Fallout Equestria: Airborne

Chapter 1: After the Bombs

I felt bright light pressing against my closed eyelids, a soft, flat surface supporting my prone body. I didn't feel like opening my eyes and finding myself back in the hospital yet again, so instead I fell back to sleep.

The second time I woke up, I figured I'd slept enough and tried to open my eyes. After working my eyelids for a minute, they creaked open to a nice, bright blur. I couldn't see. I raised my hooves to rub my eyes; it took a half second before I realized my hooves hadn't moved from their resting position. I attempted to raise my head and only managed the smallest of tremors. Not a strong start to my day.

"Easy, girl, you've been down for a long time. You're gonna have to take it slow."

If I could have moved, I'd have been hanging from the ceiling with a fresh wet spot on my suit. The rough-hewn voice had come from feet away. Instead, I settled for yelling at the source of the voice.

"Ehn...mhn," I croaked as angrily as I could. How dare someone scare me in my condition? Despite my best efforts, I don't think my point got across.

A cool, moist rag caressed my forehead. I could barely make out a dark gray blob from the surrounding bright blobs, but whoever was gently sponging my forehead didn't seem like an immediate threat, on account of the fact that they weren't actively killing me (as far as I was aware). A small sliver of ice slipped between my lips, melting in my mouth and providing my parched throat with near-orgasmic relief. Whoever this pony was, they were steadily climbing up my list from archenemy to P.F.F. I might've even pushed for sainthood if another piece of ice followed. Indeed, another piece of ice followed, and I was able to clear my throat a little.

"Who...*cough*...who are you?" I whispered to Saint Growls.

"Name's Jester. I'd ask how you're doing, but seeing as I've been taking care of you for the past few days, I've got a pretty good idea."

"And? How'm I doing?" I sounded wheezy.

He cleared his throat. "Frankly, you should be dead. I have no idea where you came from or what happened to you, but when I first found you, you were a bloody, broken lump. Looked like something a manticore had savaged. Scared me half to death when I heard you still breathing, making this sickly rattle. I managed to pull you out of the Killing Joke and brought you to my hut."

I coughed softly. "Mm' name's not Frank Lee. It's Collateral. Collateral Damage," I rasped. "What happened?"

The rusty gears in my brain started turning again, bringing with it flashes of memory. I remembered the crash, the flowers, the bombs. The bombs!

"Celestia, I need to get back to base. I have to find out what happe-" My words were cut off by a series of violent coughs. I tasted blood.

"Dang it girl, I told you. You need to slow it way down." He grasped my shoulder. "I've set a few of the bones and stitched up the wounds I could get to, but you're in a real bad place. Your muscles have severely atrophied. Hell, you might've been out there for days, weeks even. Like I said, I have no idea how the heck you're still alive, but thankfully you've been steadily healing since I pulled you out. Damnedest thing."

My coughing slowly subsided, but the anxiety wouldn't. I needed to know what happened. I knew Cloudsdale was gone, and I'd hazard a guess Maripony was toast too, but I knew nothing past that. Try as I might, I couldn't get my voice to work anymore and started to get pissed off.

Jester seemed to sense my frustration and fumbled around with something. A minute later, the mellow twang of an acoustic guitar floated over my bed.

"I know it's not much, but I find music always helps me when I feel like I'm losing my mind," he said. "I figure you've got a lot on your mind, and you're probably scared half to death with questions, but for now we're going to work on keeping you alive and sane."

He started playing a soft, chord-heavy song, the melody melancholy and tight. I kept trying to wiggle my legs, getting nowhere, and finally let myself rest to listen to the song. I heaved out a long breath as he started humming along, his rough baritone keeping tune and time with his guitar, a wordless song of comfort and loss. The harmonies played over my ears, my brain muscles starting to unwind.

I was alive. I was not expecting (nor, if I was being honest, desiring) to get through that crash, and I sure as hell wasn't expecting to come through as well as I did. I mentally shivered at the fear brought on by memories of my thoughts grinding to a halt after the crash. Death was one thing, but brain damage scared the hell out of me.

He played well, his music indicative of and served well by a lifetime of practice and talent, and I found my eyelids drooping once more as the melodies wrapped around my mind like a toasty blanket.

