed out to stand with his brothers and sisters. Fate returned her attention to the door.
She followed its outline. No wires. Checked the hinges. No buttons. No pressure plates.
Fate looked to Raze and tapped her ankle. Raze glanced at his PipBuck and shook his head.
Pressing her eye to the crack, she peeked inside. There were shapes, large and black. A light, dim and green flickered from the floor in the gloom.
Fate’s internal breath reminded her of times spent in the water tank, attached to a rebreather. Needles. Straps. So cold. So loud.
The door creaked open, screaming after years of neglect. Fate snuck inside, followed silently by Galena and Raze. She leaned up against the rear of an old cart and peeked around the corner. The light seemed brighter with her eyes adjusting to the darkness. A kind of glowing green fog hovered above the concrete floor in between the two, room-hogging carts.
She motioned for Raze. He nodded and glided to the center of the room, approaching the glowing fog with not just a little apprehension. After blowing dust from the floor he waved them over.
The terminal lay in a shallow depression. A broken concrete slab kept it company nearby.
WELCOME TO STABLE-TEC(R) INDUSTRIES TERMINAL
PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD, SUGAR CUBE
“She said the password was ‘feathers,’” Fate whispered.
Raze pawed at the cloud controls.
PASSWORD NOT RECOGNIZED
12 HOURS REMAINING BEFORE NEXT LOGIN ATTEMPT
Raze looked at the two girls for help. Fate held up a hoof and shook her head. Suddenly visions of pegasi being locked up and dying flooded her mind. Why had they even come out here? Her heart started racing.
Galena scratched her chin, leaned over and put her head on Raze’s shoulder. Whispers passed between the two. Raze twiddled with the controls again, but this time a screenfull of symbols and piecemeal words met her gaze.
Galena chuckled and pointed out the obvious.
0xFA48 .’@:F347H3R$
Raze typed in the “1337-ified” password. Apparently the original programmer had a bit of a sophomoric sense of humor. Within seconds a list of options appeared on the screen.
WELCOME TO STABLE AW-10
1. OPEN OUTER DOORS
2. CONTACT OVERSEER
3. PLAY SNAKE
Overseer? thought Fate. I thought they were all overmares.
Raze chose option three.
“W-what?!” Fate whisper-screamed. “What in Equestria do you think you’re doing? There are ponies- ah, pegasi in there in danger and you’re-”
She slapped his hooves away, ending the game. Raze snickered while Galena tried to hold in her own.
“Oh, g- you too?”
PLAY AGAIN?
(Y/N)
A line once again slithered across the screen. Galena couldn’t hide her giggle any longer. Fate felt her hoof fly up from the floor and smack across Raze’s face.
It was Galena’s turn to whisper-scream. “Oh my gosh, Fate! What the Hell?”
“Listen, you two. This is serious. This thing hasn’t been opened in over a hundred years. There are ponies trapped in there. How could you not take this seriously?”
Raze groaned. “Fascist much? Just because I mock sumfin’ does not mean I don’t take it seriously.”
"Just get the door open."
The moment Raze chose the first option there rang a distant clang. The ground shook. Several bangs were followed by a deafening, ratcheting sound.
Galena rushed to the garage door chain to let some much-needed morning light into the room. The door added a rusty rattle as it coiled up. The sun unrolled its crackled parchment color into the room. Smudges of cleanliness illustrated the trio’s disturbances in the centuries-old dust.
The two tarpaulin-covered wagons surrounding them were pushed into the rafters by massive, hydraulic jacks. As the jacks locked into place, the floors underneath them sunk into gradient steps, revealing two tunnels.
The breaches yawned cool air, tickling Fate’s legs and sending shivers across her spine. She scanned the faces of her companions. All were dumbstruck. Plough wore a particularly unhelpful look, as if he was waiting for a punchline that had already come, but found it unfunny enough to be part of the build up.
Catching on, Fate turned her attention to the armored Steel Rangers. “You all stay put,” she ordered, rummaging through her saddlebags. She pulled out a headlamp and attached it to her head. “I want to make sure we get this done with as few complications as possible.”
“You mean a small body count,” Trueheart translated. Fate squinted at his expressionless mask. “That’s agreeable. Take a breather everypony.” He turned to Fate. “If we hear anything ugly-”
“You won’t.”
“If we do, we’ll be galloping in. Be sure to find cover. Under a table, back to a wall. Doesn’t matter. Just give us the room we need to do what we do.”
Hanging her head, she motioned for her unarmored companions to follow her as she stole down the steps.
Both staircases led to the same roughly-hewn room. The flickering lights and cool dampness of the cave walls mobbed her with memories of Hairerion Trot jumping over pits of spikes and carefully avoiding “devices of such lethal cunning.” Galena must have thought something quite similar.
“Omigosh, I can’t even tell you how cool th-”
A chorus of “sh” buried her. Fate could hear a tone reverberating from deep within the tunnel. Cocking her head, she lead the group into a careful trot.
The tunnel curved around, branched off and reconnected several times, but always led deeper into the mountain.
The air became thick. An unhealthy fog rose from the ground. From where? Rocks seemed to sublime.
The tone grew more clear. Less reverberation. More distinct.
A chill wind spirited through them. Science class, Fate reminded herself. Hot and cold air meeting. Simple. But the cave’s whispering voices proved stronger.
Hesitation in the steps. Irregular breathing. The weight of the mountain pressed down against the naked stone ceiling.
She turned and stopped.
A cavernous room. Columns of sickly mist filtered in from unseen exhausts near the ceiling. A familiar green light pulsated on the far wall of the room. With her headlamp she could only make out small sections of the room at a time, but each time the green light flashed, it flashed the same picture. With each pulse the sight grew in its clarity and imposing depth.
The light showed a massive cog. Emblazoned on its front was the jewel it protected.
You’re doing the right thing, she told herself. Even if some intel was trash, these pegasi need space to fly. This isn’t the lab. This is somepony else’s stable. Oh, Celestia, sister of mercy, may your light shine through me this day. Luna, sister of the night, give me the courage to wade through this darkness.
Raze flapped across the room. He cut a dashing figure against the sickly light. For a moment Fate was a normal pony, with normal pony problems, and normal pony desires. Power, control, adoration.
She shook her head. Helper. Servant. Friend. These words were meant to define her. Not saint, savior or heroine.
“Yo, Fate,” Raze called out. “C’mere.”
She stared at his silhouette. What other words could be used to define her?
“Yoohoo, Fatie-pie?”
“Oh, right,” she mumbled as she hastened over. “What is-?” The words caught in her throat as she heard the muffled voices. Anger and fear bubbled behind the pressure cooker door. “Raze, get this door open, now. Everypony else get ready! Remember, there are a lot of civilians on their way out! Prepare for anything!”
Galena’s rifle whirred. Raze pawed at the cloud terminal. Fate slunk against the wall, rifle ready. Plough stood at the door, primed to pounce.
The time was ripe.
“Uh, Fate,” said Raze, hesitating. The gnawing at Fate’s gut stopped as her stomach dropped. “It says we need unicorn magic to complete the unlocking phase. What do you wanna do?”
“Shit,” she spat. The stone wall chilled the back of her head as she knocked against it. “This doesn’t make even the slightest, fucking sense! It’s full of pegasi. What the Hell was wrong with those twisted, stable-building bastards?” She paused for a crushing sigh. “Well, the Rangers can radio out. I’ll get somepony here to try to cast something against th-”
A soft clink. The room flooded with red light, then darkness, alternating. An alarm bell. A buzzer on repeat.
Clunk after clunk charged from the door. More steam hissed into the room. The air turned oil-rich and sight-poor.
A huge, metal arm fell into place. Plough dove, narrowly escaping.
The great cog shot out like a big bottle cap. Fate saw struggle behind it. Lights flashed. Screams full of fear. Maybe anger. She smelled citrus.
The arm caught the cog and rolled it away in a blink.
Floodlights switched on, blinding them, then failed. Bolts of blue light shot over their heads, scorching the walls behind.
Pegasi tore through the hole, vision only for the tunnel. A white one tripped. She fluttered to the air. A blue light struck her. There was a flash. Oranges fell to the floor.
Dizzied at the sight, Fate trained her gun on a flashing blue horn. The unicorn shook. Electricity arced from her body. Galena’s work.
An explosion set her world turning. Her ears whistled. The air reeked of pie, but she tasted metal.
Detritus clung to her face as she struggled to stand.
The floodlights had returned. Fate scanned the floor for her rifle. She spotted the stock. A pretty face stared up at her from the gun’s bolt handle. Smoke rose from beneath it.
Fate shook. The harsh light lent a clinical surreality to it all. Reaching out with telekinesis, she pulled up her gun. The face and attached neck flipped, landing in the dirt. The other side revealed a cavity, filled only with bits of smoldering dirt from the floor.
Backing away, a plume of dust erupted near her hoof. Her gaze shot up. A pegasus took aim and fired again.
Her backside rocked, knocking her to the ground. The firey pain of the wound blazed up her flank. She grit her teeth as she watched the pegasus convulse with an electric current.
Galena glided over to her. “Ohmigosh! Are you hurt?” Galena sounded muffled like she was trying to talk through the wall of a house.
“Um, uh…” Fate said, tentatively. She looked down at her wound. “Oh no.”
Galena followed her line of sight and went wide-eyed. “Fate, I didn’t kn-”
“Do you have anything to cover it up? Anything at all?
