Prelude/I Don't Know Where To Start
~bzzt-- *KER-tshh* *Weeeeewoo-Weeeeewoo* “...eather.” *Clip-Clop* --bzzt~ *hss-KRRT* *Clip-Clop* *Weeeeewoo-Weeeeewoo* *zzz-ZZZ* “... Ahh-GH!” *thunk* “Glue F...” *Weeeeewoo-Weeeeewoo* *Clip-Clop* *Click-Beep* --bzzt~ “Blow 'em up, put your...” *Weeeee-Click-Boop*
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“... ready–” ~Bzzt~ “... paid your dues?” *ZZ-ZZ* “Please– NO– not me!” *ZZZzz-TK-tk* *thunk* “... check is in the mail.” *zzz-ZZ* “..anyone out there!? Pl–” *ZZ* *Click-Beep--ZZ-tk--Click-Boop*
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-- BZZT~
“Hold up, listeners! All of you, old and new, false and true– From every state, every size, every shape, every TYPE– Eastern, Western, finned, gooey, or striped. Hear muh words... As the storm grows, builds, brews– we do too; and whether you're boarding up yer home, or marching to defend it... though you know where you go and know you may die. I'd be remiss, if you were dismissed; without ever knowing why. If you're anything like me, you've been tired AND losing sleep. So keep an ear to the wire, and don't make a peep... Well I hope I have yer attention, because I'm out of rhymes. Listen closely to the coming tale and you just might hear yer own name, and it wouldn't be that strange; after all, it's our story in a way– how we got to this moment– and I have it right here in my hooves.” ~Kershhh-SH-pOP~ “Well, the hour is upon us and the clock is ticking... And I read:”
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“Doodley-Do Doodley-Do Doodley-Do” - Wayne and Garth
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“War... war never changes.. It's productive, intense, and destructive. It brings out the best and worst of every party involved. That's why here in Dr. Buckley Prosper's Academy of Natural Sciences we strive to look on the bright side of war! New advances are being made every day, advances that will carry Ponykind into the future; well past the defeat of the despicable Zebras. But just in case those lowlifes were to successfully strike our Academy, our caring founder has developed the most advanced emergency procedures to date! Just for you precious students.”
“Pfft. Oi fellas, I know we're trying to do something but this is going to be hilarious,” said a large stallion. The group glanced at the television between tasks of collecting books, holding back a door, and chopping off a raider's foreleg with a meat cleaver. When the screen displayed an animated diagram of radiation safely passing over a desk, three of them lost it. “Ohmypatronpony,” the large stallion wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, nearly taking his back off the door, “that's the biggest pile of Brahmin shite I ever seen!”
“How can you be laughing right now?” asked a hooded mare.
“I'm looking on the bright side of course. The tele is right about that one.”
“Bright side? You said these bastards would be gone.”
“Majority of 'em are, doll. These few must have done something to warrant being left behind; Twelve Scars go to battle full force. Haven't ya been keeping up with your reading?” The graffiti coating the room stated as much about the raiders' tactics.
“Oh and you're such a dutiful student.” She pointed a hoof to a plaque above the door.
“Ponies are not Mules, never leave a job half done.” – Buckley Prosper.
The door was closed, the books were collected, and a foreleg lay harmlessly on the ground. An impossibly well-kept journal had been left nearly empty, with the exception of seemingly random bits of information scattered among the pages a few sentences at a time; this was picked up as well, though it wouldn't see new use for quite a while.
The video was right about one more thing. War never does change. History books are always sure of when they end, but when they started is always a much trickier question. When did this war start? A thousand years ago? When first a Pony spoke to a Zebra? Sometime before that video was made? When this gang decided to steal some books? Just a moment ago? Perhaps, the true war hasn't yet started. These ponies– These wasters were not the kind to answer such questions; perhaps, that was their greatest virtue of all.
“Ya know what always get's me in the mood to kill?”
Something wet rhythmically banged against the door. “MY leg, give IT BACK! I want to taste it.”
“We are not here to GIVE!”
“... remember these safety tips young ones. For better or worse, the future rests with you.” And the monitor cut to static.
1._________________________________________________________________________I Don't Know Where To Start
“Alpha, Rita has escaped! Assemble a team of teenagers, with attitude!”
NOT ONE INCH!
“That's what we're giving to them,” I said, as the raider continued thumping their bleeding nub against the door; the pulse reverberated through the wood, into my back, and clashed with the one in my chest. The resulting beat reminded me of a tune I'd heard, and I guessed that Twelve Scars could have death-songs too. I took a breath, and sing-talked, “We waste away every day, and the land does too.”
If I could just remember all the lyrics.
“Booster, just no,” the cerulean mare said. She was nervous as usual, and stroked her white mane so fiercely– it was a wonder she still had any seafoam streaks left in it. “We need a plan, and right now.”
“Would ya kindly supply one? You can supply all of them if you want, Serene. Just say the word.”
I began stuffing my pockets with every explosive charge we had and fretted over how much safer this would be had I more than a makeshift, tactical vest.
Serene's forehead wrinkled, and eyes bulged. “What're y– do you know how much those are worth?”
“Aye, less than our lives. I don't see another way out, but I'm far from the keenest one here. If ya have a plan, I'm all ears.”
She needed time to respond, so I inspected my battle-saddle and the semi-auto rifle mounted on its right side; I tested the action on the bit, inserted a fresh magazine, and cranked back the slide.
She trotted to the window, glanced at the ground, and shook her head. Her creased brow seemed grim in the red light of the descending Sun. Her eyes darted about the bare schoolroom in near silence. The beating on the door was dying in volume and tempo, but I kept the beat alive in my mind. She gritted her teeth, but said nothing; no amount of song lyrics were gonna make my plan less suicidal.
“Every day we fight, when we have so much to do.” I tossed her the detonator. “Three second delays.”
Unlike her sister, Bitter Shores was ecstatic and practically drooling over her pistol. I lost myself in her wide, starry, and green eyes a moment. Those that noticed her four-pointed pupils tended to stare a moment, and then try and ignore them– but not me. Like the stars themselves, I found them alien but beautiful. She started to say something, but kicked the olive green stallion in a fetlock instead.
“Oh, what is the plan exactly?” Olive asked.
“Divide and conquer, OJ. And stay out of each other's way.”
Olive put on a smirk and a floating sash consisting of four straight blades, a kitchen knife, and a bloody meat cleaver. The orange glow of his horn glared against the scarred dome where, I assume, his mane once was; in all our years together I'd never seen it. “Gotcha.”
A fresh raider had taken up the task of beating down the door, with what sounded like the other's corpse. “But we all want more. It's not enough to go around.” I took a few, wide prances to the far side of the room. “Try to snatch it from my mouth, it's not my fault if my teeth come down!” I galloped, at ramming speed, towards the door. “HERE WE GO AGAIN!”
*KER-CREAKSH* We had barred the door with a raider's severed leg, but my momentum carried me– and the ancient door– into the hallway as if it was held up by tape.
“What's–” the raider said, as the door tumbled to the ground with all my weight... and a wet crunch.
I rolled off my left shoulder and over the door; as I skid onto the floor– the cracked, vinyl tiles tore into my knees. I rose to my hooves and galloped down the hallway– bleeding as well as singing. “Whooaa, Whooaa, Whoa. I gave up my share of the pie.” As I neared the end of that stretch of hallway, a couple Twelve Scars lifted their heads over a row of sandbags set across a doorway directly ahead– and were met with a barrage of small rounds. One took a bullet in the throat, but the other ducked unscathed. I hit the ground a half-second too late for it to matter, and glanced back at the source of the noise.
Bitter babbled something indecipherable around her 9mm pistol, and waved me onward. Behind her, Olive and Serene were working their way up the hall.
I armed an explosive and tossed it in the sandbagged room before turning left to continue my trek. “Whooaa, Whooaa, Whoa. But they wanted another slice!” More sandbags, but this time obstructing–
*KABOOM* … the hall; three raiders, two with pistols, stood guard behind them. I sank my teeth into my bit and sprayed 7.62 in their general direction. One battle-scarred raider with a sledgehammer decided not to duck. He stood fast, but I ran faster. His eyes narrowed at my approach, and he bared his teeth around the hammer's wooden handle. The raider craned his neck as I reached the barricade, but it was too late. I lept over the sandbags and trampled over his face before he could swing; arming and dropping a bomb in my wake. “Whooaa, Whooaa, Whoa.” I was off beat, and ducking bullets until...
*KABOOM* Serene was counting fast. “Even if it cost my LIFE.” From a door on my right, a bullet punched through a– luckily, empty– pocket and dug into the barding underneath. I traded the blow for a live explosive and ran on. I glanced left, down a hall, and glimpsed Olive buzz-sawing his way through a raider brandishing a– hopefully spent– sawn-off. “So I had to make them think TWICE. NOT I.”
*KABOOM* “I NEVER SAY DIE!” Four more– armed with pipes and knives, thank Luna– poured into the hall. I dived between the first two, but lost speed fishing through a pocket for yet another bomb. I produced and armed one before the third raider– a Unicorn– struck my leg with a glowing, metal pipe. I lost grip of the explosive; a mistake I planned to leave far behind. I drove my shoulder into the fourth raider and yanked my bit; she was too preoccupied to pursue me further. If I stopped moving for even a second, Serene would paint the walls in a layer of Booster. I didn't know how Serene would–
*KABOOM* Heat and gore rained upon me. I picked up my pace, despite the excruciating sting each heavy step drove up my leg. The hall ended with a left, and I took it. Seven raiders, four with shoddy rifles, stood at the other end; in one mass, they charged at me. I ducked into the next room on my right, and dropped all but one charge by the door. “Where there is no law there is no crime!” I emptied my magazine into the window, dropped one live explosive, and ran. My mother, and her mother, had died singing; seemed stylish enough for me. “But I don't need rules to take a bite out of grime!”
*CRASH* *CRASH* *KABAB'BOOMBOOM*
“Fuck...”
“Oi, Nelly. Wait– what?” I opened my eyes and found the sky; then the ground. A high pitch ringing in my ears gradually became the swooshing of a strong wind. I lowered my gaze from a drifting cloud to the academy, to the broken second storey window, and finally to a raider. Her hindlegs bent and twisted in several, unnatural places. I was scraped, bruised, and my side ached with every breath. Then I noticed a flickering light at the end my tail.
“Shite.” I promptly summoned the strength to stomp out the flame. Then sat back with a sigh–
“I am gonna. Eat. YOU!” the raider said between sharp gasps; she slithered on crooked forelegs with each word then, as if to punctuate, pounced on me. My hoof placed itself under her chin, and snapping jaws, while the other reached for my cattle prod; but the leather loop above my saddlebag was empty.
Amber gunk crusted the corners of her yellow, tribal-scarred eyes and her filed teeth were pinked with blood; probably her own, judging from the loud *CRACK* that sounded each time she viciously clamped her muzzle. She had a savage strength, even in her battered legs, but she wasn't the lanky oaf I was; I had no real trouble keeping her off of me– until she drew a knife from a shoulder-sheath and drove it into my injured, left hoof. And again.
I yelped as the dull blade wedged into my leg a third time. I wanted to bring my hindlegs under her, to kick her away, but my large frame ensured she was safely out of reach. She lodged the knife further in and twisted. “Fuckin' STOP THAT.” I headbutted her hard enough to compel a cacophony of snaps from her nose, and felt a warmth splatter against my forehead.
She ripped the knife from my leg and drove it at my face, but I knocked it off course with a swipe of my right hoof. As the Twelve Scar planted the knife into the dirt beside me, I rolled over and forced her muzzle to the ground. With a hoof against the back of her head, I slipped a foreleg around her neck.
She spat out her knife and tried to scream as she struggled– instead we got a disturbing, exasperated, and choke-filtered *ahhhgrrrrr* that struck an awful chord somewhere in my chest. Her yellowed iris sought to rend my flesh wherever her teeth gnashed and, as it bulged and reddened, the open triangle scars that outlined it filled with tears; it reminded me of the Sun. She snickered; not hysterically– but in a genuine, heartfelt way. Her head twisted grotesquely in my grip as she attempted to bite through my barding. Her teeth found something hard in one of my pockets, and somehow managed to fish it out.
“Nonono!” I said as she fished out that cruel, toothed heirloom. As my eye recognized the blade, my hoof reached for it. In the moment after; I had it in my blood-soaked, goosefleshed foot. Between the rhythmic spouts of blood, marrow seeped from the mare's spine and into her esophagus. I could almost hear that wrenching cross between a sigh and growl again. I got up, limped to the side of building, and chundered; no, false alarm, I spat. “Oi, there's my cattle-prod.”
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The Everfree Forest has grown wilder and larger since Red Eye's forces burned the majority of it a decade ago. Many believe slash and burn fertilization cannot fully account for its rampant growth in recent years.
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I sat at the foot of the academy steps and watched the sunset; mirrored in Olive's shiny, bald head.
“It looks fractured,” Olive Juice said. “Don't put any weight on it.” He began bandaging my left foreleg with his glowing horn. “These stabbings are what I'm worried about. Who knows where their knives have been.” He scratched his dome, and undid a couple of layers of bandage.
“Gear?” I asked Olive. I had taken ten minutes to catch my breath and limp around to the front of the school; Olive met me at the academy steps while Serene and Bitter cleared the place of stragglers. I wasn't told that last part, but heard familiar small arms fire from a window on my way around.
“We'll find out, real soon.” Olive looked past me toward the eroded, five storey academy. A knife glowed orange, and rose into the air. “Don't worry. He's FINE,” he called over my shoulder, as he pulled the bandages tight and knife-swiped off the excess.
I turned around in time to catch my mare in my good foreleg. “Iknewyouwerefineallalong; I didn't doubt for a second.” Bitter gasped. “What happened to your tail?”
“Fire,” I said. I whinnied as I took a look back at the two feet of tail I had left. I imagined if my entire tail was black, or just the brown splotches. Or if I was only– “Oi now!”
Pain tingled throughout my side, stemming from where my barding had taken a bullet. I must have had a bruised rib or something.
Still in my embrace, Bitter held a fierce scowl and a hoof reared back for another blow. “I know what that look means– on your face at least,” she practically barked at me. “No self-pity on my watch.”
“I'm sorry, love.” I gave her a squeeze, until her expression softened, then addressed her sister; who ambled down the academy steps, like she had been rejected from it. “So, anything worthwhile?”
“Well,” Serene said before sighing long and hard, “between what was left of the raiders and the bookshelves, compared to the amount of explosives we wasted–”
“Utilized,” I corrected. “They weren't even that great; not powerful enough to bust down a wall, or even my eardrums.”
“The video mentioned the building was conventional-bomb-proof and sound-resistant.” Serene crossed her hooves and turned towards the ''Buckley Academy of Natural Sciences'' sign “We've lost a hundred and thirty three caps, IF the Followers come through on their end.”
“The Followers always want books and stick to their word. I bet we can chat them into treating my hoof for free.” That put a grin on Bitter's muzzle.
“Oh yeah!” Bitter said. “Leave it to lady tough bitch talks-a-lot.”
“Well that previous estimate didn't include medical expenses so, still,” Serene said.
“Got a plan as to how we should proceed then?” I didn't chide; I never chided. “Seriously, I'm all ears.”
“No.” Her eyes, and hoof, ran once across a seafoam streak in her mane. “Where to now?”
“Greenhouse.” I let down Bitter with a kiss on the forehead. My eyes were drawn South over the mountains, and West to the rolling hills. In the twilight, Las Pegasus shone like a star; halfway between here and there and further South, nearly on the river, stood New Reino. Its glow reached around the edge of the mountains; I knew a few miles past that was the up and coming agricultural settlement. “I remember hearing they were trying to open a library in an MoP hub. That screams Followers with too many caps on hoof to me, don't it?”
I got a few nods and the course was set.
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In our time on the road, me and the gang only ever encountered two kinds of ambushes: the kind one never saw coming, and the kind one saw from a mile away. I've been robbed more times by Ponies standing on the road than ones hiding on either side of it; so, as a policy, we would first kind of ambush any second kind of ambush we came across.
“I'll scout down the left side; see if I can listen.” As I said it, my eyes drifted up and to the left– and my thoughts drifted in a similar direction. I shook off the idea to focus on the three equine shapes posted on the road– just before an ancient, stone bridge; they looked like mercenaries.
“Whoa now,” Olive said as he put a hoof on my shoulder, “you can't scout on three legs.”
Bitter made eyes like she wanted to say something, but that would require spitting out her pistol; something she refused to do in the presence of a, possible, threat.
“OJ, ya know how I feel about the word: can't.” I trotted in place a little with my left hoof raised. “And you're forgetting I can outrun the lot of ya still.”
“But if one of us breaks a leg we can still get away,” Serene whispered, though we were well out of earshot of the suspect Ponies. The dry, clay road sloped down towards the bridge for nearly a hundred meters from where we sat– midst skeletal shrubs in the mountain's shadow– then leveled for another fifty; until the rigid arch of the bridge. “How are you gonna run that far on two legs?”
“Serene Shores, ya seem to be forgetting that I can outrun the lot of ya still.”
I was skipping down the slope before anypony could protest; I kept South of the road, fauna grew most wildly near the base of the mountain, and began creeping as soon as I was on level ground. Anypony who has ever been a foal on the road knows a thing or two about stealth, but most of them don't grow to be near the size of Celestia.
I kept my belly to the ground in a lightly foliaged ditch a few yards from the road, that didn't run quite parallel with the road. I could hear voices, but I couldn't make out the conversation. I crawled along and, as the wall of loose earth grew higher and skewed further South, the voices began to fade. I followed the ditch to where it met the creekbed that ran under the bridge. The stream itself was pathetic and rank. Perfect, they wouldn't hear nor smell me a' creeping. I was practically under the road and hugging the wall of the ditch before I heard them clearly.
“Blah, blah blah,” said a feminine voice.
“Bleep. Blorp. Radda radda,” answered a more sultry one.
I facehoofed. “Shite.”
“Alright then,” said the first voice; hooves clopped louder as they crossed the cobblestone threshold before the bridge, “you got pretty close without alerting us but push–”
*BZZZZT*
A mare fell onto the bank with a wet thud. Her leather barding bore a mark, of two interlocking horseshoes, I didn't recognize.
“Throw over your weapons, now.” said the sultry voice.
I clutched my cattle prod tight against my chest; along with my bandaged leg. I had no time to think. “No, I have your friend,” I said. “You throw over your weapons.”
“You have one of ours, but we have all of yours.” said a raspy, masculine voice.
“Nice bluff, but I don't have friends.”
“Nice bluff yourself, but we know different.” There was a very, very long pause. Lone wanderers were rare– live ones at least– and I didn't know how long ago I had been caught, but neither Bitter nor Olive would've gone quietly. “Ha, so you do have friends!”
“HA, so ya don't actually have any of 'em.” The sound of a hoof striking a skull resonated as surely as the hooves on the cobblestone.
“Listen to me, tribal,” said the, probably, female mercenary. “Just throw your weapons up here and show yourself. We're looking for a red Unicorn, a stallion, with a white mane.”
Now they were probably bounty hunters. “Well, I'm not a Unicorn. Nor am I red with a white mane.”
“Then what are you?” asked the raspy one; his tone rose with a certain, lighthearted curiosity.
I glanced down at my legs, and then to various layers of clay– exposed as hueful streaks– in the dirt wall. “I'm... not a red Unicorn, alright? And neither are my friends.”
“Ha, so you do have friends–” Once again, the sound of a hoof going upside a head.
“I'm just not convinced,” said the mare. “Come out now, or I'll drop a stick of dynamite on you.”
The blonde, poofy-maned mare lay face down in the mud beside me. “Oi, what about your friend?”
“I'm assuming she's better armored than you.”
“Shite.” I picked up their friend, and made a ruckus out of it. “*Huff*... Damn.” I gasped, femininely, while throwing the mare's hoof over the ledge above me. It slid off almost immediately, and the mare tumbled back into my hooves. “Help. Now,” I said in a gruff interpretation of her voice; clean of what little accent I had. I hoisted her on my shoulders and threw both her forehooves over the ledge. Sweat beaded on my brow as I waited. I heard a hoof against a skull, and then hoofsteps scuffing over stone.
“Hey, is he red?” he asked, as he wrapped his talons around her hooves. “And a–”
*BZZZZT*
He tumbled over the unconscious mare, knocking her off my shoulders, and fell softly on his wings.
“Ya know, I'm quite surprised ya fell for that,” I said. “Honestly. Why didn't your Gryphon fly around?”
“Enough, you asked for this.” The strike of a flint sounded overhead; then a fizzing fuse. “Fire in the hole.” I looked to the two bounty hunters, helpless, on the ground.
“Nelly, guide me.”
One by one, I bit down on their collars and lifted them onto my back. I trotted along the creekbank for two excruciating gaits before my left foreleg buckled; like a grating, collapsing pillar under the weight three barded statues. We spilled onto the wet mud and loose stones, the dynamite fell nearby, and I heard hoofsteps approaching– encroaching on stone. The dynamite had a long fuse that went out the moment a green glow enveloped it. The hooves stopped atop the ledge.
“I knew that'd flush you out,” she said as she aimed down the sight of a floating, lever-action shotgun. Her eyes widened, her brow twisted, and her lips curled back in a snarl as the green light of her horn flickered; fear, anger, and disgust– like I had insulted her goddess. “You're–”
An orange light tugged her shotgun into the air, just as a large rock rebounded off the back of her skull. Her eyelids fluttered a moment before she toppled over the ledge. *THUD*
“Not a Unicorn; I know.”
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“Ponies see strange things in the desert, both the kinds of things ya know are just mirages and the things ya spend the rest of the day telling yourself were mirages.”
– Caravan Merchant
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We continued West, following the road that paralleled the Rubycon. According to the quill-drawn map those confirmed mercenaries were carrying, we could take a detour north to a small trading post and probably catch a caravan going West. I told the others as much. “One problem though. It's well out of our way and there's always the chance they are... inhospitable.”
“There's always the chance they're a bunch of Zebras,” Olive said while inspecting his new shotgun.
Serene's pockets were lined with a few sticks of dynamite, and a hooful of trade stuffs clinked in my saddlebags with each lopsided step. We left the mercenaries with everything else– well, everything but the bounty note Bitter was reading and the detailed– but crude– map I was currently deciphering.
“They probably wouldn't be any more hospitable.”
“Or they might not have a caravan and it will be huge waste of time,” Serene said. “Giving those mercs enough time to catch up with us. You know, since we left them with enough gear to kill us later.”
“We left them with enough to move on. But you do have a point.” I didn't want to kill those mercs before, I doubted that would change even if they did seek revenge. Best to simply avoid the possibility. “Alright, we aren't exactly loaded down and there are other places on the road to Greenhouse. We'll stick to the Long 80 for now.”
“I doubt that trading post would have any medical supplies anyway,” Olive said. His shotgun hovered in search of a place to sheath itself. Finally realizing he had neglected to lift the holster along with it, Olive awkwardly stuffed the gun into his saddlebags.
“Why are going so far again?” Bitter chimed in. “I don't like those Followers of the dumb shit anyway.”
“Because we happened on a– relatively empty– school and they pay almost double for books. Besides, we'd have to double back and around the Gorge to get to next nearest base of theirs.” It was actually much closer than that, but I didn't need to tell anypony that crossing the Gorge wasn't an option.
“Why are we still at this cap and bit horseapples.” She emphatically prodded the bounty note. “These Hired Hooves sound like a bunch of badasses that get things done.”
“Really?” I wasn't impressed and my tone expressed as much.
“Well, okay so not as badass as us. But look at this bounty; twenty thousand caps! For some renegade thief.” As she threw the tattered note over the map, her starry pupils may as well have been bit signs. Rex Rhetoric, a former member of the Society, had apparently stolen pre-war technology from the Steel Rangers; the proprietors of the bounty. But this was years ago. Since then he had killed a dozen Rangers, raided seven convoys, and instigated two skirmishes against the Enclave and Applejack's Rangers. “Yeah, these Steel Rangers sound like a bunch of badasses that get things done.”
“Like catch a single juvenile delinquent in under five years?” Olive said around my shoulder. He paced carefully; aware of the lever and stock hanging out the side of his saddlebag.
“Let's stick to–” I began. My right forehoof slipped from under me, paper erupted from my bandaged hoof, and– as the notion of catching myself drifted through my mind– my muzzle met the ground; busting my lip and rattling a tooth in its socket before I went head over hooves onto my back. Bright, streaking lights littered my vision a moment– until they decayed into the heavens ahead.
The early, crescent Moon was thin enough slice cleanly through the lonely cloud drifting its way. Beyond it were countless stars– each and all– flickering to some brilliant, unfathomable rhythm; with the exception of the seven that never moved: The Frozen Stars, or Still Lights as some called them. I could almost hear them– wait, what was...
“You okay, Booster?” somepony asked.
I licked blood and sand off my teeth and spat it to one side; then wiped the remaining on my bandages– the ones I had on hoof. “Bits, what did I trip on?”
