Chapter 2: Stain of Mind

As my vision focused, I became aware of the silent twinkling of the stars overhead. Once again I saw through the eyes of the pale grey mare. She could not sleep, and so was gazing up at the stars again. Even without understanding anything about them, she could appreciate the beauty of those sparkling jewels that dotted the night sky. A pair of newborn fillies nestled up against her belly, fast asleep as she lay on her side in the grass.

There was a general unease about the herd tonight. Ponies slept closer together, shifting restlessly. Some, like herself, were unable to sleep at all, and simply sat, looking around for whatever it was. The watch-stallions stood close, their ears flicking, and the fillies’ sire was keeping extra close to her. They, too, seemed on edge, and twitched at every movement, inside or outside the circle of the herd. And even in the sky, the stars didn’t look right. One in particular seemed distorted, bigger than it ought to be.

The fact that the mare seemed aware of me again didn’t help her unease, but she had larger problems than a mote of some unknown pony’s consciousness inadvertently spying on her at the moment. She was scanning the horizon when suddenly the stallion was tugging her mane, as others were starting to bolt. A flash of panic struck us both, hard enough to wake me.

And then there I was, in the clinic, panting, my heart racing. The room was still dark, dawn had barely started to creep over the horizon.

After breakfast and one last examination, which had included both a mental acuity test and flight check, Dr Greensleeves had given me a clean bill of health - aside from my amnesia. He’d explained once more, very apologetically, that there was no treatment he could give me for that. My memories might come back slowly over time, in bursts as I saw familiar ponies or places, or not at all. Still, I was happy, both for myself and the doctor - I was honestly feeling better, and I knew he would put the caps he’d earned taking care of me to good use.

I sat on the clinic floor, taking both physical and mental inventory as I prepared to go on my way. I found that I could recall abstract academic details without much trouble, much like I had known what Lily’s model was and how to care for her immediately upon seeing her, without knowing how or where I’d picked up that knowledge. Anything personal, anything that involved me directly, had me drawing blanks.

I knew, for example, that it had been roughly thirty years since the Day of Sunshine and Rainbows, when the skies had finally been opened after over two centuries to let ponies that had never seen them before come to appreciate the beauty of the sun, the moon and the stars. Most Equestrian settlements had adopted the anniversary of that event to put on huge festivals and celebrations - which around here also included the strange practice of making an earthenware container, filling it with candy and decorating it in the likeness of Littlepip, then hanging it up and having blindfolded ponies hit it with sticks until it burst open and everypony scrambled to get at the candy as it fell out on the ground. The practice had always struck me as odd. It seemed like a barbaric thing to do to somepony you claimed to like.

I also knew that shortly after that had come the fall of the Grand Pegasus Enclave, and the reintegration of the pegasi into pony society at large. I felt a sliver of hope as I recalled that Mom had always seemed just a touch bitter when she mentioned that event. Finally, something personal! It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Gardens of Equestria had been fired a short while after that. The megaspell had purged all but the most concentrated pockets of radiation and taint from the land, even way out here on the other side of the continent from where Spike’s Mountain was. Life and color were slowly returning to the land as plants gradually began to grow again. Food - fresh food, not just two-centuries-old canned stuff - was very slowly becoming easier to grow and even to find growing wild. On the other hoof, the lack of radiation was making life harder for the ghoul ponies and alicorns who needed it to survive, forcing them to roam and seek out those remaining bits they could find. Anything that had used Flux in its construction - which was surprisingly a lot of things - stopped working altogether. Healing potions had to be delivered by injection now, though they did heal better as they were forced to replace Hydra, which no longer worked at all. The Pip-Buck’s famous SATS system didn’t completely stop time anymore, just slowed it down to a crawl. Less importantly, Sugar Apple Bombs no longer sparked and popped when you bit into them, and Sparkle Cola Quantum lost its ethereal blue glow and became just another soda. In fact, none of the varieties of Sparkle Cola tasted right anymore - or so I’d been told, being too young (and brain-damaged) myself to remember what they’d actually been like before. I’d never liked the stuff, personally (Hey, another flash!), and maybe that was why. At least Sunset Sarsaparilla was still tasty.

