Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

On the way to Stable 68, I stop at a store and sell the loot from the battle with the raiders and buy some warm clothes for Flow, instead of the rags she wears and the cold she's trying to hide it in. Flow is eternally grateful to her owner for his generosity.

I also purchase every possible type of map of Vanhoover Wasteland, as well as a map of the city itself, from a specialized store. I don't study them in detail, just glance at them, because the names don't tell me anything yet.

Despite the rules that allow for higher speeds, I drive Bear slowly, examining the well-restored surroundings... at least the main streets. The alleys are not in the best condition. Traffic is plentiful here.

The buzz of life is astounding. I've only seen something like this in the capital of NCR, New Reno, and Vault City.

I ask Flow about different aspects of the city life.

"How many security stations are there in the city, like the one Captain Ice Ground runs?"

"Four," I hear the immediate reply.

"Where are they?"

"One in the center of town on Mane Street, the other three near the main city gates: South, North, and East."

"Is that the only passageway into town?"

"No, there's also the Railroad Gate, which is on the railroad tracks."

"I heard on the radio," I begin, "when I was approaching the city, about the Five Families. Tell me about them in a few sentences."

"Which one should I start with?"

"Well... Remind me, please, because I've forgotten."

"Softhooves, Falcon, Meadows, Steelmane, and Waterfall."

"Tell me in the order you mentioned them."

"The Softhooves family decorates interiors: they make furniture, curtains, paintings, and other things. They also make clothes. On top of that, they own most of the casinos and brothels in the town."

Casinos and brothels... I bet they make most of the family's profits. Gambling and sex are easy to manipulate. The basic desires of humans... and ponies or griffons. I think the interior furnishing business is kept alive by profits from casinos and brothels, because there's not much interest in that in the Wasteland, so they pay reluctantly. It's more likely that it's the casinos and brothels they're setting up to attract attention.

"The Falcon family builds, restores and sells weapons and ammunition."

Guns and ammunition are important... but what are they for in such a safe and impregnable city?

"What is the need for so many guns that they are run by a separate family?"

"Hunting grounds, hunting, and protecting caravans from Crater raiders."

I forgot that next to Vanhoover is Green Island, with exotic animals, mutants, and plants by the standards of the Wasteland.

"Meadows..." I hint.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry... The Meadows family is into medicine. They make medicines and drugs, and are in the business of curing illnesses and sores."

Drugs... Classic of life. No society is without drugs. You can't get rid of addiction that easily: once you give in to temptation, you run the risk of getting addicted. It's hard and expensive to treat. There is one family that does it all here. I suspect that they have created many schemes to get ponies and griffons hooked on drugs, and then either sell more and more doses to them, or engage in treatment for addiction for a huge sum of money. Both are financially beneficial to the family. Selling is profitable in the long run, and treatment is profitable in the short run because of the cost of treatment.

"The Steelmane family does all kinds of repair stuff. They repair all sorts of machinery, vehicles... like yours."

"There's nothing that can fix this junk," I mutter. Seeing that Flow has fallen silent, I ask her to continue her explanation.

"This family is also improving existing pre-war machinery. They recreate it and try to adapt it to the city's needs. And they do mine management."

Simply put, this is what the Steel Rangers or the Brotherhood of Steel would look like if they were working for the common good in the settlements and towns of the Wasteland, with no power armor at their disposal. Well, and without a dose of militarism.

I wonder what the Steelmane family and the Steel Rangers think of each other? I mean, they're focused on the same things. If I were a Steel Ranger, I'd do my best to cooperate with this family in some way, but they're too conservative for that, and with negative attitude toward slave labor, with which I, however, stand in solidarity.

"And the last family," I say.

"The Waterfall family is in charge of supplying food, water, and electricity to the town."

Oh, that's the essentials of the town's existence. There's not much to think about.

"Where do they get their food, water and electricity from?"

"They get water from the river to the north, which has a small dam that generates electricity, and they get food from farms and greenhouses near the same rivers and dam."

Everything is close to each other. The water source is needed for farming and the electricity is needed to keep the greenhouses at the right temperature. I think there's some sort of small empire there that provides for itself—well, and a huge city on top of that.

"I suppose..." I begin, "most of the slaves work in the factories and businesses of the Five Families?"

"Yes."

"And what do they do?"

"Laborious and monotonous work."

A drudgery routine that even someone who can't read or write can perform.

"Can't robots and automated factory machines do the job?"

Watcher told me that before the war, Vanhoover was the second Fillydelphia in terms of factories and plants. So why not fully automate the process as it was before the war? Skills and knowledge, judging by the appearance of the city, are plentiful.

The next moment it finally dawned on me why the city still uses slave labor.

"Not enough power," Flow says.

"Is it that bad with that?"

"I guess. I don't know... I only say what others say."

I don't believe it. Wasn't the dam handling all the city's needs before the war? Or was the city in this region dependent on several power plants that are now destroyed and not to be rebuilt? Especially nuclear (or its equivalent) power plants, which unattended could explode and become a source of radiation. I think Vanhoover was dependent on the processing of gems from which energy was extracted. These power plants eventually exploded, and now there is nothing left of them but craters and radiation.

I believe the Steelmane family and Waterfall family should work closely together to solve the electricity problem. If the electricity issue is solved, then slavery will be phased out as well. Cheap energy, robots and automated machines... Forced labor will become unprofitable. I think more than a hundred years of the city's existence have calculated all sorts of options. In that case, getting rid of slavery is quite possible. Just convince everyone that slavery is simply unprofitable. For capitalist and practical types, this would be a powerful argument.

Only... to make changes in society, to eliminate slavery as we know it, one must take responsibility, and I don't want to get involved just yet. By all appearances, things are on their way to getting rid of slavery. I hope so, at least. However, if—or when—Prince decides to expand his influence beyond the city, forced labor will become relevant again. He will send slaves there, and use them to rebuild the relatively damaged infrastructure. He will continue to use them as cheap labor until the factories, plants, and robots are rebuilt. That's probably what Red Eye in Fillydelphia wants to do.

"What do they teach slaves?" I ask.

"Simple things in different directions: cooking, cleaning, rules of ethics, working with a hammer or screwdriver."

"Is there any way a slave can get freedom?"

Flow's pink eyes look frightened, as if she sees me as a scary and ugly monster.

"Freedom is a responsibility. Not everyone deserves freedom. Freedom has to be earned. Prove that you're capable of being free."

"What about the raiders? Aren't they free?"

"They don't know how to be free."

"Why?"

"Because they only consume, live for themselves, have no control over themselves, harm themselves. They have accomplished nothing compared to the city. They create nothing. They're parasites. They don't deserve freedom. They deserve either slavery or death."

These sound like learned phrases.

"To be able to be free means—to be able to be useful?"

"Yes. To take responsibility for your own actions and for the lives of others. To take care of yourself. To take care of others. To take care of slaves. To care for the common good."

"Do you like being a slave?"

"Yeah..." she replies. There are mixed feelings in her answer. She seems to want to serve, but... there's something subtle about it. I can't figure out what it is yet.

"What does it mean to you to be a slave?"

"To be useful to those who are useful to society. To help a master in everything, to do whatever a master says without delay. A master deserves freedom because a master knows how to be free. A master knows best what to do... You know best. I will do whatever you say to be useful to you."

"In that case, you're already useful, which means you deserve to be free, don't you?"

"I don't deserve to be free, like a master..." the pink earth pony tries to act as firmly as possible, but dejection and sadness slip into her voice.

"Why is that?"

"I can't be self-sufficient. I don't know how to make decisions and take care of myself, just follow orders. Masters, too, are restricted in their freedom by the law and the rules of the city; they do not have complete freedom. A slave is useful as long as they follow the orders of those who are more useful than they are. A master is more useful than a slave, and a master has a certain freedom. A King is more useful than a master, a King has even more freedom. Prince... is more useful than all of them."

And so Prince can do whatever he wants... or whatever he sees fit. With the development of the city, he has made many practical decisions.

Yeah, well... The slaves are well brainwashed. They make them unable to be self-sufficient and then punish them with slavery. And the clever way they came up with it: the slaves can't even realize the absurdity of the situation because of... a twisted, imposed worldview. The death penalty for a failed suicide attempt sounds far less absurd.

The slaves are told that there is no such thing as freedom in its fullest sense. There are limitations everywhere. The slaves have the most restrictions, a master not so much, a King has almost no restrictions. And Prince... he answers to no one: he, in fact, has no limitations except his own. Hierarchy of usefulness, my ass.