“Are you sure you don’t want to-”
“Please.” Heat from tears rolled down her cheek.
“Okay, Fate. I’ll keep your secret, but we need to get you to somebody who can fix you up, pronto.” Galena cleaned and covered the wound as best she could using strips from her coveralls. With great care, she helped Fate up before Raze joined them.
“Fuckin’ A!” he exclaimed. “Did you fuckin’ see dat? Da fuckin’ craziest fuckin’ ting I ever saw! Dat pony was turned into fuckin’ oranges! And da gunshots, an’ whut da fuck was dat explosion, Lena?”
“I hit something. I have no idea. I’m so, so, so, so sorry. Sniff. I didn’t mean for… for you know…” She waved her claws around at the floor.
“I know, Lena. It’s okay, it’s okay.” He wrapped her in a fetlock. “How about you? ¿Estás bien, potranca?” he asked.
“What?” Fate asked.
“Little filly. Whut, you haven’t learned any San Palomino? In dis town?”
“I’ll be okay. Let’s just hurry up and get in there before those walking tanks show up to make more of a mess.”
“Don’t know if dat’s possible.” Raze waved his hoof around. “Also, don’t you tink dat’s a bad idea? I don’t tink we can handle deez guys by ourselves.”
“We have to. Where’s Plough?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him since da door opened.”
Fate reached up and wiped her tears away on a leg. Sticky. Tears weren’t meant to be sticky.
She looked down on her leg and then looked herself over. Blood. Her barding was covered in it and her coat was matted with it. Unidentifiable pieces of pink, white and grey ornamented her hair. Germs, viruses and who knows what else were surely finding ways to slither into and infect her body. She gagged.
Celestia, sister of mercy, please watch my health through this ordeal. She took a step and added, And please protect the good ponies down here.
The two friends helped Fate over a meal fit for a fairy tale monster. Mounds of carrots, cabbages and oranges mingled with limbs and bits of burning flesh. Tripping twice, they made it through the great door and up a small flight of metal steps to a bent landing. Whatever the explosion was, it took a large chunk of the metal floor and greenish concrete wall with it.
The group past the blown-out wall and hurried down another flight of steps, this time made of concrete. Sounds of a great commotion bounced around the stairwell. Plough stood at the base of the stairs, clinging to the shadows.
Fate nearly relayed the message when thuds grew behind them.
“Status.” Truheart’s speakers could scarcely be heard over the gunfight next door.
Fate bit her lip. Her legs shook and she grew nauseous with pain and blood loss. She cursed ever having brought the Steel Rangers into this. Sighing, she closed her eyes. “Enemies to the left, behind a makeshift barrier. Friendlies right. Make it count, and be careful.”
“Right.”
The tin can titans shouldered through to the other room. A deafening ratchet of the goddesses spun. Fate peeked around the corner. Pieces of table and chair danced like confetti in the air. The four non-brothers looked at each-other for meaning, but only saw the same nervous awe.
They surreptitiously filtered into the next room. The crackle of fire reflected off the high, concrete walls of the atrium. Fate limped towards the friendlies, an eye watching for movement behind the smoking remains of the barricade. Chunky smears behind the barricade alleviated her fears, but toyed with her gag reflex.
Behind the barrels and into a side room ponies began to stand up, expressions slack. “No sudden movements,” Fate ordered. “We’re here to help, but we-”
Another alarm. Red lights. Fate scanned the room for a reason. The P.A. system got to it first.
“Fire detected in atrium. Engaging counter-measure one.”
The barricade sizzled in the resulting shower. Cleansing waters chilled Fate. Thank the Goddesses for small miracles. She went on. “For your own safety, we need your cooperation.”
“Over here.” The voice whispering from the barrels was fragile. Fate moved in. A unicorn in blue barding straining to breathe lay on the floor. She coughed wetly. “Chief Whitherspike, stable security. Listen, you gotta get to the overmare’s office to turn the fire cycle off before we all die in here.”
The P.A. butted in, again. “Engaging counter measure two.” Tiny white flakes snowed from unknown vents in the ceiling. The flakes reeked of toxic sterility.
“The office is voice-locked. Get me up those steps. I can get you in, if I can hold out that long.” Fate swore she heard a crunch in the following cough.
Fate shook her head. There had to be a better way than moving this poor mare, right? Her heart told her there wasn’t. It was like learning there was no pony who climbs down chimneys to bring you presents. “Plough. Trueheart.” She motioned them over. They carefully hoisted her onto Plough’s ample back and trudged up the stairs, Galena, Raze and several Knights staying behind to guard the atrium.
After a short climb and trip across a catwalk, they came to a heavy door. “Restricted Access” it proclaimed. Plough moved closer to the control panel. The unicorn’s head lolled unconsciously against his side. She didn’t seem able to raise her head, let alone enter a voice command.
Against all odds, the unicorn tipped her head up.
“Chief Whitherspike. Badge double-o one.”
“Enter password,” the door rudely demanded.
The unicorn coughed again. Fate saw her spit a piece of something gelatinous. She cleared her throat and began to sing. Her voice was crystalline.
“Whether pegasus or unicorn,
We’re all family when we’re born,
As siblings we will forever stay,
That way.
Though we will sometimes fall and slip,
We’re not far from a friend’s grip,
The flag of friendship will never ever fade,
Away,
With love.”
There was a loud clunk. The door slid open. Trueheart rushed in, his knights following.
“On the ground! On the ground! Face down!”
The three unicorns kept their sights.
“Out of my office!” the spectacled overmare demanded. She breathed deeply and quickly, her pistol at head-height.
“You need to turn off the fire system,” Fate yelled, stumbling into the room.
The overmare traced her sights to Fate. “I don’t have to do anything. Do you realize what you’ve done, opening up the stable like you did?”
“You mean freeing ponies?”
“Freeing? What do you think this is, a prison? We were near a breakthrough before you hulking buffoons whipped the patients into a riotous frenzy, not to mention you breaking the contaminant ward on the outer door. Thank you so much for that!”
“You can still save some of them. Release the stable from lock-down and we can all j-”
“No! No.” A crazed look stole the overmare’s eyes. “I think you have done enough damage. If you’re what the outside has to offer, I think I’ll try my chances with the next world.” With that, she dropped her gun and began typing furiously at a terminal.
“Step away from the terminal!” Trueheart ordered. Fate’s heart raced. “Last chance.” There has to be…
A click and pop accompanied the movement. Fate blinked as wet heat massaged her body.
She cupped her ears. A gatling gun tore through the remaining guards. Unidentifiable pieces exploded in different directions, decorating the gray walls in a grisly mural.
Fate found herself hobbling to the terminal before her breath could play catch-up. The screen was cracked and looked as if a spider had taken up residence in its upper-left corner. Its flickering words were still legible.
Purge all?
Y/N
Mouth agape, Fate looked down at the shining mass beside her. Broken ribs reached out to ensnare; quivering, fatty tissue threatened to hug her hoof. She pulled the shaking hoof up to the desk and clenched her eyes shut.
Some ponies could handle change. Ponies like Fate made change their lifelong ambition. Some ponies could not. The overmare’s entire life had been changed at the flip of a switch, and she had been willing to kill every stallion, mare and foal in the stable because of her own discomfort. Now Fate stood in her juices and prayed, Goddesses, please tell me what to feel.
Her eyes opened, vision blurry. The sight was the same. An unspoiled suit floated out of her saddlebag. It made short work of cleaning off the terminal monitor.
Backing out of several menus, Fate located the security parameters and went to work unlocking every door, disengaging every security protocol and of course turning off the fire counter-measures.
Slipping once walking from the desk, she found the overmare’s head and neck lying perfectly still near the door. A leg held onto them by only the thinnest piece of hide. Her face made her look as if she were being woken up early on her day off by a noisy neighbor. Whitherspike lay in the doorway, her gaze locked in a reciprocal glare.
The other members of her party stared, awaiting her next move. The room was quiet. Fate thought she heard a gurgle, until she noticed Galena’s quick-tempo’d breath.
The griffin’s eyes shot from one corner to the next.
“Galena?” Fate offered. No response. She put her hoof on her feathered chest. “Galena.”
“Huh? What?”
“You okay?”
“Wha-? Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she lied, shaking her head.
Fate patted her feathers once more for good measure. Stepping over Chief Whitherspike’s body, she trudged across the walkway, struggling to stay up.
-
The rest of the stable was a grab bag of fears, disappointment and relief. The Steel Rangers ordered themselves to the lower levels to “scan for any personnel left behind.” No doubt they planned on relieving the stable of many technological treasures. At least Truheart is with them, she told herself. The Paladin did tend to have a soothing authority about him.
The medical center was massive, eating up the majority of the stable’s space. Much of the medical center had been fashioned into miniature rooms. No doubt they were intended to afford the patients more privacy during their convalescence. Their truth was obvious to Fate, though. They were cells.
Being too infirmed to walk, let alone fly, her contact was easy enough to spot. “Hey!” she yelled, waving them down. “Hey! Hey! I told those stupid parents years ago that we should have fixed that leak, and now you’re back to rub it in?!”
A little filly popped up from her bedside and stroked her shoulders. “It’s okay, mommy. These are the ponies who are here to rescue us.” She faced the group, her eyes lingering on Fate’s quickly drying barding. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? To let us outside?”
“That’s right, little one,” Fate replied, her voice shaky. “Is she … alright?” The filly fished a clipboard from a nearby desk and tossed it to Fate. Upon reading, the contact’s behavior became clear.
