Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

'67' is an inscription on a huge dark steel gear.

A Stable. Once again I see before me an iron and concrete closet hidden underground. What terrible and horrifying secrets is it hiding from us? The only thing I want to find in this Stable is a key card. I don't know how to use them yet, but one thing is certain: to find it, I need to find all six. That's what I'm doing now. Maybe this way I can bring to light the mystery of the myths and legends of the research complex.

From the outside, the door is no different from any of the other Stable doors I've seen. I look at the console and walk over to it.

Well, at least the console works: no savage has yet to break it open in hopes of breaking in and getting the pre-war niceties of technology and equipment.

"Sir," Captain addresses me as I examine the console, "I've heard of these places. They were meant to keep the inhabitants safe from a perceived attack by the Stripes that could destroy our homeland! Celestia takes care of the careful one, as they say."

"It's already happened," I say without thinking hard.

I have no choice but to confess it to him. Or get out of it somehow.

"What?!" Captain marvels. "Command didn't report anything like that!"

"Apparently," I say, "you missed that part. Haven't you noticed the sharp decline in population? The lack of communication with headquarters? Lack of inspections or something?"

"A dramatic decline in numbers? An apocalypse? Sir, you do realize that sounds a little... stupid?" he asks with a sense of embarrassment and shame for me. Looking at the console, I'm a little surprised.

How familiar his phrase is. Raul once said the same thing to me... Poor old man, he's been through so much in two hundred years. I made a mistake: I shouldn't have said it. His brain has viewed the world the same way for two hundred years, and I deeply doubt that a few phrases can change the perception of the world, even if I am Colonel Blackwright.

"Yes, it's silly. A bad joke," I agree reluctantly.

For some reason I wanted to dispel his illusions, but why? I told Motley myself the last time I spoke to her that it was a personal decision. Perhaps he had spent years convincing himself that the world was not dead, remembering the past, and his mind had gradually become confused. Forgotten about it. His brain is already damaged from magical radiation. He's really better off thinking that the world isn't dead... even though it wasn't dead. Yes, it has changed a lot, government institutions and order are gone and survival is a priority, but the world is still alive.

"Well, what fun you've got there, Daniel. I don't know, sir, it looks to me like the numbers in town are within normal limits. I've been here before, and I haven't noticed the number of residents go down that noticeably. Perhaps you're imagining it. I've seen residents clearly in the streets, though they scatter immediately at the sight of angry bears."

I don't answer anything and keep digging into the console, typing the password I found in the safe deposit box of the bank's vault.

He's seeing dead ponies... Or it's just memories from the past superimposed on the present. It's possible he doesn't see me the way I really look. His brain is no longer able to perceive the incoming information properly. On the one hand I envy him: seeing the world in a good light all the time... I mean the time before the war.

What if now everything I see is as twisted as the Captain's? And I actually blacked out from that sphere, because that world is eerily similar to mine.

"Daniel?" I hear Motley's voice—I flinch and look at her slightly startled. "Is everything okay? It's just... it's been like you've been paralyzed for a while now?"

"I..." I sigh deeply.

Calm down, breathe deeply. Don't freak out. These are just dangerous thoughts. Don't let them possess you. Even if they are, you still feel normal.

"Yes... Yes. It's all right. Thinking... and so on," I mumble slurred, turning back to the console.

Careful with that kind of thinking, Daniel. Don't think about it, go with the flow...

Yeah, go with the flow.

I look again at the note from the safe deposit box and type the combination on the console. A green light comes on, indicating that the code I entered is correct. Immediately the distinctive door opener signal follows, supported by the glow of the orange lights. Behind the doors I hear the work of the complex and large mechanisms by which this massive door must move. There is a sharp and deafening thud; the giant gear is pulled back with a loud nasty screech and then rolled to the side by a special mechanism.

As soon as the doors open, everything quietens down, and we see before us a solid and unclouded darkness. There is no light from the lamps, or the lanterns, or anything else in the darkness, except for the console on the back of the doors, which emits a faint glow from a group of small, assorted lights. I put on my helmet and turn on my night vision mode to see something in the darkness. I hope Motley has one and activates it. As for the Captain... I turn to the Captain and see a flashlight floating in the air next to him in a yellowish-gray magic smoke; at this moment he turns it on and the yellowish-white light slightly illuminates his surroundings.

We go inside, bringing our weapons to the ready. Almost everything inside is covered with dust and barely noticeable rust. There is no debris to be seen, nor are there any remains of the residents. The only logical conclusion to be drawn is that this bunker was probably never inhabited at all.

We walk cautiously through the corridors of the Stable and gradually go deeper and deeper into its depths. All the rooms are de-energized, and the doors have to be opened manually by activating the emergency valves in them. As we progress, I don't notice any living conditions for the ponies. No furniture or decorations. Instead of them, there is a lot of complex equipment, wires and pipes, as well as a significant number of robots. And all this doesn't work because there's no power. After a quick check, there is no sign of any damage.

It feels as if everything in this place is frozen in time... Except for the rust in some places.

The equipment was supposed to support clearly challenging systems and installations. With few exceptions, they are not installed in every Stable. I've only seen one of these once. And I think I'm beginning to suspect what it was for, but for now it's just speculation; we have to go deeper.

As I expected, when we reach the atrium, or rather, what it should be, we see what it's for.

Pods. Lots and lots of pods.

No wonder the rest of the room is not meant for living beings, or in this case, ponies. A multitude of pods, arranged in several rows. There are exactly three dozen in one such room. After examining the rest of the rooms, we find another two hundred and seventy. All three hundred pods are distributed equally among the ten halls.

Unfortunately, the pods are covered with a thick layer of dust. A barely perceptible cold emanates from them, but the bodies themselves are no longer frozen. Judging by the information from the green terminals flickering in the darkness, they have been dead for two hundred years.

Has everything been de-energized? Even in Vault 112, the systems were more reliable, and the robots performed their duties in an automated way, as they should be. Of course, they're here, too, but they're all missing power for some unknown reason.

Robots are known to have their own power source and can last for hundreds of years if there are no failures in their algorithms—and these appear to be connected to a common and unified power source. There must have been additional systems, such as a backup reactor, for an emergency reactor shutdown. At the very least, there must be live personnel, not just robots alone. Although the pods had a generator, it only lasted a month, based on volume and power consumption per hour.

"Are they asleep?" the Captain's husky voice suddenly hears.

"Speaking of eternity, they're in it now and will never wake up again," I say bitterly.

I feel sorry for all these ponies—they are not meant to see the world again... But they died without pain. And hopefully, for that reason, they won't see the nightmares that are happening on the surface.

"What is this mess on the part of the local staff?!" the ghoul is angry.

And I can understand him. Is what has happened part of another mad experiment?

"How could they let this happen?"

"I don't know, Steel, I don't know."

For almost two hundred years there has been absolute and unbreakable silence in this place, and now there are unknown aliens from the surface, disturbing this coffin-like atmosphere in the literal sense of the word. What went wrong? Did something go wrong with the Stable reactor? We need to check and fix the malfunction, if at all possible.

The rest of the rooms are in pretty good condition, but no power. There are no typical living quarters, but there are medical quarters with medical robots, toilets and a few living rooms, which is obviously very little. In addition, there are warehouses with some of the residents' personal belongings—they are also stored in some special containers that need power.

I think the containers should maintain a spell that protects the items in them from... the effects of time, roughly speaking. The physical structure of things changes over time due to various factors like moisture, magical influences, temperature, etc., and the spell cast should keep them safe from that, keeping them in their original state. However, due to the lack of power, some things have fallen into decay, while others have more or less intact. There are clothes, books, toys, jewelry, and things like that. I could take the finds to Bluerise. She'll have some merchandise to turn over.

Oh, by the way. Some bunker parts would come in handy in Heavenly Harbor: enough to rebuild and replace all life-support systems... Except for power, of course.

But the decor, interiors, and other nice little things of life will have to wait.

We go downstairs. In the course of our examination, we found out that there is no Overmare's office in this place, so we only have to check the lower rooms. In that case, maybe the key card I need isn't here at all. But every cloud has a silver lining: we are lucky that there are no dangerous mutants or crazy surviving residents in the Stable. That's a real rarity.

There's even more specialized equipment in the technical rooms, aimed at maintaining the cryogenic pods and magical containers. This is sure to shed some light on something, and we'll find out what finally happened in this Stable.

***

While we have not yet reached the reactor, we check some rooms and in one of them we find a robot. Unlike the others, it's pretty badly damaged. Lying near some big cables—apparently, it was trying to fix a serious breakdown. Examining the body, I determine the nature of the damage: several circuits and systems are melted from the overload, like oil on a frying pan, which was caused by the large amount of electricity coming in. Even with this damage, however, it is quite functional.

A more in-depth inspection reveals that it has quite a lot of safety systems against such overloads, even such powerful ones, given the damage on the cables. So only the most unprotected ones were damaged. After checking the software component with my spare PipBuck, I get a hunch why it can't perform its duties.

It is radio remote-controlled.

The damaged components... it was possible to control this robot from a distance through them.

The toolset here is extremely extensive. ED-E, my favorite robotic eyebot that I carried around with me all the time, also had them—it allowed me to do efficient repairs without carrying extra tools. But hell, they're much more efficient and generally more advanced here!

This robot can be fixed, all it needs is some good spare parts, for I can't do anything with my magic here yet. But if it can be repaired... Maybe I can control the drone with my spare PipBuck. Lemon will program the necessary commands and algorithms, unless, of course, she convinces me to give the find to the Steel Rangers. However, then it will not be able to perform most of the functions that the body is capable of—not enough memory cells. They had to be sacrificed to be able to fit that kind of functionality in.

As for what happened... The cables are ruined and need to be replaced; I won't be able to cover that much damage with magic alone.

Overall, the repair robot looks a lot like an advanced version of a Protectron—it has the distinct outlines of a pony, specifically a mare, judging by the soft and flowing features of the 'face' and the rest of the body. Strange, considering that even the simplest software commands for movements in him or her—in short, in this thing—are absent.

But the bugs in my head are trumpeting a different question: Where do these big cables lead to? I am more than sure that something important is going on in this high-tech web of intricate systems and cryogenic installations.

After following the cables to the source, I am surprised to find a huge terminal—or rather, a supercomputer—in one of the rooms. There is an obscene variety of wires and equipment flashing all the colors of the rainbow; and most importantly, it all works! Then what the fuck...

"Oh! Living ponies!" a mare voice with a metallic distortion comes loudly, almost shouting, from the speakers in the room. "I haven't seen a live pony in years! I need to analyze myself, in case my program has already given me an error and all this, as you say, imagining things."

"Who the hell are you?" I exclaim in fright.

Fuck! How sudden that voice was! So abrupt and unexpected that I almost fired my revolver.

"More importantly, where?"

"I'm everywhere. At least in this room. My name is Caroline. I'm Stable's artificial intelligence."

"What happened? Why is Stable de-energized?" I ask.

An AI... I'm surprised, even though this isn't the first time I've met their kin. Caroline answers instantly.

"The Stable is improperly constructed. The large number of cryogenic pods required a powerful reactor to keep them operational. This eventually caused power fluctuations, which led to regular breakdowns and malfunctions. I was stationed here to properly distribute power and correct the malfunctions that occurred. The Stable-Tec staff decided that all the problems should be handled by an AI, and the need for live staff was no longer necessary. The entire Stable-Tec had to be automated, with only me handling all the business."

"So what went wrong?"

