Chapter 2: For the Sake of Knowledge

Knowing what you did wrong is the first step to regretting it.

How is it, that some ponies do not desire to read? That they, in fact, cannot read? It boggles the mind of one such as I... born and bred into a realm of knowledge, facts, and countless lectures. I could no more not read than I could not breathe, yet, the idiots of this accursed wasteland seem to go out of their way to prove me right with every breath they exhale. Empty words from empty minds, the ponies unable or unwilling to see past their nose to a future that may yet be. But, then again, perhaps they are the wise ones. For whence comes vision, comes despair. Ignorance may be bliss, especially when we shall all be dying painfully anyways.
~From the Journal of Nevermore

The snow falls gently around me, a beautiful scene, that even one such as I can appreciate. It reminds me of what once was, of a kinder, gentler time. Yet even my deadened body can feel the bitter bite of a frigid winter, the wind slashing through my clothing and down to my bones with icy claws. I shiver despite myself, wishing for nothing more than a fire to warm my tired bones once more. Still I wait, cold and silent as a corpse, my body playing its part as I lay in the street, one casualty among many. This ‘Sacred Oath’ had wished to meet me muzzle to muzzle, so to speak, and while I knew her grandmother, I never trusted her. Then again, I never trust anyone, least of all myself. Still, the snow falls, and I hope she arrives before I get completely buried in it.

I mull through my mind previous encounters I’ve had with the Steel Rangers. Most of the time, I avoided them when I could, both for their safety, and for mine. I was never a fan of their suits of armor, back during the War and after, yet they still impose some order, such as it is, though many don’t appreciate the semblance of control that they provide. Of course, their armor could be useful, I remember seeing the demonstrations when they were being prepared, and was even given the chance to pilot one of the suits, though my wings and their bulk made it impractical and very uncomfortable. Some things were not designed for everypony, after all. Not all my encounters were at a distance, however. I’ve been shot at by them more than once, and I fought alongside them as well. When not on the receiving end, I could appreciate their sheer firepower and armored resilience, though it did make it quite the pain when I was not on their good side. Slow to trust outsiders, they are even more wary of a stranger who looks and acts as I do. I do not blame them, however. After all, I would not trust me either.

After what feels like ages, though I know it has only been a scarce hooful of minutes, I hear a familiar sound, the sharp whine and harsh thud of powered armor. And from the sounds of it, more than one. Eyes hidden behind my veil, I watch the figure stomp into view. A towering pony, the bulk of the armor only seems to accentuate the tall figure wearing it. The ominous sight of a gatling pans back and forth, following the helmeted gaze of its master. While I am certain they are speaking, from the pauses and the careful scans, I am not privy to the communications of the Steel Rangers, for this is what they are. The faint clicks coming from them confirms my suspicions, but does nothing to reveal what they’re saying.Their iconography, however, is proudly emblazoned on the armor’s flanks. A few steps behind, comes a much smaller figure, though still clad in steel. This one, however, is a bit different, the armor lighter and thinner, even to my untrained eye. And while much of the armor was enshrouded by a red cloak, the mounted grenade launcher gave no doubts about its purpose. Combat. A quick look between the two, and the smaller mare reaches up, her helmet hissing as the seal breaks, exposing her face to the rest of the Wasteland. A short black mane crowns her pale coat, a streak of gold cutting through the dark mane. Her face appears to have little regard for the rest of the world, even as she looks around, nose wrinkling slightly.

“... situation appears normal, communications adequate. Cover is not optimal, but should not be required. Temperature is within expected variation, snowfall is minimal, given the circumstances. Presence of entity ‘Nevermore’ is not confirmed at this time. Given name and demeanor, is it likely...” Her voice trails in and out, the mare apparently having a constant stream of words as she observes the world around her. It doesn’t even seem to be a conscious effort, but rather a habitual recital of everything she’s seeing, thinking, and calculating. Only a Scribe of the Steel Rangers would be so... particular. Not wishing to keep her waiting, I slowly stand up, snow falling off my cloak in a small cascade.

“Sacred Oath, I presume.” My rasping voice rings across the ruined plaza, echoing through ruins and debris. Unnervingly, I realize that while she had seemed distracted, her eye was locked onto my hiding spot before I moved.

