“This is where it began. This is where it started. Mosaic ain’t much. It’s dumb town full of dumb ponies who stick their heads in the dirt and pray as hard as they can. Of all places for a poor, dumb kid to wind up… it was probably the worst. If they had been assholes, maybe he wouldn’t have done any of it. But they weren’t. They were nice about it, and that was drove him to start the whole damn crusade.”

Since losing my last parent, I have woken up most nights clutching my radio with DJ PON3’s station still playing softly. An alarm on the far side of my room, on the ground in a corner, goes off. I crawl out of bed, set the radio back on its table and turn it off. Turn the alarm off. Have a morning chug of apparently clean water. That has been my morning, almost all of it silent.

This morning, I wake up with my radio on the ground, sputtering. My alarm was going off, but it isn’t what woke me.

What woke me was the shooting.

I fell out of bed, blinking owlishly, trying to comprehend what was happening. Who the hell was shooting this early in the morning? Was it the militia’s training day already? Dammit, somepony should have told them to do this later in the day…

I shook myself off and hurried outside, furious. Who thought it was a good idea… to… to train…

Mosaic was in chaos. The tight hallways of the dormitories were filled with ponies carrying foals or weapons, one hauling sacks on his back. I had to duck back into my home to avoid being run over by a panicking mare.

Nopony stopped to say anything to me. None of them explained themselves. They just ran.

It occurred to me then, half-fallen in my own doorframe, that something was wrong. This wasn’t militia rallying come early. It wasn’t some sort of noisy display.

There were more gunshots. And then the walls hummed slightly as the distant sound of an explosion filled the hallway. It wasn’t enough to shake me off my hooves, but a unicorn mare who had just come up from the storerooms was startled into falling.

I hurried to her, pulling her up. “What is happening?” I asked. She stared at me with wide eyes.

“Celestia save us,” she muttered, panting. “Luna protect us…”

And then she hurried about gathering what I now saw were ammo boxes from the deep storerooms. I gaped at them, even as she pushed past me, still praying.

I followed. I had to.

There was no way. Nopony would ever attack Mosaic. Why would they? There isn’t anything to take and ten dozen places that any of us could squeeze out and make a run for it with any salvage worth stealing on our backs. Nopony would attack the home of Gilead Balm, not while he was alive. And those who might didn’t want to deal with the Authority backlash. Mosaic wasn’t Authority, but it paid the tithe.

I came out into the commons and found it swarming with ponies. Some of the militia had their barding half-on, guns pointed towards the gates. Others were trying to erect barricades around the old metro trains. The priest was there among the militiaponies, yelling at them to do something.

I just stumbled forward, eyes wide, mouth gaping in shock. What was this? Who was this?

Salt Lick ran past me, then stopped and turned to face me. I backed up as he advanced.

“Get back into the dormitories, now!” he yelled at me. “For Celestia’s sake and your father’s! Get out of he—“

There was another explosion. This one was at the top of the entrance ramp, and I felt the ground beneath me shaking. Somepony up above, on the mezzanine, screamed and then there was a quick burst of gunfire. Salt Lick charged me, roughly pushing me back the way I came.

“I can—“ But he was already screaming.

“Go! Get out of here, you foal! Move it!”

I heard the rapid chatter of automatic fire and then past Salt Lick, I saw them. They poured down the entrance ramp, a half dozen of them with as many kinds of weapons. They weren’t ponies at all but monsters, painted and torn and covered with unidentifiable bits of armor and gore. I thought I heard one of them laughing. I thought one of them looked right down at me.

Salt Lick turned, a curse on his lips. I tried to back up, but my legs wouldn’t move. There was no way to tear my eyes away.

It was only a second, maybe two. It was enough. Raiders. Raiders, in Mosaic. It wasn’t possible. Not here! Never here! We didn’t have anything worth taking!

One of them threw something that sailed over the heads of the assembled militia ponies, heading our way. The defenders fired up at them with pistols and old hunting rifles. One of the raiders’ heads exploded into red mist as a hunting round took his head away and his body lumbered off the side of the walkway. The rest began to charge down the stairs, shooting and laughing. The one in front had a sledgehammer in her teeth, and the end dragged and she tripped over it. She rolled down the stairs giggling even as the militia ponies shot at her.

The thrown thing landed right in front of me. I stared down at it, confused for a moment.

Then Salt Lick filled my vision, shoving me away. “Run, you idiot! Run!”

And then Salt Lick exploded as he tried to throw the grenade back.

When I fell asleep last night, I fell asleep to the DJ talking about the Stable Mare. The Stable Dweller. The Hero of the Wasteland. The Lightbringer.

She had scoured the ruins for raiders and treasure. She saved ponies for no other reason then that they needed rescue and she still breathed. Steel Rangers feared her. Raiders saw her in their drug-addled nightmares. Slavers trembled at the very thought of her. She was a warrior. She was like my mom.

She slaughtered an entire town in cold blood yesterday. Arbu, and remember the name.

I kept thinking about Arbu as I lay in the makeshift infirmary. When I close my eyes I see the giggling mare rolling down the stairs. I wonder if the Stable Mare was like that when she murdered them all. When she lost it. Finally lost it out there in the big empty sky.

The militia killed the intruders, but there are a few dozen more outside, taking potshots. The entrance is barricaded now, but eventually they’ll still shoot their way through. The Authority will be here in an hour, and ponies are buzzing about it. They’ll save us—that’s what they’re saying. They cast furtive glances at me that I pointedly try to ignore. They have to save us. He’s here. Isn’t his dad important? And they promised. That’s why we pay the tribute. The taxes are for things like this.

They’ll see soon enough.

The nurse comes around again. She looks me over with a grimace. Her name is Waning Moon, because of course these Goddesses-crazed ponies name their foals after religious things. She’s a unicorn, and I watch her horn light up as she examines my paltry wounds with a bit of envy. I wish I had magic. Or wings. Or even real earth pony strength, because if there really are Goddesses who yet watch over ponykind, I was a joke they played upon my parents.

“I think you’re going to be fine. The shrapnel is all removed,” she said as her horn lost its glow. “I’ve done the diagnostic spell twice and we got it all. You’re very lucky, Mr. Balm.”

“Just Balm,” I replied softly.

“It’s not enough to warrant Med-X, and our supply is low so I wouldn’t have any to give you regardless.”

I shook my head. “I’m not comfortable with chems,” I said. “Thank you for thinking of it, however. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you do anything medical like your father?”

Ah, of course. I winced. “No, ma’am.”

“Then I don’t think so,” she said, but then her look softened. “Thanks for asking. Just stay safe and pay attention. You know where all the exits are, right? The rally point?” When I nodded, she sighed. “Just listen for the evacuation order, then. I think the mayor is holding off for reinforcements. Be careful, alright?”

I stood and shook myself off. “I’ll try.”

“Do you have any weapons or ammunition? The militia could use some, I think. Anything that would help.”

