Fallout Equestria: Mothership Eta

It was disconcerting to have my treatment reliant on aliens -- humans, I’d have to get used to that name -- whose language I couldn’t even understand. But Ema was right about one thing, they were damn good healers. I was used to rationing healing potions or visiting a town sawbones, but the medics here were worlds beyond anything I had experienced. I was relaxed enough that I even fell asleep a couple times while they worked.

I eventually opened my eyes to find Ema peering over the side of my stretcher. “Welcome back to health, Rusty Rivet. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll let you know in a second.” I craned my neck to inspect my wound. I saw a patch of bare skin going halfway around my leg, but nothing indicating I had even been injured. I tried moving the leg. It flexed as I commanded, with no pain!

“Not bad!” I rolled over the side of the stretcher and landed with all four hooves on the ground. “Perfect! Damn, I…”

“Rusty Rivet!” Ema shouted, interrupting me.

“What?” The fuck was she worried about?

“I see you are excited to be returned to health,” Ema continued more calmly, “but did you not think such an impact would be inadvisable, given the recent state of your leg?”

“Felt fine to me. You saying I’m not back to normal?” I swear, if they kept me halfway healed on purpose...

“That is uncertain. My own limited knowledge of healing indicates the regrowth of muscle and tissue can be imprecise. If I were in your situation, I would exercise more caution until I was sure my body was responding the way I wanted.”

I replied by bucking the stretcher as hard as I could. It spun away from me, slamming into the opposite wall. My rear hooves had each left their own dent on its surface, and my leg still felt as if it had never been injured. “How’s that for responding?”

“I suppose I must applaud your… exuberance.” Ema looked at me in a manner that I would describe as “coy” if it came from a pony. But who knew what any of these damn human expressions meant. For all I knew, it indicated Ema was pissed off beyond belief. “Come, gather your belongings, then we will proceed to a place where we can continue our earlier conversation.”

My belongings, as it turned out, were sitting neatly arranged on a low table right next to Ema. My perception really was complete shit sometimes.

I walked over to inspect my stuff. Barding and weapons were there, food, water, ammo… nothing missing! These Cloppers were pretty damn trusting, I thought, as I stepped into my barding. Of course, given that I was still on a mysterious spaceship containing Guros and Celestia knows what other factions, attacking the first friendly humans I’d encountered would be beyond senseless. Even a raider wouldn’t be that dumb.

“All right, Ema, where are we going?”

“It is not far. This recovery room is quite close to my quarters.”

Quarters? Odd that she'd be taking me there, but I didn't see any reason to argue. “Lead on.”

We stepped into a dimly-lit corridor. Not dimly-lit from neglect, like the hallways near the docking bay, but simply from low lighting. The walls were a complete departure from the sterile white of the rest of the ship; they were a dark maroon. I suppose the best word to describe the atmosphere was “intimate.”

As we walked down the passageway, I noticed decorations lining the halls. What looked like homemade drawings and paintings hung evenly spaced between the doorways lining either side of the corridor. I paused a bit to more closely examine one. It showed a pair of earth ponies, nuzzling each other affectionately. A far cry from the gruesome horror present just one level up. I still had my suspicions about these Cloppers, but displays like this were causing them to fade rapidly.

Less than a minute later, Ema stopped in front of a door, which slid open before us. “My quarters, Rusty Rivet. Please, enter, and we can further discuss the situation in which you have found yourself.”

This fancy language of Ema's was getting annoying as fuck. I was starting to miss Dew. At least she could convey a thought using less than a novel’s worth of words.

I stepped through the door, followed closely by Ema. The room appeared cozy, but not confining, at least by my assumptions of human standards. For a pony, it was quite roomy. A bed that could easily fit four ponies, a desk with a terminal, a chair, some containers. The lighting was brighter than in the hallway, but I would still consider it dim.

I didn’t get more than a cursory glance at the room’s contents before Ema spoke again. “Rusty Rivet, now that we have arrived, is there anything I can do to put your mind at ease?”

I turned to face my companion. Again, reading humans was imprecise, but Ema appeared earnest. “Yeah, there’s a few things I need cleared up. But first, just call me Rusty. Hearing the full name sounds like you're pissed off at me.” And hopefully that would cut down on her long-winded speech a bit. I was already having flashbacks to the Whispering Meadow incident.