“Just a skeletal leg,” Bitter answered.
“Actually,” Olive's voice held concern, just as an orange light held the leg, “it's freshly burned.” I rolled onto my hooves– ignoring the pain in my side, teeth, and leg– as Olive sniffed at the charred bone. A dark wave swept across his face, washing it of all expression, before his eyes locked with mine. “Seasoned.”
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“Are ya sure about this one, OJ?” I looked ahead at the campfire and those surrounding it. “They aren't the usual suspects.” But I would have asked even if they had been.
The mounds of loose dust piled along the edges of their tents suggested they had been camped in the valley for at least a few days, but the proximity of the road didn't suggest anything worthwhile. It was close by, but not within sight.
“As sure as my cutie-mark is a bunch of veggies on a cutting board,” he said, with a voice as low as the grave.
“They have foals.” Bitter spoke even lower, with longing; the shy words crept from her lips as she hid her face behind Serene's binoculars. We had been trying for one of our own for so long.
“I'll head down and greet them,” I said with a cough. “Watch for a signal, I'll let ya know what's cooking.”
“I'm coming with you.” Bitter wrenched up the corners of her mouth, and fought against the weight on her brows.
I nodded.
“Wait how will you know they're... you know?” Serene asked, as she retrieved her binoculars.
“Simple, they'll be much too friendly,” I told her, with upturned hooves and crested shoulders. “Who doesn't smile at a meal?”
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The Followers of the Apocalypse often send missionaries to tribal regions to learn the tribes' local dialects and languages, and to educate the tribals themselves.
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“Th-Then I said to him: It won't matter. All they'll hear is the punchline!” Bitter said, not quite as beautifully as she could have. Everypony was laughing anyway.
I admit, that one wrenches a laugh out of me still. “I never tire of that one, love,” I said; I stomped in applause and then winced at the pain in my hoof.
“Whoa now,” said a bright, yellow mare. “You should let me take a look at that.”
“Aye, sure enough,” I said as she ambled towards a tent on the far side of camp. I leaned over and gave Bitter a nuzzle before following after the mare.
Once we were out of earshot, the mare asked, “So, have you two been together long?”
We stopped just short of the tent. I looked back at Bitter, who was playing with a foal. “Years; she's been my main dame since we were little more than foals.”
“Oh, main dame?” She ran a hoof through her orange mane as she raised a brow. “Does that mean you have room for another?”
She wasn't that much older than me; a few creases strewed from the corners of her eyes, and her bones– cheekbones and ribs especially– were visible through tarnished skin. The elements in the wastes tended to carve gaunt statues of us all, but she was an alluring one.
I couldn't say that last bit about myself. “Oi, that's not funny.”
“Who's joking? I asked you a question.”
“There are times when we–” I shook the thought loose from my head. “Absolutely none. She's been my mare and I her stallion since before we were either. When my sis...ter died, Bitter was there for me more than anypony. We grew up together, and even when my– my looks became a problem...” My eyes drifted to Bitter, who was prying back an eyelid for the couple of– likewise– wide eyed foals sitting in front of her. “It was never a problem for her. I've never not been good enough in her eyes. More than I could ask of most Ponies.”
I looked back to the mare, who was fighting– and losing ground to– a smirk. “Tell me more,” she said.
“You were joking.” I emphatically stomped the ground and then pranced in place a bit waving the injured hoof about the air.
“Let's get you inside before you hurt yourself– and, please, forget I said anything.” I caught sight of two glints atop the hill before she shoved me inside and told me to sit. I found the least stained portion of mattress, sat, and then held out my hoof. “I was joking; sorry. No offense, just wanted to know h–”
“I never did catch your name, Miss.” Most Ponies don't ask for the names of Ponies they may have to kill, but– from my experience– that kind of logic would lead to never asking names.
“Just call me Summer.” She furrowed her brow at the bandages wrapped around my hoof. “Well, she kinda knew what she was doing– no offense to your mare, but this needs a splint and a tighter wrap.
“So... we won't have to amputate?”
“Of course not!” She snorted as she pulled a bag close and began rummaging through it. “What gave you that idea?”
“Just foolin', but what about these stab wounds?”
“Well one goes to the bone, but it's an easy fix.” She reached into the bag took out a healing potion and fresh bandages. “Drink that while I try to find a clean wooden plank.”
“Shouldn't I wait for the splint– I mean, won't this heal my bones?”
“No. It's really weak, so don't worry about that.” As she left the tent I took the bottle in my good hoof and pulled off the cork with my teeth.
“It might be sleeping poison,” Serene said. She had crawled through a hole in the tent, I assumed, and still had her belly to the ground.
“Let me know if I wake up,” I said from the side of my mouth. I spat the cork at the mattress before turning up the potion over my open muzzle. I didn't taste much of it, but my hoof felt better almost instantly. We waited a while. “I don't feel sleepy. Tell OJ to hold his position a spell.”
“Okay, if you're sure.” She threw her hood over her eyes and slipped out without a sound.
A few minutes later Summer was back with a marginally clean piece of wood. “This is best I could find,” she said.
“The Wasteland provides,” I said. “Just mostly waste.”
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It felt good to put all four hooves on the ground again. It had been almost an hour since our arrival, Summer was readying the foals for bed, but me and Bitter were still enjoying ourselves. I wasn't convinced of anything yet, and we hadn't had a moment alone to compare theories. I looked down at the fire and then to the splint secured to my foreleg. “I wonder if this is how a PipBuck feels like.”
“Don't they have parts that go under the skin?” asked Bitter, as she raised her eyebrows; she was comically incapable of raising just one. I shrugged.
“Only particular models,” said the knowledgeable, wrinkled, and bearded stallion they called Old Pony Winter. “Sometimes, I see advertisements in magazines.”
“That reminds me.” I took out a stack of books we lifted from the school. “We haven't read these ourselves, but perhaps there's a foal's tale among 'em.”
“Thank you so much.” Summer sifted through the stack. “Do you know any of these Old Pony Winter?” She presented them one by one while he adjusted his spectacles.
“Nope, nope, that's a textbook, no– uh nope, nope, yes it's terrible, and nope.”
“Well not these two. We're making progress.”
“Read this one,” said a navy blue stallion, as he pointed to the thinnest of the unknown books.
“How long has he been here, Bits?” I whispered. She answered me with a scowl, and then a shrug. I didn't know what to make of that.
“The Cyclop's Wails,” Summer read with inflection. The foals were tucked into bedrolls within a nearby tent, and peered out with eyes the size of saucers. I put a foreleg around Bitter and she leaned close against me. “Once there was a great Kingdom that suffered from many ails, their cures all delivered by a magic Cyclop wail. When the hearths grew cold, mountain veins stripped of gold, and plague and beast devoured crop. The Queen sent her soldiers bold, deep into mountain hold, with blade and bludgeon for Cyclop. He was tall as oak, wide as river, and long as pond. His heart as broke, his steps as ginger, but of war unfond. To every soldier he begged mercy, but all his efforts were in vain. Soldiers struck his hooves viciously, and Cyclop cried out in pain. Long did the Kingdom beat his hooves sore, until at last Cyclop wailed no more. One day an Earth Pony peasant was traveling to town, above the trees he spotted the Cyclop's crown.
“The poor sight made even the peasant pony frown, his eye was dim and hooves notched and coat blood matted brown. The pony asked: 'Mighty Cyclop, tell me please your ails.' The Cyclop muttered: 'The townsponies, they abuse me for my magic wails.' The Cyclop's eye grew fierce as he said: 'But no more, their blows are as common as the breeze and I shall no sooner wail than the Sun.' The pony was shocked to hear of this, and hurried to the Queen to see what could be done. The peasant pony found the townsponies crowded outside the castle gates, the court Unicorn spoke from the balcony of the estate. 'The Queen has fallen to an illness of which the only cure is the Cyclop's wails, whichever pony can cure the Queen will have her daughter to wed!' After hearing the Unicorn's tale, the peasant pony raced home to bed. The next morning the peasant pony went back to find the Cyclop in his foul mood, and said: 'Cyclop your hooves are terribly notched let me make you finer ones of wood.' So the peasant set upon the task, and the Cyclop was very glad for the deed. When the hooves were set the Cyclop was made to laugh, and his booming chuckle imbued the pony with great speed.
Summer spent a few moments struggling with a stuck page.
She cleared her throat before continuing with the story. “In just a second the peasant pony was in the town's core, all the townsponies were working faster than ever before, but the Queen had yet been cured. In a moment the peasant pony was with the Cyclop once more, his coat was dirty with bruises and sores, peasant pony said: 'I will wash your coat of all you have endured.' The Cyclop was very pleased, he thanked the peasant pony at great length. Soon his coat shown like gold, his sigh of relief gave the peasant pony great strength. Once again into the town, once again the townsponies toiled the better, but again the Queen was very ill. Once again the Cyclop was found, once again asked what upset him, and the Cyclop stood tall and still. He said: 'Today I feel much grander than any day of my life, but I am very lonely as I will never have a wife.' The peasant pony found a hill and shovel and dug–
“Okay, I'm just going to skip this part!” Summer said. “Everypony grew incredibly beautiful, especially the princess, but the Queen's still sick– ... the peasant pony returned to Cyclop's hill. 'What great gesture do you bring to me now my friend?' asked the Cyclop of the peasant pony. The peasant pony said: 'Something of a surprise! If you will only close tor eye, and lay down for me!'”
“Tor?” The navy stallion asked.
“That's a typo. 'I would trust you to any end!' said the Cyclop. 'For you are unlike any pony.' He close his grand eye, lay down on his side, and tucked in every knee. With great speed rope tied him in alarm, and with great strength he was beaten. When he opened his eye to what did him harm, the traitor pony was there to greet him. The Cyclop wailed and wailed, until his voice grew sore. From the Cyclop a tear flowed, and when it doused the peasant pony was young once more. Though the Queen had died, the peasant pony wedded her daughter all the same. The whole of the Kingdom rejoiced, until the Cyclop grew old and lame.”
“Who wrote that shite?” I let slip. I glanced into the tent on my right, and found both foals with shut eyelids; statuesque but for slow, minimalist breaths. “Oh, thank the Patron.”
“I know,” the navy blue Pony scoffed as he picked up the book, “these rhyme schemes are completely inconsistent.”
“Not the first flaw I noticed, but you're right. Did anypony catch the meaning of that story?” I got a whole mess of shrugs. Something glinted thrice from a ditch behind our hosts. “Excuse me, I need to file my shoes.”
I gave Bitter a nuzzle and a whisper, and then trotted to where anypony would be hard pressed to witness; not difficult, given the hour. Olive and Serene were waiting behind one the thick, canvas tents.
“That was a... interesting story,” Serene whispered.
“Wait, you could hear that?” I asked just as quietly.
“Yeah.” Serene's eyes shifted left then right. “We should move further away.”
“Aye.” We crept several yards more, behind a pile of rubble and an uprooted tree.
“So, Booster, what's the plan?” Olive asked; his voice hadn't lost an once of intensity.
I cleared my throat. “Uhh...”
“Yeah, if we're gonna make a move it needs to be soon.” Serene, of course, was still whispering.
“I've seem to run dry of ideas.”
“What!?” they whispered– or its equivalent to shouting– in unison.
I shrugged. “Well, typically, they try to eat us by now.”
“Maybe they're not hungry,” Olive suggested.
“Cannibals are always hungry,” Serene said before raising a brow, “and yet they're never fat. What is up with that?”
“Oi,” I said, as my eyes drifted in their favourite direction. “That's actually a great question, but we're ill equipped to answer it. The point is: I don't know how else to determine their diets. Suggestions?”
“I got one,” OJ addressed Serene. “I need you to sneak into the tents and bring me any spices you find. My nose will do the rest.”
Serene looked to me– I nodded– then slinked about her business.
“OJ, don't lose your head over this,” I said.
He nodded.
I took a few steps the way I came and said over my shoulder, “I'm leaving my trust with you.”
A few moments later, I was sitting next to Bitter again; now if only I didn't actually need to piss like a racer.
“... right. Perhaps it is about manipulating others,” said the nigh invisible stallion. He tossed the book carelessly onto the pile and his pitch mane fell into his eyes, creating the illusion of a floating muzzle.
“Maybe,” Old Pony Winter said as he stroked his gray beard. “Or maybe, it's about finding joy in both the happiness and the suffering of others.”
There was a long pause while everypony pondered that one.
“Hopefully the Followers will pay us before reading it,” I said before throwing the stack back in my saddlebags.
“I doubt that,” Summer said. “I've dealt with them a number times.”
“Oi, is that where ya got your medical training?”
“Some of it, yes, but most of my skills come directly from my mentor here.” She patted Old Pony Winter on the back.
“So,” Bitter chimed in. “I hope I'm not imposing, but we are really low on supplies. Do you have any food or water to spare?” A chuckle escaped through her exposed teeth. “We have caps.”
“I'm sorry, but we only have enough greens and canned goods for the foals.” Summer readjusted herself. “We have a few bottles of water if you really need them.”
“No other food? Then what do you eat?”
“Not anything you would want.”
“What do you mean?” Bitter added a slight inflection.
“Meat,” said the floating teeth. “It isn't good for us Ponies, but it's all we have; and not enough to share even if you did want it.”
“I'm sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Winter said with a smile that creased his entire face. “You already said you didn't mean to impose.”
That smile was contagious.
“How long have you been traveling together?”
“About six years now,” the navy stallion said with an ounce of warmth; first I'd heard from him. He shot a smirk at the bearded, old buck. “Ever since this kind stranger helped deliver our foals unto the wastes.”
Bitter smiled at that. “They're beautiful by the way.”
“Thank you, we're very proud of them,” Summer said, and returned the smile.
“We've been trying to have one for quite a while now.” Mouths and brows– especially their outermost edges– slowly yielded to some great weight that found its way onto my eyes and my heart.
None of that mattered now; Olive was levitating a blade at each of our three host's throats.
In the light of his horn, Olive's eyes were like hot coals. “It's definitely them,” he said.
“This is dangerously close to losing your head, OJ,” I said with a sigh. I knew, somewhere in that cook's head, there was a voice preaching to him about the culinary blasphemy he had just witnessed.
“I'm fine.” He levitated an open cooler to where me and Bitter could see inside; legs and ribs. “Now what are we doing with these monsters?”
“Who are you?!” the navy stallion asked with an, only slightly, raised voice. It was obvious nopony wanted to wake the foals. “We are not monsters, we are just trying to survive.”
“Even if that means becoming cannibals?”
“We don't like it any more than you do.”
“I seriously doubt that. You make me fucking sick. Most of us have had to kill, but how can you chop up and cook another Pony!?” Olive pressed his blades closer against their throats.
“If you must know, I get blind drunk first. I hate it, we all do, I even overseason it. I have to make absolute sure it taste, different, awful.” In the orange glow, I noticed a mortar and pestle on his flank.
“And what about the foals?”
“Like Summer said, they get all the greens and pre-war food we find.”
“What do you do when you run out? Go out hunting?”
“I don't know; probably starve. It hasn't happened and, Goddesses willing, it won't.”
“Yeah, we can probably help with that–”
“Olive. Just stop,” I said, and gave him a look I hoped would remind him where my trust went. I looked over our hosts. “None of what I've heard excuses murder.”
“But we never murdered anypony!” Summer pleaded; her eyes tried desperately to ward off the razor floating at her neck.
“She's speaking the truth,” said Old Pony Winter. “We found her– the last one– gut shot on the road. We did everything we could, but it wasn't enough.”
“That doesn't justify what you've done, you old bastard.” Olive raised his blades a centimeter.
“Is it stealing when you loot bodies, or rummage through a building?”
“Uhh, is it?” I asked. I turned to Bitter; she shrugged. “Serene? OJ?” A hooded specter shrugged before joining her sister's side. “Well, if that's the case, it's not unlike lifting a can of apple slices off a corpse.”
“This is completely, fucking different!” Olive barked; a filly stirred in her bedding.
My eyes and ear twitched as I held my breath, silent, until the foal stilled. “Different enough though?”
“They're deviant cannibals, this is not natural; this is just plain wrong. And they have foals! Maybe they won't kill Ponies for food, but what about them? What's going to happen when these foals grow up with these freaks? Is it going to seem so strange to them then? Are they going to see everypony as cattle?”
“OJ, this isn't–”
“You two could raise the foals– You'd be doing them a favor!”
“OJ, are we stopping future murders or are we purifying the Wasteland?” Bitter asked; her voice held a certain finality and regret.
“That... That isn't a fair comparison. But we can't just let them get away with it. Can we?” The sheer amount of shrugs was starting to get awkward.
“What were we supposed to do?” Winter asked; his face was as routine as somepony who had asked this question countless times of their own reflection.
“Bury them. Just about anything else would have been better. Booster, is that how you want to go out?”
“This night is turning into a regular shrug fest,” I said.
True confusion was setting in and tensions were straining what sense was left. Once again, I was left to make a call that I really wasn't sure about.
“Booster, we have to do something,” Serene said
“Yeah,” I inhaled sharply, “we need to leave.”
“What?” Olive said, as if he truly didn't hear me.
“We aren't doing anything productive here. It's time we left.”
“What!?” Olive did not notice, nor regard, the stirring foal. “I CA–”
*BZZZZT* Olive hit the ground in unison with his blades.
The navy Stallion glanced at a knife, locked eyes with me, and then turned away.
“Mind hoofing over those blades?” He kicked the knife in my direction; Summer and Winter were more civil about it. “Serene, Bits; can the two of ya start hauling away our friend? I'm going to properly excuse ourselves to these Ponies.” Bitter's forehead creased like her sister's. “I'll only be a moment. I promise.”
They obliged, but with a fair amount of reluctance.
I waited till the gang was out of earshot. “I can't say I know the right from wrong in this situation, but I can say I feel sorry it happened. This is in no way an approval of your actions, but a disapproval of my own and that of my friend. He's typically a kinda reasonable fella. No hard feelings?”
“That's just fine by me,” said Old Pony Winter; he still had the courage to smile. I was envious.
“Well I, for one, cannot say there are no hard feelings,” said the heated, navy stallion. “We don't need anypony to give us a hard time; we do so well enough on our own.” After a moment of scowling, he sighed in a way that expelled his previous fire. “That said, I have something more to say and though it does not please me to say it– I no longer believe I will regret it either.”
“Please, allow me,” Summer said, biting her lip and averting her eyes. “There's no easy way to say...” Her eyes locked with mine; they were determined and pitiful. Her lips moved, but I heard no sound. When she was done speaking, her steely expression twisted into concern. “Are you–”
“I want... a second opinion.” The words rolled off my tongue with no rhyme or reason known to me.
“Well, now I do feel terrible,” lamented the navy stallion– I just realized I never caught his name– as he picked up the cooler and walked it like a prisoner back into his tent.
“Good luck then, and thank you for treating my leg.”
I ran onto the road, turned left, and trotted until I'd caught up with my party. The Shores didn't get too far with Olive on their shoulders so, as I passed, I bit down on his collar and threw him onto my back. We made our way West, with very few words.
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“This is definitely not a good place to be!” – The bad guy from that one movie.
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We made camp behind a sand weathered billboard, complete with a scrap metal fence to break the wind. I hated places like these; they always brought up bad memories. But it was too dark to start searching for one of the cool, repainted ones– and Olive was finally returning to his senses. Serene and Bitter were out hunting, as I tended to the fire and my friend.
“Oww,” Olive said; he rolled off his stomach and gave me a sidelong glance.
“Ya feelin' alright?” I asked, as I rearranged the fire with the stick. “Nothing worse for wear I hope.”
“Just a headache,” he prodded his neck with a hoof, “and an electrical burn.”
“I'm truly sorry I did that.”
“I'm sorry I wigged out. You shouldn't have trusted me not to. Just like you shouldn't have let them go.”
“I didn't know what else to do. I just went by my gut instinct.”
“Yeah, so did I, so maybe we're both idiots.”
“Morality is a tricky subject.” I rested my chin on the rough clay, and watched the flames whip about for as long as my nose could bear the battering heat. “Maybe it's morality that's stupid.”
“Somehow, I find that to be a less likely scenario.” He rolled onto his back, looking straight into the heavens, and sighed.
“What is it about them, other than the obvious, that upsets you so much?”
He paused a moment. “You'd think it's stupid.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Okay.” He paused again. “They make me lose my appetite.”
“What?”
“Can you imagine if a Gryphon hated heights, or if Serene hated meditating, or Bitter... being active. What if something took all the fun out of running, carrying things, or– what exactly is it you do again?”
“I get the picture.” I glanced at my cutie-glyph. As a child, I had skimmed through every textbook we could find; but I never saw the parallel pair of single-pronged arrows– pointing in either direction, and bisected by a slashing line– that decorated my flank.
“It's as if, the idea poisons my very purpose in life. Like, I don't even want to think about it.”
“Well, now you don't have to.” I rose to my hooves, threw the stick onto the fire, and placed a saddlebag full of Olive's knives down beside him. “Sweet dreams.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Ya already said that.”
“No, I woke up about twenty minutes ago and just let you carry me out of spite.”
“Oh, sweet nightmares then.”
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The Ghosts of Danu are one of the tribes of the Long 80. They are of a shamanistic culture that views the Spirit of Discord as being a spirit of nature and a bringer of chaotic harmony.
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Everything was so large and imposing. The dead rose from the earth, emaciated, with vacant souls. Sister... Mother. She picked me up, threw me on her back, and ran– so fast. Her battle-saddle wouldn't fire. As the dead gained ground behind us, the rifle assembly lost part after part. I took it in my hooves before it fell from her side. I aimed, restricted by what was left of the rig, and kicked where the bit met the firing mechanism. She ran, I gunned, and the dead would not reach us.
Summer stood majestically, despite the heavy packs stacked upon her back, but her eyes were liquid pits full of pity; pity for me. She spoke, and I heard her voice a moment later. “... to say this. Zonies are sterile. You can't ever have a foal of your own.” I blinked at the increasing number of packs falling onto her back, and colours smudged with each bat of my eye. “Did you hear me? Are you going to be okay? Are you–”
“... okay Booster?” Bitter asked; she was shaking me fiercely.
The cold night air and sweat chilled me to the bone. “I... No, I'm not.” I held her as tightly as I dared.
“Booster, you're crying.” She rested her head against my chest. “Is it because of what happened today? Is it your hoof?”
“No, love.”
“Did you have the dr–”
“No.”
“Is it... because of your stripes? I'm sorry, I know you hate calling them that.”
“Yes,” I held her just a bit tighter, “it's because of my stripes.”
================
Footnote: Level up!
Perk Added: Deft Hooves (Rank 2) – Your hooves can gracefully manipulate objects, allowing you to access your inventory at half AP cost and wield melee weapons in a single hoof so long as you meet the STR requirement.
2.___________________________________________________________________________________Bedlam Time Stories
“You don't pay no tolls, we don't eat no rolls. Heh, came up with that myself.”
There's always trouble.
“Alright, everypony pass me what ring-pulls ya have,” I said; the gang passed me every object they figured might hold value to a tribal. “Wait here.”
I took short steps, so not to advance too quickly, and maintained eye contact with the Sorrow wearing a Buckley Academy alumni sash; which secured a knife-blade spear to his back. The grunt behind him juggled a hacky sack as menacingly as possible. I'm sure it was comical to my fellows, but just looking at it made my eyes water. I kept my ears perked. The real danger was somewhere off the road where at least two other Sorrows, one for each side, were ready to loose a number of rifle rounds– or perhaps a few well trained beasts. Even the bright, rising Sun would not reveal them until it was too late.
“Forty pulls,” the alumni croaked, as he pulled back the dark hood of his black leather barding; starting from the gray roots of his oil dyed mane, a series of vertical lines was shaved into one side.
“You are of some seniority to be guarding a road, afraid of a Twelve Scars raid?” I called from a ''safe'' distance. “It's to be expected after the eleventh phase.”
“Ya came from out their territory, and then imply to have know-how of their activity. Ands ya don't shadow your voice neither, though it's been seasoned. Before I assume yer liege has sharp teeth, ya better tell me what legacy ya claim.”
“Star Eaters.”
“Bah! I don't believe it– not with that pallet.” He waved a hoof fluidly, like a sorcerer, to motion at the obvious.
“Heehee, yeah dude, I never saw a Star Eater without– like– her crest neither,” the young grunt said from behind her radigator skin cloak. I couldn't have taken her seriously if not for the tiny, wool sack she kicked around. The chemicals that filled a standard blacky jack weren't lethal; as a rule, lethal weapons were less painful.
I drew a breath, and said, “I was denied sanctuary by the tribe, so my mum took me on the road. But she made sure to teach me the ways, so I wont be cheated of my birthrights; especially when I have raider pulls to pay with.” I tossed some junk we had lifted a little more than halfway to his hooves. A plaque, ruined textbook, and severed– scarred– head proved where we had been. “Tribal born pay eight pulls, and rival's pulls are worth double. The toll's rightfully nineteen ring pulls. Do ya accept?”
