Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

Vanhoover... My first visit to this place was more than successful. An incredible place, if you ignore the fact that this city was built on the suffering of slaves. At no other place in the Equestrian Wasteland have I seen such a level of development: only the development of some places in the New California Republic can compare to Vanhoover.

As I reflect on the situation in Vanhoover—particularly my reluctance to interfere and mess things up—I begin to wonder if I can have any influence at all, even if I really wanted to. Taking responsibility for everything... It's literally all tied up in each other here. A complex and self-sufficient organism. There's no sense of major conflict between a few factions like the NCR and Caesar's Legion, and I have no specific goal or plan for what needs to be done to improve the current situation, like Project Purity in the Capital Wasteland. Only small local conflicts and internal disagreements, which are everywhere. In other words, a stable situation, except for the recent problem with the increased organization of the raiders and the energy issue.

All I have to do is look for Project Dome—it is my only chance to get home... and it's not a sure thing, but it's all I have at the moment. So I don't want to get ahead of myself; I'll find Project Dome, and then we'll see.

***

Once out of the city, we ride on Bear to the site of the battle, which supposedly involved the Enclave.

Flow looks around mesmerized... With a mixture of fear and explorer's curiosity. Flow has never once left the walls of the city—indeed, neither have some of the slaves and masters. She has always been persuaded that it is as dangerous outside the city walls as it is freedom.

For me, it's more dangerous to be in populated areas. There's a greater chance of being robbed, killed, and raped, because of the increase in the number of shady characters. In the Wasteland it's easier to stay away from such dangers, from a distance... with a compass in Pip-Boy. So, yes, it is dangerous in the Wasteland, but no more dangerous than it is in cities.

Breakdowns, breakdowns... and more Bear breakdowns. During another stop, we attract a yao guai. With a long-range weapon of impressive caliber, such as Whispering Night, I have no trouble dealing with it. And its meat is good for cooking. Dinner literally came running to us on its own.

We decide to spend the night in one of the abandoned houses. As expected, it's half-empty and dirty, with peeling plaster, trash and dirt everywhere, and a few nasty radroaches. I set signal traps and booby-traps with grenades. This house is very depressing in contrast to the Luxury hotel-restaurant. It's a great place to talk, though.

"Flow, how many years have you been as a slave?" I ask, sitting by the fireplace. I've found some solid fuel material for the fireplace, which means wooden furniture, paper, and stuff—I set it all on fire with Benny's engraved lighter.

"What do you mean? I've been at The School since I was young," Flow replies, not understanding the point of the question. The flame slowly devours the dry wood, it crackles. I toss a little bit into the fireplace to keep the flames going.

"Can you tell me about this place?"

I stare at the dancing flames. Flow sits next to me, warming her hooves. She froze a little when night fell and a cold wind came up in the area. Even now I can hear it raging outside through the broken windows. It's lucky this house has well-preserved walls. Even though I'm not particularly cold in my armor, Flow is almost shivering, distinctly chattering her teeth.

"The School is where a slave is trained according to his cuite mark. The foals grow up there, and they are raised there as well. When they reach the age of sixteen, they are put up for sale. The price of a potential slave depends on what skills they have."

"And where do foals come from?"

"Daniel... don't you know where foals come from?"

"I didn't put the question right," I smile slightly. "I meant, how does the restocking of the foals happen at The School?"

"They are born there..."

They... Not 'we,' but 'they,' meaning that Flow separates herself from those slaves born there. She was born elsewhere.

The pink pony continues.

"At The School there are selected physically healthy breeding mares and stallions. And they also retrain the weak ones who used to live in the outside world there: those who have proven unable to be responsible for themselves."

"The mares and stallions selected for breeding are also slaves?"

"Yes. Their health is carefully watched."

"The weak are re-educated?"

"Those unable to defend or feed themselves come there and voluntarily become slaves."

More often than not, someone just lets the occasion come to them... either death or a slut for someone, but at least that slut has a secure place to live with food.

"Or they flee to The Crater," Flow continues, "where they later become irresponsible raiders. It happens that masters bring in their newborn foals if they came by accident and carelessness, and the parents don't want to raise them," her last words carry notes of bitterness and a squeeze, as if she remembered something. It was likely that Flow had been sent to The School at a very early age.

"Tell me about The School: what is this place, how do the foals live there, and so on?" I ask.

"Before the cutie mark, all the foals live in the common sectors. They are taught manners, speech, and given things they have an interest in, as they may be related to the type of activity from which the cutie mark may come. Once it appears, the foals are assigned to other sectors. There are only two in total: the household sector and the hard labor sector. I was assigned to the household sector. There they train foals capable of taking care of a house, that is, cleaning, being a maid in domestic matters, and teaching the basics of cooking. They teach us to be useful in every way. We were no longer allowed to play there as we had been in the general sectors before we got our cutie mark. There wasn't a minute that we sat without orders, from the easy ones to the hardest ones."

All the time following orders. All their lives they do the will of others. Their independence is suppressed in every way possible.

"So... what happens if you break discipline?"

"First they whip and then they tie them up so they can't move, forcing them to listen extra time to the holotapes about how freedom is dangerous and vicious, how only responsible and useful masters can coexist with it, so we have to support them in every way, to serve them. We are constantly watched, day and night. And so it was until I was sixteen, until I was put up for sale."

"What about the household and hard labor sectors?"

"I can't say much about the hard labor sector. For the most part, they send stallions and mares who have physically good bodies. Healthy enough to work. Everyone else is sent to the household sector. I only got there because I could cook and clean."

"And how much did they buy you for?"

"Three thousand caps."

Wow, Captain Ice gave me a pretty sizable discount. Though the value of assets drops over time: not surprisingly, that goes for slaves, too.

"Have a question... what was done with those who could not be cured? Who had the most severe illnesses?"

"It happens mostly to those not born of selected stallions and mares. The masters took them to some unknown place, and what happened to them next, we don't know."

"I'll be right back," I mutter, getting up from my seat and heading toward the room that was once considered the kitchen.

The slaves are too expensive. Such a price already suggests that they are not cheap labor, and their deaths are not profitable to anyone. One would hope that slavery itself would disappear in Vanhoover, but Prince really does want to expand his influence and Vanhoover's influence over the rest of the Wasteland. Dictate the rules to others. There they will begin to capture all the useless ponies and force them to be useful. So they won't give up slavery, especially not while Prince is in power.

In the kitchen, I try to find something to help me make yao-guai. And I find some meat spices in there. Even though they're two hundred years old, they're still good enough to cook. The main thing I still find is a metal pan in excellent condition!

Okay, Danny, don't even think about using it as a weapon to brutally ruin it.

Flow realizes from what I bring from the kitchen that I'm about to cook, and immediately reminds me that she knows how to do it. She doesn't suggest it, she notifies me: in the first case, she'd have to make a choice. It turns out she knows how to cook yao-guai meat, but has never seen it alive. However, I will not ask her. All I'm saying is that she's good because she knows how to cook.

"Were you born in The School?" I ask to clarify my hypothesis.

"No."

"Do you remember anything about your past?"

"No."

"Then how did you know?"

"Slaves born at The School cost markedly more than those who became them afterwards. I had a low price compared to them, though we grew up and were trained together."

"You said you were bought for three thousand—is it Captain Ice who bought you out?"

