Chapter 1: ‘Round midnight.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Mr. New Vegas, here with the latest from the Mojave Wasteland.

Sources within the New Vegas Civil Sector report that recent efforts to clean the Mojave of residual radiation have proven fruitful, and say that, now that targets of civil and military importance have been cleansed, the NVCS will continue their work on less heavily populated areas of the Mojave, such as the Devil’s Throat, Jack Rabbit Springs, and the Mesquite Mountains.

Additional sources report that the majority of personnel involved in on-site radiation scrubbing were members of the Mojave’s mutant population, including super mutants from the mountain settlement known as Jacobstown. When approached, one super mutant spoke to our reporters:

“Boss say that helping remove radiation ‘will help strengthen the bonds between mutant and man.’ Not sure what that mean, but if it mean that humans shoot us less, then I'm happy.”

You know, ladies and gentlemen, I feel like now, more than ever, the Mojave Wasteland is more than just a place: it's part of who we are, you know? Well Frank Sinatra does. He knows just how it feels to have something -or someone- under your skin.”

“Fascinating. What manner of device is this, Private?”

Private Swift Wind turned away from the talking box to face her sovereign, Princess Luna. Ever since she joined the night guard, she dreamed of escorting her princess to exotic lands, defending her from untold terrors. Now that that had come to pass, she had spent much time mentally kicking her younger self for wishing so. “I am unsure, your Highness. Perhaps some form of music box?”

“Tis unlikely. Why would a music box play news reports alongside music? Hast thou tried turning that dial?”

“All due respect, your holiness, I would not trust myself not to break it in some way. I thought it best to leave it be.”

Princess Luna nodded. “Very well, Private. How is Lieutenant Rock Solid holding up?”

Swift Wind winced. “Not well, your highness. His fever has not improved, if anything it's gotten worse. Sergeant Field Bandage has managed to slow down the effects of the poison, but he says that it's only a matter of time before…”

“No.”

“Your Highness?”

Princess Luna’s face was set with determination. “Banish such thoughts from your mind. I will not allow any more of my guards to perish under my command. Do you understand?”

Two thoughts crossed Swift Wind’s mind as she answered her understanding. They passed for less than an instant, quickly replaced by pure devotion and faith. One thought was the whether she heard a hint of desperation in Princess Luna’s voice. The other was contemplation as to just who She was trying to reassure. “I understand, your Highness.”

“Good. You should take the time to rest. We make for the city to the south at the Moon’s peak.”

Swift Wind bowed, and moved to the tent they had set up. She moved to raise the flap-

“Swift Wind?”

Swift looked to her Princess, who held an expression that not even the most pious could mistake for anything other than anguish.

“Please give Lock and Barrel my sincerest condolences. I cannot bear to face them myself.”

Swift Wind was shocked that her Princess would be afraid to face her subjects. Stock And Key had died in service to his Princess, why would She need to apologize? But her Princess had given her an order, she was duty bound to obey. “At once, your highness.” Swift Wind opened the tent flap, leaving Princess Luna alone, and joined her fellow guards in mourning.

30 miles north of New Vegas, there sat a humble shack in the hills, less than 200 square feet in total space. It was constructed out of empty shipping crates, with military tarps draped over the center where the crates met. It had fresh, running water, electricity, and was connected to the global terminal mainframe, as well as a balcony made of a billboard frame, hanging crop planters, a workshop and storage containers. It was practical, quaint, and isolated. The perfect vacation home for the humbly opulent.

Unfortunately for the home’s sole inhabitant, their perfect vacation became less than perfect at exactly 12 AM midnight, when the serene sounds of the desert night were interrupted by the sound of a baritone saxophone bursting from his laptop with the volume and subtlety of a super mutant on Hype.

“Jesus#%>{¥~*!<][¥fucking%^]<{£{>] hell is it now?!?”

The man, fully awake for better or worse, rose from the floor rubbing the soon-to-be bruise on his cheek. With a huff, he stomped over to his desk and repeatedly smashed his hand on the keyboard in an indignant, sleep-addled attempt to make the music stop. Instead, the screen flickered to life, replaced by a stock-still, artificial smiley face.

“Hi there! Good to see you again!”

The man wiped the sleep from his eyes with a sigh. “Goddammit, Yes Man. This better be important.”

Yes Man gave no indication that he was disheartened by the man’s sour tone. Not that he could have if he wanted to. “You bet it’s super important! Nothing more important than your twelve o’clock status report!”