“Of course, Rusty. What is it I may clear up?”

“You Cloppers seem nice enough, but there’s something I don’t understand. You've got amazing healing tech, and an entire spaceship to fly around in, but it doesn't look like you do anything with it! If you’re so dedicated to helping ponies, why is the wasteland still so fucked? There’s plenty of shit down there for you to do, but I’ve never heard of a single pony that’s had humans help them. It’s like you sit up here, looking down on us, but don't bother doing shit for anypony where you'd have to put any effort into bringing them here!”

Ema’s face turned from earnest to crestfallen. Huh. Maybe human expressions were the same as ponies’. “Rusty, I wish with all my heart that we could assist the wasteland. But our interactions with it are extremely limited. The Guros, who control the entirety of this ship’s surface, are the only ones able to collect and return ponies. And they have never returned a living pony. Only those poor creatures whom they have mutilated and killed, returned to places where other ponies may see the bodies and shudder at the brutality on display. This is why you have never heard tales of us; anypony who has seen a human and returned to the wasteland is in no condition to share her knowledge!"

I guess that made sense. Although, there was certainly plenty of brutality in the wasteland without the Guros adding to it. Maybe they just wanted to add their personal touch?

But getting back to the Cloppers, there were plenty of ponies on this ship that could use healing, judging by the torture room just one level up! I couldn't just let that go. "Does that mean you sit down here and just wait for a pony to show up? You know there's a whole room of flayed ponies upstairs, right?"

Ema sadly shook her head. "We know of several rooms that fit your description, and suspect the existence of more. But as with the wasteland, our interactions with the Guros are likewise limited. They would never allow us to remove a pony from their 'care.' You and your companion are the first in decades to cross the borders between factions on their own.

"Unfortunately, our main method of acquiring ponies to heal is entirely dependent on a previously arranged agreement with the Guros. They allow us to bring aboard a limited number of ponies per year, but they still control the entire acquisition process. We will select an injured or ill pony, and they capture and guard her until she is brought to us. We do our best to collect the ponies that would benefit most from our talents, but our overall impact is, sadly, minimal. And our little ponies are never allowed to return. Many are glad to stay with us, but those that wish to be restored to their homes are prevented from doing so. This is the state of our faction: limited in our efforts and unable to return ponies after our work is complete. We despise the Guros, but are obliged to obey their ordinances; else our access would be removed and no ponies could experience our gifts. Have I sufficiently answered your questions?”

Guros controlling the ponynapping. That made a disturbing amount of sense. Who better to capture and guard creatures than the fuckers who made a game out of restraining and mutilating us?

“A bit wordy for my tastes, but yeah. I get it. So each faction gets a certain number of ponynappings?” Ema cringed at my choice of words, but nodded. “Any idea which faction picked me?”

“You were not chosen by us; of that I am certain. Which other faction chose you I cannot say. But I must also correct you: although other factions engage in ‘ponynapping,’ the creatures we bring aboard are in such a state that it would be more accurate to call their acquisition a ‘rescue.’”

Fair enough. “I think I get it. You want to fix the wasteland, but can’t because the Guros are in the way. And since they control who goes on and off the spaceship, you have to play by their rules, or they’d cut you off completely. That sound about right?”

“Your summary is concise, and completely accurate.”

Could've just said "yes." I sincerely hoped all humans weren't this talkative. Still, I needed to play along until I had a better understanding of the situation I found myself in. “Good. Now, I need to find out more about you Cloppers. There’s got to be something else to you other than just healing ponies, right?”

Ema smirked. “I was hoping you would ask further about us, Rusty. I will answer, but I must ask something of you first. Will you turn and face away from me? There is no trickery involved. Simply put, my explanation will be more effective if I pair it with an illustration.”

An illustration? The fuck was Ema getting at? “And why exactly do I have to turn around?”

“Please, Rusty, trust me. It will be well worth your time.”

“Fine.” I faced the opposite wall. I heard rustling behind me as Ema began to speak.

“I told you earlier that we Cloppers consider pony life to be the greatest of all. This is why we devote ourselves to healing and sustaining ponies. But our appreciation of ponies runs far deeper than simply striving for their betterment. There is a more… physical… aspect to our appreciation.”