"No. In the beginning I was bought by a master as a housekeeper, to serve in his apartment. He was young. Worked for the Meadows family. And he... was..."

"Cruel, huh?"

"He was... complicated. Not only did he punish me for the slightest fault, but he often came home from work angry and beat me for no reason so hard that I almost passed out. Every night and day he slept with me... but he would beat me up before he did it, and sometimes even in the process. If I looked into his eyes for a long time, he would punish me in various ways. He never smiled, only smirked when I cried. The only thing he didn't completely cripple me for was my cooking. He liked it, but he never said so. I could tell by his attitude—he didn't take his anger out on me after he ate."

"What happened next? How did you end up with Captain Ice?"

"Eventually after four years of living with him," here Flow seems to get a little cheerier, "he did something wrong, and the police had to capture him, but he refused to surrender, and they shot him. Ice was among the police officers, but she was not yet a district captain at the time. Thanks to her kindness I was cleaned up, medically rehabilitated, and then she bought me and made me a cleaner in that police station, where you bought me out eight years later."

"How was your life there?"

"Quieter than at the former master's. There I also shared a bed with some stallion and mare guards, but on Ice's orders they didn't exhaust me much, so it didn't affect my work. And they didn't beat me. For that I thank her."

"Why do you think Captain Ice sold you out? I mean, she was so nice to you in the beginning, from what you said."

"She didn't punish me. Always told me to obey all the officers at the station. The guards started using me in bed. I wasn't used to serving those I didn't belong to. So it made me feel strange... sensations. I didn't resist. Later I found out that the captain had given the okay, and the strange feelings disappeared. I always wanted to be near the master, so I was often near the door of her office. Hoping to be more helpful to her when she needed something. She didn't like that I was often near her office... Why was that? Doesn't a master want a slave to be around to help with everything?"

"I guess... She felt like you were snooping around for some reason. She was uncomfortable."

"Snooping around?" Flow wonders sincerely. "I would never betray my master's secrets."

"...Until," I continue, "another master buys you and asks about previous ones."

Flow's eyes droop shamefully.

"But she sold you because she doesn't have the resources to continue sustaining you."

"Or she thought I was completely useless and unable to do anything... I wasn't useful enough for her to keep on keeping on..."

Flow was genuinely depressed and frustrated by the thoughts voiced.

"Daniel?" she asks in a timid voice. "Why won't you let me help you?"

I'm watching the roasting of the meat at this point. I turn the piece over so it doesn't burn.

"I... prefer to do everything myself so my skills don't get rusty."

"But... then why do you need me? Are you disappointed in me? Have you realized that I'm useless?"

"No, just... You've told me a lot of useful information about Vanhoover. You are useful."

"But soon you'll know more than I do, and you won't need me. You don't even use me in bed."

The image of Flow immediately comes to mind when she just came out of the bathroom...

I shake my head, pushing the dirty thoughts away.

"I... don't needs it," I lie.

Flow sighs dejectedly.

"What will you do with me next?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're completely responsible for yourself, you don't need help, my knowledge will soon run out, and you don't need my body..."

"You know what I really want?"

I'm done. I can't hide it anymore. Thought I'd hold out the surprise until Stall Fifty-Three, but fuck it. I can't look at her bleak and frustrated look. Let her hear it now, because I can't counter her facts.

"What?" her eyes glazed over, like an addict seeing a new dose of jet in front of his eyes.

"I want you to be on your own."

Her emotions shift faster than the shots of an automatic carbine. Surprise, fear, terror, interest, curiosity, appreciation, gratitude, excitement, uncertainty. I don't even have time to realize what I see on her face. This is clearly something she wasn't expecting.

Her mouth stays open. I lift my front leg and close it gently with my hoof.

She looks at me waiting. She doesn't know how to respond, what to answer, much less what to do.

"Don't worry. I know this isn't easy for you to accept, but there is one place that will help you with this."

Flow still looks shocked and confused.

"Just don't fall over," I giggle. "I believe you can do it, since you know how to listen to what others have to say. And I have no doubt that through it you will learn everything you need to know to be able to take responsibility for yourself."

The aroma of roasted meat and spices is mind-blowing. My stomach was about to sing from that smell.

"Looks like the meat is ready."

I take my knife and cut the cooked meat into small pieces to make it easier for Flow to eat. She looks and doesn't understand why I'm doing this. I sit down next to her with the pan, get Flow and myself a cup of berry juice.

"I..." she begins in a confused voice. "I don't know what to say."

"And you don't say anything. Deal with your new feelings and thoughts. Eat and drink juice."

Flow and I taste the meat. It's cooked quite well. I can eat it—the pink earth pony notes that I cooked it well. Well, she would dare to criticize her master. So I just smile.

After dinner, I think about where and how we will sleep. There is only one sleeping bag and there are two of us. It's an awkward situation again. We end up snuggling up to each other to get a little warmer, lying on the floor doggy-style. By the way, this is one of those funny moments in the pony physique. It was unaccustomed at first, but in my thirty-five days in this body, I've mastered this sleeping technique. Flow twitches tentatively at my side.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Is it uncomfortable?"

"No, no," she answers hastily. "On the contrary. I am warm and comfortable... This is the first time you've been so close to me. You make me feel... wonderful with you. I wish you needed my body."

Her outlook is pushing it. She wants to be useful in every way, and to her I look like a good host. And pleasing her emotions toward her master makes her want him to enjoy using her body.

However, wouldn't I make her feel good if I fucked her and thereby showed that she gave me pleasure and was useful?

Yes, definitely. But then that would mean that I support her slave worldview of being used. For the same reason I don't ask her to do anything. I don't want to feed her corrupted desires forcibly imposed on her as a child. I want her to learn to desire things that are not based on the satisfaction of others.

***

The 26th of the Month of Bread, Cyanday. Thirty-sixth day of my stay.

From the descriptions of the Head Scribe of the Steel Rangers, we are not far from the site of the battle in which the Enclave supposedly took part.

I turn the steering wheel of Bear, and we drive there.

I take a long look around, looking for what might have been the site of the battle. And it turns out to be a small ruined brick house by the road. The roof is ruined, and there's a huge hole where the front door used to be. One of the walls is completely gone, and the other three are barely hanging on: it's strange that they have not yet given up the spirit and are still fulfilling their purpose... standing.

The inside of the house is a complete mess, which is an understatement. Remnants of wooden furniture, a ruined fireplace, lots of brick debris; traces of blood almost everywhere. They can be seen on the surviving walls, but it is on the floor that there is a huge pool of blood, and not just one. Apparently, they were formed by two deadly wounded ponies having a fight with each other. The battle really happened about a year ago: the snow has washed away most of the blood, leaving only reminders that there was a lot of it. From one of the puddles a trail leads somewhere south, which, by the way, is where I'm going after this place.

There had undoubtedly been a massacre here, the reverberations of which I can still feel now.

There are soot traces on the walls from the energy-magic weapons, as well as bullet traces. Bullet casings and empty spark batteries are scattered all over the house, outside and around. Instead of a window, a huge hole left by a plasma grenade, judging by the nature of the damage. The explosion came from inside, as evidenced by shards of glass on the outside, under which dried blood stains can be seen. From here, drag tracks lead along the frozen ground somewhere to the northeast. Someone was dragged carelessly toward the Crater, which is about a day and a half away from the battle site.