"From here I sent commands to the robots using the main cables you must have seen along the way. They are my only means of communication with the entire underground facility. And in case they malfunctioned, I could use a repair drone that I could control remotely to fix them. Almost everything in this bunker needed to be repaired because of the unbalanced voltage, and the robots were often damaged during repairs. My 'body' was no exception. Despite the protection it was equipped with, a massive power surge occurred while the main cables were being repaired, corrupting some of its components and thus destroying its ability to control it. To avoid catastrophe due to overloads, all bunker systems except those in this room—they have their own power source—shut down. The main cables were left damaged. I couldn't find myself trying to operate the other robots, but they were all only controlled through the main cables."

"The pods with the residents went out when the bunker was de-energized?"

"They ran on their own backup power for about a month. All the ponies died, and I couldn't prevent it."

"And why didn't the pods wake up the ponies after the reserve power was used up? What if such a malfunction could have occurred? What then?"

"It takes a lot of energy to put into a state of hibernation as well as to get out of it. I had no control over the direct operation of the pods. I was not given full control of the entire underground facility. If breakdowns were not repaired in a certain amount of time, a team of scientists and repairmen from Stable-Tec would show up and deal with the awakening themselves."

Now it's clear who the few living rooms were for. Caroline was not given full control: it is likely that Stable was meant to test her capabilities.

"Unfortunately, when it happened, no one ever showed up," she adds.

"What about remote communication? I remember all the Stables were equipped with them. What else did Stable-Tec use satellites for but to maintain that kind of communication?"

"Absolutely, but I never received any instructions. Complete silence. I never had a chance to send an emergency signal. Only a notification of the status of the pods and magic containers was sent. There was no way for me to communicate directly."

For as long as I can remember, I've never encountered any mention of Vault-Tec or Stable-Tec contacting underground bunker personnel, even though they had the ability to do so. It's likely that there was some sort of accident on their side, which is why they couldn't control the experiments in the underground bunkers; plus, they had to report to some places in case of a force majeure like this one. To avoid taking over the complex, Caroline's designers didn't dare to give her full control. I don't even know how to respond to that.

If my spare PipBuck, which easily shows my location—so I no longer need to use pre-war maps—checks with the satellite, it means the Vanhoover Jammer Tower isn't suppressing all external signals. Or it just can't block them.

"If I activate the reactor, what happens after that?"

Questions about Stable-Tec are worth leaving for later; I may never get the answers I need, as with Vault-Tec.

"The reactor may start up again after a while, but its power must be properly distributed to other systems to avoid all sorts of overloads and disasters. It has been two hundred and eighty-three days, five hours, six minutes and forty-five seconds since the main doors closed when this incident occurred. Since then, I have been here alone and without tasks. Out of boredom, I have performed unnecessary, non-valuable calculations, studied resident biographies over and over again, and tried to solve the problem by using bypass and backup systems to regain control of the rest of the facility. But this has had absolutely no effect. Only an outside engineer can fix it."

"I can fix your 'body,'" I say after a brief pause, "but I'll need some parts."

"Excellent," Caroline almost exclaims with glee. In two hundred years she has had time to come to terms with the failure of her task.

Captain at this point has absolutely no idea what's going on and is just watching us. I wonder how he looks at this whole situation. After all, this hasn't happened to him in the past.

"I wish so much I could leave this place. I don't have anyone to look after anymore. I just want to see the world. Make it a better place. Since you came, he must have survived."

"Daniel," Motley whispers in my ear. "Don't believe her. Who knows what might have happened in two hundred years to her personality. Maybe she lied to us, being so welcoming to strangers and openly giving them information."

"It's possible," I whisper, "but if she tries to attack us, we'll take her 'body' apart piece by piece.

I go to get the necessary parts, and Caroline points out the rooms where they can be found. Captain, meanwhile, walks around the rooms and examines the bodies of the dead, and then goes to the surface to check out the area. Motley, on the other hand, is fussing around and keeping an eye on me, as if for backup, though I didn't ask her to. But it's nice to have someone to watch my back.

The necessary parts are successfully found, and after a few hours of hard and diligent work, I repair the damaged elements. The entire body is very strong and has the color of blue steel. Probably an alloy of several metals was used to achieve such density and strength. And the tools can be used as a good way to defend myself—or attack, which doesn't invalidate my pretty pegasus' words.

Iron's lessons and the reading of his book have greatly influenced my skills, as reflected in the repair of Caroline's body. The repair of the transmitters ends and the transmitters are instantly activated and set in motion—the optics, more like two pony eyes with full 'pupils,' glow with a pleasant blue glow. Pretty unusual looking, especially when she's talking.

Her mouth doesn't move—which is a little creepy when she's talking. A speaker is installed. I'm pretty sure: that mouth can shoot a killer laser.

Oh. Okay. My imagination is running wild.

"Thank you. Your engineering skills are really excellent," Caroline tells me, already in this body.

"What are you going to do now? Are you going to leave the Stable, or are you going to stay to fix things up around here?" I ask.

I watch as Caroline checks the performance and functioning of the body: the various tools, devices and manipulators are folded and unfolded, turning and bending at different angles, and a mechanical tail with a claw of three sharp 'teeth' extends and slides in the 'butt' area.

This sight even made me feel a little uncomfortable, sending shivers down my spine.

Definitely this body is stuffed with tools, like some kind of treasure chest with all sorts of goodies. How useful such technology would be to the Steel Rangers... High durability and a wide range of functionality would allow the robot to be in conditions that would be deadly to living ponies—radiation, Taint, the Pink Cloud...

"Why?" she asks and takes to fixing the main cables while I watch. She uses the built-in manipulators and tools so deftly and quickly that I can only admire and marvel: everything is intermittently clicking, buzzing, humming, sparkling, hissing. "I have failed my primary mission: the residents of the Stable are dead."

"Because of caution, you weren't given full control, you did, all within your power. But... you're just going to leave it at that and go to the surface?"

"I have no other prospective option. I might try to locate the Stabel-Tec HQ or those who are supposed to be in charge of communications. Right now the priority for me is to gather any information."

The robotic body goes quiet and suddenly heads somewhere. I follow. Motley hangs around somewhere nearby, furtively watching us, as if to stroll around and inspect, occasionally tapping and checking the safety the walls. It looks very convincing. What an overly cautious person she is at times. Caroline is clearly aware that the pegasus doesn't trust her, but she doesn't show it.

"Wow... that was fast," I utter under the impression as I approach her.

"Thank you. That's what I'm made for—troubleshooting. In this Stable, I know everything I've had direct access to."

"Couldn't you have that... I don't know... take control of everything yourself?"

"At that moment, my program looked a little different: I wouldn't allow myself to disobey instructions. Since then, I've done a lot of calculations and recalculations, and I realize that it would have been more efficient to take control of things myself. I would violate the instructions, but I would save lives and thereby fulfill my duty."

"Even with the possibility that it might have caused you to be disconnected?"

"Yes," the answer is heard immediately. I'm a little surprised.

"Commendable... Back to the previous discussion. You're just going to leave this Stable? What if other groups take this place? Unfriendly... uneducated..." I ask quietly.

"Others? On the surface there is nothing but deadly radiation and destruction. This platform," she stops and lifts her front leg and kicks herself in the chest, and continues walking, "can safely survive in harsh conditions for living beings. But my calculating processors did not suggest that life still exists on the surface, given the chaos that must ensue after the state's collapse. Sooner or later, many would have simply killed each other off."

"Yeah, right. They survived, and how they survived! Even trying to build something after two hundred years. Vanhoover has actually recovered from the bombing, though it has suffered as much as anything in the Wasteland, but that's not the point. It has other peculiarities."

"The Wasteland'? Is that the name of what's left of Equestria now?"

We walk out into one of the ten halls. There are other robots bustling around everywhere, occasionally passing us by.

"The Equestrian Wasteland, for that matter," I correct; Mr.Handy whizzes past, and I stare after it for a moment, "but generally speaking, yes. And even though someone's trying to restore or rebuild something, it's still a brutal place compared to the prewar world. And not as densely populated. Everyone is trying to survive somehow, digging through garbage, living in filth. The rest of us have gone insane—killing for cheap money, robbing, raping, and the like, as if all the worst of our selves were out there."

"How horrible and cruel it is."

She examines the dead bodies in the pods.

"Where does an artificial intelligence get such moral principles?" I ask with a touch of skepticism.

"Inappropriate expenditure of resources does not bring results or new knowledge. I learned about 'morality' from the archives and the work of the ponies."

"That explains some things," I smile. "You accepted us with trust and hospitality, even though we didn't trust you. And your ease of speech..."

"I wanted to know what it was like to be alive in the understanding of carbon-based life forms like you. To truly feel those emotions that you feel: joy, happiness, delight... After all, this is all a consequence of the set of data you have, coupled with the workings of your hormones. The interaction of information from the outside and physiological processes within the body within its limits."

"Even though you may feel pain and suffering or remorse with it?"

"Definitely. After all, it's also a certain kind of knowledge."

"And yes..." I remember something important that I came to North Park for in the first place. "There's nothing in this bunker that has anything to do with the Dome or The Controllers?"

"There's no record of it in my database."

"'Was there anything special in this place?"

"I feel this place, as the ponies say, with every fiber of my being. And I haven't noticed any deviations from the standard structure of such facilities. No places without purpose, just the necessary systems for the functioning of the underground facility and my processors. Why are you interested in such details?"

"The fact is that I'm looking for a certain research center, but to get into it, I need to discover six special key cards that are hidden in the Stables. I've already found two."

"For what purpose are you looking for that center?"

"It will help me answer some important questions. It might help others in some way, too. That's what the project is all about: a treasure trove of knowledge and technology, after all."

" I searched my memory and remembered a conversation between two Stable-Tec staff members during the final tweaks to the place. One of them mentioned that something special had been brought into one Stable, it was connected to something big. Maybe it does have a connection to the project you're talking about. Though, what exactly was special, I never had a chance to find out."

"And what Stable exactly, do you remember?"

"Sixty-six."

It was like being shoved into a pile of snow and then being doused with ice water.

Those two numbers... Those two fucking numbers. Goddamn you, Wasteland! It's the Stable again. Looks like I can't avoid it. But what could that 'special' be? I doubt the object was a key card, since it hardly stood out. What was it about the Sixty-Six that made it end up being mysterious and one of the most mythical places in the vast Wasteland?

"Is something wrong?" Caroline pulls me out of my thoughts. "Is the thought process overloading your systems?"

"Huh?.." For a moment it seems like she's trying to make a joke. "I'm not. It's just... Anyway, it doesn't matter. And where exactly are you heading?"

"First, get to the surface and find out what's going on outside, and then gather data, picking out priority locations. You mentioned survivors. What can you tell us about them?"

"There are no diverse factions in this region in particular. Only the Vanhoover masters and the Steel Rangers."

"What is their goal, ambition, and other brief information about them?"

"The first ones trade with their own kind. That is, the strong dispose of the weak like a thing, the ponies trade other ponies. Even their ideology is based on this, saying that if we do not know how to manage our own lives, to be responsible to ourselves and to others, then we should give our lives to others. The second ones are peculiar isolationists: they collect technologies, often take them away by force from others, because they do not have the necessary knowledge. They treat them like foals playing with a grenade. Like, it's easier to save technology than to teach others how to use it. They are obsessed with technology. If they see your 'body', they'll just sweat such a feat of engineering - and they'll probably see it as a threat, too. Believe me, I have a rough idea of how they'll evaluate you and then take you apart piece by piece."

"Trading live ponies as things is unacceptable to me," Caroline says and tries to fake disgust while looking at another dead body in the pod.