Name: Hop, Bunny
Sex: F
Diagnosis: Hoofington’s Disease
The disjointed sentences, the confusing memories, the constant stream of sexual innuendo; they all made sense.
Fate smiled at the filly as she leaned against the door jam. She thought she heard somepony yell her name in the distance as she slumped to the floor.
-
Movement. Echoes. The cave?
“...all da files, yeah. Didn’t want to leave any stone unturned, y’know? Hey back dere. Your eyes still closed?”
A small voice squeaked out the words, “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
-
Wind. The heat wave must have broken, Fate decided.
“You’d tink she’d tell us sumfin’ like dis, but nope. Not even me.”
An imagined cold sweat crept across Fate’s body.
“Can you, like, please just keep it to yourself? I didn’t want to, like, break her trust, but after she just blacked out like that…”
Her mind pleaded her legs to move. There had to be a way to not overhear this conversation. Stop talking. Run away. Do something.
“You did da right ting, Lena. I don’t like she kept it secret. Easy to understand why, dough.”
“I’m just happy the healing potions are helping. I guess didn’t know what to expect.”
“The whole day has been filled with the unexpected,” Trueheart added. His voice rumbled her stomach. Was he carrying her? “Let’s keep it moving. I don’t know about any of you, but I’m ready for a drink.”
Celestia bless this pony.
-
Jimmy and Galena chatted on the couch. The griffin looked positively silly, reclining her massive bulk against her new beau. One glance to Jimmy’s grinning face proved he didn’t mind.
Images that were never her’s wafted through Fate’s mind as she watched the couple. Posters of the happy, Equestrian family decorated her thoughts as memories of celluloid danced in the glow of a naked sun. As tired as the old, romantic tropes from those movies were, Fate couldn’t help but feel her own desires for them grow.
“Thank you for putting us up, Jimmy,” said Trueheart from the mini-kitchen. He took another swig from the bottle. “It really helps, especially in our … urp ... condition.”
“Yeah bro,” nodded Raze. “I don’t even remember da last time I slept inna honest-to-Celestia hotel room.”
Jimmy shook his toothy smile. “Don’t even mention it. You all deserve it, with all you’ve been through. Besides, it gives me time to spend with all my new friends.” He squeezed a chirp out of Galena who retaliated mercilessly with taloned tickles to his ribcage.
“I’d like to thank everyp-,” Fate started in. “Everybody here for all your help today. It’s been… harrowing to say the least.” Fate watched Raze withdraw from the room to stand on the balcony, sliding shut the makeshift, glass door behind him. “Thank you all for seeing me through this crazy errand. For saving my life and … not making as big a deal about my…” She swallowed her nerves. “My condition.”
Galena shot up and leaned over, resting a hulking claw on Fate’s shoulders. “Hey. We’re friends now, right? Friends have to be, like accepting and junk. I mean, look at me. I’m a griffin without a flock. I’m about as ostracised as you can get, but look. I have friends who care. I even got me a studmuffin.” A talon poked at Jimmy’s ribs for extra impact. He seized her again, forcing a squeaking giggle from her beak.
A motherly smirk stretched over Fate’s face for a moment before a look of concern took its place as she stared through the balcony door. Raze leaned over the railing. He stared over the city. What he expected to see, Fate could only speculate. His posture told of a stallion in waiting. Fresh air, Fate decided. He wanted to clear the air.
“Some of us just like the prospect of helping ponies,” Trueheart unknowingly interrupted. “My brothers and sisters may not show it all the time, but we really want peace and stability in the region as much as, if not more so than you do.”
“That’s great, Paladin,” Fate muttered. “It truly is. Could you hang on to that thought for a bit while I go take care of something?”
Trueheart had hardly mouthed “sure” before she had shut the door behind her.
“Brr. Little chilly out here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Raze’s voice was an unstable alloy of relief and reluctance.
“Hey. Thanks for helping to save me.”
“Yeah, well. Dat’s how friends are supposed to treat each udder, ruyt?” The sarcasm was not wasted on Fate.
“Right. Right.” Fate scanned the streets for the right words, or some dangerous distraction to save her from this awkward conversation. Alas, it was a quiet evening in the Acre. The most excitement the streets held below were two dash fiends arguing over which direction to stumble. Or perhaps they were discussing the mysteries of the universe. It was always difficult to tell with dash fiends.
“Well...” The air hung too dense for Fate. She backed away and reached for the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Was there really a meaning to this? Avoiding the topic would have been so much more simple. “Why do you care?” And why did he? What was so different about him from the others in the group?
“We risked our lives for your fool’s errand. You got shot. Whut if sumfin’ worse happened to you? Don’t you tink it might have helped us to know you were a robot?”
“You son of a bitch. I am not a robot.”
“Could’a fooled me wit all that milk sludge pouring outta you.”
“And that makes me a machine? There are plenty of ponies with weird blood colors because of radiation.”
“Not as weird as that gallon of jizz your synthetic heart pumps everyday.”
He caught a hook to the nose. Fate watched in almost slow motion as blood shot out of his nostrils and gleamed in the twilight, only to fall on the dash fiends stories below. Their argument grew more impassioned, their gesticulations even more dramatic.
Raze’s glare was sharp enough to slice through raw gristle. Fate steeled herself as best she could before feeling the pressure around her eyes. No, she thought. Not here. Not in the open.
She strode inside, taking care to quietly close the door. Her vision began to blur as the room spun.
“Fate, is everything okay?” asked Plough. There was genuine concern to his voice. It was obvious he saw what she did.
“Not right now, please.” Though her voice carried calm volume and texture, its jittering cadence sold her out.
She headed for the bathroom, hoping the little room would afford her some privacy.
“No, Fate! Don’t-”
But it was too late. The bathroom was already in use with two moaning masses, writhing over the sink.
“Oh. My. I’m so sorry,” she stammered.
“You mind closing the…?” Jimmy asked, keeping his cool.
“Uh, oh yeah. Sorry.”
The door slammed shut, Fate leaning against it. Her eyes wide open now, she didn’t know whether to laugh or keep crying. Plough had obviously chosen the former, the big stallion covering his mouth with both hooves and quietly snorting.
After brushing her neck and chest, Fate walked to the other room as stately as a flamingo missing a foot. “Goodnight, Plough.”
“Goodnight, Fate. Feel better.”
The room glowed with the dim colors of twilight. Luna’s security blanket. A bit of privacy gave Fate the room to accept her feelings.
Memories breezed by on a hidden conveyor. Galena’s incessant yapping. Opening the stable caverns. Images of friends long gone, the premium for breaking a stable’s seal. Oranges. The mural.
Their lives would be better for it, right? The ones who survived, anyway. Would they heal and give back to the world that so took from them, or would they become like her, a slave gnawing at the shackles of the past? Did any of it matter in the end?
She let herself fall on the bed. The mattress was stiff, but Fate didn’t mind. A pillow squished in her grasp as she fell to her side. Her tears plopped gently on the sheets. Hushed sounds of a stuffy nose bounced around the room.
“Fate?” asked a soft voice. “Iss that you?”
No privacy. There was no place not filled with ponies, be they friends or not.
“Yes, Trueheart. It’s me.”
“The day finally catching up (urp) to you?”
“I..” she mouthed, her voice failing her. Fate had a strong will and it was only a moment before she bullied her reluctant tongue into a real statement. “Tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m not a monster.”
Trueheart stumbled to his feet from his spot on the floor. He sat next to her on the bed, careful to give her some space. Fate reached out to him with her mind, longing for a touch of reassurance. None came. She instead found herself sprayed with words burning with alcohol. “Listen Fate. Nopony can predict the future. We all make choices based on the … um what’s the word, uh … knowledge, from the knowledge we built from the past. We have this … vast map where we’ve been, but that doesn’t mean we know for certain where we’re going when we take that step forward into the breach between now and when we breathe our last.”
“You can’t know the future.” It was an old lesson Fate had heard many times. It was only now she realized it was a point at which her mind’s comprehension was far beyond that of her heart.
Tinny voices spoke through the door from Plough’s PipBuck.
“I know that may not help the feeling,” Trueheart continued. “But, that’s the only lesson I have on this subject. I wish it helped more, Fate.” He fumbled with his locket. “I really do.”
“Trueheart.” Her mouth found it difficult to funnel the thoughts her mind was creating. “Thank you, Trueheart.” She stroked his leg with a hoof.
“As far as you being a monster, I don’t see it. You really do seem to want to help. If our groups weren’t so dead-set against each-other things might be different. And if you’re worried about your not-so-average blood type, don’t be. You know Plough’s is an extremely volatile acid?”
“W-what? No way.”
He nodded. “We all have our little secrets, Fate. That’s what makes life so interesting.”
The door burst open. “You guys gotta come hear this!” said Raze, a smile on his face.
After taking a moment to dry her eyes, Fate followed Trueheart into the other room. Jimmy was again lounging on the couch, awash in afterglow, but this time Galena hunched excitedly over Plough’s PipBuck. Everypony seemed in brighter spirits.
“Dude! Dude! C’mere and listen to this! It’s freaking crazy!”
Fate tilted her head, not knowing what to expect.
The voice of a basso profundo woofed out of the tiny speaker. “Uh, hi? Yeah, uh. My name is, uh, Chocolate Thunder. And I was also in that first push when the door opened.”