“Harrumph.” He eyed the junk a moment and nodded, tossing his oily mane over his right eye. “State yer name and status, drop the pulls the rightful way, and be on with ya.”
“Booster, son of none, given to the road by the Star Eaters– plus three.” I counted out the pulls one at a time, as I was taught, and dropped them in the center of the road.
“Lances a lot, son of Shakes a spear, grants ye passage.”
They each dropped two cardboard rectangles and then stepped to either side of the road. We continued West, picking up the crude passes as we passed, and they held vigil at least until we were out of sight.
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Since the routing of the Enclave at Neighvarro, weather has been loosely regulated. Outside of the influence of the NCR and Gawd's Talons, weather is left to whatever Gryphons and Pegasi the local settlements can hire.
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“Uh, is it an Equine?”
“Nope.”
“Does it have hooves?”
“Yes.”
“Are they cloven hooves?”
“Yes.”
“Was he banished to another realm by a magic bell?”
“Yeah.”
“Grogar.”
“Nope.”
“What!?” Serene cried.
“That's twenty two; my turn,” Bitter said with a chuckle.
“Oi, dollies,” I said over my shoulder. “Everypony shut up.” In the distance, I could see the faintest trail of smoke rising beneath the shroud of the Sun. “We're nearing someplace.”
“There's no need to be so jumpy, Booster,” Olive said through an herb he had picked from the side of the road. “We have passes for the only real force in this area, and even most of the wildlife is in their control.”
“Just, shut up please.”
We continued quietly for a while, at an elevated pace. My lanky legs ate away the dry turf; leaving the others hard pressed to keep up. Bitter finally trotted to my side; her forehead creased with worry.
“Are you still sad?” Bitter asked. She rubbed shoulders with me, urging me to slow down.
“I... I guess so.” I evened my pace to something more... sustainable. “I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to worry ya.”
“You never said what was bothering you last night.”
“No, I didn't.”
None of us had slept soundly; as a result, we had sat up late into the morning. She leaned close, and we walked that way in silence– for what seemed like mere moments– until it was broken by a very distant gunshot. The cool, morning breeze passed through the Sun's rays; which were busily warming the earth before us.
“You can tell me anything, you know.”
“I know.”
“Okay,” We slowed to a stroll; then a stop as she wrapped a hoof around mine. “I love you, Booster.”
“I love ya too.” I felt a pain in my chest and skull– where I held that knowledge I couldn't repeat.
I had tried to summon the words last night. That I was less than a stallion, that I could give her no children, that my kind were never meant to exist– less procreate. All I had summoned was more tears. My mouth hung open, as I tried to find the words that would crush any hope of a future together.
Blood splattered the asphalt and trickled down Bitter's right hock, as a tuft of dust rose from the off-road clay behind her.
“Aaaahhh!” she shrilled just before lifting her bleeding leg and falling onto her side.
Olive spat out his herb and slid to her side. A part of mind was glad to dodge that bullet– the confession of my sterility, not the actual bullet– but I beat down the thought with cruel prejudice. I bit down on the inside of my lip until I tasted blood.
“Your gonna be fine,” Olive said, and then sighed in relief. It was a contagious sound. “The bone stopped it.” He plucked a splinter of bullet from the wound with a pair of tongs, without so much as a peep out of Bitter, and began bandaging. “Just a flesh wound, the pain will stop after a while.”
“Okay, love?” I asked as I stroked her mane.
“Yeah, it just hurts,” Bitter said. Her eyes watered as she sucked in air through gritted teeth; her sister did the same.
“We're gonna put ya on my back now.” I lowered myself, tucking in my knees, and put my belly to the ground. I looked over the edge of the road at the bloody bullet imbedded in the dry, cracked soil. It was a markspony's round– could've been from over a mile away. “Alright, all aboard.”
“I have the worst luck,” Bitter said. As the rest of the gang laid her across my shoulders, I saw tears fall to the asphalt. From my left peripheral, I followed the wet splatters on the warm asphalt up to Bitter's sorrowful face.
“Oi, now, don't get yourself down.” I turned my head to nuzzle her, but my long neck was still short a centimeter. “It's the thought that counts... Anyway, I've been hit with a stray bullet before; remember?”
“And that's how Clockwise died.” Serene said.
“I thought that was from infection–” I facehoofed, and then shook the pain off my injured hoof; all in my crouched position. I rose, carefully. “Oh, right. Point is: It happens. Don't stop gambling over it.”
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“Mhmm, passes?” asked the guard sitting against the village gate, cradling and petting a tiny mutant reptile. In combination with her squeaky voice and the barbed whip coiled tight around her right shoulder, this–
“... Is the creepiest thing I've heard or seen since the inside of that raider's throat,” I blurted. I felt Bitter's hoof strike against the backside of my head.
“Hmm, I get that a lot.” The corners of her mouth turned up slowly and forcefully, tightening the skin across her muzzle.
Bitter shivered and shook on my back, rattling my saddle, and then massaged where she had struck me.
“We have our passes.” I fished out my white piece of cardboard decorated with Sorrow's marks. From the rustling behind me, I assumed my gang did the same. “Are ya the only guard?”
“Mhmm, I'm all that is needed.” She rhythmically bucked the gate with one hoof, and somepony inside came to pull it open. “But I'm not alone if that's what yer asking. Teehee.” Her smile hadn't receded at all, like her face was stuck that way.
“Thank ya...” I trotted into the village as quickly as I could– momentarily forgetting about my passenger– before returning to a smooth and collected pace. I stopped a few paces past the gate and turned my head towards Bitter. “I'm sorry, love; I didn't mean to give ya a bumpy ride.”
“What? Oh, no; I'm fine,” she said. “You're way more graceful than you realize.” I kept my focus on her as she tested her legs– though, I felt more than a few eyes on us. “In fact, I think I can walk now.”
“You sure?” I asked routinely as I bent my knees.
“Yeah.” She tentatively touched her hoof to the ground and then dropped onto her uninjured legs. “Let's grab some supplies and get going.”
“Sure.”
We ambled through the village, and down the dirt path that had diverged from the road; back where it first sloped towards the mountains. According to the map, the path eventually rejoined the Long 80.
The inner wall was reinforced with the backs of simple, clay buildings. Where there wasn't a crude tower or a high wall of scrap blocking the view, I could see the distant shelved structures hanging on the mountainside; where winged creatures circled high above. Through the bars of another gate, I could make out a wide path leading into the mountains and the Sorrows' main territory. On either side of the gate, were pens of docile looking Brahmin. The Sorrows always kept their main herd in the center of town, behind an obscured circular fence.
We were nearly through the village when Olive sniffed out a tavern. We entered the mound of baked mud through a heavy tarp that served as a door.
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The Sorrows tribe descended from the students and faculty of Buckley Academy.
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The scent of hops was suffocating. The tavern was basically one big room full of picnic tables, and much bigger than it looked from the outside. I poked my head out the tarp for a double take.
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It still looked small, maybe four meters wide. I shrugged; then drew my head back into the room.
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“Cats are delicious!” – Gryphon Mercenary
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Five, maybe six, meters now. Olive gave me a look with a raised brow, and I shrugged again.
I glanced at the tables; Ponies, a few were travelers judging by their gear, sat with drinks or partially filled lunch trays. I shrugged off their eyes and approached the bartender. A heftier fella, his gray coat spilled over the strained zipper of his leather jacket; which called a cease and desist about halfway up.
“We have a local ale, Rotgut, Flaky–” the bartender started.
“Oi, I don't touch the stuff; but my friends–”
“I don't care who yer with. If yer staying in here, yer buying something. Food?”
“Not just yet.”
“Then what are ya buying? Not a room.”
“Wait a tic,” I looked around for a staircase or something, “there are–”
“Ya know the ways; ya given to the road, ya sleep on the road.”
“Oi, what gave me away?” I said in my most sarcastic tone. “Was it the seasoned accent, or the questionable genetics?”
“Actually, it was the bedroll.” He motioned a hoof over my saddlebags, where I kept a roll of soft fabric as old as myself.
“Oh, have you been on the road yourself?” Bitter said while she sat herself at the bar.
“Yep, but I wasn't given; no. Me and my sis had it out over this handsome young colt, and I ended up killing her.” The rest of us sat. “Didn't mean to, of course, just a... unfortunate circumstance.
He stared a moment.
“They knew I was sorry and, had the mercy to exile me; so's I could join another tribe. After a few years on the road, I ran into the Sorrows. They let me join, said it was cause my story was poetic but I knew; it was cause they know how it feels to lose yer home.” He dropped four glasses on the table and filled one with water from a pitcher. As he poured, I could make out a portion of the Ghosts' mark reaching out from behind his red mane and collar; a treskul or triskel, I had forgotten the term. “Don't let my sob story fool ya, I'm still charging ya. So, ya looking for supplies or work or both?”
“Supplies.” I sipped my water; it tasted like a tin rain catch.
“That's too bad, unless yer wanting to bottle some soup or need a bunch of hide.” He looked to the others. “Booze or water?”
“The ale.” Bitter said cheerfully.
“Water.” Serene and Olive said in unison.
“We're needing medical supplies mostly, and we're on the lookout for books.” I said before I forced down some more scrap water.
“Books?” asked the bartender. “I hear the Followers were trying to open a library over in... Greenhouse I think; sounded like a bunch with too many caps, yes.”
“Bunch of– with too many caps.” I said in disunion with him, over a gulp of water. “I had said the same to my friends here.”
“Well, my tribe came from a Stable; during my time of traveling, I found it. I could sell ya the where for, maybe, forty pulls.”
I considered the amount of undamaged books we could find in a Stable. “Deal.”
“Oi now,” Bitter mocked, “Stables are full of CRAZY.”
“Wait, we aren't going anywhere; he said he'd sell the wares–” Olive said, with an upturned forehoof.
“He said the where, OJ.” Serene enlightened him. “And Stables are also filled with all sorts of pre-war tech, and books, and supplies. Each one had a hospital. But that's also all our ring pulls.”
“Not quite,” I said as I pulled out our map and placed it on the counter. “Ya have a pencil?”
“Somewhere,” the bartender said before fishing about behind the bar. “Ah, yer in luck.” He spat a pencil onto the bar but, as I began to reach, stamped a hoof over it. “Yer not a White Hooves, are ya?”
“Star Eaters.” He lifted his hoof, and I took the pencil; ready to jot down the location.
“Right, here. Sort of sunken into the mountain. Ya gotta look past the brush.” He hoofed at the map, and I jotted it all down with the pencil in the crook of my pastern. “How in Tartarus do ya do that?”
“You know, I have no idea; ancient Zebra secret?” I offered. We all shrugged.
“Alright, the total's fifty five pulls.”
I dropped twenty nine pulls on the counter-- then flashed my white, cardboard pass. “There you are.”
“What is this– shite.” He ran his hoof over his mane, revealing a small triangular brand on his forehead. “I shoulda asked the kind of pulls yer holding.” He dropped his foreleg across the counter and raked in the meager sum. We finished our drinks in moments, with the exception of Bitter; who poured her ale into an empty soda bottle and capped it for later. “There's an extra three pull– well, six pulls here.”
“I'm keeping the pencil.” I started towards the tarp. “If that's alright.”
“Sure is,” he called to us. “And don't say I didn't warn ya 'bout that Stable.”
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“Wait,” Serene said as we made our way to the far gate, “he never warned us about–”
“He said not to say that,” I snickered. “And don't startle those radigators.” I nodded behind her.
“Eeep!” She hopped a full meter from the fence.
A young radigator reacted to the noise and crawled as close as the fence allowed; its lower half submerged in the mud. This must have been a rearing pen, as they were all quite young. An idea came to mind.
“Everypony wait here.” I trotted off.
“What's going on?” Olive said, as I reached the far side of the pen.
“I told you to wait.”
“Well, I didn't. You've been acting strange since yesterday, why wont you talk to Bits about it? Can't you see she's worried?”
“OJ,” I took a breath, “I can't talk about this right now.”
“No no no.” He yanked me by the collar with an orange glow, until we were face to face. “Whenever you say 'can't' before 'right now' you really mean 'never.' You can talk to us, especially Bits, about anything.”
“Do I have to ask ya to get this light out of my face.” The glow died out. “Olive Juice; this is not like the dream, or that rash, or the time I wanted out. I do not want to think about– much less say it.”
“Whoa, it can't be that bad.” Olive steeled himself. “And all those times talking helped. At least tell me what your trying to do over here.”
“Well...” I glanced at the rearing pen, and then to the herder a several meters away along the fence.
“What?” Olive furrowed his brow, looked to the pen, and then back to the mares, and finally back to me. His eyebrow shot up, and he facehoofed. “Aww, Booster. That is so weak.”
“Oi, you got any bright ideas?”
“I don't know... keep trying.” He glanced at the radigators, scurrying about in their pin. “We're probably going to end up eating it. I'll whip up some kind of sauce out of cactus and peppers– ”
“OJ–”
“I'll call it weaksauce.”
“It's all I have.” I stomped.
“Watch it,” spat a passerby.
Olive's face grew solemn, and somewhat determined; he seemed to understand– not completely, but enough. He shot a sidelong glance at Serene and Bitter, who took notice and began to trot this way, before turning his attention to the young passerby.
“Hey, you watch it!” Olive said, as he hoofed him in the chest. I grabbed the lavender buck by his Brahmin leather barding and shoved him against the fence behind us. He shrank a little as I leered over him. Olive whispered loudly in his ear, “Listen, just play along and there's some pulls in it for you.”
“Ah want caps, fifty of them,” he whispered back.
“Wow, you picked the wrong wasters to get greedy with. Do we look like we can just throw that kind of metal around?”
“Okay then, I'll just– AGHHH!” We both backed off the screeching passerby with a start; then looked down at the radigator chomping his leg. As he tried to pull his leg from the fence, the radigator clamped its maw; teeth sank into flesh, and fresh spouts of blood came with every forceful tug from either party.
“Stay still you idiot.” Olive seized the buck in his telekinesis, lifting him just above the ground.
“Getitoffme.” He started kicking forward, against Olive's hold, with all four legs; yanking the radigator through the fence little by little and raking broken wire over its back.
“Stay calm,” I said as he pulled the gator fully through the fence; blood ran from the both of them.
“I can't STAY calm. I wasn't calm to begin with!” He frantically flailed his legs, whipping the radigator around his hoof and against hard clay. At the speed of panic– he bit a string dangling from a chest pocket, yanked out a blacky jack, and flung it onto Olive's muzzle. “Just leave–”
I put a hoof into his mane, yanked his head back, and drove my crown between his eyes; which promptly rolled back. I wobbled a little myself, but shook it off. Olive somehow maintained hold of the buck’s torso; enveloped in orange, the rest of him hung limp– except for the leg the battered radigator still clung to.
“What happened?” Serene yelled.
“This colt tried to swindle us,” Olive said as he began to rub his nose . It wasn't entirely false.
“Booster?” Bitter asked; her voice droned like she was dragging skeletons.
“That is... true,” I said. That seemed to be enough for the both of them. “OJ, stop that.”
“Well, I better get this gator skinned,” said the herder, who had finally made her way to us. She shoved a pry-bar into the radigator’s mouth, and had it under a hoof in mere seconds.
“Oi,” I snatched up the radigator into my own hooves and held it to my barding, “why are ya going to skin it? It's little more than a hatchling.” *CHOMP* “Umpff. That hoof is still tender.”
“That would be why. Yee have to let them mature before they ever get a taste of blood. Otherwise, they bite whenever they feel like cleaning their teeth. Now hoof it over.”
“Aghhh.” Olive was rolling on the ground and rubbing dirt over his face. “What cruel son of a bitch– AGHHH!”
“How much?” I asked as I emptied a saddlebag.
I picked out the detergent, some herbs, and baking soda then looked for something to mix it in. I settled for the rest of Bitter's ale and got to work; chewing the herbs as I shook the detergent and soda filled ale. I spat in the herbs while it was at its most volatile.
“Yee daft?” she asked, snorted, and began scratching her dirty white mane.
The concoction frothed for quite a while, it had a pleasant scent of mint and hops. The radigator blinked its eyes one at a time as I poured the solution over my bandaged foreleg and through its teeth. I poured some on the ground, and slathered the mud it created onto Olive's muzzle.
“And I need one of those pry bars.”
“Fine, yee can have it. And the pryer, I have dozens.” She spat her tool at my hooves and turned her attention to the damaged fence.
“Ahh,” Olive said. After a minute, Olive stood and put a hoof on my shoulder. “Thanks buddy– Oww!”
I took some fur along with the hardened clay I tore from his muzzle.
“Okay, gang.” I inhaled sharply as I pried the radigator off my leg– it was done with more ease than I expected– and a wave grimaces washed over my friends' faces. “We have a stable to raid.”
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The river bisecting the Ghastly Gorge and the San Palomino Desert is known as the Rubycon to some, and the Colterado River to others.
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“Chomper?”
“Nah.”
“Uh, Toothy?”
“Too derivative.”
“Rad the Gator?”
“Hmm, I like it.”
“Really?” I asked with a raised brow.
“We can call it RG. Like that Buffalo we used to know,” Bitter said.
“Whatever happened to him, I wonder?” I pushed Bitter's mane aside.
“He's probably dead.” She stole the words from my mouth.
“Probably.” We huddled close, and continued down the dirt path.
I had our miniature reptile, over a shoulder, clamped on the end of a Brahmin femur I had found just outside of the village. It had ceased its biting for almost an hour, and then started snapping at our hooves. After treating one end of the bone with the rest of the soap ale, it took to it readily. It was bruised and scratched, it had even lost a tooth. The herder had said it would eventually regrow any lost teeth, or not. As it lazily chewed the bone, blood trickled out of the gap in its maw.
“Poor baby,” Bitter said, an octave higher than her usual voice, with a pout.
“Hey, lovebirds, we have a situation here,” Olive said next to Serene, who was acting as navigator.
“Hmm, Navi...gator–” I said as I rubbed my chin, “I mean, what is it?”
“Well, we aren't lost.”
“We aren't,” Serene scoffed. “This Stable isn't here. I think that bartender was full of shit.”
“He said we'd have to look past the brush, and that it was sunk into the mountain. Aren't these things always in caves?”
“We'll hug the mountain,” I said before pointing with my radigator on a bone, “and make our way around. If we don't find it by then...” I looked to the sky. The Sun had recently started its descent, we still had plenty of daylight left. Unfortunately, we had even more mountain. “Well, we'll just have to forget about it. We will have gone too far.”
“Reasonable as always,” Olive said with an once of cheer.
“Alright, I guess there isn't much else we can do,” Serene said, and then returned to the map.
“Booster, why don't you let Bits walk the hatchling for a while; I need to talk to you,” Olive called over his shoulder. Before I could answer, Bitter took our pet by the ivory leash and joined her sister. I trotted over to Olive, who was a meter or so out of earshot; if we used only slightly raised voices.
“I'm not ready, OJ.”
“I need to hear it out loud, or I can't help you.”
“I'm not ready, OJ.” I rolled my eyes.
“You were born ready, remember?” The silence was quite bearable, considering the alternative. “Sorry, that was lame. But what if another stray bullet comes through– through your head or something? If you just dropped dead before you could tell her? Would that fit your definition of going out in style?”
“I'm not ready to tell her.”
“Well, telling me is a good start. If she doesn't hear it from you–”
“She'll find out anyway.” I found Olive's eyes, and locked them with my own. “It's not just me, my kind can't reproduce.” I tried not to notice the patches of pink skin dotting his muzzle.
“Booster,” he looked away and sighed, “I'm sorry, but you can't blame yourself for this.”
“Hmpff.” I snorted. “Try and stop me wont you?”
“I will–”
“Wait.” My eyes broke contact to reexamine his muzzle. “How is it these bald patches are pink, but your dome is still green? That doesn't make any sense.”
“When did it start making sense?” He came as close to yelling as one could at a hushed tone. “And when are you gonna say something to Bitter? You can't keep buying awful pets.” A dreadful look swept over Olive's face. “When– Did you know before I suggested taking in those two foals?”
“No.”
“If you had–”
“I don't want to think about that, OJ.” I knelt near a dried up shrub and pushed it to either side; nothing but rocks. I sighed heavily. “I'm such a child, OJ. How did I not know? I should've known.” I clenched my eyes and dug a hoof into my forehead a moment. Olive patted me on the shoulder as I rose up and dusted my knees of dry, red earth.
“How? Who would’ve told us? How many bastards even give us the time of day?” He led the way around the greenery and contours of the mountain's base. “Who did– tell you?”
“Summer, the mare from yesterday. But it's been three years, OJ. That me and Bits have been trying; and she's still hoping.”
“I know she's picked out–”
“I have names picked out; had.” We trotted over brush rocks, loosing pebbles to roll over either side of the sudden rises. “Always fancied our foal would be a dancer... I just don't want her–”
“Scorpion.” Olive nodded towards a radscorpion, slightly bigger than my radigator, gradually scuttling our way. I turned myself towards it and, as it encroached on point blank range, put a single round of 7.62 into it; Olive finished it with his cleaver. “Watch for stingers,” he called back to the mares.
“I just don't want her feeling like I do right now.” I kicked the arachnid's carcass over. “At least until I can be a shoulder to cry on instead of needing one. And, OJ, I'll be needing one soon.”
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More and more radscorpions piled out their cave, which was littered with skeletal ponies. I half-passed right, firing bullets, while Olive carved out a path of least resistance. *CLICK* *CLICK* *CLICK* “Reloading,” I called, and Bitter picked up my slack; her 9mm pistol was enough to put one down with two or three sure shots. Her pistol sounded from behind, as I struggled with the task of exchanging a magazine and strafing on three hooves. By the time I cranked the slide, three buggers were lying limp.
I nearly passed into Bitter's line of fire as I picked up my pace. I fired seven shots in a line of dust, blood, and whatever that green stuff was; the heavy rounds cracking dry earth and black carapace. Two more radscorpions were felled, and a wounded one left their ranks for the safety of the cave.
“Oh shit,” Olive said. I looked ahead, the Sun loomed just over the far mountain; its rays forced one of my eyes shut. “Not this way.” Olive galloped back East, at an angle that would lead him halfway between myself and the mountain's slope, with his blades in telekinetic tow.
Several meters behind him, out from the mountain's shadow, emerged a giant ant with a brood of a half dozen little sisters. They were half the size of a pony and a third the size of their warrior. Two workers began to close in on Olive. Bitter suppressed them with her pistol, until she too had to turn and run.
I slowed to an amble– turning my attention, and bullets, back to the three remaining radscorpions we were sure to re-encounter. I focused my fire on their stingers, and the heavy rounds tore through carapace. The lead scorpion's tail cracked nearly in half; it hung crooked and crippled.
Serene finally abandoned her hiding place behind a miniature crag, and lobbed a Brahmin skull over Olive and Bitter before joining in their retreat. The skull landed in the giant warrior ant's mandibles, and it stopped momentarily to crush the thing; releasing a small bundle of lit dynamite. I ran to meet the gang, while tearing the legs off another wounded radscorpion with a steady stream of 7.62. The deafening explosion lifted the warrior, which had blindly trampled over the bundle, by its abdomen and flipped it onto its back; it looked pissed. My hearing returned; greeted by an awful, scratching wail.
*KRIIIIIISCH*
*CHEEETL*
“Son of a bitch,” said Olive; he had little time to complain about the giant radscorpion scuttling from the mouth of the cave.
He halted to hack through the crippled pairs of pincers snapping at him. Bitter emptied her clip on the one ant that hadn't been dazed from the explosion. It limped along until Serene dropped a large rock on it. Olive reared to avoid the last, non-giant, radscorpion's stinger. He drove a knife into one of its eyes; then hammered the blade in with the meat cleaver until the arachnid stopped moving. We were stuck on a ledge between a circling mass of poison filled chitin and a mess of angry, mutant ants.
“Shoot their antennas!” Serene yelled; her voice cracked with equal parts anger and panic.
The giant radscorpion maneuvered around the crag, clearing a path to the cave, while the ants renewed their pursuit. I backed away from the ledge and took aim at the, apparently not angry enough, leading ants. I emptied my magazine across the parallel pairs of antenna. They reared in pain; then proceeded to attack each other. Their frenzy was broken momentarily, as an unfortunate ant ran between them.
The explosion had apparently damaged the massive warrior ant's antenna, and sense of friend and foe. Immediately after righting itself, it bit down on a passing worker ant's abdomen and sheared it; all in a matter of seconds. The mangled, top half of the worker dragged itself in a hurried stupor– until it was trampled by the giant, sliding momentarily on the entrails, on its way to the next thing living.
“Run.” I yelled, as the giant radscorpion reached the crest of a slope on our Eastern side.
“Where, the FUCK, to?”
“CAVE, unless you have a better idea.”
“I know I don't,” Bitter said after holstering her pistol. She dropped off the ledge, towards the cave, and out of my line of sight.
Olive followed, soon after arbitrarily raking blades across the giant radscorpion's face. Serene was the next to jump. She hesitated, but the encroaching tangle of mad mandibles was enough motivation to forget whatever had been stopping her. The ants were pinching at her heels when she went over the ledge; it was just me and the bugs now. I closed the several meters in a matter of a seconds, and leapt over the two wrestling ants and ledge in a single bound. The added fall distance was hard on my hooves, and I sprawled out on impact with a *FLOP*.