As Ema droned on, I started to pick out details of the room I had missed at first. There were drawings of ponies on the walls here as well, but of a slightly different subject matter than the ones in the corridor. Those images were intimate; these were sensual. And was that Princess Luna in the background? Interesting…

“Rusty, please turn around.”

I followed the command, only to realize Ema’s clothing was nowhere to be seen. Where it had been, there was only pale, smooth skin. I knew humans lacked fur on their faces and the ends of their forelimbs, but this was the first time I had confirmation that nearly their entire bodies were hairless!

“I must confess, Rusty, that there was another inaccuracy in my earlier statements. I told you that ‘Clopper’ came from the sound of a pony’s hoof striking the ground. This is true, but incomplete. It also describes a hoof striking a specific part of anatomy, which is the definition that is most relevant to us.” Ema laid down on the bed, and beckoned to me. “Would you like a demonstration?”

I never wanted to leave this place. I was exhausted, and drained, and I had never felt better in my life. The wasteland could go to Tartarus. I was in heaven. Ema’s “demonstration” was both satisfying and educational: in addition to the greatest fuck I'd ever had, I now knew how to differentiate humans based on gender! Best. Learning. Experience. Ever!

“Rusty, I may have committed another indiscretion,” Ema murmured to me. “It is possible I convinced the medical team to apply a… stamina enhancing... treatment during your operation.”

“Fuck, Ema,” I sighed back. “I’m so fucking glad you did.” It must have been hours since we started, and only now was the exhaustion creeping up on me.

“Excellent,” she replied, nuzzling into my shoulder. “I believe your recovery is proceeding quite well.”

“I’d say so,” I agreed, as I reclined further in the bed. “Shit, if I knew this is what recovery was like, I would’ve gotten shot a lot sooner!”

I felt Ema stiffen beside me. Did I say something wrong?

“Rusty, I realize you are attempting to make light of the situation, but it is no laughing matter. Had you been shot and unable to reach us on your own, it is certain that you would never have reached us at all!”

“What do you mean? I thought you were the medics! Wouldn’t the Guros want me patched up so they could have more fun tearing me apart?”

Ema reached over to stroke my mane before answering. “Rusty, beloved, it would seem you have little understanding of the true nature of the factions aboard this ship.”

“Shouldn’t be that surprising. Only found out there were factions in the first place a few hours ago!”

“Hmm. Then perhaps I could explain it to you?”

Was she asking me to volunteer for a lecture? Then again, sitting and listening was about all my body was capable of at the moment. Wasn’t much else I could do to pass the time. And afterwards I’d be ready for round number… shit, I don’t even know. A lot.

“Sure, Ema, lay it on me.”

She began…

I am certain the Guros would love for us to heal any ponies they break. But that is not the nature of our agreement. Any creature that enters the territory of a faction is automatically subject to that faction’s rules. Once they send a pony to us, they have no recourse by which they may demand her return. Likewise, should a pony living with us stray into their territory, she would have no protection from them.

Our dealings with them, therefore, do not involve us healing their wards directly. Instead, we are required to maintain and repair the equipment they use to keep their captives alive. It is a regretful arrangement, but one we must uphold in order for us to have access to the ponies of Equestria. We allow the continued suffering of the poor creatures under their control, and give succor to those we are able to pluck from the ravages below.

But these are only the rules concerning ponies. The rules regarding interactions of humans across factions are far more severe. A trespassing Guro in our territory would, quite simply, never be allowed to leave. The borders are sacrosanct; the punishments for violations extreme. Only with permission of the controlling faction are outsiders allowed to enter. This is why, upon entering the room in which we found you and your companion, you were as safe from the Guros as are the ponies living in your Stables. Had they violated our territory, they would have triggered a crisis not seen since the original rending of this vessel.

The rending deserves its own mention. Our records of all that preceded it are lost; we are not even certain how long ago it occurred. The one certainty is this: at some point in the past, a formerly united crew split among ideological and vocational lines. In the ensuing chaos, territories were claimed, battles were fought, and an unknown amount of time passed before the treaty by which we abide was finalized.

