Fallout Equestria: Burdens

Chapter 12- Acclimation

“It’s a start...”

I always thought marbles were a silly thing to call a foal’s game. If anything, they were more pretty to look at until one of them mistakes it for a candy, or causes an accident with them; a sack of problems waiting to happen.

The bag I have, in particular, is hefty enough. A cursory clacking brings all of those errand thoughts to mind, and a small, steady pour of its contents have it all justified. Rolling along the frog, a small little bead. “What am I supposed to do with a sack of marbles?”

Stagona takes a small sip of her coffee, looking like she has reached some state of relaxation before setting it aside. “They call them ‘water seeds’.”

Water… “seeds?”

She nods, a small smile and a sharp breath have me taking it for a joke, “You and the Enclave work more closely with the Company, so I doubt you would have seen them very often. They are very valuable, unassuming on a cursory glance— a currency, as a matter of fact.”

A strange thing, alright, but I’ll go with it. Looks like an ordinary clear marble; nothing too out of place about it. No colorful ribbons or a detail along its smooth face, just a round piece of… glass or crystal— either, except for an idle bubble that is, for the most part, static.

Something about it though…

I put the bag down and hold one between my hooves, putting it up to the glowbulb. It knows what I want to do and dims its light, getting just behind the small orb. I don’t expect any— woah…

The light passing through them dances so serenely. I can make out something almost like a phantom of a puddle, and the small bubble dances with rainbow caustics. I can’t believe it— so much so that I’m passing the marble in and out of the light’s range to see the stark, beautiful difference between its luminosity and its dullness.

“If memory serves you should have a total of three hundred and fifty in that bag alone,” She explains. “One hundred and fifty of those are water seeds, proper; the rest are slabs.”

Slabs… The mention of something so blocky and weighty has me feeling the bag itself. Juggling the whole thing doesn’t tell me what she’s referring to is with the seeds. “Where would those be?”

She doesn’t say anything but flicks her chin and gaze at the next thing on my bed. Setting the marble sack aside I stare at the small, square, cloth-wrapped parcel-type item and unwrap it slowly. There are two of them, one on top of the other, appearing as thick as a mortar brick. Picking the top one up, there is some weight to it, but nothing that’ll leave a pony overencumbered anytime soon. Looks the same as the water seeds: same rock, same idle bubble but bigger, but its face was substantially different. It’s got a small shallow circular cut at the center of it where tiny slivers of that same goldish metal appear frozen in place. Reminds me of the Matriarch’s gift to me in that regard.

Speaking of…

“This all feels very generous,” Almost too generous, despite the sum… “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

Part of me wanted to immediately take the confusion in her question as a facade. Still, “Does this make me in debt with what I’m going to use for it? Who do I owe, what?”

“Ward, you do understand gifts, correct?”

“Yeah. I guess… I’m too used to the idea of always having to owe what’s given. It doesn’t feel right to get something with no sort of string or hidden obligation. We were kept safe, we were all expected to take up arms to keep ourselves safe. Nothing was free, that’s what we were taught.”

Stagona is silent for a quick spell, “Well, there may be some merit to that statement, and this was not free— not at first. I would phrase it as a gift that you have earned through your efforts; through the resolve you displayed among the Delegation of your trial.”

“So I got money for having my ass handed to me.”

“Ward, this is not anything in regards to pity…” Sure as hell feels like it… “You displayed strength that was more than what you may consider such. How do you say… case in point… you showed the strength of your character— you showed promise. The Matriarch… what she may have seen in you… Nevertheless, this is what they all allotted you for the way forward.”

“Right. Thanks.” The sack of marbles are set, and so are the slabs. Next thing is next, “There is a market here, right?”

“Already looking to spend?”

I nod, “It’s on my list of things to do, alongside figuring out the best way to start looking for a way to save Avie.”

“That will still take a long while, Ward.” She tells me like I don’t already know. Still kinda hurts to hear it isn’t something I can’t immediately do.

“How long will it take, then?”

“One of the Laws of the Land involves mutual benefit and companionship. The School of Mysticism, as well as the Company’s Archaics and Alchemy Division may be able to help you, but you do know that means you need to help both parties, correct?”

Jobs to get started; income to get more of what I need. It’s all coming together slowly… too slow… “Right. Well who do I talk to with the School? The Company’s Division?”

“Astron Atenízo for the School of Mysticism. He was among the first to invest his knowledge and skills in the research and cataloging of the Curse; a fine vested scholar. You may have already met him, if my recollections are correct.”

I can’t deny how her observation clicks in my mind. It’s a flash in my mind; there and then not, but I do remember another zebra stallion when I was here the first time. “Where can I find him?”

“Do you remember the rotunda on the way to your trial?” She asks. I nod, “The hunter’s arrow should point you in the right direction.”

How could I forget something like that… “Orion, ya mean?”

“Yes.” She says, a small pip of surprise in her voice. “I shouldn’t be surprised you would know their names. Who taught you?”

Can’t remember them off the top of my head, but I remember what they smelled like… Why is that the one thing I remember most clearly?..

All said and done, the most basic barding is on me already; beiges and browns from the roomy shirt with wrapped sleeves to the flank coverings with so many pockets. Not much, but I’m glad to have it.

Something else still prods my mind, and it involves the Company, “The Corpos look into the Curse, too, right? Who’s their expert on this whole thing going on?”

I can see Stagona’s calm demeanor shift slightly; her features twitch with what I’m guessing is uncertainty, “That… would be the pony they call a doctor… Hypothesis. Though if I recommend anything, Ward, I would be careful with him.”

“Why’s that?”

“That pony’s fixations on the obscure are concerning. The Inquisitora are aware of it, and I am most certain he has not been prying into your unique set of circumstances. If you need to consult him, keep your guard and be wary.”

“How bad is the fixation?”

She doesn’t blink. I can’t even tell if she’s even breathing until she speaks, “I believe you would understand once you consult Astron.”

Right…

The bags are secured in the pockets that make the most sense; the Matriarch’s pendant in a place I can access it readily; my talisman secured around my neck and tucked under my shirt. One last thing… “Where’s the market in this mountain?”

* * * * * *

She called it “The Belly”... At least it’s what it’s called in that Aridian language or… whatever language I hear her and the other Zebra speak.

It’s warmer than usual in this place— just as crowded as that rotunda area— and the ceiling just goes on for a good several hundred flights. The walls all around, stairs carved into them and buildings on top of buildings with glowing holes and windows dug deep inside. Stranger smells that vaguely remind me of the crowded halls of the Cage, different all the while with salty, savory, and even metallic notes. The din of socialization, so mellow and almost cozy in a strange way— the only thing loud are what I take as barking advertisements in that Aridian language.