I rolled onto my back just as a pincer snipped both ants in half. The giant insect clashed with the massive arachnid, and for a moment it seemed they would drag each other off the ledge. I hurriedly rolled onto my hooves, and then galloped for the dark sanctuary of the cave.
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Somewhere atop Mount Palomino, there is a grand observatory built by Starry Eyed himself.
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I stopped on my heels, just in time to butt my head against the cave wall. “Ow, I can't see a thing.”
“I can kinda see– EEEP!” Serene shrilled. “Oh, sorry. It's just your radigator.”
“Where is she– it?”
“I have him in my saddlebags now,” Bitter said. “This cave was a terrible idea.”
“Enough of this shit,” Olive said; his horn grew bright, illuminating a portion of the cave. “Better?”
From what I could see of the immediate surroundings, the place was made of naturally formed rock.“Oi, I see... this is in fact a cave,” I said as I rubbed my forehead. “This was a bad idea.”
“EEEP!” Serene shrilled again.
“What is–” I felt a pair of jagged wedges clamp onto my right hindleg. I tried to turn but the pincers twisted, biting into my skin. I fell to my side. At this angle, I couldn't fire at it with my battle saddle even if it was loaded. I bucked at it wildly, to little effect, and its stinger pierced just above where it held me. “A little... help?”
A rock bounced off the radscorpion's face and hit me in the muzzle, just lightly enough to bust my lip.“Sorry!” Serene's voice seemed drawn out, and a dull pain spread up my bleeding leg.
The radscorpion reared its stinger, unknowingly, into the jaws of a tiny radigator; which snapped shut with enough force to audibly crack its carapace. The pincers released me. Blue hooves curled under my forelegs, dragging me from the arachnid, as the a series of familiar clicks sounded overhead. As my vision narrowed, the sound of 9mm grew from ear-ringing to something duller and more distant.
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I sat at the bank of a wide stream, under a massive oak. The surrounding grass was a vibrant green, full of life, and produced a colorful disarray of sweet looking flowers. My eyes caught a glimmer overhead, casually descending from a powerful limb stretching over the clear water. At once I recognized a tan speck of a spider, almost translucent, at the end of the shimmering silk. I knew not from where, but I recognized it. It shifted, drifted, bobbed, and weaved a luminous key– of no certain colour.
I felt a soft pinch in my leg, and I looked down to find my left hindleg buried in the green blades of grass; now partially overgrown. From it, something cold washed over my body in waves as the spider descended onto my muzzle. Unperceivable fangs sank into my flesh, administering their medicine, and the waves clashed in a most pleasing and peaceful manner. I had never been so calm, and as the spider retracted; a tall trail of growing grass slithered from my leg and into the stream. Finally, peace of mind.
*THUNK* “Oww.” My head rested on the hard foundation of the cave.
“Sorry again!” Serene would lose her voice if she kept this up.
“I think... I know the meaning of corruption in nature.”
“Booster,” Olive said; he was shining his horn in my eyes in an instant. I wanted to squint from the harshness of the orange light, but found myself incapable, “chew on this stuff, it'll help.” He shoved some kind of leaf into the side of my mouth, and assisted my chewing with telekinesis. I perked up.
“Oi, this stuff works.” My vision grew just a bit clearer, and my jaw ceased its movement at the sight. “Whaaah... ?”
“Yeah,” said Bitter, as she tapped away at the two century old keyboard connected to the right side of the massive gear. Ancient floor lights made boxy shadows of the horizontal scratches littering the lower portion of the terminal and the stable door. A large ''1'' was followed by a stunted, curling character; its top half erased by time, or a giant radscorpion's pincer, “we have to find a way through.”
“Those stingers hurt,” I coughed, “and it looks like they've tried this door themselves. This was a foolish move, we don't know what's in there or even in this cave.”
“We KNOW what's out there, Booster. I'd take my chances with this cave any day., and this Stable's no different.” She hoofed the keys with deference for a while, and then viciously stomped on them. “AAAGH, how do you OPEN this thing?”
“Oi I search high and low when I'm feeling blue, in desperate need of that sacred brew.” My vision receded once more. “I find that old fruit hanging from the tallest tree, say I won't let that poison get the best of me. But I... still let it try.” I coughed up pinkish, acidic liquid over to one side. A skeletal pony had a foreleg reached out in an inviting gesture. “I hate that song.” I laughed. Then spat up more blood and bile. “I guess, I need a new one...” I chewed the leaf some more. “Serene, you're leader now.”
“Shut your mouth, Booster! You need to rest.” Bitter stomped in frustration.
“He can't go to sleep now!” Serene howled; then turned to Olive. “Don't you have any more of that?”
“Only enough to keep him awake a few minutes.” Olive stressed every word in a lower, raspier voice than usual. “He's the only one of us that might be able to use a chem set if we find one in there, but that wont matter if he's unconscious.”
“Don't you bother digging a hole, just throw me on that pile of bones,” I said, as I looked around at the party of skeletons. Though many had fractures and scrapes, some were fully intact; which didn't sit well with me. “Wait a tic, why are some of these bones not powdered or yellowed? That one almost looks...”
“Fresh?” Olive started digging through a pile.
“Oi, I doubt they're all fools like myself.”
“Me too,” Olive picked a scrap of blue cloth with a yellow stripe, “unless these idiots are all from different Stables.”
“They must have been let out to get eaten by the radscorpions,” Serene said; she began rummaging through another pile of bones and, what looked like, arachnid feces.
I croaked till I was hoarse, and had nothing left to heave; the guttural noises rebounded off the cave walls in a strange, syncopated cadence. My vision narrowed and blurred, and I could no longer feel my legs. I told the others as much, but I couldn't hear my own voice. The cave shook a moment before hooves clamped onto the sides of my crown. They forced my eyes to their owner's. I could only see her face clearly. Bitter mouthed words of great concern. Her pupils were distant green stars, and she drew out her words as if she was repeating them. I concentrated on the display– the angry ridges across her brow, the movement of her lips, and her chipped tooth. I smiled, and tried to say I was glad to see her in my final moments. She started to cry. I told her not to, and good luck.
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“I was there, Where were you?” – Billboard depicting the battle at Neighvarro
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“Come on– you're dishing,” she said, as she towered over me. I was much too small and my hooves were so heavy; I could never catch up. She circled me like a shark before stretching out a hoof towards the horizon, like the silhouette on her flank reaching for a shooting star, and spelling out the wasteland for me. “If you don't wanna fight, you have to run. If you wanna fight, you have to run. If you wanna eat– You. Have. To. Run. If you wanna live, you have got to run FAST.
I nodded, stamped my hooves, and fixed my eyes on the end of the road.
“Now, this time, I wanna see ya catch the Sun.” She took off. “Run for your life!”
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_________________▲________________________________________________________________▲_________________
“He's out again, will be for a while,” I told the others, with my hoof pressed lightly on Booster's neck. I wasn't gonna tell Bitter his pulse was gone, not right now. “I'll carry him. You two try to find som--”
“This passcode?” said Serene. She was already at the terminal.
A fresh stink of scorpion shit wandered off a pile of corpses. One bony bastard looked like they were crawling towards my buddy, trying to claim its brethren. I gently pulled Bitter aside, and put him on my back. I had to put my hooves under his side and lift; then crawl under the dead weight. I almost tipped over just standing up. His hooves dragged against the ground as I waddled to the Stable door. It was scratched up the way bugs sometimes do.
“So damn heavy.” He wasn't as heavy as he looked but I wasn't fibbing. We didn't need the light anymore, so I concentrated my magic on making my burden lighter.
“This... is working,” Serene said under her breath.
I shifted to an angle where I could see the terminal screen. She leaned inches from the glass, so close she had to point her muzzle straight down. It was really, fucking cute. She was really fucking cute. A bunch of lines of green text scrolled across the screen, but only the last bit took my attention off of her.
->TIME ELAPSED, 727 DAYS 1 HOURS.
-----
WELCOME HOME PILGRIM.
----------------------------------
-----
STAND CLEAR.
I learned, at some point, to avoid trying to make sense of old terminal entries-- unless they mention a safe or something-- but this one gave me a bad feeling I just couldn't shake. My spine tried anyway. As the giant gear slid back-- a cold torrent of clean air teased my cape, and accompanied the screech of twenty tons of metal scraping against more metal. A worthy enough tombstone for anypony. If fortune favored, it'd only serve one of us. There was that feeling again.
“Wait,” the gear began its ascent as I turned to the fillies. They hadn't moved much, “from what I've seen, there's a good chance this stable isn't empty.”
“OJ...” Serene pointed a hoof behind me.
“Shit.” The gear stopped with a thunderous *CLANK* that echoed through to the other end of the cave. Every, fainter reverberation clacked like gavel in the distance. I just could not shake that feeling. “There's somepony behind me, right?” I turned on my heels: just an empty atrium. I turned back around.
“OJ,” Bitter whimpered, with a forehead wrinkled like her sister's.
“What?” I asked. I was still doing half turns.
“Booster!”
“Huh?” I stretched my neck over my shoulder. Booster was foaming from the mouth. The ground around me had a tiny, half-assed moat and one of his lanky legs was drooled over. The moist dirt clung to his hoof.
“Is he alright?” she asked. Her big, star-shaped eyes were holding fast to a lot of tears.
“This-- This is actually a good sign.” Other than the relief in my voice, the mares didn't have any reason to believe me.
“Okay... good.” She sighed.
I guess it was enough.
“Yeah-- it is, Bits.” I looked back at her sister. “Serene?”
“What, Olive? We need to hurry.” she said, and then carefully walked through the gear shaped opening. Me and Bitter followed, cautiously.
“What was the passcode?”
“Sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary?” That bad feeling announced itself again.
“Stop right there intruder!” *KERSHIK*
It was a Unicorn mare with a fancy rifle. She looked and sounded more excited than anything. She had a big, toothy grin and half a dozen pals-- all lined up on the railings at either side of a short staircase. The rest of the group consisted of another Unicorn, a Zebra, two Earth Ponies, a Pegasus, and a Gryphon. They each had a clean, automatic rifle and a metal baton. They wore blue suits with yellow stripes under black vest barding; the latter, and the door behind them, sported a white number ''15'' dead center.
“Uhh,” Bitter mumbled-- she wasn't at a hundred percent, “we come in peace?”
________________________________________________▼▼▼________________________________________________
The Crowbars are a Buffalo tribe of thieves with a deep hatred for all but their own.
_________________▲________________________________________________________________▲_________________
How the fuck they accepted that I'll never know. Booster was hauled off to an infirmary. I'd heard of pre-wastes technology that could bring back the dead, but I doubted they had any. One medic just shook her head as they carted him down the hall. This place was huge, much bigger than any Stable was supposed to be, and home to thousands. They escorted us to a large, cylindrical room where a score of geezers were gathered in a segmented circle.
“Alright,” said the haggard, magenta Earth Pony mare who stood in the center. She wore a smile as transparent as her golden brown wig. “We are going to vote, one more time.”
“Yeah sure,” somepony sarcastically called out. Not a single reaction.
“West wing.”
“We nominate Zepp,” a Zebra spat out as fast as she could.
They all, except Ms. Wiggy, lifted their PipBucks and spoke. A collective bark of Ayes and Neighs bounced off the curved walls.
“South wing.”
“Pumpkin Eater,” said an even less patient Earth Pony. The votes were an indistinguishable mess.
“East wing.”
“Turnabout,” called a Pegasus, and again the votes.
“North wing.”
“We nominate Hard Candy,” said a Unicorn, a stallion this time, and the votes were cast like they were each tearing off an adhesive bandage.
“The tally.” The tired old mare lifted her PipBuck close to her eyes. “Five for Zepp. Five for Pumpkin. Five... for Turnabout. And five for Candy.”
“Come ON!” somepony raged just before the rest of the crowd. “I actually changed my vote that time.”
“We'll meet again tomorrow.”
“We've been at this for a week now,” said a Gryphon. “Why don't we just get rid of all of them?” The words were followed by nods, ayes, and why-the-fuck-nots.
“You all know why. Unless you want to bother asking the nominees, or messing with the writ. We meet again tomorrow. Same time. Same place. Same vote. Until somepony gets the heck out of here.”
“We'll leave,” Bitter yelled.
Every eye that wasn't on us before, was now.
“Security, I was told there were four intruders,” said the wigged sack of arthritis.
“He's in the infirmary, Ma’am,” the security mare said with way too much cheer.
“I don't know where you came from little filly,” the old bitch sputtered every word like she was explaining fire to a foal, “but don't think for a second that we're a bunch of buffoons living under a rock.
I glanced at the ceiling.
“You cannot walk in here, listen to thirty seconds of our hearing, and just provide the solution to our problem.” She snorted. “The Stable's mainframe doesn't recognize YOU; we can't nominate a non-citizen without a PipBuck key–-”
“Then just slap a PipBuck on one of us,” Bitter countered.
“Hehehe, we ca--” The corners of her mouth must have gotten heavy, because the hag couldn’t seem to smile after that.
“Why not?” asked an Earth Pony.
“And what wing will they be with!?” She nearly spat out her dentures.
“We can add a new designation into the system, make one them the only member,” said a monotone Zebra. “That would give them a vote, but they can vote for themselves.”
“You're suggesting we just let them have a vote and a PipBuck. What if they're biased?”
“Are you senile?” I asked. “We're complete outsiders you pruny fossil!” I raised my voice more than intended. The mare drew back, and the security ponies closed in around me.
“Excuse him, what he meant to say is that we're representatives of the New Canterlot Republic,” said Bitter. She was back to her usual self, kinda.
I turned to Bitter, and tried to communicate to her telepathically that she'd better know what she was doing. Too bad I never learned that spell.
She drew a deep breath, and continued, “We're the chief authority in Equestria, and my colleagues and I are making diplomatic visits to Stables. Now that we know there's a civil population we can report back to the... Senator, and we can start negotiations for trade. That is, if you want to trade.”
Everypony in the room mulled that over a moment.
“How long has this Republic been in place?” asked the hag.
“Ten years.”
“Why haven't you sent anypony sooner? Why haven't any of our scouts come back?”
“Your cave is full of giant scorpions.” She put it bluntly. There were accepting murmurs throughout the circle. I was glad to see the old Unicorn wasn't pleased.
“You could still be biased towards race,” the wrinkled mare said through clenched teeth.
“Our leader is a Zony, he couldn't possibly be biased,” Bitter said. “But he's badly poisoned, just fix him up and we'll let you get on with your lives.”
“I'm calling a vote,” somepony said. They were somewhere behind the oppressing string of security ponies. “Sweet Gum?”
“Giving these strangers access to resources, in exchange for service,” said the old hag. She wasn't sarcastic at all. “ Aye is in favor, neigh is against.”
The result was sixteen to four, in favor.
“Lets just hope Booster's in his right mind when he wakes up,” Serene whispered.
“Yeah,” I said.
I looked to the floor. It struck me as too clean, too plain. My medical skills, if you want to call them skills, were moderate at best. Most of what I knew came straight out of incomplete, two century old textbooks or classical trial and error. But the general consensus, was that ten minutes without a pulse meant dead. Plain and simple. And I had lost count. I didn't know why yet, but I was ashamed.
________________________________________________▼▼▼________________________________________________
The Pen, formerly Maredoc, is home to what is possibly the largest slaving operation in Equestria. It has nearly monopolized the trade West of the Ghastly Gorge.
_________________▲________________________________________________________________▲_________________
“This colt is so dead,” the doctor said aloud before turning toward us. Judging from the fearful eyes and uncomfortable grin on the doctor's face, I didn't want to be facing Bitter right now. “Ha... Excuse me, I was just thinking about this different patient-- Ahem. I'm Dr. Manner. And there is quite a lot we can do for your friend here--”
“Really?” We were--
*Sigh* --a chorus--
“Thank Celestia.” --of relief.
Dr. Manner flipped through a clipboard and said, “Excuse me. There is quite a lot we CAN'T do, for your friend... very little options. We can try flushing his system with a series of medications.” She loosened her collar. “You see, we've been monitoring his vitals-- they are somewhat stable-- but if he has an adverse reaction, like an allergy, or if we under-dose him. His size and lack of medical history could be a problem.”
“What the fuck are you trying to say, doctor?” I asked. “I'm losing my damn patience.”
“You're not the only one!” She laughed. “Sorry, that was a joke. Like, patient-- Never mind, the point is. We have anti-venom, but it's sixty years old-- picked up before my time. And chances are the scorpions have mutated since then, so... we're probably just pumping more venom into him. We might kill him, but we don't really have another option. It's just a matter of him not having allergies, the medications proving effective, and everything else going right.” *COUGH* “And... yeah, that's it.”
“What's your first--”
Bitter pounced on her, babbling, “What'swrongwithyouyoustupidbitch!?” Tears poured from Bitter's eyes as she whaled on the doctor. Me and Serene grabbed her around the forelegs. Unlike Serene, I only pretended to hold her back. I even swatted the doctor myself a few times during the confusion.
“Gah--” *cough* “Wait, was it something I said? Please st--” For some reason, nopony came to the doctor's rescue.
“Yes,” she growled.
Bitter bit down on the foreleg the doctor had raised like a shield. After a moment of that, she grew weak and lethargic. She slumped to the ground, where Serene embraced her and stroked their manes. Dr. Manner risked an escape.
“Doctor, what's your first name?” I asked.
“... Bedside,” she whimpered like a bucked dog.
“I should have known.” I sighed. “Doctor.”
“What-- Yes?”
“Just do whatever you can.” I leaned close, and whispered, “But don't you dare fuck up.”
I surveyed the area: A few patients and nurses not giving a damn, except to keep to their little cliques. Clean-- colorless walls, floors, and ceilings. Four whole councils of wrinkled, old fucks. And an oblivious doctor with a dumb as shit name to call our friend's time of death. I could already tell we were gonna hate this place forever.
================
Footnote: Level up!
Perk Added: Tanned Hide -- The hazards of the Equestrian Wasteland have left you chemically treated, increasing your fire and poison resistances by 5% per rank. If you are dazed, intimidated, or take penalties from a chemical source you ignore the effects for a turn per rank.
3. Into the Stable
“When you laugh, the world laughs with you...”
The afterlife could use a mural.
The drab gray ceiling was outlined with drawn faces, one of them striped, and each starkly wide eyed. “By Celestia, he's up,” the beaked one said to the Zebra. “Is this normal?”
“No,” she said after rolling her eyes, “is it normal for Ponies?”
“How would I– Oh, fuck you.”
The Zebra recoiled and lifted her foreleg between herself and the Gryphon. “Is that a threat?” Her voice was high and urgent, but an eyebrow teased from behind her buffer.
“Ah shit,” a voice called from the other side of the room; empty but for a hooful of doctors, a table of implements, and whatever equipment the doctors turned towards. A bright horn made up for the lack of light coming through two, thickly shaded windows. The room shook, my heart skipped about in my chest, and my sweat felt like crawling droplets of ice. “He's got an irregular heartbeat here.”
My field of vision shrank to a sliver then retreated into my skull.
“And he's convulsing. It looks like we overdosed him.”
“How?” a voice droned and warbled. “Look at the size of him.”
“He's a mutant or something. I don't know.”
“We're just gonna have to flush his system and re-dose him,” another doctor said through a spinning fan while gargling syrup. “Slap a PipBuck on him already, we need to measure this real...”
I struggled for a breath. The rifle felt so heavy in my tiny hooves. Our pursuers had been reduced to dust by rays of light from above. Armoured figures descended on black, metal wings. They lifted their visors and mouthed words. My sister fiercely bellowed in silence before collapsing to the ground; I, likewise, fell from her back. Her legs shook, and her ribs remained gaunt throughout her heaving. One of our saviours reared their head back and exhaled in short spasms, as the other averted their eyes.
I sat up and lifted our rifle as I mouthed demands for food and water. The laughing one looked down at me and bared her teeth. Eyes narrowed and a neon bolt scorched the earth beside me as the figure was shoved by their fellow. They turned on each other, snapping their jaws at strong words. I took up the rifle again, kicked the trigger, and fire flared from one muzzle to another. The offending figure fell– and I pointed the rifle at the other, blood-splattered one. Fearful eyes locked with mine, and we stilled. I fired again and again, even after they fell, until the eyes were gone. Warm shreds stuck to my face, hung over my rifle, and wet the metal around my neck. We were still. I was unable to move a fraction, pulled taut between disappointment and amusement by some unknown force.
With a start, I collided with reality.
“Aagh,” the Unicorn grunted before her luminous, telekinetic grasp released a syringe. A syringe that was stuck in my chest.
My heart filled with red hot adrenaline. I howled like a Lunatic as each torturous heartbeat spread fire through my veins, and it was beating a mile a minute. I thrashed about within the restriction of several heated blankets and yanked over a chain of I.V.s into waiting hooves.
“Somebody sedate him before he spills half his circulatory system,” an Earth Pony hissed, as he threw himself over my forelegs and barrel. “Genevra, you do it. You have the most experience here.”
“It. Was. Consensual,” said the Gryphon, laying her talons and weight over my shoulders. “They just didn't remember–”
“That liver's about to fail any minute now,” said the voice monitoring the equipment.
“What!?” the Zebra and–
“We'll handle it!” – a not visible doctor exclaimed.
“Why are we spending so much time on this anyway?” asked Genevra, as she gripped my skull. She jabbed a needle into my neck and I soon felt at ease, despite the sharp pain penetrating my chest.
“Because I didn't spend my childhood learning medicine just so I could lose my first, real patient.”
“Uh, we're gonna have to cut him open anyway,” said the Unicorn, as she displayed a needleless syringe to the others. “I kinda just noticed...”
I fished through their bags for food or water. I found a healing potion and figured it was liquid enough. As I turned towards my sister, my hoof splashed in something warm and viscous. No, she wasn't hurt. I looked down at my red reflection then up at the– now colourless– wastes.
It was the Goddessdamned dream.
My sister's corpse rose like a marionette, and her hollow eyes stared past me. I knew the next lines by heart. In total silence she said, “We are the foundation under your hooves; its origin, its end, its revival.” Wake up now. “We are the winds; of seas, of dust, of change.” Wake up, please. She began drifting ever closer and her mouth twisted into a vacant, paper smile. “We are the eyes in the sky; piercing your heavens, your veils, your minds.” Her eyes, if they could so be called, loomed inches from my own. I could turn and run but, even if I could get past the two faceless sets of armour gurgling down the back of my neck, she would catch me. Wake the fuck up. “For it is yours for the taking but not for you alone. We are ever at your side, from the first tribute...”
The world shook and wobbled.
“The anesthetic is wearing off, again,” said a doctor.
I opened an eye and glanced down into my chest cavity, a change of scenery I gladly accepted.
The Gryphon's neck sank between her shoulders. *HIC* “I think I'm gonna be sick,” she said.
“Stick him already then.”
They sedated me through the I.V. this time. I felt like gritting my teeth, but my desire could neither move me nor keep me awake.
“... to the last waste.” With those final words, the ground beneath my hooves cracked open like a great maw ready to devour me whole. I screamed and kicked, but the three pairs of hooves above pushed me into my grave. Tongues, blood, and pale bits spilt from the hollowed visors. As did tears from the mocking face of my only family. Gore stuck to my fur, and soil to it, as I tried to clamber up crumbly walls. The Moon floated in vigil high above, and I reached for it in vain. No amount of struggle could unearth me now. I sank to where I would scream away the worse of the dream. Wake up.
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The NCR has no tolerance for slavers, at least in their territory. The Zebra lands, like the Zebras themselves, are mysterious and unwelcoming to bandits. The Badlands are barren wastes ill-suited for life, and the sea is full of taint. In the middle of it all, is San Palomino.
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“Why?” I groaned, as somepony rocked me side to side. From the hoarseness of my voice, I'd guess I had been screaming a while. I wish they'd have woke me sooner.
“You're awake.”
“I am. Whom I speaking to? Yer voice, yeh don't sound familiar.”
“I could say the same to you, Booster. Why don' you try opening your eyes.”
“Oi, that might help.” I took a tentative peek through narrow eyelids. The lights were dim, from age it seemed, and Serene loomed overhead; obstructing the light further. “Huh, I guess I expected something blindingly bright.” My voice cracked; like the rest of me, it was still digging its way out of the sand.
Olive stepped into view across from Serene, and I turned my head left towards him. My eyes trailed from his somber mug to the rails of the hospital bed I was glued to. Behind him, Bitter lay asleep on my bedroll. The radigator quietly chomped on the Brahmin femur nearby her. Olive made reluctant motions, as if to speak, that were too fragile to survive and sighed.
“I gave up on you, Booster,” Olive said. His words sounded from somewhere neither near nor far, much like Serene's, and hung in the air as if it was thick enough to swim in. “I counted you dead. I'm sorry.”
“No harm in that,” I said. “After all, so did I.”
