An imposing gray-colored building with huge, sleek columns along the facade, between which perfectly cleaned windows reflect the glare of sunlight through the veil of clouds. Not a hint of cracking or decay. Wide stone steps lead up to the central entrance, and a motley group of ponies walk up and down them. Their heads are occupied with science, to eventually become someone in this city, to benefit all the inhabitants and drive progress—that is the responsibility. At least in understanding the ideology of this city.

The orange stallion in the warm coat walked up the steps with a jubilant smile on his lips, tapping his shoes deafeningly, and with each step he passed, that smile grew wider and wider, as if he were climbing a pedestal for a reward. He didn't look under his hooves, but he didn't stumble—to the surprise of the hypothetical observer who had heard of him. Holiday's shining eyes were fixed on the row of stone letters above the columns 'VANHOOVER POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE LIBRARY'.

He used to just come here in his spare time and indulge in daydreams that he would discover the treasures stored in this building. The library had been one of the main sites of the institute, rebuilt in the early decades of slavery's flourishing, some sixty to eighty years after the apocalypse. It was used to recreate not only the exterior but also the interior. It became a knowledge acquisition center for the discoveries Vanhoover needed—especially in matters of energy consumption. The city was more in need of minds than slave labor. With the current progress, slaves lived long, unresisting and submissive lives, but progress will not be achieved with merely educated slaves. It takes passion, it takes ambition, it takes an understanding of tasks and goals.

Holiday was unlucky enough to be born from a poor no-name waitress, so he couldn't afford access to a tutorial program with professors by becoming a student, nor could he afford to pay for a pass to go to the library to study on his own. Now he had the caps to pay for both.

He swung open the double massive doors and entered the magnificent hall with white walls and marble floor. His hoofsteps echoed as he stepped toward the receptionist. A light green earth pony with a smile on her lips watched him approach her desk, a wooden round table in the center of which she sat in a chair with wheels. Soft music poured out of a nearby radio: quiet melodies, a muffled, lulling voice. A song about how the right tune and the right words would calm any beast.

"What can I do for you?" she asked. Delicate makeup, lined eyelashes, the subtle scent of perfume—all of which Holiday usually didn't pay attention to, as he did now.

"I... for a library pass," he said, holding back his excitement. He armed himself with several calibers of pencils, weighty notebooks, sandwich provisions, and, most importantly, a fierce determination to start storming the books today.

"Take your pick," she shoved a cardboard pamphlet at him.

The little booklet contained the standard library rules of attendance: keep yourself clean, no yelling, no running, no smoking, no sex, no dirtying books, no taking them outside the library room. No eating while reading—there are special areas in the library for that. Just below is the list of passes: daily—fifty caps, monthly—five hundred caps, annual—one and a half thousand.

Students of the institute visit the library free of charge. Holiday didn't see the point of going into a major with an emphasis on higher mathematics. First, he didn't need all the knowledge in this area, he only needs specific sections. Second, after tuition, he would have no money left for food, not to mention the tools and components he still had to buy.

"Monthly," the orange stallion said. In the morning, he was struggling to get his brown mane to look presentable. "Starting today."

After the unicorn had left yesterday, he had slept until evening and then headed to the bank with the check: he had transferred some of the funds into his bank account and withdrew the rest as caps for small expenses. Before going to bed, he mentally replayed his plan once more. First in line was a visit to the library.

"Okay. In whose name do we sign up?"

"Holiday," he said, holding out his passport.

"That's not necessary," she replied. With a sense of awkwardness, he returned the passport to the inside pocket of his coat.

The music on the radio was replaced by the voice of a company favorite, DJ Oscar. He had deliberately kept his voice low so as not to traumatize the listeners, who had tuned their ears to a gentle and soporific performance. It was like a father telling a child a bedtime story—even though it was only morning.