“Ooh, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It must’ve been horrible.”
“It was … the most terrifying thing I’ve ever been through in my life. It still doesn’t seem real."
"Well, I certainly won't ask you to relive something as terrible as that. What we surface dwellers are more interested in is your story. How does it feel to have lived your whole life as a pegasus underground only to be freed now?"
"How do I even begin? Today has been the worst and best day any of us has ever experienced. We lost lifelong friends, but gained things none of us had ever dreamed possible. How do I even describe what it's like to touch the clouds? We haven't even felt wind before. It's completely indescribable."
“I hear you’ve also been hit with some less than savory attitudes by some of the townsponies. Did you expect this kind of prejudice out here?”
“I think you might be blowing that out of proportion. Sure we’ve been mistaken for members of the Enclave, which we gather is a bad thing. But ponies around here are more open and welcoming than you give them credit for. The entire experience is surprising.”
"Oh, well that’s good to hear. Are you listening, Celestia’s Acre? Openness and kindness, these are the things we need more of. While you’re at it throw some generosity on that pile. I’m sure these ponies would be quite thankful. Come on, they’ve had to endure years of torment at the hooves of ‘doctors’, the least we can do is find them a little food and shelter.”
“Thank you so much.”
“It’s just common courtesy. The world is harsh enough. We don’t need ponies fighting over it. One last thing, now. If they’re listening, what do you have to say to the ponies who got you out of that hole?"
“I know it might’ve seemed terrible at the time, and we did … lose a lot of friends today … excuse me.”
“Take your time, take your time. There’s no pressure here.”
Sounds of tissues and noses hammered the little speaker before the pegasus got back to the microphone, slightly more together than before. “But you did us all a service. I don’t think you’ll ever know the full extent. Excuse me, but I think I have to be done now. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Do what you need to do. We’ll just see how our- What’s that? Really? Well, folks it seems as if our good mayor Flare has offered up some housing for the refugees. What do you all have to say to that?”
Cheering crackled from the speakers causing a mess of white noise to flood the room. Raze, rolling his eyes in disgust at the mention of the Fire Stone who shot his friend, motioned Fate to the other room. Fate hesitated, but followed.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he said. “It just took me by surprise is all and wit all dat stuff about you being a test subject and having to escape your-”
“No. I’m sorry, too. Is your nose alright?”
“Heh. Yeah, it’s fine. You sure can dish it out, dough. But really, I don’t know whut I was tinkin’. I mean, I wasn’t tinkin’. It’s just da past few weeks have been Hell for me and I don’t know how to deal, y’know?”
“Yeah. I understand.”
Raze sat on the bed, putting his head in his hooves. “So you walked in on Lena and dat udder guy?”
“Oh jeez.”
“Where were dey, uh … you know?”
“Sink.”
Raze looked up at her in exasperation. “Well, shit. How am I supposed to brush my teeth, now?!”
“All dose opposed?” Silence. “De motion has passed. Initiate Plough will skip de rank of Knight Initiate to de rank of Journeyman Knight. Ees dere anything else you wish to address, Paladin?”
Her antennae could only feel the strong bursts of air from the vent, now. The little fly scrubbed herself down again. The rest of the world was so big and this room’s smell captivated her. One of the creatures reeked particularly deliciously. A closer fly-by was required.
“I have two more points of discussion, Elder Horchata.” She corkscrewed around Paladin Trueheart’s head. His hot breath tasted flammable.This was obviously not the one. Narrowly escaping a giant hoof, she buzzed to another part of the room. “One is Sleepy Shores. I, for one, am extremely happy she’s back with us, but she’s taking her brother’s death pretty hard. I suggest we post a guard in the barracks to keep an eye on her.”
“You think she’s a danger to herself or others?”
“You’d have to ask Redbook about that. All I know is she’s been far too quiet for her normal self. It’s just a precaution I suggest.”
“Agreed. A guard will be posted. Your last point?”
The fly landed on the wall behind one of the hooded figures. The wall felt slippery and cool under her feet. She slid and took off again. It wasn’t the right smell, anyway.
“I’d like it to be noted, in addition to what you will hear today about his usability, Raze is an exceptional team member and is well-suited for future missions.”
“It ees obvious to this council dat hees skills are unrivaled, but Paladin, need I remind you of hees lack of loyalty or respect for de chain? Dees ees a link too weak for us. After hees usefulness has run its course we will have to do what ees necessary to keep dees family together and safe from harm. You are excused, Paladin. Please send High Scribe Marrow in after you.”
“Of course, Elder.” The Paladin’s lips pulled slightly downward as he left the podium. The fly was sure she would have understood the significance of this, had she not been a fly. He left through the now open door, showing a slight sign of disapproval to the incoming limper. Air blasting through the door was full of the smell. It was heavy, like a pile of overly-ripe fruit. Some notes she didn’t have a reference for, almost as if they were being invented in her mind as she was smelling them. She could only contemplate this for a moment, however, before the creamy hooves of fate crushed her body between them.
Clodhopper
His eyes asked complex questions, but begged for simple answers. The rise and fall of his chest told him he was still alive. Visions of his parents trampled others in his mind. How would they find out? Who would be the dope unlucky enough to tell them?
Clodhopper’s captor was working on some kind of large contraption. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a good look at either one.
“No, the drugs weren’t the right punishment for the crime,” his captor continued rambling to himself. “Besides, then the manticores couldn’t eat the bad parts. Found that out. If they didn’t eat the bad parts, the Firestones would stop my mission. That is why it had to be crushed and diced. Nothing toxic”
Clodhopper moaned through his gag. There had to be a way out of this situation. Why hadn’t he studied harder in school?
He looked down the roughly hewn bit of tree-turned-table. The bindings gripped tightly to his legs. This is just like overtime, he reminded himself. There’s nothing you can’t do when you put your mind to it. His little, self pep-talk blitzed through his vessels like a linebacker. The bond was tight, but not impervious to struggle.
“It’s not very fair, is it? I wish he was dead. He does whatever he wants to anypony, but we don’t raise a hoof. He can get away with it because he is too powerful. Gah! But, if he’s stopped it all falls down. Nopony cares about me except for him. Did it know what it was like to live that way? Every day, fearing what unkown he’d punish me for. Didn’t know until he told me.”
The bond was beginning to slip. It wouldn’t be long. Strangely, he wasn’t thinking too much about crushing his captor’s skull into the concrete. He was instead only watching himself peal through the dark, city streets. It was going to be warm at home. Mom and dad were going to be surprised. They were going to hug him and thank the Goddesses he was home. The Goddesses! Clodhopper was about as religious as a bale of hay, but that had never stopped anypony before from reaching out for their mercy.
“That’s why it had to be punished, isn’t it? He couldn’t be punished. For all the wrong he did, he was too important to be punished. It had to take the wrongs upon itself. What if it turned into another one of him? Two of them? No, no. The world couldn’t handle another one. With all that wrongness it had to be stopped before it started.”
The tree squeaked. Clodhopper let out another moan to cover it up. It didn’t matter what the crazy pony said, his right, back leg dangled free and the left wasn’t far behind.
“I know, I know. The whole thing just hurts.”
Almost there.
“IIt would be great if things went the right way, but they never seem to.”
It gained slack!
“Some are made to rule and succeed and some were brought here to suffer.”
He moaned louder, pushing with both rear legs. The front legs were less tight. Clodhopper’s heart fluttered. It wouldn’t take any time. He was going home tonight!
Click.
Fly #2
The smell was so sweet and rotten. Never before had she smelled something so dense and glorious. Of course, she had only been able to fly for several minutes. She cleaned her tiny face, her tiny eyes and her tiny feet in preparation for the meal.
“How soon d’you think he’ll be done with it?”
Marrow scratched his unkempt chin. The hood fell from his head, revealing an almost pathetic creature. The bags below his eyes stacked like sandbags and had the color of a little filly’s diary. His cheekbones protruded making him look either chiseled or near death. The fly couldn’t tell. Then again, her brain was smaller than a grain of sand.
“Well,” Marrow gravelled. “We just today were successful in stabilizing the sky-tank’s magical matrix. It shouldn’t be long before it’s completely operational, but converting a sky-tank to make it pilotable by earth ponies is not the easiest task. It would have been much easier to have unicorns pilot it, but who really wants those bookworms operating large machinery, anyway?”
The council chuckled, nodding. She took off from the vent, buzzing around the ceiling a few times for good measure. Shooting right for his lips, Marrow swatted her away from his face. The smell was wonderful. “He should be finished within a month or two after our trip,” he said at last.
“Yes, of course. Th’ trip. Now, you are positive about this location?”
She landed on the podium to catch her breath. “Indeed I am, Elder Manzinita. Excuse me, would somepony do something about these damn flies!”
Crunch.
Raze
“I’m telling you Raze, they were better auff knowin’ the truth,” Riverdance laughed.
“Luna’s sweet ass, gra’ma! Even I would’a shown a little more decorum dan dat!”
She shrugged up to her ears, holding her hooves out. “What can I say? You have to start early with children. They’ah smartah than you think.”
“Yeah, but telling her children dat she was a traitorous bitch at the fuckin’ funeral? Couldn’t yuh, I dunno, wait a week?”Raze stopped soldering and slid out from under the cockpit’s main control panel. Staring at Riverdance, he proceeded to wipe his hooves with a rag. “Dere. Finished da soldering. Wanna test it?”