I’d emptied the contents of my saddlebags onto the floor in front of me, not quite sure I’d trusted the Pip-Buck’s automatic sorting and inventory system. I sighed softly, looking at the meager pile that comprised all my possessions in the entire world, for all I knew. I’d expected Aces and his boys to not leave me with much, but to actually see in front of me just how little I had was fairly depressing. Aside from Lily and the Pip-Buck, I had five healing potion auto-injectors and two antivenoms which I suspected had been put there by either the Doc or Xinnia. A box of 10mm ammo for Lily, a box of .45 ammo which was useless to me now that Sentinel had been stolen, a pouch of Rad-Away, a syringe of Med-X that set me on edge as I looked at it, tempting me to use it right now even though I didn’t need it. Just remembering how good it felt… I quickly put that away out of sight and continued taking stock. A box of bobby pins and a screwdriver - essential tools for scavenging the wasteland. A strange vacuum-sealed silver packet marked “Vault 6 Emergency Barding - One Size Fits All” - I tore that open and slipped into the bright blue and yellow garment, feeling the thin fabric stretch over me, then strapped Lily’s shoulder holster on over top of it. I knew it wouldn’t be much protection in a fight, but it was better than nothing. And finally, three books: Littlepip’s autobiographical work, The Lightbringer, a well-worn and dogeared copy of Ditzy Doo’s Improved Wasteland Survival Guide, and Blackjack!, a thick tome whose cover promised it to be “A Complete and Unbiased Account of the Life and Times of the Hoofington Security Mare - by Scotch Tape” The subtitle made me slightly dubious. Something that had to make the claim of being unbiased so boldly upfront probably wasn’t. It certainly looked complete, though.

As I gathered up these meager possessions and put them back into the bags, a thick piece of folded paper fell out of one of the books. I picked it up and unfolded it, curious, and my eyes widened. It was a photo of Security herself. The white unicorn with her red and black striped mane was pretty recognizable - dressed in Stable 99 Security barding, her faintly glowing yellow eyes looking over the rims of a pair of mirrored sunglasses. She wore a cocky grin as she levitated a bottle of Wild Pegasus in front of her, about to take a drink. There was a simple autograph in the corner, black ink reading, “DO BETTER! - B.J.”

I sat motionless as a memory surfaced from the confused jumble of my mind. I remembered being a little filly, so obsessed with tales of Security that I’d even tried to dye my mane black and red instead of its normal purple hues. I remembered my cute-ceañera party, and how disappointed I had been that my cutie mark had turned out to be a bunch of dumb girly flowers instead of the ace and queen I’d hoped for. Or some other winning card hand. I’d have even settled for a row of three 7’s, anything but this! But I remembered how my mother had given me this special present, and how I was so happy that I forgot all about that disappointment. Even now I felt my eyes misting up as I relived that moment, and felt my mother’s love through this little treasure. Sure, I’d found out later that even if the photo was authentic, the signature almost certainly wasn’t, but that didn’t make it any less special to me. I was a bit sad that I couldn’t remember mom’s face, but even with that disappointment I was so happy to have remembered something, anything personal.

After a moment, I stilled myself with a deep breath and brushed the tears from my eyes. I carefully tucked my treasure back into the book it’d come from and put the book away in my bags. Strapping the saddlebags on, I walked toward the door of the doc’s ranch house.

Both the Doc and Xinnia had hugged me before sending me on my way, and Xinnia had given me two gifts of her own - a brown leather cowpony hat to keep the sun out of my eyes, and a hoof-woven saddle blanket that I draped around my shoulders like a sarape. I thanked them once again, and they sent me off with a reminder to go talk to Ol’ Hoss before I left town, and to see Apple Blossom at the saloon if I wanted to make some extra traveling money. I decided I would do both. I was a mare on a mission, yes, but I was not about to screw up my revenge by rushing to meet Aces unprepared. I was in no hurry to try dying again and seeing if it’d stick this time. Also, there was the slight problem that I still didn’t even know which way he was headed.

Ol’ Hoss lived in a ranch house that stood on a small hill, and from there I could really get a sense of the town. Just a stop along the road - no more than ten or twelve family homes, a gas station, a schoolhouse and… some kind of unfamiliar-looking facility with large cylindrical metal tanks lined up in a row on the edge of town. Most of the homes looked like they’d had repairs done on them, and each one was using its yard space for gardening which lent a touch of green to contrast the tans and browns of the Moojave. There weren’t many ponies outside, but I did see a few tending their gardens and livestock or generally milling about, exchanging smiles and friendly greetings as they passed each other. It was, in a word, nice. Pleasant, serene, even.