"Everything obeys the rhythm... I couldn't have said it better. I love Sweetie Belle and her song 'On the Notes of the World'. I had a favorite space rocket toy as a kid before I got my cutie mark, with a picture of Princess Luna. And a friend of mine, for some reason, launched it out an open window. I thanked my friend with a punch in the face and then ran outside to look for the toy. I huffed and puffed as I looked for it. From an open window on the first floor, this same song was playing; I became an unwilling listener. And then the magic happened. I calmed down. Even when I found my toy with its 'tail' broken off, I was not angry. I carefully picked it up and went home. My dear friend, I know you're listening to this. Sweetie Belle's song saved you. If it hadn't been for her, I would have strangled you with my tail," these words were followed by Oscar's gushing laughter. "And now our sponsor today...".

Holiday paid no attention to the voice from the radio, closely following the actions of the receptionist. Finally she gave him a bracelet with the number '13' on it.

"Don't lose it," she explained. "No need to show it to anyone. All windows and doors are equipped with an alarm spell and will react to a passerby's lack of a bracelet."

The orange stallion nodded and headed for knowledge. Joy overtook him: he was ready to fly like DJ's toy rocket through the window.

The intellectual journey had begun.

***

For a month, every day from morning to evening, he was surrounded by books like a fortress, surrounded by the aroma of fresh printing ink and the tart smell of old issues. Most of the time was spent on identifying the information he needed for the project. He left bookmarks and leafed through the rest of the books. By the end of the day, he had a stack of books with bookmarks, which he used to methodically and quickly fill his notebooks.

Ever since his foalhood, when one of his mother's suitors had helped him learn the wisdom of electronics, both simple and magical, a month-long stay in the library had been the best time of his life. He dived headfirst into the process, immersing himself in countless scientific texts related to math and working with crystals and gems. The whole world seemed to cease to exist for him; he even forgot about the threat of being eaten. His life literally consisted of the library, the road to the library, and sleep, where he walked through rooms and spaces whose walls were made of books and sheets of white paper covered with printed letters.

In three weeks he had managed, as he thought, to gather all the information he needed to realize his dream. The rest of the week was spent rechecking what he had read with the knowledge he had already accumulated.

On the last day, he returned the bracelet to the receptionist and walked out of the library, opening the doors. He was greeted by late evening; the sun had been hidden behind the horizon for hours. Street lamps and light from the windows of nearby houses kept the street with its wide sidewalks from remaining in darkness. There were ponies going to their homes or establishments, followed by slaves in electric collars, some were just sitting on a bench drinking alcohol, some were having a lively conversation near a lamppost. There was laughter coming from far away.

Holiday inhaled a full breath, savoring the cool northern air of late spring. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile, his body muscles relaxed, he didn't feel the slightest bit tired. It had gone just as he had envisioned. It was as if he had been holding his bladder in for a long time and now he had finally peed. Confidence burned in his heart.

He walked down the steps and turned toward his house, as usual, not paying much attention to anyone. The image of a rich full life loomed before his eyes, where he would no longer have to eat cheap food and save money on heating in the cold. At last he would begin to enjoy living, not surviving.

Two earth ponies, smoking cigarettes, stood near a lighted pole and discussed the day's work. The skinny orange stallion, immersed in his own dreams, walked between them and the building, whose spacious windows overlooked rows of chairs and recliners. The name of the establishment was the Top and Tail. Numerous masters seek help in grooming the mane and tail not only for themselves, but also for their slaves. Many slaves who do not work in the families' factories and plants are better looking than most Wastelanders elsewhere in post-war Equestria.

"What a magnificent mane she had," the yellow stallion with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth looked absent-mindedly at the building in front of him. "And the tail... my regards."

"Yeah, yeah," the gray mare pursed her lips irritably. "That's the tenth time I've heard you wish you could fuck her. Why don't we talk about something else? I'm sick of discussing clients," she leaned over to her raised leg: a cigarette lay on the bottom of her hoof. Putting her lips around it, the mare took a puff and exhaled: the lantern illuminated the cloud of smoke with a yellow glow.