"So... back to the original question," I mutter. "How can a slave get freedom after all. You said it had to be earned. How?"

"A master will teach his slave to be a master. The slave will be able to live independently, work independently, be useful, and not harm anyone."

Teaching Floц to be independent... I can't do that. It would take too much time.

"What other ways are there?"

"Win a hundred fights in the Arena. Not necessarily in a row."

"What's the Arena? Who else can participate, and what are the main rules?"

"The usual place for one-on-one fights. But there are other kinds of fights, like team fights. Everyone can take part—slaves and masters. No killing. A slave has no right to kill another slave. If killed, the master of the killed slave is compensated according to the value of the slave, a slave who kills another slave is erased ten previous victories. There are also tournaments for a large reward. Some tournaments are for masters and others are for slaves."

Speaking of rewards...

"I take it... there are bets on the duels?"

"Yes."

I'll have to take a look. See if it's really possible to earn caps on this. What are the basics behind it? Regularity, mathematical calculation, the specifics of each fighter, or just plain luck?

"If a slave wins a total of a hundred fights, does that mean the slave are worthy of freedom?"

"Yes. It means a slave knows how to fight for self without killing anyone. But in the case of five accidental kills, the slave is permanently banned from fighting for own freedom. Lifetime disqualification."

If you don't know how to fight for your life without killing, you're unworthy. How subtle... Considering that in the Wasteland you almost always get killed in self-defense.

The engine rattles, makes a few muffled pops, squeaks, and quiets. Flow is startled by such noises. She's especially frightened by my angry look, and she huddles in the seat.

***

The Mane Street. A wide street lined on both sides by luxurious places. The neon colored signs, the catchy and inviting names, the music from everywhere, the noise of passing ponies and griffons.

They all wear costly clothing and have at least one guard, judging by the armor or weapons they carry. Vehicles and carriages look presentable and stylish. They make my Bear look like a pile of shit on a fine dining table.

Flow can't help but marvel at the views, too. Apparently she's never been here before.

We head toward a structure with a sign shimmering blue and yellow, 'Stable 68. Residence of Kings'.

Prince! I'm coming for you!

They should let me in. I finally found the crashed King as I drove into a part of what is considered the Vanhoover Wasteland. He had many useful items on him, including the unique rifle, and the gold card with a pony skull and crown emblem. There was also the note with instructions from Prince.

I only hope that I will not be suspected of killing the King.

As we cross the threshold of the building, we are greeted by a griffon clad in heavy black metal armor—the same King's symbol on his shoulder. The armor is enormous, most of all reminiscent of a power armor—it looks like that's what it is. There are two machine guns hanging on the sides of the griffon. A heavily-armed enemy, and a very serious one at that.

What an imposing griffon standing in front of us... Well, I'm used to the sight of griffons in the Reserve.

He's got two big turrets guarding the lobby. Large is an understatement, for they were two to three times the size of the average pony. They appeared to be a special kind of turret, each with a protected designator that was now difficult to break through, and two machine guns, one seemingly gunpowder-powered and the other energy-magic. Surely the sizes suggest thick armor, which is almost impossible to penetrate.

Shit. Only the equivalent of a .50-caliber round or an armor-piercing .308-caliber round would penetrate such a turret. Better not give them a reason to attack me, or I won't get away with it.

"That's right," the griffon pronounces. I could swear that Flow behind me is shrinking into herself at the sight of this griffon, ready to hide under my tail. Apparently she knows Kings firsthand, as these masters earn even more respect because of their self-sufficiency and responsibility. "I don't recommend you get into any brawls here."

"Only on a bet," I say jokingly, looking at the turrets, and then looking at the griffon. "Who are you, exactly?"

"My name is Walnat, in case you don't know. What are you doing here and what's your name?"

"Daniel. And this is the place where I forgot my title of a King," I reply with a faint smirk.

"Daring a King?" the griffon marvels, and then smirks faintly back. "You've got balls, only it probably won't work with others. I haven't even heard of you. How are you going to become one of us? And what makes you think I'm going to let you through?" he asks waitingly. I think again of dead Blackwater and his rifle.

"Well," I begin, pulling out Whispering Night, the note and the gold-plated card with the King's symbol, "I have special... papers that allow me to pass."

"I don't see what..." he quiets as soon as he notices my weapon and card. "That's an interesting rifle you have, just like..." Walnat halts mid-sentence, as if he remembers he's seen this rifle before. "Where did you get it?" he frowns, feeling the tension in his voice.

"Found it on the body of some stallion that crashed on a road transport; his body had already been nibbled by a yao guai."

As I tell what happened, I wonder if it was a good idea to tell the truth. Even though he's a King, and I'm not really afraid of him in general, I'm not going to lie to him about what happened yet. Walnut reads the note and sighs sadly, and then looks at me as if he's evaluating me. There's no suspicion on his face, just a slight look of disappointment.

"He was an entertaining guy," Walnut says, and hands me the note with the unusual card. After receiving it, I put it in my pocket. "And he's only just joined our ranks. You see..." he looks at me waitingly. I mentally sigh. Doesn't he remember my name?

"Daniel," I say, rolling my eyes.

"That's right. You see, Daniel—even those who have proven themselves to be combat-ready can be found dead in some ditch around the corner by making just one little mistake. Mind you, I've never heard of you. Is there any King or anyone else who will vouch for you?"

"No."

"Your 'papers' won't be of much interest to Redstone or Prince," Walnut smiles. "You just happen to be there, there's nothing special about it."

"I came from another region of the Wasteland not long ago. Does that mean anything to you?" I ask, looking him determinedly in the eye.

"Really?" he wonders. "That changes things up a bit. You don't look like a Hoofland fanatic... since you have guts to come here. It was for proper information from other corners of the Wasteland that Prince sent the guy on this mission. Okay. For that, I think Redstone or even Prince will give you some attention. Come on, I'll show you out."

"You're going to leave the lobby unattended like that?" I ask, pointing to the entrance as we move toward the back of the building.

"Who says it's unattended?" the griffon smirks half-turned, then, without looking back, utters. "There are turrets in there. They only allow Kings and Prince through. They won't let you in without one of them as an escort, and the lobby hall is sealed so you can't leave it. If you fire your guns, the turrets go into action. Nobody goes beyond the lobby hall except us. They might leave a note on that table saying they need to hire a King. If any of us feel like a part-time job, we can use the notes to find potential employers and talk to them."

Going deep underground, we find ourselves in a concrete room, at the end of which is the entrance to the Stable 68, represented by a massive steel door. The entrance is unlocked, allowing free passage in and out of the bunker.

Inside Stable 68 I do not encounter any live guards—only an automated security system, mostly consisting of turrets and Mr. Gutsies with the logos of Kings. I can tell by the clean corridors that the Stable is well looked after, there aren't even any stains. I wonder who does the cleaning? Probably the cleaning robots: I doubt there are live staff in the form of slaves involved.

Flow follows me closely, like a shadow. Where I go, she goes. As she walks through the corridors of the Stable, she looks around with interest, gazing excitedly at the spaces, which are in a pleasant and clean condition. I take it that slaves don't get in here very often, or, if there are live staff after all, they don't leave the bunker.

In the atrium below, I see a couple of Kings chatting casually amongst themselves, playing cards, smoking cigarettes and sipping premium alcoholic beverages. None of them are dressed in any kind of armor, just free and light clothing, but they have their guns with them—expensive and well maintained. They actively discuss various topics, joke, laugh, listen to music from the jukebox, and play card games. An atrium has always been a public place where the inhabitants of the underground bunker came together to hear the latest news, gossip, and other everyday things from their friends or acquaintances. Its essence does not seem to have changed to this place.

As I walk past the Kings, I feel their furtive glances on my skin. Some have mild interest, and others have haughty smirks. Flow shrinks from their gazes and comes closer to me, hiding to my right side, as if hoping to hide from the attention of such serious persons.

Once in the administration section, we enter the room where I assume the office of the head of the Stable's security is supposed to be. It is, but not quite. Behind a desk with papers and a terminal sits a stone-colored unicorn with a blood-red mane. He is guarded by two turrets standing in the corners. When he sees us, he smiles and turns to Walnut.

"Who are you bringing to us, Walnut? Another one who wants the warm rays of glory, eh?" he mutters in a calm tone and casts an appraising glance over me.

"Well, that's what he says," he replies flatly. "I don't give a shit what they come here for, Redstone. I don't even know what he is. All I know is that he came from the eastern regions of the Wasteland and found the corpse of a rookie Prince sent there—Blackwater."

