An Overmare has responsibilities. Take care of your stable. Keep order. Make sure the experiment is running the way it should.
The stable is a closed circle under the stern hoof of its draconian Overmare, slowly cooking away at a sociological experiment two hundred years in the making.
But the circle is broken by the arrival of a stranger and an artifact that forces its Overmare into the shifting tides of the Wasteland. She'll have to make choices. She'll have to hurt people. And she'll have to find answers.
So you came. Came here to the dead city. And you brought your guns, I see.
I came for answers.
So I promised. But before answers, questions.
Why don't you just talk straight for once in your miserable existence?
I want you to look around you. Just stop where you are and look around. Can you see the world as I do? Can you hear the screams?
I came for answers. Not more of your mindgames. Why did you have me come here? What’s the meaning of all this? How did I end up in the middle of all this?
The hows and whys might disappoint you. The truth is that there aren’t a lot of good reasons for what happened. All too often an act makes sense only to the actor. There’s no good reason that you, of all ponies, should tie into the middle. And for what’s happened to you, or more for the ponies around you, I am sorry.
You want me to believe that you’re sorry? For anything?
How well do you really know me? Do you know my name? Do you know my history? These are important questions.
Why don’t you tell me? Or did you have another riddle lined up?
I will. But not right here. Sorry to disappoint you with another game, but not here. Come into the dead city. Find me, and there I promise you will find all the answers you seek.
But it’s funny. When I look back on my life and to everything that lead up to this, I can conveniently pick out one day. And yet on that day, the memory that sticks out the most is something so small and petty. I remember... I was watching a beetle mulling through the dirt. It’s strange and it’s funny that that memory sticks out in my mind the most. Maybe because it’s the easiest memory. What about you? What do you remember from the day this all began?
I threw a pie in a pony’s face.
Fallout: Equestria - The Least of Us
by BillyColt
The colt stared at the metal floor of the stable’s security office. He didn’t want to look up. The stone-faced expression of the security pony filled him with a sense of impending dread. He felt paralyzed, unable to do anything but sit in his cold chair, stare at the floor, and wait. For him, time seemed to have frozen.
The door to the office slid open, with the familiar scraping sound as it slid against its own frame. The colt didn’t look up, but the guard spoke.
“Boss, I–”
“Shuddup,” said a voice. “I want my tea.”
The guard did as he was told. The colt, although still silent, gathered the courage to look up. The mare the guard had been speaking to had walked over to the desk and pulled the drawer open, removing a tea kettle and a small box. She strolled over to the bathroom, and the sound of the faucet told him that she was filling the kettle. He looked back at the guard; charcoal-grey and still, he looked more like a statue than an actual pony.
After what seemed like an hour to the colt, the mare walked back in, the kettle in her mouth, and approached the small stove in the corner of the room. She set the kettle on the unlit burner and walked back to the box on her desk. She walked lethargically, as though she’d rather be sleeping. After taking the box back to the stove, she started fiddling with it with her hooves.
“Fucking box of...” she mumbled. “Fucking flaps...”
After a moment of frustration, however, she managed to open the flap and lift a teabag out by her teeth. She let out a sigh, as though chastising herself for forgetting something, and returned to the cabinet to take a small teacup.
The mare was a tall, imposing pony, and wearing the usual dull navy blue uniform all stable-dwellers wore. On the uniform’s flank was a patched-on stitch representing her cutie mark: a bright red rallying flag. She was the Overmare.
The colt watched her. She walked back to the counter, teacup and teabag in mouth, and set them down, before returning her attention to the kettle. Her cobalt-blue face was fixated on that tea kettle, and she tapped her hoof on the ground, almost too impatient to wait for the water to come to a boil. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I said, ‘shut up,’” the Overmare growled. “Until I’ve had my tea.”
The colt looked at the guard. He was completely unfazed, which told him that this must have been a regular occurrence. It was an agonizing wait as he found himself watching the kettle as intently as the Overmare was. First he caught the small trickle of steam, and a few minutes later the kettle was whistling a jaunty tune. The Overmare grumbled and quickly turned off the stove before removing the kettle.
“I swear, if I ever meet the idiot unicorn who thought it’d be a good idea to enchant teapots to fucking sing...”
The guard cleared his throat.
“You’re still supposed to shut up.”
The Overmare proceeded to pour the water into the cup, before setting it aside and bobbing the teabag. The colt watched intently as she lifted the cup to her face. She took a deep breath, savoring the heat and faint smell, and then blew on it. It was as though she were toying with his apprehension, before, at long last, she took a sip.
“Better,” she said. She turned around and looked at the two. “Now, tell me what was so important I had to drag myself in here?”
Now the colt felt a sinking pit in his stomach.
“I caught this colt trying to sneak into the storeroom.”
“Did you now?” The Overmare took another sip.
The guard’s horn lit up and a card floated in front of him.
“We found this on him,” he said. “It’s the key to the storeroom.”
The Overmare set her teacup on the counter and walked over, inspecting it. She looked at the colt and he felt himself go numb.
“How long’ve you had this?” she asked, though her voice still sounded bored.
“Th... three weeks, ma’am,” said the colt.
“What were you stealing?”
The colt looked at the floor, preemptively cringing. “Just food, ma’am.”
The Overmare turned around and walked back to the counter. “Well, that explains it,” she said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Books has been on about taking stock and the food coming up a little short. Said he thought there was a rat out. Guess he was right.”
She carried the cup of tea over to the colt and stared down at him. The colt looked back up, wondering what she was going to do. She sat down at her desk, sipping her tea and apparently mulling it over.
“Get his name down,” she said casually. “Tell whoever’s in charge of food that he isn’t to be given anything for three weeks, as long as that key’s been missing.”
“Boss?” asked the guard, uneasily. She turned to him.
“He’s been stealing food from the rest of us. Well, I’m perfectly fine with him continuing this for a while longer – if he feels he wants to eat he can beg somepony else for their food.”
She returned to the counter and poured herself another cup of tea.
“So that’s it?” she asked.
“Yes, Boss,” said the guard. The Overmare groaned. “I thought it was important.”
“Deciding what’s important is my job,” she said as she held the teacup in her hoof. “This?” She gestured to the colt, who was silent, still shocked at his punishment. “Not very important. It could’ve waited.”
The guard’s eyes shifted. For the first time it seemed he was nervous. “Understood.”
“So he can learn,” she muttered. “We’re done here.”
Chapter 1
The Ivory Tower Under a Rock
Overmare of Stable 51... well... I hope it’s better for you down there than it is for us up here. I’m Scootaloo, Vice-President of Stable-Tec. By now you’re probably aware that these stables aren’t what we told the public they were. Well, they are, but there’s more to it than that. This stable will keep you and the ponies inside safe should anything... happen. But there’s another reason you’re here...
BANG! BANG!
The silhouetted facsimile of a pony took bullet after bullet. Boss stood at the end of the target range, a pistol in her mouth. Her shots were slow, but they all fell on the target.
She ejected one clip from the gun before picking another off of the shelf in front of her and loading it into the pistol.
One of the security guards watched her as she emptied another clip into the target.
“Personally, I’ll stick with magic for aiming,” he said, his horn lighting up.
“Good for you,” said Boss. She raised a hoof to click the gun’s safety on, before spitting it onto the counter. “And if I catch you smirking, you’ll get demoted faster than you can say ‘I still have all my teeth.’”
“Noted,” said the security guard.
The door slid open, a detail not missed by the sharp-eyed guard or the Overmare. In the doorway stood an elderly, bespectacled stallion with a grey mane and a gently-lined face.
“Good day,” he said. “I was hoping to speak with you, Boss.”
“Aren’t you always,” the Overmare mumbled. “I’m done here,” she said to the guard, making for the door. “Alright, Books, what is it now?”
Books politely stepped out of the way, allowing the Overmare to pass him. “I heard that security officer Staunch found our little missing supplies problem,” he said.
“Yep. Found and dealt with,” said Boss. “That it?”
“Well,” Books gave an uneasy sigh. “I might have to question your decision.”
“Hm?”
“No food? For three weeks?”
“Hey, you were the one complaining,” said Boss.
She and Books walked down the halls of the stable. Though old, the stallion still kept up with the younger Overmare’s pace.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive for a foal?”
“Not really,” said Boss. “Kid’s gotta learn consequences sometime. Besides, he’s been taking extra food for three weeks, so not getting any food for three weeks seems pretty fitting.”
Boss stopped ahead of him and looked back. Though Books was aged, it had not dulled his mind. Sometimes Boss wondered if Books had actually aged. She’d known the pony her whole life, as he had been a teacher for as long as she could remember. His gaze was always kind and his voice was always soft, never making a judgment. His words were carefully chosen. “Do you remember what I told you a long time ago, when you were a filly, shortly after you were told that you would become the Overmare?”
Boss made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “Not this again,” she said. “Look, if you’re so concerned, you can give him your food. That way you can ease your conscience and undermine my authority.” Books fell silent, though his gaze lingered. She wondered, briefly, if it was disapproval. “Books, the kid isn’t gonna starve. He’s a foal. The ponies are going to be nice to a foal. Aaaand...” She pulled Books’s face to look back at her, as it had been drifting away. “You can lord this over Lemon Tart and the ponies in Hydroponics at the next meeting: ‘Ponies aren’t getting enough food, you really need to get better at growing shit.’ And Lemon Tart said that blight was nothing to worry about...”
“It isn’t so much a matter of anypony starving,” said Books, and although his voice was soft, it had years of wizened authority that cut over hers, “did he say why he was doing it?”
“Hm,” said Boss. She lowered her face to a pocket on her jumpsuit and pulled out an energy bar. “Not really...” she said through her teeth. “So, what, the kid didn’t really need it and just felt like getting a snack in the middle of the night? Great. That’s... that’s totally.” She stopped. “What the fuck, security dragged me in because a kid was getting a snack in the middle of the night.” She cast her head to look down the hall in the direction of the security office and snorted, “What an asshole.” Muttering to herself, she proceeded to rip off the end of the energy bar wrapper with her teeth.
“It’s possible somepony put him up to it,” he said.
“Oh, wonderful, it’s a conspiracy!” Boss shrugged, before taking a bite out of the bar. “You know what, I bet I know who’s to blame for this...”
She bit the rest of the energy bar right out of the wrapper, scarfing it down and walking impatiently to the garbage can. However, before she dropped the wrapper in, she stopped and stared.
“Lucky, what are you doing in there?”
A small colt sat in the can and looked up at her. He raised a hoof to his mouth, making a “shhhh!” gesture. Boss looked up and back at a slightly perplexed Books.
“Your brother?” he asked.
“Shhh!” Lucky hissed, before whispering, “Don’t tell them I’m here!”
Boss shrugged. Looking down the hall, she saw exactly why Lucky was so intent on his hiding place remaining a secret. A group of slightly older colts turned the corner, headed by one young stallion in a black jacket with a mane, slicked-back with copious amounts of mane gel. Boss, however, noticed the colt walking by him: the colt from the security office. She put two and two together.
“Well, if it isn’t Rocker?” Boss said, smirking at the gang’s leader.
“You weren’t in class today,” said Books.
“Oh, don’t gimme that crap,” Rocker snorted. His compatriots took up poses that suggested boredom, yet failed because they were so forced.
Boss looked over Rocker. He was a young colt, on the cusp of stallionhood. Also, cocky as hell. Then her eyes fell on the other colt.
“So what are we up to today?” she asked. “Your buddies takin’ care of ya?” She looked back to Rocker, who, with his puffed-up chest and situationally good posture, was putting on an admirable display of toughness. “I’m guessing you put the kid up to taking supplies. Is that it?” Rocker didn’t say anything. “Some kind of initiation into your little gang, what’s it called...”
“The Stable Rollers,” Rocker said.
“Right, right...” Boss said in mock contemplation. “Wait, why am I talking to you?” She walked past them. “I’ve got better things to do.” She stopped. “And by the way...” Slowly, she turned to face them again. “...If you little snots have been pestering Lucky, then I should remind you about where we all stand in this little underground tin can. Just a thought. Anyway...” The Overmare resumed her uninterested walk down the corridor. “What were we talking about? Oh yeah.” She looked back at Books, who she made sure was following. “I’m going to pay Lemon Tart a visit later, and make sure that we don’t have a food problem.”
You probably know about why you’re down here. About the war with the zebras. The truth is that something went wrong. Somewhere, we all went wrong. I don’t know what it was. What these stables are, really, are... I don’t want to use the term ‘social experiment.’ That implies we’re manipulating ponies into doing bad things. This is more, well... trying to find something that works. Every stable has a different one. Yours is fairly simple...
She had to personally approve of everything. The teaching curriculum. The seed planting. Most pressingly, the music for the loudspeakers.
“We are a circle of pony friends...”
“Ughh...” she groaned. Note to self, she decided, when Chubby Chuckles makes a list of song suggestions, double-check them before the incessant tunes bore into your skull. She sat and listened as the music continued, before shaking her head. “Fucking Chubby...” she muttered.
There was, fortunately, one perk to being the Overmare: the office had a swivel chair. If she ever got bored of checking off items on the stack of papers on her desk (and she did get bored of it), she could always kill time by spinning in place.
The first order of business, however, was to mute the overly-cheery carol before it drove her to circles. A few strokes on her keyboard shut it off in her office, leaving her in a much more relaxing silence.
There were two stacks of paper on Boss’s desk, one completed and the other that still needed tending to. Such was the exciting life of Stable 51’s Overmare. To her right was an old computer terminal, green letters and icons blinking beneath a sheet of clear glass. To her left, some photographs: her younger brother Lucky Break, with his ruffled mane and bright blue eyes; herself as a filly with her mother, still smiling lovingly at her daughter after all these years; herself a little older with a handsome colt next to her, with a pristine white coat and a golden mane. Boss often suspected that was the color of the sun, but she could only guess that from pictures.
Behind her desk, a larger screen. With a few taps from her desk terminal and the stable’s cameras were at her command. Every last room in the stable was wired for constant surveillance. Boss’s eyes and ears. Everywhere. Always.
A simple command from the terminal and the screen displayed the hallway. Another command, and the atrium appeared. Not much was happening, save for Mop and Broom cleaning the place. She then went to look at the classrooms. Most of them were empty, save for one, where Books sat reading papers, making marks on some of them. Grading tests, she guessed.
Down in the orchard, a pair of mares bucked away at the trees. There weren’t very many, though – the recent blight had called for extensive culling. There were very few occasions that Boss ever found herself grateful for anything, but she realized that without the hydroponics system in place, a blight on the orchard like this would be a catastrophe. She counted the trees to be sure... Yes, she thought. There would be enough left to regrow.
She wasted less than half a minute looking at the nursery. As if the bright colors and amorphous crayon blobs that meant to pass as drawings weren’t gaudy enough, against the rusty gray of the walls and ceiling they just looked jarring.
The residence rooms interested her more. They could be either very boring or very entertaining. In one room a stallion knelt at his bed, praying to the goddesses, the princesses of old Equestria who controlled the sun and moon that the residents of the stable would never see. In another room a unicorn mare sat on her bed, a book floating in front of her. In yet another room a very bored-looking colt sat over a paper, lethargically chewing on the pencil he should have been using to write.
All of them were hers. The instructions left to her stated in no simple terms that each and every one of these ponies were under her care, to watch over, protect, and guide for however long they were in that stable.
She resented them. Sometimes the resentment was stronger, and at other times she nearly forgot. She did not enjoy her job or her life in the stable. Had she been offered any other life she may have gladly taken it, but this was her lot, and to an extent she took some pride in it. She commanded the attention of others well, though she at times had doubts as to the respect the other ponies afforded her. In any case, when she entered a room, they turned. When she spoke, they listened. When she gave a command, they obeyed.
She had a strong voice. A soprano, though she rarely utilized the upper extremes, there was an edge to her voice that cut over others. Sometimes when she was angry it sounded almost like a snarl or a bark, yet most often there was a clear sound to her voice that carried well, even in such unacoustic settings as the metal hallways.
For her appearance, she was not an ugly pony, but she had never been concerned with looking ‘pretty,’ as many other ponies were. She satisfied herself that she was clean and presentable. She kept her mane short and her posture tall. That was enough to keep them answering to her.
The cameras revealed little of interest. Her little exercise in voyeurism had thus far proved unfruitful. However, her eyes flicked to one of the little windows on the giant screen. A young stallion surreptitiously entered his room and looked around, before waving to someone off-screen. Another pony entered, this one a mare.
Oh, hello, thought Boss, enlarging the window and turning the volume up.
“Alright,” said the stallion, “nopony’s in here.”
The mare walked up and kissed him. Boss leaned back in her chair and watched, her head hoof stroking her chin.
The stallion walked over to the door and floated a key out of a pocket on his jumpsuit, locking it.
“There,” he said. “Now we’ve got some privacy.”
You’re adorable, Boss thought.
There was a faint rustling sound that stirred her from the show. She looked towards the vents – she could hear that sound, the echoing, shuffling sound. Quickly, she switched off the terminal.
“Lucky?” she called. “Is that you?”
More shuffling, before a voice called back. “Yes.”
Boss rolled her eyes and walked over to the wall, prying the grating off of the air vent.
“You know there are horrible bugs and stuff in there, right?” she asked as her brother came into view. “It’s not safe.”
“I know,” said Lucky. His right hoof was smaller than the left, stunted and shriveled since birth. “But I can beat em back with my thermos!”
Boss stepped out of the way and let her brother poke his head out of the vent. He had a bag with him, and the aforementioned thermos was strapped to his good leg, where most ponies would have their PipBuck. He hopped down to the ground, hitting it with a soft thud.
“So what’re you doing in here?” asked Boss. “Is Rocker giving you more trouble? What was he doing, anyway?”
“He got mad at me,” said Lucky. “I beat him at cards and he thought I cheated.”
“Did you?”
“No,” said Lucky, pouting a little as though offended at the question. “He’s just mad I won back my eight-ball. But he’s done now. He got bored and went back to his bike.”
Boss laughed dryly. “That fucking bike of his,” he said. “Well, sure, you can stay here as long as nopony starts ringing me with ‘Boss, your brother’s gone missing!’” She rolled her eyes and returned to her desk. Lucky, meanwhile, sat in the corner of the room and unpacked his bag, which contained a lunchbox and a comic book.
“I got my cutie mark today,” he said.
Boss leaned back over for a look. “Did you now?” Sure enough, it was bright on his flanks: a gold coin and a six-sided die. “Well, I’ll be.” She turned back to her desk and opened a drawer. “This is going to call for a party...” She whisked out two sheets of paper. “And an exam.”
“Exam?” Lucky asked.
“Nothing big,” said Boss. “Just a routine check to see what you’ll be doing when you’re older.”
Lucky took a sandwich out of his lunchbox started munching on it. Boss, meanwhile, turned back to her desk and started fiddling with the knobs on her PipBuck. “Books?” she asked.
“Yes?” answered back his voice.
“Lucky Break here got his cutie mark. We’ll have to arrange a CAT for later today.”
“Today, Boss?” he asked. “Isn’t that a bit soon?”