I opened my mouth, thought better, and then averted my gaze. “No, nothing that would help.” Just the Sword, and I would die before letting another pony use it. I wouldn’t even touch my mother’s last legacy.

I left quickly after that, glad to be out of her mane. I could imagine her relief at being free of me, as well. Because I was a reminder of who really ruled in the underground, wasn’t I? Just a constant bloody reminder.

The infirmary is deep in the station, near the dormitories. All of this was carved out over the decades by settlers. Most wasteland communities on the surface were ad hoc affairs, where ponies drifted in and out, and few, if any, lived multiple generations in the same place. They were watering holes for scavengers and prospectors. But station-towns were stable. The Authority protected them, all that paid the tithe, and had since not long after the war had ended in fire.

Protected them. I snorted. I supposed it was technically true.

Between the infirmary and the dormitories are the main storage areas, for things that aren’t dangerous—food, personal lockers, medical supplies in lockboxes. In Mosaic, they believed Luna and Celestia watched over all, and saw all, and so they weren’t so concerned with ponies simply making off with boxes or bashing in lockers. The Goddesses watched all, after all, didn’t they? Just like they were watching this siege unfold. I just wanted to go home and wait for the evacuation. Others would be huddling together in the smaller common areas in the dormitory, where foals usually played. They would be all together, waiting for the go ahead to flee. I had no stomach for waiting with them, not after Salt Lick. Not after Arbu. Not with their hopes for salvation from the Authority about to be twisted.

I passed through one of the bigger storage rooms and existed into a dimly lit hallway that connected it to the dormitories. On either side, doors left over from the old maintenance department with old world markings greeted me. Like many of the smaller passages in Mosaic, it was a strange mixture of unsettling and cozy.

And then I heard somepony sniffling. Then I heard their voice. Not just any voice, but Sparkler’s. In an instant, the malaise falls away. If there is anypony in whose company I can find just a moment of peace, it’s hers. I smile and trace the sound of her voice. There’s another voice, sure, but I know she’ll be able to talk. We’re all in this together. She knew what happened.

Relieved, I found one of the doors slightly ajar and pushed it open just a bit.

Sparkler and another unicorn mare our age were sitting together amongst the piled containers. The other one, the one I didn’t know very well, was hugging Sparkler as she cried. I struggled to remember her name. Sea green… sea green… I’d seen her plenty of times. What was her name?

I stopped, not saying a word, not knowing what to do. If she was crying… Oh no. No, please not that. Her mother was in the station militia. Had she…?

The other mare kissed Sparkler’s forehead. “It’s okay. She’s fine, Sparky. I know she is.”

“I just…” Sparkler pushed away slightly, just to wipe her eyes. Neither had seen me yet, and I suddenly felt paralyzed. “I’m just worried. Salt Lick’s dead, you know?”

“Yeah, they say he jumped on a grenade for the Doc’s kid.”

I trembled. She was right. It was my fault. Another pony was dead because of me. I hadn’t… I hadn’t had time to think about it before, but she was right. I was safe and whole. He was… He was just gone.

“Oh goddesses… I can’t imagine. Salt Lick gone… Swift Balm could have died, and so soon after his father… it’s just too awful, Rail.”

“That stupid colt shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Rail said with a grunt. “Salt Lick’s dead because of that useless—“

“Don’t say it,” Sparkler said, and my heart leapt. “Please don’t say that. Balm respected Salt Lick, and Salt Lick would never have abandoned the son of the pony who…” She coughed and Rail offered her what looked like a well worn hoofkerchief. Sparkler laughed, her voice musical and wonderful even now, and blew her nose. “Luna save me, I look terrible.”

“Not so bad,” Rail murmured, and then when the hoofkerchief was out of her way, leaned in and kissed Sparkler gently on the mouth.

My brain simply stopped. Thoughts died. I didn’t think about Salt Lick dying or about how Sparkler would have the right words to make everything better. I didn’t think about the Authority or Mosaic or the raiders outside the barricade.

I just stood there, blinking. I forgot I had a body for a moment. I’m not sure I would have remembered had I not backed away without thinking about it and clanged my hoof against the door.

Rail’s ears twitched at the sound. She jerked away, horn already glowing. She was ready to fight. And for a wild moment, so was I. Because I was furious. I was betrayed. I was a fool and she was the one that made me that way.

“What the shit? Come on out, Lunadamned… oh.”

She blinked at me, then looked at Sparkler, then to me, and then back to Sparkler.

Sparkler turned, wide-eyed. She saw me.

“Oh Celestia… Balm? Balm, they let you out?”

The anger left me. My legs felt like noodles. “Minor lacerations,” I said absently. “Nothing broken. Minimal blood loss. Fit as a…” I blinked. “Fit as a fiddle, that’s… that’s me. I’m going to go,” I added, taking another step back. “I need to go now.”

I turned and fled. I could hear her calling after me. I know she tried to grab me with her magic when I reached the end of the hall but I was going to fast. Even with my puny, pathetic strength I still slipped out of her hold and tumbled into the dormitory hallway. The only pony left to see was an old stallion who stared at me in confusion. I ran past him, even as Sparkler’s voice chased me.

“Balm! Balm, wait! Please come back!”

“I have to go,” I kept saying to myself. “I have to go! Go away! I’m fine!”

I didn’t look back because there was no need. I could hear her and her marefriend’s hooves against the old concrete and recycled metal floors beating behind me. Rail, the other one, shouted at me.

“Hey, kid! Slow down, colt! She just wants to talk to you!”

I felt anger rising up in my chest. “Then you tell her to leave me alone!” I screamed as loud as I could. I knew that other ponies could hear. Suddenly I didn’t care. I didn’t care what any of them thought. Let them rot. The Authority would come and sit on their asses and do nothing but take up space and demand food! Let them find out on their own! They could take their whole f-fucking evacuation and… and…

I reached my own dwelling, with the security door my father had installed by Authority ponies, and I slammed it shut. I set the locks, even though I barely remembered the passcodes, my hooves moving as fast as they could. When I want to be, I’m fast. Nothing can catch me short of a Dashite on chems.

As soon as the tone announced that the door was locked magnetically, I slumped down to the floor. All of the lights were out and all I could see was the eerie green light from the numberpad.

They arrived a few seconds later. One of them banged on the door. “Balm? Balmy?”

I stared at the door. My chest heaved.

“Balmy? Please… please talk to me. Please open up. I…”

“You should have known I—“ and then I physically kept myself from speaking with a hoof. No. No explanations. I didn’t want explanations. I just wanted her to go away. I wanted to be alone.

“Balmy, please. I’m your friend. I didn’t want you to feel like I was going to leave you alone… I was going to introduce you to Rail Line today, before…”

“Luna’s light, kid,” groused her marefriend. “I know it was awkward, but… I mean, you had to have known.”