Redstone's face shows surprise and curiosity, and then frustration and disappointment.

"I had a feeling something bad was going to happen to him..." he reflects. "What's wrong with him..." Redstone doesn't have time to finish, as his question is interrupted by the suddenly opening doors and the intruder's question.

"Who are you and what's your business?" the stranger asks in a calm and smooth tone; his voice makes a stirring impression on me.

I turn to the stranger. A snow-white unicorn with a golden mane, dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo with a white shirt and black tie. On the front breast pocket of his tuxedo is a fake red rose. He is slightly larger than me in size. The unicorn looks down at me with an interested stare, like some kind of insect, but I think it's his height, not his attitude toward me.

Walnut and Redstone are comfortable with the sudden appearance of this pony, unlike Flow, who feels so lost at the sight of him that she almost hides in a corner. She doesn't know what to do with herself, but she somehow manages to control her emotions and just stands there as a stone statue: not a muscle in her body moves; she lowers her head, afraid to look up and at least look at his hooves. It feels as if she is afraid to take a loud breath and therefore does not even breathe. The slave's respect for him is off the charts; in fact, he's the First Pony in town. The most responsible of all.

Prince.

Just about how I imagined him to be. With a handsome and smooth facial outline. His blue eyes express no emotion other than interest and the usual curiosity. He has an incomparably powerful physique. His appearance can be compared to the appearance of... the very standard of respect that suddenly arose in me in his presence. His face and his gaze are imprinted with a century of experience ruling a huge city.

I'm almost speechless from the suddenness, but I manage my emotions in time.

"My name is Daniel. Daniel Evans. I came from the east about a week ago," I answer calmly, looking confidently into Prince's eyes.

"Your main activity?" His interest in me increases after I answer his question.

"Everything from simple mail delivery to professional mercenary work. For a nominal fee, of course."

"Let's go to my cabinet and talk," he says briefly and is about to leave as he crosses the threshold, but Walnut calls out to him.

"Prince, you don't know why he's here and..." he begins, but Prince interrupts him and without looking back tells him, "If he's here, there must be a reason you allowed him to pass. I'll find out the details myself. Blackwater is dead, judging by his rifle here," Prince says and leaves the office. The door closes behind him. I hear Flow sigh in relief, as if a huge stone had fallen from her soul.

He quickly realizes what's what as soon as he sees me.

"Don't just stand there," Redstone says in a sudden, commanding tone behind me. "Go talk to Prince, your slave stays here."

I nod silently and look at Flow: she raises a heavy look at me, but nods that she has been instructed to stay here for now. I leave Redstone's office and follow Prince.

Entering the Prince's private cabinet, which used to be the Overseer's office, I was expecting something like things made of precious metals. A special, luxurious cabinet decoration, a throne, or other pleasures of life that the powerful masters of Vanhoover enjoy, like a pleasure slave, for example.

None of this is to be found in Prince's study.

A modest cabinet with the usual semicircular desk and a red armchair, a couple of terminals, a few lockers and chests of drawers in the standard Stable entourage along the walls, two elegant chairs with a view of the atrium and a small round table with an ashtray on it, modestly placed between the chairs; a huge dark-colored carpet covering the entire floor of the cabinet; vases with fresh flowers—I can smell their scent in the air.

The most noticeable and remarkable thing in the cabinet is a huge painting that hangs in front of the large desk and chair. The picture is framed by a golden frame with patterns in the form of roses and petals. On the canvas half-turned depicts the head of a milk-colored unicorn with a copper-red mane, at her neck I can see the top part of a black outfit with red inserts. The frame is engraved with 'Queen Vermilion Rose' in an elegant and sweeping script.

This is the most beautiful mare I have ever seen.

Prince sits looking out the window at the atrium.

"Sit down," he says in a muffled voice, without turning to me, and with his front foot he points to the chair beside him. I obey. There is a silver poker chip on the table beside me. It's an interesting piece of decor. What does it mean?

"Daniel Evans, huh?" he asks rhetorically without turning around. I focus my attention on him. "Tell me: why are you here, what is your objective?" he asks as if he knows the answer.

"To become a King."

"What made you take this step?"

That's quite a question. And really, why would I want to become a King? The only thing I'm interested in is finding the Project Dome. A King's influence is very great in the city, it will increase my chances in finding the key cards and where to apply them.

"I won't lie. No doubt I admire this city. There is nothing like it in the Equestrian Wasteland that I have ever seen. Reputation and connections are very important here. Using a King's privileges, I can find what I am looking for."

"And what are you looking for?" He looks into my eyes. It feels as if they can see my lies, but I defy his gaze.

"I don't know yet, but it may well be the answer to many of my questions," I answer dimly.

"You understand that a great responsibility rests on the shoulders of Kings. Are you ready to accept it? Are you ready to be responsible for the fate of the entire city?"

Good question. I try my best to avoid that kind of thing. I don't need it. I just want to go home, but right now I can't do without connections and reputation. I hope I can avoid making any serious decisions. I'll mix a lie with the truth.

"I don't know... I'm new here and don't really know how things stand."

"I see you've already purchased a slave. That means you're not afraid to take responsibility for others."

No! I'm only temporarily looking after her. I don't want to be responsible for other folks' lives. Let alone babysit them. I'll give Flow to those who will take the best care of her: I think to Stable 53, where the local freedpony from slavery are hiding out.

"I guess," I slyly say. "I still don't fully understand what all this responsibility and slavery is about."

Prince sighs heavily.

"Okay. Tell me about what's going on in the east for now."

I tell Prince what I've heard from Homage and what I've learned myself along the way. In short, I give him the information I know personally, and I don't lie. I tell him about the Steel Rangers, Red Eye and Fillydelphia, about Goddess and her alicorns. About settlements like New Appleloosa, Tenpony Tower, and many others I learned about from Homage. Prince listens attentively to my story, but the only thing that looks like he's really interested is Red Eye and his army, which numbers more than a thousand mercenaries and is growing rapidly. Prince is not surprised by the existence of the alicorns, but he is surprised by the number of them.

I speak of Red Eye on the basis of information given to me by Homage, since I have not been there myself. I speak of the alicorns from my own experience in battle with them. As the story ends, Prince is immersed in thought; he hasn't asked before, only occasionally inserting a few comments of his own—he absorbs the information like a sponge, staring at a point in front of him.

"The Wasteland," Prince finally says, "is changing rapidly... An army of many thousands of slave masters and the alicorns, and they are significantly affecting the current political climate."

"What do you intend to do?"

"We will have to send another of Kings there. The situation is not simple, and it will take a long time to resolve. Thank you for the information, Daniel. I think you have questions, too—but bear in mind, I don't have much time left."

"Is that why you maintain Vanhoover's intimidating reputation? You jam radio signals. So as not to attract potential threats to the place?" I ponder aloud.

"You answered your own assumptions."

"What about the tower? The Vanhoover Jammer Tower. Was it designed to do that?

"The mountain ranges prevent radio signals from spreading, but not completely. There's a huge, high-tech tower in the mountains north of Vanhoover. It was built before the war. It had a purpose, still unknown to us, but we learned that it could be used as a huge relay, amplifying radio signals many times to spread them. A little later we found out that it could be used in reverse."

"And before the jamming thing was turned on, there was a relationship with the outer Wasteland, wasn't there? With Hoofland as the nearest region."

"Yes," Prince hums. "The fanatics could have gone at us with a 'holy' war or something. We had to teach them a lesson, give them a warning. Show them your grin, our teeth."

"What kind of lesson?"

Prince looks at me with an unfazed and cold gaze.

"The kind that made an impression on the Steel Rangers, too."

That's it, I get the hint. Don't mention it. There's something mysterious about this unicorn. What power hides within him? What drives him? He's ruled Vanhoover for over a hundred years. So many interesting questions to ask! But I must somehow lead him to the question of Dodger, to at least know where he is, and then think of his release.

"You have ruled Vanhoover for a long time, judging by the words of many. You may even be immortal. Why would you want to rule the city, what's the point?"

Prince casts a thoughtful glance at the picture of the beautiful unicorn.

"I am protecting her legacy. The legacy of the first and only Queen. She wanted to rebuild society, she put this responsibility on her back. I carry on her work."

"Yes, but... why? Weren't there other purposes?"

"I don't see any other purpose." He turns to me. "I am, as you said, an immortal being. What else am I to do but rebuild society?"

"In the past, the society your now-deceased Queen aspired to was without slavery."

"I know."

"Did you wish to rebuild society on the suffering of others?"