"Why don't we go to a bar? Play some darts or cards?"

"So you can tell me about this," her voice took on a mocking tone of theatricality, "gorgeous, magnificent, sexy, enchanting, dark as the moonless summer sky over the ocean tail you'd love to get under?"

The stallion smiled, gripping the cigarette more tightly around his lips, inhaled, relaxed his lips slightly, and let out a bountiful cloud of smoke.

"I promise I won't."

"I believe you. I already do. Look at me and see that I do."

He glanced at her gray face and suppressed a chuckle to keep from dropping his cigarette—the scowling unyielding face of a pony who'd been promised by a junkie to stop using drugs in exchange for a couple dozen caps on loan. Definitely not on getting a new dose... no, not at all. How could you even think such a thing? Doubting the junkie's honesty and desire to kick the habit that was destroying their life?

The yellow stallion loved the way she was sarcastic, rude and snappy. She'd been holding back all day in front of unintelligent clients who often don't know how to take care of the hair on their heads and in their tails at all. That's why they go to beauty salons like this—but it's not uncommon for the cases to be so neglected that they piss off the workers. By evening she always had a pool of repressed emotions, not a bowl, and he helped her let off a little steam. Nobly taking the blow for himself? Maybe. But he did it largely because he was amused by exactly how she let the steam off.

He had no doubt that sooner or later she would kick him with such force that he would fly over the wall surrounding the city. Nor did he doubt that she enjoyed his company—otherwise she'd have been smoking alone long ago.

"I promise. I'll tell you about another customer I've had my eye on."

"Guess it's been a while since you got your ass kicked. I could kick you so hard you wouldn't be able to shit for a week."

He had to keep the laughter inside him again. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the gray earth pony with the cigarette on her hoof had relaxed even more, and the twitching of her cheeks and lips signaled that she was about to smile.

***

The orange stallion crossed the threshold of the tool store Under the Hammer as if he had opened the door to a fairy-tale kingdom. The gaze of his wide-open eyes vigorously ran along the shelves and showcases strewn with tools: hammers, adjustable wrenches, screwdrivers, scissors, pliers, soldering irons, welding machines, drills, saws, measuring devices glistened in the cold light of the lamps. Goosebumps ran down his back—along his spine from the back of his head to the tip of his brown tail. He almost wagged it like a dog at the sight of a treat.

The mare with the dark cherry-colored fur smiled demurely as she put aside her book about a young stallion who fell in love with a mare who could be his mother and watched her client. It amused her to see someone peering at tools with such an enthusiastic look.

"What can I do for you?" she asked that question to each customer. Each time it sounded friendly and casual, but the sight of a pony with his head spinning with excitement lifted her spirits and made her genuinely want to help this young customer.

Why young? I'm not that old! Ten years older than him. I'm not old. Just ten. Ten? Is that a lot or a little?

"I need devices and measuring tools for delicate work on microchips and circuit boards using gems, crystals, and enchantment."

"Hmm?" she snapped back. "Yes..." the mare approached the appropriate area. "Right here."

There I go, letting my issues kick in again. How many times can I do this, huh? Mental whining isn't going to help me sell. Get it together, wimp!

She was angry with herself. She had to push her feelings down so they wouldn't show on her face and the customer wouldn't take it personally. Fortunately, the young stallion was on a different mood and wasn't looking at her.

Holiday's eyes glowed like the neon signs of the lavish establishments on Mane Street. He was scrutinizing and specifying merchandise, groping and pondering what he needed. No doubt he'd made a rough list, but he might have overlooked something, and the available goods might point to something he might be missing. But at the same time it took a titanic effort not to buy too much by giving in to temptation.

He'd spent about an hour in the store, but the cherry salespony didn't care one bit. Holiday's passionate questioning distracted the mare from her worries about her age—though she had occasional thoughts. Like how the young stallion would react if she invited him over for a cup of chamomile tea and cookies. But she mentally found a deep hole to push such ideas into, and then covered them with a huge boulder to keep them from getting out and disturbing her again.