They both looked to Senior Scribe Ohms for approval. He gave a terse nod. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s see if the Enclave still knows how to train our boys.” Their guard looked on as Riverdance struggled to her hooves and shuffled to the control panel. Easing into the harness, Raze watched her front hooves tapdance on the glowing controls. There was a buzz that quickly faded into silence, followed a revving hum that tickled his nerves. This day had been a long time coming.
Work on the sky-tank was grueling. Senior Scribe Ohms often worked with them, regaling them with stories about the order and getting into arguments with Riverdance when she corrected his historical inaccuracies. Ohms thought himself skilled at concealing emotions. It was cute.
“Firin’ up the cloud generator,” Riverdance shouted. She looked over her shoulder like a too-nice professor finally getting fed up with her students. “That means strap in, boys.”
Ohms rolled his eyes, but proceeded to ensure Raze was secure before the guards buckled up, settling himself into the co-pilot’s seat. When Riverdance was satisfied she lifted the switch cover and flipped the ruby switch which began to pulsate with light.
A massive whooshing sound hissed through the hangar as streams of mist poured out of exhaust ports in the sky-tank’s side. Through his vantage point in the rear of the cockpit Raze watched the clouds get magically sucked underneath the vehicle. There was the familiar shudder as the clouds forced the sky-tank into the air. It was a little slice of nostalgia. Were any of his old friends near Fillydelphia also flying around on a cloudship? Middle of da day in Filly? he thought. Probably training or running an op.
In the pilot’s chair Riverdance seemed like a different pony. More solid, yet a little vacant. Almost like the old PipBuck 1000 trying to keep up with more delicate, yet newer models.“All figyahs nominal. Amplifi-uh unit is functioning perfectly. Cloud generator matrices are solid. I think this bird is in the green for take-auff, sir.”
Ohms’ belly jiggled with laughter as he clapped his hooves. “Excellent! Wonderful! Reliable after all these years. Oh, they don’t make them like this anymore, do they?”
Riverdance raised an eyebrow, but went back to checking guages.
“Okay,” Ohms giggled. “Set us down. I have a report to bring to the council.”
She did as she was told, gently bringing the old sky-tank to the ground and powering down the matrices. Raze got up from his seat and walked over to squeeze Riverdance with a hug.
“Woah there, tiger!” she said, leaning away.
“I just can’t believe we fixed it up. Way to go, team pegasi.”
She bumped Raze’s outstretched hoof. “You know that’s right. I can’t believe we’re finally going to do it. Hit ‘em right where it hurts.”
“Hmm?”
“The zebras, of course. Even though I still say I would do better closer to home. I’m actually thinking of putting in a request to transfer. Traitors to Equestria have to be taught a lesson.”
Raze arched his neck to peer into her lidless eyes. “Gra’ma? You okay?”
Riverdance shook her head, gaining some semblance of composure. “Yes, of course Raze. We’re, uh. I’m fine.”
“You sure you’re fine?”
“I’m fine Sweetie. Just a little worn down is all. It’s all this work. A young lady needs her beauty sleep, right?”
“Of course, gra’ma. Here, let’s get you out of here.” After helping her from the cockpit the two pegasi were shackled, tied and split up just like every other day.
Raze stared at the floor as he was led to his cell. Grandma Riverdance had been an anchor for him since he came to Celestia’s Acre all those years ago. Whether it was the advice of her experience or if he just needed the company, there wasn’t a day that had gone by he wasn’t dependant on her for one thing or another. His brows furrowed at the thought of her looming fate.
Fate.
He enjoyed the freedom fighter’s optimistic view on taking one’s own destiny by the horns, but there was always the specter of inevitability hanging around the corner, ready to make fun of whomever was foolish enough to think that any of it mattered in the first place.
Today wasn’t at all like every other day.
-
Plough looked just like Raze’s brother when he listened to the radio. Raze was third in a brood of four. His older brother, Solar Breeze was the eldest, and unusually thick set for their family. Whenever there was a broadcast, especially of a political variety, he would lie down and stare at the speaker with his most severe expression. Perhaps he thought he was readying himself for a rousing oration or preparing to vanquish a foe in a savage debate.
Whatever his reasons, they dried up and were scattered by the windfall of his acceptance into the meteorological field.
Plough had no such plan to fall back on. His expression had the sunken, alert eyes of desperation. Maybe he would be able to use that expression and be a cause for change in the Acre. Whatever befell them, it was certain Plough would do everything in his power to achieve his goals. That is, if he could set them.
“...was identified by a dental mold taken several years ago. His teeth… oh my, fillies and gentlecolts. If you are at all squeamish please tune in to some silence for a bit. His teeth were set up in a diorama several feet away and his legs had been removed prior to display. Authorities are baffled and are asking for any clues that could lead to the apprehension of this sick individual.
“Please, all you big fellows out there, be safe. Don’t travel alone or at night. Just… well, I don’t want to keep repeating myself.
“Miss Bossy-Pants herself, Flare will be making an announcement later today letting you know how you can help fortify our garrisons against raiders and other unsavory types. Until then, we might as well listen to a little something special to get our minds off of today’s events.”
Raze leaned back against the concrete wall of his cell. “You hear dat, big, beefy and ugly? No more long nights on da town for you!”
Plough looked up, chastising him with slight amusement. “No. I’ll be fine. As long as I have your scrawny ass protecting me. You have that whole ‘stab somepony in the back’ thing down pretty well, I think.”
Raze affected his most posh accent. “Oh, Plough my dear fellow. How you wound me so! Prithee see me as I am and not for my chosen profession.” He snickered at Plough’s rolling eyes. He held onto the smile as the mirth washed away. “So, you gonna head out wit’ us in da bird when we get her goin’?”
Plough regarded him quizzically. The lumbering brute of a friend had been spending quite a bit of time with High Scribe Marrow, studying strategy and historical battles. The relationship was hardly conventional. Even Raze knew it should have been a lower-rank Knight and not a scribe teaching Plough, but who was he to argue? Anyway, rank was the least alarming. Every bit of training and instinct told Raze to Distrust Marrow. How could Plough, the living lie detector, hang out with a creep like that for so long?
Second-guessing came second-nature to Raze, however. Maybe Plough knew what he was getting into. Perhaps the pit in Raze’s stomach was just from how hungry he was. There was never any true deceit going on in Marrow’s eyes, but there sure was something going on behind them.
“Yeah,” answered Plough. “I hope so. That’s the plan, anyway: to test me in the field... as if I haven’t been tested my whole life.”
“Listen, you cut frough bullshit like nobody else. You can see past any disguise, disingenuity, or excuse, but hey: you’re still kind of a kid. You haven’t travelled much. You might be able to know somepony at first glance, but dere’s some weird-ass, freaky shit out dere. Fings you aren’t ready for. None of us are ready for.”
Plough’s head gently hit the bars of the cell. “I know, Raze.” His head lifted, eyes earnest. “But there are some things you have to see through.”
Chaff
“Have you not been paying attention, or do you just not care?”
Rewire slammed his hooves on the table before leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face with them equally violently. Not every tutoring session was the same. Weeks before he couldn’t care less, busying himself with far off stares and longing sighs. The past few days had been a return to form, full of focused tantrums only the truly passionate could muster. Promotions had a tendency to do that to a pony.
“No, Journeyman Rewire,” Chaff sighed. “I really want to learn this! I think historical context is fascinating! It’s just that...”
“Could have fooled me.” He pinched his brow. “Look, just read the materials. I know it seems weird to read about, considering how religious a lot of the Elders are, but what do you expect from a bunch of Knucklehead ex-Paladins? Point is, Celestia and Luna were real, historical figures. They weren’t infallible. Some would go so far as to say they caused the nightmare we’ve been living out for the past hundred-plus years. Just get past your hang-ups, suck it up and please read the material.”
“Yes, Scribe Rewire. Thank you, sir.”
He nodded and left her to her screens and books. She scratched her side. The Scribe robe was an ill-fitting hand-me-down made of what she swore had to be mosquitoes and steel wool. Her face brightened at the pride of wearing it, though. No matter how scratchy.
Since Senior Scribe Ohms had started work on that infernal, flying machine, she had been stuck taking lessons with the sour, Journeyman Scribe. Ohms’ lecherous eyes weren’t much preferable, but at least it was obvious what kind of unease she felt around him.
A little clock stared at her from the screen. She watched a few minutes pass her by, until at last, she’d had enough. After cleaning her work area and packing up, she set out to the barracks.
The halls were desolate this time of night, save other Apprentice scribes returning from their own lamplight rituals. Whispers skirted around the floor. Sounds of the crimson robe. Chaff thought to herself for comfort from the near-silence.
I wonder what Trueheart thinks about this, she thought. Of course Celestia and Luna were real, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t and aren’t still Goddesses. What? Now Goddesses can’t take the form of an alicorn? I wonder what Galena thinks. What do griffins believe, anyway?
“Does she know?”
“What?!” Chaff spun, searching for the owner of the voice. “Hello?”
Silence. Not even the sound of robes.
Chaff raced through the halls, determined to tell Redbook about this incident during her next therapy session. Little delusions of others calling out her name weren’t unheard of, but this was a distinct voice.
She made it to the barracks, hearing only her hooves clattering on the ground. Scratching her legs, she composed herself before stepping in.
The barracks were dead. A couple of ponies passed their time watching silent films go by on the wall. She joined them, hoping the silly pre-war antics would keep her from noticing Plough’s empty bunk.