The man fixed the screen with the most deadpan look he could muster. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“That’s right! The exact middle of the night, to be exact. Good old 12 AM! So, what would you like to hear about first?”

“…”

“…”

“Fuck it, I'm already awake. Fine. Report.”

“Alright! 12 o'clock status report is a go!

“First off, now that the NCR are letting us use Bullhead station, trains are moving limestone from Quarry Junction to Boulder City. The first loads of concrete should be shipping out to Vegas for building restoration within the month.”

Good. Glad that deal paid off. I'll never forget the look on the NCR ambassador’s face when I said we were willing to share it.

“Next, between the Lucky 38’s reactor, Hoover Dam, the reactors from all five vaults, and Helios One, the Mojave Wasteland is now producing over 200,000 Megawatts of power a day! The Mojave Wasteland is now officially the most energy-abundant territory East of the Sierra Nevada mountains! And once we get the Sierra Victor power plant connected to the power grid, we could hold that title all the way to the Pacific! We’re gonna make a fortune selling it to the NCR!

“Additionally, our radiation scrubbers in Vault 34 have discovered something amazing: not only did the vault have an extra 3 rooms worth of munitions stored, it also had manufacturing equipment! Projections show that our ballistic weapons manufacturing capability is expected to triple in the next month!”

The man cracked a wry smile. “So everything’s coming up sunshine and Santa Claus, then?”

Yes Man’s chuckling suddenly turned slightly nervous. “Weeeellllll… not everything, per se. There are a few, ahem, situations developing that may need your attention soon. Nothing that can’t wait, though! That is, unless you don't want another civil war in the first eighteen months of your regime. Oh! Did I say ‘regime’? That’s not a nice word.”

The man sighed and ran his hand through his short, blonde hair. Rule #26 of the wasteland, he thought. If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.“Alright, then. Hit me.”

“Yeeeeaaah, I’m sorry sir, but that would be physically impossible, seeing as I’m currently talking to you through a computer, I have no way of physically striking you. I can get a securitron to your location within 30 minutes, if you’re really-”

“Stop! Stop it now! You know exactly what I meant, you cheeky motherfucker. Just give me the bad news.”

Yes Man continued, with no outward indication of the satisfaction he felt from getting a rise out of his master.

“First, the Boomers are running low on munitions. They say their current stock should last them another 3 years, barring any major military campaigns in the near future.”

The man hummed in understanding. “Yeah, Raquel mentioned something like that last time I was in Nellis. How much surplus crops do they have stockpiled?”

“Enough to trade for ammunition with the Gun Runners.”

The man chuckled. “Great minds, Yes Man. Great minds. What’s number two on the docket?”

“The Enclave. General Jamison had some concerns about their use of deathclaw mind-control headsets and how they conflict with the Constitution’s “Sanctity of the mind” clause. If we aren't careful, they might withdrawal from the defense agreement! And that's terrible!”

This genuinely worried the man. Jamison’s Enclave was a critical member of the Mojave Alliance Defence Agreement. Without them, the Confederacy’s Air Force and power armor divisions would take significant hits. He began to panic. He had to find a solution, or everything he worked for would collapse. EVERYTHING.

A spark.

A flash.

An idea. An insane idea, but one that could work, if handled properly.

“Yes Man, get me a sitrep on former Enclave scientists working in Big MT, and any intel we have on any remaining Enclave safekeeps within Vertibird range. And, while you're at it, investigate the status of a citizen living to the north of Novac. Name’s Arthur Ribben.”

“Done! But before I deal with that, you should probably deal with the third and final item on the docket.”

“Oh? What’s that, then?”

“The five unidentified bogeys that just flew into New Vegas airspace.”

“…”

“…”

“What.”

“Yup! They flew in from the North about 3.7 minutes ago. You should probably deal with that soon. Or not! You’re the boss, Boss!”

Yes Man’s encouragement fell upon deaf ears, as the man had shot up from his chair and was desperately rooting through his storage lockers for his equipment. Panic faded to the back of his mind as instinct and habit took over.