Holiday returned home with his bags full and a snack before heading to another store. On the way, snapping out of his musings on the project, he stopped and glanced down instinctively, lifting his front foot—he'd stepped on something unusual. On the cold dark gray sidewalk lay a round poker chip in gray and white. A translucent key symbol was engraved in the center on the white circle.

The orange stallion took a quick look around, but there was no one in the vicinity. His gaze locked onto a prominent gray and beige building with the same symbol on the sign. The Glass Key Casino.

He returned to the poker chip and stared at it for a long moment. An idea visited him like a brick falling on his head. The size is just right... And wouldn't arouse suspicion if they noticed. He bent down, grabbed the chip with his teeth and placed it on his hoof, looking at it thoughtfully.

Yes, it'll do, he thought.

The gray poker chip quickly found its place in his inside pocket.

Holiday reached a store called The Allure Crystal. Dim lights and dark colors highlighted the contents of the shelves: some items emitted a subtle glow or shimmer that beckoned and attracted the eye. Magical lenses, energy focusers, flow collectors, wave converters, scrolls with pentagrams and ornate runes, and a lot of other things Holiday didn't know about.

Earth ponies cannot feel and understand magic like unicorns, for whom direct interaction with magic is as natural and familiar as breathing: they perceive the world differently, feel and see it in their own way... Like dogs, whose sense of smell is ten times sharper than a pony's. A world of innumerable unique smells. A world with magic hovering around them. Holiday realized that this was the one thing he might have trouble with.

Behind the counter sat a unicorn with purple fur whose horn glowed with a cold white-blue light, an object the size of a casket dotted with runes and magical inscriptions floated in a cloud of magic. She was testing the stability of the magical energy contained within it. Calibrating it, so to speak.

The unicorn behind the counter knew what the customers looked like before they even approached the panes of her store. She didn't just work for the family as a Lackey or occupy the lower in the hierarchy position of a Soldier. She is a Captain. Only the family Counselor and blood relatives are above that title. She is from the Meadows family and has studied magic since she was a child—anatomy and medicine in particular. In addition to medicine and drugs, the Meadows valued magical power as such: a privileged part of the family were talented unicorns with a keen sense. All families traded in magic items, but the Meadows were the ones who had everything the others did and didn't. About a hundred and fifty years ago, they had rooted themselves in Vanhoover with a solid set of magical knowledge and devices gathered from decades of wandering the Equestrian Wasteland.

Without any emotion, she looked at Holiday, setting aside the strange box. The look from the semi-darkness made him shiver. It was as if she could see through him like glass—as if she had him like a toy to play with.

The orange stallion felt like he was being crucified on an operating table for gruesome experiments that would result in him growing a fifth leg, his eyes bulging painfully, his brain leaking out of his ears and his intestines on the outside. The most frightening rumors, like a round dance around an occult bonfire, revolved around this family.

The unicorn's ears perked up. She ignored his fear; more important was the fact that the client clearly had no idea of his surroundings. Naturally—he was an earth pony! She preferred working with those who knew magic, with whom she could have a word with, asking about their projects. After all, knowledge would never run out.

A wave of irritation swept over the mature mare's body: now there would be questioning, clarification, confusion at the answers given, leading to more questions. This is not why she works with clients, but in this business she has long and skillfully hidden her emotions behind a mask of indifference. It's natural and important for unicorns: spells require a cool head.

Holiday swallowed a lump in his throat, regretting the decision to enter this store. It seemed to him that not only the unicorn, but also the mysterious objects on the shelves were scanning his body, his soul, his thoughts and plans... But only here special scrolls and magical devices for readjusting and manipulating the properties of crystals are sold. He would gladly walk past the Meadows if he had the chance.

"I-I... n-need..." suddenly even to himself he began to stammer, a mystical chill gripping him.