He stepped in, several rolls later. Like anypony in a long-term relationship, she huffed and hawed getting up to hug him. Plough always had an acidic odor to him, but once again she could smell the rust of the brig’s barred doors through it.
“Hi, baby,” he whispered.
“Hey,” Chaff said, looking at the floor.
“What’s wrong.”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s just… You just keep going to see him when you could be spending time with me.”
“Can we not talk about this right now? I don’t want to disturb ever-”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s not disturb anypony. We’ve only been together, what? Our whole lives? Goodness knows we don’t want to disturb anypony to work on our relationship.” She felt her voice go raspy. One of the ponies watching the movies stole a glance at them. Good.
“Sh. Sh. I’m sorry, okay? He’s been all around Equestria and up in the clouds. I’ve barely just gotten out of Balk. Is it really so bad that I’m curious about the outside world?”
“You’re curious?”
“Hey!” yelled a burly voice from the corner of the barracks. “Can you keep it down? Some of us have to get up in a few hours.”
“Yeah,” agreed several other, smaller voices.
“Sorry,” Chaff whisper-yelled. “So sorry, guys.” They moved further to the corner of the room. “But really? You’re curious? I stay underground all day and all night, every day and night. It’s all so samey I’m finding it hard to even remember what a sunrise looks like. At least you get to go on patrols and this mis-” She sighed, attempting to soothe herself. “But it’s not just that. You can’t trust him. His job is to lie. That’s what he does.”
“I can deal with that,” Said Plough. “You know I’m a living lie-detector. Hell, I even saw through anything old Filibuckster would say.”
She shook her head. “No Plough. Filibuckster was just a small-time criminal in a two-bit town. Raze is a bone fide bullshit artist. He studied for it. Lying is what the Enclave does. It’s in his blood.”
“Chaff, please believe me when I tell you that I understand your concerns. I really do, but in this case they are completely unfounded. But, that’s not even really the point, is it? Let’s go back to what you were saying before about how I need to spend more time with you. I agree completely.”
Her face slackened. “You do?”
“I do, completely. With guard duty, patrols, training and everything I’ve basically been using my talks with Raze to burn off steam. I don’t want to be a terrible pony with the few minutes we sometimes have together. As a matter of fact, what are you doing for the next ten hours?”
Chaff tried to hang on to the last few shreds of anger she had, but they disappeared in her hooves. “Well, I have another day in class with Ohms. I should probably also start on my-”
“You said you wanted to see the sunrise.” He arched an eyebrow.
“Okay.” How could she say “no” to such a face? “Besides, it smells like your dad’s basement in here.”
“Hey. Next ten hours, I don’t bring up your dad, you don’t bring up mine.”
“Heh, yeah. I can agree to that.”
Several cries of “Thank Luna” chased them out the door.
The Last Fly
Itchy. So itchy, and so cold. No one told her being an adult would be this way. Of course, no one told her how to fly, either. Some things you were just born knowing and some things you just had to figure out on your own. She would have sighed, had she known what that was. Instead, she resigned to clean her itchy wings as she took in what was going on beneath her.
“De reasons for Marrow are numerous,” said Elder Horchata. “First: he was trained as a Knight and knows how de field works. Second: he ees tenacious and will not quit. Third: he ees an excelente planner. I believe he ees de way to go in order to eh-secure our future.”
“I’m sorry, Elder Horchata, but I just don’t see it that way,” retorted Elder Manzanita. “Miss Breakdown may not’ah been a Knight or Paladin, but my brother and I certainly trust her judgement more than that psycho.”
“Besides,” Elder Pinky Cripps butted in. “You elevate that shit-head over Breakdown, yer pissin’ on the chain. With everythang as it is, if our Rangers start breaking ranks it’d be all over.”
Elder Green Hoof spoke up. “What about your new Head Paladin, Trueheart? He seems like a level-headed sort. He’s also a Paladin, and not a Scribe. No offense to Miss Breakdown.”
Horchata sighed. “He ees a decent pony, but lets hees past torment heem too much. Very sad.”
“Well, it appears, my dear, that we only have the one option.”
“Si. Okay. All dose in favor of elevating Head Scribe Breakdown to the position of Elder?”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye. De ‘ayes’ have it. De motion has passed unanimously. On to our last topic: Banda Palomina Dieciséis. Elder Green Hoof, you have to deal with them, always. What do you tink? Ees peaceful discourse no longer an option?”
“Well, you know me. So, you know when I tell you that we need to find another recourse. It’s gotten to be very serious, indeed.”
“We know they have the ol’ Mascarpony family balefire bomb, which I still can’t believe we never found.” Manzanita eyed Horchata dangerously. “We need t’do somthin’ about that. Whether it’s stealin’ it or-”
The fly was about to take off, finding conversations of ponies frightfully dull, when a pony rushed in, bringing with him a blast of air which reeked beautifully. She made up her tiny mind that she had to make it through that door!
“I am terribly sorry to disturb your Elders,” the soldier said, bowing deeply. “Please forgive me. I have news about the flies.”
The fly crooked her tiny head, finally interested in what they had to say.
“Well d’n speak up!”
“Of course, Elder. We found pony remains stashed in the ventilation system, topside.”
“Ahi, mis diosas!”
The fly was bored of them talking about her old home. Adventure awaited! She hopped along the ceiling, inching toward the door.
“We also killed a manticore which had broken into the system, cracked and disenchanted several filter systems. We’re pretty sure it was using the topside vent as a stash for food. The Scribes should have the system back up and running soon. We’ll be rad and fly-free in no time.”
“Tank you for de message, Knight. Please return to your post.”
Her heart raced as he bowed, turned and opened the door. She rushed into the hallway as the door slammed shut behind her. Resting for a moment on the wall, she inhaled as deeply as she could. After getting her bearings, she took off like a drunk photon.
Down the hallway, and to the left. Oh, the stench was glorious! It was behind a thick door, guarded by two tough-looking ponies. She waited for what could have been hours, until a giant limped out of what could only be described as scent nirvana.
Once through the door there was the issue of glass. The little fly could not, or did not want to, understand the solid air keeping her from her destiny. Her instincts screamed as she pushed her wings to the limit.
Finally catching on, or at least getting bored of hitting an invisible wall again and again, she climbed over it.
It was so pungent! She could almost see the scent.
She flew down to the frigid floor, heading without fail to the warmest part of the room. The beautiful smell came from a pony. So warm and sleek, almost slippery. Walking across her flank proved difficult, not that she noticed anything but the scent.
The pony’s sweet breath pushed and pulled her little body. In an instant she was caught. Her hearts beat more quickly than her wings as she crashed over and over against her tiny, dark cage.
It was warm, though. And peaceful.
“Hello, little one,” boomed a voice in her brain. Somehow, she comprehended its meaning and stood still.
The cage opened. She stood in the middle of the pony’s hoof and took in her great eye. The pupil was larger than she was, and squirmed like thousands of little black versions of her younger siblings back home.
Galena watched Chaff’s mouth wag several times before she spoke. “Well, whaddya think? Pretty frickin’ sick, right?”
“I…” Chaff mumbled as she half-twirled, half-tripped in the middle of the memorabilia. The floor hid itself well underneath meticulous piles of history. Who needed floor space when one slept in the midst of a thousand memories? “It’s, uh … wow.”
The soft corners of Galena’s beak jumped upward. “I know, right? Sorry I had to blindfold you. I totally trust you, Chaffy, but there’s some crazy, freaking tech in here that I’m sure those ‘friends’ of yours would love to get their hooves on.”
“You know I won’t ever tell, Lena. Not that I have a lot of friends to tell. But I understand why you’re hesitant.”
“Oh, no! Chaffy! Don’t get all poopie-pants on me! I mean, come on. I’m your friend. Isn’t that enough for you?” Galena gave her as friendly a wink as an obligatory carnivore could manage. Chaff shot back a sheepish grin. “I’m mostly talking about the freaking recollectors. They can like, mind-rape you. Snatch a memory right out of your head without your consent. Of course, I’m not even sure the Steel Rangers would have any black opals to write onto. Or even know what they are. It’s like, crazy you know? How much is left forgotten. Just left lying on the ground. Unwanted.” Memories sprouted up. Galena picked up the mental pruning shears and made short work of them, smirking worriedly at Chaff. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Chaff chuckled. “Well, that’s one of the reasons you brought me here, right?”
Galena snapped her talons. “Durr! I totally forgot!” She snaked through sharp hallways of her ultra-modern, concrete and glass house, scarcely touching the floor. Flying up the suspended stairs, she landed in her bedroom. “Come on up, yo!”
Gentle clicks of chaff’s hooves on the stairs were followed by soft patter when she stepped inside the room. “Wow, this is a nice rug, Galena.”
“It really ties the room together, huh?” Galena winked, but Chaff’s squinting and tilted head let her know the country bumpkin had missed the reference entirely. The closet door swung open and Galena heaved out a modern-looking graphite case. It was the kind of case only somepony’s rich, Enclave uncle would have. Adorned with more latches and locks than a sado-masochist’s locker, it looked utterly out-of-place surrounded by faded movie posters and memorabilia. “Anyway, here it is. Or really, its case… Here, let me stop talking and just open it.”
Various clicks and ratchets accompanied the unlatching of the case. The drama decrescendoed, however, when Galena tried in vain to imitate the hiss of a pressurized steam valve as she opened the case. “There you go,” she said at last.