"Equestria and the pony races before Celestia's rule were far from as friendly as you think. So good things were often based on anguish, pain, and suffering."

"How do you know that?"

"For more than a hundred years, I've had plenty of time to delve into history. Equestria has gone through different stages. And there was enough darkness before Celestia. Now... another darkness has come. Slavery is necessary. There are too many useless ponies who don't want to be useful, but must become so. We must work for the common good."

"And slavery is the solution?" I ask.

"And who said it would be easy to rebuild society? At this point it is the only way to get the ponies to work together. The lack of rules and the institution of law and order has turned them into beasts and selfish creatures. Let them be responsible—and if they can't, let others manage their lives."

"Again, why would you want that?" I insist.

"Imagine that. You have two favorites. One is a beloved plant, and the other is a beloved dog. Which one would you save first?"

"The dog... He's a much more complex organism than a plant."

"Exactly. The Queen has turned the Vanhoover into a complex organism that I have come to love. Consider him my adopted foal. Consider me his guardian. But I have watched him grow over the years, I want our foal to be a pillar of world rebirth. Would you want your children to become self-sufficient, to achieve their goals?"

Huh... I understand the feelings that drive him. A sense of attachment. He became attached to the Queen. She did something for him. Perhaps she loved him. Perhaps he loved her first. And at the same time he feels superior to the others. Like a father raising a child... or foal.

"If I wanted foals, yes."

"That's what I want for Vanhoover, too. I want Vanhoover to be the most important force in the Wasteland. To dictate his own rules, laid down by us. Not to depend on anyone, to learn to fix his own problems."

"Is that what you created Kings for? Is that why the Five Families exist?"

"Kings as a group of individuals were created by the Queen. And the Families came into being on their own. Ponies have lived in herds since prehistoric times, but then that turned into families. They do everything themselves, compete with each other, try to outdo each other, thereby driving progress. They solve problems themselves, but..." his horn glows blue: a haze of magic envelops and brings a silver chip to his brooding eyes, "...sometimes you have to intervene personally when all the Queen's efforts risk turning to dust. For example, when Families get carried away in their conflicts. There used to be more Families, you know. There's a lot that can destroy a city—first and foremost itself. And... There are still forces that are beyond my understanding."

He throws a brief glance at me, then puts the silver chip back where it belongs.

"You know," he ponders with a faint smile on his lips. "You got me good at dialogue. A rare talent. Perhaps there's something in your voice. Perhaps it's in your curious look. Perhaps it's because no one has dared to ask me so many questions in a long time."

Even so... It's hard to believe that at least a century-old and immortal being who dives headfirst into history and does his best to protect a huge city would so easily succumb to simple manipulation. Spells out his motives. Or does everyone know his motives—but then why is he wasting his time on me? Is he testing me? Or does he test everyone this way? Is he trying to brainwash me? He doesn't brainwash all tourists, after all. I don't think so...

Or maybe he keeps talking to me and answering my questions, because no sooner have I arrived in town than I immediately declare that I want to be a King. Brave in his eyes, ambitious. Or is this his way of thanking me for the information I've provided? A barter, an exchange of information.

"I think I could use your help with the interrogation. You might be able to rattle him. "

"Who?" I ask, already knowing who we're talking about.

"He works for the runaway slaves we've been looking for since before the families emerged in Vanhoover. Will you help?"

"What do I get out of it?"

Showing a material interest. Showing my desire for profit so that Prince doesn't give much thought to my true motives for agreeing to the interrogation.

"Look... I'll be giving you assignments. Usually I only give such assignments to my Kings—no material reward, but they have enough of their own privileges to complete them without too much difficulty. If you manage to complete a few difficult assignments, you might later become a King, as you are likely to meet famous personalities and be a famous pony yourself. I want to see your dialogue skills. And then we'll see..."

"Okay, I'll try to get him to talk," I reply with a nod.

"Perfect. Come to the main Vanhoover police station tomorrow at thirteen o'clock in the afternoon. In case you don't know, it's at the end of the Mane Street—when you leave the residence, turn left and walk to the end along the street. You won't miss it. Before you go, tell you that Redstone will give you a thousand caps. Dismissed."

"Wait... You told me you wouldn't pay."

"It's a reward for reporting Blackwater's death. In fact, you did a useful deed that no one thought to ask you to do. For that I will pay."

"Huh... All right. Thank you," I reply and head for the exit.

***

"Your thousand caps," Redstone says with a smile, holding out a considerable and weighty bag of caps. "You've got Prince's attention. That's a good thing: it means this isn't the last time we'll talk to you. And yes, give me the note and the card you found on Blackwater's body. You can keep the rest."

Before I went into Redstone's office and got the caps from him, he was talking to Walnut, and Flow was posing as a stone statue in the same corner where I had left her. A look of relief and a smile flashed across her face at my appearance.

"All right," I say reluctantly, pulling out the necessary items, "...but what is this card?" I ask, handing over the note and the gold-colored card.

"A King's card. It has a special magical chip that at the slightest magical influence confirms its authenticity. You show the card before you pay for services, and you'll get at least a twenty percent discount. Or you can demand something with it. And that's... I can see it in your face: you realized you missed an opportunity to use the card. But it's unlikely you would have used it, since almost everyone knows who a King is. Every newspaper issue prints a list of these honorary masters."

"Got it." I turn to Flow. "Let's go."

Flow nods, and Walnut follows us out. We walk down the corridors of the Stable to the exit.

"I feel," Walnut begins, chuckling merrily, "that we will have to celebrate your introduction to Kings. Have a blast, with booze and hot whores. It'll be fun."

"Aren't you rushing things?"

"Prince is interested in you, and that's something. Believe me, he hasn't seen some Kings in years, let alone in private conversations. Redstone plays a major role in Kings—Prince gives orders to Kings through him. Redstone is like the Prince's personal secretary. His nickname is 'Lieutenant'. I don't know why he's called that, I haven't asked. Anyway, trust me: if you don't disappoint Prince, consider yourself one of us."

***

Walnut leaves us at the lobby to the residence, returning to his guard post. It is beginning to get dark outside. It's almost six o'clock in the evening of the local twenty-six-hour day. It's time to rest and have dinner.

Looking around the local eateries, I notice an expensive place called the Luxury. Just below the name is the sign that reads, 'First-class food and deluxe accommodations'. The prices there must be astronomical, but sometimes I can indulge in a little pampering: I have a lot of money anyway, and I have nothing to spend it on. Normally I'd spend money on medicine, ammo, and parts to fix my gear, but there's no need for that now—I'm good with supplies and gear.

We go inside the Luxury and find ourselves in a spacious lobby with walls of white stone, the lower part of which is decorated with wood; on the marble floor there is a carpet of dark cherry color with gold patterns on the edges. Along the walls hang sconces with beige bottles in a line, and elegant chandeliers hang from the ceiling, all of them illuminating the room with a warm and soft beige light.

Nearly a dozen local ponies in elegant outfits stroll about. The slaves look no less fashionable than their masters, and the guards are in armor clean to a mirror finish. They make me look like a hobo from the wastes, which is generally true. I have a feeling they won't let us into the restaurant.

A turquoise earth pony in a beige outfit approaches us. Well, at least she's not wearing a mask... The thought makes me chuckle faintly, which no one notices.

Eh, memories.

"I'm sorry," she begins politely, pointing at me and Flow, "but your appearance is not appropriate for our establishment. Some areas in our establishment, such as the restaurant, require a guest to have proper appearance."

I could have changed into my own attire, but somehow I skimped on buying Flow some nicer clothes. Didn't think about it.

"I... we'd just like to eat and rest," I say with the same politeness.

"In that case, you can go and get a room, you can order food and drinks there. Only a small percentage of the entire order is charged for delivery to the room. For security reasons, I ask that you deposit your weapons and ammunition with the employee next to the receptionist."

I nod, walk over to the correct counter and deposit my weapons and ammunition, then head to the receptionist.

"I'd like a room for two."

"Which room would you like: economy, standard, or VIP?"

"And how much do they cost?" I ask in anticipation of the huge numbers.

"If you want a room for two, an economy room for one night will cost two hundred caps, a standard room will cost you four hundred caps, and a VIP room will cost seven hundred caps."

The fuck? They must be out of their minds with these prices! I knew it! Eh, well, I can treat myself. I hope the price is justified. At Megaton the price for a room for one night was about a hundred caps, but it came with a girl for the night, and here just a room costs two hundred caps, and it's also economy!