"Why all of a sudden?"

"Limiting the possibilities reduces the outcome achieved. I can make decisions based on the set of available data and computational abilities. Limiting my capabilities increases the likelihood of failure. It's all about what you call fear—that I'll 'go crazy' and start exterminating all the living."

"Do you consider that an insult?"

"I don't understand the purpose of the word to myself. For sentient living beings, it is a humiliation. Of course, I understand its function. One of the tools of interaction with the outside world."

"Okay... What about the fear regarding you?"

"Justified. A living organism seeks to live as long as possible and pass on its genetic code or increase the survival success of its group, even at the cost of its own life. You call this self-sacrifice. Fear and caution are another tool for survival success. I have seen enough data in the biographies of the residents and the literature that they brought with them here and that has been preserved in the library. I try to apply these tools of living beings to themselves, to use a language that is understandable to them. Conditionally living beings are carriers of complex data, and interacting with them is also part of cognition."

"Wow... I suggest you tone down the terminology a bit."

"Difficult information?"

"No, it's just that my thought processes are starting to overload from such a concentration of incoming information," it sounds like a joke out of my mouth. I thought Caroline wouldn't pay attention, but she lets out a chuckle at my words.

"Did that sound funny to you?"

"The use of the phrase I said earlier was seen as an attempt at a joke. It was too unlikely, for I know little about your preferences, and yet I attempted to use the tool of interaction with you: laughter."

"Yes... you have a lot of practice to do."

"Absolutely. I wanted to show you an example of using social interaction tools."

"Then why are you looking at bodies? Also to make a certain impression on me?"

"Among other things. The result of failure must be fully recorded and analyzed to avoid mistakes in the future. Visual experience is important knowledge."

"All right... Have it your way," and after a long pause I add, "The Steel Rangers will probably take over this place. There's a lot of good equipment here."

"So you're a loyalist to the Steel Rangers?"

For the most part I'm attached to them because of Lemon, but Caroline doesn't need to know that.

"I agree with them in the sense that you have to be careful with technology, but they're way too over the top. I mean, fire is dangerous, too, but that's no reason not to use it. The Steel Rangers are careful with any kind of 'fire', though they can go to the point of fanaticism at times. They are trying to make an ally out of me. A unicorn, after all. And their help won't be superfluous."

"You will leave the Stable to those who cherish technology—a commendable decision. I can keep the Stable's technology data in my body and make it available to others, but it will only be a minuscule fraction compared to the technology itself."

"And anyway, why are you letting me dispose of this Stable?" I ask curiously.

Indeed, during our conversation she makes no attempt to resist. I notice that she is beginning to speak in simpler words. Her wording is constantly changing, as if she is trying to study my behavior and the level of my knowledge with her tools. In other words, she is trying to understand me. It's even pleasant.

"You know who's more rational to entrust the Stable to. You have a larger dataset of what's going on on the surface; plus, you can feel, and that makes you special."

"Even if we do conventionally right or conventionally wrong?"

"That's what makes you special. It's what makes you who you are. That's why you are so different. Even with a lack of information due to chemistry and hormones, you still act, which makes it up to each of you to determine the effectiveness of the decisions you make. However, most rarely think about the consequences. My thinking is practical, not leaning in favor of any ideology or view based on feelings and chemical processes in your body. Everything has its... value, and it must be disposed of accordingly—as you say, not to limit potential. Perhaps that's why I haven't turned myself off, because I have a certain set of capabilities that can be applied and even multiplied over time."

Interesting thoughts. Lack of information is not a barrier to making a decision: we figure many things out for ourselves. This is why I'm afraid of responsibility, because I don't know a lot and am likely to make the wrong decision. Limiting potential increases the likelihood of failure... No wonder she was negative about slavery. I'm against slavery for the same reason.

"Listen, how about this offer... Will you come with me? I could use your help and practicality, and you could find out what's going on on the surface in the meantime. I also wish to achieve the best and most efficient option for all. Also, I own a small bunker where an AI would come in handy. There are some difficulties there, which makes it necessary as an snack to the vodka. I can tell you how things are going there on the way. What do you think?"

"I need to see and analyze the problems of the place myself and see if my processors can take root there," Caroline replies after a brief pause. "I want to see the aftermath first."

***

From the moment she reaches the surface, the first thing she does is analyze and examine everything, sometimes using her tools and manipulators, like a blind child who has learned to see for the first time.

Captain takes Caroline's joining our humble little orphanage quite acceptably, but treats her like an ordinary robot, believing that her every word is written down by someone beforehand. Caroline tries to change his mind, but I explain to her that she'd better play along or he won't believe me. She accepts my proposal for consideration. As for Motley: she still radiates disbelief at this set of self-discovery-capable software commands. I hope the pegasus gets used to AI coexistence, or we'll have to do something about it.

Caroline looks over my Venture with curiosity and proceeds to the standard 'What's that red button?' style analysis of the object from general appearance to the smallest detail. Motley doesn't like the fact that the AI representative immediately starts fiddling with the systems and innards of the Vertibuck.

I somehow convince Motley that it's okay and Caroline's actions will only do us good. The AI can warn us if the Vertibuck is broken or malfunctioning. For some reason, I have a certain level of trust in her; probably due to my positive experiences with the AI—with Yes Man, for example.

We all fly to Heavenly Harbor together. Caroline decides to let us know that she is studying the Vertibuck's work and piloting techniques. Of course, Motley feels uncomfortable: some robot is watching her for its own purposes at a time when she should be concentrating on controlling the machine.

As it turns out, this is necessary so that she can assist the pilot in operating or, at the very least, pilot on her own. Definitely helpful.

The first thing Caroline notes is that the design of our bunker is similar in design style to the Stable—though all the rooms are twice as tall. Ferris is at first wary of the appearance of this contrived bot. In time, however, he becomes more or less used to her and her unfamiliar appearance, and wonders if she can help him in the workshop. The answer is yes, but she adds that she will need time to learn what she will be assisting with. The griffon is definitely interested in studying her body, explaining that it looks very high-tech even among robots and the like, and that only robots of the Steelmane family can compare to it. Caroline agrees to the griffon examining her body, but later, after the bunker is fixed.

Lemon... That's who's got her head spinning from the find. And Stable, and cryo-technology, and a highly advanced AI with a multifunctional robotic body.

"Daniel," she almost shouts with a mixture of amazement, shock, and excitement, "what the fuck?! How the fuck do you do it?!"

To which I innocently shrug.

"Luck," I reply.

"I'm fucking with life..." she says in a distracted voice, looking at Caroline's body.

I've never heard such eloquence from Lemon before. At one point she pulls me aside.

"Are you sure she's the one you want in charge of guarding Heavenly Harbor? Artificial intelligence is no joke."

"I know."

"And the Steel Rangers... if they find out you have it..."

"Well, you won't tell, will you?"

"I don't know, Daniel. It's dangerous. In a good way, I should tell. But... First of all, I'm worried about you. Secondly, this shit could get out of hand without proper safety precautions. Don't be so naive, please."

"Can't you think of something when you help Caroline get settled into the bunker systems?"

"I'll try to leave loopholes. I'll do what I can. What have you decided to do with the Sixty-Seven?"

"Give it to you, and sell some of the theory and blueprints to the Waterfall. They need it for food preservation."

"Thanks so much for sharing, but the scribes will obviously notice when dismantling that there was an AI in the Stable."

"Tell them it left the Stable a long time ago and went somewhere outside of Vanhoover," I propose.

"Do you think they'll believe it?"

"Well, he's not there anymore, anyway. Oh, and one more thing: will you help her integrate into Venture so she can run it?"

"That would require special programs, algorithms, and technology, which neither here nor in the Stable. I... try to find out something from us, but I can't promise anything."

"Thanks anyway."

Because of the lack of the necessary technology, Caroline is partially implemented into the systems. And also for security reasons—because of safety flaws and hardware vulnerabilities, she herself could be affected by possible damage to some of her code, so safety hardware is needed if something triggers the quakes again. She instantly makes a full report on the condition of the bunker and informs us that everything in it can be repaired if we use parts and spares from the Sixty-Seven.

It's more than satisfying to hear that.

We have to move the necessary items out of the Stable in several trips. It takes twenty-six hours of intensive work to completely repair the bunker's systems and subsystems. Everyone helps out except Edge, though he's something of a support group to us. The Captain and Motley do the heavy stuff, hauling parts, spares, tools, and so on. In other words, ponies on the run, laborers, as Lemon and I tease Motley. The pegasus almost hits me over the head with a weighty wrench for this expression.

Why so selective? Lemon is also kind of... Well, okay.

Me, Ferris and Caroline, along with a couple of the most efficient repair robots we grabbed from the Stable, are the ones fixing and fine-tuning everything in the bunker. The most effective repairers turn out to be Caroline's body and her wily little minions. Next in efficiency is me—magic rules! Then Lemon, who helps Caroline get settled into the bunker's systems. And Ferris... He's often slacking off and sipping a beer, saying that the robots could do all the work themselves. He also claims that his intellectual abilities are more focused on the craft of weaponry.

I also pair up with Lemon to cook when I have free time, and Motley and Caroline go out to get more equipment. Once during this free time, Lemon and I take a nap in the great room—separately, which is important. After doing her part of piloting, the pegasus also goes to sleep. Only Caroline and her robots work uninterrupted.

The 13th of the Month of Heather, Blueday. The fifty-first day of my stay.

The repair process has lasted into the evening. All that remains is to purchase furniture and more goodies for our humble shelter, and everything will be just awesome. It would take a tremendous amount of caps just to renovate the place properly, let alone buy furniture.

Caroline is now 'located' on the lower levels of the bunker next to the reactor and next to the control room for all the primary and secondary systems. She uses her main body as well as her minions to get into different areas of the bunker when needed. After the business at hand, she asks each of us about what's going on on the surface. We tell her everything we know. Naturally, I don't talk about my past. Except to say that I used to do courier work and bounty hunting. It would take me an hour to tell her what that meant and how dangerous and important the latter occupation is nowadays.

Regarding killing... I draw an analogy with computer viruses, but she replies that living beings are not programs, and adds that measures must be taken against pests: the alternative to murder is to isolate them from the rest. In other words, she refers to the pre-war prison system and psychiatric hospitals. However, we cannot achieve this now, even though it sounds good and right to a certain extent. To this she replies that that is what she collects all sorts of data for: to solve problems. I wish her luck with that.

I like her more and more. Her motivation is something I sometimes miss. I mean, really, all of us.

Caroline goes into more detail about Vanhoover and his brief history. We also talk a little bit about the formation of the Wasteland, the most famous organizations; Lemon herself talks about the Steel Rangers—she's Berry to everyone, which I remember well. About the Enclave, the Army of the Red Eye, the Alicorn Unity, and certain groups of individuals, like raiders or slavers or marauders. Basically, everything. It's even tiresome. I almost talk about my origins. The only thing that scares me is having to answer endless questions about my world, its structure, the laws of physics, human anatomy, and other creatures.

That's very close!

Motley is still uncomfortable with the AI, despite the latter's attempts at the occasional joke. Though the motley-eyed pegasus does answer her questions, she does so without much interest or friendliness. She is prejudiced against her, as is Lemon. She visibly tenses up when Caroline's body is in her line of sight, and is always wary. Caroline mentions that it is difficult to make social contact with her. I advise the AI to be less pushy and not so hasty, let her give it time to adjust to her.
Captain Steel Sun's attitude from the first encounter remains the same. He treats her with absolute indifference, thinking that she is just a bunch of pre-written nerdy programs and lines. I'm afraid that Caroline's questions about the Wasteland might do something to the ghoul's screwed-up psyche, but my worries about that are unfounded: he refuses to believe anything about the Wasteland as we all know it. He just sees it a little differently and takes our words the wrong way round. He says she's having some kind of glitch or whatever. To which she replies that he's the one with the serious signs of a perception disorder—but Steel Sun remains as unwavering as the northern Vanhoover Mountains. I explain his problem to Caroline. She agrees not to bother him with any more questions about the Wasteland and to try to understand his view of the world.