“Rail, please,” hissed Sparkler. Their voices sounded so strange through the door. “You’re not helping.”

“Sparky, you need to be straight with this buck. If he didn’t know which way you swung then he’s delusional. Yeah, it’s really awkward, but that’s no reason to run screaming through the hab.”

“His father just died and he almost got blown to bits. He’s in shock, Rail.”

“Go away,” I groaned. I scooted back from the door.

“He wants space, Sparks. Let him have it. I know you don’t want to, but you can’t badger him.”

Sparkler’s voice broke. “Damn it. Damn it, I can’t just… not like this. Rail, this is bad, please just help me.”

Rail banged on the door. I knew it was her because the blows were more forceful.

“Ki—Balm. Swift Balm. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I said, automatically.

“Will you unlock this door? Sparkler really wants to talk to you.” She hesitated. I waited. “She’s your friend. I’m already pissed that you’re making her sad, but that’s not the point. If you’re really her friend, you will get your scraggly ass out here and talk to her. I think you owe her that. Don’t you think so?”

I was quiet.

Was she right? Yeah. Was that something I could do? No.

I walked towards the door. I stepped back. I reached for the numpad…

And then with a frustrated growl I threw my hoof away, knocking over something heavy on the counter. I couldn’t see what happened, but there was a crash. I thought I heard something shattering and I cried out in alarm.

“Balm? BALM! Are you alright?”

“I… I tripped,” I said, holding my hoof. It hurt, now. “Sorry. I’m… Sparkler? I’m fine. It was just a shock,” I said, trying to fake a smile she won’t see. I can hear my own voice break, and I know it sounds stupid. “I’m fine. I swear. Just want… I just want to be alone right now, alright? It’s okay.”

There were some whispers on the other end of the door. I almost wondered venomously if they were out there, reenacting the horror from earlier. Then Sparkler answered.

“I’ll be back, Balmy. Please just… Please remember that I’m your friend. Please?”

“Yeah,” I croaked.

I fumble for the lights in the dark. I’m an idiot. An utter idiot. An absolute, irredeemable fool. Thinking that Sparkler was interested in me. I was, and am, a pity project, something to be fawned over and bandaged up. I’m not a pony, but a receptacle for other’s to pour their unwanted miserable—

I finally found the light switch and flipped it on and saw the damage.

My father’s terminal had fallen. But that was the least of the damage. I didn’t care about the terminal at all, because in front of me, I saw what it had hit. The wall. The memorial wall.

Trembling, I approached it. I had knocked the portrait of my mother and one of the clipping frames loose. The Sword hadn’t moved at all. As I approached, my hooves crushed little shards of glass into the floor. I didn’t notice them.

I picked up the portrait of mom. The glass was shattered. The canvas sagged out of the frame like a sick animal.

My breathing picked up. I ground my teeth together. Bit my lip to keep from saying something until I drew blood.

Raiders. Arbu. Sparkler. Mom. Dad. The Authority.

I hated it. I hated everything. I hoped those raiders came and murdered everypony in this miserable superstitious hole. And then I wanted to kill them myself. Every last giggling, filthy raider dead with my hooves beating their skulls into jagged little pieces. I wanted to shove their sawed-off shotguns in their mouths and make them whine for mercy. Or else, I wanted to die trying. Right then, I didn’t about anything but being far, far away from where I was.

I didn’t want anyone to die. No I didn’t. I was angry. I was hurt. She would never want me to say something like that. Her eyes stared up at me. She smiled up at me with that eternal smile, like she could say—Don’t think that. It’s not true.

I just didn’t want to be alone.

I held the portrait to me and wept.

I didn’t notice the folded paper at first. It was only when I could breathe normally again that I saw it.

There had been noise outside, but nothing important enough to draw me away from the shattered frame and the picture. Just ponies moving outside, talking. The Authority had finally arrived on their power-carts to save the bloody day. Which they wouldn’t. Risk losing actual Authority citizens? Not for these wretches, obviously not. They would just try to intimidate raiders. I’m sheltered, and I know that intimidating madponies is foolish. What does that say of them?

When I finally noticed the folded paper, I removed it from the ruined frame and carefully set the painting on my table, with my mother facing up towards the ceiling. I swallowed, and then opened the message up.

GBDL13

And that was all it said. I blinked at the message, written in my father’s neat hornwriting. It was obviously his, perfect and studied. I turned the paper over with a frown.

REDEEM.

Frustrated, confused, unsure, I put the paper down beside my mom and stepped back. The first I could understand. Gilead Balm, Day Lilly. Their names. Thirteen? I could only guess. Perhaps whatever it referred to had been made when I was thirteen. Perhaps it was an old reference I would never understand. A random number, even. But the whole thing was obviously a code of some sort. Probably for the terminal I just accidentally trashed.

The second message eluded me utterly. Redeem. I had only ever seen that word used in two ways: debt, and the priest’s talk in the sanctum. It implied something owed either way—your money or your life, either forfeit for transgression or by agreement. You redeemed property condemned in some wrongdoing. You redeemed a pony through sacrifice after some terrible sin.

It wasn’t a word that inspired much confidence.

And the frustration grew. What the hell did this mean? My father leaves this message, obviously, and then… and then nothing. Because he was dead.

Who is going to tell me what the hell this means? Who is going to tell me anything, now? My last message and it’s just… just garbage. A passcode for goddesses know what and a cryptic one word missive. Perfect. Perfect!

I snapped. I took the slip of paper, folded it up awkwardly with my clumsy hooves, and bit down on it. Dad had a safe, didn’t he? Well, if he didn’t want me trying to figure out his stupid bullshit message, maybe he shouldn’t have hidden it behind the portrait. Obviously, this thing was meant to be found. And obviously, it was meant to be used. I was going to oblige the old man his last stupid dying wish, and I was going to be happy about it and I really, really hoped that he was too. Because if he wasn’t maybe he should have left me something valuable, like a pony to talk to that wasn’t intimidated by my birthplace.

I entered his room for the first time since he died, five months ago. The safe is behind his bed, except that it’s much bigger than you’d expect. You could keep a pony in there, if you wanted. The air is stale and smells of neglect and the beginnings of mildew. Dust covers everything in a fine layer. The force of my entrance unsettles it all, and I back out again, coughing roughly.

When that was done, I re-entered, somehow even more angry than before. The very air was mocking me now, wasn’t it? Right that it should. Least son of a great father, except he obviously wasn’t that great because he left me a bloody orphan in a backwards little town with cryptic bullshit as his last testament.

I bent down to the safe and looked over the keypad. Numbers and letters, check. I laid out the paper and began punching in the combination.

I looked high and low the month after he died for some sort of… anything. A last message, a last lesson—he was fond of lessons. A book. A will or testament of any kind. Nothing. There had been absolutely nothing.

The combination worked, and suddenly I wasn’t sure of myself. I had been so worked up… but it here it was, glowing green, saying that the door was unlocked, and now I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. What would be in there?