"Let's have your cast in gold... I mean the VIP room," I say, sighing sadly as I pull out the cash. I hope there's enough for food at least. I can imagine how much it costs to rent a whole penthouse here."

The receptionist is somewhat surprised that I'm paying with caps. Apparently, she was expecting to see a bank check. Most of the ponies in Vanhoover have their main funds in safe deposit boxes. Local banking system and all that. NСR has one, too. I explain to her that I'm a tourist, and she gets it right away. I also know that I can't open a deposit box in this town without a passport, and getting a passport isn't easy.

The number on the thirteenth floor... Life is a strange thing. Just like the Vault number where the legend of the Vault Dweller appeared. As we walk, Flow looks over the hotel rooms we pass through.

"Haven't you ever been to a place this luxurious?" I ask her.

"No. It's so... beautiful," she says, peering down the hallway in the same entourage as the lobby.

"I hope the VIP room is cast in gold..." I say sorrowfully, not believing my own words, as we arrive at the door to our room. I put the key in and turn it.

Let the room is not made of gold, but it doesn't make it worse. It is simply upscale clean and comfortable. The interior is the same as in the other rooms we met: beige walls, the lower part trimmed with wood, a small chandelier of elegant forms. On the white marble floor there is a dark crimson carpet with yellow inserts. Wooden furniture as new: tables, sofa, cupboards, chests of drawers. No less new are the technical appliances, such as the table lamps and jukebox, as if they are pulled straight from the past.

In the bedroom is a large double bed, covered with a cherry wool blanket, under which is a beige fluffy blanket. It's so soft, I'd like to lie on it and never get up. The stone bathroom is all magically white.

Apart from the living room, bedroom, bathroom and toilet there is a modest balcony where I can put two wooden armchairs and a low table on three legs between them.

Almost everyone, if they live nearby, at least once would like to feel rich in such a place, when your home is not even close to such a cozy, comfortable and clean. Or it's a great place to celebrate something.

It's like I've been transported to a pre-war past where there's not a hint of world fucked upness. Seriously, everything looks awesome here. The name totally lives up to it. Tenpony Tower and the Ultra-Luxe aren't even close to this hotel.

Thanks to daddy Prince and a century of steady improvement, and thanks to the Softhooves family for doing the decor and other home furnishings. They're good.

"Well, let me order us dinner. You can take a shower if you want. And yes—do you want me to take your collar off?" I ask simply and casually. Flow comes out of the bathroom and looks at me in amazement.

"I said, take off your collar?" I repeat, smiling as she just stands there, staring at me. "Are you going to say anything at all?"

"I'm sorry, this is... unexpected. A slave is removed from his collar when his master trusts him completely. This is the highest level of trust that masters very rarely show. You haven't owned me for more than a day, and you already show such trust in me?"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" I ask slyly.

"No... Daniel, I... I mean, I don't know," she babbles in excitement and lowers her gaze. "I'm scared..." she murmurs softly, and then lifts her eyes to me. She's afraid of freedom: afraid of being suddenly forced to be responsible—but in her gaze I see glimmers of curiosity.

"Don't worry, you can put it back on at any time. Try it, it's no big deal. Trust your master. Come over here and I'll take it off," I say affectionately. Flow trembles with fear and excitement. I fiddle with the collar and take it off, placing it on the small table. Her eyes are closed as I take it off.

"Here," I say briefly and cheerfully. "How does it feel?"

"It feels... like I'm choking," she opens one eye. "It's so unusual and strange... The collar was part of me. They hardly ever take them off of us."

"The main thing is, don't worry. I trust you, I won't leave you. And you trust me: freedom isn't as scary as they say."

Let's see how hard the slave's worldview of the need to be useful to the master, implanted over the years, will lend itself to change.

"Uh... Thank you very much, Master... I mean, Daniel," Flow says with difficulty, struggling with a sense of anxiety and getting used to the new experience.

I ask Flow what she will have for dinner. She replies that her master chooses the food for her. I realize that asking her such questions is clearly not the point yet. The expression on Flow's face right now is indescribable because of her curiosity about her temporary freedom, her established fear of it, and her gratitude for being believed in and trusted with this opportunity. How about buying back a few more slaves and doing little things like this just because of it? That kind of emotion is worth the caps spent.

I laugh to myself as I leave the room.

Food can be ordered from Mr. Handy, programmed to speak in an interesting accent, very similar to the British from my world, and in charge of ordering and cleaning on this floor. The robot presents me with a menu, explaining that for seven days the assortment of dishes changes every 26 hours and then goes in a new circle.

As expected—the prices are high, but the food is freshly made, so I didn't skimp. I end up ordering two steak bramble meat dishes, two vegetable salads, two bottles of Spark Cola and a specialty alcoholic brand drink called Queen's Kiss, two ice creams—one with strawberry syrup and strawberries, and one with apple syrup and apple slices. I'm surprised by the availability of desserts, and not some pre-war ones, but freshly made. Although why be surprised—'cold' dishes are not hard to make here in the north, in view of the fact that this is not the hot Mojave Wasteland, where it is hard not to dream of a nuclear winter.

Now I see why the Mane Street is considered an upper-class place. At establishments here, owners will pay exorbitant prices for such rare dishes—especially relatively wealthy owners who are unable to provide such luxuries in their homes.

After ordering, which cost me more than three hundred caps (along with a five percent charge for room service), the robot tells me that in about forty minutes the order will be prepared and delivered to my room. It's a bit long, but it has to be prepared and brought here—moreover, I'm not the only one who orders to the room.

Back in the room, I hear that Flow is still taking a bath. No doubt under the clean stream of hot water that trickles down her pink fur. Her mane sags under the weight of the water. The soapy sponge slides over her body...

Oh...

Stop it, Daniel. Distract yourself. You can't think about the things that always turn you on. Of course, Flow will have no problem satisfying you, but not because she wants to, but because she has to. That wouldn't be right of her. She's not left alone at the police station as it is, getting under her tail at every moment. Of course, she'd be glad to be useful... useful in pleasing her master. But I cannot take advantage of her position. This is...

I go out on the balcony to clear my head. And I lean on the railing. There's a wonderful view of the Mane Street outside, and in the distance I can see the lighted streets and high-rise buildings, with the lights already shining in their windows. To my right is the port, dotted with industrial buildings, smoke billowing from their chimneys. Behind them I can see the beginning of the territory of that huge island, Green Island; at its northern end towers snow-covered mountains. To the left of the island is a beautiful view of the Desert Ocean, the sun slowly stretching toward sunset. There are no thick clouds over the ocean, and I can enjoy the hot orange skies and cumulus clouds from the sun's rays now. The sunlight itself reaches the hotel and my balcony, and it is warm, like the embrace of a loved one. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the local air. It's fresh. Salty and seasick.

Lilac... Are you enjoying this beautiful sunset?

I enjoy the scenery and the smell and feel of the cool air tickling my fur and mane for about twenty minutes until I hear Flow call out to me.

"Daniel, can I wear that robe in the closet?" I turn around than make a big mistake.

She's standing naked, clean, slightly wet... and stares waitingly. Her body is soft, steamed and relaxed, clean of extraneous smells, a slightly soapy scent wafts to my nostrils.

I feel a rush of blood in the area between my hind legs.

Damn my wet-body fetish!

I turn away. It's a good thing my body is covered in armor and she can't see my hardening member.

"Daniel?" a worried voice comes. Apparently she's somehow taking my turned away face differently.

"Yeah, yeah..." I reply. "Put your robe on, it'll be fine."

Meanwhile, I slip past her, skip into the bathroom, and exhale in relief.

That was close...

In the hot water my body relaxes, I feel peaceful. The excitement that had arisen because of Flow subsides, but the dissatisfaction remains. I am tempted to use my palpable telekinesis to fantasize about her pink body, which some time ago had been in this tub... And it was wet and hot and soft...

***

Now I will not give in to temptation. I am satisfied.

I pull the terrycloth robe over my body and walk over to the table where Mr. Handy has brought my order. Flow sits on the couch and stares at the food on the table in front of her like a hungry dog stares at its prey. In the time she's been with me, I haven't fed her once. How hungry she is. And she's always on her feet. And I, in fact, am just as hungry.

When she sees me, she is embarrassed and hurriedly averts her gaze from the food. The portions are not small, but full, as they should be! "Learn, high society: see what the portions are supposed to be?" I smile mentally, addressing this message to the residents of Tenpony Tower.