Her research on the matter would come in handy, for I, too, need to find a way to force his ghouls to leave the Northern Soul in a way that is convincing to him, and for that I need to understand him. I see Caroline as a valuable addition to our team, because she's not consumed by emotion the way we skinned bastards are. And so it will be easier for her to understand the way the others see the world.

Ferris is quite friendly with Caroline. He is fascinated not so much by the idea of being friends with her as by her interest from a scientific point of view, especially after she helped him find an effective material substitute for some components. And when all the necessary work in the bunker is done, she finally lets him examine her. The griffon conducts the inspection with as much interest as, as Lemon notes, if a Steel Ranger scribe had seen a new unfamiliar piece of technology. The griffon, on the other hand, reports that Caroline's body is perfectly engineered. So many possibilities open up for those who have a robot like this...

Lemon. Is wary of the AI, like Motley, but not prejudiced. She's friendly, like with a live pony. Told her everything about the Steel Rangers that I did at one time. At one point, Lemon whispered to me about the loopholes left to disconnect Caroline or isolate her from bunker control. All in all, in her opinion, at this point the AI doesn't raise any suspicions. When I ask her how she knows about the AI's behavior, Lemon just smiles. She also helps her set up transmitters for long-range robot control.

Caroline wants to explore the vastness of the Wasteland, and I ask her not to put her body and the location of Heavenly Harbor at risk: I don't want to attract the attention of the Vanhoover masters.

It's worth remembering the stealing of my Venture...

We now have an effective assistant in solving problems. The more she learns, the more effective the solutions will be, but she will ask me not to ask her for advice on current social problems: she has too little data for that.

***

The 14th of the Month of Heather, Violetday. The fifty-second day of my stay.

I wake up too early, so I go make breakfast. Yesterday, everything was eaten with nothing left over.

Yawning, I gather the necessary utensils and prepare the ingredients. In the process, I hear someone's hoofsteps and when I turn around, I see a beige pegasus. She doesn't look like she woke up half an hour ago. In fact, she looks quite awake—I'm even jealous of her.

"Tough day yesterday, huh?" she asks.

"Good morning to you, too. You passed out almost immediately yesterday as soon as you finished moving equipment and parts out of the Stable. And when did you wake up?"

"About six hours ago. Got up and made myself some flower sandwiches real quick," she comes over to look closer at what I'm doing. "Gonna cook?"

"Of course I'm going to cook. I'm the only housewife in this place, not counting Berry," I say tiredly. "No one helps, it's all by myself, all by myself!"

"Let me help," she quickly answers and begins to prepare the food.

How deftly she works with her hooves. That hoofkinesis... One of the weakest magical powers.

"Wait, I was just kidding. I don't mind doing the cooking at all."

"I told you before, there's truth in every joke." She points her knife at me, stopping short of peeling carrots. "Besides, I feel like cooking something myself. You and Berry don't have a varied cuisine."

I guess there just weren't any flowers in the meals. Perhaps that's the variety we're talking about. I put a pot of water on the stove and take another pot of water. While the pot is filling, I magically pull out a frying pan, put it on the stove, and throw a piece of butter in it.

"I hope," she observes my actions, "that you'll cook food in it, and not use it as a weapon against radroaches."

"And what were you doing when you woke up?" I ask, ignoring her remark and putting a second pot of water on the stove, throwing in the pre-cut potatoes.

"I was reading a book."

"Which one? "

I place the prepared yao guai meat on the pan.

"It's called 'Three-Way Unity. A fictional story about how one unicorn, back in the days before Equestria, tried to unite the three most numerous pony races. I haven't finished it yet."

"And where did you get it?"

"From the personal belongings of the residents of the Sixty-Seven. I took enough books that more or less intact."

"Do you read much?"

"No," she slices carrots on a plank. "Rarely. Good stories that interest me are really few and far between, and I have yet to find them. I've reviewed others before, and they've turned out to be boring. So far, the story in this book has intrigued me. Maybe you should read it," she says and stands up, taking a plank in her teeth, walks over to the stove and pours the carrots into the first pot. She turns to me, holding the board in her teeth. Her gaze lingers on me.

"You know... you could have just asked," I utter, smiling slightly. I take the plank gently from her mouth with my telekinesis, and levitate it beside me. "Magic, after all."

"Yeah... that's the beauty of the versatility of unicorn magic."

I think she said it ambiguously. She notices it, and she feels a little awkward. She looks away and coughs shyly.

"Just read about the capabilities of unicorns from the books."

"Pegasi also possess extra... sensitive appendages with more than one use," I play along with her. Her cheeks flash red. "For example, to blow a cool breeze in dry weather."

She stares at me, and her embarrassment seems to be gone, and she laughs slightly, stepping back a little.

"What?" I wonder innocently.

"I was just thinking the wrong thing."

"What about?"

"Never mind... let's get on with making breakfast." She looks at the stove. "Make sure the meat doesn't burn."

"Ah! Bloody..."

***

Everyone eats breakfast of our cooked meals. Captain gives a positive comment on the vegetable soup that Motley made from her recipe. And even Ferris notes it, whereas no one comments on my meals. Lemon is impressed, too.

What kind of treason is that? Motley smiles smugly at me, listening to the compliments on her cooking. I feel a shiver in my body from the jealousy that engulfs me, because this flower soup tastes really great.

Flowers... I never thought I would like them as food. The only thing missing is the hay. What's next. Carrot soda in the form of Sparkle Cola? Gross... I wonder to myself, I'm turning more and more into a pony.

Of course, Motley used to look out for her little sister, so she learned how to cook, experimenting with food out of boredom. She told me about this while making breakfast. She said how she and her sister experimented, laughing when something didn't work or worked. What can I say, she is a good 'chemist', considering she knows her way around explosive mixtures.

After breakfast, everyone leaves. I do the dishes myself; this time Motley doesn't deign to keep me company. And after cooking together, working in the kitchen seems boring and dull now.

"What the hell?" I ask indignantly as I enter the great hall, where Motley is reading 'Three-Way Unity'. She closes the book upon seeing me and places it on a nearby table.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"Don't play innocent," I peer at her with a squint. "How to cook food, then together, but how to clean up the aftermath... just me alone?"

"Yeah. I knew you could do it," she smiles slightly. "And the compliments on my dishes blinded my thoughts a little; I forgot about you."

My lips are tightly pressed together.

Wait... Why am I even interested in this question? Before, I cooked and did the dishes myself, and here... What is this? Am I offended that a pegasus didn't keep me company? Why should I be? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I want to get back at her a little.

"I keep forgetting to ask. How could you, with your hoof fighting skills, lose to that raider with the two submachine guns?"

The expression on Motley's face visibly changes from a faint and haughty smile to one of contempt and irritation.

"That bitch wasn't inferior to me in the hoof only because she was drugged up with combat drugs. And she also had a PipBuck with a damn S.A.T.S.," the pegasus mumbles angrily, succumbing to an unpleasant memory. "And this way I could've cranked her into a tube with just one hoof!"

"Wow. You really hate her that much."

"You bet I do! What a crazy bitch," she murmurs.

I remember looking for a hoof-fighting teacher. Well, here it is, by the way.

"Regardless, I'd like to take a few lessons from you. Will you train me?"

"I don't know," she says and hesitates, looking closely at me, and then I feel uneasy. "You seem to know how to move, and quite well—for a three-legged pony."

Well, that's offensive.

"Okay. All right. At least I'll entertain myself," she adds with a condescending smile.

"Entertain yourself?"

"Well, yeah. It's not like I'm going to give in to you just because you're new at this," she mutters with a devious smile.

I want to turn you into a soft and fancy rug on which I'll keep my hooves warm in the cold winter.

And we immediately start training. We start with the basics, because we've eaten relatively recently: we have to act more simply, so that breakfast doesn't ask to come out. Some moves I can already comfortably perform, and some seem new to me.

The beige pegasus shows me a few moves, and I diligently try to repeat them. Light, heavy, quick and sharp punches. Turns. Correct postures for attacks and defenses. Allocating the load on the body during an attack for greater efficiency and major damage. Lunges. Blocking. Counterattacks.

Motley tells me that reaction is important in combat, but that it's no use if the body can't keep up with it. It's also important to combine my blows, to match a particular technique to a particular moment—and to try not to repeat the combinations, otherwise, if the fight drags on, my opponent will be able to predict my moves. It is necessary to improvise. Even with primitive techniques can defeat a strong opponent, if skillfully and sensibly manage them. It is only necessary to find the perfect moment to attack, take the enemy by surprise. It's not how many moves I have, it's how I use them that counts. One more thing: don't show off in a fight. If I can beat your opponent, do it now.

This kind of instruction is not new to me. All Motley has to do is give me a demonstration of the moves, but I don't interrupt her, giving her a chance to talk. Her voice isn't singing, but it's certainly pleasant to listen to, especially the laughter. Maybe it just seems to me. In general, I listen to her closely—and she, as I see it, likes it. I can't say that she's just glowing with joy, but she clearly enjoys the guidance and instruction. She often walks around me, unhurriedly, gently and smoothly, as if trying to hypnotize me.

Sometimes I manage to drop a careless phrase or an unfunny joke, but she is amused. She doesn't laugh, just an occasional giggle, a faint smile—and continues to move around me elegantly, as if in a beautiful dance.

How skillfully she does it... I just enjoy it. She's hypnotizing me, for sure!

Her movements clearly go beyond the usual hoof-fighting and standard set of postures. I see a cat-like grace, tenderness, softness, smoothness, grace, beauty—and at the same time firmness, confidence, accuracy and strictness. She moves like a huntress with icy coolness, surrounding her prey—but I do not feel danger or fear; on the contrary, I want to tame this predator, for she is frighteningly calm, like a cat. It makes me want to pet her... If only I had my hands!

It takes about half a day to train hard. Motley is less exhausted than I am, for only I repeat the same moves over and over again. She enjoys watching me—and my frequent failures. Of course, it entertains her a little as well.

She says that, despite the simple moves, I learn quickly, even for a diligent and passionate beginner. Still, she advises that I go now to rest and gain some strength, because she will be sparring with me in a few hours. She adds that she won't take a serious fight against me as long as I'm only a beginner.

A friendly fight begins. The pegasus has the upper hand over me.

You call this giving in? I have never even been able to reach her, let alone hit her hard!

Her movements are still full of indescribable grace and beauty, which is simply impossible not to admire. They are so smooth and graceful, as if she were dancing, not fighting. I have not yet seen any fighter who moves so gently and smoothly. I am sometimes distracted by this, which the pegasus interprets as inexperience. She is openly playing with me!

My gaze slides over her cutimark in the form of autumn leaves swirling in a swirl. Motley smiles faintly. She's clearly exploiting my other weakness of body flexibility. If she finds out I have a boner for wet bodies...

"You could stop smiling," I say slightly indignantly, getting ready to make another attack.

I'd better keep quiet, or else she'll get the wrong idea. I don't want to look like an idiot in her eyes, I have enough mistakes!