This place, the way its ponies and Aridians move about… their smiles; their banter; their stalls and workplaces all huddled together with vast, colorful drapes that go from one tent to the other. Feels like a cozy dream; a “circus” from the old world without mockery and self-depreciation.

Walking into the crowd is no different from how it was back in the Enclave. Stepping in is like I find myself being carried by a water current that guides gently to where I need to be. And where I need to be is a place where I can find essentials. Looking around is a little hard, but stopping is no hassle; like a rock in said stream, everypony just walks around me so seamlessly without a shove.

So many stalls; so many places that could be selling anything. Some of them are built up off the ground; some are half-buried into the ground, looking shorter compared to their neighbors. I can’t even tell which is the right place to start, and I’m feeling the idiocy slowly drill into me for not asking Stagona that very question.

I look to one reminding me of a commanding officer’s dugout position. Nothing on it tells me what it is, or what it even specializes in, but I gotta start somewhere. If not this place, then maybe they’d point me in the right direction. Climbing down a small zig-zagging set of rocky stairs into a more open room-like area. Everything is either a blank robe, a charm, or both in a more elaborate display. Colors in here just as they are out there; patterns so subtle and so mind-numbing all the while.

On the other side of a room-spanning countertop stands a gray-faced Aridian, tall and with small wrinkles that just barely collect shadow. She greets me, I think, and her scratchy voice does sell the idea of her being an older generation.

“Erm… Hi…” It’s all I can say. Hearing being addressed on my own like that just ties all kinds of knots with my guts inside. I know I need to say something— I need to ask, but— my tongue is too afraid to help me say anything.

The Aridian’s words sound like a question; still, I’m not sure what she’s saying. I’m too embarrassed to even gesture, and that’s starting to aggravate.

“I—I—” The words don’t want to work; my tongue is doing backflips for no fucking reason.

There’s that same questioning tone coming from her, again. Just stop talking in that fucking language so I can say something, dammit!..

C’mon… C’mon!..

“I’m… uh—” I take a deep breath and beat my chest to help push on through, “I’m looking for some supplies to… go outside.”

There’s a silence, and she stares at me like I’m something that isn’t supposed to be where I am now. She pulls back away from the counter and pokes her head into an open hole in the wall behind her, calling out into it.

A glow comes up from it— a glowbulb zooming out and waiting for what’s behind it: another Aridian, much younger and just as tall. She addresses the elderly Aridian and they converse for a little bit before the former looks on at me.

“Yuu— You…don’t speak not-Aridian?” She asks.

That accent is so strange, and the words so skippy. It’s an honest shock to even hear her speak it; I thought I would be here all day. The building tension slacks, and I’m glad I don’t need to feel it anymore. “No.”

“What…Yuu— you, looking for?”

“A supply store?”

“You… sure naat—not sure?”

“No, I mean—damn—” I take a deep sigh. Why is this so hard? “I… don’t know my way around. I’m looking… for supplies. I’m here to find things… for the desert.”

It’s like my brain is needing to slow down all of a sudden. Why am I talking to her in a more stilted and choppy manner? I wouldn’t doubt her looking at me like I’m being condescending, but instead of that all I can see is her mumbling to herself as her eyes move side to side like she’s juggling an idea.

“You… a… ah… mmmmm— dunedrifter?”

“Dunedrifter” ?... “I… I guess?”

“Naa—Not sure? Yes? No? No…” Her focus drifts off to one of my sides, and then her neck cranes over as if she’s trying to look at something. The hairs on my neck stand instantly, and I clamp my wings closer to my sides like it would be enough to cover myself up better.

Her brows rise high and she talks to her senior; the former’s stilted speech flowing freely compared to how she tries to talk to me. Their back and forth doesn’t take long, and the younger glides over the countertop— minding everything around her.

“Caaah— come,” She asks, guiding me back the way I came. Out near the crowd, she grabs at my shoulder and I yank myself away the moment I feel the contact. Surprise comes over her and I shake my head, folding my wings tighter to my side. She nods and points out towards one of the walls— I’m not so sure what direction it is; no way of knowing without an actual sun for a guide.

“That way?” The wall in particular looks more uniform and structured compared to everything else. Nothing really natural about the rock’s shapes, only the rock it’s carved from.

“Go.” She says, nodding.

“Uhh… Thanks.”

Two steps forward. I look back at the Aridian mare, and she gestures for me to go forward like I’m some kinda reluctant pet. That smile doesn’t help; feels fake. I nod, turn away; eyes on where I need to be.

* * * * * *

Either the walk was so short, or the place that the merchant told me to go is much larger than I originally thought. It crawls up the face of this mountain chamber and somehow doesn’t feel like it’s stopping on its way to touch the ceiling.

It’s almost strange, realizing now that most of the Aridians seem to gravitate towards that little tent town— for the lack of a better term; it’s mostly pony over here, but that’s not to say that there aren’t natives in this area. These ones look… different from the ones I’ve seen— more brightly colored, tufted tails, and wearing shoes of some kind.

Getting closer to what I presume is the entrance, a tinge of familiarity hits me. Ahead of me, a small group of pegasi in worn purplish blue outfits are gathered in front of the establishment.

Enclave… the thought clicks in my mind so snug it just doesn’t feel right. I look back the ways I came, focusing on the memory of the mare and the way she looked at me and my— Of course… Of fucking course…

The din of an anxious gathering rises. I turn back to the flock, my ears start to pick up on some things being said; mare’s and stallion’s voices, each sharing some opinion coming over one another like a rolling tide:

“How long will they keep us here?!”

“We’ve done our part, let us go!”

“Fuck protocol! We’ve waited long enough!”

“Jailors!”

“Sand-blasted snakes!”

Fucking foals… The Matriarch; Stagona— they weren’t lying about the situation. I just didn’t think there’d be this many trapped on this side of the standoff. They’re all so huddled together, It’s gonna be a doozy trying to squeeze through all of them. The thought of flying over the whole obstacle comes to mind, but something’s telling me I shouldn’t. I’m not too sure how cordial the Corpo Security Sector is.

I pick a gap and push on through, many start voicing their opinion on it:

“Watch it!”

“Ow! Quit shoving!”

“Sonuvabitch— Wait your turn, asshole!”

I’m not waiting for this to end. I’ve got a job to do, and I don’t care how much my heart starts to race or how fucking smelly this bog of feathers and fur is. I’m getting to the front of this mess.

The closer I get to where I need to be, I start to hear a more cohesive discussion taking place.

“Look, ma’am, we don’t want no trouble. We’re all just itching to go home, check in with dependents— loved ones,” a stallion speaks up, calm and collected.

“Protocol two dash seven nine,” A curt, sharpened voice cuts through, “Orders are that the skies are off limits until circumstances surrounding the necessity of said implementation is rectified. You and your ilk are to stay put until further notice.”