Vest, longcoat, pants, boots, hat, gas mask, sunglasses, duffel, and Atomic-valence tri-radii-oscillator. Everything in place. Revolver in right holster. .45 in left holster. Ammo along belt. Rifle across the back. Shotgun in its holster, plasma disruptor in lower right pouch. AK next to rifle, ammo in vest. Canteen, MRE, stims, knives, knuckle dusters, .38 in left boot. What else, what else, what el- throwing knifes. Throwing knives go under right forearm guard. Throwing. Throwing hatchets, hatchets are important. Those go into the belt loops, hatchets go- hatchet. Hatchet, next to bowie knife. Good. Time to meet the Boomers to make the intruders go boom. Boom.

Idea.

The man reached into the largest locker, brushed the Tesla Cannon and PGM Hécate aside and pondered over the final weapon.

Isn't it a bit overkill at this point?

Mercy was a drum-fed, 40mm grenade machine gun he had found in a cave, and as magnificent a weapon it was, it seemed like a bit of a letdown at the time, considering the 20ish deathclaws he had to kill to get it. Still, seeing as it had likely saved his life at FOB Omega, it would be remiss if him to discard it. But with how many weapons he already had, it seemed like too much.

And yet…

Fuck it. Better to be overprepared.

Alright, if you say so.

He lugged the weapon out of the locker with it’s ammo backpack and set it down in the foyer with a dull thud.

“So, what should we do about those pesky invaders, sir?”

The man looked at the terminal with a start, having forgotten that Yes Man was still there.

“Scramble two vertis from Camp Mccarran. Bring them to the ground for questioning, one way or another.”

“Sure thing! And I wouldn't worry about hostilities. If anyone can make friends with a previously unknown and potentially hostile third party, it’s you!”

The man briefly entertained the idea of telling the A.I. to shut up, but he knew Yes Man would probably take it literally. He sighed and moved to the workbench, approaching a small, round, metal ball. It’s underbelly was folded outward to expose multiple manipulator arms, and had a sort of weapon barrel sticking out it's front. Above it's “gun” was its face, if one could call it that. It was more of a grate containing facial and topographical scanners. It had multiple antennae jutting out it’s back, and a port connected to a small fission battery.

The man did not pause to take these features in, as he was well acquainted with them. Instead he unplugged the machine from the battery, pressed a small button on it’s side, and slapped its chassis for good measure.

“ED-E, get up. It's time to go to work.”

The previously dormant robot awoke with a shudder, it’s small magnetic propulsors sputtering on and elevating it above the table.

“”

“I know it’s early. Trust me, I'm tired too. We have to go to Nellis.”

“”

“Several unidentified bogeys just crossed the northern border. Now, do we need anything else?”

“”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Let’s roll.”

With that, the man and his robot flew out of the shack to the waiting van outside. He put Mercy in the back next to a set of custom power armor, closed the door and ran to the driver's seat.

With a roar of the engine and a song from the radio, The Courier sped to Nellis to greet the visitors to his domain.

Princess Luna flew alongside her guard over the mountains towards the city of lights, and prayed to whatever gods ruled this realm that she was not too late. She flew south with her remaining guards as fast as their wings allowed, with Sergeant Rock Solid on a stretcher suspended between Flatline and Swift Wind.

Rock Solid’s condition had gotten worse instead of better, and Sergeant Flatline, despite her best efforts, had been unable to stop the venom. Even moving him was risky, but between potential death during the flight to the city, and certain death should they stay put, Luna decided to risk moving him. She could only hope that the city's inhabitants were able and willing to help them.

They will be able to help. They must have access to extremely powerful magic, for how else could their city be so bright? They can help him. They must hel-

“Your Highness! We have incoming!”

Shook out of her reverie, she finally heard the sound of engines in the air. She reached out with her mind and felt-

What in Equestria?

Two very loud, very large, and very fast objects coming from the south; and flying right towards them.

Private Swift Wind shouted over the din, “I think we’ve been noticed!”

“It appears that we have,” Luna responded. Let us hope they are hospitable.

“... Run that by me again?”

“Blue, flying, bipedal horses, sir.”

Of all the things The Courier expected Delta 1 to report, this was not one of them. “Blue?”

“Well,” Delta 2 chimed in, “only the big one is blue. The rest are more a light gray.”

The Courier set the transceiver on his lap. “Goddammit, it’s too early for this shit,” he muttered.

ED-E rocked his chassis, as if to indicate nodding.“”

“Alright, give me details. Specifics.”

“Well, they're fairly similar to humans as far as build goes. They've got two arms, two legs, hands, feet, and the females have two mammaries.