I knocked it open with a hoof and didn’t get any closer. As I drew out each item, I was silent, staring.

I found two thin green boxes I recognized immediately as old Equestrian army ammunition boxes. Both were heavy, filled to the brim. These I put gingerly to the side, a little afraid of them.

Two grenades. A strange metallic contraption that I suspected unfolded somehow.

A holotape. A pipbuck. A silvery key on a string.

I slipped the holotape into the pipbuck, not sure what it would say. At first, it did nothing. I just kept waiting for it to do something… until I facehoofed and realized that it wasn’t even on. Finding out how to do that took a second, as did waiting for it to boot, but I was familiar with computers.

From the tiny speakers, my dad spoke.

“If you’re hearing this, then I was right. I’m sorry, but I’ve left you alone…”

“Damn right,” I whispered.

“But not without a final parting gift. I do not know what you will make of your life, Swift. You are very different from both your mother and myself. You’ve some of her temper and you were blessed with some of my acumen, and I have always believed you could be anything, do anything, if only you would try.

“But I know what the wasteland is like. You don’t, not really. You’re used to Mosaic and that little trading post down the street. The wasteland is a bad dream for you, I suspect, nothing more than pictures in your mind. You haven’t delved into its underbelly or walked for days on end in the featureless voids. You haven’t yet seen its sunless places. But one day you will. You’ll have to, for one reason or another.”

There was a pause. I slipped the pipbuck on and lay flat against the floor, staring at the little green screen as the seconds rolled by.

“I left so many things undone. If you’ve found this, you might have an inkling of some of them. I’m sorry. I probably won’t have to give you some foolhardy last task. Even if I leave it undone, I’ll find somepony else, I think. I’ve done enough to rob you of a good foalhood. The least I can do is spare you the horror of the wasteland. Take the Sword, though. Consider it your mother’s and my last gift to you, because it is. The Sword is… it’s a work of art, Balm. A labor of love. I could talk about it for a long time. There is probably a file on it on my terminal, and I suggest you search. It will never fail you. It makes the weak strong and it breaks the proud, remember that. Remember your mother when you unlock the case.”

He began coughing, and I feared that the message might be cut short for a moment. The sound of his coughing rattled me. I had heard it for a month before he… before he died.

“Send word to Zebra Town. It’s on the other side of the river, close to Lost Legion territory but not quite in inside it. They’re a friendly bunch, if you’re respectful. Very strange, but so it… ugh. But so it goes.” More coughing. “I’ll have to make this quick. Send word to Zebra Town when I die. A zebra named Xylon will want to know. It’s important. I’m sure he’ll find out regardless, but it’s better that he know sooner than later. I’m sorry, again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t save her. I’m not sure I can save myself. I’ll try. I hope to any goddesses that might be that you’ll be safe. Be good, Balm. I love you.”

I waited. There was nothing more. I picked up the key in my mouth and carefully put it on like a necklace.

Feeling numb, I walked back into the main room and sat in front of the display case. I held the key up on the bottom of my hoof and just looked at it, dumbfounded.

There was no question as to if I was going to open the case. I had to open the case.

So I did. The key slid in. It turned. The case fell open, and the battle saddle sat secure. I took a deep breath and slowly extracted it, trying to stay off of the broken glass.

It was beautiful. I was frightened of it and what I knew it could do, but it was still beautiful. It was more barding than saddle, big enough to fit over a mare’s upper body and cover her sides and chest. And… big enough for me, probably. For once, my small frame would come in handy. I licked my lips, for no other reason than my whole mouth felt dry. The single gun, devoid of bullets, and now I realized that the folded up launcher from the safe would fit perfectly into these grooves…

And on the front, of course, the stylized motif of Celestia and Luna, chasing each other in a circle for all of time. Day and night.

As I sat clutching it, I finally noticed that there was movement outside.

The story stops.

I realize only now that I’ve been leaning in, hanging on every word that the strange stallion has been speaking as we sit before the great mosaic for which this station was named. Absently, he touches it.

“Crazy world,” he says, quietly.

“So… what? He gets his heart broken, he finds a weapon… This is how it begins?”

He doesn’t look back at me. “Yeah, kid, that’s how it happened. I’ll skip ahead a bit. You don’t need to know the next part. I’m not sure I really know all that much except for the basics. The kid didn’t leave his room much. Authority sat on its ass at the barricade. It took a few pot shots, but that’s about it. The scouts the mayor sent out? All that evacuation stuff? Authority flat out said that if the town bailed, they went home. Nothing would keep the filth out. On top of that, it weren’t just one little band.”

He let his hoof fall and spat off to the side. Casually, he leaned against the ruined beauty and fished out another cigarette. “Want one?”

I shrugged and nodded. He held out the pack and I used my magic to retrieve one and light it in my mouth.

“Didn’t see much of that filly, because while the kid sucked ass at fightin’ and talkin’, he was just fuckin’ fantastic at not being seen. Heh. Learned that for myself the hard way.”

“Seems a bit childish,” I said, and looked at the wall. I winced. “It’s a shame about this.”

“Yeah, it is. And yeah, he was.” He breathed out a veritable cloud of smoke. These things were hoofrolled, I suspected. They tasted foul. I kept going.

“So. How does he go from lovesick colt to wasteland crusader?” I asked with a smile. “That’s what I want to know.”

“How? I’m leanin’ on it. Straight from the pony himself: sometimes, a single idea can keep you alive when you shoulda died. The raiders got bored and some of ‘em went up the street. Practically wiped out Mondale, that little tradin’ post. They came back here, and then they made a pretty great mistake. They fucked with the kid's home. They made him mad."

I crawled through the exit hatch and saw the sun shining through the mustered clouds. The cloud cover the Enclave keeps on Equestria grows thin in the far north, and there’s sun more often than not. Good light for a day’s work.

My father chose this place for one reason. It was because of the mosaic at the station’s entrance, finished during the early days of the war. It was supposed to be something beautiful to lighten up people’s lives during a trying time. For the ponies in this stupid town it became something greater, but for me it is only one thing. It’s my mom, wearing the Sword, that same symbol showing prominently.

He told me once that it was one of the only things left of her that he had. Guns didn’t count, because he hated them. Armor wasn’t a proper receptacle for a soul. Life may be short, he had said, but art is long. It was one of those strange aphorisms he would spout and then expect me to learn something. Perhaps I did. I remembered them all, or most.

I tried to offer my services to the militia holding the commons but they sent me away angrily. The Authority was just waiting the enemy out and living off of Mosaic’s local stores. I was Authority. None of those ponies would touch me, but they wouldn’t welcome me either. That was fine, because I realized I didn’t need them and I never did.

Because this is a good place, but it isn’t my place. It can’t be. I don’t think I have a place…

But I won’t let these bastards destroy someone else’s home. I won’t let them ruin the last place on earth that Dad could find a piece of my mother. I won’t allow it. I’ll burn them off the face of the earth before I let another pony take anyone else from me.