“Not really,” she said. “Best get the thing out of the way as soon as possible.”
“Understood,” said Books. “Actually, I have an opening at noon.”
“Works for me,” said Boss.
“Alright then. I’ll give Chubby a call. If that works out, we’ll do it at noon.”
“Great. Bye,” said Boss, clicking off the PipBuck’s radio. She turned back to Lucky, who appeared somewhat uneasy.
“I have to do a test?” he asked. “Today?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Boss. “It’s piss-easy as fuck because you literally can’t get anything wrong. It’s more of an examination.”
“That’s the same thing,” Lucky muttered dubiously.
“No,” said Boss. “We’re going to examine you, not test you. It’s not about what you’re know, it’s about what we can find out about you and... stick you into some position. It’s not something you study for. Not unless you know you’re getting a terrible job and want them to stick you somewhere else. Given that your cutie mark just screams ‘fun and games,’ I wouldn’t worry.”
There was an awkward silence as Boss went back to her administrative duties at her desk. Lucky sat there quietly, soon returning to his lunch, albeit much more slowly.
“Sis?” he asked at length.
“Uh-huh?” answered Boss, who had returned to her paperwork and was only half-paying attention to her brother.
“Why is it called a PipBuck and not a...” He paused. “PipColt?”
“Because Stable-Tec outsourced the development to deer,” she said, lazily flipping over a page. Her eyes went back to her brother, who had turned to his comic book, the cover of which depicted a bright red pegasus stallion punching out a zebra, beneath the title Ace Awesome. “I remember those,” she said, picking up a pencil. “Ace Awesome, the greatest pegasus soldier ever.”
“Yeah,” said Lucky. “He’s really cool.”
“He’s old wartime recruiting propaganda.”
“He’s still really cool.”
Boss paused to think on that. “I guess he is.”
There were some more minutes of silence as Lucky Break read his comic. When he was finished, he reached into his bag and pulled out another one, titled Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour.
“How many of those things you got?” she asked.
“This one’s really awesome,” said Lucky. “It’s like, way more serious and stuff...” Though this revelation deflated him somewhat. “They killed Chipper and Clipper.”
Boss looked up. “Chipper and...” she paused. “Those two goofy rookies that were always trying to get Ace to take pictures with them?”
“Uh-huh...” Lucky nodded.
“Damn,” said Boss. “That’s harsh. But they were kind of annoying.”
“I liked them.”
Boss shrugged, before setting down one more page. “I’m really not in the mood for this,” she sighed. Lucky got up from his corner and trotted up to the desk. He peered over the top and looked at the stack of loathsome paper.
“What’s all that?” he asked.
“It’s a bunch of boring stuff that I’ll be doing for the rest of my life,” Boss muttered. “Better hope that you get a better job.”
“But you’re the Overmare,” said Lucky. “That sounds like an awesome job.”
“Eh...” Boss gave an uneasy, ‘so-so’ gesture with her hoof. Lucky’s attention turned to the photographs.
“Who’s that?” he asked, gesturing at the picture of her and the colt. Boss reached out her hoof and slammed the photograph down out of his view. Lucky jumped back in shock, the sudden loud noise catching him off-guard.
“It’s no one,” said Boss. “He’s gone. Been long-gone since before I got this job.”
“Sorry...”
“Whatever,” she mumbled. “Idiot decided he’d been in here long enough...” Her voice trailed off. She stared at her hoof, still on the downturned photograph. “Then one day he just disappeared. Snuck right out the front door. Probably died as soon as he set hoof out there.”
Lucky Break looked at the other two photographs, settling on the picture with their mother.
“What was she like?”
“Who?”
“Mother.”
“Oh, uh...” Boss paused, looking back at the picture. The filly in the picture was cheery, her eyes closed as the mare above her smiled warmly down on her. Her mother’s features were soft, contrasting to the more ragged, rough-and-tumble appearance of the filly snuggled next to her. “She was nice.” She shrugged.
“And?”
Boss looked at her brother. His expression was open, and expectant, like a child just waiting to hear the next line of a particularly gripping bedtime story.
“And what?” asked Boss, a small sneer almost creeping across her face. “She was nice. What else is there to say?”
Lucky drew back a little, his expectant expression replaced by a narrow-eyed cringe.
“Look...” Boss sighed. “Why don’t you just... I dunno, look, I’m a bit busy. Why don’t you just go back to reading Ace Awesome?”
“Well, I finished it,” said Lucky. “Sort of. I don’t have the last issue of Finest Hour.”
“Well, head to the Library and read it there.”
“They don’t have it.”
Boss paused. “Well,” she decided. “I guess that’s that, then.”
“Yeah...” Lucky lowered his head. “I wish I knew how it ended, though.”
“Hmm.” Boss went back to her paperwork. The item at the top of the stack was Lesson Plans for New Gardeners, which detailed Lemon Tart’s curriculum for new ponies assigned to the agriculture department. After reading it, she signed her name at the bottom, signifying approval. She proceeded to sign more documents, including a petition for extended break time for the security staff (approved), Books’ suggestion to offer specialized lessons for interested and promising foals (approved), and Chubby Chuckles’ idea for a stable-wide ice cream social (rejected).
Once the pile was complete, she heaved a sigh and looked at the stack of papers. They never tell you how much reading the job takes, she thought to herself. Her job there complete for the time being, she stood up from the desk and started for the door.
“Sis?”
She stopped and looked back at Lucky. He was looking at her, shifty-eyed, but not really looking at her face.
“Is it my fault that mother died?”
Boss stood inches away from the door. She turned her head and looked at him, and was silent for a moment. Lucky sat there and traced some lines on the floor with his good hoof, not wanting to look at Boss’s cold expression.
“Don’t ask questions like that,” she mumbled, turning back to the door. “They’re pointless.”
We have collected everything. Every book, every magazine, every advertisement, or painting, or poem, or song, scientific study, spell, you name it – ever written that we’ve recorded. The entire history of pony achievement and art is here. We have compiled it into one computer database. We call it “The Library.” We even managed to acquire certain things that the Ministry of Image doesn’t like getting out. We’ll also continue to transmit new materials into the Library for as... well, as long as we’re able. I’m not very hopeful about our future. But you still have hopes. Please, take this. Learn from it. Here you’ll find the extent of all of our highest dreams and all our darkest fears. Please, learn. Find out where we went wrong. Learn from our mistakes.
Set near the atrium, the Library was something of Stable 51’s cultural center. At least it was for anyone that cared. In the room there was a central computer, and terminals lined the entire space, enough for anyone who pleased to come in and look up absolutely anything they wanted.
At this time of the day it was fairly vacant, save for a couple of colts in one corner drumming up naughty pictures of mares and giggling to themselves. When Boss entered the room, one of them tapped the other on the shoulder. The screen promptly switched to a page on different kinds of pillars and the two literally jumped out of their seats and stood at attention. Boss gave them a dismissive glance and waved them off, at which point they hesitantly turned back to the computer. Of course, they hadn’t been fast enough for Boss to miss their true purpose, but she didn’t really care. She just walked up to a nearby terminal and began typing.
“Hello!”
Oh, no...
Chubby Chuckles had a voice that sounded louder than it actually was. Combined with his bright yellow coat and inexplicably red nose, he could be a somewhat... overwhelming pony for some of the less-patient members of the stable.
“Nice to see the foals learning about architecture. We might need that when we head out of here.”
For a second, Boss forgot what she had been meaning to do. Her eyes shifted to look at his clownish face. She had to put up with him every day.
“When we head out of here?” she repeated.
“Well, er...” he fumbled, “we as in the stable. Sometime in the future. Not necessarily ‘us’ we. Even if it’s not in our lifetime. But someday.”
Someday, of course. But not for her. Boss remembered that when she was younger, the Overmare before her had sent some brave sucker out the front door to scout ahead. He’d never returned. He might’ve just smashed his PipBuck and run away, but most of the ponies simply assumed that he had died. Boss remembered that, how there had been a lot of talk when he left about what might happen. Then days passed, and then weeks, and then everypony had simply given it up for lost. They simply carried on with their usual stable lives, any dreams of leaving the stable a little bit dimmer than they had been before.
“So,” he continued, “what are you doing here?”
Boss looked back at the computer and made a few keystrokes before responding, “Looking up something.” Tap tap. “Lucky really likes those Ace Awesome comics, but doesn’t have the last one.”
The search yielded countless entries in the Ace Awesome comic series, which Boss scrolled down to, filling the screen with countless issues, spinoffs, and crossovers. She went back to the search bar and specified Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, which listed:
Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 1, by Kablam
Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 2, by Kablam
Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 3, by Kablam
Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 4, by Kablam
Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 5, by Kablam
Broad critical praise for ‘Ace Awesome’ new series, by Font
New mini-series will change the popular pegasus icon forever!, by Kablam
“We don’t have six,” she muttered. Chubby Chuckles walked up next to her, and examined the screen himself.
“Well,” he reasoned, “maybe it just wasn’t published. Maybe it wasn’t finished before the bombs fell.”
“Hmm...” Boss backed to the overall list of Ace Awesome comics. “Maybe...” she said. “But something doesn’t add up.” A few more keystrokes, and all the issues were listed in order of date published. “A-ha.” She took a step back. “The main Ace Awesome series was still going on, even alongside Finest Hour, and it was still releasing new issues for a while after that finished.”
“Eh … I never really liked those comics,” Chubby Chuckles said, giving an uneasy shrug. When Boss responded with a raised eyebrow, he continued, “I always felt like they were, well... glorifying violence.”
“Well, no shit,” said Boss. “It was meant to get the pegasi to fight in the war instead of sitting on clouds all day. Besides, what do you expect from a guy named Wham-Bam Kablam?” She opened a few of the comics published after Finest Hour stopped. Flipping through the virtual pages it seemed like the same old cheesy propaganda – there was Ace Awesome strutting his stuff on the pages, with his admiring marefriends (two of them!) and his fans Chipper and Clipper... “Well, this is interesting.”
“Hm?”
Boss leaned forward to look more closely at the screen, tapping her hoof against the point of interest.
“Seems Kablam stopped writing shortly after that, and the series was taken over by a new writer and artist.”
“Oh?” asked Chuckles. “What does that mean?”
“Well, probably nothing,” she said, returning to the search and looking up articles about Wham-Bam Kablam. “But one can speculate...”
‘Ace Awesome’ writer retires, steps down as head of AwesomeHouse Comics...
“I guess the last issue was never published,” she said, “and I think it might’ve had something to do with his retirement... Well, enough of that.” Boss turned to face Chubby Chuckles. “You want something?”
“Oh!” His face lit up in a beaming smile. “I just wanted to thank you for approving my song request. It’s nice to see someone who–”
“Actually, they’re terrible,” said Boss. “I only approved them because I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t care. I’ll have to be more diligent.”
Chubby Chuckles hung there mid-sentence, as Boss walked past him towards the door to the library. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the colts switching back to their pornography. Leaving the library, however, did not relieve Boss of her company.
“Actually,” called Chubby’s voice as he followed her. “There’s something I–”
“What?” she asked, turning sharply. The stallion took a step backwards.
“Just...” Chubby timidly drew out a sheet of paper with his mouth – Boss saw it was another form for her to sign.
“‘Game Night’?” she asked as she read the proposal, before looking up at him with annoyed disbelief. “I have to deal with delinquents and stolen inventory and all the stuff that Lemon Tart and Books and Staunch are hitting me with, and you’re coming up to me with a suggestion for ‘Game Night’?”
Chubby took a step back. “I thought it’d be something nice for the families with foals.” The Overmare’s stern stare didn’t change. “Hey, maybe if the foals had something productive to do, they wouldn’t turn to delinquency?”
Boss looked back at the form. “I’ll think about it,” she said, grabbing it with her hoof. The two stood there as she stuffed it into her jumpsuit, thinking about what they were going to do.
“Do you like your job, Chubby?” she asked.
“Do I...” He chuckled nervously.
“Do you like your job?” she repeated.
“Well...” he said. “Yes. I like working with foals. And I love making other ponies laugh. It’s the job I got, and I couldn’t be happier for it.” He smiled. “And I can’t think of anything more worthwhile than nurturing a young mind and teaching them and helping them to grow. Making them happy.” He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
Boss paused. “No reason,” she muttered. “Come on. Don’t want to be late for the exam.”
The Cutie mark Aptitude Test was a dull, but necessary part of stable life. When a foal got his or her cutie mark, there were two things that happened: a celebratory party, and a CAT. The purpose of the latter was to profile the foal and, taking into account his or her personality as well as their apparent talent, present them with what they had as options for their stable occupations.
Though as Boss had learned, ‘options’ was sometimes too charitable of a word.
She and Chubby stepped into the classroom, where Books was already waiting at his desk. Normally the furniture in the stables was all metal, yet in his classroom he had an oak desk. An old relic of his family’s when they first moved into the stable so many years ago, he said. Not that it’d fetch much of a price at an antique dealership. The desk was old and worn, with chips and scratches nicked into it. One rowdy delinquent had actually carved into the face of the desk, forever defacing it with a mark that would ironically outlive his own name.
“Glad you could make it,” said Books, smiling from the desk. There were two other desks beside his on either side, normally meant for the students.
Boss took her seat to his left, nearest the door, while Chubby took the desk on the right. She peered over the room. It had been many years since she was a student here. She had never liked the room, always feeling like a choking, cramped slog down a narrow, pre-defined path. Now she was sitting here again, as she did for every CAT.
“You know,” said Boss, “I think I can remember my own test.”
“So can I,” said Chubby. “I was so nervous.”
“I sat in that chair,” she said, pointing to the middle seat in the front row. “That exact seat. And you were there at that desk...” She looked at Books. “And the Overmare...” She ran a hoof over her own desk’s surface. “The Overmare sat here. And the mare to your right, she was... what was her name? She had all those curls in her mane and those bright purple eyes?”
“Blossom,” said Books.
“Blossom...” Boss repeated. “Right. I didn’t like her.”
The slow clatter of hooves called from the hallway. Their little subject was coming. Boss lazily watched the doorway until the foal of the hour arrived.
“Hello, Lucky,” said Books.
“Hi.”
“Now, we just want to let you know,” said Chubby, “that you have absolutely nothing to worry about. This isn’t really a test, just a little evaluation about where you’d be best placed.” He offered that smile that Boss imagined was supposed to be comforting. Maybe it was, for all she knew, but she never liked it. Lucky, however, took a deep breath and nodded.
“Well, then...” said Books, opening a file on his desk. “We’ll start with a simple word association game. Now, I am going to read a word off of this list, and you just tell me the first word that comes into your head. Ahem.” He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Wheel.”
Boss could remember her own test. She’d been given the same word association quiz. Her first word had been ‘Wheel.’
Forward, she had answered.
Lucky was hesitant to answer. He opened his mouth, but quickly closed it.
“No need to be shy,” said Books. “There’s no wrong answer.”
Lucky nodded. “Fortune,” he answered, giving a nervous smile.
Books resumed the list. “Play.”
Work, thought Boss.
“Win,” said Lucky.
“Coin,” Books read.
Economy, she thought. She had been trying to impress them with her vocabulary, but the nonreaction of her test-givers encouraged her to stick to more honest answers.
“Flip,” answered Lucky.
“Enemy.”
Threaten.
“Run,” said Lucky.
“Apple.”
Boss smirked. Head, she had answered. She remembered the pony named Blossom looked a little perplexed at that answer.
“Orange.”
Chubby tried to reign in a chuckle.
“Range.”
Firing, Boss had said.
“Home?” asked Lucky, a nervous smile on his face has he tried to promote his attempt at a joke. Chubby and Books smiled, but did not give themselves to any displays of overt amusement.
“Bull.”
Shit, thought Boss.
Lucky gave the more polite “eye” as his answer.
Books paused before the next word. “Mother.”
Lucky was silent. Boss remembered this as well. Books had paused just the same then as he had now, and she had answered, Gone.
And Lucky answered, “Love.”
Down at the bottom of the stable, on the same floor as the command center, was the stable’s orchard. Every stable had one, meant to feed the population. Blight aside, Boss was grateful for the hydroponics system that allowed them to grow food other than apples. She was also grateful that some wannabe gardener at the first day had snuck a bunch of seeds inside.
Now it was time to pay a visit, for two orders of business. First, look into how they were dealing with the apple blight. Second, to arrange for a cake for Lucky...
When she entered the orchard, the workers immediately dropped what they were doing and turned to attention.
“As you were,” said Boss, looking at the room. Most of the apple trees had been cut down, with new saplings planted. She’d never noticed before just how big the room was... “Where’s Lemon?”
“Right over here!” called a voice from the other end. Lemon Tart, the head of agriculture, trotted over. She always seemed to stick out, with her bright yellow coloring glaring against the usual dull grey of the stables. As foals she had always been terrible at hide-and-go-seek. Boss suspected those facts were related.
“Just wanted to check on a few things,” said Boss, stepping towards her. “We caught Books’s little thief.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, some snot in Rocker’s gang.” She shook her head. “Anyway, wanted check up on how things are going. We don’t have any shortages, do we?”
“Oh no,” said Lemon Tart, leading her away. “We’re just going to have to cut back on apples for a little while until we get the orchard healthy again. We still have plenty else.”
Lemon Tart led the Overmare through rooms lined with trays of vegetables and fruits in water. Some rooms were dedicated to small fruit-bearing trees, with the original contents having been moved. For example, with the library’s collection of every musical composition ever recorded, an archive of more entertainment recorders became redundant (some ponies, however, had lamented the loss of physical media).
“Lucky got his cutie mark,” said Boss. “Gave him the CAT and everything.”
“Oh?” asked Lemon Tart. “What are you going to have him do?”
“Most likely we’ll have him work in recreation,” said Boss. “He loves games. Especially since he seems to win a lot. So of course, we’re going to have a party, and that means cake...”
“Not a problem,” said Lemon Tart, leading her to the kitchens. “We don’t have a sugar shortage. And speaking of, there’s something I wanted to show you...”
She led Boss into the kitchen, wherein there were rows and rows of pies sitting on a table. Boss blinked, looking at Lemon Tart’s smiling expression.
“Excuse me?” asked Boss. “I come here to talk to you about a potential food shortage, and you’ve been using food to make dessert?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Lemon Tart yammered, trying to force a word in edgewise. “I got a good reason for this. Tomorrow at 1:59, we can ring the bell and call everyone to the atrium. And there we can give them out.”
“Tomorrow at one-fifty...” she looked down at her PipBuck; the day’s date was March 13th. She looked up at Lemon Tart. “Seriously?”
“Pi!”
Boss stood in silence and Lemon Tart beamed at her.
“Boss, we don’t have a food problem,” she reassured her. “We’re just going to have a few less apples for a little while. Nopony is going to starve. Honest.”
Boss relented. “Lemon Tart, can I trust you on that?”
“Yes, Boss,” she said.
“Good,” she said. “Because you know that ultimately, I’m responsible for all this, right? If ponies start starving, it’s my fault.”