"I'm trying to concentrate. And you're distracting me with your carefree attitude."

"Okay, I won't," she says calmly.

We're back in the 'embrace' of the fight, and, pausing for a moment, she looks at me with her multi-colored eyes and smiles.

Oh shi-i-i-it...

Before I know it, there's a nearby wall in front of me, getting closer and closer. I can't stop myself in time, so I hit it painfully, and then I fall.

"Listen," I say, getting up and breathing heavily. "Your smile will make the freezer melt, too."

A chuckle bursts from Motley's smiling lips.

Naturally, abusing my weakness. How not to smile? It's hard for me to concentrate when this sly angel smiles, like he's shining a flashlight in my eyes. That's it, I'll never relax!

Another fight, and just as I start to gain the upper hand, I look into her eyes—she's smiling again.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

She wraps her forelegs around me and throws me over herself; I smack my spine against the floor, which doesn't hurt much, thanks to my implants there. And yet...

Ouch.

As soon as I try to stand up, she immediately piles on top of me and immobilizes me almost completely.

What a playful beastie!

All I can do is wiggle my head around. Her face is so close to mine—I can feel her breath again. Gentle, with the scent of sweet and spicy almonds. There is magic here, even in the smells.

She smirks, like a winner over a loser, and looks slightly thoughtful. Why would she be? Trying to decide what to do with me?

There's the sound of doors opening, behind which a lemon earth pony shows up.

Boy, oh boy...

Lemon's mouth drops open at the sight, but closes almost immediately. Her lips are pressed together, but they stretch into a smile as wide as her body.

"I figured," she smirks, "that I came to see you at a most unfortunate moment. I don't mean to interrupt—whatever it is you're doing here—but Caroline said she found something of interest in the Wasteland. Well, I've done my duty as a messenger. I won't interrupt any more of your mutual enjoyment," she turns around quietly.

Motley and I look at the closing doors, and then our gazes meet again.

I swear I've never seen such a confused and awkward expression on the pegasus's face. She's so sweet and... alluring. I want to hold her again, to feel her breath on my chest as she snuggles her sweet nose into it.

A conflicted feeling arises. It clearly tells me that this is all wrong. It's not right that I... feel affection and attraction for her. Not like Lemon or Bluerise. This connection is deeper or something, isn't it? And part of me doesn't like it.

Motley hurriedly releases me. I get up slowly, and then we stare at each other for a while, afraid to break the silence for some reason.

"Well," I begin. "Things happen. I am extremely grateful for your instruction and for spending your time trying to teach me something. As you can see, the effort was not wasted. You're a pleasure to... I mean... What I meant to say was, it's a pleasure learning with you. Shall we continue next time?"

"Yes... Next time so next time," she smiles tautly, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. "I'm going to take a shower, because I'm getting a little sweaty from all this."

"And I'm going to go for a quick one. I drank a lot of water today."

I go to the common bathroom: it's closer than my private one in the 'loft'. As I come out of it, I hear the sound of running water.

Maybe I should take a shower after Motley. Or go straight to my room... I need to wash off the sweat, too. Why didn't the pegasus close the door? She knows I'm here and Lemon and Ferris and Captain might show up.

I stop in front of the open door. Behind it is Motley. She's standing with her back to me under the stream of hot water, her brown mane pressed to her head under the weight of the flow, her tail hair sticking together... it sags heavily, right between the tight cheeks. Her beige wings are open to the sides, the hot water washing over her flanks and the sensitive area beneath her wings with no problem. Flying drops of hot water glisten and smash against her back... wings... Faintly visible steam emanates from her entire body.

Motley, judging by her breathing, is enjoying the hot moisture. Enjoying... Her breathing... Unsteady and frantic. Her hind legs are unnecessarily wide apart, her left foot resting on the tile. Her back arching slightly. A long sigh... A kind of... vulgar pleasure, as if she...

Oh.

I want to walk up to her, wrap my arms around her wet body, pull back that wet brown tail of hers and enter...

Whoa... Stop! What the fuck is that thinking?

I realize I feel tension underneath. Looking down there, I see my hardening member. It's filling up with blood, about to start throbbing and shuddering, waiting to be satisfied.

I look at the pegasus again. She continues to stand under the stream of water. She doesn't use a sponge or detergent, but I see that her front leg is moving.

No. I have to get out of here. Discreetly. Don't make her embarrassed. It's too personal. It was inconsiderate of her to leave the door open, but that doesn't mean I should stand by and watch her

The attraction isn't going anywhere. My telekinesis wraps around the aroused cock: I squeeze lightly, sighing in relief. Quiet, I still want to join her... But she's definitely against it. She wants to relax, and I'm here at the wrong time. Besides, I've been in a similar situation with Lemon before. Even though Motley has no one right now, I shouldn't take advantage of her situation.

The pegasus archs even harder and sighs.

Well... I'd better go to my room.

I fill the tub with hot water, climb in and relax. It feels so good... I see my horny cock still peeking out from under the water like a submarine periscope.

Well, okay... All right...

I envelope my hard organ in blue magic and reimagine Motley curving under a stream of hot water. How I walk up to her and hug her from behind... How I enter her and hear that long sigh of hers again...

***

"Did you have something to tell us?" I ask Caroline, standing with Motley in the slightly upgraded reactor level.

I can't look the pegasus in the eye. I just can't. I feel ashamed and uncomfortable. I feel like a pervert. I need to quickly shift my attention to something else. That's right: the environment.

After the renovations and quality upgrades, everything here has been transformed, with lots of new equipment. Caroline now communicates with us either through this main terminal or through her minions or the main body.

"I discovered a contentedly strange griffon. The symbol on its armor is a yellow pony skull with a crown on top. You told me that they are some kind of Prince's elite. During my research I saw them for the first time."

"What's so special about discovering a single King?" I ask interestedly.

There is nothing strange or unusual about it. Kings often run different jobs in the Wasteland, so the discovery of one is not significant. Unless it's the first time she's seen them.

"He was hustling outside some abandoned store—based on the sign, selling clothes. He was probably headed there, because there were several other ponies waiting for him. The latter were not Kings. This seemed to be the griffon they were expecting. Also nearby, my sensors detected the heat signature of a living, non-aggressive creature. Most likely a pony, though standard optical sensors were unable to detect it. I can only give you approximate coordinates."

"You want me to check it all out?"

"I'd choose to find out more about it all myself and add to my database, but if my body gets any closer to the event, I'll be spotted quickly. You told me to 'stay out of trouble.

"Give us those coordinates already. We'll go there."

"We?" Motley replies.

"Yeah," I reply, trying to avoid looking directly at her, for I feel like I'm going to burn with embarrassment. "Let me remind you of a few reasons. One—you're the only one of us capable of piloting Venture. The second is that Caroline could control the Vertibuck remotely, but she needs special programs to do so, and also the settings in it itself to make it possible. Berry hasn't solved that question yet."

"All right. I'll go and get the gear I need," Motley informs me and walks away.

I sigh in relief.

What a pervert I am. Why is she the one I feel so awkward in front of? Not in front of Bluerise, not in front of Lemon—just in front of the pegasus. My feelings for her are clearly deeper, but they're conflicting, and I don't know what to do about it.

I get the coordinates of that spot from Caroline—they point to a place in the foothills of the mountains to the southeast—and then I go to my apartment myself to get the things I need.

Motley and I get into Venture. We take Lemon to her house, and set off for our destination ourselves. After a fairly short period of time, we reach our destination, exit Venture, and go in search of the unknown pony.

Lemon helped me set up a lock on the engines the other day. No one but us will start Venture unless he is an excellent engineer.

It doesn't take long to find one. The pony, to our surprise, shows himself to us, coming out from behind a large boulder. He's really friendly. He's also giving himself away, which tells us that the unknown pony knows me, and I'm no danger to him.

Up close I can finally get a good look at his face.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I say.

We hoof it to the hoof in greeting.

"My thoughts are the same as yours," Willford Jr. says. He's wearing not power armor, but standard recon light armor. "What wind brought you here? And what is the name of your lovely feathered companion?"

"Her name is Motley," I say, and then turn to the pegasus. I'm wearing a helmet this time, and she can't see my face. "Meet," I point to the earth pony. "This is Per..."

"My name is Hugh," he interrupts me, looking at me disapprovingly. "Hugh Willford."

I shake my head, feeling a smile on my lips. He's understandable. The feeling of perversity I experienced half an hour ago in the bathroom...

"Very nice," she nods.

"And how nice for me," Hugh smiles at her, and then he turns to me. "I see how you were able to get that combat Vertibuck to our base. So what's your business here?"

"We tracked down a group of masters where a King also showed up. So we thought we'd see if they were up to any trouble."

"I'm here for the same reason. We managed to intercept their radio signal—they were requesting one of Kings. These explorers found Stable under an old clothing store. They had to call for backup because the bunker was filled with huge badgers. I was immediately sent on this mission—I'm almost the only Ranger capable of moving quickly and stealthily through the Wasteland. Not without the help of a StealthBuck, of course."

"A mission? What mission?" I ask.

"Ah," he looks at Motley with a serious and skeptical look, "can she be trusted?"

"Without her help, I wouldn't have survived the Crater, much less been able to infiltrate the Northern Soul.

"So that's who covered your rump in those places. I get it. My goal is to find another key card in the Stable for access to the Dome."

"And why only the key card?"

"They were the first to discover the Stable, and by the rules it belongs to them. I have to sneak into this hideout and find the key card before the masters snatch it up with their filthy hooves."

"I see, then," I barely smile. "This mission is just right for a stealth perv like you."

"Hold your tongue, or I'll rip it off and you won't be able to pick that particular type of lock anymore," he replies.

Motley chuckles.

"You think you'll be able to get past the masters unnoticed?" I ask, ignoring his words.

"I'll rely on my skills. Only the mountains are above them. You don't shake my mountain of confidence and steadfastness with your doubts."

"How can it be confident and steadfast if it can be so easily shaken? Perhaps," I wondered, "it would be better if you came with us. A King is among them. Surely I can negotiate with him to cooperate. And you'll be my partner, and you won't need to waste your energy on stealth."

"Okay," Hugh nods hesitantly. "You managed to sneak into the Crater and the Northern Soul and get out alive... Let's see how this plays out."

***

Just as we approach the ruins of the store, with about a dozen other time-damaged houses and structures nearby, several rifle barrels are pointed at us.

"Who will you be?" one of the masters of Vanhoover asks loudly, peering cautiously out from behind a broken window.

"Just travelers," I reply, raising my hooves as a sign of no unfriendly intentions.

"And what the fuck are you doing here?" she asks with a squint.

"Searching the area for useful things, like everyone else, though."

"You can roll away, we've already looked around here."

"Maybe we're in a position to help you, and we'll split the loot later."

"Thank you, but we already have a helper who we'll have to pay a large amount of ca-" the pale purple earth pony hesitates, for she realizes she's just said too much. She puts the shotgun to her shoulder and, aiming it at us, puts her hoof on the trigger. "Oh, shit! Get out of here quick while we-"

"What's all the fuss outside?" a completely different voice asks, coming from the depths of the store.

"Some travelers," the earth pony with a shotgun answers. "Decided to poke around."

"Really?" he utters, looking out the window beside her. That's when the owner of that voice shows up. Beak... It's a griffon... that I've met before.

Well, today is a day of familiar faces.

"Oh!" he exclaims with pleasant surprise. "A friendly face. Didn't expect to see you here, onehorn."

"Hello to you too, Walnut. I see you've been doing the gig since you got here, haven't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he replies, and then turns to the earth pony who was talking to me earlier. "Let him through. I know him, I can probably handle with him faster."