I was arguing with the militia when it began. Some of the raiders started chipping at the mosaic, destroying it bit by bit. The whole thing was a game to them. To the rest of the city, it’s just a picture. But to Mosaic, that picture is sacred. The whole militia panicked. Only the Authority kept them from rushing out there and saving the only treasure they had.

They fired a few shots, enough to make the raiders back up, but it didn’t stop them. They’d found something that hurt and they were going to keep twisting until it wasn’t fun anymore.

I saw the visages of the old world’s rulers breaking under shotgun fire. I saw my mother’s symbol destroyed. And I realized that I couldn’t stay here another moment. I would rather die then wait for the end like everypony in Mosaic seemed so content to do.

The Sword was easy to put on and fit perfectly, like my mother carrying me. It was weighted perfectly, so that I hardly felt it on my back. The gun felt right on my back. The launcher fit perfectly onto the barding.

It all fell into place. Sneaking past the frustrated militia had been harder than sliding past the bored Authority reinforcements. Finding the hatch that led up above? Easier.

And now I lay flat against the top of the station, crawling towards the noise of raiders jeering at the ponies inside. There were a few potshots, and then somepony laughing. That laughter was like knives in my ears. I just wanted it to stop.

The station, on the surface, is shaped like a shell, all concrete and curved. It’s like a small hill, and I’ve reached the top.

There were two dozen of them at least, most staying just out of sight. The entrance that leads down into my home branches out so that the “hill” has walls along it with a few old shops or restaurants that were picked clean a century ago. I try counting them but every time I think I’m done, another wanders into view.

I’m going to die.

I can’t go back. Not after all this. I’ve come too far and done too much, and they’ll probably notice me. It’s a miracle they haven’t already!

What are you supposed to think about, right before you die? Are you supposed to see your life flash before your eyes? I always expected that something like that would happen. I thought that in the moment before I shuffled off the mortal coil, I might see the faces of my parents or the home I was born in, or the fuzzy memories I have of riding on somepony’s back through a well-lit, clean tunnel. Every little memory I had never been able to let go of coming back to me all at once like a flood… and then what? And then death, I guess. And then nothing.

The longer I wait, the more angry I become. Angry at myself, mostly. Here I was, ready to fly off this roof with grenades and gunfire, ready to drive these insane clowns off, and I couldn’t even move. Weak! I was always so weak!

You know what? Fuck it.

I stood up and stared down at them all, laughing and shooting and breaking apart the old shopfronts. A few looked up at me with blank expressions. I grinned at them.

“Afternoon, profligates! The Godesses send their regards.”

The launcher made a strange, muted “pumf” sound as I reached down and bit on the trigger to my left. Once. Twice. All the explosives I had.

And everything exploded!

The two grenades tore the ground up effortlessly. Ponies disappeared in the pillars of fire, and others began to run in all directions, screaming. I screamed—because holy hell those weren’t frags at all but HE grenades. The heat on my face is unbearable for a second and I tried to back away, but something punched me in the shoulder and I lost my balance.

I fell from the lip of the station’s roof, hurtling down towards the concrete.

Except that I didn’t, because there was a pony there, and my shoulder fell on his back.

I rolled off, feeling dizzy, and stumbled forward. Somepony fired a gun, but I didn’t think it was at me. Why would they shoot at me? Besides, I felt fine… and also the ground kept moving. I stumbled.

And narrowly avoided a swinging rebar club. I saw the earth pony holding it sailing over my head, screaming through the club in his mouth, and snapped out of my daze. I fumbled for the right trigger, and found it as the raider turned to me. The Sword fired as I squeezed, bringing him down immediately.

Another one, a unicorn lifting a sawed-off, sprang into my vision, screaming at me. “The fuck are you?”

I didn’t answer, only letting my body fall flat to the ground as she fired. The buckshot filled the air above my head, and the Sword barked back. She twisted like a dancer and then collapsed.

There were others all around me, screaming. Some screamed at each other, some at the barricade, some at me. There were ponies behind me now, and more gunfire, but I couldn’t turn to face them. The raiders in front of me broke and the ones behind me were shooting.

I gave chase, yelling at them to come back and taste bullets, voice hoarse and legs light.

They kept running and running, and I just followed them. I didn’t know how long we ran. I just knew that eventually, they turned and ran towards the river and I followed them. One moment we were in the normal Lunangrad streets, somewhere near Mondale, and the next we were in hell.

I didn’t know it was Mondale until I tripped over the burning sign.

More gunfire. Something punched me in the side, knocking the air out of me and throwing me back. I rolled in the ash, and then fell on a pony.

Body. Not a pony.

The raiders had turned and rushed back into the smouldering ruins of the little trading post. I didn’t have time to count them or find them all. They were in the street already, rushing with melee weapons and firing cheap, cobbled together guns over the heads of their companions. Bullets pinged off the walls and street around me. A charging unicorn threw a half-held together spear.

I cowered and it passed right over my head. I shot at the offending spearthrower and missed wide before turning tail and running into the old mall that Mondale had occupied.

Smoke filled everything. It clogged the air and burned my eyes, even as I tried to keep it from my lungs. I pushed through the old clothes racks and ponnequins, weaving to avoid the occasional gunshot. I could hear the charging raiders howling as they dove into the smoke, stirring it up. The fires that breathed the smoke into the air continued on, set upon piles of old-world finery and new-world flesh.

Stars, I couldn’t breathe! Stupid Balm! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Don’t run into a burning building!

We left the department store behind and came out into an open courtyard area. I gasped in the cleaner, less smoke-filled air. I had to find a place to run. No, no, first escape. I had to find a way out and then I could find somewhere to hide.

In front of me, a burning pile rose and flung itself out of me without warning.

“Holy—back! Go away!” It charged me and I reared to kick at it.

“End of the line, bitch!” howled one of them, and then the pile wrapped around me and the raiders caught up.

I was blind. I couldn’t see what I did but I did it anyway, kicking at nothing and yelling. Somepony yelled in my ear and I yelled right back. I think someone tried to bite my legs and I kicked them in their miserable teeth. All I had was sound and touch.

“Fuck! Get a fucking knife in him you idiot!”

“He’s squirming!”

I kicked one, I thought, and heard him curse. But I’d overextended.

Something sharp and cold slid between the plates and cut into my shoulder. I screamed, trying to get away from it, but he pushed it in deeper. Whatever they had thrown on me came off, and I saw the raider with his mouth around the hilt, forcing the filthy, serrated blade deeper. I couldn’t move my right leg, but my left was still working and now I could see my attacker. I hit him on the side of the head, but didn’t have the weight or strength to do any damage.

But it was enough to knock him off the knife. In the second that he was dazed, I got my hindlegs beneath him and pushed him back. He growled and regained his balance.

But it didn’t matter, because I had the Sword, and I had it pointed right back at him. I fired, and he dropped like a stone.

The other one was gone. All around me, Mondale burned. The mall was finished—Mosaic had been lucky. Or would be lucky. We had a barricade and only one obvious way in. But these ponies… I doubted they had been able to flee in time, and I knew they hadn’t fought.

I tried to walk but the knife twisted and I dropped, cursing. I had to pull it out with my teeth, which required a lot of twisting to reach my shoulder, but at last I forced it out. It hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot. Everything hurt, for that matter.

I got up and found I could limp, if very slowly. As soon as I was up, the Sword shocked me back onto the ground: it began to glow lightly, just enough to catch my eye.

“Oh hell—“ I lost balance again as I felt a weird numbness in my shoulder. The suit suddenly felt warm, comfortingly so, and the wound on my shoulder… I was glad it felt numb, because there was a distant feeling of something rooting around in it and I didn’t want to feel that.

I whined, horrified. I didn’t know what was happening! What was this? What the hell was wrong with me? A quick look around revealed no unicorns manipulating me with their horns. The point was moot after a moment. The feelings faded. The numbness wore off, and even as I braced for an onslaught of pain, I found that my shoulder felt fine. Normal. New, even.

I didn’t have time to understand it. The old world mall was burning around me and I needed to go. I picked myself up and looked around in the deepening smoke for the exit. I would take raiders over fire. I could shoot raiders. I just wanted out of the fire!

So I picked a direction and ran.

Something roared behind me. I didn’t have time to see what was happening because the building was going to fall because that’s what burning buildings do and I was in another department store. The raiders had left, because they were smart ones, weren’t they? No, no they fought in groups and when burning buildings were fucking falling down they left! Because this one time the drooling gibbering idiots were the smart ones!

I tried not to breathe but it was hard, and eventually I took in a lungful of smoke. I didn’t have time to cough. If I stayed in one place and coughed then I wasn’t going to leave this place. So I kept hurtling forward, coughing and sputtering, eyes burning.

And then I hit a wall, which was next to a door, and then I was rolling out into the street. I was alone. Nothing attacked me. Nothing moved but me and the fires behind me.

So I crawled to the other side of the street and lay there coughing.

Physically, geographically, the walk back to Mosaic wasn’t that long. Just a few blocks. But those blocks felt like an eternity underneath my hooves. Every crack in the filthy sidewalk, every divot or crater I walked around was an inland sea to be circumnavigated.

Once, when I was younger, I asked my father about the city’s history. I wanted to know if it was all true—the beginnings of the Long War, the artillery and the smoke, the fire and the hiding. Despite his assurances that it was all absolutely true, somewhere in my little head I doubted. Somewhere in my little foal’s heart, I suspected that it was all a trick. I wish that I could say something along the lines that I believed in the goodness of Equine hearts, or that I distrusted tales of violence because they were simply not believable… No, like many other colts, I simply suspected off and on that the grown-up ponies were trying to put the wool over my eyes.

I stop at the corner of Halcyon and Temple. Mosaic is only a block away now. I’ll be able to see it soon.

I don’t know why that old memory comes back to me. Of all the memories that could climb out of the back of my brain, it seems an odd choice at best. It isn’t as if I placed much significance on the event. I only barely remembered it, and my suspicion is the only really clear part of the whole recollection.

I purse my lips. Actually, this was about where I asked him. I supposed that was why I thought of that conversation. Just an association of place and time. Nothing more. We were on our way to Mondale’s—Dad had to give a letter to the pony express office in Mondale and he had promised me some inane treat or other. Mondale always had… had nice things. It was a wonderful place.

They’re all dead now. All of those bright, beautiful ponies in Mondale. Sometimes, when the weather was nice and the city was calm, my father and I would go and he would check his mailbox at the post office and reward my good behavior with a few caps. I knew it all by heart, every store and every pony who manned every stall. I knew what every store sold. I even knew which store sold Mintals, but dad wouldn’t let me have any.

It’s strange, how sometimes things just seem to happen on their own. One moment you’re walking along and the next, you’re sitting at the corner of two old streets breathing faster than normal and feeling like you want to crawl out of your skin. I recognize these signs, of course. I’ve lived with them a long time.

Breath. One. Two. Three. Exhale. Again.

Calm. I needed to be calm. Going back to Mosaic after all of this was going to be uncomfortable enough as it was. Sneaking back through the top to avoid the attention would be frustrating at best and downright nightmarish at worst, with everypony on high alert. But it had to be done. I needed to get back home, and I needed to do it without anypony drawing a connection between the pony in the Sword and me. In fact, it was best if I got the sword back in its case as soon as possible. Too many ponies had seen it today, and too many still remembered it.

I missed Sparkler intensely right about then. Sparkler also knew how to calm me down when it was hard to breathe. She always knew what to say.

I fouled it up. That was the only conclusion to make. I was an idiot and now… Now nothing. One friend before, zero now. Wonderful. Magical. I deserved it.

But overall? It was going to be okay. I knew that, objectively. The raiders were gone and in all of the chaos nopony inside could have identified me. I’ve won, if you call it winning, and all that’s left is the victory lap.

And yet, as I stood and walked down Temple Street, why did I feel so anxious? So lost? Because lost was exactly how I felt, and there was nothing poetic about it. I knew these streets, but they felt alien, as if I had never seen them before. Was it the lighting? Was I just on edge?

Idly, I considered reloading the Sword’s gun, but figured that I didn’t want to go sneaking around in tight confines with a loaded assault rifle. Maybe… maybe if I got used to the strangeness of it, I could try something like that. Not that I would need a reason to.

No. No, I was done with this. No more. I proved what I could do. I proved I could help. I just wanted to hide in my room again. I was done. I think I lost all of my motivation to play hero somewhere between almost suffocating to death in a burning building and being stabbed repeatedly.

From Temple Street, you turn right and hit Mosaic. They named the street after the station when the art was put in, or so the old priest had told me years ago. Just beyond the bridge between the two halves of the Palomino building, and then…

And then armed guards in barding roaming the street and the empty lot across from the station, guns waving in the air. I pulled back behind the corner, eyes wide and heart punching me in the throat. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Goddesses, if they even existed, I couldn’t panic here and now.

I didn’t, not right away. I counted and caught my breath. Right—armed ponies with barding? It had to be Authority, and they would be mopping up, no doubt. All I had to do was make it obvious I wasn’t a raider and I’d be fine. No hiding, no sneaking, nothing threatening. It would be fine. Absolutely… fine. So why did I feel like I was about to walk into a wall of bullets?

Deep breath—go.

I turned the corner and waved to get the attention of the nearest one. And, as I expected, he turned his gun on me with a frown. I tried to smile back but it died on my face. “I’m out in the open,” I said. “I assure you, I’m no harm to you and yours. I merely wish to be on my way home.”

He looked me over, silent. If anything, my voice only seemed to make his frown become more of a glare. Instinctively, I licked my lips and tried again.

“Ah… I’m sorry, I know things have been a bit tense around here, but I recognize that uniform. I assure you, if you would just—“

He leaned his head down ever so slightly towards the firing bit on his battle saddle. I tensed, but he simply spoke with his eyes boring into me. Only then did I see the radio on the front of his armor.

“Lieutenant, this is Gleam. I’ve found him.”

“Where, damn your eyes?” The radio crackled, and I just stared at it in bewilderment.

“Palomino,” I said, my voice sounding hollow in my own ears. “That’s… that’s the building. This building. It’s down the street.”

“He says that it’s a building called Palomino, sir. I am down the street from the station, heading north, in plain sight. He just turned the corner, sir.”

The radio hissed. Or the officer on the line hissed, either way. “Hold him.”

With that conversation over, it was just me and the Authority.

He was tense—very tense, and I nervously watched his mouth linger near the firing bit of his saddle. It had two assault rifles, unlike mine. I wouldn’t last more than a second at most if I tried to run. Earth pony, like me, except unlike me he probably deserved to be called such. I quite doubted that he needed the guns at all. A few kicks from one such as this and I would be quite destroyed, thank you very much.

So, I grinned my most sincere and disarming smile. He didn’t react at all.

“So… I don’t suppose I could…” I began, but he shook his head.

“I’m not authorized to speak to you myself, sir,” he said, hesitating before he added the last bit. Stupidly, it made me feel a little better. He didn’t sound hostile so much as serious. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding.

It had to be. I hadn’t done anything to these ponies! If anything, shouldn’t they be thanking me?

The Authority soldier and I stared each other down. Were it for the fact I was in no condition to fight and doubted my completely inability to do much more than spray bullets randomly, it might have been a real standoff. But I am sadly ignorant of guns and sleight of hand is a bit harder when one is in the open, in broad daylight, right in front of a wary trooper.

So instead, I thought. I saw the others securing the block approach us now, no doubt having heard on the radio. They all had their guns pointed squarely at m, as if daring me to even dream of moving. I did not feel it unbecoming to admit that I was beginning to be terrified. This was going to be bad. This is how firing squads started.

Finally, I saw him. It was hard to miss—even if I hadn’t seen the boss of this cadre beforehoof, there was no mistaking that arrogant, self-sure gait. He was perhaps the only one in Authority barding without an automatic weapon pointed at my head, but he was also the only one who looked like he really, really wanted to shoot me. If those eyes had been cannons I would have been paste and memory.

He pushed his way through and began barking orders to the assembled ponies. They scattered like leaves before a gale and then he was right in my face. I noticed two things in rapid succession: first, he was a unicorn. Second, he was levitating a revolver beneath my chin, aimed straight up.

My body froze up. A wave of nausea washed over me and for a horrible moment while he just stood there with heaving chest, I thought I might actually vomit all over him in terror.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, pushing the revolver against my soft neck.

“B-balm. Balm. Swift,” I said, staring straight ahead a little to the right of his face.

“Fuck. Bloody hell, I knew it.” He growled wordlessly. “And where are you going?”

“Home. Home! Just going home.”

“Like hell you are, worthless deserter’s son.” His voice grew slower, softer. “In fact, I think you’re a drifter that someone hired to make a mess of things. Got in the way of an official Authority military action, putting lives at risk. Sound about right? You’ve never been to Mosaic, and you won’t be there again because it’s Authority.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

But suddenly I did. It all made sense to me in a flash. I just couldn’t accept it was happening.

When your power rests almost solely on your ability to protect, you perform or you lose that power. The Authority worked with the threat of tribal incursions or raider attacks, and promised to be a shield, a candle to keep the darkness out. And I had shown up with a flashlight.

And then I had resurrected her. I had reminded them, for a moment. Mom.

“You had better hope you understand rather soon,” he told me. “Don’t come back here. Guards will be watching for you at every single gate, do you understand me? No Authority station, no tributary, no one will offer you succor. You’ve made fools of us, you bastard, you and your bitch mother’s little symbols. Ponies saw you. Well, they won’t anymore, or you’ll be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of your life. I’m only not executing you because it would be unseemly.”

He pushed me and I fell, shocked. My legs refused to cooperate, and so I stayed there on the hard ground.

“I… but I live…”

“Nowhere. You could have just stayed still and stayed quiet, you fucking disgrace. Your family is a dead end, and now you’re a vagrant. Your father would be proud,” he added. “Maybe you can go live with the savages. Anywhere that isn’t here. You have sixty seconds to leave my sight, or I’ll make absolutely sure you never humiliate me like this in front of High Command again.”

The gun cocked.

“I don’t…” I tried to protest and he shoved the gun in my face.

“Run, little rabbit. Run before I decide killing children is worth my time.”

So I ran.

By the time my panic had subsided, I couldn’t even summon the energy to slow down. I just collapsed in an empty storefront.

What had this place sold before the war? Books, apparently. Scorched, ancient books lined old shelves, like a lost herd of sad little faces. I got up and trudged over to be among the shelves and then laid back down.

The floor was disgusting, yes, but it was cool and somehow that coolness was relaxing. I cared for my appearance, but not enough to pass up what comfort I could catch. And I would have to do worse, wouldn’t I?

Because I was effectively homeless.

It made sense, didn’t it? Only panic had kept me from seeing it earlier.

The Authority was itself only four or five stations and a few dozen small outposts with perhaps a dozen ponies each in them. The rest of their suzerainty was just that. They had the guns, the caps, and the technology. They had the medicine and the greenhouses. The stations of Lunangrad had submitted to their rule as tributaries, exchanging freedom for protection.

Protection only mattered if you actually were protected. If they could survive without you… then you weren’t very useful anymore, were you?

I had shown them up. Embarrassed them.

I looked down at my barding and cursed. I wiggled out of it, disgusted with myself. Of course. My mother’s armor had made it even worse. I might still have a home were it not for that accursed symbol—Luna and Celestia flying in harmony emblazoned prominently on my sides and chest.

Who didn’t know about the Sword? Nopony who’d been in the city in the last decade. Most ponies knew more about my mother than I did—my bitterness over that still stung—and her distinctive armor had been a part of that.

I knew my parents had… were exiles. They’d lost. Dad hadn’t wanted to discuss it, though I had tried. The Authority had been at a crossroads and they chose to go against my father, and so he had left as soon as my mom died. I could piece some of it together from what little he would say.

Gilead Balm had wanted to help ponies. He wanted to help them without controlling them. It was the opposite of what the Authority was these days. I wish I knew more about those times, but I was so young and they kept so much from me, I know they did. Mom didn’t want me to know what happened, and my father helped her because he could never say no to Daylily, could he? It seemed no one could. She was a hero… and maybe a dangerous example of what ponies could really do if they just tried.