Lemon Tart took a step back, an uneasy look crossing her face. Boss eyed her, before asking again: “Can I trust you?” Lemon Tart nodded quietly. “Good. Then I can consider the matter settled?” Lemon nodded again. “That’s done then.” She looked up at the clock. Two-fifteen. She groaned at sat down on a nearby table. “Some days seem to drag on forever,” she said. “I had to get up earlier than usual today because Staunch called me in. Let me tell you that I am not a morning pony.” She shook her head. “Lemon Tart,” she said. “Do you like your job?”
Lemon cleared her throat. “Well, yes,” she said.
“Why?” Boss pressed further. “What do you like about it?”
Lemon paused, looking around the room as though for inspiration. “Well...” She took a deep breath.
“I don’t like the stable. It’s a cold, colorless environment. Ponies aren’t meant to be cooped up, with no sunlight, no places to run and gallop.”
“And...” Boss waved her hoof, as though to solicit a better answer.
“The orchard’s different,” she continued. “Things can grow here. After looking at the cold grey metal halls here, it seems like the orchard and the agriculture is what makes me feel alive. Like I’m a gardener.” She smiled. “I always think that if I weren’t in the stable I’d have a garden. It’s... it’s kind of refreshing. You do honest work, and you’re rewarded for it. You put a seed into the ground. You tend to it and you care for it, and if you do it right it’ll grow into something beautiful. It’s the most worthwhile thing I can think of.”
Boss sat there, watching her, her expression totally blank. A knock came at the doorway, however, rousing them from their thoughts.
“Uhh... Overmare?” asked a timid colt standing in the doorway. “There’s somepony here for you.”
“Can’t it wait?” Boss asked.
He smiled painfully. “Well...”
“My son can’t go without food!” cried a mare’s voice.
“Oh boy...” Boss sighed.
A mare stepped into the room, the colt sidestepping to avoid her.
“You cut my son off from the food rations?” she asked.
“Well...” said Boss. “Yeah. I did. Assuming you’re talking about the colt I think you’re talking about and not someone else. But yeah.”
The mare sputtered. “But... but how? How can you do that?”
“Easy,” Boss said. “I’m the Overmare. So it’s very easy.”
The mare stared at her.
“Oh,” said Boss, “you mean why. Got it. Well, let me explain it to you.” She got up from her seat, standing tall. Seeing the Overmare in her full height made the other mare take a step backwards.
“Your son was stealing from the food storage. He’d taken a key and was breaking in. He’d been doing this, to my knowledge, for weeks, and it’s been quite a concern. And let me tell you something – when you steal, you don’t just steal from the storeroom. You steal from all of us,” she said. “And that’s what your son did. For three weeks he stole from all of us, and so for three weeks, he won’t get anything. I think that’s a fairly fitting punishment for the crime.”
The mare’s posture slacked. “I... I know that what he did was wrong. But please...” she pleaded. “Have some pity.”
Boss looked coldly at her, before turning. “All right,” she said, looking at the pies. She walked over to them and picked one up in her hoof. “Here,” she said, holding it out to her. “I’m not revoking the punishment, but I left a loophole. If you don’t want him to starve, you can share your food with him. You know, that, right?” She smiled. “Here. Take this. You can share it with him.”
The mare took a step forward, a relieved smile crossing her face. “Thank you, Overmare, thank you–” But when she reached out to take it, Boss pulled it away. The mare stumbled and fumbled as her hoof clutched at empty air. And Boss slipped into SATS.
Time froze, and the priceless, surprised expression on the mare’s face was frozen for Boss to admire, to frame in her mind for all posterity. She would have to remember it – it was too good to let go. Numbers flashed around her body; her head, legs, tail, main body. But there was only one number that interested Boss: the 97% flashing on that priceless expression on her face.
The pie slammed into her face, the filling splattering all over her front. When Boss took her hoof off and backed away, the tin stayed stuck on her face for a few seconds before slowly sliding off of her face and clanking to the floor. Lemon Tart stood with her mouth agape in utter silence.
“There,” said Boss. “Now you can just head back and he can lick it off.”
However, her chance to soak in the satisfaction of the moment was interrupted by a note that popped before her vision in the Eyes-Forward Sparkle. Overmare Required at Stable Entrance.
She grumbled, raising the PipBuck to her face and, with all the annoyances that came from turning knobs with her mouth, tuned in.
“Hey, Boss? This is Security Officer Staunch,” said the stallion’s voice. Boss left the kitchen and walked off down the hall. “We have something... unusual at the stable’s entrance. You should probably come here to see.”
“What is it?” asked Boss.
Security Officer Staunch, the charcoal-grey stallion, was already at the door to the stable, the impassive metal wall that served as the only thing between the peaceful world of the stable and the uncertain, unknown world of the outside. Books was there, as well, standing at the control panel.
“I think,” said Books, “that you should hear this.”
“Hello?” asked a voice over the intercom. “Is anyone there?” It was the voice of a young stallion. It was weak, pathetic, and pleading.
Boss looked from the speaker to Books to the security guards. “What is this?” she asked.
“Please...” said the voice. “If there’s anyone in there, please... let me in... I... I don’t want to die out here...”
“Twenty minutes ago, somepony just starts pounding on the door,” said Officer Staunch.
“It seems he figured out how to access the console outside,” said Books. “Enough to use the intercom.”
“I... I can’t die out here.”
“Okay...” said Boss. “So what, we let him in?”
“I’d advise against that, Boss,” said Staunch. He looked ominously up at the door. “We open that door, there’s no telling what gets in.”
Boss looked over at Books. The old stallion’s face said nothing, simply looking at her.
“And you?” asked Boss.
“I don’t make the calls,” said Books. “It’s your choice. But.” He looked up at the speaker. “In here there are a lot of ponies. Safe ones at that. And out there is one pony who is not safe. He’s scared. He doesn’t know if we’ll answer his plea. He doesn’t even know if we’re alive.” He turned his gaze back to the console. “It’s your responsibility.”
“The ponies in here are her responsibility,” said Staunch.
“Yes,” said Books. “They are.”
Boss stood there for a few seconds, considering her options. She could just do nothing, leave the door shut and just wait for it to get quiet. Nothing would happen, most likely. Just a dead body outside the front door to the stable that no one would ever see. Well, until the day came that they left. Then the ponies would probably go “Oh, that’s the guy that one of the Overmares left to die. What a dick.” Or she could let him in. That might be risky, and after all, everypony already knew she was a dick.
Yet if she let him die, there would always be a nagging uncertainty that she could never let go of. She had to know.
“Please...”
“Fuck it,” said Boss. “Security, send for backup.”
“Boss?” asked Staunch.
“Do it.”
Staunch raised the PipBuck to his mouth. “All available hooves, report to the front stable door.” Within a minute, a half-dozen ponies had come, all armed with pistols and batons.
“Books,” she looked to the elder stallion. “Let him in.”
Books nodded. With a few taps on the console, the mighty stable door opened like the maw of a lazy metal beast.
A lone stallion, dark cucumber-green, shambled in. Blood dripped profusely over the stable floor.
Boss had never seen a pony like him. He was disheveled, unkempt, cut, bruised, broken and scarred all over his body. Torn clothing and barding seemed like it was only stuck to his body by the dried blood covering him. A worn gun hung by his side, as did a large pouch. His mouth was open, gasping for air and, Boss would bet, water.
“I...” he sputtered, blinking at the light inside the stable. As he crossed the threshold he stumbled over nothing in particular, and collapsed just inside by the inner door.
“Shit,” said Boss.” “Books, shut the door. Staunch, call in a medical team, get this guy to the hospital. Search him, get him stabilized, and call me when he gets up. I want to know who this guy is.”
“Understood,” said Staunch, nodding as he talked into the PipBuck again. “Security to Medical, we have a pony at the Stable entrance, need medical dispatch immediately.”
The door closed as slowly as it had opened, and Boss, done with this detour in her daily routine, started back down the hall.
She stood outside the door to the medical bay, her hoof pawing impatiently on the floor in front of her. Their guest had almost immediately passed out after they’d wheeled him in. He’d lost a lot of blood, and they didn’t know if he’d make it. He’d better make it, she thought. She had questions for him. Who was he? Where was he from? Why was he here?
What was it like outside?
The door opened, and the nurse walked out. The nurse was a small-framed, boyish stallion with a short mane, grey despite his young age.
“Well?” asked Boss.
“He’s awake,” said the nurse, “but there isn’t much we can do. Nothing except make him comfortable. And pray, maybe.”
“I don’t think that works,” Boss quipped.
“Didn’t say it did.” The nurse stepped aside. “You wanted to see him?”
Boss nodded and went inside. Most of the beds were empty, save for one in the corner, where the dying guest lay, his breathing shallow. She approached the bedside.
“Hi,” she said.
The stallion turned his head to look at her. It was at this point that the Overmare realized just how young he was. His features were all smooth, unlined by age save for scars. She imagined there were worse and far less flattering injuries beneath his bedsheets.
“I’m the overmare of this stable,” she said.
“Thought so,” he said, running his eyes over her. “Thanks. I thought I was going to die out there.”
“Well, you’re probably going to die in here,” said Boss. “So, if that’s better, then you’re welcome.”
“It’s better.”
“You’re welcome,” said Boss, growing tired of small-talk.
“My belongings,” said the stallion. “Where are they?”
“They’re with security.”
The stallion nodded. “I needed to get it in here. Somewhere safe.”
“It?” asked Boss. “What is ‘it’?”
“It doesn’t matter to you,” said the stallion. “Just... keep it in here. Just for a while.”
“Slow down, please,” said Boss. “I’m not good at keeping up with delirium.”
The stallion gave a weak laugh. “Sorry,” he said.
“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”
“Emerald,” said the stallion. Boss raised an eyebrow. Certainly a more resplendent name than his coat implied.
“Hello, Emerald,” said Boss. “You are in Stable 51, designed to protect the ponies inside from the damage of a balefire megaspell. I am the Overmare of this stable.”
“Right, the stables,” said Emerald. “When this opened I was... I felt happy for the first time in six months. I didn’t know if it’d open.”
“Good for you,” said Boss. She leaned back and called, “nurse?”
“Yes?” asked the nurse, stepping into the room.
“Kindly get Chief Officer Staunch here, with all of our guest Emerald’s belongings,” she said. The nurse mumbled an affirmation and went on his way. “So, let’s talk about you,” said Boss, picking up the clipboard at the end of the bed. “How exactly does a pony show up, bleeding, at a stable door? Says here you’ve got gunshot wounds, slashing, your right foreleg’s been fractured several times, and... there’s an infection, some kind of poison we don’t know.”
“Bleak venom,” said Emerald. “Bastards cover their knives in it.”
“So there are other ponies out there?” asked Boss. “The surface is inhabitable.”
“Depends what you mean by ‘inhabitable,’” said Emerald.
Boss leaned over him, her eyes narrowed. “Try me.”
Emerald didn’t say anything. He lay there, just staring at the wall for so long that Boss wondered if he might have simply expired. But, at last, he spoke. “It’s bad,” he said. “Nothing grows and the ponies kill each other. They kill each other, or they hole up and let the rest of the world bleed.” He turned to her. “If you’ll take one piece of advice: stay in here.”
“Duly noted,” said Boss.
The security guard entered, carrying a bag. “Here’s all the stuff,” he said, plopping the bag on a nearby table. Boss turned and sorted through what was there. Most of the things didn’t surprise her. There was a canteen, some vials of liquid, a pack of bandages that on closer inspection turned out to be nearly used up, a compact shotgun, a small back of bottlecaps... Boss puzzled over that for a while – a letter, and, most curiously, a diamond.
The stone was as large as her entire hoof, a clear, multi-faceted gemstone. Light danced off of its faces, casting rainbow patterns into the viewer’s face. Yet it was not completely clear. Right in the center was a tiny pink flaw.
When she returned her attention to Emerald, she saw the pony lying, his head sunk into the pillow, staring forlornly at the gemstone.
“Keep it safe, please,” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone else in here, don’t let anyone take it.”
“Uh-huh,” said Boss. “Mind telling me what it is?”
“Just for six months...” said Emerald. “Just six months...”
“That isn’t an answer. Emerald...”
But Emerald wasn’t listening. He took one more look at the diamond, before looking at the ceiling. “Wish I could’ve gone home again...” He sighed.
“Well what is it?” There was a tap on her shoulder. “What?” She whirled around a very frightened-looking nurse.
“I’m sorry, Overmare,” he said. “But the patient needs his rest. I think it’s best you go now.”
Boss turned and walked towards the door. Before leaving, however, she stopped.
“Nurse?” she asked.
“Yes?” he replied.
“Do you like your job?” she asked.
“A lot of the times there isn’t a whole lot to ‘enjoy,’” the nurse admitted. “There’s some dirty work that needs to be done.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Well...” The nurse mulled over it. “I wouldn’t say that. It isn’t always a clean job. But I’m here for a purpose. I care for other ponies and I do the best job I can. Sometimes it hurts. It’s never pleasant to watch a pony die. And a lot of ponies die in here. But I guess it’s best if they die where there’s a pony there to watch over and take care of them. That, if nothing else, keeps me at peace. And even though ponies die in here, other ponies live. I like to think I’ve saved a lot of lives in here. And that makes it worth it.”
Boss looked at him for a moment. Then, she opened the door and left.
She didn’t head for her office immediately, however. Instead she went for the break room and sat down at one of the tables. She looked over at the busted jukebox in the corner. That would need to be repaired eventually. Something to add to the to-do list.
“So, you checked up on him?” asked a voice. Boss turned her head and saw Books standing in the doorway. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”
Boss shrugged and gestured to the seat across from her. Books took the invitation and walked over, taking the seat.
“That was a very kind thing you did,” he said.
“It wasn’t a kindness,” said Boss. “I wanted answers. They’ve turned out disappointing so far.”
“How is he?” he asked.
“Oh, he’s probably going to die,” she said dismissively. “Probably before he tells us anything useful.”
“Are we leaving the stable?” he asked.
Boss paused. “I’m going to call a meeting,” she said. “We’ll discuss it with the council.”
Books smiled. “Of course,” he said, nodding. “Anything else on your mind?”
She paused. “Books, I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Do you like your job?”
Books paused, that soft, kind smile still on his face. “Yes, I do. I couldn’t take the job as long as I have if I didn’t.”
“You have been at it a long time,” she admitted.
“Yes. I’m an old pony,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of ponies here grow up. And I’ve seen a lot of them die in my tenure. Some of them die before they should. That’s always sad. It’s my job to be a teacher and a guide. And usually that’s good. When a pony succeeds, I can take pride in that. But that means it hurts more when that doesn’t happen. I’ve watched you grow up, you know. You and your brother.”
“Disappointed?” Boss asked dryly.
Books chuckled. “But yes. I’m happy with my job. What about you? Do you like your job?”
Boss sat there, quiet. At length, she answered.
“No.”
All Stable 51 Board members are to report to the Overmare’s chambers for an unscheduled meeting.
So read the message that Boss relayed to her peers. The Stable Board had not been Boss’s idea, being the brainchild of some Overmare many years back who decided that the opinions of her peers were of some importance. The explanation was that some tasks were out of the Overmare’s sphere of expertise and as such the input of those directly involved was vital. It was also supposed to be some sort of democratic experiment.
Boss, however, figured that the Overmare had simply been lazy and wanted to delegate tasks she couldn’t be bothered with to others.
Emerald had died in the night. There was nothing the doctors or medical equipment could do. Worse yet, he’d told her very little of what she wanted to know. In the end she’d been more annoyed with his opaque non-answers than she had been upset about his death.
The arrival of a visitor brought along several implications. It could be reasonably assumed that the surface was not, in fact, an instant death sentence on any who walked there. It was also clear, however, that it was very dangerous. The pony had been carrying a weapon. He hadn’t told them who or what was trying to kill him. The stable probably was the safest place possible, but it seemed to her that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance out there. Maybe they could finally leave the stable.
Maybe she could finally leave the stable. Step into the outside, free from the confining metal walls of the stable and the low ceilings and the same corridors that she had memorized since she was a filly.
On the down to the command center, Boss had to pass the machine workshop. She heard the voice: an untrained but cutting tenor that belted out lyrics.
“Nothin’ ever grows in this rotten old hole
And everything is stunted and lost.”
She saw Rocker, building the only thing he had ever worked on in his life: a motorbike. The thing looked, quite frankly, like a complete heap of junk, cobbled together out of various bits of scrap metal he’d managed to get throughout his life. Boss doubted it would ever run.
“And nothin’ really rocks
And nothin’ really rolls
And nothin’s ever worth the cost!”
“So what exactly is the payoff here?” asked Boss. Rocker turned around, surprised at the Overmare’s sudden appearance. “You’re gonna bust out of here on your bike for all of twenty yards before it breaks down and we drag you back inside?”
“I’m not stupid,” said Rocker. “I know about the, about the dude that came in from outside.” He looked back at its bike. “We can live out there now.”
“Maybe,” said Boss. “I’ll have to discuss it. In the meantime, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. We don’t know what’s out there or if we can live there.”
“He could,” said Rocker.
“And he nearly bled to death walking in here,” said Boss. “And then he died. Kind of irritating.” She tilted her head and smiled condescendingly at Rocker, who appeared to be trying to look like he was ignoring her. “You’re so dead-set on that bike,” she continued. “You know, you’re not the first one who ever wanted to get out of here. I had a boyfriend, once. Thinking back on him he was pretty annoying. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in a hole in the ground, he says. Oh, we should go out and fucking run–”
“You had a boyfriend?” Rocker cut her off. Boss immediately drew back her hoof and smacked him across the face, and he sputtered and lifted a hoof to the red mark on his cheek.
She stared coldly at his shocked expression. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Boss entered the command center, filled with the bustle of ponies going about their business. She turned left into the main audience chamber. In the room there was a large table in the middle, where her council sat. Books, in charge of education, had his seat, along with Chubby Chuckles, who was in charge of foal-rearing. There was Lemon Tart, the mare in charge of agriculture, and Officer Staunch, head of security. Circuit, head of maintenance, slouched in her seat – she had been listless of late.
And, Boss smiled softly to herself as she looked at it, her Overmare seat off in the corner.
Her council looked up at her, as she entered. Officer Staunch stood at attention, though the others did not observe such a rigid formality. The others just sat in more attentive positions, save for the ever-slouching Circuit. Boss expected as much. Staunch was fiercely loyal, but she knew that although the others respected her authority, they did not “like” her. Or at least, she suspected they did not. Chubby made a point of trying to be friendly with everypony, but that might have been more out of a force of habit than anything. As for Books, Boss was never sure of him.
“So, you might’ve noticed we got a new body today,” said Boss, advancing towards her seat, while Chubby and Lemon Tart squirmed in theirs. She walked up to her seat and sat down, pulling a lever. The machinery hummed as she rose, the Overmare’s seat rising like a pulpit, like a sort of nest for her to sit on high. It was the ultimate symbol of her authority over the entire stable. On the sides of the seat were two large miniguns. She often suspected they were more for show than anything else, though – she had never gotten the chance to fire them. Circuits swore that they still worked, though.
“So that tells us a few things. One...” She leaned forward in her desk. “The outside.”