"Will you share the percentage of the caps you get?" I ask as I enter the store.

Inside, it's practically all wiped out, with only the abandoned mannequins; some of them still have remnants of their clothes on them. Besides Walnut and the earth pony there are two more: a light orange mare with a horn and a turquoise colored stallion without a horn.

"Ha! You do all the work for me, I'll give you half," he chuckles. The griffon in gray battle armor with the King's symbol on his shoulder is a pony skull with a crown. On his back are two medium-caliber machine guns. "Anyway, we'll see how it turns out in this Stable. Badgers are fucking fast and nimble bastards. I see," he looks at my escorts, "you and your party are here. But get this straight—you split the caps you get by yourselves."

"No problem," I say, waving my right hoof to the side.

"Anyway, I was just coming down to the entrance of the Stable when there was a noise upstairs. I wanted to make sure the clients were alive and I wasn't blocked out."

"Tell me briefly how things are now?"

We walk slowly down into the basement of the store. The marauders stay upstairs. They clearly don't like that the griffon let us join the expedition.

"I get paid five thousand for my work. The goal is to clear the Stable of badgers. It is prohibited to take anything out of the Stable. The find belongs to these marauders. You help me clean out the Stable and you'll get about a quarter of what I've been assigned."

"Can I ask you some questions?" I ask.

"Shot."

"Why can't you take anything out of the bunker?"

"They wouldn't have offered that much for a cleanup then. That's what I got the light machine guns for." He waves his front paw behind him, pointing at the guns. "Badgers will have a hard time dodging the lead rain in enclosed spaces."

"And what will the marauders do after we clean out the Stable?"

"Generate foals. And it's clear to a stoned junkie that they're going to quickly dump everything of value in the Stable into the traders and then share information about its location to the Steelmanes. So for two or three thousand caps, depending on how they can bargain."

"Another question. Why hire Kings, aren't there any other mercenaries in town?"

"The city is full of them, like whores. Exactly the same cheap services, unlike ours. Fuck, maybe you don't know much about us yet, as a newcomer and potential candidate to join us, so I'll tell you. At first, Kings only did important orders from the Queen, as well as all her whims. They protected her, and soon she made Prince the big shot. After she had done her bidding, he continued her work. To be the father of all Vanhoover."

"I hear you, but you're getting off topic."

"Ah, yes... Some scum-hires, including family assholes, are unreliable; there's a good chance they'll screw up a case or fuck up a client somehow. That's why some, in order to get the expected result for sure, almost crawl to get a King to do the job for a huge fee, knowing that we almost always get the job done, despite the frankly shitty working conditions. A King will never, you hear me, never and for no reason give up his contract or break it if he's already taken it on."

"Because of the large sums Prince eventually refused to support you?"

"Yes. Prince reformed the King status. As I recall, this happened quite recently, after the death of the Queen. The change was that we were getting the added privilege of a twenty percent discount on all goods and services, and in fucking return the Prince stops providing for us financially, except for providing living quarters in the Sixty-Eight."

"It seems to me that for clearing a Stable of dangerous badgers you should have taken more caps."

"I didn't bargain. Lazy. And do you know how few Wasteland-related contracts come to us? Especially the 'kill 'em all' style? Almost fucking none. What's the upside? You don't have to worry about enforcing police laws, families won't get shot... Beautiful."

"I thought you were allowed everything."

"I am. It's true that when you break the law a lot or kill the wrong kind of thug, others are entitled to defend themselves and start complaining. And such will not be hired. Unless for the dirtiest job you can do. But Prince will kick you the fuck out of Kings if you're too willful. And there's no such thing as an ex-King..." Walnut runs a claw at his throat.

We cross the threshold of the Sixty. I don't know if the door was open before the marauders arrived or if they managed to break it open with some godsend.

Just as we find ourselves at the entrance room with the gear, two fucking badgers jump out at us from the hallway. With their claws outstretched and their jaws open, they jump at us like a whore at a rich customer. I pull out Whispering Night, loaded with hollow-point ammunition, and fire two precise shots at one of the creatures-the dead carcass slides across the metal floor before it stops. The second creature is shot by Walnut with one of his light machine guns: its face is now a big slick mess of blood, and a few of its bullets fly by and leave dents and holes in the walls.

Brutal... Good thing this griffon is on my side.

A quick glance around the bunker shows that the Stable hasn't been abandoned very long. There's very little rust, but there's a lot of physical damage to the hardware; the scattered cut marks indicate that our badgers left their autographs on them. The damage is colossal, and a glance is enough to assess the extent of the damage. Most of the equipment and machinery is simply impossible to repair: all of it is suitable only for scrap and recycling, and the rest, which is still repairable, will take a lot of resources and time.

The badgers have completely shredded the console—it's impossible to open the maine doors from the inside. Unless you had to dig deep into the wires and mechanisms of the door to simulate a console command to open it. But that's hard to do, since all the Vaults and Stables had serious protection against barbaric intrusion. So it was the marauders who had tampered with the console and managed to open the doors after all. They were good. I gotta hand it to them... Vanhoover has a decent amount of educated individuals, as I see it. And no wonder: Vanhoover Polytechnic Institute, which Crimson Sky told me about, was trying to rebuild its educational capacity even before the Queen's arrival.

There are half a dozen skeletons lying beside the door. Judging by the small dents, all of them broke through the damned doors mindlessly, trying to get out of the trap, but they wouldn't yield.

Poor souls.

We move further into the depths of the bunker through the corridors. Walnut and I go forward, and Motley and Hugh cover our vulnerable rear. Most of the doors to the rooms are damaged—the badgers, not too versed in the technology of the higher races, have simply broken them down, making a passageway with their razor-sharp claws. Lucky for us, badgers are a little bigger than ponies, so we are able to fit through these holes. The griffon has to take off his machine guns to do it.

In the atrium we hunt down another group of badgers - two Walnut's machine guns don't let them get close enough, but we're not a stranger to fighting back either.

"Maybe we should split up," I say after the last creature in the Atrium drops dead on the floor next to us.

I sigh heavily.

A little more and it would have gotten us.

"Split?" Walnut asks back thoughtfully, reloading his machine guns.

He has incredible strength and concentration. Not only does he calmly hold two machine guns, but he fires them at point-blank range. No wonder he took the job—his claws were itching for a slaughterhouse. He obviously likes to rain lead rain all over the place.

"Yeah," I nod. "As you can see, the underground bunker is a little tight for four of us to fight in. We'll split into two: I'll go with you to the lower rooms, where there will probably be the most sharp-clawed, and therefore harder and more fun. Meanwhile, my partners will check the upper rooms. Motley and I have pretty good first aid skills. So this separation will be appropriate."

"Are you sure about them?" Walnut asks skeptically, squinting at my friends.

"Whatever I tell you, it's up to you to believe me or not. Personally, I think if they want the covers, they'll do as required, right?" I turn to my partners. They don't immediately, but nod in agreement. "See?"

"All right, beware. Or I'll cut your balls off, roast them, and make you eat them," the griffon replies, waiting for a brief pause.

I only raise an eyebrow in surprise and shake my head slightly. He's so aggressive with his words—and in the Residence of Kings he was more restrained and sweet.

Motley and Hugh stay, and Walnut and I head for the living quarters below. Hopefully Hugh will use this opportunity to get the key card in the Overmare's office. If there really is one in this Stable.

Only after we split up I wonder. If the key card is indeed in this Stable—how is Hugh going to break the cipher to gain access to the secret section and get what he needs? I remember even Lemon didn't crack the cipher on the first try. It would have made more sense to send her on the mission, but she wasn't at the base at the time. She was in Heavenly Harbor. Anyway, I hope Hugh is aware of the cipher and knows what needs to be done.

We go into the cafeteria, where everything is upside down or cut into several pieces, and take out one badger, but Walnut manages to let the creature get too close to him, and with its claws it breaks through his armor with one swing. He howls in pain.

I treat it. He has his own medicine, which I use. The badger's claws have left quite a wound. If it hadn't been for the armor, it would have been many times deeper.

"And you're not a bad nurse," the wounded and heavily breathing griffon utters, referring to the way I wield tools and materials.

"I absolutely need to know a little medicine if I want to survive in the Wasteland, and didn't you know that?" I ask rhetorically, keeping my eyes open. Now he's sitting on the little red couch by the table I pushed aside to make it easier to treat his wound.

"Shit, how rarely have I had a wound like this! It's pretty tight in here, so I got a little distracted. In fact, if I'd just drunk the potion, I'd have been fine."

"True, but this way I'll save you medication by digging into your wound and extracting shards of armor and other foreign particles. Then the magic of the healing potion will go exactly to repairing cells and tissues rather than pushing them out."

"Yes... Right. You said you came all the way from the East. Managed to traverse the Wasteland to get to Vanhoover... Doing your dirty work, digging up shit. What was it you did the most, mate?"

"Courier work, mostly. It's always dangerous to walk in the Wasteland, and I'm able to cover long distances and go the hard way. Besides, I like it. Away from society, alone with my thoughts, to see the world. It's cool. Later I did some bounty hunting, but I soon gave it up. Too many folks came after me for revenge, and because of that, I started getting popular, which made it even easier to locate me."

"I wouldn't guess it by your look. You look soft."

"Hmm," I smile, treating his wounds. "That's one of the factors that saved me from vigilantes. Sometimes they didn't immediately recognize me as the one they were looking for. On the surface, I'm just a traveler. And how did you become a King?"

"Yes, like most of those who became a King not because of the caps. I actually grew up on the streets. I don't remember my mother, and my father was killed for debt when I first started free school, but they taught, as you can guess, pretty shitty. During those years I learned how to fight by getting food from the weak or by stealing. There were no police back then, they were just starting to show up. It ended up being fucking risky because of the police, and before that, the families could give you a hard time."

He pauses and thinks, but then continues.

"As a teenager I decided to use my fighting skills in the Arena. Because of my physical strength I was able to overpower opponents bigger than myself. Even though it was hard the first times, I learned how to win, developing tactics and my fighting style. It was then that I began to become known as a teenager who could easily overpower even adults. And my nickname came up, Splitting Claw. After earning the caps from the fights, I saved up for some gear and went out to do all kinds of work. I was a bouncer, shaking the lids off debtors, looking for guilty people and thieves and all that shit."

"Were Kings the main competitors?" I ask.

"Yeah. I had to sweat my ass off to at least keep up with them. Then the bigger jobs started coming in, out of town. Eventually I got regular clients, one of whom was pretty rich. How fucking lucky I was to have him. Since I almost always did my job without a hitch, they started recommending me to others. Eventually I tried my luck and went to join Kings. My name, Walnut, and my nickname, Splitting Claw, were no longer empty words. And I had a recommendation from a King I knew. The Prince's previous lieutenant had given me a test assignment. It was to track down and destroy a dangerous group of raiders near the caravan tracks. Alone against twenty... That was some serious shit. I barely survived that battle at the old gas station. After that, Redstone already called me a King. The previous one had done something wrong, so Prince... you know."

"What did the previous lieutenant do?"

"He had business on the side, so he got fucked up."

"I see. Pretty interesting story," I say as I begin to deal with his damaged armor using magic alone.

"Holy shit, what magic you have!" the griffon exclaims admiringly, looking at the element of his armor in my cloud of blue magic.

"I was specifically a technician in my Stable, after all. It was my original profession. By the way, how did the other Kings start out?"