I was still alive. For now, that was enough for me, and I fell back to sleep between the notes.

A week later, my legs moved. They were very, very stiff, and very, very weak, but I could touch my face, scratch my rump, and wiggle my hooves without too much screaming pain. I wouldn't be running a marathon any time soon, but I was hopeful that I'd be on my feet again soon-ish. My vision also came back strong, and I was finally able to take stock of my surroundings.

My savior lived in a dim, three-room shack built from corrugated metal sheets and rotten-looking timber. Windows on the wall were covered by a thick melange of dirt and grime, what little I could see that wasn't boarded up by plywood. I currently occupied a small hospital gurney in a corner of what I assumed was the main room, covered in thin sheets and bathed in bright light supplied by a single overhead doctor's light. A beaten up table stood in the center of the room, flanked by a few chairs and a rough sofa. I heard the constant hum of a generator running outside, supplying power to the lights, a refrigerator in the opposite corner, and a small computer beside me that beeped in time with my heartbeat.

I traced the wires from the computer into my Pipbuck, which somehow managed to not only survive the crash and subsequent rolling through the flowers, but also looked like it was still running strong. How do these damn things work anyway? I mean, I'm no dumb pony, but I'll be damned if I could think of what sort of power a Pipbuck needed to continue beeping away through all it went through, or what the heck the housing was built of.

I was shocked to find myself still in the stealth suit, which had also improbably survived the crash with minimal damage. I managed to get my head high enough to see that the suit had no tearing or fraying anywhere that I could see, despite the tumble I took and the wounds opened underneath. I knew I had cuts under the suit, and there should be corresponding tears in the suit itself, but I couldn't see a single one. I had a sneaking suspicion regarding the relationship between the talisman (if it still worked) and the suit, but I could figure that out later.

I also learned that I stank. I mean really, woof. My suit was still stained by blood and Celestia-knows what other bodily fluids that had leaked out of me during my time down, and the stench made my eyes water. I had no idea how long I had been in the suit or how long I'd been injured, but I was not a fresh pony. I sneezed, loudly, and lay back down towards fresh air.

Jester meandered into the main room, nodding acknowledgment to me as he opened up the fridge, pulling out a slab of not-readily-identifiable meat and two bottles of some drink or other. He was an older buck, slate coat showing long-healed but rough scars. He had a shock of emerald green hair streaked with gold, the latter color matching his sharp eyes. I heard him fire up the stove by the fridge, and soon the smell of cooking meat countered the funk of healing pony. My stomach rumbled, and I lifted my eyebrows in a hopeful manner.

He cracked open the bottles and set one down on my bedside. I grunted, licking at the air and willing the bottle closer to me, but to no avail; it stood stubbornly out of reach. I glared at Jester.

He shrugged. "You're healing faster than any pony I've ever seen, and I think we're past the point of laying about without any sort of effort on your side. Time you get back on your feet and see what you can do about repaying me for saving your life."

I stared back at him, nonplussed. I hadn't really put two and two together about paying him back for saving my life (math wasn't my strongest subject), but it seems only one of us hadn't been thinking about it. I found it tough to believe this was the same pony who sang me to sleep a few nights ago.

"I...uh, I don't really have any money on me. I left all my bits back at the base before I cra-...before I wound up here." I didn't really want to think about the crash again just yet. I lowered my eyes, not particularly happy with myself for needing his help and irrationally angry at him for expecting repayment. "If I could just get back there, I'd be more than happy to pay for your services."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "Bits? You better have a damn lot of them, pre-war money ain't worth much around here. But in the end, if that's what you got, that's what ya got. Let's keep putting you back together, and I'll keep a running tally of what you owe me."

He turned back to the stove as my mind warred between getting the drink ("Sunrise Sarsaparilla" the label read, one of my favorite non-alcoholic drinks) and figuring out what the hell he meant by "pre-war". In the end, my stomach won out, pushing the thoughts of word usage to the back-burner.