Raiders.

Flow, meanwhile, had stayed to keep an eye on Bear.

After looking around the house, I find nothing else of interest around except for the deep circular hoofprints of the Steel Rangers. And yes, there are plenty of tracks of other groups of ponies besides them. Apparently, the whole neighborhood has flocked to the noise of the battle with the energy-magic weapons.

I can tell for sure that the brave Steel Rangers got here later than anyone else. The ammo casings were left behind by other groups, since the first ones, Iron assured me, weren't fighting anyone in this place. The only possible visitors were the Crater raiders and Vanhoover masters. Judging by the drag tracks to the northeast, the raiders did snatch the loot, capturing several of the Enclave's high-tech weapons. The fate of the remaining Enclave fighters is unknown, even their approximate number is unclear, but clearly not less than three.

That's it. No other conclusions can be drawn here. I should continue the search, either in the Crater or the Vanhoover area. Though I don't know if the masters managed to grab anything of the Enclave's equipment. I'm still on Bear, following the barely discernible blood trails that lead south. Unlike the tracks leading northeast into the White Shell mountains, there are no signs of dragging in this direction. On the contrary, it appears that the wounded person moved on his own after such wounds; given the rather deep imprints on the ground, the tracks were clearly left by ponies in Enclave power armor. A little while later, the trail breaks in place with the remains of another pool of blood, but then another trail appears here, which disappears almost immediately, and its direction is impossible to trace. Apparently, the survivor was discovered by someone who knows how to move stealthily and cover his tracks.

Damn it. Almost all the tracks are broken: tracing the remaining traces will be extremely difficult. I'll get to that sometime later. I leave my thoughts on this, as usual, in Pip-Boy. Flow watches me with puzzlement before I finish.

"Why do you record your thoughts?" she asks as we drive to Stable 53.

"It's helpful. I always record my thoughts so that I don't miss anything important the next time I analyze them. In light of new facts, old ones may be viewed differently, but I can't keep them all in my head. So I record. I do not rely on my memory."

The recordings especially came in handy after my head wound, when I lost a lot of my memories. If it weren't for the records in Pip-Boy, I'd hardly be able to put the puzzle of my past together.

***

"I freed your friend, plus I brought someone else," I say loudly; my voice echoes throughout the cave. I'm standing in front of the massive Stable 53 door, with Flow next to me. Before that, she was surprised when I went to the rock and knocked the code, and it came into motion.

"I know Dodger came back hours before you did. Fine, you passed the test; come in," the Overmare responds through the speaker. The standard audible door-opening warning kicks in, and a massive shaft joins behind it: it pulls the massive door toward itself with a screech, and then it rolls away to the side.

As soon as we cross the doorstep, we are greeted by a unicorn in Stable's jumpsuit, a cherry-colored one with a pale pink mane. She is guarded by Mr. Gutsy with the standard battle coloring and a milky beige pegasus with a medium-length, thick brown mane. She is dressed in pale green battle armor, looking apathetically in our direction. Flow unwittingly retreats a few steps, hiding behind my rump.

Hmm... Judging by the cleanliness all around, this Stable is being tended to.

"Hello, Daniel," the unicorn greets me: the voice from the speaker belonged to her. "Hello to you, too," she turns to my companion. "What's your name?" The pink pony behind me is silent. I turn and see that she is looking at me expectantly. Obviously, such an unusual situation has made her forget that she can answer without my approval. I sigh heavily.

"I told you you could talk without my permission," I say wearily. To be honest, I'm getting tired of repeating the same thing to her, though I'm clearly aware that I need to do it in order to make progress.

"I'm sorry..." she confuses. "Flow," she replies timidly behind my rump.

"Nice to meet you, my name is Cherry Shine." She approaches my companion as she walks past me."

"Respect your privacy, mistress," I mutter to Cherry partly in a joking way. She ignores it. "Unlike you, Flow has earned this ability."

"Flow," Cherry begins, turning to the pink pony with the crimson-colored mane, "do you want to go free?" Such a straight question leaves her stunned for a moment, but then she shakes her head briskly and negatively.

"Maybe... I don't know... I'm not sure."

"I see..." she mumbles sadly, and then takes a few steps back, standing in front of me. "Why did you bring her here?"

"Teach her to be independent?"

"That could take a long time. Depends on herself."

"It's only been two days, but I think she has potential."

"So you're willing to give up someone you paid a considerable amount of caps for so easily?" the cherry-colored unicorn genuinely wonders. I pretend to reflect, turning my head, staring into the corner of the room.

"Yes," I answer simply and easily, turning around. "On one condition: treat her well." At this, Cherry giggles merrily.

"You're an odd one. You're very generous. Easy to part with your savings, so easy to... All right. Of course, we'll treat her well. Gradually, but we'll teach her independence and responsibility for her life... as masters of Vanhoover say."

"I hope so," I mutter, telekinesically removing the collar and handing it to Cherry along with the bracelet to it and the Flow document. The pink pony stares at the levitated objects in stunned shock.

"Daniel," Flow says uncertainly, then hushes up and remains silent.

"You've got help here," I say, turning to Cherry with expectant encouragement. Who better than her to understand the worldview of slaves, based on the fear of responsibility and the desire to be of service to their master.

"Of course we'll help you, you won't be alone," the Overmare approaches Flow, "and if your careful master believes you can do well, then so be it. Come, I'll show you to the others."

"Thank you..." Flow whispers, getting very worried. "I... will try to be like you. Do everything for myself by myself."

I chuckle wryly.

"Absolutely, just don't go on dangerous journeys like me. Improve your cooking skills you told me about, so I can taste your excellent cuisine later. If need be... I'll come and hold you and put your soul in order."

I smile broadly, and Flow does the same, only not as much, and goes after Cherry Shine. I love moments like that. Getting someone to believe in their own strength is a challenge. I even got off easy here. It's really, really hard to inspire sometimes.

I'm alone with pegasus and Mr. Gutsy.

"Lead on, watchdog," I say to the pegasus.

"My name is Motley Cloud," the pegasus objects in a slightly low and indifferent tone. The dull voice, the unconcerned look... I thought pegasi were supposed to be... cheerful? I mean, they could take off and fly high up at any moment, away from the stinking, ruthless and cruel Wasteland.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Daniel Evans, you can just call me Dan, and to my friends, Danny."

"We know your name, your ranger friend told us about you."

"By the way, where is she?"

"Probably back with her own."

"Will Cherry tell me what she talked to 'Berry' about?"

"Maybe. Follow me," she says dejectedly. This pegasus radiates such a heavy aura of depression and longing that you could choke on it.

This unhurried and slow talk is reminiscent of the sullen Boone's speech. Perhaps this pegasus has such a temper, or her condition is due to the aftermath of an unpleasant incident in the past, as Boone has. Take Rusty, for instance, the one I left in Tenpony Tower. He has endured suffering from which it is unlikely he will ever fully recover.

I wonder how he's doing? Is Homage helping him achieve stellar fame in this elite society by the Wasteland standards?

I was indifferent myself when I lost someone dear to me, Brisa. My father's death was something I could live with, but hers... In general, I understand the feelings of losing loved ones. The death of friends and families in the Wasteland is not uncommon, but the level of affection for them is different-so the scale of grief and sadness, as bad as it sounds, is also different.