The Captain Meadows, who owned several other similar stores, tried to give off a businesslike smile to hide her irritation—the money had to come in. It was hard to pull off, but it worked on the customer.

"A rune of stochastic processes and..." hesitated the stallion, trying to find the word. He took another quick glance at the list that was tucked away in his coat pocket. "A correlation enhancer."

A look of surprise flashed across the purple unicorn's face—just for a moment.

At least he knows what he needs. A rune of stochastic processes? That's the realm of probability theories. And the enhancer is used to transform chaotic systems and unknown variables into something... something else. It's all highly mathematical. Unusual...

She came to her senses when she realized her eyes were squinted, gazing intently into the anxious face of the orange skinny stallion.

"And what do you need this for?" she asked without any rebuke or distrust, showing the wizard's genuine interest.

The coldness in the stallion's body swelled to a piercing frost; he nearly shuddered like the glass in an old wood-framed window. Of course, this did not escape the curious pale blue eyes of the unicorn.

Wow, how he is shaking.

"Uh... experi... ments... I like math... I want to try something out."

Only a fool would believe what he says. He obviously has good thoughts, but doesn't want to give them away.

He's not the only one, though. She's had clients who were working on developing something new or trying to replicate lost knowledge, for example, creating memory orbs, something no one has been able to achieve to the same level yet. Pathetic crafts. They too were finding excuses not to tell how and what they were doing.

The purple unicorn with a composed look sighed wearily.

This one too... Alright. The things mentioned are used in many areas. I can only wonder in what way he will apply them. That's a shame. Fortunately, he can't be expected to ask stupid questions.

Her horn flashed with a white-blue light, and a cloud of magic of the same color appeared in two places in the store among the shelves and display cases. In an instant, they rose into the air and flew over Holiday's head to the counter: a scroll of special magic-enhanced paper and something that looked like a flashlight with 'plates' on both ends.

"All of this will cost a thousand and fifteen hundred caps," she concluded calmly.

The most expensive items on his list.

Holiday promptly wrote a check for the stated amount. The unicorn nodded, and the skinny stallion grabbed the 'flashlight' and the rune scroll with his teeth. Both items found shelter in the bowels of his cheap coat.

"Thank you," he nodded and left the store quickly on woozy legs. He found that his lungs had been squeezed all this time by something invisible and creepy. Only now was he able to inhale fully.

***

A bell jingled overhead as Holiday pushed open the carved wooden door with the elegant 'The Fashion-Forward' sign. The soft yellow light of the lamps reflected off the glass display cases, behind which the multicolored gems in the jewelry glittered attractively. The cozy, warm wood-colored interior was the exact opposite of the atmosphere of the creepy store he'd been in before.

A light brown stallion stood tensely behind the cash register. Touching him seemed like it might have caused a lethal electric shock. He listened to the unhappy red mare who wanted to pick up something for her crimson dress, but was met with only wave-offs.

"It's your duty," she stomped her front foot on the soft dark carpet as the door, jingling its bell again, closed behind Holiday. "You're supposed to be helping customers with choices!"

"I can't read other pony's minds," he sighed with poorly concealed irritation, looking somewhere off to the side in an attempt to maintain control. He felt that eye contact with the mare would provoke a barrage of rudeness and insults, and the consequences were hard to imagine. He really wanted to get out of this store as soon as possible, change this job, and have no more dealings with the Softhooves for any cover.

The day before, the owner—a mare—of the store had invited him to a party, promising him an interesting and fun time. There, being almost the only stallion available, he immediately became a whipping toy. Most of the mares in the family treated the stallions normally, but in each of their company there was a snake: it crawled out with a smug snide look, as if from a hole, and without fail poured venom on some stallion without a collar, using all available stereotypes and hackneyed jokes.