“What about it?” asked Staunch. The others looked at him. “We saw what happened to him. It’s not safe out there.”
“Safety is one question,” said Circuits. “But the simple fact that it’s apparently possible to live out there at all? That’s a pretty big deal. We were never meant to stay in here forever.”
Chubby Chuckles raised a timid hoof.
“Yes, Chubby?” asked Boss.
“Well,” he said, “I’m not sure if I’m really one to talk about this. I’m just the nursery-stallion. But, well... the pony died. I don’t want anyone to be at risk.”
“We already are at risk,” said Staunch. “Someone was after him. And now that we let him in, who’s to say that whatever was after him won’t–”
“Are you questioning my judgment, Officer Staunch?” asked Boss, staring down at him from her seat. The security officer backed down instantly.
“No, Overmare,” he said. “I just feel, in my capacity as an advisor, that we don’t subject the ponies of this stable to any more risk.” He swallowed, a little confidence renewed. “Furthermore, I think the pony wanted us to just stay in here.”
“For six months, at least,” said Books.
“Staunch, if you’d be so good as to show them what our unexpected guest brought with him,” said Boss. It wasn’t a question. Staunch placed the diamond on the table. Books immediately took it and began inspecting it. “I think whoever tried to kill this pony wanted it.”
“Well that’s easy,” said Circuits. “If they come after us we just give it–”
“No,” said Boss, cutting her off. The entire council looked at her. “A pony died trying to make sure that was safe. He trusted it to my care, and I’m going to make good on that.” Books leaned back in his seat. Boss wondered if that was a show of approval. “Furthermore, we don’t know what it is, exactly. I want to know what it is, and why he thought it was important enough to protect with his life.”
“If we do leave the stable,” said Lemon Tart, “I think we should be able to sustain ourselves for a time. We have plenty of food, and if there’s any arable land we could start farming.”
“And what if there isn’t?” asked Staunch.
“Well,” said Lemon Tart, “nopony said we’d have to abandon the stable. We could still use it as a base of operations.”
“First we have to determine if it is inhabitable,” said Boss. “Nevermind hospitable.”
“Well...” said Chubby Chuckles. “What do we do?”
Boss looked over them, thinking. “We send a few ponies out the front door. They’ll explore what’s out there and then report back.”
“Well, who do we send?” asked Lemon Tart.
“Rocker might be a good choice,” said Books. “He’s been wanting to leave the stable his entire life. If we granted him the chance to make that happen, I’m sure he’d gratefully take it.”
“More likely he’d run away and never come back,” said Staunch.
“We could keep him in line, I think,” said Boss. “The bike. He loves that bike more than anything. If he can’t leave without it, I know he’ll come back.”
“That’s a lot to stake on sentimentality,” said Circuits. She looked at Staunch. “Why not some of the security staff? They have training with weapons and can protect themselves if there are dangers.”
“And leave the stable understaffed?” asked Staunch.
“If anything, I think security is overstaffed,” opined Chubby Chuckles.
“Why don’t you go, Chubby?” asked Staunch. “You don’t really do anything useful here.”
“Leave him alone, Staunch!” said Lemon Tart.
“Will all of you shut up?” Boss hissed. Her voice cut over them like a knife, silencing them in a hush. They looked up at her, even Circuits seemed affected. Only Books remained unfazed.
“What is your decision?” he asked, in his ever calm voice.
Boss stood and looked over them. “I will go,” she said. --
Footnote: You have created a new character!
Name: Boss The Overmare of Stable 51. Imposing, but not very tough, she is a stern leader who is able to get other ponies to listen to her.
You have selected the following Traits: Skilled: You have spent more time honing your skills. You gain +5 to all skills, and you get +2 skill points per level! However, you do not gain as many special abilities, so your perk rate is reduced from one every level to one every two levels. Claustrophobia: A lifetime of being cooped up in the stable does not suit you, and enclosed spaces make you uncomfortable. When outdoors you gain a +1 bonus to all SPECIAL stats. However, when indoors you take a -1 penalty.
You have selected the following Tag skills: Guns - 33% Speech - 41% Science - 41%
Boss looked back at the stable. The cheery expression on Chubby Chuckles’ face bored into her skull even as the door closed on the peppy tune.
“I hate him,” said Boss, when the door was finally closed. “I really, seriously do.”
There was a grunt of affirmation, though Boss didn’t know which pony it was, nor did she care.
Two ponies stepped with her out into the dark caves outside the stable entrance. One of them was Officer Staunch. The other was another security officer named Fixit. He was a short, stocky earth pony. A pair of small glasses sat awkwardly on his face, as though they didn’t quite fit him properly, and he was perhaps better at fixing and cleaning guns than he was at firing them. Boss reasoned that he was smarter than Staunch, though, and that had plenty of uses. After all, Fixit spent more time in the library, rather than the firing range.
“Light a flare,” she ordered.
There was a snap and hissing sound, and the cave around them lit up; dank, dark, and rocky, as expected. A lit flare floated in front of Staunch, as he and Fixit looked around, adjusting his glasses with a hoof.
There was a squeak and a hiss as a small cave rat backed away from Boss, its teeth barred threateningly. It lept at Boss, sinking its teeth into her leg. Boss gave a grunt of pain and raised her hoof. The rat clung, but Boss whapped it against the floor and it fell off, limp.
“First order of business if we move everyone out,” she muttered. The jumpsuit’s sleeve had kept her skin protected and unbroken, though the bite still stung. “Pest control.”
Boss looked around. There was the terminal that Emerald had used to contact them, stained with his blood. A few feet away lay a skeleton in a Stable 51 jumpsuit.
“Well, well...” Boss said, walking over to it and kneeling down. “Looks like the last brave adventurer didn’t get very far.” She sorted through the pockets of the jumpsuit, finding a knife and a box of armor-piercing bullets, still in good condition despite the age.
“What do you think got him?” asked Fixit.
Boss paused and looked around. Little red blips were appearing on her Eyes-Forward Sparkle, mainly off in the tunnels to the side.
“We have to be careful in here,” she said. “Rats might not be the worst thing we come across.” A little fidgeting with the PipBuck brought up the map display, showing a clear way out of the cave. “This way,” she said. “We can—”
The Text Incoming Transmission flashed in front of her eyes. A little more fidgeting with her PipBuck, and music filled her ears.
“Put on your Sunday clothes, we're gonna ride through town
In one of those new horsedrawn open cars...”
Boss just stood and thought about how much she really hated Chubby Chuckles.
Chapter 2
Taking On the World
“Boss?” asked Staunch. “You okay?”
Boss had come to a standstill at the mouth of the cave. In front of her bloomed the floor of the canyon. She’d known the world was bigger than her stable, of course, but this sense of space just completely overwhelmed her. The morning air was cool and still, though the sky was gray with clouds. She stared at the stretch of land before her, the river at the bottom flowing through as high canyon walls towered over her. For the first time in her life, she felt... small. Dwarfed by the enormity of the world outside of her stable. And all she wanted to do at that moment was run. Run as fast and far as she could over the canyon floor, until she couldn’t run any more.
“Boss?” asked Staunch.
“Huh?” she asked, jarred from her thoughts.
“You okay?” he repeated.
“You seem kind of...” mumbled Fixit, fumbling over the words. “Like you just spaced.”
“I’m fine, shut up,” she said, shaking her head. She looked upwards to the top of the canyon. “We’ll need to find a way up,” she said. “Look for a path and start climbing.”
Fie on justice!
Fie on goodness!
Fie! Fie! Fie! Fie! FIEEEEE!”
She hadn’t seen a pony out here yet, but the PipBuck was picking up a radio signal. Boss had to admit to herself that she hadn’t seen it coming. However, after the song had finished, there was more to the broadcast.
“Hellooooo everypony,” announced the voice. “Good day from the Voice of Truth, back after a short hiatus because fuck you, Enclave, you do not own my airwaves. Hehe...” the voice chuckled. “I love that song. Don’t you?”
It wasn’t long before they found a path running up the wall of the canyon. It was long, but not steep, and proved only moderately taxing for Boss and Fixit. Staunch managed to keep up a brisk pace, soldiering on ahead of them. About three-quarters of the way to the top, Boss stopped and looked out. The gorge was wide, with a snaking river running through the floor, that had no doubt carved this canyon out over the ages. And off to the side was a massive stone spire.
“Galloping Gorge,” she said. “Kind of funny. Been right outside our front door all this time and we’ve never seen it until now.”
“Now, a word of friendly advice,” said the Voice of Truth over the radio. “Folks from the Law are gonna be doing their rounds shortly, so here’s the thing: don’t stand next to anyone they don’t like. Especially if the Righteous Brothers are there. If you happen to actually be one of the folks they don’t like, I suggest you start running. Just take a map, look at which direction River is in, and run the other way.”
There was something Boss immediately disliked about the Voice of Truth. It was a stallion’s voice, and she couldn’t help but imagine some lazy ham operator reclining in a seat that wasn’t built for the purpose, his head pointed at the ceiling and lazily rattling off whatever ‘witty’ thought occurred to him.
“River?” asked Staunch. “As in ‘a river’ or ‘a place called River’?”
“Maybe it’s a town?” suggested Fixit. He looked down into the gorge. “Or maybe this river? Maybe it’s the only water nearby.”
“Doubt it,” said Boss. “There’s nopony here that we can see. Nopony that you’d need to run away from.” She paused. “From the sound of it, it’s a place where there are ponies. It might be a town.”
“So then there are settlements, then?” asked Fixit.
“Possibly...”
When they finally reached the top of the canyon, Boss took another look. The canyon had seemed big from the bottom, but at the top, even that seemed small compared to the further expanse. In a way, the wide open space nearly scared her. She had simply never encountered anything that big before.
But in another way, it was...
“Boss?” asked Staunch.
“Huh?” she responded. “What is it?”
“Nothing, I’d just... almost looked like you were gonna smile.”
By then, the already grey light of day had dimmed considerably, and they could scarcely see. There was a rundown wooden house, long since abandoned by whoever had lived there. Boss didn’t know if the original inhabitants had died or had simply run away, but she guessed it didn’t matter. What did matter was that they’d left the place a mess. There were broken windows, a rotten and faded couch, a tattered bookcase, and a picture frame that had fallen face-down onto the floor and shattered.
Boss walked to the picture frame and lifted it. In there was a photograph of a smiling filly next to... She couldn’t make it out. The picture had faded.
“Spooky,” said Fixit. “It’s like a museum in here. ‘cept one of those boring ones they have over by landmarks that nopony actually visits. Like lighthouses.”
Boss moved to the bookcase and ran her hoof over the contents. The spines had fallen off, worn from use or rot, illegible from the passage of time. She dared not remove one, lest it crumble into dust. Sighing, she allowed herself to recline on the grody old sofa. It’d been a fairly long trek up the side of the canyon, and the inside of a house seemed as good a place to catch a breather as any. As she unscrewed the cap from her trusty Stable 51 canteen, she wondered how long it’d last.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Fixit. “Does it look inhabitable?”
“We haven’t choked to death yet,” said Boss, shrugging. “We could carve out an existence here in the gorge, maybe.”
“So that’s it, then?” asked Fixit.
“Hey!” called Staunch. Boss and Fixit looked up as he emerged from the hallway, beaming fit to burst his face. “Looks like they didn’t clean out the fridge!”
“Please don’t elaborate,” Boss groaned. But then Staunch floated two bottles in front of him. Boss narrowed her eyes. “Is that...”
Staunch trotted up to them, bringing the bottles closer. Moonbeam Cream Soda.
“You bet it is,” Staunch said.
“No way,” Boss said, grabbing one of them. “I used to love this stuff as a filly.”
“Until we ran out,” said Fixit.
“My fault, actually,” said Boss. “When I became Overmare, there was just one left. I...” she laughed, leaning back. “The first thing I did was drink the last one.” She looked at the design on the bottle, displaying the Mare in the Moon, and smiled. “Crazy,” she said. “Running into this after all this time.”
“Well,” said Staunch, holding up his bottle “why not pack one of them, and pop this one open to celebrate?”
“I’d be up for that,” said Fixit.
Boss nodded, and there was a high-pitched hissing noise as Staunch twisted the cap off. He passed the bottle to her, tossing the bottle cap to the floor with a clink. Boss took the first sip, closing her eyes and savoring the vanilla taste she hadn’t had in years.
Afterwards, she passed the bottle to Fixit, who took a drink for himself, before passing back to Staunch. Boss, however, turned her attention to the...
“Bottle caps,” she said.
“Sorry?” asked Fixit.
“Emerald had bottle caps with him when he walked into the stable,” said Boss. “He had a shotgun, bandages—survival stuff that you’d expect, and that diamond, but...” She shook her head. “Why would a pony have bottle caps?”
“Maybe he collected them?” Staunch suggested. The other two looked at him with dubious expressions. “I dunno. I mean, when I was a foal I liked to collect knick-knacks. Like I’d keep my toys in their boxes when I wasn’t playing with them.”
“Hmm,” mused Boss. She got up from the sofa and bent down to examine the bottle cap. “Maybe. Seems a strange thing to hold onto in his condition. In any case, we should save the bottle and the cap. They might be useful.” She looked at her canteen. “We could store more water in these when the soda runs out. For now...” She looked at the window. They were in the dark of night now, the dark grey clouds faded to black. Soon, only the lights from their PipBucks illuminated the house. “We should stay here. Tomorrow we can decide whether to venture onward or return to the stable.” She leaned back, smirking. “I get the couch.”
“Hellooo.”
Boss hadn’t turned the radio on her PipBuck off, and in what hoped was merely the early morning was treated to a stallion’s voice. It was certainly a nice voice. In a way it almost made her sleep easier.
“If you’re ever in Oasis and feeling sore, or lonely, or just want some fun, just stop in and see Sugar Daddy. That’s me. I offer a variety of services, including massages...”
Then the voice stopped. Boss opened one eye and looked at her PipBuck suspiciously.
“Um...” the voice continued. “I’ve got a very nice butt...”
Boss sat up. The early morning’s light in the windows was dim, and her companions were still asleep.
“Give me that!” she heard a muffled voice say, before it continued. “That’s right, ponies. Come to Oasis and meet Sugar Daddy! Mares, stallions, aaaall are welcome! Reasonable prices for a wonderful time you won’t forget or regret. Sugar Daddy: he’s got the touch!”
Yesterday: a pony walked into stable 51 with something he died to keep safe. Today: Boss was in an abandoned house listening to a radio advertisement for... for...
She shook her head as another message came on.
“Gooooooooood morning!” the Voice of Truth chimed. “And now for a travel advisory: Stay away from Galloping Gorge.”
Boss froze.
“Apparently there’ve been raiders spotted in the area. And I’m not talking Bang Gangers. I’m talking Tox. You know... Tox. So unless you have a very compelling twelve-step program to offer, which you don’t because those are shit, you should just stay away. That’s all for now!”
The radio clicked off. Boss looked to her security officers. Staunch was lying down in the corner, while Fixit had propped himself up against the wall and the bookcase. “Boys?” she asked. “Boys!” The guards stirred as they woke up. “Time to get up. We might have a problem.”
“Whadizzit?” Staunch slurred.
“Voice on the radio says we might have company, and I didn’t put any twelve-step programs on my PipBuck.”
“Huh?” asked Fixit.
Boss shook her head. “We got to move.”
There was a soft thud, like the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board.
“Moooooove?” crooned a soft, high voice. A pony stepped out of the doorway—a unicorn stallion, pale and wide-eyed. He looked at the group with a tilted head. “Where are we going, I wonder?”
Boss saw a little red tick her Eyes-Forward Sparkle. Bad sign. She looked at the unicorn, her eyes drawn to his front legs, dotted up and down with sickly red marks. Staunch’s horn glowed, but the new unicorn stepped towards, drawing a knife.
“Careful!” he said. “Guns, guns guns guns guns guns guns guns...” he muttered. “Don’t take out any guns. It’s my house, and I set a no guns rule in my house.” The knife floated by his ear, spinning. “No guns. Any of you draws a gun, heheh...” The knife floated by his throat in a slow slitting motion.
“Don’t try anything funny,” Boss hissed to Staunch.
“It’s three against one,” whispered Staunch, “we can take him.”
“Take me?” asked the unicorn. “Maybe maybe... Maybe I take one of you.” He pointed his knife at each of them. “I’m very good with this... One little gun moves and I think I could have this knife in your throat first. Very fast. Very, very fast...” He pointed at her. “You in charge, yes? One gun moves and the knife...” The knife whipped in front of his face faster than she could blink... “Is in your throat.”
Boss looked to her partners, as if to say “don’t do anything stupid.” True, the three of them could easily take him down, but that’d be a small comfort to her if she ended up dead as a result. She did, however, notice that apart from that one knife, the raider appeared to have nothing. She looked back at the unicorn, and past him to the other end of the room, and she got an idea.
“So... Good with the knife, huh?”
The unicorn smiled, the blade before his face. Boss need not have asked for her own information—his cutie mark was a knife, dripping with a green liquid. Poison, she figured. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, licking the edge. A cut opened on his tongue and the blood dripped down the knife and onto the floor. Boss wasn’t a squeamish pony, but she squirmed at the sight. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see her comrades making similar unsettled displays.
“Very good...” he whispered.
“For the record, I vote for staying in the stable,” muttered Fixit.
“I’ll bet you’re not that good,” said Boss. The stranger’s smile dropped, and his wide eyes narrowed into a scowl as he peered at her. “I’ll bet you can’t hit that knothole,” she said, pointing at a darkened circle in the wall down the hall.
He looked over his shoulder at the target in question, and then back at Boss. “Easy.”
“Take five steps away from it,” said Boss. “If you can hit that I’ll be impressed.”
The pony smirked and turned around. He took five steps back, and then in a flash his knife was embedded in the knothole. And not on his person.
In an instant Staunch had his gun drawn and had tackled him to the floor. The mad pony shrieked as the security guard pressed a gun to his head. Fixit, meanwhile, ran over to the knife and yanked it out of the wall, dropping it to the floor and putting his hoof on the flat edge.
“You tricky liar!” he hissed.
“No,” said Boss, sauntering past him. She stopped in front of the knothole and examined the clear cut in the middle, right where the knife had gone in. “I am actually impressed. Now, I get to ask questions. Question one, you one of the Tox?”
Despite his predicament, the captive was still smiling and wide-eyed. “Tick-Tox,” he giggled. “Like clocks.”
“He’s got syringe marks all over his legs,” said Fixit. “He’s been sticking himself with Goddess-only-knows-what.”
“My house now,” said Boss. “And new rule—no batshit talk. Question two: how many of you are there? And for that matter, how many here?”
The raider giggled. “Birds of a feather... don’t always flock together, but we fly, oh, we fly.”
“Rule broken, but good idea,” said Boss. “Staunch, throw him into the gorge.”
He giggled like a maniac all the way to the bottom. At least, Boss assumed that. Eventually the raider’s voice trailed off, and not only could she not hear him, but she couldn’t see him. She imagined there was a brand new red smear on the floor of the gorge.
“We just murdered a dude,” said Fixit.