The recollector itself looked like a gas mask had mated with an empty engagement ring. Several black opals sat empty in the case, perhaps wishing to store a powerful memory. One glowed with a nebulous, colorful starfield swirling around inside. Chaff picked it up.
“Wow,” Chaff breathed, absentmindedly. “And this is it? This is the memory?”
Galena nodded excitedly. “Yup, yup. Let’s get you strapped in.”
“Is there anything weird I should expect?” Chaff asked as Galena was making the last adjustments to the strap.
“This will be the strangest sensation you’ve ever had in your life, I guarantee it.” She picked up the orb and spun it on the tip of a talon. “You are going to be in another pony’s memories. You’re going to feel what they felt, smell what they smelled, saw what they saw- everything. You’ll still have your own consciousness and memories, but you’ll feel almost like you’re trapped inside another body.”
“Woah.”
Galena made sure to have Chaff lie all the way down. “Yeah, dude. It’s even weirder when it’s a different species than you. Or sex.” Galena ground her beak together as her feathers ruffled, looking away sheepishly. “Of course, I have some thoughts as to what to use these other orbs for…” Chaff raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, have a nice trip.”
With that, Galena thrust the orb into the awaiting arms of the recollector, flicked several switches and pressed the big red button on the side, hurling Chaff into history. Galena watched her shake and shudder gently for a short time to make sure she didn’t have any severe reactions. Satisfied, she flew downstairs, eager to check up on the root beer she was brewing. She smiled, knowing how good a cold mug of root beer tasted after being trapped inside somepony else’s mind.
Chaff’s Experience in the Memory Orb
<-=======ooO Ooo=======->
Her back itched. She moved to scratch it, or tried. Paralysis. Years of learned instinct assumed full control. Chaff shook in her mind, bucking impotently against unseen forces holding her down. Trapped.
A back not her own wriggled on the couch, assuaging the itch. She attempted to close her eyes, but quickly realized this was also impossible.
Galena said I’d feel trapped, she thought. She took solace knowing she actually thought that herself.
The body was wrong. Heavy head. It was balanced differently. Top heavy. Touch fell away, though, when she was forced to stare at a familiar face.
Oh … my …
It was Fate, in the flesh. Granted, she was wearing the frilliest dress in Equestria, but the nonchalance dripping from her eyes was unmistakable. Fate stood nearly in profile. Her immaculate appearance was breathtaking. Years of peering at her own dirty face through broken mirrors left Chaff choking on her own dusty reality.
She begged her other senses to grab her attention. They were happy to oblige.
>>Nein,<< said a voice to her left. The pony whose memory she was in mercifully turned her head. The pony she was staring at now was no less clean, and far more style-savvy, albeit somehow more silly. Like when an artist goes overboard with a sculpture or painting.
>>Nein,<< the spectacled earth pony continued. >>Bist du blöt? Ach! Du hast keine Ahnung von Mode. Ja! Ich sagte es. Weil es wahr ist.<<
It bewildered Chaff to hear a foreign language other than San Palomino. She had originally thought the caravaneers with thick accents calling her “heina” all the time were difficult to decipher. No longer. Allemane used noises unfamiliar to Chaff. Of course, it didn’t help that the telephone conversation sounded heated.
>>Nein, noch einmal! Natürlich häslich. Ja. Ja. Ich weiß. Ja, Mutti. Ich liebe dich auch. Tschüs!<< The spectacled pony stared at the ceiling, letting out a sigh of frustration. She continued in a language Chaff could thankfully understand. “Ach, Miss Shparkle! I am so sorry for you to hear that. It happens when the old mares are thinking they can keep up with those of us born into fashion. The magics do not happen for everypony. She does not listen so the ‘tough loves’ are in order.”
Sparkle? Was that her host’s name? Chaff felt her host’s throat and head vibrate lightly in reply, “That’s alright. I’m sure you and your mother will work it out just ... fine.” Her throat clenched a bit before swallowing. According to Plough’s lie detection lessons he had been giving her, Miss Sparkle was a terrible liar.
“Ja, ja. We always do, but do not pretend that is why we are here. We are here to see if the magics could help the biological and robotic to agree. I think so, that Powder Rouge my assistant, the perfect vessel for this project to be.”
“Thanks again for your help, Photo Finish. I can’t begin to tell you how much this could mean for the advancement of the arcane sciences.”
Photo Finish snorted. “Well, ja. What else am I, Photo Finish, going to do with all these degrees? High fashion does not much money during war make. An artist must bring in the bits in some way to support her art.”
<-=======ooO Ooo=======->
Chaff blinked. A beak smiled in her face.
“Fate’s a…” she hesitated.
“Oh. Em. Gee, dude! I freakin’ know!”
“How long did you?”
“Only a few days. Jimmy gave me the orb the other day after I told him I had a recollector. We both tripped out.”
“Do you think…”
“I have no idea how they’ll react, but we gotta find a way to show her. It’s what friends do, right? Now, drink up. We only have a little time to make it west of the Acre if we’re gonna get down on some fish tacos. Or, sorry. Bean and ... corn burritos?”
“Isn’t that BP-16 territory?”
“Yeah?”
“Aren’t they, you know, dangerous?”
“Pff! Dude. They are ponies just like yourself. They might have a few different traditions and a different language, but they’re just trying to get by just like all of us. Besides, how could you possibly allow bodily harm to keep you from fish tacos?”
Chaff looked down at the frothy mug hanging from her hoof. “Right.”
Fate
Fate’s stomach rumbled. It was only the gentle sounds like these that piqued the interest of wannabe night watchmen. Time might have given her more experience, but that experience drove a reality-based worry. Another chase like last time could gift her an ulcer.
Her comrades signed they were prepped and ready to begin the operation.
With that she padded on, leaping to the next building. Her silhouette was barely visible. The roll she tucked into, silent. Laughter caught her attention as she wormed near the front of the building to peer over.
There, many stories below, under the orange light of the ancient bulbs, scurried a horde of tiny legs.
Fillies and colts playing hoofball.
Laughter turned to crying and yelling as one of the taller fillies tripped in a pothole and scraped her chin on the asphalt. The resulting diatribe explosion would have made Fate blush, had she been a young filly herself.
Fate snorted and shook her head. What kind of parents would allow their kids to be out this late on a school night? And in this part of town, too. She smirked. She was the seedy underground; the type of pony parents warned their foals about.
Leaving the foals to their game, she hurried on to her target.
The warehouse sat in the distance. Like many of the larger ruins in the Acre, it bore the brunt of the balefire blast. Its stonework walls were worn and blackened, its windows boarded up. If any structure in the city were to be compared with the soulless gaze of a taxidermied animal, this was the major contender.
Fate noticed several open window panes near the top of the building. At least the carved stones jutted ruggedly on the warehouse’s surface. Climbing could be a cinch. She looked down over the divide of the street. The broken asphalt teased her from five stories below. It must have been at least twenty meters to the other side.
The intel was faulty. Frankfurter’s scar warped over his skin when he had relayed the information. Drool escaped along with slurred speech. Obviously getting shot in the face was as good for his memory as it was for his ability to talk. Where was the alleyway that was supposed to grant easy access to the warehouse’s rooftop?
Head in the game, Fate, she reminded herself. The ghoul games would kick off the next day. If any rescue were to be attempted it would have had to have been that night.
She smirked as she rappelled down the building. There was nothing greater in the world than planned impetuousness.
The guard stood longer than before. Fate’s veins went icy. Her stomach, weightless. She anticipated his tell.
His head leaned to the side. Fate jumped. His hoof lifted. She was airborne. He reached for a pocket. Halfway across. Pulled out a lighter. Almost there. His head turned. Shit!
“Who’s there?” his voice commanded.
Fate ducked into a street-side stairway leading to the basement level of the warehouse. The guard’s hooves scraped across uneven pavement. She prayed Luna’s shadows to hide her as her bobby pin floated to the door.
“This area is dangerous,” the guard went on. “Off limits. You think painting dick murals on walls is funny until you get bit by a ghoul.”
His steps came up short. The atmosphere changed. Static tugged at her mane.
The door’s tumblers were light. She couldn’t feel or hear them. His flashlight beamed around the corner.
“Last warning. Come out now and I guarantee your safety.”
Fate pulled the pin. In a final attempt, she tried the door. Unlocked.
She darted in as he turned the corner. Closing the door behind her, she fumbled in the dark for a place to hide.
The door opened. His flashlight flooded the room. Fate heard the click of a gun safety being switched off.
He scanned the room and began opening cabinets, looking for her. She hid behind a shelf. He rounded the shelf, scanning as he walked. His light spun around the corner. Nothing. Fate was already back outside, scaling the building.
The stones of the warehouse surface were clammy in the cool air of night. She heard the guard pony alert the others below. Damn, she thought. The alerted officers would certainly prove more difficult for her team.
Fate fought to keep her footing. Muscles in her tensing back rippled and protested. Fate prayed they wouldn’t present her with an ultimatum before she reached the highest row of window panes.
The protests in her back dispersed as she slunk through an open window pane onto a roof girder inside the warehouse. The heat of the day had hung out long enough to meet her, stifling her labored breath. A strong smell of old and oily eggs didn’t help. It toyed with her throat. She could feel her salivary glands bloat, starting the gag process.