The Softhooves are the largest family, the richest—and the most intolerant of stallions. The only family of five that no stallion is allowed to be head of. Otherwise, there are no written restrictions on being in the family, but the risk of constant mockery and bullying is high. This goes back to the descendants of Stable 68, most of whom were stallions in subordination to mares—which later formed the Softhooves.

The light brown earth pony had time to regret a thousand times that he had accepted the invitation. His boss did not try to cut off the flow of insulting remarks at all, and even sometimes laughed along with everyone else. Because of this he had a fight with her, which strengthened his desire to quit at the first opportunity.

The salespony cautiously shifted his gaze to the mare's red neck—just above her crimson dress. He didn't risk looking at the face. Pressed ears kept his hearing safe from the customer's voice, which was like the scrape of a knife against glass. Sooner or later it would boil over like a kettle on the stove.

I wish you'd all go crazy in heat and there wasn't a phallus around!

"That's disgraceful! How could this... Ah, have a nice day, though," she swung her front foot aggressively away and turned sharply toward the exit. The salespony stared at her blankly.

Have a nice tailwind, bitch.

The skinny, thoughtful stallion stood in her way, looking at the contents of the shop windows. He was smaller than she was, so she easily passed him.

The bell jingled again. The light brown stallion let out a long sigh of relief, as if he'd been caught in the rain in the heat of summer. Never before had mares pissed him off as much as they had after yesterday.

He tried to bring himself to his senses and noticed another customer. Stallions rarely entered such stores, unless they were looking for gifts for their loved ones. His mood even lifted. Stallions often don't know much about jewelry, unless they're trying to get something not too expensive, but not too cheap either. They're the easiest to service.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked in a friendly tone. The question sounded soft, so Holiday's ears didn't even twitch at his voice. He was busy looking for the gems he wanted.

The light brown earth pony rolled his eyes and glanced at the list of things to do. Among them was changing price tags. The growing need for any kind of energy was affecting the cost of gems almost every week. Jewelry was rising in price.

He put the list in front of the counter and began to prepare pieces of paper with the new price tags. Holiday kept looking. And then he found them: tiny blue gems scattered along the length of a silver chain. Just the right size for the chips that would fit into the poker chip he'd found on the street. The gems would be enough to spare: it was easy to mess things up when working magic inside them.

However, the price... Five hundred and fifty caps, Holiday noted sadly to himself. Everything to do with gems got more expensive as the years went by.

"I've chosen," he called out awkwardly, summoning the busy salespony to his side. The stallion hadn't finished changing the price tags yet, but walked over to meet the customer's request, and was surprised to notice that he had changed the price tag on this item just a couple minutes ago.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he cast a glance at the skinny young stallion. "Perfect timing on your choice." Holiday lowered his sinking gaze to the salespony's light brown neck in confusion, trying not to stomp around in embarrassment. The salespony from the failed party looked at the customer sympathetically.

He's clearly not the bling-wearing type. More likely, he wants to give someone a gift. He's calm, patient, not trying to insult—a breath of fresh air.

"Take it for five hundred," he concluded. Holiday's eyes opened abruptly like curtains in the morning.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Just a few minutes ago there was a price tag of that amount. From the looks of it, you knew what you wanted to to give to whoever," he raised his eyes to the ceiling, spinning his front hoof.

"T-thank you," Holiday muttered.

His heart jumped joyously in his chest. For a moment he suspected a trick, but the soft and condescending expression on the light brown earth pony's face dispelled his doubts. If they give it to him, take it.

Having rolled up the chain and hidden it in the depths of his pocket, he left the store and went on his way. He had a few more stops to make, but there were no more expensive things among the purchases, although they were also related to magic. No problems had arisen. The next day he set to work.

***

The warm light of the chandelier fell on the back and nape of the orange stallion sitting at his desk, holding a special soldering iron in his mouth, an enchanted one designed to embed gems into tiny circuit boards. Like the one embedded in the core of a gray-and-white poker chip. The rosin smoke was saturated with a magical shimmer from behind the blue gems and sweetly fragrant. The philigraphic movements of the head with its brown mane were barely noticeable. Such work requires a lot of patience and composure.