As I walk past the atrium, I notice a considerable number of ponies chatting serenely on various subjects. They're talking about something fun and mundane, and I'd love to listen and laugh for company. It's good to smile, even if there's no reason to. I've heard that if you do it more often, your brain will think it's not all bad. Maybe that's what saved me from suicide in my time...

And anyway, when there is utter hopelessness in the Wasteland, sincere and carefree laughter is the only thing that keeps one rational and sane. Better than any drug.

In the atrium I see Dodger. Seeing me, he, with a faint smile, nods. I nod back at him.

Cherry Shine's office is the Overmare's office. No surprise there. Inside, Motley offers me a seat on the couch. By the window overlooking the atrium are two beige-colored sofas, the inside facing each other, separated by a low wooden table. Otherwise, the Overmare's office is no different from others like it. Mr. Gutsy left us on the way.

I sit on one couch, Motley on the opposite one. She looks at me, then turns her head toward the window and looks through it with the same blank face.

"Do you want to sit next to me?" I offer her. Silly attempts at flirting, yes. But I want to evoke some emotion in her. At least a dislike.

"No," she replies calmly, not taking her eyes off the atrium.

"Do I really look that bad?"

"I don't know."

"Or do I smell bad?" I lean my head against my shoulder. It seems okay. The mountain air has positive qualities. Reminds me of the times I used to frequent Mt. Charleston, where the super mutants led by Marcus lived nearby. The air was fresh and cool.

"I don't care."

One remarkable thing about her eyes is that they are different colors. Her left eye is amber, and her right eye is sky blue. It looks rather peculiar and... I would say fascinating. I even like it!

I remember my first faithful dog, Dogmeat, had about the same different colored eyes. With his multi-colored eyes, he was a sweet and kind doggie. Loved playing with the little ones. At Little Lamplight, kids would come up to him all the time and love to pet him and scratch his ear.

"What are you looking at?" Motley asks, grinning, unable to bear my gaze fixed on her. That's when it hits her. "Don't tell me..." she raises her gaze to the ceiling and sighs heavily, "...about the eyes."

"What's wrong with them?" I ask.

"Heterochromia. It's genetic, inherited from my grandmother on my mother's side. And it's not a mutation," Motley says the last word with pressure, turning to the window.

"My pet had the same... feature. They're unusual and fascinating. I like them."

The pegasus only hummed ambiguously.

"Why, do people keep asking that?" I continue to torture her with questions. She doesn't answer anything, just remains eloquently silent.

"Must be nice to get compliments about your eyes," I smile playfully.

Silence again.

"I'm sure you have a charming smile with eyes this lovely," I pronounce. "At least let me admire them again. Please."

Another silence. She's so gloomy.

"You know what... You have the wrong name, you're a gloomy cloud, not a motley..." I mumble pretentiously. "This game can be played by two," I cross my front legs and proudly—at least I hope I look proudly—and turn away.

Motley... now I understand the meaning of her name. Something that doesn't have a homogeneous color. I can tell she was either named because of her eyes at birth or because of her grandmother, who quite possibly bore the name.

Brisa had simply peerless brown eyes that captivated me every time I looked into them, seeing the enchanting beauty in them, and confounded me when I admired them. Now... Now it seemed to me that, were it not for Motley's condition, I would have mistaken her for Brisa in a pony body. The mane style is quite similar. I was beginning to get a general idea of who this pegasus might be—a soldier of the Enclave, given that the trail disappeared somewhere on the outside of the snow-covered mountains, across from Stable 53.

After a few minutes, Cherry enters. During this time, Motley and I haven't uttered a word. She sees me looking disdainfully in the other direction from Motley.

"What's going on?" the cherry-colored unicorn looks at us with incomprehension.

"Playing the silent game," I say. A moment, and Cherry smiles understandingly.

"Yes... That's how Motley is."

"That was fast," I mutter, removing my grudge mask and turning to the Overmare over my shoulder.

"I've notified some ponies of her presence, let them keep an eye on her and help her get settled in her new place," Cherry says as she heads toward us. "Now back to our brahmins. Berry tells me you're looking for one key. Here, take it," she beckons in magical telekinesis and holds up a yellow cipher key to me.

"That easy?" I wonder, placing the key in my bag.

"That easy," she confirms, sitting down on the couch next to the beige pegasus. "It's silly to interfere with the Steel Rangers, who can tear this bunker apart and tear it to pieces, just for this cipher key that allows access to the mythical Project Dome."

"Don't you need it?"

"No. Without the other six keys, it's useless. No one even knows where these keys are used. Besides, we'll attract the attention of Prince and Kings, should we go in search of this legend: they'll just eat us up and won't choke on us. That's why it's better to give this key to the Steel Rangers than to the masters of Vanhoover. Maybe we'll be able to at least get some sympathy from those steelhead, who go crazy for every laser gun. They're only looking for and collecting technology for their collection. The masters will use the technology and knowledge of Project Dome on the slaves. Your Berry has promised that the Steel Rangers will not touch our Stable if we peacefully give them the key."

'Berry'... She didn't tell them her real name and rank. I won't either.

"Do the Steel Rangers make exceptions to a workable Stable?"

"Your friend promised she would keep quiet about us in exchange for the key," she says as if she doesn't believe it herself, but realizes she has no other choice.

"Did the residents of this Stable know that the secret room contains one of the six proofs of Project Dome's existence?"

"Yes, but it's a myth. Some kind of pre-war government distraction scheme. It was actively tried to be found a long time ago, but to no avail. That tells me it doesn't exist. All in all, it's not worth it to look for him. It's a waste of time."

"Who knows..."

Cherry shrugs, saying, "Your time is your business."

"You spoke of helping to free Dodger. Even though my help wasn't really needed at all. And yes, your agent told me a good story that StealthBuck would help with everything," I reply with a smile.

"Figured it out after all," the cherry unicorn hums.

"No, I just assumed something wasn't right, ever since you asked me to free your minion from Prince's hooves. In my conversation with Prince, my guesses were confirmed once he started talking about your agents all over town."

"Your help really wasn't needed, our agent would have handled it himself. We were testing you to see if you'd turn us over to Prince when you got the note. Dodger was telling us how you conducted the interrogation. He was very surprised by your method. He said he really almost got caught," Cherry smiles. "You cooled him off just in time."

Still, I wonder how Dodger knows about this method, given that many are prejudiced against it because of its simplicity. Because of this, however, the method is elegant: you have to ask the right questions, seemingly inconsequential at first glance. It all depends on the skills of the interrogator, not on the willpower and fortitude of the interrogator.

"I know that there have been experiments going on in Stables. What is the feature of this bunker?"

"This Stable has high-tech equipment and medical knowledge at its disposal."

Hmm... Plastic surgery for escaped slaves doesn't seem so fantastic. I'm sure the Overmare won't reveal her secrets regarding the release of the slaves just yet.

"It was supposed to open fifty years after the war. The Stable opened, but its residents were unwilling to leave the safe haven, though they did go outside. Some of them brought escaped slaves here. Then more slaves came... and more and more. This caused overcrowding in the Stable. They even had to hide their location by placing an artificial stone at the entrance. Most of the slaves still created other free settlements, hidden from Vanhoover, but they were eventually found, which happened back under the Queen's rule. Decades later, they recaptured all the escaped slaves and destroyed the hiding places they had created. All that's left is this Stable."