“Shut the fuck up. After the times you, against better judgment, came back for me. Just if Bitter there–” He grunted. “I would have just left you there, if not for Bitter.”
I tried a smile. “I never was a good judge of– ”
“I'm not arguing that, Booster, but what you are is a friend– and I labeled you 'dead weight' too soon.”
“I guess you'd prefer if I found your lack of faith... disgruntling, but since I told ya to leave me– ” My eyelids grew heavy, and I made an exercise out of lifting them. “I did ask ya to leave me, right?”
There was a pause. “Yeah.”
“Aye. Then I'll simply blame the usual culprit; my lack of leadership skills.” I tried to squirm onto my other side but my sweaty back held fast to the sheets (likely still the cleanest bedding I've ever been on). “Aaaagh.” Bitter stirred as I fought my discomfort. A numbness ran the length of my torso, and my splinted hoof itched terribly. “They couldn't even fix my leg?”
“Look down,” Serene said, but my eyes were already fixed on what she meant to make me aware of.
“Oi, Nelly, that looks expensive.” The splint and bandages had been replaced by a sleek gunmetal cylinder; a rectangle– no, a widely stretched pentagram was mounted on the forward face of the device.
“Actually, it's the cheapest piece of shit they could find.”
*KER-tshh* went a stable door, as it retreated into the ceiling. A milky Pegasus in a white coat slid into the room. “And one of the latest models ever built,” she said. “It was a personal belonging of one of our first residents.” She smiled at Olive then Serene. “Just checking on my patient and I'll be on my way.”
She bit down on a clipboard she carried under a wing and set it on the rail at the end of the bed. She walked around the bed, forced Olive aside, and lifted the PipBuck with both forehooves– as if weighing it. Then, with a wing, she flicked open the pentagram; a bright green screen sprang to life as she did.
“How long do I have, doctor?” I asked, and had a harsh laugh.
“Crazy...” Her grin curled into her cheeks, almost disturbingly so. “Your size and metabolism are a little uncommon, but this! Your chemistry is so... welcoming.” Identical, green lines waved steadily in each of her dewy eyes. “It just loves and tolerates anything introduced to your system.” She closed the PipBuck, bit a pencil, and marked something on the clipboard. After a short chuckle she exited as she had entered, leaving the door open.
Bitter rose from the bedroll with closed eyes and twitching ears. She let out a yawn that infected the rest of us with a false dreariness.
I sighed. “This is going to take some getting used to. I'm afraid.”
“Maybe we can get it removed,” Serene said, as she placed a comforting hoof on my shoulder.
“No, I mean: This is going to take getting used to.” I paused. “I'm afraid.” Tears ran from the corners of my eyes into my ears and mane. “Bitter, I have to tell you something.”
“Not yet,” Olive said, and then raised his voice. “You NEED to eat.”
Bitter's eyes shot open, and she hopped in place a moment. Her eyelids fluttered as she walked to the left side of the bed and hung her forelegs over the rail. Olive turned slightly to nod at Bitter as she sat with her head on her forelegs.
“I don't exactly have an appetite at the moment, OJ.”
“Which is why we're all going to sit down,” he planted himself on his haunches, “and talk about food.” His features were stern.
“Wh–”
“It doesn't matter whether your a slave, a Queen, a waster, or a stable dweller; everyone eats. One thing that equalizes us all in conversation, is our individual palettes. Most of all, the simple comparison of tastes. So we're all just going to take some time– to appreciate the simpler things in life.”
With a sigh, I stopped my (new and improved?) foreleg mid-air on its course around Bitter's mane. I opened it– the bright viridian glow was harsh at the distance– and pushed it further from my eyes. I began stumbling through the controls and happened upon my inventory. “I– I have a can of apple slices. I always found the syrup tasted more like apples then the slices themselves.”
“What? The syrup is just sugar; it doesn't even smell much like apples.”
“So? Scent isn't flavour.”
“Actually, scent is a part of flavour,” Serene said.
“How?” me and Bitter blurted together.
“I never liked apples anyway.” Serene scratched her mane through her hood.
“How do you NOT like apples?” Olive asked; his brow was a curvy ridge of bewilderment.
“I've... just always been a bigger fan of oranges.”
“My favorite fruit is apples– hooves down.”
“What fruit do you like, Booster?” asked Bitter.
She canted her head around the PipBuck (her bright eyes rivaled the screen) and mouthed something I couldn't read. I stumbled onto a few colour options: white, cyan, and green. I looked again to Bitter's soft blue mane and cyan coat. With several taps of a hoof, I changed the colour setting to ''Bitter.''
“I've fancied prickly pears,” I said, and then cracked a smile. “And any sort of raspberries.”
Bitter raised her brows. “But they're so sour and... prickly.”
“Yes but there's this sense of,” I closed my (huh, my) PipBuck and pushed back a wavy lock of Bitter's mane, letting my hoof rest on her shoulder as I searched my mind for the right word, “achievement from eating one. And the flowers that grow on them at times– they're the sweetest I've known.”
“Oh, Ponies,” Olive shook his head as he spoke. “A daisy, daffodil sandwich with some mustard seeds. I can't get enough of that stuff.”
“Probably 'cause there isn't enough of it,” Bitter said, and then scrunched up her muzzle. “Only flowers there are plenty of grow on tumbleweeds.”
“Tumbleweeds aren't bad, you just got to clean them or roast them. It's what I steam with the vegetables for that spicy stew.”
“Oi, hate that spicy stew but I've been partial to chewing on a stick of tumbleweed.” I looked to the ceiling, its dull gray somehow reminded me of the bed's discomforting state. I missed the sky, the dirt, even the sand so long as it was underhoof. “The wildflowers are my favourite.”
“Stir fry pie, with cinnamon and apple shavings baked into the crust.”
“Spaghetti and sugarcubes,” Bitter said before yawning and nuzzling closer against my hoof.
“Pineapple and orange juice over a salt lick,” Serene said, as she took off her hood and scratched some more.
“Alright,” I said. With some effort, I peeled myself off the mattress. “I've an appetite now.”
“I'll find a doctor.” Serene slinked out.
I arched my back until I heard a series of snaps and felt a corresponding release of pressure. “I don't imagine they'll have anything we discussed on the menu, do you?”
Before Olive or Bitter could answer, Serene reentered with a food-tray-toting Unicorn. The Unicorn's red, puffy cheek stood out against her hot pink coat. Her grin was so wide it forced her left eye closed, but her brow crinkled as if it was hastily sewn to her forehead.
She set down a tray of dried apple and orange slices with a side of some kind of greens. Her grin shrank to a smile, and she said, “We didn't know if you preferred Pony or Zebra food so we served you both.”
“I wouldn't know.” I nibbled some of the greens. They tasted like they smelled, like lemons and onions. “Oi, can ya bring some more of this for my friends?”
“Sure.”
I addressed the gang, but mostly Olive, “You have to try this.”
I took a big bite of the pungent, Zebra grass and started chewing; flavour exploded with every full oscillation of my jaw. The Unicorn stared at me while a solution of grass juice and saliva escaped the corner of my open mouth. Her face twisted as it attempted to retreat down her neck. I made as little effort fix the leak as she did to conceal her disgust. She turned towards RG and unscrunched her face.
“Interesting, uh, pet you have there.” She pointed to the radigator. “What's that she's chewing on.”
“Brahmin femur.” I received a look consisting of a furrowed brow and an askew jaw, and then realized she was trying to look surprised. “It's like a– is a mutant cow. I treated the bone with something to keep the little mess O'teeth's attention, and keep them clean in the process.”
“How- How did you manage that?”
“Bones are porous, it's just a matter of what liquid you're pouring in them.”
“Oh, so did you go to school and everything? Are you some kind of dentist?”
“What? No.” I raised a brow. “Haven't ya seen a broken bone up close before?”
“Would you excuse us please?” Bitter asked. With a stretch and a huff, she got to her hooves and began walking towards the pink mare.
“I can find my way out, thank you,” she said, and backpedaled to the doorway, “and I need to get more of that Zebra grass for you.” She chuckled through her display of teeth and bolted out the door.
“Okay, Booster.” Bitter turned to address me. “Let's talk.”
“I expected a bigger reaction from ya, Bits,” I teased. “When you saw I was awake, I mean.”
“You woke up earlier and I got it out of my system.” She whinnied. “You must have forgotten.”
“I guess so.”
“But listen.” The gang made grave faces. “We have got to get a plan in order if we're going to survive this place.”
“Wait, is this one of those Stables– with pointless killing, division of classes, and-slash-or outright dangerous policies?”
“WORSE; it's politics!”
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The pink Unicorn returned with her forced grin and three more trays in tow. She set them down on the foot of the bed then left without a word. The gang filled me in on the situation as we ate, and soon enough I realized the sorry state we were in. Bitter spoke of our NCR status as if it were true, just in case one of the doctors came barging in– as with the puffy cheeked Unicorn– which was quite often.
“So we have to wait,” Bitter opened my PipBuck and squinted at the– now white– screen, “twelve and a half hours to get this over with and report our findings to–”
“Hello again,” said the perky, Pegasus doctor as she pranced through the door. “Sorry to interrupt. I need to check on a few things.”
“Not a problem, doctor,” I said, and stretched my forelegs to either side. I lifted the empty tray off my lap and set it on the far end of the bed with a yawn.
“Doctor Keratin, pleased to meet you.” She held out a hoof.
“I wasn't asking but whatever– call me Booster.” I reached over the foot of the bed and shook the hoof. “So, can I get out of here yet? I'm in fierce need of stretching my legs.”
“Oh, you can get out of bed of course.”
She disappeared into a closet in the left corner of the room, while I lurched out of bed. I had three hooves on the ground when she reappeared, pushing some contraption. It was a rectangular piece of canvas suspended between four, fastened poles– each of which ended with a wheel on a swivel.
“Oi, what's that?”
“Every patient has to leave in one; its our policy.”
“That didn't really answer–”
“But you can't need to leave quite yet!” She kicked wheeled hammock past me and towards the door. “I need to ask you about the outside, namely the prominent species.”
“Is that plural or–” I raised a brow at the gang but received only shrugs. “Just make it quick, please.”
“Uh,” her eyes stared a thousands yards behind me, “okay I can summarize, I guess.” She produced her clipboard and a pencil. “So, what is your government like?”
“Pass.” I got a kick in the fetlock for that answer. Bitter was scowling, but I just shrugged at her.
“What?” Doctor Keratin looked bemused.
“We're in the model of an old Gryphon Senate and the biggest presence in the wastes. That's all ya–”
“Wastes?”
“It isn't quite as bad as it sounds...”
“So, is it full of other mutants?” Her eyes gleamed at the notion.
“What do ya mean by that?”
Her eyes lost their sparkle in an instant. “I didn't mean any offense.”
I let out a sigh. “Me neither.”
“Well, how extreme of an environment is it?”
“It's San Palomino, it's always been an extreme environment.” I blinked twice. “I'm pretty sure.”
“Are there more creatures like the scorpions? You know, I'm so surprised that anti-venom worked.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I was beginning to feel anxious to ride that hammock contraption if it would get me out of here faster. “Anyway, there's plenty of big bugs and oddities if that's what ya mean.”
“And the weather? Are the Sun and Moon just sporadically drifting through the sky?” She squeaked.
“There... seems to be a pattern to them. Some think it's limited to night and day but others, especially the tribals, think it goes beyond that. Either way, there isn't exactly an abundance of astrologists about; so most every theory is pure speculation.”
“Tribals?”
“Some of the best and worst you'll meet in San Palomino; they're just... very free spirited.”
“Uh huh.”
She scratched something onto her clipboard, and my legs started begging for a run. Olive must have picked up on that because he decided that was the time to hoof me my flak vest and... blade.
“Oi, I think I'll be going now.” I said, and slid the razor into a vest pocket with an unfamiliar clink.
“What?” She looked up and nearly dropped her pencil; it hung on her lip like a cigarette.
I scratched my mane and averted my eyes. They fell on a mirror; the kind mounted on medicine cabinets and referenced in horror flicks. I had never seen myself so clearly. Apparently they had given me a wash. My base coat was coloured something like a piece of foggy quartz that had picked up smoking. I had blamed the hue on the sand. I took a step towards the mirror and ducked my head into view.
“Me and my friends need to get to work.” My mane remained thick, matted, and upright. Light orange-brown splotches on either side of my crown met the ones that streaked between its blonde, like copper wires midst unpolished gold. My features were world weary with plenty of thin lines, natural and otherwise. A pair of parallel, vertical lines was branded over my right eye. My red eyes, those of my mother, perhaps would have been those of my offspring. “And I need to speak to Bitter here,” I put a hoof around my mare, and turned to the doctor, “now.”
“Okay.”
“In private.”
“Oh,” she stumbled over a couple expressions, which rippled through her brow and mouth, before her face settled on disbelief. “Wait, are you sleeping with your subordinate?”
“Not that it's any of your business,” Bitter said, snidely, “but we're in a serious relationship– have been for a long time.”
“Really?” The doctor's eyes darted incredulously between Bitter's face and my own. Apparently, we weren't the cutest couple she had seen.
“Yes, really.” Bitter leaned affectionately close. “I want to have a family with this stallion.”
“How? He can't produce children.” She facehoofed. “Sorry. When are you adopting?”
“Excuse me.” Bitter placed a forehoof on my chest. “H-How can you just say that?”
“Wait.” Keratin's eyes went wide and she took a half-step back. “You don't know?”
“That was kind of what I needed to speak to her about,” I said, as I gave the doctor a scowl fierce enough– I hoped– to warrant the recoil. I turned to Bitter, who was on the verge of tears.
Bitter pushed away from me and asked, “You knew?”
“How could you not know?” Keratin spat at the air.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “Yes.”
“I mean, are there fertile Zonies that you're aware of?” At this point, the doctor was speaking as much to herself as to us.
“Since when?” Bitter asked, and began slowly pedaling her forelegs against my chest. “For how long?” A tear escaped the inner corner of Bitter's left eye and ran along the contours of her face, ending its trail at the corner of her down turned mouth.
I pushed Bitter's unmotivated hooves aside with my own and said, “Two days. Summer told me.”
I might have cried as well, but Bitter remained stable. She shed no more tears, made no assault, nor softened her expression. The doctor said something I didn't hear, but it caught Bitter's attention.
“I specialize in genealogy; I can easily test fertility,” the doctor offered, along with a big grin.
“We never met any other Zonies,” Bitter told me, and looked at the floor. “Maybe you're different.”
“Two hundred years is a long time, just saying,” Keratin just said
“Maybe there's a drug or something that can help. Maybe... I'm the one who's infertile.”
“Okay,” I said before putting my foreleg around her. I held her close with her head against my chest.
“Maybe there's a magical solution. We have to make sure–”
“Okay, Bitter. I said okay.” I gave her a nuzzle and turned to the doctor. “When can you test us?”
“Well, immediately.” The Pegasus glided through and hung beyond the doorway. “Right this way.”
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With the intention of optimizing both the transportation of troops over river and civilians to and from Las Pegasus, a new “Long” 80 was paved. While the old “Straight” 80 was refurbished for an experimental train.
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The Pegasus doctor's room was much like the previous one, but had no windows and a couch where the other had the bed. Atop a coffee table, a short stack of magazines was neatly placed next to an empty flower vase at the table's center. Serene and Olive had been told to wait in the common room between the offices, and Bitter that she would be tested in another room shortly.
“Just be patient, dear,” Doctor Keratin called out the doorway to a slouched, heavy browed Bitter. “I'm not going to hurt him.” She pressed the panel and called down the Stable door. *hss-KRRT*
“Do you still have that clipboard?” I asked, thinking of her earlier statement. “I'm unaware of all that was done to me still.”
“You don't remember? You woke up in the middle of it often enough.” She chuckled as she tossed the clipboard on the table. She stepped on the brass clamp and, with the flick of a wing, slid paper my way.
I read the sheet, I fell on my haunches, and read it again. I had died twice, and a piece of me stayed dead. “Replace-d?”
I searched my drab green vest for a place to stuff the page and settled on a book that had found its way into a pocket. The page, as well as the book, made me uncomfortable– but so would being without them. I hoped that, in time, at least one of these would change.
I felt alien in my own skin. My eyes darted from my upgraded foreleg to my downgraded hindleg, and then to the back of my eyelids. I focused on the numb length of belly, a thin line from my diaphragm to just beneath my ribs, and wondered if I would ever feel it again.
“It's not so bad. Just think how much healthier you'll be.” I opened my eyes to the sight of her teeth. “Were you a drinker?”
“No, I never touch the stuff.”
“Then what're you missing out on, huh?”
“A choice.”
She lifted my muzzle with her wing. “Chin up now. If we're gonna get a sample out of you– the easy way– I need you thinking happy thoughts.”
“Sample?”
“You seem like a smart enough colt. What do you think I'll need a sample of for a fertility test?”
“Uhh,” I looked about the windowless room, in this isolated society, beneath mountains of rock. “I'm not exactly comfortable.”
“That's what the magazines are for.” She pointed, and I followed her hoof to a provocative image.
I stared past the glossy mare on the glossy cover and wondered how far below the ground the floor was. I certainly didn't know what it was like to feel at home somewhere but the ambiance I felt here was as far from the feeling as I'd ever been. “I just don't see this working.”
*SNAP* I flinched at the sound then turned to see Keratin stretching a plastic glove just past her knee.
“That's very common. We have medical procedures to accommodate you.”
“You know, I think I'll manage without it.”
“You sure? I could invite your marefriend perform it, if you're more comfortable with that.”
“Uhm...” I thought about that a moment then shook my head. “No, that wont be necessary.”
“Okay.” She slipped off her glove a hit the door panel in one motion. *KER-tshh* “I'll get your mare set up– her test will be a bit more invasive– so just take your time and find me whenever you're done. Oh, and that table has a drawer in it. Make sure to dig around in there– doctor's orders.” She winked. *hss-KRRT*
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*KER-tshh* “That noise isn't getting old at all,” I said as the door retreated upwards into its frame.
The gang awaited me on the other side and chatted amongst themselves. Keratin had her back to the door and an ophthalmoscope to Bitter's eyes.
“... how did I not notice that before?” Keratin asked. “This is just the kind of thing I'm studying– wanting to study, I mean. Most of what I do around here is make sure foals comes out male or female, depending on our population requirements. But I have a breadth of research on innate magic–”
I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me.”
“Oh, all finished up?” Keratin turned and grinned. “You certainly took your time, I already finished with Bitter a while ago.”
“Really,” I raised a brow, “how was she?”
“Ha ha.” She kneed a laugh out of Bitter. “You didn't tell me he had jokes.”
“Just a couple.” I cleared my throat again as I stepped out of the doorway. “Oi, uh... was I supposed to use that flower vase?”
“What? No.” She facehoofed then sighed as she began walking into her office. “It's fine, just the third damn time. When I find out who tried to eat that plastic flower...” *hss-KRRT*
“Booster, what did you do with a flower vase?” Bitter asked.
“Nothing, there were plastic cup things in the table drawer.”
“Well, I'm glad you're in a good mood. My tests were nowhere near natural and not any fun either.” Bitter sat on her haunches and struck a playful pose, crossing her forelegs and pouting at the ceiling.
As she shifted her weight to one side, I witnessed a spasm pass through her brows. It lasted a fraction of a second, but I saw real sorrow rattle the gates of its chipper prison. I forced a smile of my own, and wrapped a foreleg around her shoulders in a tender embrace. I didn't know what else to do, but at least it felt right to play along.
*KER-tshh* “Ha! You bastard,” Keratin said between laughs. “You got me again. Anyway, I need to run a few tests. Results will be ready in a couple hours or so. I'll send another doctor to get you then.”
“Another doctor?” Serene asked. “Don't you have nurses available for relaying messages?”
“What's a nurse?”
“Uh.,” Serene blinked, “it's a doctor's assistant.”
“What Stable do you think this is?” Keratin swelled with pride. “We only have leaders around here.”
“Shite,” I whispered. I didn't like the sound of that one bit. “Oi, we better be on our way then. And thank you, doctor.”
She grinned mischievously. “Oh, don't thank me just yet.”
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Surgin' Orange was a popular, but short lived, energy drink pre-wastes. Collectors will pay top bit for any surviving bottles.
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I stepped over the stupid, wheeled hammock that I never learned the proper name of. Let's call it the piece o' shite. The stupid piece o' shite was far too short at first but Keratin assured me its legs were adjustable. We adjusted it to maximum height, and the shoddy piece o' shite was a bit short still. I had to bend my knees if I was to keep from tripping over it. In the end I was scooting out the hospital wing in long, gliding steps like I was leaping forward slowly– on the dumbest, fucking piece o' shite ever.
“Did I mention I HATE this thing?” I spat during a glide.
“Oh, really?” Olive asked as he enveloped the piece o' shite in his orange, glowing grasp. “Maybe we can make it work for ya.”
“OJ, you'd better–” He began rolling me down the halls and swerving me around not quite recklessly. “OJ!”
“Vroom, vroom.” He sped us past the end of the hospital wing and a wide eyed Unicorn behind the reception desk.
“Okay, OJ, that's enough,” Serene said. Her voice faded as I was pushed ever ahead of it.
The orange light dissipated, but the piece o' shite had already gained speed. I stamped my feet against the smooth floor and nearly toppled over. Then retracted my forehooves as if from hot coals. After a moment of dragging my hindlegs, I began to slow down.
I passed through another hallway and heard voices, those of younger Stable dwellers. When I came to the end of my trek, and into yet another hallway, I had slowed enough to stop myself on the oncoming wall with a foreleg. I heard more voices, this time from the opposite direction, but I was more concerned with figuring out how to readjust the piece o' shite's legs so I could be rid of it.
Galloping hooves sounded on the solid tiles behind me. “Oi, one of ya help me out this thing,” I said, and haphazardly turned in the stubborn piece o' shite to address my loyal gang. “I can't quite reach the,” I waved a hoof at the adjustable legs, “mechanism.”
“Whoa now.” Olive's ears perked and jerked in either direction. “Do you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Bitter said, as she stared down the hall where a rhythmic clopping of hooves rose in decibel and tempo, “it sounds like hooves. Maybe... dancing?”
“Goddess, I hope not,” I said. “And can somepony GET ME OUT OF THIS?”
“... won't ever get laaaaame, when IIIII'm running the show!” A wailing Zebra in a blue and yellow Letterpony's jacket skidded into view, soon followed by a– mostly striped– dancing posse.
“Fool,” said a guttural voice from the other side of the hall.
My loyal gang immediately turned their attention towards the voice, while I turned– slow and squeaky– on my wheels. A square shouldered Gryphon with smart, oval glasses stood before a proud group of Earth Ponies and at least a head below them. If not for her stature, she might have been intimidating.
A large mare with a heavy brow and a thick, auburn mane sauntered ahead of the group but remained steadfast behind the Gryphon. “Tell 'em boss,” she said, and began stamping a steady beat.
The birdkitten looked past us as easily as the frames of her glasses, and they all drew a single breath.
“Competition is the fuel, for stabilizing my rule, nothing's as productive as greed,” sang the Gryphon.
“Ooo, ooo, ooooo ooo,” her Earth Pony chorus reverberated in deep contrast to her sharp sing-talking.
“When I reform all the schools, to produce more worthy tools, acting for single minded need.”
“It's for our oooown good.”
“I'll run a very strict game, you will know who to blaaaaame, when IIIII'm running the show!”
“Now that's just wrong,” said a shrill voice with a light southern draw, once again, from behind us.
I rolled back at an angle and positioned myself so I could turn my head down either side of the hall.
A string of Pegasi led by an orange mare with a curly, green mane flew in over the Zebra and his dancers. The lead mare stamped a hoof, shook her head, and continued, “I'm not gonna stand for it.”
The Gryphon scoffed as she adjusted her glasses and rolled her eyes. “Oh, and you have a better idea?”
“No, and you know that because...” The orange mare gasped.
“Of course,” the little Gryphon said over the Pegasus' breath.
“Our parents knew it better, won't change in any weather, I'll make the others see the liiight!”
“Their heads need a soak,” the feathered quartet sang in eerily perfect harmony.
“I'll follow to the letter, compromising NEVER, my wings flock only to the riiight!”
“Don't fix what ain’t–” each sang a lyric before echoing, “NEVER,” and joining voices for,“broke.”
“It will be a classic game, the one we know by nAaAaame, when IIiiI'm running the show!” Her voice cracked and sputtered like a train with bad brakes.
“Everyone, please listen,” said the sweetest voice yet, from the hall leading towards the hospital wing.
I turned sideways into the threshold of the hall and craned my neck.
A spotlight shone on a young Unicorn mare with a peach coat; short, yellow mane; and hopeful, amber eyes. I followed the light upwards to its source, a Unicorn levitated by... yet another Unicorn. No one spoke a word, nor uttered, nor stomped a hoof. The last words of some machine echoed into the hall. A moment later, the mare raised her head high and sang,
“There must be another way, each may have an equal say, in a better ge...ner..ation.”