She put a hoof to her mouth, determined to halt it. The movie in her mind, the one where a guard is slimed with bile and lunch from an unknown assailant hiding in the rafters, replayed constantly. The grin that eked out was a welcome feeling. It also had the benefit of removing her focus on the putrid smell.
A flat part of a girder turned into a nice little seat in the dark. Its height allotted her a spectacular view of the warehouse.
The majority of the building was vacant, save the guards playing chess and standing around on the far side from her. Their shadows danced in the naked flames of ensconced torches lining the far wall. The whole scene looked like a panel from a Sword Mare comic. The wall led to a walkway which she assumed ran to the front of the building.
She counted five guards. Two playing chess near a heavy steel door, two talking over a bunch of wooden crates, and one smoking near the front of the building. A stealthy rescue seemed more unlikely by the second.
She flicked the broadcaster switch on her PipBuck. She tapped her code on the microphone with a padded hoof, letting her team know the intel was true and to prep for evacuation of the hostages. Switching off her broadcaster, she continued her scan of the room.
The side she was on held a wreck of mechanical equipment and failed catwalks. A false move down the junk pile would have proven noisy. Fate scanned further over to a chain swinging almost imperceptibly in between several of the crumbling catwalks. She peered closer, hoping to find room enough to squeeze underneath the ruined pile of metal. Her vantage point prevented a decent angle.
The chain and the guards played tennis with her gaze. Torch fires echoed in the massive space. Inching her way down the I-beam towards the chain, she prayed.
Luna, sister of the night. Let my timing be right and my balance be true.
“Ouch! Damn! Son of a bitch!”
“We keep tellin’ ya not to smoke ‘em.”
“I’m surprised you even have vocal chords left, Cabby.”
“Geech, chuh’ uff ooh choo!”
“Ha! or lips for that matter! Ha ha ha!”
Fate was on her way down the chain before they lost interest in laughing. Something about the weak orange glow from the torches reminded her of Raze when he was in the wheelchair. Weak, frail, vulnerable. A completely different pony than the one she had heard was tearing through the sky.
One of their last conversations before he was reclaimed by the Steel Rangers played and replayed in her head as she carefully snaked her way through the industrial wreckage.
“Tell me, Fate,” he asked.
“Yeah?”
He squirmed in his seat to get a better look at her, his neck still stiff from the injuries. “Whut do you wish was in store for you in your future? Luyk, if you were magic and you could just change da future into anyfing you wanted for yourself, what would it look luyk? Paint me a picture. I know you’re good at dose.”
Fate Smirked. All those nights in the lab playing guinea pig, finding herself lost in a carnival of horrors they called a city, watching entire populations get swept to the side when nopony wanted them as the elite in the city got fat from all the resources they could squeeze out of them, fueled the engine of her anger. And from her moral high ground she paid witness to the sins in the valley below and knew she was justified.
“I see a glorious unification, where pony and zebra come together in friendship. I see a rebuilding of Equestria with towers reaching to catch the rays of the regained sun. When the time of-”
“Bull. Shit.”
“Excuse me?” Fate asked, trembling.
“Dat’s not whut you want and you know it. Dat’s some grandiose shit. Or do you forget I’m an equine lie detector?”
“Listen, you ass! You’re the one who asked me. I’m telling you the truth and…”
He waved her away as if she were misunderstanding what life was. “Look, do you wanna hear mine first, before you go? Okay, listen. Let me paint you a picture… damn, dat metaphor got switched. Anyway, imagine dis: sun’s back, alruyt? Looks just like one uh dose murals, but it’s winter time, ruyt? Snow is on da ground and all dat. And I come home to a house, luyk a real Celestia-damned house, and da fire’s goin’ and I can smell somefing amazing coming from da kitchen.
“You tink it’s just luyk yours, but you’re wrong. I know whut mine means to me. It’s congruence. It’s a place I can go to and I don’t have to be somefing I don’t wanna be. I don’t gotta be dat tough guy. I don’t gotta be da one to do a job nopony should have to. No lies. No B.S. answers luyk your ‘glorious future.’ It’s just where I want to be before I stop going.”
Fate stared at her hooves, his statement hanging heavy on her brow.
“Now, I shared mine. You share yours. What do you wish for, Fate?”
Avoiding the question again, Fate rewound the memory and snapped back to the present. The group was still mocking the pony who had burned his lips on his own cigarette.
“Heh heh. Aw, for Celestia’s sake you guys. Spongecake, would you take Cabby here to the doctor? Maybe get his head examined while you’re at it?”
“And bring back some sandwiches, maybe?”
One of the guards near the crates nodded and helped Cabby and his now-swollen lips out of the building.
“Happy Hearthswarming to me,” Fate whispered as guard numbers dwindled. The pony who had been talking to Spongecake wandered over to the two ponies playing chess.
She flowed from shadow to shadow, hugging the wall. The smell became almost intolerable.
Only after ducking behind the wooden crates did she notice the logo branded onto them.
“Ironshod Firearms: How do you like them apples?”
“No way,” Fate mouthed, her eyes sparkling like fireworks. Her dream of a better tomorrow solidified in her mind, almost becoming tactile. She smirked smugly. If only Raze were there, she would have shoved his nose right into that future.
Before her fantasy went any further there was an unusual knock at the front door. She steeled herself as two of the guard ponies headed in that direction. She closed her eyes, listening to their hooves echo.
They stopped. The door clanked. Creaked.
“Wh-,” the guard tried to speak. Within two grunts he was down, the other with him.
The last leapt to his hooves. Fate leapt with him. His gun trained on her comrades.
He jerked, turning to block Fate. She dropped, sliding under the barrel. Kick. Roll. He fell, face to concrete. A tooth shot from his mouth. One more kick to the head to be sure. He rolled and lay shuddering.
Fate removed his weapon and signaled for one of the zonys to drug him. She moved for the makeshift prison door as the zony behind her made use of his blowgun.
“Now remember,” Fate addressed the group. “Some of the ghouls might have already become feral. Be prepared for anything. Don’t hesitate, but don’t be too eager. There are innocents in here.”
She motioned them to back away. Her hoof banged a familiar rhythm on the rusty door.
BANG. BANG BANG BANG. BANG.
For a while only sickly thuds answered her from the opposite side, but just like popping corn the thuds slowly faded to silence.
The group looked toward one another and then to Fate to see what she’d do next. She reached out for the door.
BANG. BANG.
She sighed her relief and, nodding to the group, reached out for the lock.
“What do you wish for, Fate?”
I wish you’d get out of my head right now so I can focus. Celestia, sister of mercy, please help us save these innocents.
The lock screeched. Fate took a deep breath and opened the door.
She flung herself to the side, avoiding the charging unicorn ghoul. The unicorn was easily dispatched by the trained hooves of her group. The following fight felt more like pest control than anything else, which suited Fate just fine as the ghoul’s smell made her stomach lurch.
Quelling the arguments of her insides, Fate called out to the void beyond the door. “If anypony is in there, come on out. We’re here to rescue you.”
The stallion who walked out looked as if biology itself had forgotten what a pony looked liked and gave up halfway through making him out of paper mache. The flickering light of torches didn’t exactly flatter his highly textured features.
Fate choked back her automatic response. “Hello sir. We are part of an organization that believes in freedom for all creatures. We are here to make sure your life isn’t toyed with in some vile spectacle.”
He stared at nothing, said nothing.
Fate looked at her comrades for some support. They just shrugged. “My name is Fate. We just want to make sure your life is really your own and not used like some corrupt pony’s plaything.”
The ragged ghoul looked at the carnage surrounding him and back to the awaiting eyes of Fate. “Hmph,” he croaked and wandered off, out the front door.
Around a dozen or so quietly followed him out. One of the ghouls, who apparently used to be a cow, walked up to Fate.
“Don’t mind him,” her voice crackled. “He just feels like he lost his wife.” She nodded at one of the crooked corpses on the ground. “He doesn’t want to accept that he lost her years ago. Don’t you worry, he’ll get over it. Just don’t expect many of us to be too friendly for a while. I know you saved us from a worse fate, but you just have to understand none of us have had it too easy for quite some time, don’t ya know.”
The ghoul cow looked Fate up and down. “Hey, honey?”
“Yeah?”
“Say ‘hello’ to Photo Finish for me next time you see her.”
“What?”
The old heifer just laughed and mosied toward the door. “Oh, it’s well before your time, sweetheart. You be good, y’hear?”
Fate stared at the door after she left. She stood in the wash of another hollow victory, letting the waves of emotions lick at her fetlocks.
“Fate?”
“Huh? Yes?”
“We need to leave.”
“Oh, right! Let’s get those crates open. Grab every weapon you can and let’s hoof it out of here.”
-
The trek back through the alleys and rooftops of Celestia’s Acre was more challenging with several guns tied to her back. Her thoughts drifted from one thing to the next. Their ability to fight would be greatly enhanced by the new acquisitions. The Firestone’s grip on the populace would weaken with the message they broadcast, letting the citizens know what happened and why. They couldn’t reach every mind, but there had to be a few open ones.
Though it was a literal victory, Fate could neither shake the confusion of the heifer’s request, nor fill the hole drilled into her by the lidless eyes of an old ghoul who had just lost his special somepony.
Who was Photo Finish? And why would Fate have known about her, anyway?
She looked down on the area the fillies and colts were playing hoofball in. The ball stood alone in the spotlight of the street lamp. Their laughter echoed in her mind. It warmed her heart until it shined like gold, but gold is very heavy and too much to carry forever.