“No,” Boss corrected. “Staunch threw him off of a cliff. You didn’t do anything.”
Fixit looked like he was going to follow up on that, but at a glance from Staunch he changed the subject. “Well,” he said, a little more fidgety than he had been before. “The air doesn’t choke you to death after five minutes. Is that all we needed?”
Clearly the wasteland outside was livable, Boss understood. But their immediate neighbors did not appear to be friendly ones.
“More or less,” she said.
“Alright,” said Fixit. “Well, I vote we head back to the stable.”
“What?” asked Staunch.
“Well, given that the ponies out here appear to be completely out of their minds...”
“That won’t do,” said Boss. The others fell silent as she turned to face them. “Everyone in the stable has probably figured out that leaving the stable isn’t immediate suicide. More than that, we already have folks like Rocker who want to move out, and this is just going to give them more incentive to get louder.” She narrowed her eyes. “There’s going to be a schism if we try to stay shut in.”
The two looked at her silently, as though afraid to speak up. Then, after a pause, Staunch cleared his throat.
“What next, Boss?” he asked.
“We find a settlement,” she said. “See if we can secure some kind of relationship. Maybe we open up trade, maybe we get someone to help us start our own town here by the gorge. We get more information, and then we can make a plan for integrating. While we’re at it, we also try to find something out about that diamond. Or failing all that, we have a very good reason for staying inside.”
“I guess psycho-ponies with knives isn’t a good enough reason,” mumbled Fixit. “So then, what direction do we head in?”
Boss raised her hoof to view the map on her PipBuck. Luckily for her, the Eyes-Forward Sparkle came with its own built-in compass. Unfortunately, the map didn’t have any worthwhile markers on it. However, Boss could reasonably assume it’d be best to veer somewhere other than the north—the frozen wastes up there were unlikely to welcome the stable dwellers, as unused to the elements as they were.
“We should head west, towards the coast,” said Boss. “We should veer towards Vanhoover. That was a large port city—if there are ponies living anywhere, they’ll be there. First order of business if we find anyone, though, should be to get a more current map.”
The others nodded in agreement. She expected that much from Staunch the yes-stallion, but Fixit’s tacit approval interested her more. However, their plans were interrupted by a noise from inside the house.
“Stinger?” called a mare’s voice. “Stiiiiinger?”
“What?” asked Staunch.
“I think...” Fixit pointed over the edge of the gorge. “That his friends have arrived.”
Boss motioned for them to follow her as she approached the house. She walked slowly, her knees bent and her head held low.
She knew that these ponies were dangerous, and if they were going to leave the stable, there could be trouble. Even if they didn’t leave the stable, how long would it be before these “Tox” came knocking at the stable door?
“Dude,” said a stallion’s voice. “He must’ve, like, skipped or something. Maybe he passed out.”
“Stinger?” repeated the mare’s voice.
Boss quietly poked her head up to look through the broken window. There was one pony inside; a short stallion, slumped on the couch, all four of his hooves working their way around what appeared to be a giant bong.
“Where is he?” growled the mare’s voice as she stepped into view. She was tall, lanky, and a shotgun floated by her side, coated in the same pale blue aura as her horn. “He was supposed to be here.”
“Hey, I dunno,” said the stallion, before he put his mouth to the bong and took a deep breath from it. After what must’ve been a full five seconds, he lowered the bong and leaned back against the couch, smoke billowing from his mouth as he sat there with a dopey, satisfied grin.
“You blow that thing like a cock.”
“Then, well, color me fucking faggy,” he said, followed by a giggle.
Boss couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. These “Tox” were... a gang of stoners?
“Hey,” said the stallion. “Hey, pony in the window. Cool...” Boss started as the mare turned her attention on them. Boss’s mind raced and she said the only thing that came to mind.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” said the stallion. “You seen our friend Stinger? He was, like, supposed to meet us here and now we’re here and it’s like he’s totally late.”
Clearly the stoner wasn’t a threat. His friend with a shotgun, however, was more concerning. She eyed Boss suspiciously, the shotgun bobbing by her side. Her movements were slow, deliberate... the ever-present awareness that seems to accompany paranoia was painted on her face. Boss had a pretty good idea of who Stinger was, and faced with the stallion’s question she had no choice but to answer honestly.
“He went to get some air.”
“Aw, right, dude,” he said, before returning to his bong. The mare, however, appeared unsatisfied.
“I don’t think I know you,” she said, peering at the window.
“Oh, I’m from here,” said Boss, her eyes carefully following the shotgun, which was rising to an uncomfortable level...
Then she heard a dull clicking sound, and something flew past her ear. Before she heard Staunch shout “Get down!”, she saw the grenade hit the floor. Both of the raiders stared at it, wide-eyed, and Boss could have sworn in the instant she ducked behind the wall that she saw the pony on the couch move to shield his bong.
As the explosion blew off behind her, the loud blast sent her ears ringing. All three of them threw their hooves over their ears, and she glared at Staunch.
“You brought a frag grenade?” asked Fixit.
“I brought two.”
“Woo! My bong is safe!” shouted the voice inside, with a distinct tone of relief.
Boss poked her head over the window again. The room was now full of floating dust, but as it settled she could make out the two ponies inside. The mare was dead, and looking about as good as a pony could expect to look after taking that much shrapnel, that close. The stallion, however, seemed miraculously alive... though not for much longer, Boss thought. He was bleeding profusely, yet seemed completely unconcerned as he went back to smoking his bong.
“So, any more of you?” asked Boss.
“Nah,” said the bong pony. “Just me and Chem and Stinger. You said he was going for some air?”
“Yeah,” said Boss.
“Then it’s just me,” he said, looking at the bloody mess on the floor.
“You, uh...” Boss said. “You okay there?”
The raider gave a laugh that sounded almost like a fart. “Aw, dude, I’m so high I don’t feel a thing.”
“I see...” Boss was about to turn away, when she remembered another question. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to give us directions to Oasis, would you?”
He snorted derisively. “Dude, there ain’t anything in Oasis except... sheet metal and stuff. And a well.”
“Directions, please.”
He shrugged and waved a hoof in a direction vaguely southwest. “Over there, I think.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning back to her companions. “Let’s leave him to bleed to death in peace.”
“Hey, everyone. The Voice of Truth here, and I’ve been thinking: You know, before the war, we had this very nice matriarchal society.”
Boss listened to the continuing broadcasts on her PipBuck. She quickly realized that the Voice of Truth was one that certainly liked to talk a lot.
“Ponies got along, for the most part. We didn’t have widespread crime or poverty or any of that nasty stuff. Sure, you’d occasionally have a guy who was a massive jackass, but that was about it. But now in the Wasteland, the system, if you can call it that, is very patriarchal. To put it simply: guns are dicks. Everyone wants to have the gun that’s bigger and better than everyone else’s gun. And so the entire struggle for survival out here is one big dick-waving contest. And if you have a sawed-off shotgun, that means you’re circumcised.”
The gorge had shrunk behind them, leaving a massive expanse of dirt and rocks ahead. The current plan was to take the stoner’s direction and look for Oasis, or whatever town came along the way.
“And now for the weather. Still cloudy. Probably gonna be overcast for the rest of the week, with slight rainfall whenever the Enclave feels like it.”
Annoying asshole, thought Boss, turning the dial on her PipBuck. Let’s try a different station.
“Hello, Wasteland, you know that old saying ‘No news is good news?’” asked the voice of yet another stallion. “Well, whoever said that was lying, because you won’t believe how good this news is: Red Eye is now more of a ‘Dead’ Eye. But that’s not all—it turns out that Colonel Autumn Leaf is dead, too! Guess that’s two uuuuugly birds with one stone. And we all know who to thank for that! You guessed it, the Stable Dweller! The good fight just got better.”
“Seriously, though,” said Fixit, “why did you bring grenades?”
“We’ve had those things sitting in the armory for two hundred years,” said Staunch. “We weren’t using them in there, and I thought, well, why not?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Now with due apologies to my regular listeners, I have to give a big warm welcome to all my new listeners up northwest! If you’ve never heard me before, I’m DJ Pon-3, speaking to you lovely ponies via connection from Vanhoover Tower! I can thank the Stable Dweller for that, too. And I’m here to bring you all the important news! And the best tunes from my collection! And I’ll tell you, DJ Pon-3 doesn’t just have pre-war classics, but we have new, original works by our very own Velvet Remedy!”
“Music I haven’t heard before,” said Fixit, as the song started playing. “Nice!”
“What is it?” asked Staunch, who wasn’t following the radio broadcasts. “You two picking something up?”
“Two similarly unfunny ham radio operators,” said Boss, turning her PipBuck off.
“Sounds better than...” Fixit looked back over his shoulder. “Them...” He didn’t need to elaborate, and Boss had to concede to his point. Annoying radioheads were preferable to drugged-up crazies any day of the week.
A low rumble sounded up above. Fixit looked up quizzically.
“Huh,” he said. “Sounds like the pegasi are still at it.” He scanned the skies. “Still got tons of clouds.”
“Maybe they didn’t get it as bad as the ground?” suggested Staunch.
“Maybe,” said Boss. “We’ll have to ask someone. Someone who isn’t crazy or high.”
However, even amidst the cheery music over the PipBuck radios, an ominous rumble sounded from overhead.
“Figures with the perpetual overcast,” mumbled Fixit. “Two hundred years after the world blows up, and the pegasi are still doing clouds.” “Heh,” said Staunch. “Gonna make it rain.”
Boss rolled her eyes and looked over the barren landscape of dirt and rocks. “Yes,” she said, “make it rain, with nothing to actually grow.” She grunted. “Come on, let’s find a cave or something.”
The closest they could find was a rock jutting out over the ground, leaving a covered portion of dirt below it. Had the excessive clouds not made it completely redundant, it might have been a welcome source of shade.
She laid out a very simple campfire setting, but didn’t light it until it got darker. Soon, the rumbling in the skies increased, and it was only a few minutes before the rain began pouring down, hammering on their rocky cover.
She spotted a new broadcast signal on the PipBuck, however, and turned to it. Enclave Radio, it said.
“Good evening, good ponies of the Wasteland. I am General Winter, of the Enclave, your protectors, your guardians. I have heard words from some of you that you do not believe us to be who, or rather, what we say we are. That we are regarded as mere braggarts or bullies. This is slander, but... you are entitled, to an extent. After two hundred years I can understand if you do not trust us, after we have stayed up in the clouds. But for no longer! Now, what the Enclave has, it gives to you. Behold!”
There was a crash of thunder.
“Rain. No living thing can survive without water. And this gift, good ponies, we give to you. Water, given freely and in the utmost of goodwill. We ask for nothing in return. Only that you, good ponies, remember who it is who gave you this gift. We are the Enclave. We stand strong when we stand together.”
Fixit had opened his pack and was sorting and counting all of its contents. In the two days they had used up the predictable amount of food and water. Producing a funnel and sticking it into his own canteen, he got up and trotted into the rain, setting it down to catch the water.
“Boss?” asked Staunch.
“Huh?” she responded. “What is it?”
“Earlier you asked me to throw a guy off a cliff.”
Boss peered at him. “Yeah? And?”
“You don’t think that might’ve been, well...” He shrugged. “A bit much?”
“And tossing a frag grenade at the others wasn’t?”
“I dunno,” he said. “I mean, one of them had a gun and looked like she was gonna use it, and since we’d already dropped off the other guy I figured ‘better safe than sorry.’ But the other guy, we had him incapacitated. Granted the guy was nuts.” He pulled the second grenade out of his back. “Shit, these things are loud.”
Boss looked him over, her face expressionless. “Yes, explosions are loud. This surprises you after all this time on the shooting range?”
“Well,” said Staunch. “It’s not a gun. And those other times I had earmuffs.”
Boss sighed. “Staunch, give me the grenade.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t want you blowing us or our ears up,” she explained. “Come on.”
Staunch passed the grenade over to her as the Voice of Truth chimed in her earbuds.
“Times like this I have to wonder if Oasis’s economy doesn’t slow to a crawl whenever the Enclave decides to send some rain down. It’s like, the only thing your ramshackle pile of tin that passes for a settlement has going for it is that you’ve got a well. You know, maybe you should choose a hero to embark on a quest to bring back a palm tree or something. That’ll pretty up the place a bit.”
“In other news, oh boy oh boy, all hell’s broken loose in the southeast. Red Eye’s dead, the Enclave’s shitting themselves, and the Steel Rangers, fuck if I know what’s going on there. I’d ask our very own Elder Cannon for comment, but I think he’d probably just try to take my stuff.”
“In more local news, Vanhoover has pretty much just blacked out. I guess they’re in a panic now. Anyway, I’d suggest staying away from them as they’re liable to shoot anyone who looks at them the wrong way. You know, I just thought of something funny. The other day I was looking at a dump I took and I—” CLICK!
Boss turned off the PipBuck radio in time to see Fixit come back with one of the canteens full, and about to pick up another one to put out in the rain.
“So they seem to still have the weather working,” he said when he got back to the campfire.
“Noted,” said Boss, looking at him with a droll, narrow-eyed expression.
The thunder crashed again as the water pelted harder on the rock roof above them. Boss sighed and stared at the stony ceiling.
“You know, we were actually supposed to leave that stable a long, long time ago,” she said, muttering as though she were half talking to herself. “But the Overmare back then, she thought she knew better. The ponies were too dumb to put that knowledge to good use. So she decided to wait. And so we waited, and waited, and waited. Generations of ponies born and raised with the library, until we can hone that perfect generation of educated ponies who will go out and rebuild the world...” She took a deep breath. “Never really got around to that.”
The others remained silent for a moment as the fire flickered and finally died.
BANG! BANG!
Boss awoke with a start in the dead of the night. Everything was dark, and save for the gunshots, they were in utter silence.
“What happened?” she asked.
“This... this thing,” said Staunch. Boss flicked on her PipBuck light, illuminating him with a gun floating in front of him. At his hooves was the crumpled carcass of a huge scorpion the size of a dog.
“A scorpion?” asked Fixit, adjusting his glasses. “I thought they didn’t get that big.”
“They do now,” said Boss, walking over to it. She knelt down, examining it. “Shit...”
“Well, it’s dead now,” said Staunch. “Nothing gets past Staunch’s watch.”
Boss shoved the dead scorpion’s carcass away from her before checking her PipBuck’s clock. 2 AM. 2 AM and now she was wide-awake.
“Good job,” she said. “You were awake on watch?”
“Er...” said Staunch. “Sort of.”
“You go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll take over.”
Staunch and Fixit slowly went back to sleep while Boss took over, sitting by the edge of their little half-cave. The rain had stopped—the Enclave, generous as they were, seemed only willing to spare so much water.
She turned the radio back on. The Voice of Truth’s signal, to her surprise, was still on, though it was only broadcasting music at the moment.
She stepped out under the sky and looked up, only to be disappointed by the mass of grey and black. The clouds were still there. As a younger filly she’d often wanted to look at the sky, to see the sun and moon and stars. The seemingly perpetual overcast she could bear, but she would have liked to see stars.
“Ugh...” said the Voice of Truth. “Ever have that feeling when you wake up in the middle of the night and go ‘wow, I really need to take a piss’? I think we all have. Also, update on this morning’s travel advisory, I seem to have local lingo mixed up, but for future reference, when I say ‘stay away’ from somewhere, I generally mean, well... ‘stay away,’ as opposed to ‘head on over and murder everyone there.’ Just to clarify, y’know? Oh, who the fuck cares?” There was a pause of silence. “Fuck, who’s even listening to me at this time?”
“Anyway, as long as I’m on here tonight I guess I’ll just talk. Maybe some of you have insomnia. Or you’re worried someone will murder you in your sleep or something. Here, I’ll tell you a bedtime story: Once upon a time there was a big city. It was the most wonderful place in the world. Everypony was happy and everypony got along. It was a nice place. A beautiful place, even. A bright, shining beacon that ran on love and joy.
“But it didn’t stay that way for long. Ponies started to bring things into the city. First they brought knives. Then they brought guns. Then they brought bombs. Worst of all, they brought hate. And the city began to shine a little less bright. It dimmed. Then it decayed. Then it broke out in violent boils all over. And the shining city rotted and died in a burst of violence. The beacon was gone.
“Oh, I’m sorry, you wanted a happy ending? Well fuck you. This isn’t that kind of story.”
And thus Boss’s suspicions that the Voice of Truth was an asshole were confirmed. She turned the radio off. If there were more of those scorpions out and about, she didn’t want to miss them because she was listening to the inane ramblings of a sanctimonious turd.
She took the magazine out of her pistol and inspected it. A full round, twelve shots. She stuck it back in, satisfied that she wouldn’t run out by mistake.
The wasteland around her was silent as the dead. Just like she’d expect from a dead world.
There was no sunrise to speak of. The clouds overhead let only dim filtered light through. A loud yawn signaled that Fixit had awoken.
“Oh, no...” he said.
“What is it?” asked Boss, looking back at him.
“I forgot to water my desk plants before we left,” he said.
“Your ‘desk plants’?”
“It’s a hobby.”
Boss shook her head. “Well, let’s get going before a giant cat eats us.” She looked over at Staunch, who hadn’t gotten up. “Hey, Staunch, hear that? Time to get up.”
He didn’t move.
“...Staunch?” She slowly approached him. She could see that he was alive, but his breathing was shallow and quiet. She lightly prodded him. He groaned weakly and rolled onto his back. His normally charcoal-grey face had paled considerably, and his mouth lay open, his breath staggered.
“Oh Celestia...” said Fixit. “His leg.”
Boss looked at his hind leg. It had grown discolored, and a wound had festered.
“What... the scorpion!” Her head whipped around to the dried husk that had attacked them the night before. “It stung you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Staunch frowned, his expression one of defeat. “I...” he whispered sadly, “I didn’t think it was important...”
“Hold on...” Boss said, opening their pack. Her hooves fished through it and removed a first aid kit. Opening it, she frantically searched through the contents: bandages, extra healing potions...
“Do we have...” Fixit said, “Antivenom or something?”
“Antivenom yes, but not the right antivenom.”
“Huh?” Fixit sputtered, his voice breaking. “What do you mean ‘not the right antivenom’?”
“I mean that every poisonous thing has different venom, and you need a different antivenom based on it in order to treat it. As it is...” She looked balefully at a syringe in the kit. “We can treat a bite from a garden-variety pit viper that was common in this place before the war.”
“Well that’s just great!” Fixit shrieked. “We’re out here unprepared!”
Boss turned around, her brow furrowed. “Well, pardon me for not putting ‘giant fucking scorpion’ on our list of contingencies. Now help me think of something!”
“Think of something? What?!”
Fixit’s head twitched as his breathing accelerated to near-hyperventilation. Boss then looked to the scorpion.
“Cut off the its poison gland,” said Boss.
“Huh?” Fixit asked.
“Fucking do it!”
Fixit hobbled over to the arachnid’s corpse, nearly tripping over himself, and examined the stinger. He took a knife out and set about cutting off the end of the beast’s tail, while Boss stared intently at Staunch, almost as though she were trying to will him to stay alive.