“Ahhh-our homecoming queeeeen,” her chorus' harmony suffered due to a tone deaf member.
“We can redistribute hay, leave sleep-ing dogs where they lay, with just a little... regulation.”
“It's yet to be seeeeeEEEEeeeen.” They were determined to compensate with technique.
“It will be anyone's game, nothing will be the saaaaame, Oh! When IIIIIIIIII...”
“When IIIIIIIIII-” sang the Gryphon after brushing past the canvas beneath me to hog the spotlight.
“When IIIIIIIIII-” sang the Zebra, as he lept over me and slid into the expanding spotlight.
“When IIiiiIIIi-” sang the following trainwreck. As she careened by, she clipped my muzzle and sent the entire hallway into a rotation.
“When WEEEEE'RE,” they harmonized just as hooves brought me to a stop facing in their direction, “RUNNING... THE... SHOOOOOOOW!”
The Zebra broke away from the chorus, drew a short breath, and began a note. The spotlight– dripping sweat while maintaining a circle large enough for three and a half Equines– finally blew a fuse. She sent a rogue beam into the eye of the buck levitating her and, subsequently, herself to the floor. The peach mare and a few others rushed to their aid.
“Wow,” I said. I stamped a hoof in applause then turned to my gang. “Out. Now.”
“I gotcha, buddy,” said the Zebra as he slid to my side and, with four swift kicks, dislodged the buttons locking the hammock's legs at length. “You must be that new addition I heard about.”
I felt his eyes on my splotches as I stepped over and bucked the hammock back up the hallway leading to the medical whatever.
“Oi, addition to what?”
“The Orphanage.”
“Arf'enage?” I received quite a few looks, even from my gang, at that colloquial outburst.
“So,” the Zebra's muzzle quivered as the edges of his lips curled towards his ears, *snort* “where are you from?”
“Outside.”
“But where–”
“JUST,” I wiped my brow, rubbed a temple, and tousled my mane in one motion, “outside. We– I was an or...phan.” I enunciated each syllable. “I'm surprised such a thing can happen that often in a Stable.”
Zepp stared motionless for a moment, and then snapped back to his chipper self. “Oh, it's just a name.” He looked up and to the right then licked his teeth. “You see, we all go to the Orphanage as foals– when we start school. It's to give us all an equal chance and to keep our parents' ethos from determining our own, but it kinda still does because we still have our parents; we just don't live with them.”
“What are you schooled in?” I motioned the gang over to the conversation.
“Politics, science, political science, philosophy, history, and law. On top of the usual maths, music, and poetry.”
“That makes sense.” My friends hooves settled nearby. I looked over my shoulder at Bitter and nodded.
“So what kinda setup do you have in this place?” Bitter asked sweetly. “Does it run smoothly?”
“Better than anything!” said the Zebra. He cleared his throat. “I imagine...”
“And your name is?”
“I'm Zepp.” He rubbed a hoof on his jacket before offering it to Bitter. “Pleased to meet'cha.”
She slapped a pastern around his then shook it. “Bitter Shores.”
“Sores?”
“Shores.” She nodded at each of us respectively. “This is my sister, Serene; Booster; and Olive Juice.”
“Hi.” He turned his hoof towards his chest. “Zepp– ya know that. Sorry.”
“I noticed you recanted earlier a bit. May I ask why?”
“Oh, well, you see we haven't had anyone arrive from outside– not even our own scouts– in over half a century.” He cleared his throat again and reached inside his jacket. He produced a blue-gray canteen with a faded, yellow ''15'' centered on it. His hoof wringed the canteen's rope-loop as his teeth raked at his lower lip. He lifted the canteen to his muzzle– and his eyes to the ceiling– then drank. “Ahh, uh, but they claimed the outside was uninhabitable. I guess things have changed in fifty years huh?”
“More than we'd know.”
“Yeah, I was expecting someone older–”
“Watch it, Zeeb dweeb,” said the Gryphon as she pushed past Zepp with ease. It was a funny sight considering her size and that of her overzealous bodyguard, the brawny mare with a permanent scowl.
“You watch it, Turnabout!” he called after her. “Or I might confuse you with the ball next game,” He chuckled before turning back to us. “Don't mind her; just a bit of endearment between hoofballers.”
“Uhm, you mentioned scouts,” Bitter said in a hushed voice. “Were those the ones piled out front?”
“Yeah, you see, those scorpions have been putting a damper on our politics and exploration for... well, since before I was born.”
“Politics?”
“Sorry, you're... new.” Zepp took another long drink from his canteen. “Okay. So we grow up in the Orphanage, where we develop our individual platforms. Then, if we are nominated, we campaign to scout out the area outside. The winner is determined by a vote in the Council. The winner goes and tries to make contact with the outside. If they come back, we crown them Homecoming Queen or King and there's a big dance and they become the new Overmare. Other nominees are shoe-ins for the Council.”
“So you have a problem with the current Overmare?”
“What? No,” he scoffed, “I respect Overmare Sweetgum but she's getting on in years. I mean, what would we do if she dies without anyone to succeed her? I just have the Stable's best interests in mind– we all do,” he scratched his mane, “for the most part.”
“For the most part? Are you referring to the Council,” her voice rose an octave, “or the nominees?”
“Uhm. You see, for a while, it's been pretty much expected that being voted scout is a death sentence.” He took a breath and held it. “And the Council has adapted accordingly. They vote on strong nominees of opposing parties. Naturally, they'd prefer if their own nominees made it to the Council alive.”
“And if the opposition never makes it at all? No skin off their teeth, right?”
“I can't really blame them.” He pointed a hoof at another leading vocalists, who was discussing something with her mob. “The lovely peach that was center spotlight is Hard Candy, the granddaughter of Sweetgum and the favourite for actually making it back– though her brother wasn't so lucky. I'm a favourite too, but I'm only really given a chance because of my athletic ability.” His ear flicked away some invisible pest. “Also, I don't think West wing wants to break from tradition.”
Bitter nodded in the opposite direction; where a pair of winged, junior politicians were in the process of biting each other's heads off. “How about those two?”
“The orange one who can't hold a note is Pumpkin Eater. The tiny puff of feathers and sunshine– that's Roundabout. They're the other two nominees. I'm really not sure about their platforms and neither are their opposing wings– I mean, have you heard–”
“We heard the song,” Bitter said, and tossed a lock of mane out of her eyes.
“Yeah, sorry– just stop me if I'm repeating anything. Anyway, those Councilors have been voting on each other's nominees in the hopes that they don't make it back. I think it's caused a pretty messed up situation. The Council only votes for a scout once a year but, for some reason or another, they've yet to reach a ruling in the last sixteen meetings.” He furrowed his brow. “Everyone is getting restless.”
“So that's why they're so desperate.” Bitter stomped in exclamation. “They just want to forget about all this till next year. Before it starts trouble.”
“Wait, what?” Zepp's left eyebrow shot up like a rocket then descended like a parachute. “Of course, of course.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You know, you don't have to vote their way.”
“Oh really?” Bitter grinned. “What way would you have us vote?” she asked through her teeth.
“Well, I don't think I know more than the Councilors but I don't see why we can't have multiple scouts. I mean, sure, we might have multiple Overmares but so what? The more the merrier, right?”
“Uh.” Apart from her overactive eyelids, Bitter's face was made of stone. “Of course.”
“I guess you've never heard the saying, 'Too many cooks spoil the broth.' Have you?” Olive asked. He flared the reddish-brown square of Brahmin hide he called his cape, just enough to give a clear glimpse of his cutie-mark.
“No,” Zepp said, and rubbed his chin. “I'm not sure if anyone here has. I'll have to remember that one.” He matched Bitter's grin. “But to answer your question, I would have you vote for Candy. She has a real chance, especially if you accompanied her.”
“Aye, perhaps,” I said. “But what would it matter if I voted for her, if I still get all the other votes? That's the deal we were offered.”
“As if.” He chuckled and snorted. “Problem is, for the both of us, you'll be receiving plenty of new offers before lights out.”
“Lights out... ?”
“Even if they wanted to, some Councilors hate each others' guts too much to vote the same way. I'm sure most of them are still planning to vote on their candidate. It's just a matter of time before they speak to you. And then there's the Fillers and Pre–”
“Lights out!?”
“Yeah,” Zepp's grin dimmed, “you know, night time. It's dark; everyone sleeps.”
“Yeah, just, when is that?” My breathing grew frequent and shallow as my eyes scanned the ceiling for cracks. It was seamless: airtight.
“Oh, in like,” he angled his foreleg and looked down at his PipBuck, “three hours twenty-six minutes.”
I brought my sleek PipBuck to my face then flicked up the cover with my nose, spilling green light over top my muzzle. I cycled twice through all of the screens, and then found ''18:35'' on the far left panel– just over the dials. I glanced at the ceiling again, in an effort to imagine the twilight sky, before the intercom interrupted my pursuit.
*Buh-WEEP* “Attention Stable Fifteen. The Homecoming Dance has been rescheduled for tonight, proceedings will be pushed forward two hours. There will be a mock ballet deciding the–”
“Whaaaat?” somepony cried over both the intercom and a wave of murmurs. “What are we, foals?”
“...grettable, but we ask that you remain courteous and optimistic for the duration of the night.” *Bwm*
“Oh uh, you know, I need to go get ready,” said Zepp. He quaked fitfully in his Letterpony's jacket as he took two, pronounced steps backward. He waved goodbye, turned, and trotted off.
From his retreat stirred a ripple of anxious Equines through the hallway, even where I stood. Everyone suddenly had a place to be, and each made their own getaways in either direction. As Zepp trotted off, my legs grew more restless than ever.
“Booster, are you okay?”
“Huh, what are ya talking about?” I asked, as I turned to see which of my gang had spoken to me.
Serene and Olive had been looking down the hallway before I got their attention. Bitter cleared her throat. She drew close, lifted her brow, and said, “Hmm, I didn't say anything.” She swept a hanging lock of mane from my face with the back of her hoof. Then felt my forehead and cheek.
“Your leg is shaking,” Olive said.
I dropped my gaze to the limbs beneath me. The hind right one was a swollen, transparent mirage of itself. “Oi, that's new,” I said. But it felt fine.
Unfortunately, it wasn't the only new problem. I still had to deal with the mountain overhead and on all sides, the lack of Stars or Sky, and confining spaces... coffin-wide and full of the artificial noises of machinery. I'd have wagered it was as silent as the grave otherwise, and the air as still.
“Booster!” They cried with one voice.
“I said I was fine.” The fur across my forehead and around my fetlocks was growing damp.
“No, you didn't,” said Serene. She turned to Olive. “Get the wheels.”
“Don't ya dare.” I grit my teeth in an attempt to catch or restrain my fleeting breaths.
“STOP!” Bitter wailed, and the underworld froze to hear her. “Just tell us what's wrong. Why are you freaking out?” I stared deep into her eyes, or perhaps hers arrested mine.
“I-I'm freaking out 'bout how deep underground we are,” I said, as a moist bead ran between my eyes and onto my muzzle. “There's no sky, nor wind, nor space; only tons and tons of... Earth.” I licked the sweat off my nose, and was struck by the salt a second later. “And I desperately need a run.”
“Just freak out then.” I blinked. “We'll be here at least eleven more hours, so just get it out of your system. Besides,” she fell to her haunches and smiled meekly, “I think a run might do us all some good.” Her cheek twitched as she stared, not at me but directly ahead. “We'll catch up with you.”
Olive scratched his dome with both forehooves; his eyes clenched into one, wrinkled band. Serene was her usual self, but breathing in and out of her paper bag. Perhaps my words had gotten to Serene a tiny bit, but the others were just trying to make me feel better. I'd have believed Bitter if I didn't know her.
“If you say so, love.”
I galloped down the hallway with my eyes closed and gained speed with each gait. I opened my eyes– WALL. I braked on my heels, turned around, and continued at an amble. I gained speed, changed action, and sped by the gang. My legs propelled me farther and faster towards relief until an oncoming wall threatened to cut me off. I slowed to a canter as I debated going right or left. I chose left, and followed a sign I skimmed as ''M – – ce-Floor'' wherever it might take me.
This hallway was an empty, drab stretch of gray. With the extra track, I was only too eager to push my legs harder. So I ducked my head and lunged farther forward with each gait. Just a few more seconds of acceleration and... the world slowed to a crawl. My hooves trembled as they struck the floor in rough progression. I closed my eyes and changed to a more rhythmic pace. I glided forward, reveling in how each hoof fell and launched, and–
STAIRS. I hopped, skipped, jumped, and stomped; skidding on my heels off each step. “Ah ah Ah ah AHahAHahAH–” The steps slid out from under me, and I careened headlong towards a wall. I turned my muzzle away in time to bounce my crown off of it instead. My eyes shut as I tumbled backwards. I rolled once and a half over a series of hard edges before I flopped onto a cold, metal grate.
I opened an eye. The room at the foot of the stairs was dimly lit by hazy, pill-shaped lights enclosed in form-fitting cages. The walls were close together as well as lined with various pipes. At a far corner, a cylindrical tank shook and bubbled sporadically behind a square fence. Cool air and moisture crowded the space as well. It covered pipes, filled my lungs, and fell through the grate beneath me. I grunted as I got to my feet. The blow to my noggin either kept me limp during the fall or dulled my senses; I was in far less pain than I had right to be. I shook my head and noticed a map on the right wall.
*clink* The noise coincided with a blur that retracted from my peripheral, somewhere behind the tank.
I took a few wobbly steps forward, steadied myself against a sweaty pipe, and then continued onward; leaning periodically against the walls. At the other end, I turned the corner into a stretch of corridors. The faint echo of a door closing reached my ears. I ventured a step; the soft clink of a shifting metal grate resonated down the hall and back again.
With a shove, I propelled myself off the wall and down the dark corridor. I trotted as quickly as caution would allow until I reached an open doorway. Through it, aisles formed an "L" and my breath formed vapor. Thick glass– clouded with condensation– was fixed into the walls on either side and straight ahead. These windows were each paired with a door, and together they created a welcome illusion of open space. I slowed to a crawl and peered through the side windows. Various cabinets and storage containers filled both rooms. In the room on the right, I could almost make out a door on the far left. I wiped the glass with a forehoof but the moisture was concentrated on the other side.
Something blue swept by that door, and then past the far window. I drew a sharp breath, but let the call die in my throat. My eyes retraced themselves to the door, and then to my hoof upon the glass. I trotted around the window and into the room. Vents spat cold air as I trotted to and through the other door.
The next room was much larger and colder than its window had led on. Tables littered the room, and refrigerators hummed along the back wall as far as I could see. In the darkness loomed a pair of glowing green eyes– the kind that adorned the door panels. I walked across the room then glanced left at yet another door; I had taken the long way around. I pressed the wall panel and sighed a small cloud of vapor, *KER-tshh* which was whisked away with the door.
I stepped into the dark and, after a dozen or so paces, kicked something metal and quite solid.
A cascade of lights blinked into being across a wide panel and a large, red button glared beneath a series of glass monitors. I laid my hoof on the button, and the screens disappeared with it. I pressed it and the monitors flickered to life, each with its own whine or complaint. Blank, blank, static, a... water fountain, static with a wobbly band, a Stable door–
“Huh?” I asked, pressing my face to the screen just to make sure. It was open. “That can't be right.”
“Define right,” said a sweet, and not entirely familiar, voice. An oblong silhouette lurked in the curved glass of a blank screen. It patiently awaited an answer to its moral non-question.
I'd bite. “It's... what's just for... it depends on the situation, I guess. It's a case by case sort of thing.”
I turned around. A peach-coated mare sat in the shadowed corner of the room. Light from the doorway spilled over her left cheek and shoulder as she quoted, “Giving to each what they are due.”
“Yeah, that sounds fair.”
“It's a definition of justice. But what's fair to you? Is it the same as justice?”
“Fair is,” I sat on my haunches and stuffed a hoof in my pocket– the one with my heirloom, “fair. By the book. It's following the rules.”
She took a step closer and brought to light a trio of blue, circular shields each with a white gear at their center. “So, are fairness and justice the same thing?”
“No– Not always. It depends on the rules mostly.”
“If fair is following the rules then what does justice follow?”
“Nothing. They don't have to share that, uh, property or quality.” I scratched my mane with the other hoof. “What is it– you think?”
“I don't know what justice is, but I think it deals chiefly with rights.” She smiled. “Turnabout says rights are an illusion born from a combination of entitlement, precedent, and compromise. That what are called rights are merely luxuries afforded by strong government.”
“Oi, I wouldn't say all that. There's plenty afforded by governments, but they aren't the sole nor original source of them all.”
“What is this original source?”
“Nature, I guess. Maybe the Goddesses or our ancestors.” I noticed a subtle rise of her brows. “I wouldn't exactly say everything has– is born with them either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Aye, well, it's sort of earned... shite– by just bein' alive.” I scratched my mane.
“Ahh,” she nodded somewhat to one side, “might makes right.”
“I guess so, but there's more to it than that.”
“Wouldn't that mean that the powerless have no rights?”
“Yes, and that's true, but nothing's powerless. Just look at your dinner. Plants can grow and break rocks, but they can't really complain. And sometimes animals that don't usually have the capacity for speech... just up and have one that talks. They're treated better– are expected to be treated better.”
“But wasn't any creature that can speak, like us, simply born with that capacity?”
“Nothin's born clever.” I snickered. “Every living creature has power, to feel or to inflict, but even when something just has potential... it's worthwhile. And when they're gone, sometimes they're more powerful than ever.” I paused. “Sorry, I don't really know how to say it. Maybe I just don't know the word.”
“Zepp loses words too– from time to time. Would you prefer it if we continued in Zebra tongue?”
“Ha, I'd love to but I don't know it.” I fixed my keepsake in my hoof. “Oi, mind telling me what exactly it is we would be continuing.” I locked eyes with her a moment. “What's this all about?”
“You're with an outside government, and this Stable was made of and for the greatest politicians.”
I bit my gums, and nodded.
She stepped up to the panel and continued, “Speaking of which, I'm sure you're curious about this door.” She held down a button and the Stable door shifted downwards, just enough to present the ''13'' at it's center. She released the button and the door rose again. “The button that opens it is stuck.”
“Which one is that?”
“We don't know. I might be the only one who knows that button that closes it. Our Stable was tasked with governing over Stable Thirteen, and these buttons all correspond to some device in there.”
“Why don't you just try them all?”
“One of them sets the reactor to explode.”
“Oh.” I studied the screens for a second each. “Well, what happened?”
“They all left one day– about fifteen years ago.” She sighed and made pained eyes at some far shadow. “There were losses. We've been on secondary protocols ever since.”
“I imagine things were a bit more complicated back then.”
“I was just a foal, but it seemed much simpler. Granny Sweetgum's had the longest term in history. And she says that, back then, we weren't as... passionate. That we only got heated over how to handle Stable Thirteen. Our own policies were fair and objective; a model of what we wanted Thirteen to be.”
“You know– Well, ya probably don't 'cause ya live in one.” I drew a breath and started over. “Stables were built with ethically questionable experiments that were meant to help figure out where Equestria went wrong, or something like that, but mostly just serve as examples of why Equine experiments are ethically questionable.”
“W-What?” Her mouth couldn't decide whether to smirk or snarl. “Is that some sort of joke?”
“Aye.” I nodded at the monitors and continued in a jovial tone. “That Stable can be manipulated by design, but your own? Crazy, right?” I cleared my throat. “Listen, most Stables start out innocent enough but... few stay that way.”
“Excuse–” Her eyes fell to her PipBuck before drifting sidelong, as if recalling something.
“That's what I feared.” I leaned against the panel. “So, who gets put down regularly around here?”
“No one!” Her face flushed red, and a vein on her left temple struggled to supply whatever thoughts occupied her mind. “Except, perhaps, the scouts.”
“No, that's just a coincidence. It's always something official sounding like recycled, treated, codified, return... postage.” I glanced around the room.
“Retired?” she offered meekly.
“Does it involve completely arbitrary Stable procedures?”
“The Overmare is retired whenever a new one is named... to avoid schisms.”
It was my turn to raise a brow. “To avoid schisms in your four-parted, political Stable?”
“We didn't always retire. There was a war.” She shook “It's just a coincidence. How else would we have gotten along all this time?” She scowled. “I'm sorry, but what reason do I have to trust you?”
“The fact that in all this time you've never heard word from Stable... No, give me a sec.” I pondered a moment. “Any other time I'd have an answer for ya.” Moments passed, and I simply couldn't find the right response to her question; the harder I tried to grasp it, the farther it seemed from my reach. “What do I have to gain from fibbing, really?”
“You could be trying to destabilize us, in order to more easily force your interests on us.”
“Ha ha, you know, I don't find it hard to imagine the NCR pulling something like that.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry, that doesn't help does it?” She glared at me without emotion. I averted my eyes, and they fell to the panel. “Oi, how about this.” I began pressing every button as fast as I could.
“What are you doing!? One of those–” She reached out with her hooves and blue light, but my hooves tore out of her grip whenever they couldn't avoid it altogether.
I pressed all the buttons– some twice. Nothing; not a noise, nor fire, nor a dead feed.
“Does jack shite?”
Her eyes darted between the various screens, and again but faster. “This... doesn't make any sense.”
“Aye, and a Stable that's controlled by their neighbors does?” I shrugged. “I mean, opening the front door is something but a kill switch? That's just irresponsible.”
I instantly regretted the last few moments when I saw her face. Her eyes fought to escape from under her heavy brow, which muddled the line between concern and anger. Her jaw hung slack, as did her ears, under what I assumed was the weight of a two century old lie. She reminded me of a dog that had once made the mistake of letting me and my sister guard over its food, of innocence defeated.
She sprang to her feet with her ears perked. “W-Wait. Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
She pointed her nose at the ground and shut her eyes. “Just my imagination,” she said under her breath. “How many Stables did you say were,” her lips and eyelids clenched into thin lines, “experiments?”
“Quite a few– nearly every Stable I've heard of,” I said, prancing absently over buttons. “Do ya... wanna try this? It might help.”
*Sigh* She opened her eyes, rested her forehooves on the panel, and began lightly pressing random buttons.
“Name's Booster by the way.”
“Hard Candy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Already?” She let out a quiet snort. “I guess I owe that to Granny.”
“Zepp, actually.”
“Booster,” called a familiar, feminine voice from somewhere in the corridor. “You down here?”
“AYE,” I called back over my shoulder. “Sure am, by Nelly.”
Candy continued pressing buttons as she asked, “Zepp? Really?”
“Yeah, shut up a second though would ya?” I didn't pay her raised brow any mind; I had a few puzzle pieces clicking together. “You said old Overmares get retired-slash-offed,” I made a slashing motion with a forehoof, “and Sweetgum has been Overmare for over fifty years– ever since she came back from her scout. And the anti-venom had to be almost as old...”
“What are you suggesting?”
*Ping* went my PipBuck. “Listen, I need access to the Stable's medical storage.”
“What for?”
Three, familiar silhouettes appeared in the doorway, and I beckoned them. “Oi, meet Hard Candy.”
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“But aren't Gryphons half cat?” – Unicorn Mercenary
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I explained the importance of ousting her granny for fifty counts of indirect murder but Hard Candy wasn't hearing it. She fell back to the accusations of destabilization. I had to respect her for that at least; perhaps her Stable would fair well when the real NCR comes a' knockin'. But at that time her stubborn rationale was only getting in the way. Fortunately, Bitter was here to tell her... basically the exact same thing I had– with one small addition.
“The NCR exists and they are just as we've described them,” Bitter laid a hoof on Candy's shoulder, “but we aren't actually with them. We're just a bunch of wasters, hoodlums, a gang to be perfectly honest. We were just worried how your Stable would react.”
“That makes sense,” Candy said, as she scratched behind her ear, “considering the apparent reputation of Stables.”
“So you know we have nothing to gain from this– just the opposite, we already have our ticket out.”
Candy slipped from under Bitter's hoof and walked to the doorway. She looked out into the corridor for nearly a minute, sighing all the while, and then sat on her haunches.
“Psst,” Serene whispered just over the decibel level of an air vent; me and the rest of the gang leaned close. “Why exactly do we care?”
“I don't know.” Bitter pointed a hoof in my direction. “I was just following his lead.”
I shrugged and said, “I didn't think to think that far ahead.”
*Ping* Light flared into my peripheral vision like a white hot ring threatening to brand my eyes. I clenched them shut, but various shapes lingered and cooled into sky blue then cyan.
“What's up with your PipBuck?” Olive said, and shook me by the shoulders. “And your eyes?”
I opened my eyes. I could see but lights danced at the edges of my vision. I closed my eyes again. At the top was a... compass with three, green dots and one white. At the bottom left was a meter of some kind. Another meter mirrored it on the right, and was missing a dozen or so of its many pegs. Above that ran a message: Just 'Cause We Care - Uncover the truth behind the radscorpions' origin.
*P-ing* Just as they had appeared, the lights flared and died.
“Check your PipBuck already,” Serene hissed.
I brought up my foreleg terminal and nosed it open. It dialed itself over to the ''Quest Log'' where a shiny ''NEW'' blinked at the top of the list.