Nearby on the table among the many tools was an unfolded scroll with magical runes, glittering chip components and tiny blue sapphires. Notebooks scribbled during his visit to the library were filled with accurate notes. He'd glanced through them during his preparations, going over the nuances in his head, making sure he'd done everything right.

He set the soldering iron aside and placed the chip on the scroll with the rune of stochastic processes. Holding his breath, he watched how and in what sequence the magical symbols were illuminated. They flashed a little brighter, then their intensity decreased, then increased again. The blank, detached look in Holiday's brown eyes did not suggest anything good.

The symbols on the magic rune continued to run and dance like bubbling liquid on a frying pan. The skinny stallion's body shook, quivering in a coarse shudder. An impulse in his nervous system made him stand on all four legs, and a second impulse sent a call to his hind hooves to urgently kick something with all his might. He almost took out his anger on the refrigerator, which was estimated at five hundred lids, but at the last moment, coming to his senses, he ran to the bedroom and screamed exhaustedly—into his pillow so the neighbors wouldn't hear.

Too much emotion had built up in him lately, and he was suppressing it. It took time to let them out, releasing the tension from his entire body.

When his vocal cords ached from the strain, he walked out into the evening street—exhausted, like a squeezed lemon. He could no longer control himself. For almost two months he had been trying to get the thing to work, but the necessary sequence of symbols on the magic rune would not appear. At the first failures, he calmly took up another attempt, wondering where he had gone wrong in his calculations. Each time the approach, initial data and methods changed, but did not lead to the desired result. With each failure his confidence melted like snow in spring. Drip-drip-drip. It flowed into the sewer, where it was carried away by the impurities of merciless existence.

There were still nine months to go, but the caps were running out. If he didn't hurry, he would starve, and it would be harder to create on an empty stomach, and it would be harder to think rationally.

His hooves were leading him nowhere. The red rays of the summer sunset still illuminated the upper floors of the houses, but gradually this shining color went higher and higher, and the streets became darker. Soon the streetlights would turn on, and it would get brighter. Holiday moved toward the shore, where he could breathe in the salty cool scent of the Desert Ocean again, calm his nerves, and restore his creative flow. His head was occupied with the messy thoughts surrounding the project.

Why won't I succeed? Where have I made mistakes? Perhaps I've miscalculated? Or...

His ears twitched. Normally he didn't react to passersby, but the angry yell sounded too close.

"Stupid mutts," a mare muttered before he could see her: something small and barking entangled his skinny legs and tore toward him. He instantly lost his balance, flying face-first.

Instinctively turning his head, he didn't smash his face, but lightly scratched his cheek against the concrete surface. There was a barking sound. Holiday avoided the dogs that were trying to lick his lips; he rose quickly to his hooves, looking around, and spotted a low yellow-green mare with a short white mane and many leather reins stretched to her front legs. There was horror on her pale face.

Just as she was taking the dogs she hated out for a walk, imagining how she would smash their dumb, furry heads, suddenly one dog broke free and ran at the hooves of a passerby.

The dogs calmed down. They breathed loudly with their tongues out and occasionally sniffed at the stranger. Holiday could smell the distinctive odor from their mouths. He shook it off, glancing at the dazed mare, who looked like a teenager at first glance, but was not. She looked funny against the big dogs: it was unclear who was walking who.

"It's okay," Holiday broke the silence. "It's not the first time I've fallen."

He walked on down the street, rubbing his scraped cheek. He'd already forgotten where he was going, but he stopped outside a store. A triangular wooden sign painted in bright colors at the entrance read, "Ice Cream! Cool your head and make your tongue happy."

Realizing he should save the caps, he still couldn't control himself, so he went in and bought himself a popsicle on a wooden stick, but without the chocolate coating. It didn't take long to choose.