“I’m not ruining this,” she muttered.
“Not your fault,” said Staunch. “I just... thought I was made of stronger stuff...”
“Got it!” shouted Fixit, gingerly holding the pointy part of the stinger in his teeth. “Now what?”
“Now what?” Boss repeated, staring at him. “Now we make an anti-venom!”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know!” Boss snapped. “I brought you along because you were supposed to be smart!”
“I’M JUST A MECHANIC!”
They both fell silent, leaving Staunch’s labored breathing as the only sound.
But as she looked at the dead husk, she realized it wouldn’t work. “It...” She ran over to their own first-aid kid and threw it open. But its supplies were woefully inadequate, containing only a paltry amount of nigh-useless anti-venom and a tourniquet that was far too late to apply. “No...” She fumbled through the supplies, but nothing came up of use. A blood pack. Some syringes and drugs. And then, in one burst of pent-up frustration, she screamed, tossing the first aid kit aside and scattering its contents, before wheeling back on Staunch. “You... you... Why couldn’t you just... just...”
Staunch took a deep breath. “Could I... could I just have some water?”
Fixit looked at her, unsure of what to do. Boss looked down at the canteens. They had water, but... if he was dying, wouldn’t it be a waste? Boss simply nodded, and Fixit walked up to him, canteen around his neck, and tipped the water into his open mouth. He seemed to take forever to swallow, as though it took all his strength.
“Thanks,” Staunch said weakly, his once-powerful voice barely a whisper now.
Boss stood there, for how long nopony could really say. She just looked down and watched helplessly at her faithful guard as he faintly looked up at her. Then, Staunch took his final breaths, and died.
They buried him under a small mound of rocks. It didn’t take very long—rocks were a resource they had in abundance. They stood there at their shallow, makeshift grave, silently paying an impromptu respect.
“Goodbye, Staunch,” sad Boss. “You never faltered.” She turned to Fixit. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Fixit nodded and gathered up the supplies before solemnly walking off, and Boss gave the little grave one last, sad look.
They proceeded through the barren wasteland, their number one less. Boss was silent and surly, and Fixit didn’t dare to speak up. The land was the same all over, riddled with rocks. Though here it seemed the stones rose around them, as though there were navigating a labyrinth formed of the fragments of a broken world. The air was grey and cold, the persistent curse of the monochrome clouds.
She sat down upon a rock and raised her canteen to her mouth, drinking the water. Somehow it tasted bitter to her.
“Oh, what a beautiful day,” she said. “Wake up and no, we don’t get breakfast, we get something dead.”
“Well...” said Fixit, finding enough courage to say anything at all. “At least he died serving the stable.”
“No, he died being stung by a scorpion!” Boss snapped. Her voice rose and her nostrils flared. “Him dying didn’t do a damn bit of good for the stable!” She fumed, slamming her canteen down on the rock. “Now we’ve lost our best security guard, probably the most physically fit in the stable... and all that physical fitness didn’t do a damn thing against a, a bug bite...” She took another swill of her water. “Won’t that be great news to tell the stable when we get back? Lost the head of security to a scorpion. All because the Overmare wanted to go on a hike...” Her voice dropped to a mumble, as though she had stopped talking to him and started talking to herself. “And now he’s dead and we have nothing to show for it.”
“Well...” said Fixit. “I guess we just agreed to take that risk when we came out here.”
She looked up at him. “Yeah... I guess we did,” she admitted, “there was no way I could’ve made an antivenom. Just... that was just a stupid idea and it was all I had to go on.”
“Besides, we are out here for a reason. Scouting out, making sure the stable can safely integrate...”
Boss nodded silently. “Well...” she said, “we should probably get going, before—”
There was a thwip sound, and it seemed as though two bright-red feathers had sprouted from Fixit’s neck.
“Fixit!” she shouted. Fixit put a hoof to the feathers and yanked them out with a grunt. A dart. “Shit!” She jumped behind the giant rock as a second dart shattered against the rock.
She pulled out her gun, panting.
“You’re fucking dead!” shouted a voice. “Teach you to mess with us!”
More Tox, she thought. Fixit stumbled in behind her.
“There’s something on that dart,” he said. “Someth...” Was all he managed to utter before he collapsed.
“Come on oooout, big girl!” called the sing-songy voice of a Tox. It was high, thin, and just a little flat. She hated it. “Can’t hide for long, big girl! You’re too big!”
Boss looked to the holster on her forehoof. She bit down on the handle and yanked it out, raising a hoof to fumble with it. Come on, safety, safety...
Click. There it was.
She heard hoofsteps coming in her direction. She hadn’t gotten a good look at them... how many were there?
“Can’t hide for long!” called a voice. “We’ll find you!”
“Big girl, big girl...”
She ducked behind another one of the rocks. There was one thing that was true about their taunts - she wasn’t exactly built for hiding. But, to her advantage, there were lots of rocks around. There are two of them...
“Poison snakes can see your blood...” hissed a third voice. “Can’t hide from poison snakes...”
Boss ducked down behind one of them. Little red blips flashed before her eyes on the EFS. And she smirked. She aligned herself so that, while she didn’t have a clear line of sight, she could watch one of the red blips before her, moving slowly to the right.
What’s that about poison snakes? she thought to herself, creeping past the left of the rock. She poked her head out, and saw one of them, an earth pony with a shotgun strapped to his side, skulking past, completely unaware, though wide-eyed and crazed. See your blood... right.
BANG BANG BANG!
The raider was perforated with two shots through the neck and one through his temple, the hollow-point bullets shredding his skin.
“Bang bang?” said one of the other voices. “Hey! That’s not our bang bang!”
Shit, thought Boss, ducking behind the rock again. She could hear hoofsteps hitting the ground. There was no time to reload, she had to keep moving...
And that’s when she heard the sounds of blades chopping the air. She looked up over the rocks and saw flying over towards them a massive flying contraption, its crazed pilot howling in the wind and floating a submachine gun next to herself in a sickly-green aura.
Okay, thought Boss. I am going to die.
She considered her stock. There were three raiders on the ground (one of them now dead) plus a fourth up in the whirlygig... She’d heard what those were called, but she couldn’t recall... She’d fired three shots, lowering her current magazine to nine. She had two more magazines: one for herself she’d packed as a spare and the one in Staunch’s gun. The other spare magazine was with Fixit... She tried to remember, how many shots were left in Staunch’s gun...
The flying machine flew overhead, spraying a haphazard stream of bullets over the rocks. Boss ducked beneath a small overhang, trying to avoid the raider’s line of sight. She looked at her own gun, and then at the one she’d taken from Staunch.
He fired two shots... she thought. Leaves ten... unless he reloaded...
“Aw, shit...”
She heard one of the raiders’ voices. Venturing a look out of the rock, she saw two of them standing around the corpse of their fallen comrade.
Then she remembered the grenade.
“All that blood...” said one of them. “Think that’ll ruin the stuff?”
“Naw, dude,” said the second, “just wipe it off.”
Boss might have said a pithy one-liner. But she was treading on thin ice as it was and didn’t want to risk it. So she simply pulled the pin out and threw the grenade over to them.
As the shrapnel ripped through the raiders, Boss suspected that nopony, raider or not, would want to wipe off the “stuff.”
Three down...
“Big worms can’t hide from little birds!” screeched the mare in the whirlygig.
Griffin chaser! she thought. That’s what they were called!
Then she had to duck to avoid the spray of bullets coming from the mare’s submachine gun. Boss returned fire, emptying her nine-bullet magazine into what seemed to be nothing more than empty air. She watched as the raider mare ejected the clip from her gun, floating another one out to take its place. With no time to reload her own, she took Staunch’s gun and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
She counted the shots... Ten, eleven, twelve. He had reloaded.
Reliable Staunch... she thought, ducking back under the rock in time to avoid another shot. However, an irritated screech from the raider told her that one of her bullets had left a mark.
“Big worm has a little bite, huh?” the voice shouted. “Bite’s too little!”
“Crazy has a point...” Boss mumbled. She ejected the magazine. She could reload it and keep shooting, but unless she got really lucky, it wouldn’t amount to much. She could hit the griffin chaser, of course, but the bullets wouldn’t bring it down, unless...
She searched her bag. Armor-piercing bullets!
“Come on out, big worm!” cried the voice from outside.
“In a minute, you crazy bitch!” Boss called back, fitting the armor-piercing rounds into the magazine. Click. “I’m all set!”
She stepped out, gun in mouth, and before the crazy bitch could fire, her mind melded into SATS. She fired every single round she had into the griffin chaser. Most of them did nothing but strike the air or non-important parts of it. But one bullet ripped through the bicycle chain, and the raider was soon pedalling to the benefit of nothing. The propeller slowed and the machine careened down into the ground, before crashing.
Boss emerged from her hiding place, checking the chamber of her gun. No bullets left. She ejected the magazine and replaced the bullets, hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with any more crazies. Still, wary, she approached the mangled remains of the other three. Through the blood and guts, she managed to make out their weapons - there was a hunting rifle, a shotgun, and something stranger strapped to what had been the foreleg. She leaned down and yanked the device off of the leg, inspecting it. It was a sort of crossbow, loaded with a dart, intended to be strapped to the foreleg and operated via a bit.
This was what they’d shot Fixit with. He’d gone down quickly after he’d be shot with it. Hopefully it wasn’t fatal...
Ignoring the blood and gore, she couldn’t resist the temptation to slip it onto her right foreleg. Gritting her teeth as she tightened the fastenings, she couldn’t help but think, this is cool.
“WOOOOOO-EEE!” shrieked the other voice. Boss jumped, turning around in time to see the final raider approaching. Somehow she was full of energy and ready to fight, despite the crash and what Boss could have sworn was a broken leg. “That was a great fall!” She floated the SMG in front of her menacingly. “Makes up for the lousy summer.”
Boss wasted no time. She raised her hoof, tossing the bit into her mouth, and grunted, “Go to sleep for the winter.” She clamped down on the bit, tasting the iron in the blood, and watched as the dart flew from the weapon and embedded itself in the raider’s chest.
The raider looked down in surprise and stared at it. She stood there for a while, and then Boss realized...
“Ow,” said the raider, looking back at her. “That stings.”
“You’re not out...” said Boss. “I saw that thing take out my friend.”
The raider giggled. “Ah, big worm, but we’ve taken the poison...” Her gun floated before her. “It can’t hurt us...”
Boss grabbed her gun and unloaded the magazine into the raider. She stumbled back, screaming in pain as they went through her chest. One of them struck her horn and the submachine gun clattered to the ground.
“You fucking bitch!” screamed the raider, clutching her bleeding horn. Her eyes flared as she advanced on Boss, as though prepared to rip her apart with her bare hooves. “I’m gonna fuck you up so bad, you’ll...”
Boss didn’t get a chance to hear exactly how bad the raider was going to fuck her up. She jumped for the shotgun on the ground, sitting on her rear and trying to handle it with her hooves, and fired one blast right into the raider’s head, blowing it messily in half. The raider dropped dead, leaving Boss to sit in a pile of gore, heaving with breath.
After what must have been several minutes of stupefied silence, Boss got to her hooves. She strapped the shotgun to her back. She didn’t feel like searching through the guts for whatever else might be valuable.
She trudged back to where Fixit lay, bizarrely undefiled, and leaned down to him, feeling his neck with her bloodied hoof. No pulse. Sure enough, whatever had been in the dart had killed him, yet it hadn’t killed the raider.
Well, she thought, at least it killed him quickly. It was a rather morbid thought to take solace in, she realized.
And then, feeling she needed one hell of a breather, Boss sat down and slumped against the rock.
Boss didn’t know how long she sat there. It felt like hours, or maybe that was just because of the radio.
“Goooooood news, everypony! Our wonderful Lightbringer’s bringing all kinds of ponies together! Steelhooves might be dead, but his rangers are still standing strong, and with Gawdyna Grimfeathers, well, hehe... Enclave? Slavers? Better watch your asses.”
“Yeah,” Boss intoned, not caring. “Gonna kick ‘em. Kick ‘em hard.”
The gracious host then moved to play a song, an original, as he claimed. Boss sat and listened as the most gorgeous mezzo-soprano voice filled her ears, singing all kinds of stuff about hope. It was a little difficult for her to appreciate that, covered as she was in other ponies’ blood.
She sat there, that beautiful voice filling her ears, until another voice spoke.
“Hello,” it said. It was a mare’s voice, though something seemed... off about it. It was just a little stilted, and ever so slightly tinny. “Would you like some cake?”
She looked up and, had she not been leaning against the rock would have fallen backwards. Standing before her was what appeared to be a mechanical pony, except that instead of legs it had two wheels, one in the front and one in the back, like a bicycle, and the face was replaced by a screen that bore the black-and-white image of a smiling mare.
“Hello?”
Boss blinked. “Uhh... No,” she said. She straightened herself up, and repeated again, somewhat indignant, “No, I don’t want any cake.”
“Are you sure?” asked the robot. “It’s chocolate.”
Boss blinked and reconsidered. “Yes... actually,” she conceded. “Yes I would like some cake...”
A chamber opened up, revealing, sure enough, a slice of chocolate cake, sitting on a plate. There was even a little cherry on top.
She sat and stared at the strange machine. “What are you?” she asked.
“I am a Ministry of Morale Helpful Mechanical Wheelie!” the robot piped. “Designed to offer aid and raise spirits.”
“I see...” said Boss. Not seeing anything particularly threatening about the machine, she leaned forward and took the plate of cake. The machine had helpfully provided a fork, but as an earth pony her hooves were ill-suited to handle cutlery. “Thanks.”
“You are covered in blood,” noted the Wheelie. “Do you need soap? How about a towel?”
Boss ate her cake in silence. It was pretty good. Well, this is weird.
The Wheelie simply stood where it was, waiting for her answer. There was one thing she knew, however: the population of Stable 51 would be better off staying in the stable.
“No...” she said, slowly standing up. “But you might be able to help me. I’m looking for a town called Oasis. I was told it was in this direction.”
“Why yes!” said the Wheelie, turning and facing an obscure direction. “It is just over that ridge.”
Boss looked at the mess of rocks the robot pointed to. The dangers she’d faced so far turned her off of heading to anymore unknown parts, but if she had to go through more raiders getting back, finishing the trek to the town would be a safer bet than taking another two days back to the stable.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I am sorry I did not arrive sooner to help,” said the Wheelie, the face screen changing its image to one with a dour expression of condolence and sympathy.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Boss.
With that, she took the remaining supplies from Fixit’s body, and resumed her trudge to the town of Oasis.
“Have a nice day!”
--
Endnote: Level Up!
You have gained a new Perk! Awareness: Your Perception lets you pick up on the fine details. When viewing ponies, you can discern additional information about them, including health, weapon details, and ammunition.
To say that the town of Oasis was, well, a town, may have been a little too charitable. To be more accurate, Oasis was a twisted jumble of corrugated sheet metal propped together with rotting wooden beams and tied together with chicken wire into what passed for dwellings. Some of them were haphazardly propped up on stilts that looked like they could collapse at any moment, and from the lopsided appearance of some buildings, a few of them apparently had. The town’s sole inviting feature was a well at the center, overlooked by a phenomenally bored-looking guard.
Looking over the town at its western entrance was what must have been a water tower before the bombs fell. However, the tank at the top had long since fallen off and was now more of a nest, with a rickety wooden roof overhead. Inside were a few pieces of evidence that hinted that somehow, somepony lived here: a dirty, saggy cot, a radio, a small tank of water hooked up to some tubes leading to the roof, various empty water bottles strewn about the floor, a lockbox with some loose bottlecaps on top of it, and a radio that was presently blaring a bittersweet pop tune. Two nails were driven into the wooden beams, and upon them was mounted a long and nasty-looking spike, caked dark with what was most certainly not just rust.
The nest’s one and only inhabitant was a unicorn mare. She was a mean-looking thing: tall, dark purple, and lean, overly dressed in dark leather barding that covered almost her entire body. Her right eye was covered by an eyepatch, while the other peered through a telescope held aloft by a magic glow. Next to her were two guns, one lying on and the other lying against a small, lopsided table. The first was a pistol and the second was a long rifle; dark, worn, and rusty, yet with a polished scope.
The mare watched the wastes beyond the borders of the town, keeping her eyes on the rocky formations not far away. If anyone came out of there, she’d be ready. Though Oasis had little of what bandit or raider groups would like to plunder, it was what she got paid for. Besides, ponies all needed water, the one thing Oasis had. That one resource kept the dirty little hovel from blowing away in the next wind.
Soon, she spotted someone in her telescope. A tall mare, hobbling forward. She was slouching slightly, but upon seeing the town she seemed to pause and pick her head up. Her hooves were dark and caked in blood, and the barding she wore was dirty, though not torn.
The mare in the tower paused and lowered her telescope and picked up her rifle, training the scope on the newcomer. She had heard gunshots earlier; there had been some sort of scuffle, which was why she’d been watching. In the absence of other ponies around, this newcomer seemed to be the only survivor. She wondered momentarily if she was a raider. She sure seemed dirty and unkempt enough to be one. But then, she didn’t have that crazy look in her eyes that she knew of the Tox. Nor did she have the self-assured swagger of a Bang Ganger or the shifty-eyed demeanor of a Dart. She was also alone, which ruled out her belonging to any bandit groups.
Her magic focused around the trigger. She could probably shoot her and get away with it. She could argue she looked dangerous enough, covered with blood, and bleary-eyed. And hey, just because she didn’t have a bunch of her friends with her now didn’t mean she wasn’t a scout or something. And besides, she hadn’t had much target practice for a while…
Then the music on the radio stopped. The mare had little appreciation for music, regardless of the genre or the performer, and so often tuned it out. She had left the radio on simply out of laziness and boredom. Now, however, with the song ended, the host, DJ Pon-3, began to speak.
“And that was our very own Velvet Remedy with her hit song ‘Get It Right.’ I think we can all learn something from Velvet Remedy.” The mare lowered her rifle and turned towards the radio, slowly walking towards it. “Many of us have been forced to make compromises, to do things we don’t want to do. And when these things happen, we have doubts. And some of us can’t always recover from that. Those of us who have ideals have often found them challenged. But the important thing is to never give up. No, you won’t always succeed. You’ll make mistakes. But if you’re too scared of making a mistake to even try, you’ll never reach a change. Sure! It’s a cliché, and I know a lot of you folks are rolling your eyes at me right now…” He laughed.
“Eye,” said the mare through a thick gutteral.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. And I’m not giving up. Not on the Lightbringer, and not on you. Now, big news from the eastern front here. The Enclave’s stomping all over the place and they’re heading for Fillydelphia. Don’t be fooled; once they’re done there they’ll start going on over where you are. Remember ‘Project Cauterize.’ They’ll raze everything more than three feet from the ground if they can. If they can. But our Lightbringer isn’t going to let that happen. I’m not one to blab secrets, but she’s got a surprise cooking I’m sure you’re all going to love.”
By now, the mare was standing right in front of her radio, looking down on it.
“And now, a message from my assistant, Homage.”