“Besides that, their heads are equine; pointy ears and a muzzle. Pretty sure they have fur too, but that color might be skin, can't tell from here. About half of them have wings, the others either have a horn or neither. The big blue one has both. The flyers are carrying the others with harnesses.”

The Courier buried his head in his hand, “ED-E? Thoughts?”

“”

“Yeah, I got nothing either.”

…

“Sir? How do we respond?”

The Courier brought up the radio again“What else can we discern? Tech, leadership, disposition, anything?”

A slight pause. “Well, the blue one looks like the leader, judging by how the little ones are looking at her.”

Delta 2 keyed in, “That, and the crown on her head. Could be a tribal thing? Warchief headdress?"

“They seem pretty primitive in terms of weaponry. Spears, crossbows, plate mail, stuff like that. You see the same thing, Delta 2?”

“Affirmative, Delta 1. They aren't panicking, though. That suggests a level of military discipline. Or curiosity; bet they've never seen a vertibird before.”

Courier Six nodded. “I'm approaching Nellis now, anything else you can tell me?”

“They're carrying one of the small ones in a stretcher. Can't tell how bad he’s messed up, but i can see the sweat on his fur from in here.”

Hmmm… The Courier thought for a moment. They carry 450 year old weapons, aren't running or attacking our response team on sight, and are carrying wounded. “What do you think, ED-E? Should we risk it, or turn them away? Better safe than sorry?”

“”

“Yeah, there isn't much choice, is there? Alright, Delta 1, escort them to Nellis. We can figu-”

The radio screeched to life. “Holy Mother of God!”

“Delta 1, what’s going on?” Status?!?”

“Sir, these things are speaking English!”

“...pardon?”

“Halt.”

“But, your highness, we mus-”

“I said halt!” Princess Luna halted all protests with a shout. “We cannot hope to outfly these creatures, we must be diplomatic if we wish to seek their asylum.” Princess Luna waited with her guard as the flying metal creatures approached.

The VB-02 VTOL craft, A.K.A ‘vertibird’ was and is a marvel of pre-war aeronautical engineering. With a dual-rotor elevation system, 12 ton carrying capacity, onboard radar systems, nose mounted gatling laser, side mounted miniguns, missile racks, and a mini-nuke bomb rack, the vertibird is capable of fulfilling virtually any role on the battlefield and engaging both airborne and ground-based hostiles with frightening effectiveness.

While the Equestrians were largely ignorant of these facts, the simple fact was that two very heavy-looking hunks of metal were flying on their own power, and whatever could accomplish that was not to be trifled with.

Silence filled the air for several moments, both sides either unable or unwilling to speak first. Finally, after several tense moments, Princess Luna finally gathered her wits and spoke.

“Greetings, denizens of this realm. I am known as Princess Luna, ruler of the night and avatar of the Moon. I appear before you as a humble traveler, seeking refuge within your territory. We wish no harm upon you or yours; only your aid and clemency. Please, I beseech thou; do not turn us away in our time of need.”

“Well, that certainly simplifies things, doesn't it?”

“”

“Goddamn right this will change the world. Might even change two, if my hunch is correct.”

“”

“Something I discussed with Mobius a few weeks ago. No reason to jump to conclusions yet.” The Courier keyed the radio, “Delta 1, you copy?”

“Solid copy, Joker 1. Orders?”

“Alright, Delta 1, repeat this message exactly:”

Princess Luna was beginning to get nervous. She made her appeal about 2 minutes ago, and the flying creatures had yet to react in any way. Her guards were getting jumpy, and she mentally debated the merits of turning away before-

Shreereeeeeech

Luna’s ears folded back as the piercing screech cut through her train of thought. And then, the creatures began to speak.

“Attention, ‘Princess Luna of Equestria’, our leader has seen fit to grant you asylum within our territories. You will follow us to a landing zone outside the city, where we can begin negotiations regarding the terms of your stay. You will remain within 100 yards of us at all times, or you will be treated as a threat to the Confederacy, and you will be neutralized with extreme prejudice.”

With that, the one of the creatures turned and flew toward the city. The other expectantly hovered in place.

Private Swift Wind tentatively flew to her Princess's side. “Your Holiness? What should we do?”

Princess Luna deliberated for a brief moment, before shaking her head. “We must follow. It is time we met our hosts.”

Author's Note

Behold! A fallout fan fiction! With horses! Colorful ones!

But, in all seriousness, this is the first story I've ever published, so please be gentle.