I first tried rocking back and forth to bring my mouth closer to the bottle, but soon scrapped that plan as the bottle started teetering dangerously on the edge of my bed. I then tried to sit up and drink the bottle like a normal mare, but I might as well have had a buffalo sitting on my chest for all the range of motion my sit-up had. Sweat started to bead on my forehead from the exertion, but Celestia be damned, I wanted that damn soda in my mouth. My forelegs were still shaky and weak, but for now they were now Plan A. I lifted my arm gently, aimed at the bottle, moved with the precision and grace of a ballet dancer, and promptly knocked the bottle right off the bed. Fuck it all.

I heard Jester chuckle as I heaved myself to the side of my bed to look for the bottle. The soda had spilled everywhere, dripping between the cracks in the wood floor. I lowered my head in defeat, which overbalanced me and toppled me right after the bottle, yanking the computer wires out of my Pipbuck in the process. Celestia damn and fuck it all right in the ear.

I couldn't help it - I started crying as I lay sprawled on the floor. Miserable, covered in soda and shame, I was furious at my body and at the stupid soda and stupid bombs that broke my Vertibuck and Jester for laughing at me and at my eyes for crying all over my stupid face. A dam broke inside me; racking sobs shook my body as I flooded with all the emotions that had held over from the moment the bombs went off. I was grounded in an overly literal sense and had to work furiously to keep myself from succumbing to hysterics.

After a time, my sobs finally eased to wet, snotty whimpers, and then finally ceased altogether. I didn't think of myself as much of a weeper, and previous minutes notwithstanding, I still didn't. I blamed the head injuries.

I felt Jester's shadow over me as I collected myself.

"You done?"

I scowled at the ground, stifling a hiccup. I didn't trust myself to speak yet, but I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of looming over me and enjoying a laugh at my predicament.

He set a plate of delicious smelling food down on the table next to my prone body,

"You want to eat, you're going to have to get it yourself." He sat down at the opposite corner of the table and started tearing into his food.

Great. Fucking great. I had landed belly-down, so at least I had my hooves on the right side of gravity, but I had no strength to lift my body. I lay there for another minute, gathering my will, and then started rocking sluggishly. I slowly pulled my legs beneath me, rotating one way to pull my lefts under me, then rotating the other way to pull in my rights. I pushed as hard as I could and didn't move an inch.

The smell of cooked meat wafted down over me, and I heard Jester loudly enjoying his meal. I knew he was doing it to piss me off, and boy was it working. I pushed again, allowing my anger to fuel my atrophied muscles. For a second, I rose off the ground an inch before I collapsed again, sticking to the soda-soaked floor. But I had moved. I had lifted myself off the ground under my own power.

I breathed heavily, shaking from adrenaline and furious anger and a little bit of hope. Jester continued noisily chewing above me, and I swear I could hear the smirk between swallows. I pushed. Fuck you, Jester. Fuck you straight to hell. I pushed harder, bulldogging through the pain. My body ever so slowly lifted off the ground, first one inch, and then another. I kept pushing, digging my hooves into the floorboards and straining against the massive weight of gravity. Every ounce of pain roasted under my smoldering rage. My clenched jaws ached, my legs screamed.

And then I was standing.

I looked at Jester with fire in my eyes, a fire that slowly extinguished as I saw the fatherly smile on his face. That asshole, he did this on purpose.

I took a hesitant step forward and nearly lost my balance. Slowly, gingerly, I worked my way around to the table and finally found myself hovering over a plate of delicious-looking meat and peas and carrots. Jester's horn flared with a golden light, and a chair swooped up behind me, allowing me to sit at the table with him and rest my forelegs on the tabletop.

I ate like a madmare. You ever see those pie eating contests where the pony slams their face into the pie, eating like they couldn't breathe without gouging out most of the pie in one go? Yeah, that's where I was at. I didn't have the strength left to eat properly, much less with manners, so I just dropped my head onto the plate and chowed down. It was good, damn good, though I didn't recognize the meat. Peas mushed under my chin as I horfed it all down.

Between bites, I grunted at Jester. "Wha' if thiff?"

"Radigator. Shot it last week, and these are some of my last steaks." He had a mildly disgusted look on his face as he watched me plow through the food.

"Mmph. It'f goord." I had never heard of radigator before, but I wasn't going to look a gift gator in the mouth, especially one in my mouth.