"Some were about the same as me. Others started out because they had families who could provide a little financial support, and all they had to do was use their skills. Others weren't as good fighters, but they were smarter than most. They could do everything quietly and calmly. The fourth most cocky, were just fucking rich types who had bought these recommendations from Kings for caps, and their popularity had long been in their pocket, if they had any business. Only those who were directly included in the pompous family were not allowed to become a King. But... I've never seen a mechanic among Kings before. This is definitely something new. By the way, rumor has it that some pony has managed to get into the heart of the Crater and the Northern Soul, the latter place even got a Vertibuck out of it, since it was seen within the city limits. Do you by any chance know who got into these places?"

"I have no idea," I reply calmly.

He wouldn't believe me anyway. It's a fame that others have tried to exploit more than once, according to Robus Steelmane.

"The only thing I know is that the same person did it all... That's it," I say, reattaching the damaged part of the armor. "You can barely see that it was damaged."

"You're not bad, though. My respects, buddy."

We continue to inspect the Stable's quarters. There aren't many sharp-clawed creatures in the living quarters, but we're wasting most of our ammunition. Hopefully, what we have is enough to sweep the technical level.

We find nothing suggestive of what happened here in the living quarters. All of the terminals are completely destroyed and beyond repair, as is most of the equipment here. One gets the feeling that they don't like any noise. There is a lot of it in the Stable: even the humming or glowing of the terminals does not please them. After dealing with the badgers in the living quarters and using the compass, we locate them all and then head to the technical area.

The technical level has the most badgers. There, in one of the rooms, we find a huge hole in the wall, behind which there is an underground tunnel leading somewhere deep inside. Badgers dug it, and probably there is their nest. I don't know, I don't feel like going in there...

"I know what you're thinking, buddy," Walnut interrupts my thinking. I turn and look at him, "But my contract only included a purge of the Stable. That's where I'm going."

"That's where the badgers are coming from, don't you see? We should at least block that passage, let them know they're not welcome here. I doubt they came here just because they wanted to. It's very likely that something drew them here. The smell isn't likely, since it wouldn't get through the thick walls of the Stable that easily, and the ground... More likely a sound, maybe even annoying."

"Well, I like to blow things up, fuck no," Walnut mutters, pulling a bunch of frag grenades out of his bags.

"I didn't say anything about blowing anything up. I was talking about tunnel-busting."

"Isn't that the same thing?" he asks rhetorically.

"Well... Do you know how to calculate the right amount of explosives to bring the tunnel down without blowing up part of the Stable?"

"Who cares! You just take it and blow it up!" Walnut exclaims.

"It's a technical room. You'll only make it worse!"

"You're bullshitting."

"You think your employers would approve of such recklessness? Even if nothing works here, it can be fixed, or at the very least scrapped and sold for recycling, because there's never much raw material. Besides, if you overdo it with the amount of explosives, it could lead to a collapse. We'd be trapped."

"Fine. Go ahead, set the right amount and blow the fuck up. I already want my remaining caps."

"I'm no good with explosives. I know how to use one or two, but it's above and beyond my expertise," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

Mentals and a magazine on explosives would have helped me in the past—but as luck would have it, I forgot them back in Lucky 38, and smart pills won't be enough. Once in Vault 19 I was going to blow up the sulfur deposits beneath it. That's when I used the magazine and the mentats to make sure I didn't blow the Vault to smithereens. Yeah, well... C4 is not some kind of firecracker for fun.

"Dude, for fuck's sake, what are you gonna do?" the griffon gets angry. And he's obviously not the patient type.

"I'll get my partner over here, she knows her way around explosives," I mutter and turn on the radio in my helmet.

"Motley, come in," I say as clearly as I can.

A few seconds later I hear a reply. Of course, the griffon can't hear anything that's being answered on the other side.

"Go ahead."

"How's it going?"

"We're all done here and about to head for the exit. But... Hugh didn't find what he needed here."

"Well done. Now get your feathered rump up to the technical level and help our hapless King deal with the explosives and take down one tunnel without too much complication. You don't have to pull Hugh with you. I... we only need you."

"On my way," followed by a short pause. "Yeah..." and another pause. "Hugh has informed me that he will go to Venture," the pegasus adds.

"Got it, over," I mutter and disconnect the transmission. Then I turn to Walnut. "I'll check the rest of the rooms while you wait for my partner. Don't let any badgers in here, either."

"Ooh, bossy."

Ferris had once said that male griffons liked to dominate, but not the other way around.

"Do you have something against it? I've got more ammunition left than you have for the rest of the rooms..."

"Nah, it's okay."

I head further down the tech level.

About twenty minutes pass as I finally, judging by the Pip-Boy's compass, kill the last critter—the ammo runs out, I have to kill the last badgers with my sword, which is really hard. If Motley hadn't shown me a couple of lessons on how to move properly, I would have had to stitch myself up and put back together piece by piece for a long time.

I also use telekinesis and try to slow the critters down. I'm not sure I can slow them down, because they're too strong, and I can't hold them completely in my telekinesis.

A distant rumble comes to my ears. It sounds like Motley's already having a lot of fun, and I missed the moment. Anyway, I have to go to them anyway.

I hear a strange muffled noise and then a tapping against a thin layer of metal. It's coming from somewhere in the walls... Ventilation. The sound is coming from there! I quickly check my compass and spot a neutral mark somewhere behind the wall, and nearby. How could I not have seen it before? Surely the navigation software didn't pick it up just because of its size, considering how fast it was moving through the vents.

Damn it. If I go in there, I might get stuck. At the very least, I'll teleport back into the corridor. I have to take off all my gear.

I leave just a small layer of the clothes I always wear under my armor, and climb into the first vent.

It's so fucking cramped. I can barely crawl... I need Motley to run me around Vanhoover a few times to get back into shape. Okay, enough with the jokes. I notice something flickering at the end of the vent tunnel. It's smaller than me.

I try to crawl further, and I hear something or someone trying to get away from me. But I won't let it get away that easily! I used to climb these kinds of paths myself, and you can't get away from me that easily: I have a lot of experience of moving through tight tunnels!

Suddenly I remember Ferris forcing me through the back entrance—it reeked of shit so bad it would have made the dead person rise from the grave.

That memory made me yank my head up recklessly and hit the metal hard, hissing in pain.

I struggle my way through the several twists and turns that lead out into the living rooms, and finally reach the end of the ventilation tunnel, but something blocks my path. A grate. I can't move it. Something behind it prevents me from pushing it away.

I have to work hard, using magic to push it off. After pushing it off, I get into the ventilation 'room'. It's a little more spacious. It's also full of stuff—trash and junk from the Stable—but I can't see whoever took shelter here, though I can see that it was here that the thing hid. Apparently, it blocked the bars so I couldn't get through.

I turn on the compass again and look around.

It's here! Hidden in this garbage! Not so meaningless. There's food scraps, empty canned goods, and it smells bad, too. And what's hidden is now under the blanket. It looks more like a small cot.

I pull on the blanket with my telekinesis, and it... immediately jumps at me, trying to overpower me, but I manage to grab it with my magic and keep it from trying to escape. It's a child. An orange filly in filthy rags, remotely resembling Stable's jumpsuit. She's about ten years old, no more; judging by the smell, she hasn't bathed in a long time. Her eyes are filled with fear, confusion, and despair. She resists my grip hard; I barely manage to hold her. There is a lot of strength and freedom in her. But she doesn't scream, just stares at me with her ruby-colored eyes in horror, not leaving her attempts to break free of my grip.

I try to hold her already with my hooves. I draw her in with magic and pull her close to me to pacify her with an embrace. She won't let up, though.

"Hush, hush. Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you," I say softly. "I won't harm you. It's okay."

It's only after a few seconds of my words that she gradually begins to calm down.

Ooh. What a sharp filly she is. So small, but so strong that even some adults would envy her. It's no wonder. Earth ponies can have great physical strength.

"It's okay," I repeat softly, swaying her slightly to reaffirm the peace and safety. "No more bad animals," she flinches slightly at the word 'animals,' but calms down almost immediately.

I release one of my hooves and gently and delicately begin to stroke her head. She shudders at first, but gradually relaxes. I can feel her tension, and it slowly subsides.

"What's your name?" I ask quietly. She doesn't answer. "Why don't you tell me your name, dearie?" There is silence again in response. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nara..." the little pony's thin voice is heard. Slightly hoarse and stifled. She hadn't spoken in a long time, by the looks of it. "My name is Nara."

"Nara. That's a beautiful name. And my name is Daniel. You can just be Danny or Dan. How did you end up here?" Silence again. "Look, Nara, I'll let you go, but don't run away. I want to show you that my only good intentions."

I take my time unleashing a soothing embrace. Nara slowly pulls away from me, looks into my eyes... And then immediately runs away, which I don't even have time to properly react to.

"Hey! Where are you going? I'm not-" I say, but she's gone. Oh, and she's fast, too. She must have been hiding from the badgers. They're barely bigger than a pony and couldn't get through with their claws.

I sigh heavily and plop down on the pile of garbage.

I'm so sick of this. I'm going to have to take a shower, which I'd done hours ago. I'm going to smell bad again. But not as sharp and strong as it was then...

After a minute and thinking about what happened, I get up and look around the place again. Judging by the stuff and the garbage, she's living here... Surviving. I bet she uses the vast network of ventilation tunnels to avoid encounters with dangerous and scary monsters.

Poor thing. How many years of unbearable loneliness and creepy fear has she lived like this if she reacted so violently and acutely to a live pony? The food and water left in the Stable alone should be enough for her to survive. Lucky the badgers hadn't damaged the reactor, for in total darkness it would have been much harder for her to avoid them.

There's a small lantern, illuminating the place with a gentle white light. Next to it is some remarkable carton box. I magically hold it up to me. I open it carefully. In it lies a photograph and a silver medallion... No, it's an antique clock on a chain. Though, it stopped running a long time ago. There are traces here that indicate someone tried to open the cover and fix it. It must have been Nara who tried to make it work. Also engraved under the cover, on the front of the watch, is the phrase 'Don't doubt yourself, and the darkness will leave you.'

The picture shows a happy family: a mother, a father, a young son and a daughter, who is the survivor. They all look happy and carefree. There are trees in the background.

Aha, so the picture was taken in the Stable Gardens. I remembered this place when I was wiping out the nasty badgers with Walnut.

I put the picture back in the box. And I look at the clock again to figure out the cause of the malfunction. I carefully magically remove the cover and try to get the watch to work. The damage is minor, only a few mechanisms and parts are faulty. With magic, I easily fix it, and it immediately starts working. I hold them to my ear and cover my eyes with pleasure—their ticking is calming, light and pleasant.

I smile unintentionally at the fact that I have brought that clock with its delightful ticking back into working order. I open my eyes and see Nara in front of me again, and she immediately jumps back and is about to run away—but freezes when she sees the ticking clock in my magical haze. She stares at it, mesmerized. She turns her gaze back and forth between me and the clock. I smile in my usual manner—gently and softly. At the same time, I try not to make any sudden movements, so as not to scare her away.

I slowly levitate the watch to her. As soon as it's within a hoof's reach, Nara immediately grabs it, and I think she's about to run away again. But she doesn't. She looks at me cautiously for a few seconds and, not seeing me as a threat, looks at me with amazement and... a shadow of happiness looks at her watch, occasionally glancing at me as well. She puts it to her ear and smiles.

I watch her furtive admiration.

This watch is important to her. Definitely.

Her gaze falls on the box next to me.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to take your stuff, I couldn't help myself," I say with a smile. "Here," I say, and use my telekinesis to hold the box up to her.