The Queen... Prince protects Vanhoover, her legacy. What was she like, I wonder?

"Tell me about the Queen, her role in the formation of Vanhoover. From the Prince's words about her, I get a strong impression..."

"The Queen of Vanhoover, real name Vermilion Rose, was the Overmare of Stable 68, which was numerically outnumbered by stallions, roughly four to one. It was about fifty years after the war when this Stable opened. Vermilion used stallions as a labor force to rebuild the city. Because of the dangers of the Wasteland and their lack of experience in survival, the stallions were killed by hooves of robbers. She had to hire griffons as guards, settling in the ruins of Vanhoover some time after the megaspells fell."

Many surviving griffons fled their kingdom in the north after the Enclave destroyed and looted it. They were good fighters and flyers: no wonder why the Queen hired them as guards.

Cherry continues, "In time, the city needed a new workforce: the griffons attacked other settlements and caught those unable to defend themselves in the Wasteland: this meant forced labor. In small hoofsteps, Vanhoover became one of the main strongholds of the slave trade, and Vermilion was named the Queen. Her methods were immoral and cruel, but with her leadership skills she rebuilt the city. The collars were not put on everyone; some offered their services as a leadership force, creating some kind of unit to more comfortably lead so many slaves and elements of industry."

I suspect that this is how individual families, and then whole families, began to form. Some had outstanding intelligence, others showed leadership skills and the ability to discipline others, some had vast amounts of caps and resources, and some had all of the above.

"Some came from the Vanhoover Wasteland, others from other regions of the Wasteland, others were from a Stable. The city's influence was expanding, more and more slaves appeared, the slave traders became more and more organized... and fewer and fewer families were being formed."

I think because of unforeseen circumstances that might have happened due to the leaders' inability or unwillingness to adapt to the new problems, following which they weakened financially. It was expected that someone bigger would swallow them up and enslave them.

"The strong family would absorb the weak family and take its line of business along with all its possessions, including its slaves. The way it would be perceived now would be that they couldn't manage the responsibility given to them. The Queen saw this as a plus because their functions were taken over by another family in time, which meant that no link in the industry would end up in Tartarus. The threat of a takeover did not allow anyone to relax. As a result, only five families survived to this day, the Five Great Families of Vanhoover. As many have said, it has prospered the city with sweat and blood—the sweat of slaves and the blood of enemies."

"And where did Prince come from? An immortal being... The White Demon, as they call him down south in Hoofland."

"A demon for sure... You can be sure of his powers," Cherry laughs. "No one knows where Vermilion dug him up. Maybe in one of the research centers or Stable."

"How many Stables have masters of Vanhoover discovered?"

"A dozen. There they found technology and equipment that they later used to develop the city, and most importantly—which rarely happened—a new and healthy workforce. Once they even found a Stable designed for pegasi. Captive pegasi cost crazy caps in Vanhoover, and were acquired mostly for themselves, that is, for entertainment and pleasure. Of course, there were those who escaped this fate, but they were very few. Of almost all the Stables that were discovered, there was not a stone left unturned, everything was dismantled and either melted down or used for the needs of the city."

Now it's clear where that pegasus at the Mane Street police station came from.

Cherry answered my question exhaustively. Vanhoover is indeed the Queen's child. She raised it and set its direction, and Prince makes sure the town doesn't go off track.

"Never," I say, "have I met such an organized and forward-looking community, if you don't count the slave trade."

"Speaking of which. Your friend told me where you're from. I shared the information with you, now return the favor and tell me what's going on in the main region right now."

Oh, now I see why Cherry was so generous with her answers. She wants reciprocation in return.

"No problem."

I tell her the same thing I told Prince. Cherry wonders if there's a Vanhoover-like city rebuilding going on in the east. Fillydelphia. The centralized use of slaves. In addition, the Alicorns and Unity catch her attention; she is encouraged by the mention of Littlepip, who selflessly helps those in need and heroically saves everyone indiscriminately.

"So nothing much has changed in the Wasteland in a long time. It's unfortunate to say this, but Vanhoover is the only city with the potential to develop and rebuild Equestria," Cherry sighs heavily.

If she knew about the New California Republic from my world or Vegas, which looks different thanks to my intervention.

"What are your plans for the Vanhoover slavery problem?" I ask, realizing I won't get a detailed plan. They're a secretive group, and illegal in Vanhoover.

"No global ones," Cherry says dryly.

"None at all?"

"You see for yourself how badly twisted the slaves' worldview is. They yearn to be useful to their masters, but they don't know how to be useful to themselves. They fear it like fire, considering themselves unworthy."

It would take a long time to retrain them. We don't have the resources to do that. And then there's Prince..."

"He's really a demon?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's an equineoid, with some magical devices built into him and powerful and unknown spells like regeneration. Equineoid is a pretty well known hypothesis about his power and youth. You can drop a megaspell on him, and he'll probably survive. He's fast, strong, and wields a lot of deadly spells. This is known from old archival observations, when he wasn't considered dangerous yet, having once tried to kill him. Maybe it's a rumor... or a convincing production, but no one dares to check."

"Shit's mighty this equineoid of yours," I mutter lightly. "Who created it?"

"You know who to ask. If we don't know where they dug it up, we don't know who made it. You realize that fighting against Prince is like signing your own death warrant."

"You have no plan at all?"

"No. And we'll just do what's within our capabilities, nothing more."

"Expand those capabilities."

"Easier said than done," the unicorn smiles bitterly. "For now, we will resell slaves, slightly altering their appearance and blocking their memories. We'll keep trying to re-educate eligible slaves, and also not stand out. We almost got caught as it is. As you can see, Dodger has been captured. Our most professional and undercover agent."

"Okay," I sigh disappointedly. Prince's theory about changing the appearance of slaves and manipulating their memories turns out to be very close to the truth. Prince really does have everything under control. "I need to air my thoughts and check some things out."

I rise from the couch.

"In case of anything I can count on your help?" Cherry turns to me.

Wow... First the Steel Rangers tried to befriend me, and now—the local resistance to slavery. It's nice to know I'm so appreciated. Reminds me of my arrival in Vegas, during which both the NCR and Caesar's Legion tried to replace me. Of course, this was after I talked to the city's hiding leader, Mr. House, and also killed Benny in his own casino. My popularity skyrocketed.

"Maybe," I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

A silence hangs. Sad and melancholy. Change... It will be hard to get rid of Prince. It would be impossible to compete with him. But if I remove Prince, the city itself would give up slavery because it is unprofitable. Or his death, if at all possible, would allow the Five Families of Vanhoover to go to war among themselves over the resulting power vacuum. And then there will be much bloodshed. Do I want to get involved? No.

However, they may find a much better solution to the problem. That's why I answered uncertainly: I don't want to take responsibility for the decision made. I can only be an associate, nothing more.

"Goodbye," I say, breaking the silence and heading for the door.

***

On my way out, Flow meets me and gives me a hug.

"Thank you for your support and approval," she says cheerfully after she hugs me. "And also for this opportunity... I don't even know what to say. I'm still scared and worried and... but when I think of you, it makes me feel better."

