Fallout: Equestria - Frontier Justice

“I was thinking, and I gotta ask. You sure about this, boss?”

Of course she was sure. When had she ever not been sure?

“It’s just, ya know, don’t they tend to shoot folks like us on sight?”

Sighing in exasperation, the mare shot back, “Brambleheart, dear, since when do you ever think?”

“Since you stopped paying us a week ago,” the stallion answered bitterly. The impending mutiny in his voice was not lost on the pegasus. She would have to curb that little rebellious streak.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the cream-colored female. These idiots were disposable, and the prospect of having Friendship City’s guards gun them down and tie up her loose ends for her was becoming more and more attractive with every rotted word out of their mouths. “I will handle it, like I always do.

“And was that little spot of pillaging not good enough for you?” she asked. “We are on a tight schedule. You should be thankful that I allowed it at all.”

Baring yellowed teeth, the raider chuckled darkly. The degeneracy of him and his lot was disgusting, but desperate times made for strange bedfellows. “It was some good sport, yeah. Nothing like a good bonfire.”

Burning a hole through his thick skull, the mare fumed internally. “And yet you almost got us captured by the NCR for it.”

“Almost.”

Infuriating. Definitely infuriating. She would have to try not to burst into laughter over his corpse.

“Why are we heading there anyway?” the bramble-colored stallion asked after several moments of apprehension.

“That is my business. You know better than to inquire about my business.”

Kicking a discarded bottle of Sunrise Sarsaparilla into the ravine, the earth pony stallion continued, “I’m just wondering, boss.”

“When we get there,” the unicorn began, “I will be sure that you and your crew get as much liquor and Dash as you like. In exchange, I expect no more repeats of that fiasco.”

Well, that certainly had the effect she had wanted. The subtle shift in posture. The way his eyes greedily glazed over. She knew she had him hooked. Addicts like him were all the same.

So maybe it would be for the best that she not replace him quite yet.

“Deal?”

*** *** ***

“Alright,” the masculine figure looming over me boomed, as the long barrel of the meanest-looking pistol I had ever seen — or half seen, as it were — buried itself in the back of my throat. “Blink once for yes, and twice for nah. Are ya alone?”

Blink. Blink.

The scent of gunpowder and a rough shove forcing a few shameful gags from me, the stallion shot back in his gentle drawl, “Don’t be a smartass. Yes, or no?”

I had to imagine that if I weren’t alone, my pals would have already killed this idiot, so either he was really stupid, or he knew something I didn’t.

Blink.

“Are ya one of Red Eye’s lot?”

Blink. Blink.

I had to admit, even I knew that name. Ma had told sanitized stories about him to keep me and the others under wraps, lest he come for us, but pa told us the ugly truth. Smile like a benevolent king, heart of a monster. Why this damned fool was asking after him threw me for a loop, and I suppose it showed, because an uncertainty pursed the stallion’s lips. Easing up on me a bit, he demanded, a bit softer than before,

“Lemme see yer teeth.”

Ma had always insisted on good brushing habits, but I never thought they would save my life one day. A few moments of having my chompers inspected, a few “hm”s and “hah”s, and I was delivered from the gates of hell by good dental hygiene.

The gun barrel was quickly removed, and for a moment I thought things were looking up, only to get my retinas seared by a sudden, blinding beam of light.

“Celestia’s solar-flaring fucking menopause! Get that shit outta my eyes!”

Loosing a chuckle at my swearing, the stallion apologized as he removed the source of the lights. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Fuckin’ zero to twenty-fucking-thousand candela in an instant! Fuck!”

Needless to say, I wasn’t happy. The chuckling fucker found it hilarious, though.

“Again, sorry ‘bout that. Forgot they might do that.”

“You also seem to’ve forgotten that he’s dead.” I bit back.

“That yer so genuinely ignorant about ‘im’s the only reason I didn’t give ya a second yappin’ hole.”

Rubbing my eyes miserably, I swore I could see the insides of my own eyes. But at least I could see again. Grumbling traitorously, I felt around for my canteen, chilled by the cool desert air, before shoving myself face right into the soft, soothing side of it. Better.

After sitting in awkward silence awhile, I asked, “Didn’t he get, ya know, blown away years ago?”

“Yeah. He did.”

“Then did he come back, or...?”

Finally recovered enough to take a good look at my assailant, my heart started immediately pounding in my chest.

“Fucking powered armor?!”

Sure, he was missing the helmet, and sure, it looked like it had seen better days, but the lucky bastard had an otherwise intact-looking suit. Of powered armor. Complete with battle saddle, in which that long-barreled pistol from earlier sat, and with a shoulder-mounted combat floodlight that he had so thoughtfully diverted downwards after blinding me with it.