The mare picked up the radio walked to the edge of the tower, and dropped it off. On the way down, she could hear, “…now I know you’re not in love with it, but it has a couple more settings I’d like you to try…”
Boss entered the town and saw ponies there, milling around. She stood a distance from the entrance, her hooves still caked in blood, and watched. After two days slogging through the barren landscape only to be met by crazed attackers, this was the first indication that Boss had of something resembling civilization save for the radio messages piping through her PipBuck.
Boss found herself disappointed.
Chapter 3
I Saw it Hang on the Edge of a Cloud
Somehow walking into the town made Boss just as bleary-eyed as stepping out of the stable, or out of the cave. Perhaps it was all the more surreal to see ponies who didn’t think anything of the dull, dusty town they inhabited.
Though the attention of a few of the townsponies drew to her as she walked in. Understandable, since after her scrape with the Tox she wasn’t looking her best. They stared at her briefly, before going on about their business. One of them, a rotund mare in a wide ten-gallon hat, kept her attention.
“You have something to do with those shots that went off over ‘n there?” she asked, gesturing over the expanse of rocks.
“Yeah, kinda,” said Boss.
“Was it raiders?”
“If that’s what you mean by crazies who come shooting at you, yes,” she said.
“Tox or Bang Gangers?”
“Um...” Boss said, racking her brains. “Tox, I think.”
“Ohhh dear...” The mare waddled off without another word.
“Hey, hold up!” Boss called after her, but the mare disappeared into one of the shanty huts.
She stood there, briefly frustrated, before pressing further into the town, with no idea what to do or who to talk to. Aimlessly, she trod into the town, past the buildings of corrugated sheet metal or rotten wood. So this was Oasis. What a shitty town.
There was one thing that caught her attention, though. As she approached the middle of town, she saw what she quickly assumed to be the town’s reason for existing: a simple stone well, guarded by one surly stallion.
She approached, cautiously.
“Hold up there,” said the stallion, a tall brute of an earth pony with a massive saddle bristling with miniguns.
Overcompensating much? she thought.
“Just want some information, sir,” she said. “I kinda just crawled out from under a rock.”
The stallion peered at her suspiciously. “This is Oasis,” he grunted. “We have a well. If you got caps you get water. That’s pretty much it. There’s also Cozy Coaster’s there if you need a place to stay. And if you got caps.” He nodded to a substantially longer building off to the side.
Boss didn’t have any caps, but she had another question. “So I buy water?” she asked. “From who? You own it?”
“No,” he said. “I just work for the guy who does.”
“He owns the well?”
“Runs the well and the town,” he said. “His name’s Slim Slick. Well, I guess he runs the town. Since he started having Law ponies here, they’ve been doin’ peacekeepin’ n’ such. Guess he was sick of guards gettin’ knifed and water gone missin’.”
“That happened a lot?”
“Hopefully not anymore,” he muttered.
“Eesh,” said Boss. “Law ponies?”
The stallion didn’t answer, but simply nodded his head, signaling her to look behind her.
She turned and saw a wagon rolling down the road, pulled by a hulking black bull. Seated on the wagon were two brightly-colored unicorns - the first was a gold one with a heroic, handsome build, while next to him was a smaller, more wiry red-orange stallion.
On the back of the wagon, there was a loudspeaker, blaring the sound of a filly’s voice, singing:
“Come to the river flowing for justice,
Come to the river, rendezvous.
Come to the river flowing for justice,
All for the ponies, me and you.”
“That there’s the Law,” explained the stallion behind her. “They come from River, doin’ stuff like clearin’ bandits and guardin’ caravans. Not much. They tried running a prison a while back, but that didn’t work out.”
“Uh-huh...” said Boss. “You said your boss’s name was Slim Slick?”
“Yuh-huh,” he said. “His office is just back there.” He nodded his head in the direction of some sheds off past the well.
“Thank you,” said Boss. However, as she was about to go, she heard that familiar, stilted, tinny voice.
“Hello.”
Boss turned around. There was the wheelie, its visor bearing a smiling face.
“Hello,” it repeated, “I think you dropped your hat .”
The stallion leaned against the well, watching with an expression of vague, bored amusement.
“I think you’re mistaken,” said Boss. “I don’t have a hat.”
“No,” the robot insisted, “I am certain that this is your hat.”
The door on its front opened and this time, instead of chocolate cake, there was a white top hat.
“Guess it’s your hat,” said the stallion.
Boss shook her head. Not wanting to argue with the strange robot, she took the hat in her mouth, gave a muffled grunt that might have been gratitude, and went on her way.
She crossed over the threshold into a dusty little office. There was a small desk with a computer terminal on it, a half-busted radio, and on the wall beyond it an ill-fitting portrait of some flowers. Behind the desk sat a skinny, almost snake-like stallion, counting a few piles of bottlecaps. He looked up at her as she walked in.
“Something you want?” he asked.
“My name is Boss. I wanted to talk about your town.”
“You with the Law?” he grunted.
“No, but I...”
“Then what do you got to say to me?”
Boss stopped. Slim Slick was fast-talking and to the point, and not someone who would be interested in hearing about her little stable or her jewelry mysteries. However, from looking at his desk, there was one thing she was sure would persuade him...
“I wanted to talk about a sort of business opportunity,” she said.
Slim Slick leaned back, looking her over with a lazy, slack-jawed expression. “Wonder you got in here, looking like that,” he said. “Surprised Patch didn’t stop you. Must’ve been taking time off...” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll have to dock her pay for that. So, er... your name again?”
“Boss.”
“Right, Boss...” Slim Slick leaned forward into his desk. “Exactly what kind of business arrangement did you have in mind?”
Boss walked up to the desk and was about to place a hoof on it when she realized that her hooves were a little too dirty to touch other ponies’ things with. “I am the Overmare of Stable 51. We’re looking to move out, and your town is reasonably close by. Your town is also...” She grinded her teeth a little, her mind looking for a delicate way of putting it that never occurred to her. “A bit of a shantytown. I understand you mainly rely on your well keep business in town?”
Slim Slick’s eyes had gone wide open at the mention of the stable. “What of it?”
“We have a working water talisman, which means you can make more water. We also have ample agriculture we can grow thanks to our underground apple orchard and extensive hydroponics. Looking around outside I... certainly don’t see a lot of apple trees nearby. We can provide fresh produce. We partner up, we can sell this, you get more residents in your town and you get more business and more money...” She glanced down at the caps, then at Slim Slick.
He certainly didn’t seem like a trustworthy fellow, but he seemed greedy enough to take the deal. She reasoned she had a good enough pitch and enough leverage to work with him for the time being. And if he turned out to be a problem, well, her security guards would probably be more loyal to her...
But her scheming ended when the door opened.
“Well, howdy, Slim!” Boss turned around. Standing in the doorway was a dust-colored earth pony in a studded jacket and a fedora. “Howsit goin’?”
“It’s going fine,” Slim muttered through his teeth. “Is there some reason you’re bothering me?”
“Ohh, just doin’ my job,” he said, circling into the room. He turned to Boss. “Well, hi there. I don’t reckon I’ve seen you ‘round these parts. Name’s Cowboy, Officer of the Law.”
“Get to the point, please,” said Slim. “I’m in the middle of an arrangement.”
“‘fraid your mistaken, Slim,” said Cowboy. “Whatever you were doing with this here lady is stoppin’ right here. You’re under arrest.”
Slim didn’t answer. He just stared at him.
“Oh, and by the way,” Cowboy continued, “if you’re thinking of pulling a gun on me or something funny like that, bear in mind I’ve got Righteous Hammer outside.”
“You’re shitting me,” said Slim.
“No, I got him right outside!” said Cowboy, before turning his head and calling, “Hey, Hammy!”
The door opened and in walked one of the unicorns Boss had seen before, the heroic gold one. “Is he giving you trouble?” he asked.
“Naw,” said Cowboy, “I think he’ll come along fine. Won’t try anything funny.” He smiled unctuously at Slim Slick. “Will you?”
“I hired you,” muttered Slim Slick.
Righteous Hammer chuckled. It was a deep chuckle, and ever-so-slightly smug. “Another one, Cowboy,” he said. “Thinks he can buy the Law.”
It was at this moment that one of them turned again to address Boss. “Well,” said Cowboy. “You’re not looking the best.”
“I had a bit of a raider problem out of town,” said Boss.
“Raiders?” asked Righteous Hammer. “You mean to tell me that you’re the one who cleared out the Tox?” He smiled, and Boss realized that everything about this pony was just a little smug, from his tone of voice to his smile. Yet he seemed good natured enough. “The radio’s been complaining about you.”
“Not popular, huh?” asked Boss. “I can live with that.”
“You know,” said Cowboy, “we should really thank you.”
“Saved us some trouble,” said Righteous Hammer. “We were planning to go out and deal with the Tox ourselves, but that would take extra stallionpower. You’ve done us a favor, and I think the ponies of this town a great service.”
Boss snorted. “Glad somepony appreciates the trouble I go through.”
Righteous Hammer laughed. “I think we’ll get along just fine.” He looked over at Cowboy and Slim Slick, the latter still looking mighty displeased and, Boss noticed, glancing at the picture behind his desk. “Alright, you head with me,” he said to Slim Slick.
“You’ve just made a big mistake,” the new prisoner growled. But he stepped in front of Righteous Hammer, who led him out the door. Cowboy moved behind the desk and took a seat, propping his hind legs up on the desk.
“So, haven’t seen the likes of you around here before,” he said. “Fancy jumper you got there. Where’d you come from?”
“I’m from Stable 51.”
Cowboy snorted. “Yeah, yeah, and when you were a foal your crib was a bunker, right?”
Boss raised her foreleg, showing the PipBuck. Cowboy’s smile faltered.
“Well, shit…” he said.
“My name is Boss. I’m Stable 51’s Overmare.”
“If you’re the Overmare, what are you doing out here?”
“I’m leading an expedition out to see if we can move back to the surface.”
“An expedition?” asked Cowboy. He leaned to the side, peering behind her.
“The others…” Boss said. “Didn’t make it.”
“Sorry to hear,” said Cowboy, nodding in sympathy. “Lost ‘em to Tox?”
Boss nodded.
“I know how that is. The Tox are a nasty little band of raiders. Always hopped up on Mint-Als, Rampage, Dash, and Goddesses-only-knows-what.”
“Drug addicts?” asked Boss.
“Chems’re practically their religion,” said Cowboy. “I don’t know too much about them. Just that they got a bunch of crazy shaman-folk that get them to stick themselves with all kinds of shit. Mint-Als, Dash, Buck…”
“They still make those?” asked Boss. “I would’ve thought two hundred years would be enough to come up with some new things to shoot up.”
Cowbow tilted his head. “You might not’ve noticed, but these aren’t the most innovative times.”
Boss thought for a moment. She remembered the raiders she’d encountered and how one of them talked about “taking the poison.” “So they poison themselves,” she said, “and chems are a kind of poison?”
Cowboy shrugged. “I can’t say I know how a crazed mind works. But I don’t know. Maybe it’s like that adage ‘whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger’? Guess they figure if poisons don’t kill them…”
“Fascinating,” said Boss, eager to make an exit from this conversation. “Well, I’d better be going,” she said, turning to leave. Her hoof reached for her pocket, making sure the back of bottlecaps was there.
“Alrighty,” said Cowboy. “And remember, Boss,” he reminded her, “if you need a favor, you can ask the Law.”
I’ll keep that in mind.
With Slim Slick out of the picture, Boss was in a tight spot in regards to securing a way out for her stable. She could ask the Law for help, and they seemed friendly enough, but she realized that they wouldn’t have any particular loyalty to her, and given she had never been a popular Overmare…
Slim Slick she felt she could deal with if he turned out to be a problem. The Law, however, were more organized and more powerful. She didn’t want to deal with the possibility of being “arrested.” This left one option: organize something herself out of the gorge.
How to do that, however, well, that posed some difficulties.
She walked down the roads, looking around the shanties. Oasis, indeed. Real shithole. She stopped by one building that was larger than the others. Wider, at least. A rotting sign hanged from above the doorway: The Watering Hole. Parked outside the building was a large wagon. Written on the side of the wagon were the words Fair Weather Caravan Co.
Caravan? Boss thought. That’s a starting point.
If she couldn’t get a city to move into, she’d simply trade out of the stable and build her own little town on the economy. The new plan: get a trader, head back to the stable, and consult with her council.
Or what was left of her council, she realized, feeling a painful pang at the memory of Staunch’s death the day before. She would be responsible for that. She would have to face the music.
More immediately, however, she would have to face the new, pungent stench of the… bar, she guessed. The Watering Hole was filled with ponies in various shades of the less colorful end of the rainbow. A bartender stood at the counter, apathetically chewing on a piece of wood as he surveyed the tavern, his eyes so glazed over that Boss wondered if he could actually see anything. An earth pony sat at a table playing cards with some griffons. A small group of unicorns sitting in a corner of the floor were at dice, making rowdy cheers whenever one of them won. One ragged-looking unicorn with an eyepatch was alternating between cleaning a pistol and drinking something.
A radio blared and Boss instantly recognized the voice.
“Hey hey! It’s on!” shouted the Voice of Truth. “They’re at it! Just a week ago they set off a fucking megaspell, and now they’re at it over Fillydelphia! Well, come on, place your bets! We got Red Eye, the Enclave, and the New Canterlot Repuffffffft…” The Voice snickered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just… pfft. Okay, I’ll just cut to a song here. And hey, whether you’re a slaver or an Enclave or one of those Republic folks, I say go right on! Really! Give it a good once-over! Finish what the zebras started!”
And that was all the Voice said, before switching to music (“And we will all go together when we go…”). Boss spotted two earth pony stallions at a table, one of them an immensely fat lummox who she swore looked just like Chubby Chuckles, except even fatter. The other was a taller, older, grizzled guy, who was nodding disinterestedly at the fat pony’s loud complaining.
“Look,” said the fat pony, “all I’m saying is if I want to be depressed, I can look out the window. Sometimes hope and escapism, they do the mind a favor.”
“Well, he’s got more music. You gotta give him that.”
“No, I can’t deny that,” said the fat pony, “but DJ Pon-3 has music the Voice doesn’t. That original stuff with Velvet Remedy.”
“I guess...”
“Besides,” said the fat pony, “what’s wrong with hope?”
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of experiences you have in the Fair Weather Caravan Company, but I did the rounds for Vanhoover back in the day.” The other pony leaned back in his seat. “So it figures I don’t put a whole lot of stock in hope.”
“Vanhoover?” asked the merchant. “You mean... under Red Eye?”
“No, no, no,” said the mercenary, waving his hoof dismissively. “The guy before him… shit, can’t remember his name.”
“You actually got inside Vanhoover?” The merchant leaned in.
“Not Inner Vanhoover,” said the mercenary. “Not inside the walls. But I got some work in Outer Vanhoover.”
“Excuse me,” said Boss. “You don’t mind if I cut in?”
The fat stallion looked up at her in surprise.
“You’re with the Fair Weather Caravan Company, right?” asked Boss.
“Oh!” said the stallion. “Why, yes, yes I am.” He smiled a smile that Boss found oddly endearing. So much so it nearly scared her. “How can I help you?”
“Well,” said Boss, “I was curious about your wares.”
“Oh,” he said, as though afraid he would have to stand up. “Well, they’re out in the wagon…”
“Well, that’s okay,” said Boss, “I just wanted to ask: do you sell, say, fresh fruit or anything like that?”
The mercenary raised a suspicious eyebrow.
The merchant smiled and gave a nervous chuckle. “Well, that does depend on your definition of… ‘fresh.’”
“They’re either peaches or apples,” said the mercenary. “One of those two. Can’t really tell.”
“Uh-huh…” said Boss. “So that’s a no, then? Bluntly?”
“It’s hard to come by,” said the mercenary.
“And fairly expensive,” said the merchant. “If you want some you can try our…”
“I wasn’t buying,” said Boss. “I was selling.”
“I’m sorry?” asked the merchant.
“How’d you like exclusive access to a large supply of fresh fruits?” asked Boss. “Apples, peaches, oranges, lemons, the like.”
The merchant looked like he’d like that very much. Still, his interest was laced with caution. “And how do you have access to these? Who are you?”
“My name is Boss,” she said. “I’m the Overmare of Stable 51, to the west of here, Galloping Gorge. We have a fine agricultural department, with an apple orchard and an extended hydroponics program.”
“A stable,” repeated the mercenary.
“Yes,” explained Boss. “We’re, well, planning to open up. But we need a little help to get things going. Just a little helping hoof to get the ball rolling. It’ll pay handsomely, I promise.”
“Galloping Gorge…” said the merchant. “That’s Tox territory.”
“So I found out…” said Boss.
“So you want me,” said the merchant, very slowly, “to take days out of my busy schedule, through raider country, to Galloping Gorge, where you say you have a big opportunity.”
“Well, I cleaned out the raiders,” said Boss.
“Listen, you get a town going, and then we talk about connecting with the Fair Weather Caravan Company.”
“What?” asked Boss. “But I need the Fair Weather Caravan Company to get a town going!”
The merchant shrugged. Boss looked to the mercenary. He also shrugged.
“All right, then,” said Boss. “Fine. I won’t get your company now. I’ll do it, and then maybe I’ll get your help.”
She got up and stormed right out of the bar. Then she stopped and turned right around back in.
I still need to get back to the stable through probably hostile territory…
“So,” she said. “Hey, merc dude. What about you?”
“If you’ve got caps,” he replied.
“Um…” said Boss, fumbling through her pockets.
“No caps?” he asked.
Boss feebly took her hoof out of her jumpsuit. “Well, I have some.”
The mercenary looked dubiously at her. “Can’t get something for nothing, miss.”
“Well, I won’t be a waste-of-space fatass,” Boss muttered. The merchant looked shocked.
The mercenary stared at her, unamused.
“I think I’m out of your price range,” he said. “Try Patch over there.” He nodded to the unicorn with the eyepatch.
Boss, feeling incredibly foolish, approached Patch. Patch had an untidy mane, short but thick. Her coat was dark purple, and wore barding that seemed to receive better care than her personal hygiene, though not by much. She was still cleaning her pistol, checking its mechanisms over and over again.
Patch stopped fiddling with her gun and looked up at her. “Can I help you with something?” she asked. Her good eye was fixed on her, concentrated and looking near-bloodshot.
“You’re Patch, right?” asked Boss. “Can I take a seat here?” She gestured to an empty seat next to her. “Right, thanks,” she said, sitting down. Patch just stared at her in silence.
“What do you want?” asked Patch.
“I understand you do stuff for hire?” asked Boss.
“I shoot shit,” said Patch. “You got shit you want me to shoot?”
“I might,” said Boss. “I was hoping you’d be up to escort me someplace that might be dangerous.”
“Guard stuff?” asked Patch. “Yeah, I could do that. Already got a job here.”
“Oh?” asked Boss.
“Yeah,” said Patch. “I’m the town’s lookout sniper. I got that little tower you saw outside town.”
“Ah,” said Boss. “Then I take it you saw me come in?”
“Nah,” said Patch. “I was takin’ a break.”
Promising, Boss thought drolly.