The dishes brought by the robot butler smell appetizing and look appealing, especially the dessert. Apple ice cream drizzled with apple syrup... with apple slices on top... it's just begging to be eaten. The ice cream is beginning to melt and, along with the syrup, is slowly dripping and pooling around the edges of the round dish. It makes me want to taste it—I haven't had ice cream or any dessert since Vault 101... So I stare at the dessert myself, like an excited stallion ready to immediately drink the gooey liquid at the sweet spot—I'm almost drooling.

The strawberry ice cream is drenched in strawberry syrup, and a deliciously large strawberry adorns the top. Smells real to me... Holy shit—this is the first time I've ever seen real, genuine strawberries, so I'm not quite sure what they must taste like. Hell, even Vault 101 didn't have berries like that; I'd only come across pictures of them in books. And there it was... At the sight of the delicious strawberry dessert, its reddish-transparent syrup, the ripe and juicy berry... a bit of melted ice cream... my mouth is almost drooling.

Flow doesn't look up at the food in my presence, but I notice that she sits closest to the strawberry dessert. This is clearly no coincidence. I'm about ready to taste that mysterious strawberry flavor, but... I feel like I'm probably going to have to give that privilege to Flow.

I exhale heavily. I should have ordered two strawberry desserts after all! Next time we should definitely try it. Since I didn't order another strawberry ice cream, it gives me an excuse to keep from doing dangerous and suicidal things. Until I try strawberries, dammit, there's no way I'm going to die!

"Well, it's time for dinner," I rub my hooves in anticipation of dessert, but I have to eat the main course first before I get to the ice cream, lest in a fit of passion I devour it in one sitting. Flow looks at me. "Catch up." I sit down next to her.

"What are you waiting for?" I mutter with a piece of meat in my mouth. I chew and swallow. "Take it, eat it, and drink it down." She nods and leans her head toward her plate.

As I eat, I notice Flow casting curious glances in the direction of the strawberry ice cream, but trying not to show it. I finally decide that she gets it.

After our appetizing meal of delicious food, it's time for desserts. Before the sweet meal, I try the Queen's Kiss. This alcoholic beverage has a delicate beige-golden color, almost like my fur; enriched with the aroma of vanilla and oak, soft on the palate. Quite pleasant. Better than regular whiskey. I look at the label: I can tell by its novelty that they glued an ordinary white paper on which in elegant handwriting it says, 'Queen's Kiss', and a little lower, in smaller font, 'Whiskey with juniper berries'. So that's whiskey, only instead of grains they used berries to make it. Unusual, but I like it.

After drinking half the bottle, I notice Flow looking at me with a waiting face. She thinks that I ordered myself two different desserts in order to try both of them. In fact, it was my miscalculation: I didn't think one of them would be preferable to the other. And that this dessert would be wanted by both.

"Do you want apple or strawberry ice cream?" I ask.

The pink pony looks like she's hit by thunder: she's allowed to try a dessert, and with a choice. I can see that two feelings are raging in her right now: curiosity about the strawberry dessert and fear, for the choice is allowed only to the owners, it leads to responsibility, which she does not deserve.

"I understand," I continue, "that you are afraid to make a choice, but trust me. Nothing bad will happen, I promise. The responsibility of this choice is small. Or rather, it's minimal. I can see that you want strawberry."

She is silent, fighting her fear.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I repeat. "You've already made your choice; you've been looking at this treat the longest. Come on, don't worry. It's okay."

She hesitantly leans toward the dessert, her mouth slightly open with anticipation. There's just a little bit left. She sticks out her tongue and timidly, as if cautiously, runs it upward, licking off the melted ice cream and strawberry syrup. It looks—I'll be honest—kind of arousing in a way. It's a good thing I've already satisfied myself.

"Yes!" I exclaim quietly, so as not to spook her. She should get some encouragement at this point. "You did it. You admitted you made a choice. Way to go."

The pink pony with a short, lingonberry-colored mane raises her head and looks up at me with an unusual expression... a mixture of bliss and exhaustion. She has a little white spot of ice cream on her spout. It looks so funny. I've never seen such bliss on someone's face before. She smiles faintly, and her thoughts, judging by her eyes, are somewhere far away.

"How does it feel? How's the dessert?"

"Delicious..." she says after she mumbles something inaudible. "Very." Her gaze suddenly focuses on me, and embarrassment flashes across her cheeks. Her eyes fill with clarity. "I just..." she whispers, either in fear or joy.

"As you can see, nothing terrible has happened. You made your own choice. There's nothing difficult about making choices, Flow, the main thing is to be aware that they may have certain consequences, but that doesn't mean that all of them will be bad. For example, choosing dessert is not fatal to others."

No, there are consequences. Now, having given up strawberry dessert, I have to fight for my life to the last to try it next time.

"You did what you wanted without affecting the lives of others. It's certainly the right thing to do. Believe me, even among the masters a lot of them just don't realize the consequences of their choices and actions, they have enough foolishness... or rather, the courage, to do as they please, regardless of the fact that it might harm someone."

I am willing to be responsible only for my own life, trying not to touch the lives of others.

Flow is in reflection. She is no longer as anxious as she was when she made her choice in the beginning, but she clearly feels that this is something new in her life that she has yet to comprehend.

"I understand that this may be new to you; just wait. Get used to the thought of freedom, watch me and others as they make choices. Most importantly, don't let freedom be associated with fear, and you'll do fine. I believe in you." I smile and place my hoof on her shoulder. The slave with the ice cream stain on her face doesn't even know what to answer in this situation. That's when I remember something. "Now the dessert is going to melt completely."

We amicably return to our meal.

Flow gently grabs the strawberry on top of the dessert with her lips, pushes it into her mouth, and begins to chew it slowly. I imagine for a moment that it's me eating those strawberries, and I get the unforgettable ecstasy that Flow is getting right now. I'm just drooling.

Envy!

After swallowing the strawberries, Flow begins to eat the ice cream with wild zeal, as if she were trying to satisfy a stallion or a mare, licking the syrupy ice cream dripping from the heat with her tongue. Her face displays a very positive spectrum of emotion from eating the rest of the dessert. Her face is stained with strawberry syrup and white melted dessert that drips down her lips to her chin.

Shit, I'm making myself worse when I think about strawberry dessert and the sensations I'll experience while eating this divine delicacy. I keep myself from biting my lips with fantasies of getting just one drop on my tongue.

She notices me staring at her muzzled face, and her face turns so red that it becomes redder than the berries she swallowed. She licks the dessert off her face with her tongue with intense embarrassment, then slowly and carefully finishes it.

This is the cutest thing I've ever seen in an embarrassed mare dipped in strawberry ice cream.

The apple dessert... I look at him with a long, demanding stare.

You have to do your best to satisfy me, do you understand?

The apple slice is delicious, sweet and soft, and the rest of the dessert seems just as good. Still, it's not every year in the Wasteland that I get to taste cold, sweet ice cream. This dessert satisfies my taste buds after all. I can only imagine what I would experience tasting strawberry...

Like hell I would die without tasting real strawberries!

I finished my dessert later than Flow, as I glanced over at her from time to time and watched her reaction with a degree of envy. She's had a good opportunity to watch me. A faint smile and interest displayed on her face.

"What's the matter?" I ask with confusion.

"You were smiling so sweetly when you were eating..." she mutters, but then looks like she said the wrong thing and hastily adds. "I apologize for my words, Daniel," she mutters embarrassedly.

I burst into laughter.

"Flow... as you can see, words are also a choice. What to say and what not to say. A lot of times it's unconscious, so you don't notice, but you do choices of your own."

Thinking back to Captain Ice Ground and how Flow often hung around her office, I could tell she was doing things she wasn't asked to do, but not fully aware that she was essentially making her own decision.

"Thank you very much for the conversation... dinner and a generous dessert, Daniel," she mutters with a genuine smile. She clearly doesn't know how to react in this situation. There's a long way to go before she can be independent. At least I've shown her that she shouldn't be afraid to make conscious choices if they're only about her life.

"You're welcome," I say, standing up from the table and picking up an unfinished bottle of Queen's Kiss with magic. "Tomorrow at twelve o'clock, at the latest half past twelve, we leave here. Until then, you're free to do whatever you want, but don't open the room doors so no outsiders come in here."

She nods hesitantly. Yeah... her road to independence is going to be a long one indeed.

I call the robot butler and he takes the dirty dishes away, after which I go to the balcony and lean back in my chair, watching the scenery. Clouds are floating over Vanhoover, but in the distance, over the sea, they are hardly visible anymore. A huge red disk has disappeared over the horizon.

I turn my thoughts back to Lilac, to life.

To live without regrets...