“T-forty fi-”

“T-45 frame, with what looks like T-51 joints and servos,” I interrupted giddily. I felt like a filly handed a bag of those little candies we got from time to time from the caravans that’d pass by. A set of power armor was my dream come true. “Probably a later-war model. Find it in a ministry reserves armory?”

The poor stallion looked stunned for a moment, before my enthusiasm seemed to infect him as well. “Yeah. Fillydelphia. How’dja know?”

Giving the old noggin a tap, I replied proudly, “I’ve read a book or two on them.” Understatement of the century. My bedroom wall had been plastered with technical drawings, pre-war posters, and the odd torn-out manual page. I loved power armor, and if I had been born somewhere I could really practice with it, I would have probably ended up trying to build my own.

Grinning playfully, and giving me an affectionate cuff on the shoulder, the metal-suited stallion, who looked only a few years my senior, beamed. “And here I was not two minutes ago, ready to blow yer brains out.”

Wait. Why was that again?

Jerking a hoof towards my general direction of travel, the stranger continued, “Some dumbass raider thought it’d be a bright idea to try and ape the real Red-Eye’s name. You can imagine that hearing it again spooked some ponies real bad, so eventually word got back to ol’ Grimfeathers-”

“Gawdyna Grimfeathers?”

“One and the same.”

“So you’re Talon?” I probed. He didn’t look particularly feathery to me, and I wasn’t about to ask that he start stripping.

“Not quite. After the real Red Eyes got his flank whooped, Gawd up and adopted all the folks he’d put to work. The decent ones, at least.”

“You included?” I asked.

“Me included.”

A mercenary. It still wasn’t the whole picture, though.

“So why sneak up on me in the middle of the night for a tooth inspection? You a dentist, too?”

Giving me an amused look, the earth pony gestures towards my pack, before eventually continuing, “Every single bit of that screams NCR.” It was true. Every bit of kit was NCR-issue, or had their mark somewhere on it. If I had ever gotten stopped by anypony with half a brain, they would make the same assumption this stallion did.

“I assumed that since ya were traveling alone, you weren’t one of ‘em, and were making off with their stuff to sell to Lil Red Eye’s folks, that you were a deserter, in which case I may as well give ya the shakedown anyways, or one a’ that poor sod’s colts, too dumb to be subtle in yer trying to fit in.”

“And why my teeth?” I asked.

“Cannibalism ain’t easy on the mouth, and Pink Eye’s folk are big on Rage. Tend to lose teeth during whatever fool infighting they get up to, and pro’lly most tellin’ of all, it turns your gums blue.”

Cannibal raiders. I was starting to look forward to my immediate future less and less as I heard more and more.

“Why are you out here, and who are you, anyways?” he interrupted. Apparently realizing his mistake at the same time I did, the earthy-toned stallion extended a steel-clad hoof. “Pecan Pie.”

“Smoky Mountain,” I replied as I shook the hoof of my new best pal. “I’m looking for a group of raiders that were on their way through here.”

“Wouldn’ta been the way yer going. Unless they’ve got more bullets than sense, they’da headed a few days East to Fillydelphia to catch the train.”

“Pardon?”

“The train.” Pecan’s face scrunched up, confused. “You never seen a train before?”

I hadn’t, actually. Living so far South-west of everything meant that we got every advancement or rediscovery a few years later than everypony else. I knew what trains were, knew they used to be hugely important to the more developed parts of the old world, but to think that somepony had gotten them working again? That they were routine? I had to see that.

“You really are a bumpkin, huh?” he teased. “They got two train lines running nowadays. One from Fillydelphia to Manehattan, mostly moving food and scavenged up goods back and forth, and another from Manehattan to Junction City, mostly moving NCR folk back and forth from camps, and gettin’ scavengers out into the juiciest parts of the wastes that haven’t got a name scratched in ‘em already.

“If ya head thataways, I’m sure ya’ll find whoever yer lookin’ for a bit easier than wanderin’ around out here.”

Faith in my mission restored, I asked, “And you?”

“I’m headin’ that way anyways. Got a hot tip that I’ll be able to catch ‘em if I hop the train to Manehattan.” Grinning, Pecan added, “Easier to bag him with a couple of his boys as he steps off a train instead of tryin’ t’ ‘sault his camp head on.”

“Good plan.”

It was strange. I had only been off the farm a few months, and hadn’t ever taken a life, but here I was talking about it with a stranger like it was the most normal thing there was.

Well, it was, I reminded myself. Even though things had started looking up in the past decade, ponies still fought and died on the regular. This place was far from safe, and ponies like the ones who had taken my home and family from me were the reason why. Even if I couldn’t undo what was done, I could return the favor. And if I made the world safer in the process? All the better.

“Wanna tag along?” the stallion asked after several moments of my awkward introspection.