"That's very nice to hear," I smile. "Good for you. Remember, I'll visit you from time to time, if nothing happens to me. Have you picked out what you really want to do yet?"

"I've been asked to do what I'm best at. I can only cook food, and besides, you mentioned that I should develop my cooking skills. The chefs here have indicated that I have potential—whatever that means. And... I remember the hotel-restaurant: I'd like to treat you to an excellent strawberry dessert one day!"

I laugh.

How she managed to pick her moment. Strawberry dessert... Turns out I wasn't the only one who remembered the adventure with it. Flow found it so exquisite and perfect in every way that she must have obliged herself to treat someone else to one like it.

She watches my reaction with interest. She takes my bursting laughter ambiguously and even worries that she's done something wrong.

"Flow, you're such a charmer," I smile as I close my eyes and raise my head, then look into her blue eyes again. "In that case, I'll visit you a lot more often."

"I liked the dessert so much that I decided to learn how to make them. After all, they're beautiful..."

"Great choice! All right, I'll be off. Have a good day," I say as I turn to leave.

"And good luck to you too, Daniel."

I lift my hoof and wave.

Something tells me she'll make a decent member of society. Of that I have no doubt. Slave mindset can't be eradicated completely... And there's a silver lining: she won't have a problem thinking about the consequences of her actions when they affect the lives of others.

I hope she won't have to make hard choices... as I have often had to do.

***

Snowstorm. A few hours after I left the Stable and drove north of the White Shell mountains to check out another place, a cold snowstorm comes up. Can't see a damn thing. Without night vision, it would be hard to navigate.

Just don't shut down...

I stroke the steering wheel of Bear.

Please... Let's get to the tunnels and wait it out.

I barely make it to the tunnels and that's exactly when the engine shuts down. Lucky me!

I tidy up the engine, and then learn the barrier and teleportation spells. I have enough food. Water, too, but not much berry juice left. I feel bad about finishing it. My heart hurt in my chest as I thought of Lilac. I never sold her rifle. I left it in the backseat, like the rest of the berry juice... for special events. The main thing was not to forget it.

After surveying the road in the rocks that I'd seen a couple of days ago, I'd have to go back to the Steel Rangers and give the yellow key card. I'll stop by the steelhead afterwards. Pretty weird that the previous key was pink and not yellow.

The training is wearing me out, so I'll have to be more careful next time.

***

The 27th of the Month of Bread, Blueday. The thirty-seventh day of my stay.

The sky is completely shrouded in clouds. A dreary atmosphere. On the other side, no shots, screams or explosions can be heard in the surrounding area—only the noise of the wind...

Bear breaks down again... Ah shit, here we go again.

While repairing it, I get the feeling that someone is watching me. The feeling is inexplicable and comes only after hours of travel in the Wasteland.

I scan the landscape with my thermal imaging vision. Just in case. Hardly anybody's around, so it's relatively safe to be out here, except for sudden avalanches or snowstorms in the middle of the night.

The device in my helmet doesn't detect a single living soul nearby. Maybe the stalker is too far away for the range of the thermal imager to reach?

Or maybe I'm just imagining things. But I'll try to shout out what I've spotted, just in case. Let's see what happens. I know how to bluff at cards, after all.

"Whoever you are, I know you're around. Show yourself, or I'll find you myself, and then I'll make a perfume out of you!" I shout as loudly as I can. My words spread throughout the neighborhood.

In a few seconds I notice a flying silhouette...

Literally poking my finger in the sky and guessed it!

And as soon as the silhouette flies close I can make it out. It's a pegasus in the familiar faded green battle armor. He lands carefully beside me. I pull from my holster the large-caliber, locally made pistol I found back in Manehattan. The stalker is wearing a helmet the same shade as his armor; he covers only his eyes, his mouth covered by a gray scarf. Attached to his combat saddle is a semi-automatic rifle with a silencer on his left side, and an emerald-colored energy-magic rifle on his right.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" I ask the stranger expectantly. He takes off his helmet... or rather, she takes off her helmet and lowers her scarf so her face is fully visible.

"Well, hello... Why are you following me?" I ask, sighing freely and looking the beige pony in the eye through the visors of my helmet. The perfume out of her would be charming and quite pleasant.

"I'm coming with you," she answers briefly as I hang my rifle from the side.

"Whoa-whoa," I raise my hooves in protest. "Cool your impulses, sweetheart. I never dive into a relationship lake when I don't know what demons live there. I don't know you. Why would you? And why were you hiding? Don't play with me like a kitten with a ball of thread, or you'll get tangled up in it."

There's something about her flirtatiousness lately. Or maybe it's her lovely multi-colored eyes that hypnotize me.

"My goals are the same as yours," the pegasus replies without hesitation.

"Don't fool me. Tell me honestly: why were you secretly stalking me?"

"You don't believe me?"

"Motley, I never trust anyone one hundred percent. Not even myself. No matter who's with me, I always leave the odds that I'll get stabbed in the back, or that I might lose my mind and not notice it. If your goals were the same as mine, you wouldn't be sitting in one place."

The pegasus takes my words with a touch of surprise. There can be no doubt: this is a survivor of that Enclave battle. Maybe it was staged by the Enclave to infiltrate its agent or agents into the ranks of some organization on the surface. Judging by the way she was immediately welcomed with open arms or legs into the headquarters of the resistance to the slave trade, that was to be expected...

So, what the hell was going on in my mind? Cherry had probably just sent her to follow me.

"I hear you; not many ponies trust me," she sighs, averting her gaze and then looking me in the eyes again. "I'll tell it like it is. Cherry asked me to watch you."

"Now that's more like it. That's what I thought it would be. That's good," I smile good-naturedly. "The important thing is openness. I don't mind you following me. I have nothing to hide."

A shadow of surprise runs across Motley's face again. She didn't expect me to agree to be watched by somebody. I realize that if I had refused, she would have followed me unnoticed one way or another. No matter how I called her, she wouldn't show herself anymore—and now the chances of finding out about the Enclave will increase, and maybe I can get their power armor for the head scribe of the Steel Rangers.

"Now tell me, what skills do you have?"

"I know how to handle firearms, energy-magic weapons, explosives, and I also know how to hoof fight, be stealthy, and provide first aid."

"Impressive..." I nod, looking at her wings. "You're an Enclave scout, I assume?"

"Former. I'm no longer in their ranks," Motley replies.

She doesn't react at all to being considered an Enclave scout. I can assume this isn't the first time she's been considered a spy from the clouds. A creature from the sky with wings... were we on Earth, I'd call her an angel. She's the first member of her species I've interacted with, so she deserves the nickname. As far as I know, in this world the word 'angel' is only used as a name. Sort of. Maybe I'm wrong.

"Why did you leave? I'm sure I don't bring peace and friendship and bubblegum here..."

"My past is none of your business," the pegasus' voice vibrates with irritation for the first time.

"Only if you obey me and do what I say so you don't do anything stupid. Is that clear?"

"I will behave as I see fit. You don't tell me what to do."

"Well, no, my melancholy angel," I interrupt her. "It's either that or nothing. Don't worry, I'm not going to drag you into bed, just as I'm not going to needlessly sacrifice you in battle. Yes, I'm not thrilled to have someone poking their pretty nose into my business—even though I have no intention of intriguing Cherry and her ensemble—but I have nothing against it, nonetheless."