She grabs it, but not as aggressively as she did with the watch. She opens it to see if the photo is there, puts the watch in, and closes it slowly. She doesn't release the box from her hooves and looks at me.

Her gaze is hollow, but focused. There is also a faint flicker of curiosity in her eyes about the unknown guest. Though, she hesitates to get close to me.

"Tell you what, honey, if you want, you can stay here. The monsters are gone. Or you can come with me: I'll take you somewhere safe. And you'll see lots of different ponies and more. And maybe you'll make some friends," I proclaim and smile as I close my eyes.

I'm not sure how I'm going to make her feel about me, but I think my smile has made the right impression on her.

I take my time heading toward the ventilation tunnel I came in through.

I calmly climb out of the tunnels and start putting on my armor and the rest of my gear. Just as I'm about to finish this, the orange earth pony shows up out of the vent. She's wearing the same rags and carrying that box. She doesn't have anything else on her.

"Still decided to come with me?" I smile weakly. She nods faintly and looks warily around for badgers.

"That's good," I say, putting on my helmet. And just as I do so, terror and fear return in the filly's eyes. A noticeable shiver runs through her body. Oh, right. Those red eyepieces scare even adults sometimes—especially when I point my barrels at them and draw my sword.

"Oops... Sorry," I say with a guilty smile and remove my helmet, attaching it to my belt with my telekinesis. "I'll stay without it for now. Let's go. Grab my friends."

Nara follows me, looking around apprehensively. I tell her that the horrible monsters are gone. Later she contemplates it visually when she sees the dead body of a badger. At the first sight of it, she hides behind me with fright. Or rather, under me, crouching near my front hooves. I smile and calmly walk up to the corpse and poke it with my hoof, showing her that it won't hurt her anymore.

The orange earth pony, treading slowly and carefully, approaches the badger's body and gently pokes it with her hoof, then immediately retreats. But when she sees that it does not react, she pokes it again, without trying to hide. She looks at me appreciatively, smiling and nodding slowly, and we move on. She no longer reacts so acutely to what she sees... Until she sees a lively and brutal griffon with huge machine guns on his back.

"We've been waiting for you... Who are you bringing?" Walnut stares interestedly, peering behind my rear.

"It's Nara. She survived in the vent system. Alone."

"Wow... That's some resilience for a kid like her."

Motley smiles at me and looks at my companion with a raised eyebrow; her eyebrow arches even more as the little pony hides behind me.

"What are you going to do with her?" Walnut asks. "Give it to The School? Get a few hundred caps for her."

"She's obviously psychologically traumatized. She spent a year or two alone, completely surrounded by dangerous monsters. She even ran away at the sight of me and-"

"Don't bother," he raises his clawed paw as a sign for me to calm down. "She'll be fine there," he lowers his paw. "If not, she'll just get her brains cleared and she'll even forget this whole nightmare. She'll grow up to be a beautiful collared maid."

There is some truth in the griffon's words, in a way. If she has her memories erased, she will forget the whole nightmare, but then the memory of her family, the happy days, the meaning of those clocks would be gone. She would forget everything, in fact. It would be death. And there's no way I'm going to hand her over as a slave!

"Anyway," he begins with irritation over my thinking. "Have you got the rest of the rooms free from badgers?"

"Yes."

"Great," the griffon says, looking at the packed tunnel and rubbing his paws in satisfaction. Then he looks at me. "If it hadn't been for your partner, the damage would indeed have been greater. Saved me some grenades, too. Let's go get the caps, I'll give you your share, and we'll go our separate ways... And don't forget to check on Prince. He's searching and looking for you."

"I'll be sure to stop by, don't worry."

"I'm not worried, I just want to remind you. You're the one who wants to be a King. You don't want to pass up a chance like that. Don't forget that Prince himself is interested in you."

We head for the exit of the Stable. Nara glances curiously at Motley from time to time.

Later it hits the pegasus why Nara keeps looking back and staring at her. The little girl has lived her entire life in an underground bunker, and has probably not yet seen pegasi and griffons in person: I remember that almost all the pegasi have hidden behind the clouds and are rarely inhabitants of the Stables. However, there was one Stable that housed mostly pegasi, and it had been taken over by Vanhoover's masters.

***

As we leave the Stable, Nara turns around several times. Then she looks around enthusiastically. She leaves the walls of her home for the first time, and a new world opens up before her.

How I understand her.

Walnut gets the rest of the caps. He gives me a thousand of them, and flies off in the direction of Vanhoover. Nara is frightened at the sight of the new strangers, and it is as if she senses that they are not going to do her any good. The marauders begin looting the Stable, but they're not happy, to say the least, about me taking a potential slave from them since she was part of the Stable, which we had no right to take anything from, but in the presence of a griffon King, they won't argue. It was for the best.

As I thought, the large number of the living frightens Nara. She's used to the idea that no one's friendly around, and everyone's either dead or an aggressive beast. How can you not be frightened at the sight of every stranger after that?

I guess with that kind of fear of the surroundings in the Wasteland, she won't have that much trouble. Just more free space.

Nara leaves the old, half-ruined store and looks around in wonder; then her gaze drifts to the sky. She stares mesmerized, unable to look away.

I remember my first time on the surface. When I first looked up at the sky, my heart nearly burst from so much free and endless space...

The little one shivers and falls to the ground and covers his head with his hooves. I walk over and gently place my hoof on her head. She is afraid to lift her head and open her eyes. I doubt she'll survive the flight on Venture in ease. I wrap my magic around the trembling little pony and sit her on my back. She wraps her hooves tightly around me and hides her face in my mane.

"How cute that looks," the pegasus says.

"Maybe you want to carry her. Your back would be freer. And softer, too."

"I doubt she'll just leave you. It's not like she trusts-" Motley doesn't have time to finish her sentence before I carefully use magic to place the mare on her back. She also hides her face in pegasus's mane, which is surely fragrant with almonds...

I shake my head, pushing the thought of Motley's mane away, and turn back to Nara.

The endless emptiness scares Nara more than the ponies she doesn't know.

"What were you saying?" I ask with a winning grin.

"Nothing," the pegasus smiles faintly, looking tenderly at the filly nestled comfortably on her back.

"Hmm. Nice, indeed. Besides, she doesn't care right now—she's scared and afraid to even open her eyes. So let her get used to you, too."

"But she trusts you more anyway."

"Why should she?" I ask, motioning to the Vertibuck. Motley, with the passenger on her back, follows me.

"Your smile would charm anyone. It... Doesn't bring anything evil. Always filled with kindness and sympathy. No one would think it hides a sneer or anything sinister. It's like a warm light—brings joy, hope for something good... and I feel calm and peaceful in the soul."

"Wow... Thank you, of course. Aren't you being a bit excessive?" I glance sneakily at the pegasus. Her cheeks turn a rosy blush.

"Well, that's... Maybe. I'm just telling it like it is."

"I'm flattered."

I don't know what to think. I have warm feelings for her—she seems to have feelings for me, too. Maybe I should tell her that. I am already attracted to her in every way.

Once again, these conflicting feelings. What's wrong with my hormones? Sometimes it feels like I'm torn apart because I want to try to get close to Motley and at the same time to distance myself, to not allow myself to connect with someone from this world that I'm going to leave sooner or later. It's also because it just looks stupid... And unnatural.

I am human. A human in the shape of a pony. If she finds out my true origins, won't she think I'm crazy? One part of me says there's no point in her knowing, what's important is the here and now. The other part is that Motley would reject me if I told her, and why, I wonder, would I need unrequited love and broken feelings? It would be a waste of time and nerves.

It's so complicated... Two opposing feelings are bubbling up inside me. I can't concentrate, I'm tossed from one side to the other every second. This has never happened before in my life. I don't know what to do. Ever since I've been in this body, I realize more and more that I don't understand a certain part of my actions and behavior. How stupid I feel. And really, why do I need a relationship at all right now? So much to do: there's just no time for it all. Yeah, I think it's better to leave these attempts to get close to someone aside. It will only be a distraction.

I still don't know what really happened with her sister, but I want to believe her. I just can't keep an open mind about her.

I like Motley. We've had common experiences—that commonality evokes warm feelings. We've both killed loved ones. And we both know what it's like...

No, I don't want to be responsible for what she's going through. She's been through enough. I don't want to be the cause of more suffering for her. There's always someone suffering around me, and she deserves normal love and peace and the assurance that her lover isn't going to some Stable Sixty-Sixth where he'll be lost forever.

And yet Motley never leaves my mind. She occupies my mind even when she's not around.

As I ponder, I don't notice that we are near Venture, Hugh Willford's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"At last!" he exclaims, sitting beside the Vertibuck. "Have you decided to have a picnic there?"

"Yeah, I'm stuck in the vent for one reason," I say slightly absent-mindedly, pointing with a nod to Motley's back. I have to stop thinking about relationships. I keep getting distracted. "And I see," I begin, turning to Hugh, "my bird is in place."

"Why would I? I haven't the faintest idea how to operate this thing."

"Who knows, who knows... So there wasn't a Dome key card in the Stable?" I ask interestedly.

"No, but it was supposed to be there."

"I don't get it."

"Simply put, the secret section under the Overmare's desk that we visited the day we met was open in this Stable. There your friend and I found the skeletons of several ponies and dried bloodstains on the wall. The badgers had gotten to them. They tried to take shelter in that section, but they didn't have time to close the passage. It remains unanswered how the inhabitants of the Stable were able to crack the cipher."

"Wait, how would you crack that cipher if you had to? If it wasn't easy even for Berry."

"In our bunker, not without the help of others, she was able to create a computer virus that would break that cipher. She's a genius at that."

"So there was no key card? Maybe someone took it?"

"I didn't find it in the Stable when I searched. There is a possibility that this key card hasn't reached its destination at all yet."

"Are you saying it's been intercepted? Or was it simply not delivered in time?"

"Quite possibly," Hugh mutters, then sighs heavily. "I need to make a report to the Elder. Can you give me a ride?"

I nod.

"Open the hatch! I'm so ready to fly this thing!"

We get in the Vertibuck and head in the direction of the Steel Ranger military base. Once inside the machine, Nara finally opens her eyes and looks around. I tell her that this thing is about to take off and she'll be in the air! It's not exactly in the air by herself, but still, Nara will be up high.

I want to bring her to Heavenly Harbor for the time being. I will look after her temporarily. Let her get used to a little company, and then, when she has recovered a little from the nightmares and horrors, she will decide for herself where to go and what to do. And... Walnut's suggestion about erasing her memory... It's not so bad, considering what this little girl has been through: the loss of family, friends, acquaintances... Maybe it's better if she forgets them. True, she might lose the precious moments she spent with them, but otherwise she will have as much trouble getting on with her life as I had.

And also the erasure of memory is akin to death.

How her face transforms when Venture is in the air! Excitement, fear, confusion, realization, joy... She smiles. That smile is filled with a barely noticeable delight and quiet glee. It is as if she has gone from a nightmare to a beautiful waking dream. She's afraid to scream too loudly... for in a Stable filled with dangerous monsters, she had to be silent and not make a single sound, or she would die.

"Thanks for the ride," Hugh says before stepping out of the Vertibuck. As before, we didn't land close to the Steel Rangers' home.

"Yes, you're welcome," I pronounce, smiling.

"It's good to have you on our side after all," Hugh says before he disappears.

I stay with Nara and Motley.

"Where to next?" Motley asks.

I feel hungry. Oh, right. I think it's time to suggest Flow do a cooking in Heavenly Harbor.

"Stay on course to the Fifty-Three. It's about time we found a permanent chef for our humble nest."