“And pass up an opportunity to get a good look at that?” I joked, eyes greedily drinking in the pre-war masterwork that was the stallion’s power armor. I couldn’t wait to get my hooves on it, even for just for a moment. “You’d have an easier time getting a Steel Ranger to smile.”

*** *** ***

“You sure about this?” I asked, as Pecan Pie tucked the sack of caps back into the the armored section around his tail. I hadn’t even considered that somepony could use that for storage.

“Ticket price is chump change, and havin’ some extra eyes’ll be useful.”

The trip to Fillydelphia hadn’t been particularly eventful. Pecan had explained a bit more about himself and his relationship with the Talons, especially Gawdyna, and we scared off some lurking scavengers that had followed us. No sign of Red Eye’s gang. Pecan said he preferred it that way.

“Jus’ remember not t’ get too involved,” he instructed. Rapping a hoof against the sturdy exterior of his powered armor, the stallion grinned. “Don’t wantcha’ gettin’ a knife in the gut fer me.”

I didn’t intend to.

Reluctantly checking my weapon in with a bored-looking stallion who immediately disappeared with it into the trailing car, a signed tag dangling off the sorry hunk of metal, I sat by the passenger compartment waiting for Pecan. He’d gotten no end of suspicious looks as we bought our tickets on account of his armor, and as I looked back, I noticed him angrily fighting with the customs agents over what I had to assume was allowing him continue to wearing it.

From what I could gather from his loud drawl, this hadn’t been the case last week as he’d headed out here, and the anxious-looking grass green earth pony colt he was bearing down on was, apparently, a “no-good, sugar-spined horseshoe-licker.” Fully prepared for this to last until the train left in an hour, I sighed.

“What a hick, huh?”

Catching the cloaked feminine form with the corner of my eye, I smiled, answering, “He’s just like that sometimes.”

Turning more towards the small-talker, I continued, “And I haven’t been with him very long, but he seems like a decent sort.” She smiled, and with a gentle flick of her head, shed the hood.

She was definitely pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous like Marigold, but cute. The kind of cute my little sister would’ve been, had she gotten the chance to grow up.

Evidently I wasn’t as good at hiding my emotions as I thought, because the sky blue mare’s amused smile gently faded. Turning back to the amusing sight of Pecan and a new, livelier mare arguing over his armor, she noted glumly, “You too, huh?”

What?

While I was left confused as to what she meant, the mare stood and slowly plodded away, her head held just a bit too low to be normal. Had I upset her somehow? What had I said? And that’s when I realized. The gentle bulge in the coat around her middle. The outline of the shape.

She was a pegasus.

There were never very many in the wastes before the day the sky opened back up, only the odd Dashite or descendent of one, but after the Enclave made their presence felt and had their noses bloodied, they’d become a much more common sight. Some were motivated by disdain for the leadership of the Enclave and left seeking freedom. Some wanted to make amends for what they’d done, and brought important technologies with them as a peace offering. Others just wanted something new.

But they all had to beg for forgiveness. Every last mare, colt, and filly. And it wasn’t always granted. Sometimes it just couldn’t be. Sometimes even when faced with the pointlessness of it, you just had to keep hating the pony that took everything from you until your dying breath.

I could understand the feeling.

Watching her go, the cold tap of a metal-clad hoof on my shoulder rocked me back to attention. It was Pecan, and apparently, he’d won the argument.

“Ready to go?”

Eyes following the downtrodden mare as she climbed aboard, I answered, rather bothered by how quickly the exchange had turned sour, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

*** *** ***

Click clack

Click clack

I had always thought that trains would be a noisy, hellish experience to ride. Something about a many-ton monster of steel and fire left me under the impression it would be uncomfortable, but the truth was far from it.

Click clack

Click clack

The rhythmic sounds of ties being crossed and the pistons pumping was soothing, not annoying. I felt as if I could have taken a nap, and I never did back home. There had always been some interruption.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

Speaking of which.

The inertia burying me in my seat, a loud, annoyed groan went up amongst the other passengers. I admit I may have joined in. Pecan, however, looked and sounded more anxious than annoyed.

“Aw, hell.”

Crack! Crackcrackcrack!

Joining him at the window, and peering out, a large group of unkempt and often-high raiders scrambled out of ditches and from behind bushes to hop aboard the stopped train. They didn’t seem to be in any rush, and the sparse smatterings of gunfire further up near the higher-class compartments, when compared to just how many there were, made it clear that they weren’t exactly having a hard time. If the fear for my own life wasn’t growing by the second, I would’ve felt bad for the armed guards who’d likely just gotten shot.

“What do they want?” came a fearful question from other passengers.

Muttering under his breath, loud enough that only I would hear it, Pecan answered. “This is a passenger train. There’s only one thing on it worth stealing for how much heat this’ll bring down on ‘em from the NCR.”

“What?” I asked.

“The passengers.”