I tense as the whine of powered armor moves to face me, the long barrels of the tall Ranger’s gatling swinging into line with me, even as Sacred Oath speaks. “Behaviour is expected, appearance matches previously known encounters. Subject is called ‘Nevermore’, given or assumed? I am not certain. Does not seem the sort of name received by most ponies. Records indicated pre-war existence, leading to more uncertainty regarding named status. Subject does not appear to be feral, ghoul traits are clear, yet remarkably well preserved, given assumed age. Further testing desired...” Her rambling monotone cuts off for a second as she receives the harshest glare I can muster. “... but does not seem to be a willing subject. Perhaps request body after final death.” She clears her throat. “Yes, I am Sacred Oath of the Steel Rangers, Scribe.” Her equipment and the deference the other pony shows her makes me doubt that she is just a Scribe, but I am not here to argue with her or quibble about ranking. She motions to the pony next to her. “This is Knight Hazelnut Honeycake. You have something you want, yes?” Her matter of fact recital makes her sound almost bored, though her gaze constantly flicks over me and around, absorbing the details from the world around her.

I eye her carefully, her bland expression doing little to assuage my thoughts that this mare was exceedingly dangerous. Not for physical bulk or even for her weaponry, but her golden eyes conceal what seems to be a sharp intellect and a burning need for information. “I am the one called Nevermore, and yes... I had meant to contact your grandmother, but...” I shrug slightly. “I suppose I had lost track of the time.”

“Ah yes, Promise Keeper kept good notes on you... fascinating creature that you are. Not many of your type are so active yet so...” She seems to think for the right word for a moment. “... sane. Yes, that will do. Of course, her records were not complete on you, it seems that nothing ever is, but that is what gathering information is for, though you seem to be particularly fond of secrets and keeping yourself hidden.” She muses for a brief moment. “But, I think I already know what you are looking for.” A small grin cracks across her muzzle, a knowing look in her eye. “So let me tell you this. There is something I want from the ruins of the Silver Maple Library, and there you can also find the question that you should ask.” She slips her helmet back on, her voice taking on the rasping metallic voice associated with powered armor. “Of course, Knight Honeycake will be accompanying you for this expedition. I don’t need to remind you about our protocols for interacting with somepony like you, yes?”

I’m wronghoofed for a moment at the way this mare talks before I shake my head. I do not need the reminder... after all, I can hardly fault the Steel Rangers for prioritizing the lives of their own over that of a stranger, and they are well known for keeping their secrets. “As long as they do not slow me down or get me killed, I do not object to their presence.” Though the appearance is wildly different and the function serves a different purpose, my heart feels as if it were drenched in ice as I remember the last mare to accompany me in powered armor. “Though I do wonder... why would you send me, when I am certain your Knight there can recover whatever it is you wanted without me, yes?”

Her blank helmet turns to face me, preventing me from seeing her face, or reading her tone. “Because it is the most efficient course of action. After seeing you, and looking into your eyes...” She chuckles slightly. “This is the most logical choice that I could make, and that’s all that I need to make a decision on the matter.” She looks at her companion. “You have your orders, as I have mine. I will see you in the Bunker when this is all over.” With a delicate whine of electronics and the smooth hum of her armor, she turns and starts to walk off.

I watch her for a bit, knowing the mare is likely to wander a bit, attempting to throw anypony following her off the track of the Bunker she calls home. From what I’ve seen of her, she’s also likely to see what else is about, maybe poke her nose through some ruins on her trip back. The tall mare watches in silence as well, waiting, it seems, until her superior was out of earshot. “Well... ain’tcha dressed all nice... been a while since I got ta be spendin’ time about with non-Rangers, ya?”

Her sudden comments and jovial tone, even filtered through her helmet catches me off guard. Not many seem... cheerful, surrounded by the ruins of civilization. My gaze tracks over to the tall mare. “... Honeycake, was it?” My voice rasps, emphasizing the lack of enthusiasm in my tone. I don’t much like others commenting on my appearance, for good or for ill. In fact, I hope most don’t notice me at all, as it makes my job easier usually, and I still relish the peace and quiet that is all too often denied me.

“Oh ya, friends call me Hazel though, much easier, less of a mouthful.” The powerfully built earth pony pulls her helmet off, revealing her tanned coat. “But don’t be mindin’ tha boss that much, she’s a little grump, but she be meanin’ well.” Sweat sticks her black mane to her coat, steam rising off her into the frigid air. “I mean, ya probably know her better than I do, since you managed to drag her out of the Bunker, ‘lestia knows she’d prefer ta be buried in her lab, but she seems ta be worried about something...” She gives me a curious look, her warm hazel eyes devoid of the malice and coldness I’m used to seeing in others. “Do ya be knowin’ anythin’? Or we just be headin’ off ta see what we can rouse up?”