“I thought the no-fly order was towards transportation— this is ridiculous!”

“Orders are orders; we do not make them, but enforce them. Once again: until further notice, you pegasi are to stay put!”

“Just… Look, we can trickle our way out; small numbers at a time, not large enough to ruffle any manes or feathers. One at a time if needed.”

“Not your prerogative, pegasus. No amount of shouting and protest will make the order lift any faster. Do I need to repeat what I’ve already said— control your herd, soldier.”

Somepony I pass up voice their opinion, “We don’t take orders from you!” A small swell of agreement follows.

“Yeah, tell us the truth!”

“Your no-fly or the General’s no-fly!”

I can’t tell if it’s the collective heat of the crowd or the damn idiotic stubbornness churning my stomach. I’m almost there…

“Ma’am, we’ve been honest folk— we’ve done our part, steadily working off whatever debt we have on our hides. Can’t you find some kind of reason to let us go? I’m sure it would do many of us good.”

“Let’s think about this for a moment,” The mare speaks up, “would you— as soldiers— do anything for your general? For your Enclave?”

“Of— of course! That’s why we need to go home, because some of us have our own to look after—”

“Then do not think it unfair for showing my loyalty to my own. That goes for all of us in the Company. Now, I would help you, but I honestly doubt any would take the offer.”

“That being?” The Enclave stallion prods.

“It is in the vein of independent contracting work. You and your little flock can integrate, and you would graciously accommodate doing so— granted, most benefits withholding during a probationary period.”

“Swindlers!” A mare from behind me shouts in protest. More join in after, throwing more insults and adjectives to the pile.

“You understand that means defecting, right? And we just started talking about loyalty, for fuck sake!”

“That is our ultimatum on this. I repeat: you can either take this offer now, or you can spend the rest of this lockdown back in your Vertibucks. The choice is yours. All of yours!”

I finally make it to the front of this whole fiasco. Two ponies, both of whom I assume were the dominating voices of the conversation I’ve been hearing, turn their attention to me.

Things look much worse than I thought: on this side, nothing but pegasi in cobbled combat gear— none of which look armed; on the other, a mare with a distracting outfit and a small wall of armed ponies behind her. They seriously considered lethal force?.. Fuck me…

“Soldier,” The stallion addresses me, pointing a wing in the opposite direction, “Back in line. I’ve got this.”

Sure you do…

My eyes turn to the mare, “Y’all the Company? I was told I could find some supplies here for the outside.”

Her eyes narrow, head tilting just slightly, “We just went over this: there is a no-fly order in place. I understand that you may not have been able to hear it from where you were, but that’s—”

“I understand, ma’am, but that isn’t why I’m even here. Not for them, but for something else.”

“Who are you, son?” The pegasus stallion asks.

“I’m not wearing your uniform. Hardly think what you’re asking matters.”

“No, I’m sure I know you.”

My skin runs up and down my back, from neck to dock. I brush it off and take a breath, “Well, I don’t know ya. Don’t drag me into whatever it is y’all got stuck up in. Hardly my business.”

“You’re a pegasus, though—”

“When does that mean anything? It’s what I always hated— how y’all tote it like it’s something that should mean some prerogative or exclusivity.” My wings don’t feel right all of a sudden.

“You don’t sound too particularly proud of those wings,” he points out.

I shake my head and brush him aside, turning to the mare. She’s wearing a similar, but equally distracting set of clothes like the delegate from the trial… “I assume you have something of note pertaining to the situation, young pegasus?”

I can already tell she’s going to be uncompromising from the way she tells me that. Her words, so cold and distant; uncaring. Almost familiar, but not enough to leave me frozen. I guess this is one of the proverbial pathways the Matriarch was talking about…

Teaching into my chest pocket, I manage to wiggle the pendant out and present it. Her blue eyes lock in and she reaches for it, takes it, and flips down some kind of rock-monocle. She holds it up like something to behold, staring into it like it would open. She finishes gawking, puts it in my hooves, and extends hers towards the way inside, “Go on through. Front desk will help you with what you need.”

Outrage swells behind me, and I look back over at all of them. Some just stare like they haven’t a clue; some look insulted; others like I’m a meal to them, and one to be spat on and stomped on.

I move on through, but feel a heated stare burning through the back of my head. The stallion looks on at me, and that scowl looks way too personal, “Good luck to you, soldier. Watch yourself, and think about all of this.”

There’s no telling whether he means it in confidence, or not. Either way…Noted…

* * * * * *

From the front desk a well kept mare with a dull coat and bright eyes addressed and guided me on my way. Down a hall, off to the left and down two flights of steps, finding myself in a place similar to the one the Aridian mare was holed up in. The largest glowbulb brightens the shine of several coverings from fur to leather; textures that look so soft and delicate to rugged and sturdy. Vast mobile step ladders run across the walls where mares and stallions fix whatever small things they find off-putting; more are practically waltzing around dummies or models of frozen ponies of varying sizes, pining and changing small things here and there in circular stands that are half-buried into the foundation.

“Kalsha-haam!” A fruity voice greets. Walking up to me is another one of those brightly-colored Aridians; colors of a pony but all the physique of one of the natives. Same piercing eye-glow.

“Uhhh… hi.” I look up at her. Still so tall… “I’m looking to get… fitted…”

“Do you have an appointment?”

A stone kerplunks into my gut, but I keep myself steady, “No. I was just told I’d find what I’m looking for… here. By the mare at the front desk?”

She mimes a small expression of realization, “Oh, oh, I see now. You were the honored guest.”

Honored guest… “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Come now,” She’s leaning into my ear and my body seizes, “Why else would one have the Matriarch’s blessing?”

Shivers avalanche down my spine and my feathers pin up so hard the pores ache. Hardly think that was necessary, and I can’t find it in me to tell her outright.

She does that Aridian gesture, “Quli Ma-Ashiiq. I’ll be helping you today.”

So that was a name?.. Feels and sounds like a tongue flipper…

Pushing all that down, I return the gesture, “Ward.”

Her smile is as beaming as her eyes. Her tufted, ringed tail comes around and she beckons, “This way.”

I follow her along the carved rock path going down the middle of the atrium-sized room, towards one of the sunken circles. At its center, amidst the smallest layer of sand, is a pedestal. I step onto it.

“You are going to have to remove your barding before we get started,” She tells me.

The rock that plopped in my gut earlier just expanded, and everything slowly twists with the pangs of anxiety. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

“It is how it is. I cannot get the proper measurements without what you already have on warping your dimensions.”

“I’m not removing anything. Just… why do I need to take off anything for something like this?” I start shaking my head at the idea. Fucking hell…Fucking hell…

“You are getting fitted, right?” She asks.

“Yes. For the desert!”