There are, however, clues to the events that took place before the keeping of our own history resumed. Somehow, the audio recordings of ponies describing their entry and life aboard this vessel survived. These recordings exist in a fragmented form, accessible only from certain terminals. We have found several, scattered throughout the areas we control. From them, we have recovered small bits of our past. We know, for instance, that two factions united to become the Cloppers of today. But these fragments of knowledge pale in comparison to what was forever lost, or would be lost should another rending occur. This is why each faction fulfils its own role and remains in its own territory. To do otherwise would spark a new era of conflict that could result in the destruction of this vessel!

I realize my explanation may be overlong, but I believe the context of human history is essential for understanding the state of matters today. I trust, Rusty, that you now understand how your well-being is dependent on which faction’s territory you inhabit, and why the factions themselves are sequestered, with minimal contact except at their respective borders?

“Yep, makes perfect sense to me!” I lied. I had mentally checked out about thirty seconds into her speech. This bitch had apparently never heard of the phrase “long story short.” I was just grateful she was as good at fucking as she was at talking.

Speaking of which… wait, when had she gotten dressed?

“I am glad. Rusty, I am afraid my duties require me to leave. You may accompany me if you wish, or you may explore our territory on your own.”

Let’s see… I could either have my ears talked off for hours or figure out what this place -- which I was certain was going to become my new home -- had to offer. What a dilemma.

“I think I’ll go for the tour.” I slipped out of bed and began pulling on my barding. “Any place I can get some grub around here?”

“The commissary is on this level. Are you able to navigate using our signage?”

I held up my hoof translator in response. She looked at it without any sense of recognition, then back at me. A translator who had no knowledge of something that literally did the same job as her? Interesting.

“I’ll manage,” I told her.

“Excellent.” She reached down to me, placed a small red marker on my barding, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “This insignia will identify you as a friend of the Cloppers, and will allow me to find you should you become lost. I would not wish for us to become separated due to something as trivial as taking a wrong turn.”

“Yep. Don’t want that to happen.”

“Indeed. Please do not wander from our territory, and I will see you after my duties are finished. Farewell, Rusty.”

The cafeteria was a bit of a slog from Ema’s room. I passed a good number of humans on my way there, all of which continued on their way without sparing me a second glance. Just the way I liked it. Conversations were at the bottom of my list of favorite pastimes, and I doubted most of them spoke Ponish anyway. I also saw a few ponies and a griffon, but I managed to tune them out as well.

Through an energetic display of hoof gestures, I was able to indicate to the stocky human in charge of the cafeteria what food I wanted to try. The “Cudgel Sandwich” sounded too interesting to pass up, but it turned out to be just three slices of bread stuffed with various types of meat and vegetables. Still damn tasty though.

I continued my exploration after my meal. Passed a few more ponies without getting dragged into a conversation. Lots more humans; I was starting to get a sense of how to differentiate them based on faces and manes. A room full of desks and terminals, another with rows of seats facing a gigantic terminal screen, plenty of closed doors that my hoof translator told me were bedrooms.

I don't know how long it took, but I eventually made it to a section of the Cloppers' turf where traffic was practically nonexistent. Perfect for a leisurely stroll inspecting the artwork that lined the corridors. The themes hadn't changed: ponies embracing, pegasi (ugh!) and griffons playing in the clouds, a smiling group of all sorts of creatures standing by a river. I happened to glance through a side window as I moved from one set of paintings to another.

That's the only reason I saw Dewdrop.

Dammit. I was in such a good mood too. The artwork had me in a blissful state of mind, and I had to be torn out of it by the one pony I never wanted to see again.

And it appeared she had figured out what Cloppers were really about on her own. She was spread out over a table, with five of them in various states of undress around her. One was energetically thrusting under her tail, while the others were seated, engrossed in the action. It looked like all but the current participant had had their fun.

Dammit again. I had felt pretty good about my time with Ema, and here Dew was working on number five! At least! Way to make me feel inadequate.

And then I saw the restraints holding her to the table. And there was the band holding her mouth shut. And her tear-stained cheeks. Wait. This wasn’t kinky, this was…

Her gaze caught mine through the window. Pain, rage, despair, resignation; all these emotions came spilling out as I looked into her eyes.

My mother’s eyes.

“Oh FUCK no!”

I couldn't tell you what happened next. All I knew was that I was standing on top of Dew's table. The straps holding her down had been ripped out, her muzzle was free, and there were five piles of smoking ash spread around the room. I had her wrapped in a tight embrace. Tears were pouring out of my eyes, and I kept repeating to her, “Dew, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”