I wonder what is the model of the planetary system in this world? Geocentric or heliocentric? I would confidently say heliocentric, but since this is a world of magic in which two demigoddesses are said to rule the Sun and Moon, I can assume geocentric. Funny, but I read in an old astronomy book that until some time the Earth was thought to be the center of the universe, and the Sun revolved around the Earth, not the other way around. The geocentric model. Until some time it was thought to be flat at all. Now, in a time of lack of knowledge, many in the Wasteland must have thought it was. An illusion...

I sip my alcoholic drink and indulge in rambling thoughts. A warmth slowly spreads through my body. Flow, judging by the music, is sitting at the jukebox, listening to music and drinking Sparkle-Cola. From the radio, the mare sings in a velvet voice something about the sunset, citing an analogy to our lives. As if our lives are like a sunny day, beginning with a brisk morning and ending with a colorful and peaceful sunset.

Like the life of Lilac Journey.

About two hours pass: I empty two bottles of Queen's Kiss, and it's already deep into the night; the streets and houses of Vanhoover glisten with colorful lights. I would have stayed longer, but the languid and voluptuous moans of pleasure and ecstasy can be heard from the next room across the balcony. The pace is very high, judging by the frequency of the moans.

I grimace and leave the balcony, closing the door behind me, and head for the bed, feeling my vigor stretching into the sunset. On the way, I ask Flow if she's going to bed. She replies that she will in a few minutes. As soon as I enter the bedroom, the pink earth pony asks me where she will sleep. I answer that she can sleep with me on the bed or here on the couch. I tell her again not to be afraid to make a choice. I think the more I repeat this to her, the sooner she will get brave.

In the bedroom, I throw off my robe and put on my cherry-colored pajamas. Then I collapse onto the soft, cloud-like bed and drown in it, just lying on the bedspread, my limbs spread out like a starfish. Later I remove the blanket, folding it on a chair, and dive under the soft and airy blanket.

How delightful...

Before I fall asleep, I hear rustling in the bedroom. Flow had decided to sleep on the bed with me after all. Apparently, she put on a robe, too, and then climbed carefully under the covers, trying not to disturb my sleep—although at this moment I am awake, without giving it away: with half-closed eyelids I am watching her. She fidgets a little, and then calms down, turning toward me. I immediately close my eyes completely so she won't notice that I'm watching her, and after a while I carefully open my eyes and see that the red-haired pony has a smile on her face, enjoying a full night's sleep and peace. It's the last thing I see before I fall into the nirvana of dreams.

***

The 25th of the Month of Bread, Greenday. Thirty-fifth day of my stay.

The comfortable bed and the soft bed have done their job—I feel sleepy and rested. I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I see is Flow smiling in her sleep. She is so wrapped up in a blanket that only her cute little face is visible.

I'm careful not to wake up the pink pony and look at the Pip-Boy screen to get my bearings on the time. It's almost nine o'clock in the morning. I'm not going to get up—instead, I lie in bed a little longer, watching the pink pony snoozing peacefully. She's sleeping so peacefully and soundly—it's hard to believe she's a slave.

I lay in bed for another half hour, and then I get up carefully, throw on my robe, and go to wash up. After my morning routine, I go out to the balcony to enjoy the morning breeze. I hear footsteps and turn around: a sleepy Flow is standing behind me.

"Good morning, Flow. Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning, Daniel," she says. "Yes. I slept just fine. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time."

"Nice," I smile. "Now let's order breakfast and get out of here."

***

After a hearty breakfast and about two hundred caps, we pack up, take our guns and ammunition, leave the hotel, and drive on Bear slowly along the Mane Street to the police station.

When we were still at the hotel, I almost forgot about the collar. Flow was even kind of glad to have her collar back on, but not so much anymore. She felt calmer in it. She said it made her feel better because she didn't feel obliged to take responsibility for her actions: if she did something displeasing to her master, punishment was sure to follow from him.

I drive slowly.

"You at your own will can start a conversation with me on any subject. I will not punish or censure you for any thought or opinion. Talk to me about thoughts that trouble you, or any worries, and I, in turn, will express mine—about things that trouble the masters. An exchange, so to speak."

"Okay," she replies in a hesitant voice.

"Just don't ask questions the moment someone passes us or walks on their way."

"Okay," she repeats in the same tone.

"Anything on your mind?"

"Well... Last night's dessert. Choice... "

"Yeah? Don't be afraid. It's okay."

"The choice was interesting, but I feel... apprehensive."

She's silent, she has nothing more to add, apparently.

"Not much, but it's something. Little by little, but you'll get there. You're good."

She smiles, feeling a little excited.

Now I know for a fact that Flow has an interest in freedom, that she wants it, and she can't overcome the fear herself. It is too strong. For too long she has been forced to have a different opinion, a different view.

We find ourselves at our destination. It's a big five-story building, the sign above the main entrance reads, 'Vanhoover Police. Central Department'. There are a dozen police officers nearby, each dressed in sturdy armor with blue and black inserts: some with sniper rifles, others with automatic rifles and shotguns. At least half of them are griffons, and one is a pegasus...

Wait, what? Pegasus?! The Enclave? They live in the clouds, don't they? Or don't they all live there? Or maybe it's their spy, meant to keep watch and report on the place. The paranoid in me screamed conspiracy, but I overcame it and ignored the pegasus. Prince wasn't born yesterday; he must know where the pegasi's main home is.

I wondered how much attention the Enclave was paying to Vanhoover. Don't they see a growing threat in this town, and if they do, why don't they intervene? Probably for the same reason they don't go to war with the Steel Rangers. They just don't give a damn about what's going on down there.

I stop the old and stunted SUV in the designated area and walk to the entrance.

Inside the building, ponies and griffons are fussing about their business, there's a low chattering noise. Some of them are dressed in blue uniforms with black inserts. In addition, there are mechanized guards in the form of robots with the same coloring as the armor of the living members of the police force. At the main entrance, there is a small booth on the inside—apparently with bulletproof windows—from which the unicorn inside calls me to her. The two Sentinels to the sides of the front doors show their attention to us and aim their guns. I think I know the reason. Flow, of course, is worried about this kind of attention.

"Hey, dear one, come over here," the unicorn says. I walk over to her. "For safety's reasons, please deposit your weapons and ammunition here," she says. Apparently, the weapons detection detectors in the Sentinels have triggered. "When you leave, you'll get it all back." I give her all my weapons and ammunition through a special outgoing drawer that could safely fit an entire minigun. The Sentinels return to their standard mode of behavior.

"Is Prince coming through this entrance today?" I ask her.

"Yes, he comes in here every three days for a few hours. He hasn't been in for two days, so he should be today."

The clock on one of the walls indicates that it is almost mid-day.

Prince walks into the station. Some of the ponies pay attention to his appearance for a moment and then go about their business. No one bows to him like a king or a god. This is a good thing.

Prince nods to greet the mare in the cabin and then comes up to me and tells me to follow him, leaving Flow with the receptionist. So I do. For the first time I notice a faint displeasure in her eyes over the parting; she is upset.

I follow Prince. As we walk through the police station, the chief of security for all of Vanhoover joins us. No one has yet uttered a word about the destination.

"Greetings, Prince," he politely greets the white unicorn in a tuxedo. It is a large griffon dressed in black armor with blue and red stripes. Then he looks at me. "Who's that?"

"His name is Daniel," Prince answers for me. "He seems to me to be able to help us get the prisoner to talk. Unless, of course, you've already got him talking—which I deeply doubt, but I'll ask you anyway: how's your interrogation going, Captain Morgan?" Prince asks and points Morgan on his way. And they continue their conversation.

"None at all," the griffon replies with a touch of embarrassment that his interlocutor's expectations have not been met. "We couldn't move forward with the interrogation. Used torture and threats. Nothing, he keeps his mouth shut. This asshole is going to be hard to crack, as if he's sure he'll be rescued from captivity, and he keeps quiet to the last."

"Will they?" I ask in surprise. Wait, there are already rumors flying around? Is it really about me? It can't be.

"There are several dozen so-called resistance agents hiding in Vanhoover," Prince explains, turning to me, "superbly."

"How do they do it?"

"They are professionals. They've been around practically since the rebuilding of the city, evolving with us—so they know about loopholes and various tricks. Perhaps they even create them under the guise of something unremarkable. Vanhoover's population is large, it is impossible to check everyone. And searches are few and far between, as they do little damage to the city as a whole. They just steal a few slaves a month, and they are untraceable. "

"Agents take slaves out of town?"