A blush comes through her already bright red face, “Oh. Oh-oh–oh! Not a robe or a Stalwart Sti— Oh! I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!”

I snort to get the nervous fits from digging deeper into me. Some of the feathers are stuck standing up; patting them down flat helps ease the nerves. “Look, I’m just looking to get whatever I have to… dry and desolate standards.”

“Of course,” The bright Aridian reassures, “Yes, yes, we can do that. In that case, I can measure with what you already have. No need to do what I asked earlier.”

She pulls herself back up, pulls her purple-streaked mane back and clears her throat. “So, what is your budget range?”

Digging into my memories for Stagona, “Around three hundred and fifty Water Seed is all I have. Two slabs and marbles.”

“Three hundred and fifty water seed. That would make… one thousand and fifty favvers…” She starts to mumble the rest as she stretches a thin, notched belt along and around my limbs.

“What’s that? ‘Fah-fears’? ”

“Transaction rates. That’s… That’s all it is,” she says before rolling up the belt. “So tell me: are you going to spend it all on your outfit, proper?”

“What? It’s not enough?”

“Well, no, you can buy decent, pre-made, medium-grade accessories and material upgrades with that much, but I’m wanting to believe you have yet to make all necessary preparations?”

“No.”

She nods at that, looking like something has been snagged, “I see. Well in this case, I can probably have something ready for you while you get your other affairs in order. It will take me a while to—”

“How long?”

“Depends on how much you are willing to invest.”

“Like what again?”

“I can give you a modular package: detachable leather sleeves with zippable air holes, no brigandine. That alone should be around… sixty five water seeds.” One of her fangs begins to pinch and chew at one of her lips, “I would also have to make some adjustments to the vest you are already wearing… Does your shirt have a cowl?”

I think for a minute and pull at my loose collar, “No.”

“This means a whole new shirt on top of that— needs to be one piece.” Her tail flicks side to side, brushing the sand down as she continues chewing at herself and what I’m guessing are the numbers dialing in her head. I can already feel my allowance bag getting lighter and lighter with every second she takes with this little thing she’s doing.

“Look, I get that everything I have is less than optimal…” My mind starts to trail off, listing everything I know I need without a shadow of a doubt. “What can I get for a hundred water seeds?”

“Three hundred favvers…” She thinks aloud, “I could get you the basics for just about everything. The bare basics— from boots to cowl with a necessary grommet and gasket—”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

I reach into one of my deeper pockets, fishing out the one wrapping that has one of the slabs. I’ll need to invest in a proper saddlebag or something… Unwrapping it, I push the one I intend to use off to the side and pocket the remaining one.

Her oval pupils sharpen and thin into proper slits as she picks it up and angles it towards the glowbulb. She hums a little, and then sets it aside, “Pristine. This will work. I can get what is promised done by the end of the day, but I will need your vest.”

I transfer any and all materials from the vest pockets to the flank ones, and hold it out towards her.

“Wonderful. Now, I will need you to do one last thing for me. Do you have a tail ring with you?”

“No.”

“Ah. Okay, okay. Wait here,” she walks away and comes back with a small earthen plate full of glossy ink, and a fine strip of leather. Both are set down in front of my hooves side-by-side, “I will need you to make your mark; since you don’t have a tail ring, all I will need is a hoof, and feather inked, and pressed into the leather.”

“A feather?”

She nods. “Will you need scissors? I have—”

“No. No, I…I got it.” My wings ruffle as I unfurl the one on my right. Seeing all the aligned primaries, secondaries, coverts— trying to find one that wouldn’t need me to pluck. I brush my hoof along all the baby blue and dark cerulean until one slides out of place and dangles sideways; holding for dear life. I help it into my hoof then look at the bowl.

“Good, now you—” The Aridian speaks as I drop it into the ink, gently. It stays on top like it was lounging in a pool of water. “Yes, like that. Don’t forget to sign it as best you can.”

My hoof goes in, touching the surface of the black ink and making sure the feather comes out with it. Both of them go right onto the leather, and I put all of my weight into the damn thing to where it feels like I’d slip. She holds onto the edge of the whole art project, and I pull away from it.

“Great! I say that looks pretty okay, don’t you?” She asks.

Sure, nothing more riveting than a kindergarten art project… Can’t even look at it without my eyes feeling fuzzy; the shape with the feather’s blotted outline just reminds me of other things for some reason.

My name goes on it. The ink dries up, and the Aridian pulls out a thick pair of scissors and snips right down the middle. I don’t have any words to say about it, but she takes one of the halves, folds it neatly, and gives it to me, “Bring this when the day starts tomorrow as a proof of purchase. I shall be ready with what you need by then.”

“Right. Thanks for this.”

“Not at all,” She chirps. “Sorry about earlier, again— I got so used to— and you know—”

We all make mistakes…

She clears her throat, “Is there anything else I can help you with mister… Ward?”

So I have this settled— even if it’ll take some time. Packs and other essentials would be necessary, and a means of self-defense. Will I have enough to eat something somewhere down the middle? Not being sure of it just makes me feel that creeping gut cramp sooner than I’d like.

* * * * * *

Down the hall.

More stairs.

Down, down; deeper and deeper into the guts of this mountain to find a whole half of a corridor hollowed out and lines with segmented posts facing a vast empty, cleanly-cut and carved atrium with several rock formations spaced out unevenly.

I know I found the place even before I got here, as the authoritative shouts of ballistic weaponry got louder and louder. There is nothing left but the faintest whine in my ear and a looming specter itching to have me pounce at the slightest, sudden noise.

On my right, opposite to the range is a small door and a viewer’s slot cut across the rest of the wall all the way down. Reminds me of a pill-box viewpost, but far longer than what’s contemporary. Can only imagine going just past the door’s entrance and seeing rows of weapon emplacements…

I don’t find that on my way in, only rows of cushion-seats with some already gathered and viewing what’s already happening outside—

Another sudden bang has my wings spring open and my joints freeze. First one, and then more; it doesn’t stop and I can’t find it in me to move for a good few seconds. Some staring eyes thaw the cold from my legs, and I can bring my wings down with ease. Knots twist inside from the gawking… Can’t slip up like that…

Further back, past rows upon rows of gutted ballistics and organized metal ammo boxes on small islands of rock, is another countertop and a gray-on-gray, mustached pony— wearing the exact same distracting clothing as every other Corpo in this place— in front of rows upon rows upon walls of displayed weaponry. Looks to me as if the entire collection of any and every way a ballistic can appear is there on full display behind a grated cage.

“Kaylsham,” The mustached pony greets with a curtly raised hoof. “You don’t look familiar to me. Not one of us; not an Aridian, for sure… You lost?”

His forehooves spread out across the counter-top, mustache twitching and eyes narrowing.

“You’re the armorer? Quartermaster?” I ask.