Ol’ Hoss was not what I expected. But that was like saying the surface of the sun was a little warm. He was a completely mechanical pony - no organic parts visible anywhere. He was covered - mostly - in a translucent white silicone rubber hide that gave him a somewhat ghostly appearance. His hide obscured but didn’t completely cover the movements of his robotic insides, but unlike typical robo-pony, he was built to closely resemble a living, breathing pony. Instead of motors and gears, I could see synthetic muscles contracting and releasing under his hide as he walked toward me, and I thought I even saw his chest expand and contract with breath. He had a silky black mane and tail that made him look even more like a real pony, and wore only a tan cowpony hat and matching vest with a silver sheriff’s star on the breast. He was also built like a Clydesdale. I was tall for a mare by most accounts, but my nose barely reached chest height on him.

He looked down at me with the strangest eyes I ever did see. They were completely dark, save for softly glowing yellow rings that formed what would have been the pupils of normal eyes. I took a step back, fearful, but he simply smiled at me. And then he spoke. Now, most ponies around these parts, myself included, had a bit of a drawl to their speech, but his was exaggerated to the point of being cartoonish, making me wonder if he was meant to be part of some kind of tourist attraction. Still, his tone was cheerful, and set me at ease even though his voice was tinny and mechanical.

“Well howdy there, little missy,” he said, all smiles. “Good to see you’re on the mend.”

“Yep,” I replied, finding his smile a bit infectious. “The doc patched me up real good. My brain’s a little scrambled, though. I can’t seem to remember much about myself.” I smiled a bit more, adding, “I’m told I have you to thank for getting me to the doc in time.”

“Aw shucks, t’weren’t nuthin,” he replied with a blush. I swear to Celestia, this robo-pony actually blushed. My eyes widened in shock at that, but Hoss seemed to pay it no mind. He stepped aside from the door and nodded toward it. “Anyways, come inside, we need to talk more private-like.”

I did, and as my eyes adjusted I saw a traditional-looking living room, with a rocking chair and a sofa and small tables for drinks and the like, just like any normal pony would have.

“Make yourself to home,” he said, following me inside and closing the door. He trotted to the kitchen, asking, “Can I get you somethin’ to drink?”

“Sarsaparilla?” I asked, hopefully, helping myself to a seat on the couch.

“You got it,” he said, returning momentarily from the kitchen with a cold Sunset in his mouth. He set it on the table and I popped its top, pocketing the cap. He sat in the rocking chair, chewing on a piece of scrap metal as though it was jerky. I took a long pull on the bottle and smiled, closing my eyes as the icy cold sweetness bubbled and fizzed over my tongue. Delicious. Though it did make me wonder just how many ponies in this town had working refrigerators.

Hoss looked at me a moment, and said in all seriousness, “Mr. Horse would like to speak with you.”

My smile faded and a chill crept up my spine. Now, on the scale of You’re In Trouble, “The client would like to speak with you” was not as bad as, say, “The boss wants you in his office, NOW!” but it was up there. I knew I was in trouble. I knew I’d screwed up. Suddenly I was a filly again, my mother speaking those dreaded words, “Wait till your father gets home.” I didn’t even have it in me to be happy that I’d managed to recall that vague sliver of my past..

The robo-pony must have noticed my discomfort, as he spoke with a soothing note to his voice. “Now he doesn’t blame you for what happened. You were ambushed because of a security breach, ‘twasn’t your fault. But he does want to discuss what happens next. Where we go from here, yeah?”

I nodded quietly, and he added with a sigh, “Honestly, at least part of this is my fault. Y’see, in addition to my sheriffin’ duties around Sweetsprings, I’ve also been acting as Mr. Horse’s agent in this area. I was tailin’ you from the dig site, but y’all was flyin’ too fast fer me t’keep up. By the time I caught up to you in the cemetery,” he sighed again, “Well, it was too late fer me t’be any help to ye.” Hoss had his hat off, holding it to his chest with a hoof, those strange eyes showing sincere regret, just like a real pony would. “I do apologize for everything that’s happened, ma’am. I’m right sorry.”

I shook my head to him, and took another drink of my soda. “It’s okay, I won’t hold it against you. You did save my life, after all.”

Hoss smiled at that. I looked to him again and asked, “So… what is this thing, anyway? I mean, sure it’s pretty and shiny, but nopony’d go that far just for a regular old casino chip.”

He grimaced. “Ergh, you weren’t supposed to see it. Nopony was…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I… there are things I can’t talk about, right? All I can say is that chip may be the key to ending this war.”

I was confused. “War? What war?”

Suddenly Hoss was looking confused as well. “The war between NLR and the Legion?”

“The what and the what, now?” I asked, furrowing my brow. I tapped my temple with a hoof, and reminded him, “Amnesia. Don’t know nuthin no more, yea?” I mentally kicked myself. I was starting to pick up his speech patterns.

“Oh, right,” Ol’ Hoss replied. “Well, I guess I should start with the Starswirl Dam. It’s more than just a dam in the river, y’see? It’s a hydroelectric power plant that supplies the whole Moojave Territory with electricity and clean water from Silver Lake. It was found mostly intact when Mr. Horse was in the process of waking up Las Pegasus, or New Pegas as he’s calling it now.”

I nodded, listening. “Is this the same Mr. Horse who was president and founder of Robronco and through various political maneuverings landed himself in charge of the Office of Inter-ministry Affairs shortly before the bombs dropped?”

“The very same,” he replied, and smiled, “See, you do know some things. Robronco had a major presence in the Far West. Working with the Ministry of Morale, Mr. Horse practically built Las Pegasus from the ground up. There are Robronco R&D and production facilities all over Coltifornia and the Territory, and even though the east held what was ostensibly Robronco’s HQ, Mr. Horse did, and does, his real work out of the Casino Royale. That’s where you’ll be meeting with him.” Hoss rose to his hooves and looked up, beaming with pride. “I myself am a Robronco model, produced in association with the Equestrian National Research Laboratory at Los Palominos. Folks call me Ol’ Hoss, but my official designation is RBX-0083-2a MkIV.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to say. He made a throat-clearing noise into the uncomfortable silence, and sat himself down again. “Anyway, The New Lunar Republic started off out on the west coast of Coltifornia, and has been slowly expanding eastward. They’re a democracy that claims, at least, that they want to restore the Equestrian values of liberty, equality and justice to the Far West. They struck an agreement with Mr. Horse to annex the Territory and restore the Dam to full capacity, giving them access to its electricity and water, as long as they’d let New Pegas operate as a free state.”

Hoss’ face darkened as he continued, “But, then there’s the Legion of the True Way. Or just the Legion. They’re… basically a gang of slavers aping ancient Zebra culture. More than just a gang, though. They’ve grown super powerful in the territories east of here over the last decade or so, either absorbing or destroying the tribes that used to live out that way. Buffalo, gryphons, every tribe or gang with a grudge has been happily joining up with them, and the rest either follow along or die. They’ve been trying to expand westward, and about four years ago, tried to take the Dam. The NLR army pushed them back across the river, but it was a damn bloody fight.” Hoss shook his head sadly. “But now the Legion’s been building up their forces again, and it’s starting to look like they’re going to be ready for Round Two any day now.”

“And, so, what,” I fumbled, “This chip has some kind of magic that’ll make the Legion go away?”

“Something like that,” Hoss answered with a nod.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I left Ol’ Hoss’s abode. We’d agreed that he’d go ahead to the Royale and let Mr. Horse know I was on my way, and I could take a little time getting there. I finished off my second or third Sarsaparilla as I was walking, and tucked the empty bottle in my saddlebag, certain that it’d be useful for something later.

The Sweetsprings Saloon looked like it had stood there since the old cowpony days when the Far West was first being discovered by civilized ponies, hundreds of years ago. The style of its construction looked completely anachronistic in contrast with the more modern-looking ranch houses that surrounded it. A pack brahmin stood outside near the hitching post, one head greeting me with a moo as the other drank thirstily from the water trough. There were also a couple of motorcycles parked outside, but they looked like they’d been there forever - almost certainly they didn’t run, but no one had bothered to either move or scrap them. The Saloon’s dark wood groaned and creaked underhoof as I stepped onto its deck, pausing to greet an elderly yellow buck with a beard that grew down to his belly, sitting in a rocking chair near the door.

It took my eyes a good minute or two to adjust to the comparative darkness inside the Saloon. I was going to need to invest in a pair of sunglasses, ASAP. An older, matronly pink earth pony mare in a practical yet still attractive dress was tending bar, and she waved a friendly hoof to me as I entered.