The PipBuck had three dials. One cycled through the screen selection and would bring up options if pressed like a button. Another cycled through the screens within those screens and had varying uses unique to each screen if pressed. And the third worked more closely to a joystick and made very little sense as selections could be made on-screen with a hoof-tap.
I tapped the top-listed item, and a map projected itself onto the back casing. There was a white triangle over in the medical wing as well as two dots, one green and one red. Another green dot wandered about the halls. I tried tapping over the map but, of course, the projection lacked any interactivity. I tried the joystick-dial instead, and said, “Oi, now that makes sense.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I moved the dial about and studied the scrolling of the map, “this map dial thingamajig.” I turned the dial clockwise, and it zoomed. “Okay.” I pressed it like a button, with some difficulty, and a cursor appeared. I turned the dial, and it recentered the cursor to the screen; I turned it the other way... and it recentered the cursor to the screen. “Alright, I can see that getting annoying.”
“Alright,” Candy said solemnly, and the white dot on my compass turned green. She rose and turned our way. Her face was placid as a lake teeming with fish. “But we are gonna need a plan.”
A series of prompts– and three more green dots– sparked across the map. “I've an idea where to start.”
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After occupying ourselves with the old run-around– finding lost items and the like– for the better part of two hours, we finally had everything in place. Winning the trust and support of the locals, even that of Zepp, was tedious work. Despite Candy's guidance, every odd-job was made more difficult by a maze of political procedures. I was surprised every cutie-mark wasn't of red tape.
Me and Bitter had just finished collecting the pieces to Dr. Keratin's journal when a doctor delivered a note to us from Keratin herself.
“What does it say, Booster?” Bitter asked.
“Just that the results are ready,” I said. “Let's hurry over, love.”
“Booster, wait.” She tugged on my vest. “Whatever happens, I still want us... you know.”
I wanted to tell her she deserved better, and more of it. “Me too.”
“Good.”
She nuzzled close, and we strolled like that– without a word– to Keratin's office. We stood at the door for a moment; I dreaded the thought of breaking our silence with its retreat into the ceiling.
*Tap* *Tap* I struck the thick, metal door with a forehoof. *TAP* *TAP*
*KER-tshh* “Hi,” Keratin said, and beckoned us through the doorway. “What are you doing knocking? Remember, I told you to just come in when you got here?”
I shook my head as we entered and said, “No, I don't remember.”
She stood motionless by the doorway for a second then cocked her head. “Fair enough.” She smiled a great, white smile that made me self conscious about my own. “So, which of us is going first?”
I licked my teeth. “Uhm, you first.”
“We need to hear it plain,” Bitter said before wrapping her foreleg around mine.
“You're completely sterile, Booster,” Keratin delivered it with a practiced lack of variation. “And Bitter, you're not the most fertile mare I've ever seen either.”
“I-I was expecting that,” I said in an attempt to match her tone. “You know, I think I was just hoping to be pleasantly surprised is all.”
“And I already told you how I feel,” Bitter said.
“So... I guess I don't need to go grab any fertility drugs then?” Keratin asked, smiling still.
Bitter shook her head.
*Ping* According to my E.F.S. (as Candy called it), we missed an opportunity at the medical storage.
“Well,” I said with a sigh, as I took out the journal pages and hoofed them over to Dr. Keratin, “I believe they're all there.”
“Ohmygosh!” She held them close to her chest as she fluttered mid-air. “You don't even– This is, like, my life's work. I’m gonna put this someplace safe. Right. Now.” She flew out the door... and back in. “I'll be right back.” She left again.
Anxiety passed from my hoof to the floor via a steady beat. I cleared my throat and scratched my mane. “Bits, listen–”
“Okay, I'm back.” Keratin landed then emoted with her wings. “Now, what can I do for you?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but a yawn fought its way out of my throat.
“We need access to the medical storage, please,” Bitter said. Her stars beamed with purpose.
“Wait,” Keratin punched the door panel. *hss-KRRT* She raised a brow nearly to her maneline. yer hoof lay on the panel still. Her eyes darted between us. “Are you two looking to party?”
“What?” Bitter's brows jumped up her forehead. “No.”
“I mean, I'm cool but I gotta write a plausible prescription–”
“We don't want DRUGS!” Bitter's forehooves shot to her mouth. After a slight pause she continued in a hushed voice. “We need to see the radscorpion glands you made the anti-venom from.”
“What do you need that for?”
“Please.”
“Sure, fine.” Keratin beckoned with a wing. “But if somepony asks, I didn't let you in anywhere.”
Keratin led us to the storage undetected; luckily, there wasn't much traffic in the medical wing at that hour. Once inside, she swiped a plastic card under the door panel and its green lights turned red. She gestured with a wing at various cabinets and a refrigerated trunk.
*Ping* Once again, lights burned emblems in my vision. A diamond took the place of the triangle within the overhead compass while a matching diamond floated over the trunk.
I fluttered my eyelids as I stepped to and lifted the trunk's heavy, metal lid. Amidst the rolling fog, chunks of ice, and blood-packs were three poison glands. I stepped halfway into the trunk, punched through the tightly packed ice, and burrowed for the diamond on my E.F.S. My efforts uncovered a stiff, but elastic, orb full of murky yellow fluid. I extracted it along with my shivering feet.
*Ping* The diamond was momentarily replaced by a check mark before it too faded away. Somewhere behind me, the compass pointed out a new diamond. I felt a bit... accomplished.
“What is that?” asked Bitter, examining the orb in my hooves. “Doesn't look quite like a poison gland.”
“This,” I shut the trunk, turned around, and held the orb at their eye level, “is a pheromone gland.”
“So?” asked Keratin. “Is that what we're looking for?”
Bitter explained our suspicions of the Overmare's half-century term, and her probable connection to the radscorpions.
“Say what?” Keratin spat. “But scorpions don't even– do they?”
“Desert scorpions do,” I said, as I passed the orb between my forehooves. “Even a gland as old as this could be used to attract male radscorpions. Just bust it open and smear it against the walls.”
“Speaking of which, that would have been decades ago. Shouldn't it have worn off or something?”
“Male scorpions have extremely sensitive chemoreceptors, and the caves around here are dry. So that would attract them for quite a while– maybe a year– and keep 'em in pre-courtship behavior, which would get the attention of nearby females.” I dexterously rolled the orb from one hoof to the other. “A few generations of that, and any cave would become a common nesting ground.”
“Ah,” Keratin leaned on the trunk with a forehoof on her hip, “but that one isn't busted.”
“Aye, but they got more than one of these.” I balanced the orb on the edge of my hoof, flicked it into the air, and caught it in a vest pocket. “I'll be needing this soon.”
“I won't, so knock yourself out.”
“Aren't you supposed to be a doctor?” Bitter asked out of the side of her mouth.
“Yes, not a entomologist.” Dr. Keratin drew a breath, as if to add something, but just held it a while.
“Uh,” I said, as I gestured at the door– towards the new arrival in my E.F.S., “I got a red dot.”
“Huh?”
*TAP* *TAP* *TAP* *TAP* *TAP* “Why is this door locked?” asked a heated, baritone voice. “Who else is in there?”
“Hide.” Keratin shoved us around a corner, and out of sight from the door. *KER-tshh* “Hi.”
“What is he doing in here?” A shadow on the ground peeked around Keratin's, alternating over either shoulder. I didn't see a horn nor wings on the silhouette.
“Dr. Gelatin, what a surprise.” Keratin followed that with a cracking laugh.
Against the wishes of Bitter's eyebrows; I rose on my hindlegs, leaned against the wall, and scooted as close the edge of the corner as possible. I kept my eye trained on the compass, which was difficult considering it was on my eye.
“Really?” Gelatin sounded bemused. “Just let me through.”
“WAIT.”
There was a long pause. Bitter tugged on my vest then shrugged. I shrugged back.
“Let me through.” He stomped, I think, or pushed past Keratin. I pulled out my razor. “What the f– He just went hostile!”
“Who?” Keratin was laying it on thick.
“Stop that. I put the PipBuck on him, remember? I know his tag.”
“Hmm, I didn't catch that,” Keratin said over a faint rustling. “Can you speak up?”
“I said–” *Cough* *COUGH*
Me and Bitter's ears perked the familiar sound of a struggle.
“Now, now. Just calm down.”
“Mhhn Hmeh HMEH.” *gulp* *GASP* “Stop that; your feathers tickle.” *giggle* “NO! What in Tartarus has gotten into you?”
“I'd be more worried about what just got into you.”
“What did you give me?” He whimpered. “Tell me it wasn't the stuff from the Nightmare Night party.”
“No, I exhausted my– Nevermind. But in six minutes you are not gonna wanna go anywhere.”
“How could you? I can't feel my legs... and he's gonna come back to hurt me.”
Keratin scoffed. “Stop spazzing, Berry; you're embarrassing yourself. Now I'm gonna take you to my office, lock the door, and keep you company so no one can hurt you... or vice versa. Speaking of which, mind telling me why you're a red dot on his E.F.S?”
I listened as closely as possible though, at this point, I wasn't sure why we were hiding.
“Uh... no.”
“Fair enough.” She backpedaled into view. “You can leave now–” She recoiled into the cabinet behind her. I could hear the muffled clatter of falling pill bottles as she laid a forehoof over her heart. “Whoa, buddy.” She turned her head towards the door. “I might have just saved your life, Gelly.”
“Sorry,” I said, and put the blade away.
“I don't how you got that through– Nevermind.” She pointed a wing at the both of us. “You owe me.”
“Fair enough,” replied Bitter.
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The Patriarch of the Star Eaters, Nelly, was a hedonistic stallion with the virtue of laughter.
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“So the gang's all here– and Candy,” I said. Nods abounded. “Alright, what do we have going for us?”
“I managed to spike all but one dish and drink for tonight,” Olive said with a smirk. “It's going to be a real rowdy party. And I made spaghetti and sugarcubes, and a variety of juiced salt licks.”
“Great,” Serene said meekly. “I couldn't help with the lighting, so we won't have air support. Sorry.”
“Oi, don't worry about it,” I said, scratching around my PipBuck. “I spoke with the patrol. If anything, I've made them more suspicions. Watch out for that chipper Unicorn; she's just lookin' for a reason.”
“Zepp and I are ready to give up the stage whenever you give the signal,” Candy spoke soberly, and with determination. “Zepp is sure to be named MVP and his only competition for Homecoming King are other athletes. Oh– and Game Knight, but I wouldn't worry about him.”
“Did ya talk Zepp into swaying some votes your way?”
“He refused.” Candy futilely huffed at her short bangs, while a smirk teased at the corner of her mouth. “Said I wouldn't need any.”
“Alright, the dance is on in twenty. Let's go.” I felt like I was forgetting something. “We have one shot at all this so... try to live a little.” I smiled. “How many parties do we get to crash in the Wasteland?”
We were fifteen minutes early, but so was everyone else. Candy had offered to share her wardrobe but, despite our refusal, me and the gang weren’t terribly underdressed. In this Stable, formal meant your best blue and yellow jumpsuit– with the addition of jackets, sashes, and other accessories. Candy, for example, wore sparkling sapphire earrings and a white sash bearing her cutie-mark on either end.
Everypony had, however, made use of Candy's bath at some point; much to the dismay of her cousin and roommate, Bubble Gum. The light pink mare complained about the leftover grime for what felt like thirty minutes. I didn't blame her; I hadn't realized how filthy the gang was till I saw them clean.
“I don't think I've ever looked this good,” Olive said, as we walked down the hall in a casual line. The low hum of excited voices grew as we neared the door to the party ground– apparently a gymnasium.
“Ugh, really?” Bubble scoffed as a brush– enveloped in red light– ran through her long, grape purple mane. I wasn't sure why she bothered; it was the straightest mane I had ever seen.
“The Wasteland's an ugly place,” Bitter said through a cheery grin, “you'd fit in fine.”
“Heh heh, at least you wretches have a sense of humour. As uptight as everypony is around here, one would think they had something internally facilitating the behavior.” She raised a brow behind the curtain of her uniform bangs– visible between strokes of her brush. “If you know what I mean.”
“But I kinda like this place; the vast majority of the wastes can't afford peace for long,” Serene said, as she gave another pack of party-goers a wide berth. “Besides, boredom is good for your health.”
“That must be why People avoid it,” I said, and turned my attention to Bubble. “The Wasteland is many things, BG, but boring isn't one of them. My advice is that you visit before judging it... or your Stable.”
A smarmy smile stretched across her muzzle as she said, “Hmmpf, I'll simply hold my judgment indefinitely. Thank you.” She dropped the smile as quickly as she threw her brush into her saddlebag.
“By the way, do you cut your own bangs?”
“Why, yes, I do.” Her voice sweetened, and she put on a smirk. For once, Bubble seemed bubbly.
“How do ya get your horn through the bowl?” A moment or three later, I was laughing– contagiously, it seemed. And we sighed on our way through the gym's double doors and into the party.
The room was an enormous court for some Gryphon/Pegasi sport. It had a high ceiling and a single balcony wrapping about the center. From its edges poured lights and streamers, and I could make out the top of a sound system over the railing. At the center of the room stood a large pool (perhaps for emergency landings), which was enclosed by plexiglass that was to serve as the dance floor.
More laughs and smiles followed as people arrived, especially after a few visits to the snack tables.
“I'm parched,” Bubble said. “Care to accompany me to the punchbowl, cousin?” She fanned herself with a hoof, rattling her many bracelets.
“Here, I have water,” Candy said, as she produced then offered her canteen.
“I'm sorry, but I didn't arrive at a party with the intention to abstain from it.” She began prancing in short, deliberate steps towards the tables. “My offer stands.”
“That grape-black cherry at the far left table is really good,” Olive hinted.
“That sounds delightful,” Candy said, as she trotted after her cousin. “Doesn't it, Bubble?”.
The party grew louder and wilder by the minute, and not entirely due to our efforts. A series of freak occurrences and foolishness erupted in the crowd every five minutes, like clockwork. As in scheduled, not like the Pony I used to know.
“Is it just me, or is all that... shit following Zepp around?” Olive asked over a glass of cranberry punch.
“I'm not sure, OJ,” I said, squinting through the crowd. Zepp spoke with some fellows in Letterpony's jackets. A Gryphon tapped Zepp on the shoulder and, just as he turned towards her, a pink-goop balloon fell from on high and splattered against the ground. The conversation must've been interesting; Zepp didn't even turn an ear. “Ya have better eyes than me, Olive, even sloshed.”
“Yeah, like, have you noticed Bubble Gum's... ass.”
“What?” I glanced at Bitter. “Ya mean that patchy red colouring, or birthmark, under her cutie-mark?”
“Nah, it's just really nice.” He took a sip. “Mm, but that's interesting too.” Olive blinked– not quite in sync. “Makes that heart-bubble cutie-mark more visible.”
“I think she works out,” Serene said.
“Oi, I'm gonna go see who's been tailing Zepp,” I said. “Be ready for the whistle.” I gave Bitter a nuzzle then trotted over to the jacketed mob. I was just about to infiltrate their hive when a striped face emerged before my own. “Gah!”
“Excuse me,” the aged mare said, and backed away a fraction, “I must speak with you a moment–”
“Booster,” Zepp called, as he climbed over a few Ponies to welcome me with outstretched forelegs. “So glad you made it.” He shot an awkward wink and a smile at the mare before addressing her. “I have this under control, Auntie.”
“Thanks for the save,” I said, as he led me into the crowd while resting a cannon high on my shoulder. “Would ya quit leaning on me though?”
“Oh, no problem at all.” He smacked his lips. “Ya know, I can't save you from all of them.” He slipped something into my pocket as he broke contact. “Or can I?” He grinned. “Open it later.”
“Thanks again. And, since we're helping each other, I gotta ask: Have you noticed that–”
“Somepony is trying extremely hard to prank me? Yes, I did notice. It's just Game Knight; he's all sore about me taking his chess trophy and now he wants to be Homecoming King for some reason.”
I raised a brow, and my voice a little. “Why haven't you confronted him?”
“Because I don't like confrontation. Besides, that's what he wants: to make himself out as a victim and myself as some kind of ass. Best to just ignore him.”
Midst the shallow sea of voices was a snap like Keratin's glove. I grabbed Zepp by his jacket and pulled him aside; a kind of pellet whizzed by our ears. I heard glass break and Olive wail.
“I'm not so sure about that policy.” I took my forehoof off of Zepp's collar and glanced at my gang.
Olive lamented over a red puddle staining the ground, and then said, “Oh, yeah, I have telekinesis.”
“OJ, that has glass and– well, it's powder now– in it,” said Serene.
“I got the glass out.” *gulp*
I made no friends as I waded through the crowd, following the pellet's course. People gave me what space they could, but it wasn't much. I stood on my hindlegs then spotted a Unicorn with a knight piece cutie-mark and a slingshot. He felt my eyes on him and turned to meet them. I shot him a wink, fell to my hooves, and trotted to him. He dashed behind a scowling, Earth Pony mare; Turnabout's lackey.
“Great idea, Sis,” he said. “Now one of the stallions from outside has it out for me.”
“My fault, really,” she spat. “The plan relied on you being a decent shot with something. Regardless, I didn't foresee this turn of events.”
“You hit my friend's glass,” I spat back.
“Only because you moved Zepp.” She spat, literally, at my feet.
I tilted my head until my matted mane tugged at my scalp, and met eyes with the colt cowering behind her. “Oi, does she speak for you?”
“Yes,” the mare said without a moment's hesitation.
“Just making sure.” I righted my head and sat on my haunches. “Mind telling me what this is about?”
“Yes, I do. But I’ll tell you anyway.” She drew a breath. “Three weeks ago–”
“Nevermind, I'm already bored. Just skip to the end.”
“Zepp took his trophy, so we're taking this night from Zepp.” She glanced behind me; I glanced as well. A crowd had formed out of my gang, a few tipsy people, and the Letterponies (Zepp included).
“And he cheated at Monopony,” Knight said, emphasizing his words with an accusing hoof.
“You're still mad about that?” Zepp asked. “It went on for two hours. I just wanted it to end.”
*cough* “Hoowaghh,” Olive chimed in, hoarsely. “My throat's kinda scratchy.”
I kept my eyes trained on Knight and his sister as I nodded towards Olive. “His throat's scratchy,” I said. “What're you gonna do about that?”
“It's getting worse...”
“Uh, I don't know,” said Knight, as he scratched his auburn mane. “Who drinks itching powder?”
“Itching pow– Booster, these pranks are like Clockwork. Not as in scheduling, but like that Pony we used to know. What,” *cough* “happened to her again?” *COUGH*
“We left her after she started on that robot,” I said. “But nevermind that.” I bared my teeth and raised my voice at Knight. “You caused my friend some discomfort. How are you going to fix it?”
“We aren't,” said the brawny mare. “We're going to ignore you until you leave.” She raised a brow. “Wanna fight about it?”
“Yeah. I. Do.”
The mare recoiled after I bolted to my hooves, but so did I. My knees and eyes shriveled as excess blood rushed up the sides of my head. I dropped back onto my haunches and spent a moment there.
The brawny mare made an attempt to swat my nose off my muzzle, a damn fine attempt.
I threw a blind left that touched somewhere above her jaw. Then a right that she swept aside with her left forehoof as the other scraped upside my chin. As she brought down her forehooves, I lept into the space beside her then bucked her in the ribs. She threw herself from my hooves, and rolled to her feet as soon as she touched ground.
Her brother shook beneath his own forelegs, and scooted away once he realized he was exposed.
She charged at me, and I galloped to meet her. She kicked out with both forelegs. I ducked my head, rammed my shoulder into her barrel, and kept running. Despite the lungful of air she huffed over my back, she pounded hoofprints along my spine and rump as I carried her forward.
Equines got the fuck out of our way just before I lept and ploughed us through a snack table. Cupcakes, sweetrolls, and hay flew in either direction. Some of them collided in the air and splattered nearby Equines with blue and yellow icing. As I rolled off the pastry tray jutting into my side, my forehooves fell upon a plate and a baguette.
The mare screeched a full second after I shattered the plate over her crown. Then went mute, along with the crowd, as I parted the loaf of bread over the same spot.
“FOOD FIGHT!” I heard Bitter scream in her disguised voice (her regular voice but with a hoof to her mouth). Everything that had landed was airborne again in seconds.
As I rose, Game Knight's sister drove her hoof up my chin; my teeth clattered together. She bucked me square in the chest, but the contoured plates beneath my vest cradled and rocked me. I stumbled backwards off the blue tablecloth and slipped on a cupcake. She seized the opportunity, her bearing, and then a serving ladle.
She bared her teeth around the ladle's handle as she made her advance, huffing hot air and puffing steam through her nose. I put a hoof to my right nostril then blew blob of red snot from the left one.
With each step towards me, she swung the ladle with a ferocity that whipped her mane. Red began to seep from her maneline and was strewn across her forehead as she flailed. I backed away on my haunches but it only bought me a few seconds. She fell upon me. I covered my face with my forelegs, and her wide swings battered lumps into my knees and forearms. I fell back. My right hoof shot to the pocket that held my razor but did nothing further. I refused to let it continue; it refused to retract.
She brought the ladle down on my PipBuck and it rebounded harmlessly.
I began to make use of my megaspell-proof accessory, blocking the next few blows with it. She swung again, and again, and– *THWUMP*
A sweetroll collided against her temple, contouring to it, then sprang upwards. Her eyes rolled back as the ladle slipped out of her mouth. The pastry hit the ground– with the mare and a thud– then rolled, unscathed, into standing position. I pondered whether I should try a bite or carry some as ammunition.
“Shit,” Serene barked midst the ruckus. “Did I kill her?”
I kicked the mare– she groaned– then shook my head. “No, but what the fuck are those made of?”
“I don't– bran and brick dust?” Serene shrugged. “Isn't this a good time to give me the signal?”
I looked around for the Security and found them by the entrance. They were hosing down a crowd of rowdy partygoers armed with pies and wads of hay. I put my hoof to my mouth and whistled.
“Oh.” Serene stopped as she was passing by. “Do you want me to see if I can nab some books too?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my knees and forearms. “Do that.”
“Okay. I'll be right back.”
In the time it took me to falter onto my legs, Serene slipped out the door. She needed at least fifteen minutes, four per room and one between each of them. If only I could have let her borrow my PipBuck, but she could make due with a map and that removable hoof-drive thing.
I pocketed a few sweetrolls from a nearby pile of pastries, grabbed a tray of cupcakes, and– *SPLAT*
“Heh heh, nailed him,” said a familiar voice. I threw a cupcake in its direction before wiping my face. “Whoa, almost.”
“Oi, BG,” I said between licking icing off my hoof and nose. “I've five more where that–” *SPLAT*
I flicked the cupcake off my shoulder. Just behind Bubble, Candy was reloading a slingshot. I tossed the tray into the air and bucked it, launching a volley of pastries... and a metal tray.
Bubble dodged the tray and walked right into the cluster of cupcakes. “Ahh!.”
Two cupcakes got picked out of Bubble's mane by an orange light. And the pair of pastries proceeded to chase down Candy, who let loose a shot just before they struck her in both eyes.
“Nooooo,” Bitter said in a low, droning voice as she lept through the air. Candy's shot struck her in the barrel, and I caught her in my forelegs. “Booster,” she coughed then spat sprinkles, “it's so cold.”
I winced and said, “Shush now, love.” Then made an agonizing effort out of stroking her mane.
“It's getting dark.” She sprawled and stared aimlessly at the ceiling. “Where are you?”
“I'm right here!” I pressed my lips against hers. Her tongue was covered in semi-melted sprinkles, which was... interesting.
“Pff– Blahh,” she sounded as we disengaged. She went limp and slack jawed, but couldn't quite roll her eyes back. Her tongue, littered with colourful smears, hung from the side of her mouth.
“Nooo! I will avenge you my sweet–”
*FFFFF* *Gargle* *FFFFF* A torrent of water washed over my face and pushed me onto my back. I held Bitter out in front of me like a shield. She squealed and flailed about in my grip.
“Tee hee,” said the cheerful Security Unicorn with the hose. She simply couldn't contain herself. “You can't keep that up forever.”
I thought back– to Feather Duster. “Unfortunately, I know for a fact I can.”
“I. Have. A. Name,” Bitter said between mouthfuls of water. Her struggle shifted from my grip to the oncoming torrent. And she used all four hooves in her attempts to shield herself.
The hose stopped... and then Bitter. I peered around my mare– *FFFFF*
“Security wins,” said the Unicorn, as I tried to expel water from nearly every orifice in my head. Her cheers drowned out Bitter's complaints, who rubbed her crown as she kicked my bruised forelegs.
The party went on like that for a few minutes– until about a third of it was soaked. Security quarantined the snack tables, and a few Unicorns went about magically drying people. It took several more minutes but was well worth the wait, and gave my forelegs time enough to stop throbbing. Then the music started. It was a jazzy show tune number by Sweetie Belle; I can never remember the name.
“Bits,” I said, and reached a hoof out to my mare, “care to dance?”