"So be it."

I try to talk to her while I keep fixing, but she replies 'Not interested' or 'Doesn't matter.' She'd probably be interested in my stories about the other world, and also about the fact that I'm from there myself. I'll keep quiet, though, or I'll get tired of explaining to everyone I meet where I really come from.

Motley really does remind me most of the silent Boone, who was always walking around with a frown on his face and answering questions with a 'don't stick your nose where a dog don't stick his dick' attitude. Of course, he didn't say it that way, but he said it with an expression and emotion as if he meant it. I don't blame him for what he went through. Killing his own wife... I think he did the right thing—she's better off dead than being a slave of the Legion. It would have been impossible to save her anyway.

I don't know if I could have shot Brisa, but I did something like that anyway.

***

Motley hasn't say anything about Bear, but I can tell by the way she looks at me that it's a wreck, even by the standards of the Wasteland. And I'm not going to be able to ride a mare in a car like that; they'll laugh at me.

I seek out the road I'd discovered a couple of days ago, and I manage to drive up it. The road ends at the entrance to a cave. When I reach it, I see a time-honored white sign with black letters that read, 'HEAVENLY HARBOR—PRIVATE PROPERTY! NO TRESPASSERS ALLOWED'. Heavenly Harbor... Interesting name for a place in the rock, located almost at the very top.

I drive in. I turn off the headlights and we get out of the car as the cave narrows further. I take Whispering Night with me.

The darkness inside the cave is pitch black. Thanks to the night vision in our helmets, we can see at the far end, about thirty feet away, wide metal doors. We slowly approach them. The silence is broken only by the tapping of our shoes on the rocks and the scraping of gravel. The closer we get to the door, the more we distinguish a faint noise behind them. It sounds like the humming of lamps.

I focus on my surroundings, trying to detect any unusual currents of magic that might signal magical traps or dangers. But I detect nothing. Or my instincts are still weak.

When I press the button at the door, it slides open to reveal an entrance to a room entirely finished in concrete and black steel. Opposite the entrance is the next door... No, it is an elevator with a small console next to it. Aside from it, the elevator and the humming flickering lights in rectangular glass tubes that emitted a lifeless white light, there is nothing here.

"ALARM! ALARM! INTRUDER!" a voice suddenly yells from the speakers as we cross the threshold of the doors; I shudder in surprise.

The security system. Why didn't I think of that? Four turrets pop up out of thin air: the rectangular parts of the floor and ceiling coverings slide away, revealing these metal figures, stuffed with tons of ammo: two turrets at the top, two at the bottom. Their weapons are threateningly aimed at us—they immediately open fire on us.

Before the turrets appeared, I managed to raise a magical shield in front of us. A blue shroud of magic protects us from the bullets. But only for a few seconds, because my skills are still insufficient—but it's enough to allow us to retreat and hide behind the threshold of the doors. As soon as we're out of sight, the turrets go into standby mode, ceasing to fire.

"So here's the deal: on my command, you destroy the turrets above, and I'll duck down and take the ones below." She nods. "Do it!"

Motley backs up quickly, so as to reduce the chance of a hit, and starts firing at the turrets, while I duck down, turn on the V.A.T.S., and get ready to fire from Whispering Night. The pegasus misses a couple of times, a few bullets hit her armor, but she destroys the turrets. I successfully disarm mine.

"Ugh," bursts from my lips. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. The armor took a couple of hits. The bullets hit the protective plates."

"Great. That was pretty close. You should be careful in this place from now on. The sign outside warned us..."

We call for the elevator and go down about five floors. Strangely, the elevator console is not locked, given that the automated defenses are in alert mode.

At the bottom, we walk out into a spacious square room; across from it is another elevator. Here the room is built along the lines of the Vaults and the Stables, only it looks noticeably larger and taller. It's likely that Stable-Tec had its hoof in the construction, and for those who tend to be claustrophobic. There are two stairs on the right, one leading down and one leading up. I decide to check the lower rooms first, hoping to disable the defenses.

The lower level is patrolled by several Sentinels. After activating 'EMP Generator' in Pip-Boy, I, following standard procedure, aim the charge at the robot. It reaches the Sentinel and disables some of its systems, causing it to become disoriented for a brief period of time. Still, its defenses are pretty strong. Motley uses his combat saddle to finish him off while he's incapacitated, but then looks at me in surprise.

I can make four more 'throws'.

"You just emitted an electromagnetic pulse from your hooves," she says, clearly mesmerized.

"Always have an ace up my sleeve," I mutter, looking at the sparking robot.

"Implant?"

"Implant."

We disarm the other robots in a similar pattern: I use 'EMP Generator', and then Motley finishes them off with the energy-magic weapon. Eventually I discharge the implant completely. Exploring the technical rooms, we find a place where we can cut off all the robots—next to the bunker reactor, where there are many systems and subsystems of support. The reactor is located in a separate, protected room. For the last two hundred years, it has been in standby mode—for example, keeping the ventilation system running and the lights on. At the moment, the remaining energy is enough for several months of full operation. The bunker's security system is also controlled from this room. It went into full mode the moment we crossed the doorway, activating the turrets.

From the main security terminal, we become aware of an incident. There was a malfunction in the security system, causing a security system in the form of robots and turrets to attack all the residents of the bunker. This happened during the fall of the megaspells.

Now the main systems are in stable condition, the more minor ones are slightly damaged and require repair for two hundred years, but rare parts are needed to make it happen. My magic will not suffice.

I also find out that the bunker's security system is vulnerable to underground tremors and earthquakes, which may well have been caused by megaspells. The negligence in building the bunker and programming the security systems resulted in the deaths of the residents. This can probably only be remedied by a programming expert, which is Lemon. She's the only one I can give away the location of this place. I don't want to trust anyone from Vanhoover.

After checking the rest of the bunker, we find more than a dozen pony skeletons, victims of a system malfunction. To keep them from lying around, we incinerate the remains in the waste disposer on the lower level.

I like this place. It could be turned into a nice house. Temporary, of course—while I'm busy looking for Project Dome. I have a feeling they're going to take a long time.

Just need to fix some technical problems. This place has everything I need to live. All that remains is to re-purchase furniture and some equipment, since the robots destroyed, or at least ruined, almost everything in this bunker during the sweep.

The bunker consists of two main levels: a lower level and an upper level. The upper level is the living level, where there is a dining room, kitchen, common toilet, shower room, medical bay, game room with the destroyed contents of the minibar, and about twenty separate bedrooms. The bedrooms are entered in one large hall, consisting of two layers. The hall is about thirty feet high; the other rooms are not low either, but this one is the tallest. It is also full of seats, tables, large sofas, paintings, and artificial plants of varying degrees of damage. In short, a common room or lounge where all the residents can gather and have intimate conversations.

In general, all the rooms and rooms of the bunker are at least ten feet high. I first thought that, compared to the ponies, this bunker was for some giants, but it turns out that it was built for a wealthy pegasi family. The head of it was a retired military colonel. His name was Desert Wind, and the bunker was for his wife and children, his brothers and sisters, and, of course, their families. Now I see why the quarters here are so spacious. It follows that it is common among pegasi to be claustrophobic, as Motley confirms.