Patch eyed the bottle in front of her, as if she were trying to will it to explode.
“So you worked for Slim Slick?”
Patch’s eye narrowed, and the gun she was cleaning froze midair.
“‘Worked’?” asked Patch.
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” asked Boss. “Cowboy and Righteous Hammer came in and arrested him.”
The gun hit the table with a thud. “Son of a bitch!” cursed Patch. “Assholes… hope I still get paid.”
“Afraid not,” said Boss. She decided it would be best not to mention that she had stolen and lost the money herself.
“Shit,” said Patch.
“Yeah,” said Boss. “So, what do you think the chances are that the Law keeps you on your current job?”
Patch glared at her. “What do you want?”
“I’m from a stable a few days west of here,” said Boss. “We’ve just opened up and we did a little scout-work. What we’re hoping to do is move out and establish a settlement. We’re also hoping we can get trade going. You come back with me, do some guard duty and help us get acquainted with the sea of brown out here, we send out some folks with wares to sell, get ourselves on the map, and we should do okay.”
“And you plan to pay me what, exactly?” asked Patch.
Boss paused. “Okay, I don’t have the caps right now,” she said. “But once things are up and running we can pay you just like Slim did.”
“And until then?”
Boss paused again. “Well…” she racked her brains. “When we get back to the stable we can give you room and board. And food.” She added, “there’s gonna be cake.”
Patch stared at her blankly. “You’re shitting me,” she said flatly.
“Nope, no shit,” said Boss. “There’s gonna be a party with cake and everything.”
It was true; with Lucky Break’s newfound cutie mark, there would be a party. If it were anypony else, the party would have already occurred by now. But Boss knew they wouldn’t have the party without his sister there.
“So,” asked Boss. “We have a deal?”
Patch turned around and leaned back. “You’re not a lesbian, are you?” she asked, her eye narrowing.
Boss balked. “Excuse me?” she asked.
“Well, are you?” asked Patch.
“Uh…” Boss said. “No…”
“Hmm...” said Patch, taking another drink.
Boss opened her mouth to say something when another voice piped up next to them.
“Did I hear something about not being lesbians?”
Boss recognized the voice… but from where? She looked next to her and saw a short earth pony in a white bowler hat. Boss realized at a glance that he wasn’t just really short; he was a colt.
“Well?” he asked again.
“Hey, fuck off,” said Patch. The pistol by her floated just an inch off of the counter.
“Hey, hey…” said the colt, backing up a little. “I was just asking the young mare here,” he said, gesturing to Boss and smiling genially.
“Uhh…” Boss looked at both of them. “Did I miss something?” She raised her hoof, pointing at him. “You… I heard you on the radio.”
“Oh?” asked the colt. “Then are you interested in what I’m brokering?”
“Fuck off, Pimpernel,” said Patch. “We’re doing grown-up talk here. Go whore out your brother somewhere else.”
“Okay, okay,” said Pimpernel, stepping away. “No need to bitch me out.” He looked over at Boss. “Just remember if you need some relaxing you can always come and see Sugar Daddy.”
He straightened his bowler hat and turned around, which would have seemed a lot more dignified if he weren’t ten years old at most and the radio weren’t playing a silly piano ditty.
“So...” said Boss, looking back to Patch.
“We can discuss this back at my place.”
Patch’s ‘place’—the ramshackle water tower near the front of the town—was what Boss would call a sty. It was filthy, with dirty rags and torn magazines littering it. A few dilapidated posters peeled slowly from the walls. Patch sat down in a torn-up chair, eyeing Boss. “So,” she said. “You want me to shoot someone for you?”
“If that needs to happen,” said Boss. “Mainly I’m just interested in an escort.”
“Not the lesbian kind of escort, right?”
“No…” said Boss.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s talk payment.”
“Well…” said Boss. “There’s a slight problem with that…”
“No money?” asked Patch. “Then get the fuck out of my house.”
“Hold on,” said Boss. “I don’t have any bottlecaps on me right now, but I can make it worth your while.”
“How?” asked Patch.
“Well, I don’t think you’ve ever seen a stable before, have you?” asked Boss. “We might not have bottlecaps or money, but we can compensate you in other ways. We have a huge hydroponics program. Fresh fruits and vegetables. When was the last time you had one of those? Ooh, here’s another one: free drinkable, batheable water. I think that’s gotta count for something. As the Overmare I’d be in a position to give you all that and more. That, and… I can’t imagine you have a lot of attachments to this town. Might make for a nice change of pace.”
Patch stared at her, her expression unchanging. After a short bit of silence, she said quietly. “Overmare, huh? Well, ‘Overmare,’ I don’t do things for free. And I’m still a bit sore about the prospect that Slim Slick isn’t going to be paying me from behind bars.”
“So… no deal?” asked Boss.
“Well, let’s think about that,” said Patch. “Slim Slick has my money somewhere. If you can find it for me, pay me for my last job, then maybe I’ll come with you and see this stable.”
“Did I mention we’ll have cake?”
“Bring me my money,” said Patch. “And then we’ll talk.”
Boss made her way back to Slim Slick’s office. If he had any money, it’d be here. She slowly opened the door, peeking inside. Nopony there. Scanning cautiously, she walked into the room.
So Patch wanted her money, and that was all right with Boss. However, she had no idea where that money was. Slim Slick certainly hadn’t said anything, which left Boss with a fat load of nothing.
She walked over to the desk and sat down, drumming her hooves on it. She pried open a few of the drawers, but they were empty, save for some useless, dirty pencils.
There was still the terminal on the desk, though. She tapped a few strokes out on the dusty, grimy keyboard. The more she saw of this place, the gladder she was that she wouldn’t have to do business with Slim Slick. More like “Slimey Dick.” She shuddered.
The computer was protected with a simple password system. Nothing very sophisticated for a pony who knew her way around a computer. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Water,” said Boss. “Easy enough.”
A few options flashed on the screen, one of which was labelled Safe Access.
Click.
“Bingo,” said Boss, as the picture on the wall behind her opened. She peered inside and was disappointed to find nothing more than a small sack. Taking and opening it, she found a modest but still decent stack of bottle caps. Hopefully this should be enough for Patch, she thought, shutting the wall safe and powering down the computer.
Then, however, a message flashed in front of her eyes. Note added to inventory, it said.
Boss never liked the PipBuck’s literally in-your-face Heads-Up Display. She never turned it off, however, as she didn’t want to miss something in case it was important. The sacrifices she made for her job.
But as the message faded from her vision, she wondered: Note? What note?
Before she could search through her bags, however, the door opened. She instantly turned and got an eyeful of a red unicorn stallion. It was the same pony she’d seen on the wagon before, alongside Righteous Hammer. Though where Hammer was thick and powerfully built, this pony had a sleek, leaner build. On his flank was a bright flame.
“Well, howdy,” he said, stepping into the room. He casually strolled over to the desk and sat down, lazily eyeing boss. “You’re the little mare who cleared out our little Tox problem.” His eyes scanned her up and down. “I was expecting someone smaller.”
Boss raised an eyebrow. “Is that a joke?”
“Hm,” said the stallion. “I never did have a good sense of humor. My name’s Righteous Fury. I think you’ve already met my brother Hammer.”
“Yes,” said Boss. Her brain flipped through various options. He seems full of himself. Smug. It’d be funny if he fell down a flight of stairs. However, she settled on “Colorful guy.”
Fury chuckled. “You don’t seem to have heard of us,” he said. His eyes travelled down to the PipBuck on her leg. “You mind if I turn on the radio?” he asked, leaning over to the radio on the desk.
“Not at all,” said Boss. “May I sit down?” she asked. He nodded and she took a seat by the desk. In truth she did mind, but she still didn’t know what to make of Righteous Fury. The radio clicked on and she heard the already-familiar voice of DJ Pon-3.
“Alright, everypony!” shouted the DJ’s voice. “Things are gonna get really exciting, really fast! Slaves are moving out of Fillydelphia amidst the chaos, thanks to our own Ditzy Doo!”
“That’s a PipBuck on your leg,” observed Righteous Fury. “And I’d have to be severely inbred not to know a Stable jumpsuit when I see one.”
“Nothing escapes the Law, I see,” said Boss. Righteous Fury grinned.
“Well, not nothing,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I think I should know a stable dweller.”
“You get a lot of those out here?” Boss asked. DJ Pon-3 had begun playing a song (“Here comes the sun, do do do do…”).
“Not nearly enough,” said Righteous Fury. “A lot of the stables failed and died. A lot of the ones that didn’t got broken into by raiders or Steel Rangers or worse. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m taking a bit of an interest here. It’s just with what you did with those Raiders, I can’t help but thinking…”
“Oh, by all means,” said Boss, “please finish your sentences.”
Righteous Fury smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Over east there’s been talk of a little mare who crawled out of a stable and started doing all kinds of things. Clearing out raider nests. Decimated a branch of the Steel Rangers. Took on a slaving empire single-hoofedly. And now things are changing.”
“In the west, you mean?”
“All around,” said Righteous Fury. “They’re starting a new society out there. And we’re aiming to do the same.”
“Then it seems like I picked the right time to come out of the stable,” said Boss.
“Picked the right side, too,” said Fury. Boss peered at him for a moment, and he spoke again. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I had a few questions,” said Boss.
Fury shrugged easily. “Shoot.”
“I’m hoping I can find some information about a gem,” she said.
“A gem?” asked Fury. “Gonna have to be more specific than that.”
“It’s a large diamond. It’s got some sort of pink flaw in the center.”
Fury stared at her, his closed mouth moving as though chewing over an answer. “Afraid I couldn’t tell you that. I dunno much about gems. Mostly they’re used for powering magic firearms, and I can’t say I have much experience with those. If I wanted to find out about gems I’d probably head on west to Crown, but… since Vanhoover’s gone black they’ve been a bit out of order.”
“Vanhoover?” asked Boss. She remembered that from some maps; a port town.
“It was part of Red Eye’s little empire. Of course…” He shrugged. “You might’ve heard he recently died. They’re probably collapsing in a bit of a panic there. Crown was a town that worked with them, and with Vanhoover in the state it’s in, well…”
“I see,” said Boss. The radio finished its song and the voice of the DJ returned.
“And that was ‘Here Comes the Sun,’ by the Hoof Beats. You’d better stay tuned, ‘cause there’s a surprise on the way. The Lightbringer is gonna do it.” Then his voice went soft. “It’s gonna happen…” he said, almost muttering to himself.“We’re gonna light a beacon and paint the sky.”
“Well, I think I’d best be going now,” said Boss.
“It’s been a pleasure… what did you say your name was?” asked Fury.
“Boss,” she said, standing up. “I’ll leave you to your business. I’ll attend to mine.”
“The Law will be keeping a close eye on you, Boss,” said Fury, smiling.
She left the house and went into the streets, making her way down the road to Patch’s little hovel. As she walked, however, she remembered that note that she now had on her. She stopped and sorted through her PipBuck’s inventory spell until she found it: Note.
Some gecko eggs? was all it said.
Boss resumed her walk towards Patch’s tower. Her PipBuck said it was 5 PM. Not that she could tell that from looking up at the sky.
When she approached the tower, she saw something in the dirt. Investigating it, she found a broken radio. She puzzled over it for a moment before looking up.
“Hello?” she called up. “Patch?”
No answer.
She looked back at the road. Patch wasn’t there. Not much of anypony was. Boss didn’t like the look of it; it made her think of a ghost town. She looked up at the ladder and, not wanting to just stand around, began to climb up.
Ladders were not something she was used to. She knew what a ladder was, but there wasn’t much use for them in Stable 51. Gripping her hooves on the rungs was a trial.
We have things called ‘stairs’ and ‘elevators,’ she thought, this should be obsolete. Like the slide rule. She grumbled to herself as she went up the ladder. It wasn’t that she couldn’t climb it, as she had managed to do so earlier; she just wished that the town wasn’t so poor.
When I settle a township, there aren’t going to be any fucking ladders, she resolved as she reached the top. We will have stairs, and elevators, and all kinds of shit like that. I can look up how to make those! With that, she had a glimmer of satisfaction, imagining how her Library would bring Equestria back to something that wasn’t an eyesore. At least, the corner of Equestria she’d run.
Patch was, as she figured, not home. Her nest was a mess; obviously Patch didn’t care much what guests thought. She looked around. There were scraps of… things. She saw a fragment of something that looked like a poster. Come to me with fear, it said.
Creepy, she thought.
What caught her eye the most, however, was a bloody spike mounted on the wall, held up by two nails. She stood before it, staring. She didn’t know what it was, but there was just something about it that drew her.
“What are you doing here?” asked a voice behind her, making her jump.
Boss spun around and saw Patch standing there, her eye narrowed. “Oh, uh…” Forgetting about the inventory-sorting spells on her PipBuck, she fished through her outfit for the bag. “I got your money back.”
Boss held out the sack of bottlecaps in her mouth. Patch’s horn lit up and Boss felt the the bag practically yanked out of her teeth. Patch silently opened the bag and inspected the contents.
“Is that it?” asked Boss. “Now will you go with me?”
“Tomorrow,” she grunted.
“Tomorrow?” Boss asked. “Look, I don’t want to keep my stable waiting any longer. It’s already a two-day trip—”
“All the more reason to leave early so we can cover as much ground as possible before it gets dark,” said Patch. “I need to pack and get ready. I don’t just grab a gun and go wherever some bitch with caps tells me to.”
Boss narrowed her eyes. “You’re a mercenary.”
“There’s a difference between mercenaries who do what you tell them and mercenaries that keep you alive,” she said.
“Uh…” Boss looked around. “I kind of need a place to stay for the night if we’re going to be leaving—”
“There’s a flophouse by the well,” Patch cut her off. “They’re cheap and they’re usually good about their tenants not getting stabbed at night.”
“Cheap is a relative term…” mumbled Boss.
“Not my problem,” said Patch. “Now get out.”
Boss looked at Patch. Patch’s facial expressions hadn’t changed, but her voice had gotten lower. Deciding that it would be best not to press the issue, she nodded her head and went down the ladder. But first, she felt she should mention, “I think your radio fell down.”
“I know,” said Patch, as she sat down and scanned the horizon.
And that was that.
If going up a ladder was a pain in the ass, going down a ladder was worse. It only served to further solidify Boss’s commitment to a ladder-free utopia. It’d be her first decree on founding a town.
Well, assuming that happened. It’d probably be simpler to run operations right out of the stable. Or maybe just to slam shut the door.
She thought about Staunch and Fixit. The deaths of those ponies would no doubt push some to keep the door shut.
None of this would have happened if she’d kept the door shut. If she hadn’t let that stranger in. That hadn’t done her any good so far. He came in, used medical supplies, died, and left them with a gemstone and a lot of questions.
How would this all reflect on her? Anything bad that happened from that point onward would be entirely her own doing. If things went badly, it’d be her fault. She wasn’t exactly the most beloved Overmare in Stable 51’s history, and it wouldn’t take too much for her to be regarded as its worst.
But on the other hand, if this did work, and if she were the one to lead the stable out to rebuild civilization, if the library’s stores of knowledge of architecture, agriculture, and civics managed to restore Equestria, well… It was probably a pipe dream. But still, if it happened, what would that mean for Boss’s legacy then?
Well, there was no point in worrying about that right now, she decided. She’d need to find someplace to stay… or sleep out in the alley or something like that. She remembered for a moment what Cowboy had told her: that she could call in a favor for what she did. This seemed as good a time as any.
But then, she didn’t know how ponies regarded favors in the Wasteland. Maybe it was just being nice. Maybe it was a quid-pro-quo. If that were the case, she decided she’d better hold on to that chance for something later.
She fiddled with the earbuds for her PipBuck, and turned on the radio. At this moment, she faced the dilemma of choosing between the Voice of Truth and DJ-Pon3. One was moralistic and crass, and the other was annoyingly upbeat. After a moment of deliberation, she decided she’d go with “moralistic and crass.”
“Hey, what did I tell ya?” said the Voice of Truth. “It wasn’t a fucking week ago that our lovely little Lightbringer dropped a megaspell on Maripony, and guess what? Now we got cunts throwing around big fucking sun lasers. If I hadn’t already used that song I’d play it again, but—”
That was enough for her switch over to “annoyingly upbeat.”
“Hellooooo my little ponies!” said DJ-Pon3. “We’re almost here, something big!”
“Oh, this should be good…” Boss muttered as she walked down the street.
“There are big changes coming to the wasteland,” the DJ continued, “changes I think you’re all gonna like. Well, unless you’re a raider or a slaver or an Enclave member, but then, fuck you. But for the rest of you, well… lots of things coming. One of them in twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen...”
Boss turned the volume down. She always hated countdowns. Every time the number ticked down something went off in her brain that said “this is important. Pay attention.” She couldn’t focus on any of the thoughts in her head. Her eyes scanned the town. She saw some mercenaries stand imposingly before a wagon, a rotting cardboard sign on a building that looked like it was about to fall off, and she saw two ponies with the Law making their way down the road. She stopped in the middle of the road as the DJ poured numbers in her ear.
Her mind went back, briefly, to the note she had picked up. Some gecko eggs? She didn’t remember picking anything up. But PipBucks were finicky things, she reasoned. That was bound to be the case when you depended on two-hundred-year-old technology. The things weren’t beyond their quirks; Boss remembered one time someone found a cupcake in their personal inventory and didn’t know how it got there. Upon further checking, it turned out that he had sat on it. A pleasant surprised turned disappointing. So maybe she had sat on it.
“Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Aaaaaaaaaand…”
Then the sky exploded.
Boss was thrown to the ground. Clouds dissolved, swept away in a tremendous splash of colour and light, and the sun tore through, nearly blinding her.
“What was…” Boss started, but she couldn’t quite string a coherent thought together. She just stared up, awestruck at the blue sky. It wasn’t that she’d never seen the color blue before, but there was only so much she could see under the artificial lights and on dingy, two-hundred-year- old computer screens. She’d never seen anything as blue as the sky at that moment. It was a wash of color that left her dumbstruck.
“Told ya,” said the DJ. Boss immediately snapped off the radio.
The ponies in the road gasped as they looked up at the sky. They whispered to each other in awed, hushed voices.
“What is that… the clouds have been wiped away… the sun!” said snatches of disparate voices.
Boss, her hooves a little shaky, pulled herself up off the ground and stood up. She was almost entranced by the look of the sky. The bright, pure blue color overwhelmed her, like she could just drink it in.
But then she heard a voice. “Look! Look over there!” it said. She turned and saw a stallion pointing off in the distance.
Not all the clouds had been cleared. There were patches here and there, and off in the distance she could see one. Screwing her eyes, she saw something, some hulking mass, teetering over the edge of the cloud. She didn’t know what it was, but it seemed odd and unnatural, like…
Wait a minute… Boss thought. That’s an airship!
Then, it slowly tipped, before careening over the edge and plummeting to the earth. Boss could see tiny specks flying out that, upon squinting her eyes, she realized were pegasi.
She and the others watched as the once-mighty pegasus airship fell and fell, until it could no longer be seen, crashed surely down to the earth.