He pulled a couple more bottles of Sunrise Sarsaparilla from the fridge, popping the tops off and pocketing the caps. He floated one over to me, and I gratefully managed to get both hooves on it this time and angle it to my mouth. I missed my mouth as often as I made it in, but good Celestia did it go down smooth. Within minutes I had drained the bottle, and sat back, appetite and thirst sated.

I could already feel my body shutting down from exhaustion and good food, but I forced myself to stay awake to talk to Jester.

"Thanks for the food. I can't remember the last time I had a meal this good," I said.

"Don't sweat it. It's being added on to your tab."

I cringed. "Look, I'm not a rich pony. I have a good handful of bits stashed up at the base, and I promise once I get up there I'll pay you back and get out of your hair. I'll go as soon as possible."

He gave me a pointed look, so I continued. "Ok, It's not even really that good a handful, and I owe you big time for helping me out. What do you do for work? Maybe I can chip in."

At this he laughed. "'Do for work'? You're kidding. What, like in a building with other ponies, hammerin' away at a computer on a desk? I figured you had some brain damage but sweet Celestia, sounds like you just got tossed out of the Stable."

"Stable? I'm... not sure what you mean," I said, as he mumbled to himself about how a lot of things made more sense now.

He pointed at my Pipbuck. "Those were only given to Stable ponies. I've come across a few in my travels, and you could always tell a Stable pony from the rest of us. Well-fed, healthy lookin', and usually dead within a week."

Baffled, I started to respond, but he waved a hoof at me and continued. "Forget it, it's not important right now. I doubt you could help me anyway. See, I'm a hired gun, a mercenary. I protect or shoot or snipe or cover, whatever the money's paying for. And I'm damn good at what I do. Let's help you find your 'base' and my money, and then you can go your own way and I can get back to doing what I do best."

As he turned to leave, he said, "Look, if you want to help, start by cleaning up these dishes. I'll count that as payment for this meal."

He left the room after that, leaving me thoroughly confused. My thoughts were mired by food and exhaustion, and I couldn't make up or down from what he was saying. Stables? Those deep underground vaults Stable-Tec was making? I prayed to Celestia that the crash hadn't scrambled my brains more than I originally thought.

I was missing something. The more I thought about it, the further clarity rolled away from my mental grasp. As I sat there, I felt the food start to hit my system, recharging my batteries enough to gracelessly roll out of the chair and onto my hooves. I wavered slightly and then tottered over to the door. I figured fresh air would clean away the mental cobwebs, and then maybe I could get my thoughts together while I cleaned up the table, so I opened the front door and headed outside.

My jaw dropped, the dishes pushed completely out of my mind.

Dark, sinister clouds covered the sky as far as the eye could see, blanketing out the sun. The ground had been completely ravaged, patches of wind-dulled rock and ruined vegetation the only distraction from expansive stretches of stark wasteland. One lonely, withered tree stood in my field of vision, defiantly standing out from the harsh dirt. It reminded me of a rather vulgar hoof-sign. In the distance, I could barely make out the mountains where I knew Canterlot stood, the castle itself hidden by a lingering haze. A sharp wind caught me by surprise, bringing with it a cloud of dust and the smell of brimstone. I could hear low, whistling winds across the open expanse of land, but other than that, the wasteland stood deathly quiet.

I turned slowly, shielding my eyes, trying to find some form of civilization. Far behind Jester's shack, the Whitetail Woods loomed, gnarled trees huddling close. Numb, I started walking towards the forest, not really understanding why but wanting to do something, anything, to shield me from the miles of desolate existence I refused to believe existed.

A ticking sound from my Pipbuck caught my ear as the dusty winds whipped about. I halted, pulling up my Pipbuck status screen. Radiation, here? I stumbled back, and the ticking fell silent. I squinted at the woods. I could almost see the trees glowing, though whether that was actually true or just my over-active imagination, I couldn't tell. I decided against moving any closer.

I needed to talk to Jester.

I made it back to the door of the shack, my legs shaking from overexertion, my stomach rolling with heavy dread. Dinner threatened to make a return visit. I took one last, long look before I shut the door.

What the hell had happened here?