By the way, the head of the family had his own suite, which, according to the old papers, was called a loft because it was higher than the other areas. There's a spacious living room, a bedroom, and its own toilet and shower room. I tell Motley that I will occupy this particular apartment, to which she does not respond in any way. I have no doubt—Lemon would be sure to make a joke about me taking the best spot.

Clean up the dust and dirt all over the bunker, throwing out the trash and leaving only that which can be used to fix anything in the place. I wonder again at some point: is it safe to live here, given that the security system has wiped out the inhabitants here like a lawnmower wiped out the grass? At least it can be used later, if Lemon can fix it up. For now, I've turned it off completely.

Since the bunker was intended for a wealthy family, half of whose members were military, there are extra... advanced facilities on the lower level, which can also be called the technical level. On this level there is a laboratory—some of the equipment there is finally ruined, hydroponics (due to faulty automated systems without proper care all the plants withered away), a workshop (here everything is the same as in the laboratory—some equipment is ruined and some destroyed), a shooting range with a training room, a spacious warehouse, a waste disposer and a hangar. Below this area is a small room with the reactor, as well as equipment and devices of other systems and subsystems of the bunker.

There is a small amount of ammunition, a couple of firearms and several sets of standard battle armor in the storage. Many things were damaged and destroyed by the security system, but they can all be restored and repaired. The main thing is that the bunker itself is undamaged, and that it is functional. The rest is repairable. We only need parts, new equipment, furniture and time, and most importantly, lots and lots of caps to procure it all, as I have no doubt that they are expensive. After all, this is rare and valuable equipment. But thanks to the fact that the steelhead have been rifling through a dozen Stables, they should have everything I need.

As I had assumed earlier, the bunker's interior and systems are modeled after those of the Stables and Vaults. Vault-Tec—and now Stable-Tec—have always made some kind of miscalculation when building underground structures. Not surprising, given that something can be missed in the construction of such projects. However, it is too trivial a security blunder: it could not have been missed.

The best thing I find at this point is a flying vehicle in a hangar. Its hull is dark gray, with two main propellers attached to the sides. Because of the smooth shapes of the flying vehicle I immediately thought of one organization—the Enclave. They were the ones who had a similar air transport, and until a certain time were the only owners of rotorcraft.

'A vertibird,' I thought to myself as we entered the hangar and saw the vehicle for the first time.

"What a treat... Vertibuck," Motley says. Buck... Buck. A lot of names here end in 'buck'. This world never ceases to amaze me with its quirks. I laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask Motley, looking at me confused.

"Luck," I answer, laughing myself off.

"Luck?"

"Exactly. If it also works, it turns out that my luck reaches cosmic levels. Do you know how to operate it? Because I, of course, don't."

"In the Enclave, flying is one of the things everyone should know. I can pilot, but don't expect me to be professional at it. Especially in combat," Motley inspects the vertibird... I mean, the vertibuck. "It doesn't have any weaponry anyway. It's a vertibuck for civilian use that could have been bought by anyone with money in their safe deposit boxes."

Strange that a vertibuck belonging to a retired military colonel did not have any weaponry.

"Apparently," the two-colored-eyed pony continues, "it's the most common civilian vertibuck, one of the first models of it, the CV-01. It was a means of transportation that appeared shortly before the war. It is not combat-ready, but qualified mechanics who know the vehicle can modify it. Still, vertibucks, like any technology, can be improved. The engineers deliberately tried to make its design flexible for future modifications."

"So it really can be improved?" Motley nods. "Nice. Let's take a look at it from the inside."

Inside, there are about a dozen seats, and a cockpit—it's designed for one who sits at the controls and drives the craft. In front of the pilot is a control panel with a mass of different sensors, buttons and levers. Motley briefly explains how the vertibuck is operated. The steering wheel controls the position of the propellers, which allows a pilot to control the flight by tilting the vertibuck in the desired direction. The pedals under the seat help to make a turn around the horizontal axis. A small but conspicuous grip near the seat controls the propeller stroke—in other words, increases or decreases speed when moving vertically or horizontally. The dashboard instrumentation mainly consists of sensors for altitude analysis, fuel reserve, pitch angle, airspeed, propeller speed, overboard temperature, machine and component condition, engine load, radars, and many other such things.

I already know the basic types of vertibuck controls: vertical takeoff, horizontal flight and hovering. Motley tells me that the right hoof holds and controls the helm, and the left hoof engages the rest of the controls.

"This is all very interesting, my motley angel. I want to see how you fly it," I said, looking at the pegasus with a smile. I've only flown a vertibird once, when I escaped from the Enclave's mobile platform by launching rockets into it from orbit. The second time I flew a huge plane was on my way from the East Coast to the West Coast... What a long time ago that was.

"What are you going to name your bird?" the pegasus asks, looking at the instruments and pushing a few buttons.

"What's that for?" I ask curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently it's already named, but when you change ownership, the name changes, too... All Enclave pilots give their flying machines some kind of name or nickname."

"Well, you're a pilot, so you name it."

"I'll just show you if it works or not. I'm not going to be a pilot," the pegasus replies stiffly.

Okay, I'm going into the cute mode. I make the saddest, mournfulest, most pleading face I can think of: Motley is my only hope for flying in the sky.

"Come on, please," I whimper, looking into the motley eyes of the pegasus.

"I can't..." she refuses with difficulty, looking at me. I lean a little closer to her. "No." I don't give up and lean even closer. "No!" she yells, and I pretend to recoil in fear and whimper.

"Well, al-l-lright," the pegasus mutters, lowering her head and sighing heavily, "I'll be your pilot for a while," Motley barely squeezes out of herself.

"Thank you so much, angel. You're the best," I hug her tightly.

"Okay, stop fooling around. And I repeat, my name is Motley Cloud," she gently and with a touch of embarrassment pushes me away. Oh! Her emotional shield finally trembles. "Bring the bird to the surface. Make up a name for it yourself."

"Why is that so important?"

"They say that whatever you name a bird, that's how it flies."

"Let's call it what it flies." I telekinesis and pull the lever, which is right on the metal platform with the vertibuck. The platform rises slowly and with a faint metallic grinding sound. A hatch above us opens, revealing a view of the gray sky. I and my beige pegasus climb into the transport.

"'Angel' sounds nice," I say, pondering and standing behind the pegasus, who in turn sits behind the pilot's seat. The pegasus doesn't answer anything to this—she's checking the vertibuck's control panel, and starting the engines. The propellers slowly come into motion, cutting through the air around them. I glance casually at the sensors and gauges—everything is normal, judging by the positions of the arrows, which are not currently in the red zone.

The platform rises outward, we prepare for takeoff. Next to the takeoff pad is the elevator: it leads down to the bunker.

"Ready for takeoff," Motley announces indifferently. It's a familiar thing for her to fly.

"Fly, my angel!" I say enthusiastically, and I hear the propellers abruptly begin to work harder, making a distinctive murmuring sound. "If the vertibuck flies off, make sure we don't crash into the rock!" I add to her anxiously.

I just hope this vertibuck doesn't blow up in an explosion.

I'm worried... Either because of Motley's lack of skill in piloting transport, or because this machine hasn't flown in two hundred years.

Maybe we should call it a 'Vertibird'. Vertibuck 'Vertibird'... sounds strange.

Nevertheless, we fly...