“Welcome to the Sweetsprings Saloon!” she said cheerfully, “C’mon up to the bar and have a sit, don’t be shy.”

I slowly approached the bar, noticing that there were barely five patrons, including myself. Three sat huddled together at a table, busy having a hushed conversation, while the lone one barely took notice of me, simply nursing their drink as I passed by. I took a seat at the bar, and the bar matron came up to me with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Apple Blossom,” she said, offering a hoofshake, “Bartender and part-time mayor of Sweetsprings.”

I accepted the gesture, and before I could speak, she went on. “You must be Six, Doc Greensleeves has told me all about you, hon.”

“Midnight Shadow,” I tried to correct her, but she seemed not to hear me as she continued. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened to you, and that it happened here in our little town. Please do accept my apologies.”

“Oh, there’s nothing for you to apologize for, ma’am,” I said gently. “Really, I’m fine now.”

Apple Blossom nodded pleasantly. “Well, then, is there anything I can get you?”

I spent a moment looking over the list of drinks on offer, and finally said, “I’d just like a beer. More importantly, though, I’m headed into New Pegas and the doc said you’d be the one to talk to about making some extra caps for travel expenses.” I counted out five bottlecaps from my little purse and set them on the bar in front of me.

My eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the dim light of the bar, and I was starting to make out some details of the ponies around. Apple Blossom was an older mare who had a motherly quality about her, that look enhanced by the apron she wore over a simple floral print dress. Her teal eyes full of kindness as they looked at me. Her greying blonde mane was done up in a prim bun with just a few stray curls hanging stylishly about her face. She set the open bottle on the bar and pushed it, and my small stack of caps back toward me with a wink. “On the house, sweetheart,” she said. “As for jobs, you may just be in luck. See those three over there?” she said, nodding to the trio who were conversing rather intensely at their table. “They're caravaners heading up to Sand Junction, which is about a third of the way to where you’re headed. They happen to be looking for some extra security, so if you wouldn’t mind being a guard pony, you may be able to help each other out. Also I’ve got this busted radio. I’d be willing to pay you if you could fix it. How’s fifty caps sound?”

I looked to her with a grin. “Make it seventy-five and I’ll make it sing for you.”

I was decently skilled with a screwdriver and soldering iron, and the radio was an easy fix. Just a blown capacitor, and I was able to cannibalize one from an alarm clock that Apple Blossom said hadn’t worked in ages. A few more tweaks here and there and the radio crackled to life. The sweetly gravelly voice of an elder stallion emitted clearly from the speaker.

“This is Mister New Pegas and I love each and every one of you! Just a quick follow-up on a news story from a few days ago. The mare who was found head-shot but alive in the Sweetsprings Cemetery last week is back on her hooves, and expected to make a full recovery. Now if that ain’t a miracle, I surely don’t know what is. This next song is for you, Six, with all our good wishes. It’s Silver Starlight with, “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head”

As the music played, even though it was a song dedicated to me personally, I just couldn’t find it in me to be happy. I sighed, holding my head in my wings and feeling utterly defeated. I grumbled, even as Apple Blossom set the radio back in its place behind the bar, and counted out seventy-five caps for me, as promised. “Midnight Shadow,” I grumbled to myself. “Midnight. Motherfucking. Shadow.” Why couldn’t anyone get my name right?

After another song or two, I finally grew tired of sulking. I asked for a second beer, and insisted on paying this time. The conversation at the table seemed to have died down a bit, and so I took the opportunity to saunter over. “Howdy folks,” I said, “Name’s Midnight Shadow. Miss Apple Blossom tells me you’re in need of an extra gun.”

“Oh, hey, you’re the mare they were talking about on the radio!” one caravaner in a leather jacket spoke up, noticing the scar on my forehead. “I’m Cherry Bomb, nice to meet you, Six!”

My head hit the table with a thump heard ‘round the Territory.

Author's Note

I noticed some time back that half my chapter titles were Slayer songs, so I decided to go back and retitle the rest of them to match. :P There's no real reason behind this.

I'm not super fond of Hoss' name but I can't think of anything better.

I could have called it the New Coltifornia Republic, but that just felt too obvious to me. Plus, they're trying to revive old Equestria the way it was under Luna, so... yeah.

Also, the running gag with her name kinda dies off after this as I don't get many more opportunities to include it for a while.