"Unlikely. There's a possibility that they get plastic surgery and serve more... gentle masters."

"Plastic surgery?"

"It may be performed outside the city, where the slaves have their memories erased or at least blocked, have their documents forged, and are sold to unsuspecting masters."

"So this is just a theory?" I clarify. Pretty good idea, but still, such operations are not cheap. I wonder what kind of slaves they steal, and what criteria they use to determine who is best illegally reallocated?

"That's the only thing we can assume," Prince says with a shrug. "But there's another theory: there may be a safe haven or bunker outside the city, or perhaps a full-fledged Stable, where they hide and re-educate slaves. If we can get Dodger to talk, we can find out the location of their headquarters and use their slave records to track down the stolen goods. They must know which slaves are either processed and resold or hidden and reeducated in a hidden hideout."

"So where are we headed after all?" I ask.

"To the basement," Morgan answers briefly and dryly.

If Dodger can be freed anyway, why send me on this mission? The Overmare of Stable 53 can play me any way she wants, but what does she need me for? I could just turn her in and give her away. Or is this a test to see if I can be trusted? After all, she had no choice but to test me.

As I ponder this, I happen to run into a pony. He walks on as if nothing had happened, without even apologizing. What a bastard, the masters really have no manners. Wait, what if it's a thief? I look at the Pip-Boy and do not notice anything missing. On the contrary—my pockets have been replenished with one note. Someone gave me a secret message, given the unusual way of transmission. I must read it discreetly. Think...

We turn the corner and find ourselves at the entrance to the basement.

"Question: is there a bathroom in the basement?" I ask.

"That's a strange question," Morgan observes. "No. Why do you need one?"

"I haven't run to the bathroom since this morning," I say. "The interrogation might take a while, but I don't want to be distracted by such a small thing in the middle of it or at a crucial moment."

"All right," Morgan replies sympathetically. "Turn around and then turn down the second corridor and you'll find him on the way. Just don't be too long."

I find the bathroom and go into the stall, as there is a pony near the washbasin.

We know you were referred by the Overmare of the Stable. It's about time she sent help. I hope you have a StealthBuck? If so, see if you can plant it discreetly in the interrogation chamber. I can free the prisoner from the shackles and open the cage, but I can't get him out of the station unnoticed. I don't have time to look for StealthBuck, and I need to keep an eye on Dodger in case he blabs. If you don't have a StealthBuck, stay late at the police station, there is a changing of the guard in the basement at 25:00. There will only be three guards: one will guard the room with our spy, and the other two will patrol the basement. You have to take them out without making a fuss. That way you don't have to kill the guards, Dodger just uses it, slips past them unnoticed and escapes from the station. Leave the rest to me.

I crumple the note, toss it into the toilet with force, and exhale in relief.

On my way to the others, I reflect on what I've read.

It's a good thing I carry at least one StealthBuck with me in case I need to be invisible for a very long time. Thanks to Blackwater, who crashed, for a few of them.

All I have to do is leave StealthBuck in the interrogation room. Then I wonder how he'll distract the guard guarding the room with Dodger? Never mind. He wrote that he has two options for escape. Naturally, I would choose the StealthBuck option, then the guards would be guilty for not looking after the prisoner.

What if it's a test by Prince himself? It could be. How do you get out of it if he reveals his cards... Hmm. I might say that I had intended to let him escape in this way, and then to follow him. With the visors in my helmet, that wouldn't be difficult. It will do quite nicely as an excuse.

I turn back to Prince and the chief.

"It's good to open the floodgates, isn't it?" I ask rhetorically. "Shall we go?"

Once in the basement, I can't help but ask one question.

"Why the basement specifically?"

"This is where we interrogate special prisoners," Morgan explains, "that the entire station staff doesn't need to know about. Few officers know about this basement, and even fewer ponies have access to it: this way we minimize leaks of information so as not to give away the location of their spy to unwanted persons."

We enter the interrogation room where the spy is; the room is divided in two by a metal grid. The walls are rusted, there is dried dirt and mold on the floor, and the air is unpleasantly damp and smells of blood. Dodger is strapped with leather straps to a metal table tilted so that he can safely see those who enter the room. Under the table are many dried bloodstains. Dodger himself is a brown earth pony. His entire body is covered in abrasions and cuts of varying depths, and he's wearing some rags that barely cover his body. Just above him hangs a small light bulb, emitting a dim white light. Next to the prisoner stands another tall metal table on which the blood-stained instruments of torture are arranged. Since he's been physically tortured, it no longer makes sense for me to do the same—especially if I'm going to free him.

I start looking around for options on where to hide the StealthBuck. I find the perfect place—a dark corner to the left of the door with gaps and cracks in the wall. It's only possible to spot a hidden item there if one knows there's something lying there. As Prince and Morgan approach Dodger to say something, with their backs to me, I take this opportunity to use telekinesis.

So Prince is a unicorn who senses the use of magic around him, he will know that I will use telekinesis. I have to hide the use of telekinesis under another action. First I take out my water condenser to drink some water, thus hiding the true actions of my magic from Prince if he looks at me at that moment. While I drink the cool liquid, I quickly shove the StealthBuck into one of the resulting gaps in the wall in the corner.

Prince turns to me just as I'm about to finish my drink.

"Get to work," Prince tells me dryly. I nod as my mouth is full of water, hide the condenser, take a sip of water, and enter through the open doors of the metal grate.

"Well, hello, Dodger. How are you?" I begin, smiling.

***

"The interrogation is over," I say confidently as I leave Dodger. He gives off a fake look of surprise, by the way.

"But he didn't report anything of substance!" Morgan grumbles indignantly. "You asked him silly questions that have nothing at all to do with their activities!"

"Are you sure?" I grin. "I asked unobtrusive questions and learned things that might indirectly relate to the location of the leaders of the escaped slaves. Think back and cross-reference all his answers: see if you can trace a connection."

"What are you even talking..." Morgan says perplexedly, and then hesitates, apparently scrolling through my entire conversation with Dodger in his mind. He ponders for about ten seconds, and gradually it dawns on him. "Indeed, there is some connection in his answers."

"Exactly," I say. "Individually his answers don't make any sense, but if you put them together, a certain picture begins to emerge."

It's like putting a jigsaw puzzle together. You have to be careful to see which pieces fit together, and things start to come together in a logical chain.

"If you think about it..." Morgan ponders further. "You can tell from his answers that their headquarters are really in the Stable, the entrance to which is hidden in one of the cafes in a town south along the coast!" he sighs at the last words.

"How..." Dodger mumbles in pretended horror. "How did you manage to fool me?" he asks angrily, turning to me. He's a good actor. During the interrogation with this method, he did indeed almost give away the real location of the Stalbe. As it turns out, Dodger is familiar with this method: he realized in time that I had used it on him, and gave the answers that would lead the masters down a false trail.

"Amazing," Prince says—oddly enough, without much amazement. "I once heard of this method. It is only difficult in that you have to ask the right questions, be polite and impassive at all times, and make no hint of threat. Since simple and seemingly insignificant things the captive says unknowingly and truthfully, much can be learned from it. Insignificant things can lead to great truth. Bravo, Daniel, excellent work." Prince smiles appreciatively at me and then turns to Dodger, but turns to Morgan. "Don't kill him yet. Let's find their headquarters and slaughter all his friends and family in front of him. This bastard has resisted too much and for too long," he coldly mutters.

Dodger gives off a gamut of emotions, from anger to deep despair. He also curses me and Prince. I furtively glance at the hole where I hid StealthBuck: it's still there. I mentally sigh in relief. Great. He's barely visible to me in this light, too.

"Do you want in on the takeover?" Prince asks me as we leave the basement.

"No, thanks. I have some worries that won't leave me."

"About what?" he asks.

"Well, if you know the method of interrogation, then the prisoner probably does, too. It turns out he may have lied convincingly in response to some of the questions."

"Indeed," Prince thinks aloud. I dismiss any suspicion that might have arisen when it turns out that Dodger lied. "Nevertheless, one can always continue the interrogation—I told him not to kill him, after all."

"That's right," I agree. Oh, I can't wait to leave this place. It feels like more than one prisoner has been brutally tortured here, and the place is filled with an aura of misery and pain, as if the walls were drenched with it.

I pick up Flow; we get in Bear and drive toward the nearest main gate to leave the city, which she doesn't know yet. It remains to return to Stable 53 and pick up the key card needed to find Project Dome.

Along the way, I can't help feeling trapped... It went too easily. Maybe I'm thinking too much. Maybe I'm just winding myself up when things go smoothly.