Great... a chatterbox. Of course, of all the stoic Rangers in the Wasteland, I had to get the one that’s overly chatty and apparently friendly... or at least appears so. I look over at the mare, this Steel Ranger who’s accompanying me now. Tall, even for an earth pony, she has a laid back and casual look, a gentle smile that seems fixed in place even as she surveys the wastes around us. Taller than even Star Racer was, I idly wonder how they built a suit big enough for her... seems like she’d manage to wear two normal sized suits instead of the one she has on. Unlike the scribe from before, she seems much more open and honest about her expressions, which is an oddity in the Wastes. In fact, her entire attitude seems out of place, a casual regard for everything. I wonder if this mare is bothered by anything, based on the few minutes I’ve spent around her. My voice scrapes out its reply, dry and sepulcher. “... I do not know much of what your Scribe wanted... we will have to find out, I suppose.” I look around a bit, trying to get my bearings. “Silver Maple Library should be...”

“Oh, it be about three hunnerd an’ twenty five meters, north north-west. Give or take, the boss gave me tha location for me armor before we left. She was sayin’ somethin’ about it, but...” She gives a sheepish grin. “Sometimes it’s hard ta follow exactly what she be sayin’ all tha time, ya?” The mare keeps talking, as if changing the topic was fluid and normal. “And of course, you can call me Hazel too, I don’t be mindin’, and we’re basically mates already, but if you be one of ‘em more formal sorts, then my Callsign is Crossfire... some of the others thought it be funny, though it was only one time...” She barks out a riotous laugh. “Of course, Maple Pancake didn’t think it was funny at tha time, but she only had to pick some debris from her hide. Thought she be appreciatin' what happened to tha raider more. After all, this armor isn’t just for show, ya know.” I try to tune her out as we walk, though that does nothing to assuage the stream of words from her, my steps gliding silently over the snow as hers clomp through it like an armored freight train. I’m surprised they called her Crossfire and not Chatterbox, and given the current situation, I can see why they’d want her out of their Bunker as much as possible. “... so then I be thinkin’, if they wanted it so badly, then they shouldn’t be wastin’ ammo like that on armor, ya? Of course, the look on their faces changed when I swung my friend here around, and-” Hazel suddenly stops, smashing her helmet back onto her head. “Hold there friend, my E.F.S. be tellin’ me that there be somethin’ nasty out there... plenty of red it seems, though wary of approachin’... probably not wildlife then, since tha poor blighters wouldn’t know a Ranger until we stomped ‘em...”

Not for the first time, and not for the last, I feel a twinge of envy at the E.F.S. system that others have. It’d sure make my life a lot easier if some magical doodad could tell me that something, or someone, was nearby and hostile. It was at least some consolation that the one with the device was on my side... for now. Still, knowing they’re out there would allow for a sneaky approach, the sort I favored. Perhaps from above, as ponies these days still never learned to look up. I’m about to talk to my companion when her voice bellows from her helmet, the amplified tones echoing through the city streets.

“Alright, which one of y’all be wantin' ta dance first?” Well, there goes surprise. Small arms crack at the mare, rounds pinging off her armor as somebody tries to make her eat her words. There’s a brief whine, then a storm of bullets erupts from the gatling on her side, chewing through the top floor of a nearby building as if a giant chainsaw cut the second floor in half. The noise is tremendous, a keening roar, followed by the sound of screams. Not from the pony that got hit. Based on the red splotches coating the remains of the far wall, I doubt there was enough left intact to glue together, even with necromancy. But instead the scream came from those around, realizing how grossly outclassed they were. Terrorized by the storm of fire, they broke, shapes moving off into the distance at a high speed. The barrels of her gatling slowed down, the tips red hot and hissing as snow hit them, sending small puffs of vapor into the air. “And if I be catchin’ any of ya lot out here again, yer goin’ ta have ta get a jar ta hold what’s left of ya once I be done, understood?” Who knows, maybe some of the attempted ambushers would have a change in heart to be better? Unlikely, but hope, like a weed, flowers even where it's unloved and unwanted. Still, it was nice to get into a firefight and not get shot, though something in my mind was still telling me to be wary. I flick my gaze around, searching for... something, anything. Was that a brief flash of movement? Or a trick of the wind...? I cannot tell from this distance, my eyes narrow slightly, as I ponder the situation.

The mare takes her helmet off again, seeming to appreciate the fresh air. I can understand that, seeing as to how she was probably usually stuck in her armor, in a bunker, underground. She seems to be completely unfazed at the complete annihilation of a pony, rendered into nothing but lumps of cooling meat. “So anyhow, what was I sayin’? Oh right, some raiders were tryin’ ta knock over a caravan, and I just so happened to be in tha area, so I let them know that I was there, by knockin’ ‘em in tha head, of course there weren’t much brain to be rattlin’ about from what I could see, but...” Apparently... she doesn’t shut up. This is going to be a long trip. Yet one more thing for me to be worrying about, it seems. This Knight accompanying me... I can trust her as far as I can throw her, and given her bulk and armor, that’s no distance at all.

Author's Note

Wow... I really need to keep at this more... I'm sorry it's been so long. Hopefully the next one won't be 3 years in the making too.