I certainly wasn’t. Heroes get to go home again. Sorry, mom.

My stomach rumbled and I lay next to my barding, staring at it dully until I heard the radio crackle.

“So… what happens now?”

I jumped for my barding, trying to get it back on but only succeeding in getting myself tangled.

“Whoa, whoa,” said the voice, somehow managing to sound soothing through the tinny electronic quality. “Calm down. Sorry, I should’ve expected you to startle after all that.”

I lay there, one hoof in the Sword and the others out of it and just waited.

“You… are you alright?” The voice asked. It was hard to hear it--belatedly, I realized that it wasn’t in the room with me.

“Well, I’m alive,” I said. “Where are you?”

“In the back. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the music earlier.”

“I was a bit…” I sighed. “Who are you? I am not a veteran of the surface, but I know enough not to walk into a trap laid by a stranger, thank you..”

I heard the tell-tale hum of a spritebot. It was hard to miss, even if they were rare in Lunangrad. I thanked my mother’s genes, which was pretty rare. I’d been born a runt, yes, but a little bit of that thestral hearing was a nice bonus.

I stood and saw it come around the bend. I tensed, waiting for it’s small magic laser to glow, but the odd robot did not seem to be up for a fight at all.

“You can call me Watcher,” it said. Or rather, whoever had obviously hacked it. Nopony I had met had ever heard the Spritebots play anything but old Pre-War standards and patriotic hymns. Certainly none of these lonely wanderers had ever spoken to anypony. So either one of them had decided to break over a century of silence, or…

“How did you break into the spritebot?” I asked, stepping closer.

There was a short pause. “You know, usually I have to explain that I’m not a robot first. It’s actually not hard to do if you have the right equipment and the time to learn how to use it,” Watcher said. He almost sounded smug.

Bizarre as this conversation was, I couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. My father’s rule was that no science was beyond a truly dedicated mind with plenty of time. Of course, he never really appreciated the irony of a protege, genius one-of-a-kind doctor saying that.” I squinted at the spritebot, inspecting one up close for the first time. “It’s a fascinating machine,” I murmured. “We don’t have many up here. Are you here in Lunangrad?”

“No, and I can’t tell you where I am. Sorry about that.”

“Quite alright,” I said.

“Your voice… the way you talk reminds me of somepony that I used to know,” Watcher said, sounding… sad. “What’s your name, colt?”

I bristled. “I am a stallion, thank you kindly. Grown. My name is Swift Balm.”

“Er, sorry. I don’t exactly have a great camera…”

I sighed and looked away. “It’s the least of my worries. Once a runt, always a runt. What did you mean, earlier? ‘What now?’”

“So what happens now? I saw most of what happened by chance… I’m not really sure what the story is, but it looks like you’re on your own.”

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” I didn’t want to look at him, or the camera he was using (if it was a he, truly) but it felt rude not to. So I tried to lock eyes with something that possessed none. “I embarrassed the Authority, I think. I went out and got lucky wearing my mom’s barding. I showed them up, and I did it while also bringing up my parents. Ponies… I don’t know. I don’t know what they really did. My father was a doctor, and she was his bodyguard. Somehow in the midst of all that they got on the wrong side of ponies with power and guns. They were willing to let him go if he left, that’s as much as I know. I guess I went back on the deal.”

“Ah.” The Spritebot was quiet, so quiet that I thought for a moment that Watcher had stopped tapping into it. But eventually his voice returned. “That doesn’t answer the question, though. So you’re on your own, in this crazy city, with nowhere to go and no goals. What kind of pony are you going to be?”

“Ridiculous question,” I said with a snort. “I’ve not much of a choice. I have a gun, yes, but I have little idea what to do with it. Armor that will only save me for so long. I lack my tribe’s general strength and endurance, living sheltered in Mosaic ill afforded me the experience with savagery I’m sure to encounter…” I sighed again. “I know what you’re asking of me, Watcher. I’m just not sure it matters. I’m not even sure why I am talking about this at all, except that I am exhausted and exhaustion does tend to lower one’s inhibitions.”

Mirthless laughter, more static than expression, filtered out of the spritebot. “You really do sound like her. It’s the accent.”

“All Authority born ponies have it,” I said, idly. I pushed at the ash on the floor. “It’s a holdover from the early days, when the first Authority thought it could be a new aristocracy. It’s artificial. My... “ I sat up. “Why do you wish to know?”

“I’ve been searching. I’m Watcher--it’s not my real name, and I won’t tell you my real name. But watching is what I do. I’ve seen a lot of ponies where you are right now. I don’t mean this shop. Down and out, exiled. They all had their backs to the wall, and the ones I talked to said a lot of what you said. I’m not good enough. I’m not strong enough. Some of them I talked to, looking for the right sort of pony.”

“And what is that sort?” I asked, smirking at the little robot.

“A special sort. Someone who can embody virtue, or a virtue. The kind of ponies the wasteland needs.”

I blinked. “That’s… that’s more idealistic than I’d expected of a hacker.”

“The world is bad. Someone has to care.”

“I don’t disagree,” I said quickly. “Gilead Balm was my father, and it was what he would have said. Somepony has to care, has to do something. There’s just not much I can do. I’m no doctor. I’m no action hero, and my command of computers is useful but not revolutionary. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You could start by making friends.”

I snorted, and then laughed. “Friends? Seriously? Watcher, I just burned the only bridge I had with the only friend I had. I’m not even sure how badly I overreacted or if I did or… I don’t know. I can’t go back anyway, so it’s a moot point. As if I knew where to begin making them.”

“Also not unlike a mare I knew once,” Watcher said softly. “So you’re not a fighter, and you’re not a healer. You’re smart, I can tell that. You’re not strong, but I know you’re fast. I just watched you sprint down the street. You can work with computers, and I bet that intelligence could be put to good use elsewhere too.”

“Perhaps.”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Watcher said. “I can only tell you that the Wasteland needs good ponies. It needs smart ones who care. It needs them now more than ever. Just… think about it. In the meantime, find a settlement. I think there’s one not that far from here.”

“Southmarket,” I said. “Southmarket is close.”

“Why don’t you go there? You’re still alive, Balm. And I think you can do great things, if you try. Just remember that, o--”

The voice vanished. The Spritebot turned and bobbed away, blaring its tired patriotic marches. I stared at its retreat, confused. Locked out, I guess. Perhaps he had only limited access. Either that, or his patch-in was shoddy. I couldn’t know for sure. I guess it didn’t matter.

I crawled over to my barding and looked down at it. The rifle slumped by the floor, and I felt a little bit of shame. My mother would have been furious that I’d let it touch the ground. This was her’s. It wasn’t mine. I had to treat it like it was loaned.

So I put it back on, took a deep breath, and headed towards Southmarket.

Author's Note

Next Chapter

Mosaic III--Exile