“Oh, so now you want to throw me around for fun,” Bitter said, as she wringed the last few drops out of her mane. “Call it Hockholm syndrome, but I would love to.”
Bitter took my hoof in hers, and we began a half-pass around the dance floor. Most of the couples traversed side to side with the occasional spin. And some of them looked more like pairs of soloists.
“Wow,” Bitter said, as her eyes cycled through the other couples. “These Ponies can just barely dance.”
“Not their fault, love. They've never seen it done properly.”
Her eyes fixed on something distant. “It seems more like... they're all trying to lead.”
A jazzy brass breakdown started, and we both struck a pose. Then, with no lack of flair, I spun her around. I stepped away a bit wildly. Bitter followed with much more style and grace, and cartwheeled into my waiting hooves. Then I nearly dropped her as I slid through a puddle; heads turned our way.
“We got an audience now,” she said through a practiced smile.
I stared into those green, starry eyes. “I hadn't noticed.”
I swung her over my shoulder, caught her on the other side, and tossed her overhead. She completed two and a half turns before falling into my hooves. I rolled her out like a carpet and spun her around by her left legs (it's a flashy way of softening a catch). I let her go. She spun as she slid across the floor on her back; I had to step lively to keep up. She spun to her feet and into a spread then ducked as I kicked a hindleg over her head, turning my back to hers. Blinded by confidence, I threw my lanky self into a forward flip and landed hard on my rump.
Everyone laughed.
I rose and, to save face, did a back-hoofspring back into position. I reached through our hindlegs and took hold of Bitter's waiting forehooves. I pulled her into a flip, through my legs, and onto her feet.
Light stamping rose from the crowd. Bitter bowed and rubbed her head. “I kinda hit my head against the floor on that last one,” she whispered.
“Sorry, love.” I leaned down and kissed her crown.
*SQUEAL* “Sor–” *KRSHH-poP* Ears drooped or twitched at the offense. “Sorry,” said a Gryphon on the balcony. “Ballots are in, and we are ready to award the... uh, awards.”
“Shit,” Bitter ''whispered'' in my ear. “I knew we were forgetting something.”
I glanced to one side and nodded. I hadn't realized we needed to vote in the first place.
The Gryphon announcer tapped on his mic before clearing his throat and speaking again. “Ahem, so... Perfect Attendance goes to...” *Drumroll* “Everyone. Pat yourselves on the back.”
*cough*
The announcer tugged at his collar. “Ah. And now, Most Valuable Po– Person. Drums?” *Drumroll* “I think we all called this one, Zepp.”
The crowd roared and stamped.
“Woo!” called a Unicorn in a Letterpony's jacket. “He totes deserves it. You see when he broke the backboard with that slam goal-down?”
Zepp started for the stairs but a pair of Gryphons swept over and lifted him to the balcony.
“Wow, ya know, that wasn't necessary,” he said, as the announcer tilted the mic stand towards him. A Pony hoofed him his award, a bronze Equine in shoulder pads holding a bat and kicking a hoofball. “I want to thank the coaches, my...”
“Psst,” Serene whispered. She hoofed me three books and my PipBuck's hoof-drive. “Here's what I found. It isn't what we expected but it should be more than enough.”
“Psssst,” said a Unicorn. “I'd like to speak with you, momentarily, about your vote–”
“Excuse me,” I said, as I pocketed the books without looking at them. “Which vote?”
“Your vote to determine the next scout.”
“Aye, talk to me later.” He began to protest but I waved it off. “Seriously, just wait fifteen minutes.”
“Fine. Fifteen minutes.” He nodded, and went about his way.
The announcer patted Zepp on the back and mouthed something in his ear. Zepp made his way to a balcony seat as the announcer said, “Now, Best Morale goes to... *Drumroll* Posts Modern, for her inspired sculptures and radio drama.”
A Pony made a mad dash up the stairwell then reappeared over top the balcony and drenched in red.
“Somebody rigged a bucket of paint– I hope– in the stairwell, but I don't CARE,” she said. “This is such an honour.” She gestured with each word, slinging red droplets onto the crowd below.
“Huh, I wonder if that bucket was meant for Zepp,” I said to the mares.
“Alright, and now for the moment you have all been waiting for,” said the announcer, as he held up a pair of crowns in one set of claws. “Homecoming Queen and King.”
“Serene, Bitter; you two ready to perform?”
“We were born ready,” Bitter said with a smile. “Here, hold my saddlebags. Careful, RG is sleeping.”
*Drumroll* “No surprises here,” the announcer started.
A high-pitched squeal pierced the air before an average-looking Unicorn flailed and screeched, “Oh, I can't BELIEVE it!”
“NO,” he threw up an open set of talons and thrust it over the railing a few times as he spoke, “nonono no. I was only saying 'no surprises' not calling you. Sorry.”
The Gryphon’s words deflated the poor mare, and she shrank to the ground with her ears down.
“Ahem, as I was saying, n– Hard Candy and Zepp.”
The crowd stamped, cheered, and whistled as Hard Candy joined Zepp on the balcony. They exchanged a nod and took their places overlooking the crowd. The announcer placed the crowns on their heads then backed away from the mic and into obscurity. I blew two, short whistles as the stamping faded.
“Thank you, for your votes and your trust,” said Candy.
“There is no greater honour than to be chosen to lead by leaders,” said Zepp. “I– We cherish your confidence. Now it may be hard to believe, but Candy and I actually predicted this outcome.”
Laughs.
“Not that there aren't other great candidates who deserve praise and consolation. And it is to that effect that we arranged something for everyone to enjoy.” Candy pointed a hoof in our direction, and I departed for the wall near the stairwell. “We present Serene and Bitter Shores.”
As I waded through the crowd I heard a familiar, guttural voice say, “Losers deserve no consolation.”
“Please clear the dance floor,” said Zepp.
Moments drifted by like the crowd's murmurs. The crowd gravitated to the edges of the room. I stood on my hindlegs and leaned back against the wall, ensuring myself a clear view over their heads.
The sisters took positions on adjacent sides of the pool. Its cover hummed as it parted down the middle and retracted into either side of the floor. Serene stared at her feet as she wiggled out of her hooded robe. The pool of water on her flank mirrored the one on her sister's, save that Serene's had three water drops where Bitter's sported a trio of sharp spires.
The room's life drained away to make room for curious anticipation. The sound of the two, blue Earth Ponies taking a single breath filled the entire room. Bitter leapt high, twisted, and passed through the water's surface as if it were air. Serene scooted straight out, and for a moment– even as she ebbed with the ripple from her sister's dive– it seemed that she would glide across the width of the pool. But she tipped forward and sank.
Bitter shot out and over the water like a dolphin. And Serene emerged from the veil of the water's surface. They turned towards one end of the pool then performed aquabatic movements– side by side and often in mirror of each other. They kicked off the wall and swam back down the length of the pool; Serene swam straight and Bitter in a serpentine pattern. Their speed and grace was awarded applause.
Bitter reached the wall and vanished beneath the water. Serene flipped, kicked, and was lifted above the water by her sister. Serene posed just like a large, fountain statue we'd seen (only she wasn't in pieces). They drifted a while then wheeled into each other's positions. They went on like that to the other end of the pool; posing and carrying, carrying and posing, and back again with added intensity. As they neared the edge, they dived deep. Then the sisters erupted from the water and onto the floor.
The crowd stamped, and someone started a short-lived chant of, “Encore.”
In the excitement, I had forgotten to review the recordings on my PipBuck's hoof-drive. I found the file folder and earblooms easily enough, but not the video. After scouring the green menus, I uncovered a couple of ''NEW'' notes and scratched my mane.
“Wow, thank you,” Bitter gushed. “But that's our longest routine. The rest are much shorter because, well, radiation.”
I noticed Serene had already slinked away, as had her robe.
*Awww* went the crowd.
“Oh.” Bitter shook and tapped the side of her crown against a hoof. “I could do a dive though.”
“Whoa, is that really safe?” asked the announcer.
“From that balcony?” Bitter waved off any doubt with a hoof. “No problem. In fact, you should install a diving board; it's the ideal height for beginners.” She ambled towards the stairs and chuckled as the crowd made way for her.
I rushed to find what information, if any, incriminated Sweetgum. One note read, ''You see a stallion enter the medical storage and retrieve an orb from the cooler.'' I read it again, and once more.
“What?” I let out. “No I don't.”
“Booster, what did you find?” Bitter asked. She froze with her foot on the stairs and her head cocked.
I looked up from my PipBuck. “I'm in need of a little more time, love.”
“Uh, okay, I'll think of something. But hurry.” She strolled up the stairs and addressed the crowd. “Okay, I'm just gonna do a practice dive first– nothing fancy– then I'll get back up here do a real one. That okay with everyone?”
“Woooo, yeah,” said a voice in the crowd. “You know it.”
I brought up the other note and read, ''The same stallion from before,'' I gave up before I even started to question that, ''exits the Stable door. He begins smearing the orb across the door, where you notice a lack of scratches.'' I did notice, somehow, and a message flared on my E.F.S.; it was far too dim to read.
*Splash* *Stamping*
I continued reading, ''After a few minutes, a large radscorpion appears and begins buzzing and vibrating its mandibles. The frightened stallion throws rocks at the creature before it corners and stings him. He throws the orb and the radscorpion chases after it. Soon after, the Stable door opens to reveal a young Sweetgum. She laments as he passes then removes his PipBuck and reenters the Stable.''
Another illegible E.F.S. message cluttered my peripheral and a new entry was added to my Quest Log. I read through the next file on my hoof-drive. It was a list of pipkeys, tags, and registration information.
“Booster,” Bitter said in a rising tone. Water ran from her mane and dripped off her chin.
“One second.” I checked the date on the ''video,'' the list of tags, and the current location. *Ping* My PipBuck labeled the tag as my current objective. A white triangle blinked onto the map practically on top of me. I looked up at the underside if the balcony. “Okay let's go.”
I didn't give her much time to respond as I raced up the stairwell. I exchanged looks with Posts Modern and realized I had a hoof in a pool of red paint. I stepped aside and wiped the red on my vest.
“Didn't we agree to just hoof me the stuff to give to Candy?” Bitter asked, as she hopped over the paint.
“I can't, really, there are... complications.” I nodded towards Candy. “Just send her this way.”
“Okay.” Bitter sauntered towards the edge of the balcony to address the crowd below, and Candy's ears twitched as she passed by. “Sorry for the wait,” Bitter said in a jovial tone. “I'll make it up to you.” She began to stretch, and whoever was in charge of the drumrolls saw fit to deliver one.
A white diamond drew closer as Candy did. “Make it quick,” she said.
“Does your PipBuck have data from the previous owner?” I asked, low and quickly.
“Well, they're built to store lifetimes of information but we usually wipe them before they're re-registered.” She rubbed her neck. “I mean, that data can be restored.”
“Aye, do that.”
“What? That takes time, and I wouldn't know what to look for.” She scratched a knee and glanced over the balcony. “I know a Pony, but they will still need to know what we're–”
I brought up my PipBuck to the far left of her face and tapped the screen. “That second file 'shows' what happened to the last owner of your PipBuck. We just need their Quest Log for that day.”
Her eyes drifted from the drive to her PipBuck then over the balcony again. “Fine, let's move quickly.”
“Not a problem.”
I got down the stairs, waited for Candy, and then let her lead the way. *Ker-Sploosh* I blew a whistle over the crowd as they stamped. Soon after, we came upon Olive and Bubble.
“... see, because I always know what is ready to pop,” Bubble said with a smarmy smile.
“Uh, ya sure it's not just 'cuz you're... pink and named Bubble Gum?” Olive asked, swaying to and fro.
Bubble rolled her eyes, and they fell on Candy. “Oh. Congratulations, cousin,” she said. “Though I voted for myself. Love the crown; looks good on you.”
“Bubble do you have your tools?” Candy asked.
“Of course, cousin.” Her left brow disappeared farther behind her bangs. “One never knows when there might be a big scoop.”
“I need you to take my PipBuck and restore the data of the previous owners. And I need it done now.”
“Excuse you.” She scoffed. “That could take hours. None of the empty memory is labeled–”
A blue light spilled from Bubble's saddlebag and a slim box flew out of it. The box opened, and a peculiar set of keys floated into the air then began lodging themselves in Candy's PipBuck. “Bubble, this may be the biggest story in the history of the Stable and you will hate it. I need you to do this.”
“What a performance,” said the announcer; his voice betrayed fatigue. “Let's give it up for our considerate Homecoming Queen and King, especially since it's time for their dance.”
“Here,” Candy forced her PipBuck into her cousin's hooves. “Booster can help.” She turned towards the pool, which was converting back into a dance floor. “Try not to hate him.”
“Oi, Candy.” I said, as I drew close and placed a hoof on her shoulder. “I'm sorry things turned out this way. I'd have been more than happy to find out I was completely mistaken. I hope I am still.”
“It's okay. I've prepared for the worst outcome.” She forced a weak smile, and walked away.
“Where is she?” asked the announcer, and murmurs rose over the soft hum of the dance floor. “Oh, there she is. Ahead of the curve, as always. Get down there, Zepp, you lucky rascal.”
“Alright then,” Bubble said before she turned to face me. “What can you tell me that might expedite this process by approximately... the entire runtime?”
I explained the situation as best I could without telling Bubble it concerned her grandmother and multiple counts of murder. She would find out herself, and I didn't see much sense in giving her such a distraction. Armed with a date and surprising knowledge of spell matrixes, she managed to narrow her search and reduce her projected runtime to seven minutes. Bitter and Serene found their way to us, and I explained the situation to them in greater detail.
Then the Unicorn reappeared to speak to me about my vote. He was followed by a Pegasus with similar intentions. My PipBuck pinged me about an optional quest for the councilors, which I ignored. As far as I was concerned, every quest was optional.
“W-What is this?” Bubble asked. But I was preoccupied.
“Oi, Bits, please get rid of these politicians,” I said, and then addressed Bubble. “BG, I know this–”
“Sucks totes fierce?” Candy's PipBuck rattled in Bubble's pulsating, red light. She turned her nose up to the ceiling and clenched every muscle in her face. “I love my grandmother.” She went slack onto her haunches, and then met my gaze. “I love grandmother. But all those scouts– a few of which I called friends. They had family too.”
“Uh,” I scratched my mane, “yeah. If you'd rather wait–”
“No.” She perked her ears, and the rest of her followed. “Something like this... the populace needs to know first and foremost. I'm sure Candy will agree.”
Candy and Zepp's dance ended and I blew two, short whistles. She made her way back to us and read her cousin's face. I offered to break the news to everyone but, to my relief, Candy insisted on delivering it herself. She read over the files then ambled up the stairwell. She was as prepared as she had claimed.
People seemed to think it was some kind of joke at first but, as Candy continued, their smiles became thin lines chipped into stony faces. Even the two politicians, whom Bitter had led into an argument with each other, were dead silent. Most curious of all was Sweetgum herself. Among the Councilors' table on the balcony adjacent to Candy, none were more stoic.
Sweetgum took full responsibility even though the Quest Log of Soft Heart, Candy and Bubble's grandfather, revealed she had only consented to the crime after the fact. My guess was she just didn't want him to die in vain. The Council was to determine her fate the following morning.
As Bubble turned over evidence to the Security Unicorn, the one Pony still smiling, I couldn't help but wonder what exactly PipBucks were programmed to record. It seemed silly to commit crime when your agenda was available at the turn of a dial. I became terribly conscious of the manacle on my cannon.
“So,” Bubble asked, “does the NCR wreck homes in the name of justice often?”
Despite everything, I laughed aloud. Then said, “They– We are absolutely notorious for it.”
________________________________________________▼▼▼________________________________________________
Although the Day of Sunshine and Rainbows was initially celebrated all across Equestria, the GoE permanently affected only 36% of the projected area. Today, Western Equestria remains largely unaffected by the presence of the NCR in general.
_________________▲________________________________________________________________▲_________________
Lights out in a metal box under a mountain of rock was as terrifying as I thought it'd be. I was lucky I had Bitter to console me, and apparently she had found the sprinkles interesting as well. There was a time, though, when we were reminded of something and our kisses grew salty with tears.
I had read over the Zepp's note, a list of actions I could call and their uses, several times but still had to take it out during the votes. Sweetgum's punishment was first on the agenda. The votes were so overwhelmingly in favor of retirement I simply withheld my own, as I would for many of the votes. Sweetgum accepted the punishment without question, and Security escorted her out of the room. Her PipBuck lay on a stool and was referred to for tallies, a first in their history. When it came time to vote on the next scout, I called for a...
“Pre– Uh, Pre-Pra...E– es, umpt I O?”
“A Pre-Praesumptio,” said a Zebra, as she rolled her eyes.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, I obviously know next to nothing about your politics– save for a song I heard yesterday. But I think I can say, with confidence, that no one trusts this next vote. Many of you have tried to manipulate the situation, and now there isn't a neutral party in power. Well, I'm sure you know how important it is that a decision is reached today.”
“If you can grasp that little, stop explaining and make your amendment,” said a scowling Earth Pony. “We all know the purpose of a Pre-Praesumptio.” He snorted.
“Aye, alright. Every candidate leaves.” Sighs, scoffs, and snorts abounded. I raised a hoof to silence them, but to little effect. “Make it a race, first one back becomes Overmare or stallion.”
“And what's to stop them from arriving at the same time or just camping outside the gate?”
Speed is distance over time, and a race is a contest of speed so... “Take distance into account.”
“That's stupid.”
“But it could work,” said a Gryphon. “Or better yet, we can have them travel as a group then vote amongst themselves when and if they get back. They can otherwise conform to all the scouting norms.”
There were several nods and a few mutterings, mostly of approval.
“So, who should we hold on trail for the four counts of murder tomorrow?” asked a Unicorn.
“Okay, this has been bothering me,” I said. “Why doesn't your security just go shoot the scorpions?”
“It's out of our jurisdiction,” a striped guard said without pause nor inflection.
“Aye... Why don't ya extend their jurisdiction?”
Somepony groaned.
“Our jurisdiction is set by Stable-Tec and their guidelines, not by Overmares.”
“Of course we could just leave the door open and kill them as they enter,” said a Pegasus.
An elderly Unicorn huffed at that statement. “We tried that, and those damned creatures returned,” he said. “Unlike Dew Process. I only hope she ran and never looked back. Better a deserter than a pile of arachnid feces.”
“I can get rid of the radscorpions, permanently,” I said. “I just need access to a lab and chemicals.”
“Hmm, you did make it past them once– just barely– and you uncovered what attracted them in the first place,” said the Gryphon from before. “Is that all you're suggesting? What chemicals and how many?”
“Pretty much. Nothing hazardous. And within reason.”
She rapped a talon against the underside of her beak. “Then I vote in favour.”
After more arguing and a musical number, enough ''ayes'' followed to grant my amendment. They gave me access to a lab under the condition that I was constantly supervised, and I welcomed the help. Together with the Zebra doctor, an Anesthesiologist, we managed to develop a repellent and something of a chem. Both relied heavily on pheromones from the gland and, hopefully, one of them would work.
Bitter convinced them to allow us our weapons and equipment. We were gearing up for our field test/escape when I let out a sigh that awarded me my gang's attention.
“What's wrong, big guy?” Olive asked, as he levitated us our confiscated items.
“It's just, well, this place is safe,” I said, and scratched around my PipBuck. “And despite recent events, they've been pretty hospitable.”
“You want to stay?” Bitter asked with raised brows.
“He wants to know if we want to stay,” Serene answered for me. She patted my shoulder. “They only kinda like us because we're novelties, something they haven't seen. We stay for a week and they'll get tired of us, especially when they find out we don't have anything to offer their society. Besides, it doesn't make sense for our NCR story. Come on, Booster,” her hoof slid off its perch then kicked me level in the chest on its way to the ground, “this isn't like you. Why do think we're still in this gang?”
“Because...”
“Because we like being Wasters. If we didn't, we would've settled somewhere years ago like the others. But we stuck it out with you, a Road-Given from birth, because that's the only kind of company we need.” She mocked a punch across my chin. “Let's go home.”
Once outside, if a cave counts as outside, I took out the vials of repellant and got to work. We ambled towards the cave entrance with our teeth bared. We stopped every six paces or so, and I'd empty a vial on a rock or in a crook. The sun was a welcome sight, but it put a weight on my eyelids as we stepped out of the cave. Heat beat down on my withers, and radiated off black chitin.
“Damn!” Bitter cried. “I owe OJ twenty caps.”
*CHEEETL* The giant radscorpion was scarred, but stood triumphantly midst strewn bits of insect.
“Everypony stand back,” I said, and threw a vial at the arachnid's center mass. It fell a bit short, but shattered all the same against the dry clay. The giant radscorpion froze for a few seconds, and began a disoriented backwards retreat. It stopped at the crest of the slope and scuttled sideways to the ledge.
“How does that stuff work?” Olive asked, as he collected from Bitter and Serene.
I rubbed my eyes. “Old fashioned sensory overload.”
“Well, do you have enough to get us to Redstring?” asked Serene.
“Uh.” The mass of black chitin watched from the ledge like a multi-eyed hawk. Though the repellent proved effective, it had a limited area of effect due to the bonding agents used to keep it from washing away. “The simple answer would be no.”
Olive's lever-action shotgun glowed orange.
“Oi, don't waste your ammo,” I said, and took out a vial of the other concoction. “Let me try this out first.” We moved cautiously fast up the slope, and the radscorpion rotated just as quickly. I passed the vial to Serene and pointed to a small boulder jutting from the ground. “Aim for that piece of granite.”
She placed the vial on her upturned hoof, pulled it close to her shoulder, spun, and pushed out. The vial soared like a dart at the rock and burst into glitter just left and low of center. The arachnid took immediate notice, flinching then vibrating curiously. It scuttled to and over the rock as if it intended to pull it from the ground. It vibe-scuttled in circles around the rock then towards us.
My muscles tensed and my legs threw me back a meter behind my friends. The arachnid unfurled a meter from their hooves; beige puffs of dust escaped between its mess of appendages.
I held my chest, to bar my heart from leaving it, and let out, “What the fuck just happened?”
“Isn't that my line?” Olive asked. He waved a hoof about my vial pocket. “What's that supposed to be?”
“A sedative, mostly, with a caffeine substitute and an anticonvulsant. The whole mix was supposed to make it drowsy and experience mild euphoria. Then make it excitable but inhibit its movement.” I ventured forward a meter. “The plan was to lead it away at a brisk pace.”
The radscorpion was flat as a rug.
“I don't think it works. Remind me to remind you not to mess with the crazy shit they got in Stables.”
“Oi, this stuff's almost completely natural; seventy percent pheromones and ten percent tea leaves. Somehow, the latter stage ingredients activated first. That would explain that... seizure.” I scratched my chin. “Those cAMP levels must be through the roof; leaving the metabolism to-” I sighed. “This has Zebra magic written all over it.”
Bitter spat her pistol into her holster and asked, “Is it dead?”
“No, it's high as Cloudsdale– having some kind of hallucinogenic episode. I can't say why for sure, but my best guess is DPE inhibition followed by a mess of chlorination.” I waved a hoof in its line of sight. Then threw a pebble at it. A few moments later it made an effort to lift its pincers– we recoiled– but hardly moved them a few centimeters. I brushed absent dust off my vest. “Let's move.”
It took about ten minutes to get oriented and back on our way. In another ten minutes, we would be nearing one of my favourite billboards. After that were miles of road– empty but for a few gas stations, which were best avoided. Beyond that were temporary encampments, which were sometimes best avoided. And then Redstring. The mining town was in the Sun's glare, but by twilight we would see her lights when at the crest of hills. I was more than excited; I was longing to see it all again.
As we approached the last and smallest mountain in the the range, Olive spotted a light in a cave and suggested we check it out. We had chuckle at that and kept walking. We passed by the range, and were greeted by a warm breeze with the faintest hint of the sea.
“Wait,” Olive said. He sucked in air for a full second. “That breeze.” He inhaled again. “How's that fresh, San Palomino air?”
I closed my eyes, breathed, and said, “Dry and just a bit acrid.”
We laughed. Then Serene sighed and looked back to where the world's shadow loomed.
“We should at least send Candy a message or something,” Serene said as she let down her hood. “Sorry, we aren't coming back. Hope you understand. P.S. Let your Stable think the NCR are liars or thieves.”
“I'm sure she's realized by now, but maybe we can find a cheap courier somewhere.” I flicked open my PipBuck. An electronic whine reached a zenith then stopped. BASS exploded from it. “Gah!” I tapped the screen until it stopped then turned to the others. “I never was too–”
*CLICK* *CLACK* *whistle* Whatever that floating, golden contraption pressed against my nose was– it shot lead.
“Hiya! You can drop your weapons and valuables now.”
================
Footnote: You're still alive!
Quest Perk Added: Artificial Organ (Liver) – Grants 50% poison resistance, and -1 CHA for attacks against the Soul. For better or worse, you gain immunity to conventional ingested chems. At least you're not losing a drinking contest anytime soon.