“One of several, in this place. But I can’t say more till mine is answered.”

“Yours?”

He nods, “You sure you’re not one of them mimibirds, Pegasus?”

Was that a fucking insult? “Hang on a sec—”

“‘Na, you’re in my establishment. What comes, goes. I asked a question— that doesn’t mean regurgitating my own questions back at me or being rhetorical. I ask, you answer. Simple? Simple.”

A real what’s-what. I don’t know what’s worse with this pony: the fact that he brings the hammer down like a peevish, blue-balled instructor because of a question, or the smallest inkling in the back of my mind telling me it’s just who he is and to just go with it. Somehow I think there are more layers to this whole thing.

I take a deep breath, “No, I’m not lost.”

“Yeah? From what I saw you looked like you were about to fly off in a tear over a ten millimeter sounding off.”

Fucking hell…

Another gulp of air for this shit, “I’m just here looking for some armaments. Weapons?”

“I know what it means, Cloud-kick,” he taps his hooves with gusto on the rock, a yawn bellowing from his gaping maw. “See, I don’t have any of them light-shows you and yours call ‘armaments.’ Here? I’m sure you can tell it won’t get you very far with them Catalyst Storms, and I ain’t got one of them— mmmm, it was one of them fly-boys who said it— Ah, a ‘C.F.C.’”

His whole demeanor is as much a slap across the face as is his breath still lingering around my head. Fuck me, it’s sour…

“So no M.E.W.s,” I already dread on what’s left for me, then. “Nothing but ballistic, then.”

“Only thing the null fields can’t take away from. So are you here to actually buy one, or are you going to see yourself out?”

“Yeah, I’m here to buy.” Just to get out of this fucking place… “I’ve got about one hundred and… let’s go with one hundred and twenty water-seeds.”

He makes these low, raspy chirps as he mumbles, looking back at the stock behind him, “What is it you’re looking for?”

“Whatever one hundred and twenty will get me.”

“What are you going to do now? Why are you even needing any of this?”

“Do I need to give a reason?”

He looks back at me, “Yes. I can’t just give these out to anypony like honeyed dates to foals in the market play area. Hell, I don’t even think you have a valid permit for these kinds of things.”

I maintain eye contact, fishing out the Matriach’s pendant and leaving it right where he can see it past his fucking pudgy snout. He pulls his head back and brings his eyes down on it, and suddenly his expression changes from irritable to bafflement. “‘Na. ‘Na.”

If he’s saying what I know it sounds like he’s saying, “So… your recommendations for the budget?”

He puts his whole hoof over it, sliding it towards himself while he fishes for one of those strange monocles like the one the mare at the entrance had. He stares into it, looking like he’s trying to find a single thing to probably complain about and waste my time with.

His mustache twitches, and he sets the monocles to the side and my pendant slides over back to me. “Truth is, that would just get you a standard pistol. Here’s what I can give you for now.”

Several pistols are laid out in front of me, one at a time. With each, he gave some kind of namesake or moniker: “IF”; “HM”; “Colt”; “CSQ”; “Spring”; “SMA”; the list just keeps going… or I think it does. It doesn’t.

Six pistols, and each one of them look like they’ve seen their fair share of use. Brushed steel, bruised finish; questionable quality, to say the least. “Don’t start looking like I’ve cheated you…" he says, “You have one-twenty; I’m giving you one-twenty’s worth. Want something better? Pinch your bag for more; otherwise… This is it.”

“Do I at least get some ammo?”

He tilts his head, “This is not a charity, and these aren’t something I give out of the bottom of my heart.”

More the ass than anything…

Do I even need to ask what he recommends? A ballistic’s a ballistic; it shouldn’t matter, right? I stare at the selection for a little longer before putting my hoof over the third one from the right: a black pistol outlined by continuous steel scuffs along every raised edge.

“You want to test the gun, I’m obligated to let you try,” He says as he slides over a single magazine. Is there a reason why it’s got a purple stripe wrapping around it?

I set the pistol aside and reach for it. His big hoof falls onto mine and I pull away.

“Keep to your post; load it at your post. No funny business. Got it?”

“Yeah…I got it.”

His hoof comes off it; I snatch it away. On my way out, a unicorn passes me by, and something snags me by the back of my shirt’s collar. I can’t move forward without stretching and ripping the shirt, “What gives?!”

“Calis, why are you playin’ this business game with this pegasus?”

I know that voice. Turning around, seeing the red-orange tail; the white and red leg wrappings. Fucking hell…

“You know that cloud-skipper?” The stallion answers, “Look, we don’t have time for special orders that’ll wither and die before they arrive; no M.E.W.s to stroke their ego, and that one’s got a budget. I’m only working with what I can give him—”

“You didn’t even let him see which one really speaks to him?”

The stallion— Calis, snorts, “I’m running a business, trading cold steel and smokeless casings with our own for their needs. That Neotribal mystic bonding philosophy doesn’t have a place here. Let the stallion just take his piece.”

I don’t know what the two are going about, but I’d like for Wildcat to just let go of my fucking collar. It’s fucking degrading, and I’d cut myself away if I had the tools or dismissive regard for my own wears. It’s all I have, and it’s not worth it. Dammit…

My heart’s thumping with burning discomfort, and my breath feels a little hotter than it did. “Ease off the collar, Wildcat.”

The collar laxes over my shoulders, and relief shakes the discomfort away.

“Don’t leave, yet,” she says. “Still need somethin’ to do, and you’re goin’ to need to be here for it, Ward.”

“Don’t forget to pay up if the weapon is to your liking, Pegasus—”

A loud, intrusive thud cuts his remark off. “He won’t be payin’ for that half-dead pistol, Calis. It’s not his.”

“An eye for the obvious, Miss Wildcat— why do you think I’m telling him to pay up when he—”

“What did you show him?” She almost growls.

“Stay that attitude, Wildcat. You might be one of us now, but your deposition still affects your prospect and our outlook.”

I guess he doesn’t practice what he preaches…

“This isn’t about me, Calis, this is about making sure he gets exactly what he needs for what will happen outside.” She pulls her goggles up and her muzzle covering down, “He did show you, right? The Blessing?”

“So what if the Matriarch gives him some privileges— the budget is still the issue. He was offering one-twenty water seeds, so this is all he gets.” He enunciates his point by pulling out the selection, again– minus the one I already have.

Wildcat looks at every one that comes out as he raves. Each one has her frowning, squinting, wincing, at either how he slams them down or the lackluster quality and display of the pistols available. She points a hoof at me without taking her eyes off, “Bring the one you already have.”

Things were going just alright, and now I’m back to being ordered around. Part of me is wondering if this will happen again.

I put the pistol back with the others, and a familiar brass sparkly glow engulfs it, pulling it mid-air. She checks for ammo, finds the magazine port empty, and moves on to putting the side of it next to her ear. My ears pick up a faint clicking, and I can see the trigger squeezing like a real creaky son of a bitch.

Another pistol floats off the counter-top. Calis sighs and rubs at his temple, his other hoof tapping at the countertop while Wildcat does the exact same thing to every single one of the ballistics. I’m not even sure what she’s doing. It’s a hunk of moving metal; not something that’s alive or sickly. This just feels excessive and a little odd…

“Ward, how would you say your gun preference is?” She asks, before clarifying with some punctuated annoyance, “Before you mention any M.E.W.s, I’m talking about these weapons.”

So that means I shouldn’t say anything at all…

She sighs as a pistol comes at me, barrel down and mouth-grip to my muzzle, “None of them are loaded. Try it out— say how it feels— then tell me anything that bothers you about it.”

Here we go, again…

The mouth-grip slides in with no real issue. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be looking out for— this isn’t like checking the optimization of arcane components or the charge flow of an M.E.W. The damn thing’s just… dead, and somehow heavier than the standard P-Model M.E.W.s.

“How does it feel?”

“...Like a hunk of metal.”

“Trigger pull? Cocking friction? Ergonomic quirks or kinks that don’t resonate? Actually…” She sets the pistols aside, dividing them up in some kind of order I can’t figure out for the life of me. “...It’ll do. Run a dry check of that pistol, and then try another from the selection and we’ll work from there.”

And now she’s more invested in my shopping than I’d like. I’m not even sure what’s going on, anymore— it’s like something blurred past me without looking and now she’s acting like some kind of guide for something that’s just trivial. Now I’m actually sharing some kind of sentiment with the keeper on the other side of the countertop; things are really fucked up.

I set the pistol down, turning to the others laid out in front of me. My eyes shift to Wildcat waiting next to me, brow still furrowed as she bobs her head slightly for some reason. Her words are in my head: “Pick the one for you.” Do I just make something up? And why do I feel like the moment I go for one, she’s going to groan and complain like some foal upset about the wrong candy their parents got them?

No hustling remarks; no pushy, smart-alec quips. Just the ambient, aggressive barks of weapons going off behind at random intervals. My body still jumps a little, but it’s getting less disruptive.

Am I really indulging this? I can’t believe I’m about to…

I don’t know what I feel in my hoof as it hovers and stops over them: anxiety? Irritation? Something that is somehow validating this spiritualistic crap Wildcat’s spouting? I’m just taking too long on the decision. I let it drop over a black, slim, angular pistol that vaguely reminds me of a dog’s pointed snout. These things are supposed to have a hammer on the back of the slide? The heel? Just didn’t feel right the first time.

Whatever spring is inside is a little stiff, but not obtrusive. I like the design for how slick it is. The trigger’s like it’s wading through a quagmire before I hear any discernible click; even that feels and sounds too quiet. The weight… I’m not sure if it’s too light or too slim. Is there a difference about that with these things?

“Well?” Wildcat asks, a demanding tone absent.

“It’s… eye candy? I guess? Pretty to look at if I ignore the criss-crossing scratches all along its body.”

The quartermaster chuckles audibly. Wildcat shakes her head, “Aesthetics are not critical to survivability. How does it feel to you?”

Fuck me, this is like dragging my knees in coarse sand— Okay… “I can’t see or hear a hammer; the trigger takes its sweet time getting anywhere; and it feels like one shot will make the damn thing break its back.”

I set it aside, and the quartermaster sets it aside from the others. The next one: looks similar to the first one I grabbed, but like someone decided to trim as much of the excess material off as possible. So many angular surfaces— “lightning cuts,” I think they’re called— and it gives it a much more workable silhouette.

Still no visible trigger, again; smooth throughout the pull; The click at the end of it, I can hear it. The slide lever gets the job done, and the whole thing slams forward with gusto. It all feels… snug. I can’t find anything too obtuse aside from what it isn’t.

“How about now?” Wildcat asks.

“It’s not an energy weapon…but I think it’s what I’ll work with.”

“Yes? Or no?”

“... Yes.”

Wildcat looks at the quartermaster, “We’ll take this one.”

Wait… “We”?..

He takes all the other pistols back, and then addresses me, “You want to test it? Find a booth. Same deal.”

“I already said we’d take it.” Wildcat says, catching both the quartermaster and I off guard. My mind won’t let go of the plurality she used a while ago. Just… why?..

“I am conducting business with the pegasus, ‘iz Wildcat. It’s his decision.” He points out the honest truth about this whole affair. He pulls out a magazine, sets it down.

“He’d do better with a holster—”

“Te’-te’-te’— his decision. His water-seeds for the holster,” he turns to be. “That would be at least thirty more water-seeds. I’ll even throw in a spare, empty magazine if you do. The ammo is separate, in case you’d start asking about it.”

“Yeah, I got that from the word ‘empty’.” I take a deep sigh and take what’s mine on the way out, trying to ignore the ebony gray shadow with a fiery mane tailing me. There’s an itch in all of this— one that I can’t ignore, but is so far back in my mind I can’t even tell what it is. No, it’s more like a “why.” Why is she following me? Why with the overfamiliarity? We don’t even know each other, and she’s here trying to be something that juxtaposes the initial impressions from our first meeting. My stomach rolls with the memories, still…

My booth is the seventh one down from the entrance. In my lane are mounds of white, painted rocks. A closer look at the magazine that quartermaster gave reveals another purple stripe wrapped around its body, and the ammo’s nose is much more round than the last ones.

It loads in with a click. Refreshing myself on more of the basics of ballistic firearms is like blowing dust off a manual.

The slide pulls back. A glimpse of brass comes from the opening port atop the pistol, and I let it ride forward. Right… Next is…

Just pull the trigger…

Just…

Pull it…

Sight in…

Pull it…

The safety is off, right?..

Cursory check. The lever is showing red. Right…

The front post is where it should be between the notch aiming right at one of the mounds. Why am I starting to think about a target marker, already? Just fire the damn—

A pop robs me of my hearing. My jaw tingles— teeth are fuzzy in their roots. My neck doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t hurt like a sprain. The damn thing shoved me in the face. All of them do…

Barbaric…

Every quill is standing in their pores. Physically noticing them makes them raise higher, straighter. Touching them, patting them down, doesn’t feel right at all. Hurts like pins and needles.

“I’ve seen and heard all the same: that Enclave never adjusts well to the recoil. Most say it’s due to your Magical-Energy-Weapon-centric military doctrine. Sounds like a load; hard to believe your kin are so adamant about usin’ them in spite of the way things are.”

I take a deep breath, “Why… are ya following me?”

“No thanks for helpin’ you find a pistol that’s more yours?”

I spit the pistol out, but there isn’t a thud to be heard. The pistol floats just barely off the countertop in front of me; held by the sparkling glow. “That gun has been through a lot,” her voice is like a slow-burning fuse, “don’t be part of its issues— don’t add to its issues— or there will be an issue.”

She pushes the pistol into my chest, and my forelegs spring to catch it. The ice in my joints settle, thawing with an uncomfortable seething in the back of my mind. Something that isn’t making sense to me, burning like a hot coal that won’t go out.

“Just who the fuck are ya?” I set the pistol down, glaring back at her. “Last I checked, ya were the type who thought I couldn’t be trusted with one of these. Now here ya are acting like we’ve been a little more than acquaintances— did I miss something? Are ya even that same mare with the rigid deposition?”

That cold squint and glare comes over her face along with her bangs, “I don’t like it either, but I’m keeping my promises whether I can stomach it or not.”

Now it just feels too out of place to assume it was the Matriarch. It might as well be, but it just doesn’t click— no matter how much I try to make it fit in my head. It’s all stripes in my head… “How did she convince ya?” I ask, thinking back to Stagona’s concern about her.

Her furry ears flick, “Why do you love her?”

My heart stops with the blood flash freezing throughout my body. Barely there, flaring through that frost, is something that wants to ignite, “...don’t.”

“I’ll ask the same… No? Then watch your snappy maw and drop your hackles. The pistol…”

She just had to fucking say it. Now I’m thinking it’s best that I keep my mouth shut and play along. As for the ballistic, “Yeah, it’s a real piece of work.”

“Can I trust you with it?”

“...I’m the one buying it.”

She takes a deep breath, “You know what? Forget I said anythin’. At least I saw from how you handled it you’re not entirely at a loss nor are you made of clouds. The recoil of a standard nine mil is stiff, but that’s most pistols.”

“Not like I’m a complete stranger, I just don’t like them.”

“Get used to it. It might save your life out there.” She turns away, stopping mid-step and pulling her chin around just slightly, “Next time I see you about to mistreat that firearm, I won’t pull anything. Got it?”

I take another look at the hefty metal and all it’s scuffed, lightly used glory. Is there anything more to say about this, at all? No, I don’t think there is…

* * * * * *

Almost a third of my funds are left, and I still haven’t gotten more of the essentials; no saddlebags, no provisions. At least I didn’t have to carry the hunk of steel with me all the way back up to the entrance because of damn “carrier processing.” At least I can finally get away from that prickly son of a bitch, and I already don’t look forward to seeing him again.

I’m almost out, seeing that central carved pillar of the foyer that reminds me of an apple core. There’s a different pony from the greeter that pointed me in the right direction— and it’s a stallion this time. The hairs on my back prick up; feathers standing on end all the while as I pass him up. “You are Ward, right?” He asks.

“...Yeah.”

He holds his stare, a hoof feeling for a radio mic that blinks red as he finally finds the button to speak into it. I don’t understand a word; it sounds like the Aridians, but somehow doesn’t at the same time. Not sure how, but I can just hear it.

He’s done with whoever he’s been talking to, “Al’Kiqyalinnyi Feidynne wishes to see you.”

Great… Who and what now?..

“Behind me— your left— the first entrance,” he says, “Elevator will take you to the executive floor. They know you are coming. Do not let her wait.”

Those jotted instructions rub me the wrong way. I don’t want to move now, instead wanting to just make something up on instinct. That very feeling chews at me, wanting to settle in and think back to those dreaded sessions with the General. His instructions just hit those notes, and I don’t want to hear it.

I don’t want to…

I need to.

The first corridor I see, guarded by two ponies carrying light weaponry— pistols and stun prods. They do not stop me, only stepping aside as if I’m larger than I am or something that shouldn’t be touched.

The elevator is a big, creaky box; bars and gratings for walls, and a two-stage door. Stepping in is like walking into a spacious cage. I can see how far this shaft goes up, and I can’t see when or where it ends. The doors close smoothly despite the rust and wear. Everything pulls up with a sudden jerk, and a dulcet— but invasive— hum fills the space.

Going up.

Up.

Stop.

Arrived.

Four ponies; two unicorns right outside, and two more right across the room. They about-face to one another just as the door opens. Beyond them is a polished room with a metal door wedged into the rocky face across from me. None of the guards flinch or react to my presence, and they stand like statues, not even looking at me. I walk on through, eyes forward.

One of the other ponies— an earth pony— steps forward as I approach the door. He holds his hoof out, stopping my advance. His ears flick, as does his head, towards his partner. The latter knocks on the door with rhythm: two taps and a scrape. It opens after a minute or so, and the tail end of a conversation dies as it does.

A stallion’s voice, sounding like simmering water cooling down, “...good fortune unto you.” He turns, passing me by. Deep wrinkles and creases in his features; round glasses with weary brown eyes glance at me. Did he just scoff? Or am I hearing things?

“I’m waiting, pegasus.” Another voice; familiar and a mare’s.

The door closes behind me the moment I’m inside. Her clothes are still distracting; features sharp. I’m not sure which is more so: the white coat, or the vibrant stretch of colors that wrap around parts of her like it was some kind of stitching accident or some out-of-place eccentricity.

She fixes her short, clean-cut blonde mane; eyes of gold that sting mine, and a coat so black she might as well be a shadow on the wall. “Hamtak’irr; thank you for accepting my invitation.”

It’s just double-guesses every time, now; the genuinity in her words doesn't mesh with the way she taps an errand hoof on the countertop she sits behind. The room doesn’t offer much, and neither does the table. What passes for decoration are just rocks on stands; rugs on walls; no flags to be seen. No symbol of an oppressive environment that prods with unease, but her little fidget is doing what it can.

“You know my face. Do you remember it?” She asks.

Those eyes glitter like gold plates; more like a knife’s edge. “I know your voice.”

She takes a sharp breath and leans back, “That’ll do. You do know who I am, right?”

I shrug a little, “Can’t really say. I know what you are; not who.”

“Oh? And what am I, to you?”

“A Corpo Magnate. At least that’s what the General would call ya.”

Those eyes look up from me, “Yes. As do most others in your general’s inner circle. The Ah’linn call us Al’Kiqyalinnyi; ‘Lesser-Greaters,’ ‘Minor-Chieftans’ — whichever synonym you feel appropriate. More to the point, and in a language that won’t trouble, I am a Director for Internal Affairs.”

There were stories of companies with resource departments before and during the war. The filterers and the enrichers of what comes into an organization; some part of a greater whole that was crucial to their success. I’m thinking there’s some kind of medical analogy in there, somewhere. I digress…

“Enough about the enrichment— I had you come here to settle some… lingering matters that me and my equals would rather see fulfilled.” She says.

My ears flick. “Lingering matters” ?...

“What do ya mean?”

“Kymi’ah, being obtuse— It does not look good. The Pipbuck. One that the Vhoski insisted we donate, and now we know for whom… Unfortunately, I see you have no such arcana on your person. Need I ask?”

I look down at my absent forehoof, and vivid memories paint it where it would have been. The details change with each blink, and the Pipbuck mascot’s accusative stare burns with the phantom of pain lingering around my limb. Pins and needles brush through it with feverish intensity, and then nothing.

“If I had an answer, it isn’t with me anymore.” I shake away the lingering prickliness.

“I see. Yes, the report implied as much— however, we cannot ignore what was lost,” Her words are void of sympathy, but that just feels right about the way she carries herself. “At any rate, what was lost was a significant investment. I believe you, or at least your scavenger teams, understand the price for something so rare in this part of the world.”

“Enough to the point the Enclave even disputed the finder’s rule,” I answer. They are incredibly rare; more so with all of its hardware, spellware, intact. It made premium spare parts for the more arcane-science aspects of Enclave Power Armor; they don’t completely die after a Storm. Still… I know it still doesn’t count for shit in something like that. Again, my brain thinks back to the hate in that program’s eyes as it vanished…

“I would get into the Suzerain Agreement, but this is not why I called you here.”

“I owe something. That’s what this is about, yeah?”

An amused smile comes over her, “Not as obtuse as I thought.”

The smallest, faintest cries in the back of my head; I can barely hear a thing they say. It sounds something along the lines of outrage: I owe them because of circumstances outside my control? Feels as if I should be vocal about the statement— the audacity. Then again…

“So… I work off this debt.”

“Yes. That is all that is being asked.”

“Doing what?”

“Now that is the question,” she stands from her seat and walks around the side of the . Her tapping hoof glides along the table. “Do you know what I do for Aridia? Show me the insight the Enclave has on such things.”

My stomach takes a turn with a pang, “You’re Internal Affairs.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“It’s in the title—”

“Do you know… what that means?”

A dense stone drops right into the pit of my stomach, and everything in the room looms over me with judgment. Gravity is getting to my knees, and my ears are getting heavy; the air is too thick to take easy breaths anymore.

Those eyes look at me, and my tongue doesn’t want to cooperate with me. I should just keep my mouth shut and save myself the embarrassment…

She sighs, “I only asked that you understand my role without a vagueness. No matter. My role… is everything to do with what we call home; from the interconnectivity of clan resources; to the Enclave; to the Null Zones— everything, everything. When something unexpected happens with any, I am one of the first to hear, and one of the ones who rectify the problems...”

I don’t want to show how it all numbs the brain. Absorb it; role with it; maintain eye contact when possible. She’s not her, but… No, she’s not her!

“Permission to speak… ma’am?”

The surprise in her face is like a knife unsheathed, glinting at me. “Permission? I am not the chief of security— I would not hold you at the crest if you wished to speak your mind—”

“It’s just—” I have to swallow a lump in my throat. “It’s habit— it’s a habit… ma’am. I… want to know why I’m here… ma’am?”

She fixes her collar and clears her throat, “Right. Thank you for not letting it get away from me. It has been difficult as of late— with the debates and the Steel Caravan’s recent… kerfuffle. Where was I— oh yes. Your debt.”

“When can I start… ma’am?”

“You… do not have any questions regarding the work I may ask?”

“... Ma’am?”

“These are trying times— for the both of us, I may add. From what I gather you are seeking answers to a problem for which there are none. I’m sure the Vhoski has told you as much…”

It’s the most grueling flower plucking; the way she speaks. The more I process her words, the more they… don’t line up with what I remember? “The zebra told me they have an answer. You’re… you’re talking about Avie’s situation… ma’am?”

“‘Avie,’” she almost hums the name, “That is her name?”

I nod, “Aviatrix.”

“Then I am. And I don’t mean to alarm you, but I feel you should know just how dire it really is. Have they told you what they know?”

“I haven’t gone to see the zebra they told me to see. Urm… Aster— Astra—”

“I know whom you speak,” she clarifies, “and I must say that you would find their solution a little… labyrinthine.”

“I don’t follow… ma’am.”

She puts a hoof at the edge of her table and starts to tap at it, idly, “How do you go about explaining something when it manages to defy every leap and true-tested observation? What I mean is they only have hypotheses on what we face in the Null. As observant and knowledgeable as they are, they are not the ones who stare into the nothingness so tangible. And yet they fear it. How does one expect to understand if they are to pine from a distance in an attempt to understand?”

“I still don’t follow… ma’am.”

She looks back at me, “I’m offering you alternatives. Yes, you have a debt that needs to be paid, but the solutions to paying it may line up with what you seek. I can provide— as can my cohorts. We both want the same thing— all of us. Do you understand now?”

I try to, but maybe I still don’t. Is that what I’m telling myself now? My pride trying to paint a different truth, and too afraid to say anything about it?

“We know who you are, Ward. We know the mare who wears our crowning achievement in arcane understanding. You may not see it but we are the same, and I try my damndest to ensure their safety in what I do. All I am offering is a means to help you, help us, help you, with the key the Matriarch has given you.”

So many hoops to jump, but I’m starting to stick the landing,“ What are you looking for… ma’am?” How can it help her…

A small twitch comes from the ends of her lips, “Answers. Answers and solutions to what plagues our home, our investments. Our top priority, and one that desperately needs more willing and daring souls.”

“You’re talking about the Null Zones… ma’am?”

“Yes, though it would be a flex proposition. By that I mean it would not be strictly Null Sector-related, and there will be times we will need you to do other things for the Concert. Do you understand?”

“… ma’am?” Do I even need to keep asking?..

She pulls her chin up, swaying it side to side, “It means that you will find work elsewhere as well as with us.”

“And this will help me…”

“It will. As far as I understand, you do not know where to start as of yet. You still want answers for your predicament, no?”

I think back to all of what’s happened, again, and my mind settles, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Very good.” She says, sounding proud. “As a matter of fact, I do think I can provide a little incentive to your dilemma. Did the Vhoski ever mention anything about the solution?”

“No… No I don’t think—” It hits me like a dart, “Wait. No, they did. It involved… my talisman.”

“Do you still have it?” She asks, before gesturing to her own chest like there was a visible necklace. It clicks immediately, putting my hoof to mine and feeling the hard, distinctive lump pressed between me.

I try taking it out, but my ears pick up a swift shifting of something. Looking back at the director, her hoof is waving subtly on the low. I give up trying to show it, “I promised I’d give it to the Matriarch for Avie’s well-being, and for me; it’s all I have.”

“And do you know its value?”

It’s been with me forever. I say there’s value in that, already… The griffons, though, thought something else… and that’s coming up prominently in my mind. Stagona’s reaction was the same, minus the blatant greed. “What… is it, exactly?”