Holding the stick of greenish colored ice cream with his teeth, he walked out of the store and headed out to find a place with a good view to sit down and eat in private. His nose was tickled by the distinctive smell of mint.

Mint ice cream. Something new to him.

He stopped in front of an oblong building three stories high. High lattice fencing and guards at the entrance implied it was some kind of factory. At that moment the gate swung open, and a string of ponies with electric collars stepped slowly out of it.

Holiday had no desire to go anywhere. He had seen slaves being led out of the factories at the end of the day and escorted to special homes. Well and warmly dressed, healthy by the standards of the Wastelands, they were not oppressed by their situation. Thanks to local slave breeding and education centers called The School, Vanhoover slaves are happy to serve, happy not to be responsible for their lives. They are deprived of freedom, but they are taught from birth that freedom is dangerous. It must be earned.

The orange stallion clutched the wood between his front hooves and took a bite of ice cream. He licked first, slowly and with the full width of his tongue, carefully tasting the sweetness. The smell of mint sent him back into a happy—compared to now—time of sitting with his mother in the living room, reading together, discussing, watching movies. In two months he felt pleasure for the first time. He spent all his days at work, interrupted only for sleep and other basic needs.

Slaves continued to be housed in homes. Many of the houses near factories, plants, and other places where slave labor was used were owned entirely by families and were equipped to house slaves. A hundred years ago, Vanhoover's slaves could only dream of such a thing, but progress was being made, and working conditions were changing... to the point where it became unprofitable to keep slaves. Cheap slave labor, for the most part, has no place to put it. Prince, the head of the city, wastes no resources rebuilding other corners of the Wasteland, adding to the production capacity.

Holiday had never given much thought to the Prince's politics. All he knew was that he was difficult, if not impossible, to kill. An artificial being in the guise of a pony that had been discovered by the city's first and only Queen over a hundred years ago. Rumor had it that its appearance was modeled on a pre-war personality glimpsed in Canterlot—Blueblood or something like that.

The ice cream melted, and he began to take small bites. Still chewing measuredly, reveling in that soothing, homelike flavor. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. His whole consciousness fell into a blissful moment of serenity and peace. It was as if he had visited a sauna or climbed into a hot bath after a grueling day. Brains relaxed, pushed far into the background all the problems and worries. Only the pleasant sensations of coolness.

The ice cream was shrinking, disappearing piece by piece into Holiday's mouth. The slaves had already been taken away. The street was bathed in yellow lanterns. The masters and their slaves passed by, tapping their hooves and horseshoes, not noticing the thin stallion sitting on the bench. Only occasionally some of them glanced at his smile, as he looked like a colt asleep in bed, dreaming beautiful dreams. Such ponies felt a sting of envy.

The road to dreams is almost always difficult. It has many obstacles, the main one being yourself—your own expectations and emotions. Disappointment, anger, discouragement and tears will follow you all along the way, trying to throw you off it, give up on your dreams and just go with the flow. And even if you don't get anywhere—because not everything depends on your actions—you have to keep going: there is nothing else to do. It is better to pursue your dreams without success than to live without them. In the first case, you can calmly face death, realizing that you have done everything in your power. It is necessary to fight your own emotions. Not only for the sake of achieving your dream, but also for the sake of the years you have left.

Even if it's less than nine months. Giving in to anger will not only lower your chances of success, but it will also worsen your experience of life. Everyone deals with negative emotions in their own way. An effective way is to temporarily distract yourself with something else that feels good... or something tasty. Perhaps that's why there are so many destructive addictions? It's always worth being careful not to go to extremes.

The wooden stick is completely devoid of popsicles. Holiday held it aimlessly in his teeth with his eyes closed. His eyes snapped open abruptly and he nearly jumped up on the spot.

I've got it!

That phrase he almost said out loud. He jumped off the bench, afraid to lose the thought that had just occurred to him on the way. The popsicle stick was still clenched in his teeth as he panted home.

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay