Fallout Equestria: The Fossilby alnairChaptersGreen LineA Quest Of OneJesterFalling With StyleButterflyGreen LineFallout Equestria: The Fossil. by Lucky Ticket and Alnair. prologue story "Manehattan Noir" can be found here: http://www.fimfiction.net/story/66953/fallout-equestria-manehattan-noir Chapter 1. Green line. * * * “...And remember, trainees. Red - is positive and blue - is negative. Just like in a shower tub: you’d never get burned with cold water.” “A green one! And thick, like a liana. Where did it come from?” Being a Stable electrician for two years already, I’ve learned pretty much every its corner, including communication tunnels and vents. I’ve seen a lot of things, but a dark green line, crawling along the vent wall was something new. Even the fact, that I’ve never worked in Vent 9 before, as nothing has been wrong here for severals years already, did not make what I saw any less weird. However, as weird as it was, I had to finish my job at the site. I’ve inserted an amber gem in a socket, fixed it with a clamp tool, closed the junction box and hit the power switch. Through the box’s glass I could see the gem start emitting a warm light and hear electricity start humming along the cords and ventilation system start working somewhere below. “Hey, Copper!” I screamed down the shaft, metal reverbating with echoes. “Huh? I didn’t touch anything!” reverberations made my trainee’s high-pitched voice sound even higher. “You surely didn’t, ‘cause it was me who launched the circuitry. Do you have the reference book with you? If so, find page 119 and tell me whatever it says about green cables, one third o’hoof in diameter and with green insulation.” “Just a se-e-c.” My trainee Copper Wire stretched vowels in such a funny way so you could easily get it: she does all her best to please me. Actually, she treated me with some excessive care and attention, dropping all sorts of tiny hints I preferred to ignore. On a bright side, I could afford behave with her in a way like I’ve just got my cutie-mark, too. Even though I actually was her superior, I had not wish to be a role model for this little filly. Despite my expectations, my trainee kept a long silence. She knew the reference book almost by heart, but now she apparently has been searching it attentively to give me an answer as exact as possible. Despite her young age and playful behavior, she took her job really seriously. Finally, a voice came from below. “Dodo, you’re going to be surprised!” Copper shouted joyfully, “there is no such thing! I’ve searched both the book and the master’s abstract, but still, it just does not exist!” “Then there is no such cable dangling before me and I am asleep.” I could really use some sleep now. Even a lounge in the Atrium, accompanied with Octavia’s cello howls would be just fine. “Alright, let me get it clean... Looking for markings.. There it is!” “Go on!” Copper shouted. “It’s NS-35 mod 2” “That’s some bollocks, Dodo! I’ve got the best reference book, extended version! There is no NS index at all. The best diameter match is CmC-34 mod 1,2 and 3. Does your one have a rubber insulation?” “No, it’s fabric, and a rough one” I replied. “Congratulations, Dodo. You are asleep, hanging on your carbine and muttering Daring Do-style nonsense. Actually, our shift is long over and you’re still collecting dust up there. Come back down.” “Oh, come on, just release the safety cord and I’ll take a peek, where this green thing leads to.” “Okie dokie...” “Right. I’m going up! Tell Short Circuit not to start domino party without me!” “Will do!” My trainee’s reply chased me from below. Right after Cooper Wire went down back into the Stable chambers, I opened my PipBuck’s microphone and recorded an audio note: “November 5th, 20:35. Evening shift is over. Shift staff: senior electrician Dazzling Dusk, trainee Copper Wire. Problem: short circuit in junction box “9-12”. Result: problem resolved. Three rotary switches replaced, increased capacity filtering gem installed. Note: discovered green cable marked “NS-35 mod 2”, reference description absent. Intention: go up the shaft to determine its destination. Note over.” After I closed the microphone I latched safety hook on a cord over my head and started my ascension. * * * A safety hook is a really useful thing up in the vertical shafts. There are cramps on the shaft walls, so you can latch your safe hook on them, pull yourself up a meter or about so, then latch the hook on a next one and get higher and higher… To make my ascension more fun, I tuned my PipBuck radio receiver to Cashmire Wave’s broadcast. She’s our domestic DJ, who persuaded the Overmare to add tiny two-hour marathon of modern music to our usual all-classic playlist of Stable’s “Symphony” radio station. Now I could get some twenty minutes of energizing hoof-n-roll and flank-swing. It’s not that I hate classical music, but its constant, ominous presence at the Atrium, corridors, lounges and even restrooms was, actually, annoying. The Overmare was quite old-fashioned in her music tastes, as well as many other elders of the Stable. And I wanted something more progressive – as much as this word could be applied to a music written two hundred years back. The cramps ended almost at the very ceiling of the shaft, the cable went into the wall, and I saw a locked airtight door next to it. Pulling myself up and pushing the door aside, I managed to roll myself into a high and narrow corridor, painted grey and soaked with rust of all sorts of metal bars sticking out of the walls every now and then. High humidity caused a thick fog over the concrete floor, the green cable went on by the wall and dim lights flickered under the corridor’s high ceiling. To the left was a doorway leading into a stretched room, with cracked tiled floor and filled with remains of iron beds. After scavenging this long-uninhabited place, I’ve received a couple of mane and tail bobby pin boxes, some pre-war coins and a very old, dark badge with a “3rd degree plumber” inscription on it. Wow, I’ve started feeling like a true archaeologist! Aside from my loot, there was just some useless junk, like smashed bottles and rusty tin cans, so I decided to get back into the corridor. It was next to second corridor light where my safety cord stretched so hard I had to take it off and tie to a nearest bar of metal. Next to the fifth light (and, unfortunately, there were no more lights further) I tripped over some pipe, and it did hurt a lot, so I had to turn my PipBuck light on. It helped not to smash my head into a girder when horizontal corridor started to rise and the green cable disappeared between the wall and the ceiling. I’ve never seen such solution anywhere in the Stable before. The cables usually were covered with plastic boxes or hanged on hooks, but not put into a narrow space, which not every hoof can get it back from; that looked way too amateur to me. The feeling that this corridor does not belong to the Stable came to me already when I’ve pulled myself up from that shaft. Not there were no doubts left: these quarters were not built by Stable-Tec. One mystery now followed another and I hastened up, doing my best not to miss the green cable, which now went along the ceiling. A welcoming voice of Cashmire Wave has said goodbye to faithful listeners and the Canterlot Symphonic Orchestra entered the broadcast. I turned the radio off and went into thinking. Where have I managed to get myself to? A layer of dust under my hooves suggested nopony has been here for a long time. Could it be that I am the first pony to enter these quarters since they were built? As I went higher up the corridor, it became more and more chilling; I could even feel a slight draft. At least there was no fog this high up. To my disappointment, the “non-Stable” corridor ended abruptly and turned into a pretty high vertical well: concrete rings and familiar cramps and the ever-present enigmatic green cable, still going higher up. The trouble was that I have left my safety cord behind. No way was I going to sit down on my flank, chilled by draft and burning with curiosity. There were no cables I could not trace in MY Stable! So it was the first time I used my wings that day, as weak as they were useful from time to time. Wings. Of all the ponies in the Stable, I was the only one pony in the whole Stable who had wings. You see, I am basically the first and the only Pegasus of the Stable born in two hundred years. And this is really. Not. Fun. As a predictable consequence, some Stable dwellers called me mutant, a nature’s mistake and many, many other, less pleasant words. A couple of times it even came to physical confrontations – the last one ended with stabbing me with a horn and spending a week in the infirmary. Even my name – Dodo – was actually a tease. According to the history books, that was the name of an extinct bird which was unable to fly. It ceased to exist a very long time ago, even before Equestria has been hit by a first balefire bomb. But should I really have been insulted by being compared to a bird, even if it could not fly? I pushed myself up with my wing flaps, used my forehooves to hang onto metal cramps, then went again and I again. I wished I could just fly all the way up to the top of the well. It seemed infinitely long, just like Octavia’s “C-Dur cello concerto”, and also it was so narrow that my wing tips almost touched its walls. I had to rest two times, hanging on my safety hook and calming my breath down. A chilling sensation of draft, drilling my spine, disappeared, but exhaustion has stockpiled and it could only be removed by – oh yes! - “SPECIAL choice” chocolate bar (with peanuts!) that I always had with me in my sleeve pocket. I always wondered why “SPECIAL” was always capitalized, but no one in our brigade knew, even our brigade master, Short Circuit. Hanging on my safety hook and munching on the chocolate bar, I wondered: why the hay am I ever going up there? Yes, I could see a hatch on the top, but what if it is welded or has a padlock on the other side? But there was the GREEN cable! There are only red, blue and black cables in the Stable, and some striped ones, painted in colors above – so I just could not help but get curious. * * * My head touched cold metal. I strained my rear legs and set my forehead against the hatch. It was so heavy that with all my efforts I could only lift it a centimeter high, not more. It seemed that its movement was restrained by its frame, in which the hatch sat firmly and deeply. And then I got really angry. My safety hook unfastened, I strained all four of my legs and started flapping my wings in humid, foggy air. Basically, levitating a communication hatch using a pony’s head is a task for a grown-up unicorn with a strong telekinesis. I doubted Copper Wire could handle it. And there was I, all red and wet with tension, hanging over a Celestia-damned well with an iron pancake on my head! Half a second, maybe a whole second… Then the hatch dropped aside and I suddenly went up and rolled in face first. The world went dark before my eyes and I could feel my heart pounding in my head. I shut my eyes and waited for the sensation to go away. When I opened and focused my eyes… I shrieked and recoiled in fear: a shapeless pile lay before my nose, emitting an unbearably nauseating reek. If I were less lucky, I’d fall down into the manhole and die at the bottom of the damned well, but I managed to keep standing on my four unbending legs and staring at the remains of somepony, who died here before me. In the light of my Pip-Buck, I saw a bloated stallion, almost devoid of its equine appearance in ragged clothes of grey and green colour, a grey-haired elder; his neck had an unnatural twist and his leg was broken: I could see the bone protruding from the reamins of flesh. It seemed like the poor buck died right on the top of the hatch, trying to open it from above, and his weight prevented me from opening it from below. I have never seen dead ponies before, let alone so close, that’s why these rotting remains cause an expected effect: I felt sick. I blinked and tried to calm down, but both my headache, this disgusting stench and the very fact of facing death spasmed my stomach. The open hatch came in really handy... Not that it helped much. I was shivering. I could feel the stench even if I breathed with my mouth and my brain urged me to run as fast as I could. But in given condition this was not an easy feat. First I raised my head to seize a new wave of sickness and then I started walking sideways, doing my best not to look at the corpse. I felt my body touching a cold, rough concrete wall and next step I got my hoof into a hole filled with ice-cold water! My PipBuck started clicking rapidly, signalling an excessive amount of radiation, confirming Stable scientists’ apprehensions: even two centuries were not enough for Equestria to get rid of the contamination. I got up to my hooves and felt a warm blood running down my rear leg. I still felt sick. But despite this and the pain, looking almost downright into the concrete floor, stumbling upon some trash I tried to walk as far as I could. Damn it, I’d much rather get myself into a pile of dead radroaches; that would have been disgusting, but still bearable. And watching the remains of a sentient creature, just like you, who died in darkness and damp was a lot tougher to cope with. Dark thoughts swarmed my head and I tried to get rid of them, concentrating on avoiding holes and pieces of plaster on the floor. My PipBuck light illuminated a rough wall next to my left side. I decided to walk along the wall beacuse the light was not enough to illuminate the whole corridor to the right. Apparently, I was in some sort of an abandoned warehouse. There was no sight of containers or anything, but cracks on the floor told me that the cargo could have been evacuated in a hurry. My contemplations were interrupted by a sight of another radioactive puddle I evaded and then I reached the corner of the room which was strangely rough and irregular. It was not until then that I dared to turn around. And all around, as far as I could see, was an uneven floor, peppered with concrete. Another radioactive puddle sparkled far away and I could hear water drop down from the ceiling. My sickness retreated and the corpse hatch was left far behind which made me a lot more comfortable. I tried to get the Stable’s radio frequency on my PipBuck to determine how far away I was. But instead, I could get only static even the omnipresent cello music was not there. There was another frequency, though, that, unfortunately, was just a high-pitched beep repeating every two seconds. I’ve listened to it for a minute or two, but the signal didn’t change, so I turned the radio off. There was a medkit in my saddlebag, just what I needed to patch myself. First, I needed to treat an injure on the inside of my thigh, a trace of rebar. Acutally, Stable technicians have been almost forced to attend to medical courses and now they came in handy. At least, I approved the way I cleaned and bandaged my injury. The bandage came out not too neat, but firm. Now, with half of the medkit depleted, there was one more thing to do. I sat there, in an amber pool of light, surrounded by darkness and tried to comprehend what to do next. Getting back into the Stable was not an option, at least not now. I’ve lost trail of the green cable, and the floor surface was so uneven I had to point the right before my nose to to trip over something. I could definitely use a maintenance searchlight or something... But I still had something, probably not as good... I remembered a trick we used from time to time in the darkest vents of the Stable. There was an image in the Pipbuck’s memory, a plain fill of white - or of amber, in case of monochrome Pipbuck display. I maximized this image and it suddenly became much brighter around! I suddenly realized the place around me was neither a room, nor a corridor, nor a warehouse, nor anything that could remotely resemble a place where ponies could live and work. Moving the PipBuck’s light along the walls, I matched what I saw and whatever little I knew about things and a suspicion started growing inside my noggin, ready to blow outside. I noticed that the walls were irregular a long time ago, but only now I could examine them closely. Actually, the most regular thing was the floor. The walls could have been best described as “shapeless”. They appeared to be crushed inside with a some sort of colossal force. Bobmardment consequences were my first guess, actually, if only the walls were not made of some weird material, different from any kind of metal or plastic we used in the Stable. They were also wet and left dirty traces on my barding. Neither dry dust, nor liquid oil... I decided this sort of dirt resembled a powdery mixture used in water filtering devices. And then I finally realized that the concrete crumb on the floor was not a concrete. This was neither trash, nor rebar. Cross my heart and hope to die! These were stones and I was in a cavern! In a wet, dirty, dusty, real cavern! Just like in the books! I forgot about fatigue and pain that instant. It has hit me that I’ve crossed that very line, which I could only touch back in the Stable library, reading my favourity books about Daring Do’s adventures. Every time she went into another cavern or temple or whatever, I wished I were in her horseshoes. Or at least in her blue-hided sidekick’s, whose name was different in every book, but to see it all with my own eyes anyway! Of course, there were pencil pictures in those books, but they did not help much to understand what a real cavern could look like. Being Master Short Circuit’s assistant was interesting enough, and I liked the engineering, but this was beyond comparison to a true archeology expedition or something. And now here I was in a real cavern, all alone. Amazing! In a dim light of my PipBuck I could see dark damp walls, all shaped in irregular lines and particles of dust dancing all around me. Even the air itself was different from Stable and its shafts. I was away enough not to smell that disgusting corpse reek and I could breathe deep, feeling unfamiliar cold and humidity of cavern air. There were no wind and no sounds and this silence deafened me. I even had to try to talk to myself to make sure I could still hear things. For the first time in my life I faced something as alien and unknown as this space. It was chilling and exciting at the same time. I checked my bandage - the wound stopped bleeding. Little by little, I’ve started feeling creepy and decided to go on. Curiosity and reluctance to get back to that corpse chamber pushed me forward. I turned around next corner and stumbled upon a line of stone “teeth” growing from the floor. I knew these ones were called “stalagmites”, wow. Yes, between the irregular walls and stones under my hooves, it was difficult to navigate through the cavern. I had to watch my step instead of merry trotting and sight seeing. Not that there were much of a sight to see, anyway. However, the slow pace helped me to notice my old friend – a green cable that threaded along the wall, fixed to iron hooks which protruded from stone. The cable looked much older and dirtier here; a green cable looked odd enough even back in the Stable. Here, however, pretty much everything was quite odd. Arching my eyebrow, I followed the green line. “So, it did not end back in that well,” I thought, “where the hay does it go anyway?” The game went on. I liked to think of it as a game, ready to spend my energies to solve this mystery. According to my feelings, no less than half an hour passed when I noticed some change in the air. I stopped and tried to get what was wrong. Right: the air became fresh and more cold. Without wind, constant movement made me all sweaty and now a slightest wind made shiver with cold. From my books I knew: if you’d not like to freeze, you’ve got to move. The spacious cavern turned into a narrow tunnel, with a ceiling sometimes too low for me. At every fork I took the direction of the cable. I often had to bend my head down and sometimes I even had to crawl on my belly, wings tighly clasped, pushing my saddlebag before me. The tunnel was constantly ascending, and that helped me keep faith in succes of this little adventure, but it also took a lot of energy. But, it appeared like the darkness at the end of the tunnel became a tiny bit less... dark, and that suggested the tunnel’s end is near. Surface! Yesterday this was beyond imagination - well, I did imagine it, but had no idea it could become real. Even when I still was a blank flank, I poked my nose into every corner of the Stable and I knew that my home is a confined space with no exit whatsoever. And now I faced a chance to finally see the world we enclosured ourselves from two hundred years ago. * * * “...Stepping forth into a patch of brightest light, Daring blinked unwilligly, and when her eyes accustomed to the lighting, she retrieved binoculars from her saddlebag and proceeded to investigate the area ahead. The objective of her quest, the Forbidden City dwelled in greenery that met no resistance and flourished in windows, doors, on the rooftops and crawled along the walls of the Watchtower, decorated with majestic gryphon statues, darkened with time, yet still menacious. Abandoned centuries ago, the city has still not been ransacked by treasure hunters and thus, still remained in its magnificence. In a distance, the gilded dome of the Palace shimmered under the sun...” I hesitated at the end of the tunnel, dawdled undecidedly and shivered of cold. I knew that instead of the Forbidden City there would be something completely different, something one could not be prepared for. And I was not prepared for this, too. Cold white grains were being blown inside and turned into water as soon as they touched my nose. One could easily guess it was snowflakes, you know, like in the winter wrap up song. Presumably, there was much more snow at the outside, and where is snow, there is ice. I really regretted I had no thermos filled with hot tea with me... Or anything stronger, maybe. I coughed badly, and the sound reverberated across the tunnel, turning my voice alien and unnatural and it even felt like something else accompanied it. Remembering a corpse near the hatch I presumed there could be all sorts of creatures in this cavern, with, presumably, quite a vision in the darkness. I gulped and stepped outside, into the Surface night. * * * There actually was a lot more snow in the outside! It kept falling from above like a constant flow and at first I was afraid I would very soon disappear beneath it. It was fun at first, but soon cold started to penetrate my barding, chilling me to the bone. It was night outside, but the sky was covered with dark grey clouds. I knew it, because the Pipbuck displayed the time - 00:15. My first night away from home. Quite a dubious achievement. Still, this was the night, which, according to the books, always changed the life of a pony drastically. Well, at least, the current surroundings actually were drastically different from where I’ve been some three hours ago. Slowly getting accustomed to piercing cold on my muzzle and rough wind in my mane, I looked around, and saw no bright colours. The picture “Dodo out of the cave” was painted in grey, white and a tiny bit of brown. As far as I could see through the blizzard, I stood on a relatively plain space, which ended with an abrupt fall into darkness. The only way I could possibly go was upwards. Good for me that the green cable went uphill, too, diving into snow cover here and there. I bet, it’s nice and pleasant to climb up the rock in the middle of the jungle. Between warm wind and sun flaring on your cutie mark, hooves pace firmly, anticipating a great adventure. Now I could see why Daring always prefered warm countries with tropical climate! Crawling up the icy cliff, loosing ground every now and then and feeling your barding getting heavier and heavier with snow was much less than pleasant. The worst part was that the slope was not actually too steep, it was just damn slippery and I kept sliding down at the middle of it. After another countless attempt I sat down where I was and desperately looked at my PipBuck. There was a blinking notification on its screen, a landmark: “Altitude 472”. The device had also loaded a map of the location: in between the isolines a bulding was marked as “aux. bldg”. I had no idea where and why did the device store the map of the Surface, but all in all that seemed legit: the ponies were supposed to leave Stables one day, right? So, there was a building up there. I could hide from the wind and get my hooves warm at last. That was a boost I needed to get my teeth clenched tightly on the green cable and fix myself in that position. Having at least a some kind of support under my hooves, I could start a careful ascension towards the rickety iron shack, or the Auxiliary Building, if you prefer. By that moment I hated snow already, but I kept pushing forward with my rear hooves, pulling with my front hooves. I had no idea how to combine this hostile snowy environment with the colourful pictures I saw in the books, and likewise, I had no idea how much longer could I stay in the icy wind, but it was getting obvious, that whatever our ancestor hid from in the Stables, has broken something both in the earth and the sky. I kept crawling that way until I faced a black stone. There was an arrow painted on it, pointing towards a metal tower with the Auxiliary Building beneath - at least I hoped for it to be a building, not a some sort of a trash container. Almost immediately after I passed the stone, I felt a firm ground under my hooves and I finally made it out of the snow pile, shake myself off and take a better look around. Still, there was not much to look at. The metal tower looked like a some sort of an antenna. There were also some dark boulders and a heck of a lot of snow, a lot more than I could imagine being in one place. However, I enjoyed a most spectacular feeling in my life: the absence of walls and ceilings. Surely, I’ve been wet and cold, my head ached violently, and my inner voice kept saying “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Dodo?”, but this particular feeling of a vast room many, many times bigger than the Atrium, overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life I could stretch my wings and care not to break something, like, a fusion box on the wall or a lamp under the ceiling. The Stable was never engineered for pegasi, and almost each and every communication line has been routed right through the corridors for the sake of maintenance. And here I was finally absolutely free to move around! If not for the fatigue and a strong wind, I probably would have even tried my first flight tonight - with a long run up, sharp take-off and falling with style, back into the snow, face first. But not before I scout the windowless building that, despite resembling a trash container, enjoyed a roof and a small antenna dish. There was a small yellow trash container though, and it signalled that somepony had lived here once: inside were some tin cans and empty bottles, embedded in ice. At the opposite side of the building I found a door; it was not locked but the freeze latched it to the jamb. All I had was a screwdriver and I pierced the ice fiercely. Now I needed a little bit of leverage, and... done! I clicked a switch and powered up the light and a terminal on a table. Too bad any heating was either absent or malfunctional. There was, however, neither wind nor snow and that was an improvement already. Leaving the terminal for later, I examined a locker and found a medkit: iodide, bandages, patches, headache pills and - oh yes! - a bottle of a fine “Amber Mare” whiskey. Left there for medical purposes, obviously. Wow, boy! I never before had such luck to enjoy this beauty in any considerable amount. While not strictly forbidden, alcohol remanied a corporate bugaboo around the Stable. And even worse: a drunk technician on a shift could be easily demoted to a cleaning department or something as horrible as that. I believe you understand that with such a treasure in my hooves I could not resist to give it a try... until tears burst out of my eyes and a wave of heat went though my body. Trying my best to catch a breath, I suddenly realized I could feel the tips of my hooves again! My memories suddenly turned back to the Stable, to the elderly Overmare and her hatred of alcohol and everything chaotic in general. Out pride of being a cultural preservation of Equestria has turned us into snobbish and tedious creatures. As much as I loved the Stable for being my home, I would have eagerly enjoyed a fine feast. As much as I enjoyed Cashmire Wave’s hoof’n’roll tracks, I always wanted to turn it louder, much louder than my PipBuck allowed. Or proprieties allowed. I gulped more whiskey and went on exploring the building. * * * A thick bundle of yellow newspapers: “Equestrian Daylight”, “Pony press”, a naughty “Wingboner” magazine poster: a charming young mare in long striped socks! Oh, I could use some like these! From the looks of things, this building has once been inhabitated by a middle-aged stallion and he was all alone. A row of empty whiskey bottles under the bed acknowledged my assumptions. When I tried to power up a RCV-IV radio receiver, it made a popping sound and started smoking. Alright, these ‘Mark IV Royal Canterlot Voice’ receivers have never been durable. I had a vinyl player back in the Stable, made of three RCVs and I even had to raid the Tech Department for some spare parts. The StableTec-engineered terminal, though, was perfectly functional; it required a six symbol password. The password was nowhere to be found: neither on the table, nor on the wall, nor anywhere where the passwords are usually being kept. I knew a solution, however, a fat bearded computer genius in tortoiseshell glasses taught me. He told me that StableTec developed the terminals to be widely used in offices and remembering passwords proved to be almost impossible task for an average user. Whenever a secretary mare or even a CEO stallion blocked a terminal again you usually had to insert a hardware master key to release the block. In order to avoid a lot of useless trouble, a pin pair has been added to the termials’ motherboards that cleared a password memory, if short-circuited with a screwdriver... or a bobby pin. Of course, you needed to unmount terminal’s case first, but I could do that in a jiffy. It took me about three minutes to bring the terminal back to life and start browsing through whatever records were still intact. Record#28 Hell of a weather out there, and my mood is no better. Those StableTec bastards arrived this morning, started asking their fucking questions. What do I know about the dragon’s cavern down the slope? What the fuck am I supposed to know, bitches? It’s a freaking cavern! There has been no food deliveries for... a month? Oh sure, I have a lot of tinned beans and dried carrots to munch on. Record#31 These asshols are sure as hell not short on dynamite. The whole freaking mountain shivers like a house of cards and I jump every time it does. Getting jumpy, heh? I have no idea what kind of fossils they’ve found down there, but I guess sooner or later this fucking shack, this fucking antenna, these fucking beans and me will fall all the way down. Wow. How many bad words... Dodo, you should not be reading this! Record#34 The weather has gotten better, after all. Let’s hope for some food delivery. I hope it would be.... …cause I can’t stand these damned beans anymore! This way I’ll soon get myself up in the sky with a jet thrust. How funny. They said on the radio that zebras are bombing Hoofington again. Good luck smashing your hooves, fuckers! Record#38 These cocksuckers down there came out to be useful, after all. They jacked my shack to their generators, and shit, now I can turn on both the radio and the heater! What did he call a heater, that long box at the wall? It does not heat anything. They keep moving construction materials into that cave. Girders, sheet metal, cable spools. This shit doesn’t look like a mine digging at all. A pegasus fellow delivered food for three - holy shit, three months! Told me rumors about building freaking huge bunkers all across Equestria, just like for those bigshots in Canterlots. Long live the Princesses! And the damned news are getting worse and worse. Zebra maggots have used a freakish toxin at the Littlehorn. Record#43 …rows of refugees. And a Ministry Of Peace transport. Those StableTec faggots have really built a huge buker down there! Like, they’ve pickaxed the whole dragon’s cavern and... ...Stable 96, and that means there’s a fucking lot of them in Equestria! Bitch, this no single experiment, it’s a full-on serious business. And here is our new ruling Princess Luna saying there’s no reason for panic - right in the middle of the war, and like hell I believe! Right, I always knew our Stable was numbered 96. This numberwas everywhere: on my barding insignia, on every door back home, and even on some common wares. And still, I liked to call it “The Stable” as if it was - and it sort of actually was - the only Stable in the world. Record #67. ...hell of a blow! The radio is silent. Deadly silent. The end is really fucking nigh. I’ve been at the Cliff this morning, there are dead bodies all around. The vehicles are all wrecked and burning. The Ministry of Peace camp is no more. The magnificent Stable number ninety-six burns like hell. Guess I should call it Crypt 96 now. Or maybe, Vault 96? I feel sick. Shit, it’s bad now. What have you done, fuckers? I hate you all. Zebras, ponies, progress, megaspells... Record #70. I sAT halF a dday here,m huGgin my RaDio. Mmy hOOves are shakin. Tthe rAdio vOice saId two ttimees Manehattan s rUined, Cntrlt is in piNk ccloud hazMats dont savE. The pegasi are cloSing the... ...no food. Gotta go down to whatever remain from that camp to scavenge. My shift is over, the lighthouse is off, the crater is glowing green and so is the snow. Fuck. No signs of life below, save for 96 is still burning. Record #71 Got three packs of RadAway with whiskey. Whoever reads this, you should know that I, Maney Brown, watched over the lighthouse for 5 years and it didn’t ever fucking went off. Now I leave, into whatever is now Equestria. Wish me luck. This was the end of the shack’s dweller’s diary. From what I read I imagined him to be a rare sourpuss. A gumpy whiskey addict with no brightness in his life, but I still got curious of his fate. Aside from these records, there was nothing on the terminal, save for two-hundred year old weather reports, which told me that life on Altitude 472 was sconsistently disgusting. Oh, and I remembered I also had a table drawers unispected. The open ones were empty, save for some pre-war coins, bottle caps, bobby pins and a layer of random trash I was not interested in. The uppermost drawer was locked and the key, I guess, went with that Maney character. I hoped there was something interesting in the last drawer. This table deserved some respect. The lock was really hard, and my screwdriver was useless; after causing a severe wreck on the lock, I decided to look beneath the table, and there I found a key, scotch-taped to table’s bottom. Actually, it was useless now, as it didn’t move in lock cylinder now. But I accepted the challenge! The table was of solid wood and looked really out of place in this shack. And wood, I knew, was a subject to crack. I just needed something heavy enough... Five, no, six strikes. A StableTec issued maintenance hammer I clenched in my teeth left deep carvings in the wood and emitted orange sparks when it hit the lock. Every next strike hammered the lock cylinder deeper until it fell inside. I inserted a screwdriver in the hole and pulled. I admit, this was far from the most graceful lockpicking, but quite effective. When I peeked inside the drawer I knew such vandalism was not in vain: inside it was a great big black gun! A pistol, not as cool as the Stable Security used, but still a simple and a reliable one. Oh, and it was loaded. Adorable. My first gun. It made my saddlebag palpably heavier, but, whatever fauna expected me outside, now I could protect myself. Or so I thought. Actually, I had no idea how I was supposed to descend the down the cliff, but I reckoned there was no sense to keep freezing my rump in Maney’s shack. I had to reach the Ministry of Peace camp he wrote about, but first there was a two-hundred year old business to finish. I poured the rest of the whiskey inside, and launched the bottle to the trash bin. I opened the door in a cool harsh manner and a blow of wind tore the Wingboner poster from the wall. I switched off the lights and went outside, leaving the scavenged shack behind. LEVEL UP! Next level: 2. New perk added: “Break in”. Wooden crates and drawers are no more a problem to you: some blunt force will always do the trick! But remember: metal containers can not be opened this way. Author's Note Alnair's note: So, this is the start of a big adventure. Sincerely, I'm not sure if we can handle this, but we will do our best. What should you expect from this story? Say, less blood, gore, desperation and darkness, than usual. Also, less obsolete memes and less ties to Fallout games. Instead, more adventure, explosions, research on how Equestria was made and how magic works. More original setting, and more fanon nods, too. Treat the story as an Indiana Jones crossover to Fallout Equestria, a brilliant story by KKat. And here comes the imporant note: the story is originally in Russian (Lucky Ticket writes it in Russian) and then I translate it to English. Since I'm not a native english speaker, I may as well make mistakes I don't notice. So, each and every mistake reported would be highly appreciated and corrected. Thanks in advance, guys. A Quest Of OneNorthern wasteland exploring theme: http://youtu.be/P0yiXyswSZg Chapter 2. A quest of one. I stood outside and exhaled onto snowflakes. They evaporated in midair and I felt like a little fire-breating dragon. I’ve been overflown with desire for activity. First, I wanted to make a snowpony! Then, I had a pile of whiskey bottles to trash. Next.. Oh! How could I forget the main thing! The idea that came to me inside Maney’s shack, danced inside my noggin. I catсhed it and examined it closer. It was genial! Shuck, I am a high grade technician after all! Not a some rookie trainee, barely able to grip their teeth on a screwdriver. And that means only one thing: whatever is broken up here on the Surface, I can fix that! And I’ll start from this lighthouse that doesn’t shine for two hundred years. Ayep, Maney, I take your watch. By the way, now I could see where that green cable ended! Standing beside the base of the tower, which undoubtedly was the lighthouse, I could hear the whole thing creaking under wind blows. The green cable stretched along one of its pillars and disappeared somewhere up in the darkness, obscured with a metal platform. The platform was accessible via a familiar bracket ladder. A challenging thing, urging to conquer the height, and without any safety, too. But first, I found it fun to stand up on my rear legs and push my forelegs against the pillar. I pushed strongly, but it didn’t bulge. The only outcome I got were some icicles that fell down, almost hitting my temple. I did the pushing sequence again and dodged three more icicles. Wow, I’m agile! But the devious thing prepared another surprise for me. My next blow brought a huge pile of snow from above! I shook it off and checked the score. Dodo: 0, tower: 1. Bollocks, that aint’ gonna happen! Now, it was time to get to the bad things. I walked around the pillar and set my hooves on an iron bracket. Unlike the shafts, this ladder had some angle and that made my ascension easier. I vigorously pulled myself higher and higher, hearing the tower shaking from feeling of imminent defeat. Now this is another story! Ah yes, I forgot the wind. It pierced the whole tower. If I unfolded my wings, I could fly right here and now, pretty high and far away. “Not now. I’ll have my flights later - the platform looks like a better start.”, I said to myself. It looked like I’ve been getting used to such obstacles, as I reached the top unexpectedly quickly. Well, I couldn’t quite remember how long did it take exactly... Yet, I did remember the moment I set all my hooves - if a bit unstable - on an iced platform and saw my reflection in a lighthouse flask. Now, that was an achievement to celebrate! Shame I had no booze left, so I needed some epic gesture instead. “I wish I had a flag of 96,” I thought, “I could set it on the fence, yay. But... I think my hanky is fine, too! It’s all blue and with golden clouds. Guess that’s nice!” Hanky bound, I understood I actually conquered the height over... Altitude 472. I think I should call it something? Altitude 473? 472,5? Boring. I think I should think it over, right? Naming such a small tower after the Princesses - this is just not serious. Naming it after myself - is top indecent, doesn’t fit, too. At all. I kept thinking hard, knowing the answer is obvious. I shooed my flock random joyful and genial ideas away and one humble, but incredibly correct one remained. I cleared my throat and proclaimed as solemnly as I could, “Hereby I name you a Maney Brown’s Peak. Whatever bore he was, he did well to keep you working. He changed bulbs, cleared ice and fixed the wires. From now on you’ll be named after him”. I only needed a cheering applause to finish the scene, but I was all alone, so I clopped my hooves a few times against the platform and nodded into darkness. Now, to repair the lighthouse, I needed to restore the circuitry. The green cable was intact and went into below the lamp, though a maintenance hatch. It’s lock succumbed to my screwdriver, and I was pleased to note that StableTec did have standarts even on the Surface. Hatch opened, I started looking for malfunction. The wind howled around, the snow kept flying from everywhere, the platform was shaking like mad and I picked in below a huge red glass flask with my screwdriver in my teeth. I found a breakage fast and poked my muzzle into where I kept my best pegasi technician friends: an honest hammer, handy wrenches, two sticky duct tapes - a blue and a red one, a crimper and a lot of other useful tools. I tried to organize them but found it unexpectedly complicated. It was hard to concentrate. A couple of times I tried to unscrew a bolt with a bigger wrench, and one time I even mixed up a slotted screwdriver and a crossed one. With every mistake I could feel my enthusiasm evaporate and my head getting heavier and heavier. The darned tower again started to win over me. My clumsiness brought up tears of my own worthlessness. Of course. Who needs a technician who can’t unscrew a bolt? I caught a whisper of a voice of reason, obscured with alcohol, in my head, saying “Why should you have gotten that drunk? How are you going to get down now, fool girl? Flying, huh? First seat the screwdriver properly, you useless prick! And don’t you dare to short these two cables!” The latter I needed the least, actually, so I put the screwdriver back into the saddlebag, stood up and shook my head. I stepped towards the wooden border of the platform, put my forehooves on it and closed my eyes. Icy wind blew into my face and now it felt pleasant. When I came back to work, I could take a fresh look at my activities. I have almost fried a fully operational chip! I returned every disassembled piece back and screwed all wires firmly and only then I noticed a real breakdown cause. It actually was a piece of cake: screw here, duct tape here aaand... Clang! A brigt red flash blinded me, I recoiled instinctively and next moment I rammed my back through the slimsy wooden barrier. I fell down, flapping my wings chaotically, trying to resist the wind. A bright red dot flashed up ahead. The wind blows threw me side to side, the visibily was a zero and my fligth abilities were downright negative. Dodging a suddenly appeared rock, I made a couple of ridiculous flips and, lost any air control, flew into a deep snow pile. Face first. I lay on my back, big snowflakes silently falling from above and two red circle flickered in my vision. I registered a blurred thought: “If I fall asleep, I’ll freeze to death”, but my body refused to respond. It was too much for today and I passed out. * * * A piercing beep into my ear made me open my eye. Alarm clock displayed 6:30 - time to wake up for work. I’ll get to the shower now... Wow, it feels like somepony damaged an air conditioning system. Otherwise why the hay is it so cold in my room? Whatever, just a 5 more minutes of beauty sleep... I opened both my eyes abruptly, as I suddenly remembered everything! Right: the grey sky above me, no more snowflakes falling now, and a red dot blinking on the top of the mountain; there was snow all around me, but the wind settled down. How long have I been laying here? An hour, two hours? I tried to stand up and felt a lot of dizziness. My vision went dark and it did cost me a lot of effort to keep myself upright. Feeling headache and chattering my teeth from the cold I finally stood up straight. A bottle. Hoof-sized, maybe a bit bigger. I had to admit the Overmare was right about this tasty drink being a brain poison. Maybe, though, it was a fault of my brain that decided to take it all in one turn. Brain... My head... Headache pills! As much of a bore as that Maney buck was, he surely knew a lot about drinking... and its consequences. I examined the pills pack: “Unicorns - two pills after meal, earth ponies - one pill after meal, pegasi...” I tore away a price label that covered the rest of the phrase and read: “pegasi - one pill after meal, three hours - weakness, flying prohibited! Maximum daily rate: three pills.” So I took a unicorn dose, just to be sure. I doubted I would try any more flying right now, anyway. Also, I doubted that unicorns’ and pegasi’ kinds of hangover were that different. Now I only needed to get warm again, but I failed to peform any jumping or dancing: unfortunately, these were regular pills without any magic amplification, so my head continued to crack from the inside. Stretching my numb wings, I kept walking in circles. My fall from that lighthouse somehow reminded me of a story of one of the Ministry Mares - her name was Fluttershy. A really weird pegasus mare: she was a poor flyer since foalhood and once she just fell off a cloud and went all the way down to Earth. She settled there and never yearned for skies before. I could never understand that. Until tonight I knew nothing about the real sky, but still, I never wanted to live like Fluttershy did. That rapid and uncontollable descend I survived this night did not discourage me to use my wings the way they were supposed to be used. Actually, it had been worse. Jumping over the Atrium balcony was definitely not a good idea. My contemplations were interrupted by a PipBuck signal. It turned out I’ve been walking in circles of bigger and bigger radius - actually I beat a huge spiral in the snow. A new label appeared on the PipBuck’s map and I almost jumped: it said “Stable 96”. Am I going to see my Stable from the outside? Since foalhood, I wondered why Stable 96 had no door to the Surface. The elders were usually so occupied with keeping Stable in a good shape that they just didn’t bother to tell stories to me. Mom and Dad told me that there must have been a door somewhere upside, where only the engineers were allowed to go. However, I peeked in each and every corner of the Stable (including the filly-restricted ones), but I failed to find the cherished Door, so I turned towards the library, named after the Ministry Mare Twilight Sparkle. The Ministry Mare’s name, written in purple volumetric letters, backlit with neon, decorated a lavender wall with a pink horizontal line. The Library’s interior was astonishingly beautiful compared to grey metal interiors of the rest of the Stable, with mass-producted humming lights and meals being served the same time every day. Granny Turtle, an elderly librarian had been really surprised to find out such a young filly as me could be interested in the Engineer’s Stable Reference Guide. But when I explained the reason, she told me everything she hear from her own grand-grandmother who was born back outside! Our Stable was not a simple refuge for civilian ponies during the war. It had a much greater purpose: to become the salvatory for knowledge and traditions of all the ponykind! The Stable was populated with best scientists and artists of the state. Books were transported here from every corner of Equestria, forming the one and only underground Library of its kind. Our laboratories were equipped with cutting-edge hardware and were ready for a big group of scientists from Hoofington itself! These scientists never came, though, as Zebras were apparently aware of both the Stable’s location and purpose and where the day came, they targeted their missiles precisely. And they were generous for missiles. A series of chthonic explosions shook the whole mountain. Neither the engineering designs, nor the covering stone could handle such a straight hit. The huge, multi-ton Door had been banged away like a bottlecap and the balefire radiation streamed inside. The balefire triggered a firestorm on the upper level, which no ordinary fire extinguishing system could handle. The hall had been stocked with magically enforced book containers that took the most of the damage and started to melt down. Every single thing was burning and melting on the upper level. The survivors have been evacuated to the lower levels deeper in the mountain, and upside went a special group of volunteers in a desperate attempt to win over the fire. Later, they would be named The Liquidators. When it became clear that the upper levels could not be reclaimed, it was decided to seal the corridor connecting the upper level and the Library with concrete. The Liquidator have not just been mixing concrete and pump it into the space between airlocks. Having hazmat suits, giving next to none radiation protection, on, they evacuated every book container, that remained, downside. All of them died in a matter of days. Despite the instructions, their bodies were not utilized, but buried with honor, in a vala comum - a bed of honor - carved in the Library’s floor and filled with the same concrete: so irradiated were their bodies. Now the story I knew since foalhood, turned into flesh and blood as I stood before an enormous tunnel, a huge gallery that, according to Maney Brown’s records, led to the dragon’s cavern. I dreaded to imagine the size of a dragon who could dwell in such a huge apartments before the StableTec arrived. Crawling up the stone pile I reckoned what I’m going to see there under the snow: bones of those who failed to enter the Stable in time. And I knew exactly what I’ll see inside the abandoned part of the Stable, if I am ever to get inside. PipBuck’s alarming cracking noise did not stop me. I had no idea what exactly made my head clear now - either a hangover pill or a lust for adventures, but I felt no headache anymore and night troubles were dislodged by curiosity I accumulated through years. Apparently one balefire missile hit the tunnel directly - it had almost no ceiling and I could see the sky above. It was much brighter now but remained grey and unfriendly. Almost 7 a.m. So, this is what sunrise looks like: diffused white light, just like Stable’s lamps. Normally, this is the sort of light that illuminates me staying next to a coffee machine and striving to get my sleepy eyes open. Contrary to adventure books, there were no bright colours, only grey, dim and gloom. I imagined myself being in another Stable, a freaking huge one, only frozen and unihabited. Such a dangerously discouraging idea made me buck a stone, right into a barely visible gap, making metal noise, apparently, somewhere inside the Stable. I bent over a gap with sharp rusty edges and sniffed the air, smelling with burning. I coughed hardly and started to pick stones aside. Not an easy job, but it helped me get warm again. Bigger stones proved to be easier to buck inside, rather than pulling aside. I could see now that the gap was actually where the huge Stable Door belonged to. Finally, I managed to crawl inside, turned on PipBuck light and froze, stupefied. The Hall was lit with emergency lights, dim and red and slowly rotating and that made the picture before me especially sinister. The room was unevenly damaged with fire: I could see burned bones mostly to the left. To the right, under a label reading “luggage examination”, were white bones, mixed with what once were personal belongings, cases and clothes. Well, there were bones everywhere, but the ones to the left were melted into plastic and glass. I could only guess who of the dead were more lucky. I had to breathe with my muzzle. A reek of soot made my nose sore and eyes watering. What I saw before me was basically a huge common grave and I lost any intention to pick through these ponies’ personal belongings. The most amazing, however, were not these atrocious remains. Staying on the stone pile, next to the Hall’s ceiling, I could see a gigantic gear-shaped Stable Door, thrown inside with a direct balefire hit. I could clearly imagine a number “96” painted on the burned surface, if only it was not covered with a cadaver of a huge bird, laying in the center, like a some sort of an ancient ritual’s sacrifice. Apparenly, it had been there for a long time already, as I could see empty eye-sockets and a bony neck, barely covered with feathers. Carefully descending into the Hall, I tried my best to remember everything I knew about pre-war Equestrian birds, fruitlessly. I simply did not know any bird of that size. Actually, the creature - a sentient, judging by remains of clothes and a gun in its paw - the creature was only a half of a bird, and an upper half. It featured two wings, two paws and below that... there were two more paws and a narrow, long, absolutely not avian tail. A griffon! I remembered these proud and independent inhabitants of Equestria had mixed feelings towards ponies. Say, some of them helped Daring Do to escape all sorts of troubles while others tried to assasinate her for good. My cookbook was written by some griffon named Gustav, and I tried to perform its recipes, fruitlessly, as half of its ingredients were merely not available in the Stable. This griffon, however, definitely was not a cook. Once he wore a leather jacket with a fur neckpiece and camouflage pants. His chest was covered with a steel plate which obviusly failed to protect its owner. It had holes here and there and I saw a puddle of dried blood beneath the corpse. Not that I liked this one any more than the pony corpse back in the tunnels but this mummy at least did not emit a suffocative reek of decay. He clearly died much, much later than all the ponies around and I wondered what killed him... And the answer was easy. As soon as I stepped closer to the griffin’s duffel bag, a hatch opened in the ceiling and an automated turret appeared! I charged across the Hall, almost hearing a ruthless automatic fire behind. Jumping over the piles of bones and skulls, I stopped abruptly only before the second turret that suddenly appeared right in front of me. I fell on the floor and covered myself with a nearest case, not quite comprehending this being a pretty poor protection from bullets. I tried to push myself into the floor as hard as I could, not that I could actually push myself into the concrete... THE END! Facing the dreadful fatal error of my whole life, as short and useless it was, I heard a dry click above and another one behind. The clicks repeated and I peek from under the old case. Turrets rotated as if they examined me, chambers clicking, but the turrets were empty. The nearest turret’s scanning beam paused over my PipBuck for a second. Then something beeped inside the machine and its red lights changed to green. Have these machines just examined me and declared me... friendly? Apparently, these guns prefered to shoot first and sort friendlies out later. I heard a loud click of hidden switch and regular illumination replaced the red emergency lights. I stood back on my hooves and walked back to the griffon corpse. Now this was the adventure I had to do some looting after! My gaze fell upon an airlock, a label stenciled above read “The Library lvl. 2”, and an index next to it told me there were also Caffeteria, Radio Room, Reading Room and an Overmare’s Office on this level. Right beneath the airlock door was a skeleton of a unicorn, partially embedded in concrete that once streamed from between the door and the floor. One of the Liquidators. I carefully stepped over it and put my hoof on the door, eyes closed. I imagined this layer of concrete, fifty feet that separated me from the Librarian’s bar. Yes, the purple wall I saw every time I visited the Library concealed the concrete seal that kept the Stable alive for two hundred years. But most important was that these fifty feet of concrete separated me from habitual, measured and boring life. Now I was sure I did not want to return home. See, I had a job and I was good at it, but it provided no sense of adventure I experienced now. Actually, I’ve been really disappointed when I received a spark piercing a red cord on my flank. I always wanted to bear a compass there, or a some map or a treasure chest. That very day I managed to open the airlock by shorting two cords, but that was not supposed to mean I wanted to be a Stable technician! I merely wanted to enter an inaccesible area! The cutie mark had been already there, however, and there were no way to remove it. On a bright side, I was the first filly in my class to get it, although two blank flanks virtually came to hate towards me for that... However, now I was grown-up and free. Although it had been more than a year since I left my parents’ apartments and lived alone, I still had to obey Stable’s weird rules - like the Library being closed at night, personnel being awoken with the same Octavia’s “Morning suite” every single day and boring security mares in ridiculously full armor forbade running in corridors. Living in confined space, having such a vast, if unfriendly, space around you? Doggone, I dreamed not to break free for all my life! Of course the Stable dwellers would be looking for me, but what could they do? It took wings to ascend that shaft, and I’d bet they won’t even try that one. I only hope Copper Wire won’t have to face the music too hard. She’s a trainee, after all, and bears no responsibility... Responsibility... What the hay am I ever thinking about? Listen to me, speaking as if any part of me still remained behind the seal, and I’m not that free Dodo who’d rather be picking through the griffon’s belongings. The last thing I needed right now was an imaginary excorciation by an Overmare. Enough! I withdrawed my hoof from the door and headed straight to the duffel bag I missed. “What do we have here? Two pistol clips, one empty, an old compass - a mechanical one, no electronics! Binoculars, one lens broken. So call it a monocular, but still usable. Now this is super cool! A planchette!” Inside the planchette was an old copy-book, without a cover, filled with incomprehensible writing - griffons language, maybe? How is called, I couldn’t remember. The transparent pocket contained a map. The names were in pony, yet I couldn’t find any familiar city on it. The only mark that drawn my attention said “Flashtown” and it had been circled with red. While most of griffon’s stuff could be examined instantly, the planchette’s insides required more thorough inspection, and in different circumstances. As I put all the records back in the planchette, I examined the bag. It was empty and holes gaped here and there so I threw it away and then I noticed a tin candy can. Inside was a whole collection of “Sparkle-Cola” caps of different condition, from new to rusty. This fellow griffin surely had a weird hobby, didn’t he? I wondered if he used these caps as chips in some sort of a game? Anyways, I had a plenty of pockets, so I took the can. To my deepest regrets, there were no food whatsoever. Whatever, the only thing I had to do now is to examine the corpse itself. Ugh... “So, Dodo, you wanted to be an archeologist? Come on, you can just close your eyes. What your eyes fear, your hooves do.” First, I retrieved the pistol from griffon’s grip, causing the skeletal paw to crumble. Clearly, I could not use this weapon - it was way too big and the grip had an angle, designed for hands. And it could be triggered neither with teeth, nor with... tongue. Yes, I did see such weird designs in “Armed To The Teeth” magazine! I guess I could have adapted the weapon for a pony, but I needed a workbench and a number of tools. So I just dumped the gun into the saddlebag. A holster, however, was a good thing to find. I managed to tie it to my leg, below a pocket. Although Maney’s gun was smaller, it fit into the holster and even did not dangle. Now I could draw it with ease. Scavenging griffon’s jacket pockets, I found only a pack of “Magic bubbles” bubble gum. The pack featured a yellow earth pony flying over a colorful city via a huge pink bubble coming out of his muzzle. The slices sticked together like a pink piece of stone one could hammer nails with. I threw it away and finally dared to peek at griffon’s head. Dark empty eye-sockets, half-open beak, several pefrorating bullet holes. Disgusting and creepy. I looked away and noticed a pair of flight goggles and the animal’s neck. Incredibly, they survived all the bullets. I tried to take them off, but they stuck. The tension caused griffon’s skull to detach and fall down, jingling with something. One could guess what was jingling. The goggles were just a bit dirty. I wiped them with my sleeve, trimmed the strap and got them on. Now this was the solution to piercing blizzards that made me look under my hooves constanlty. I returned the skull back to its place and headed outside. Nothing to do here anymore. When the fire broke out, automated alarm systems blocked the airlocks leading to other parts of the Stable. Of course, the lockdown could have been raised from the Overmare’s office behind the concrete seal and my special short-circuitry trick just didn’t work on the cables that were actually inside the walls. Judging by the turrets that obviously preferred to shoot before performing a friend-or-foe identification routine, the StableTec disregarded a single pony’s death over the Stable’s survival as a whole. I had to get as far as possible from this horrible place and to wipe away such conceptions, so rational yet so inequine, from my head. I need some fresh air: the omnipresent smell of burning and soot made my head ache and my throat burn. When I got out from this “Crypt 96”, as Many Brown aptly named it, I felt a lot better. It was cold and windy outside, yet I could breathe deep. Coughing, I tried to clean my barding with snow, succesfully, although some stains and a tiny scent of soot remained. I got a hoof-ful of snow and smeared it over my face to freshen myself, then I got the goggles on and started down the narrow path down the slope that disappeared in the snowfall. * * * I shivered with cold. The feeling was constant and it annoyed me a lot. Fitful wind wouldn’t stop and most of the time was blowing in my face, as if on purpose. Of course, I was hungry, therefore I felt cold. The PipBuck’s thermometer displayed 26.6 F degrees, and it was ridiculous after constant 78 F degrees I’ve got used to back in the Stable. The clock displayed 12:25 and this meant half and hour ago a lunch break started in our technicians’ room. I could bet my rump on that Steel Wire is going to steal another salad leaf from her talkative younger sister Copper Wire’s plate today. Thoughts of food made my stomach rumble - it has actually been a day since I had any considerable meal, not counting a chocolate bar. I had conflicting feelings tearing me apart: some part of me actually wanted to return home, into comfort and safety, where the most curious thing ever would be a green cable hanging on the wall, reminding me of all the adventures I failed to see. Having this kind of a remainder nearby for the rest of my life was more than I could bear, so I decidedly went on forward, towards the unknown. I kept walking down a narrow path between the rocky wall and the abyss, crawling over larger boulders and jumping over gaps. Here and there the path turned into an icy rink, and all I could do was carefully sliding down, praying I don’t fall all the way down. After the next turn I saw a huge pile of rusty metal. Actually, it was a wreckage of some vehicle. Whatever sheathing remained, was of dirty yellow colour, and a triple pink butterfly symbol was visible. I recalled an image from “Equestrian Ministries and Departments Guide”: this was a logo of Ministry Of Peace. So, that meant I was on a right track. The wrecked vehicle obstructed my way and I had to crawl right through it. Something crumbled under my hooves. I lowered my eyes and immediately regretted it. Black scorched bones protruded from under thin layer of snow. I realized that bones and corpses everywhere was all I saw on the Surface. At this instant my PipBuck emitted a high-pitched beep and a lonely red dot appeared on my EFS. A deafening roar thundered behind. A predator! A huge one, covered with shaggy white fur, it stood higher the path, where I just passed and prepared to jump. Its paws were strained and its membranous wings spiked aside. And yes, I knew this creature exactly: Daring Do did run away from one of those. A Man-ti-core! I could feel hair standing up on the back of my neck. This. Is. Not. Good. The beast charged towards the wreckage, roaring, and I jumped as far behind as I could. I could hear metal grinding as the manticore tried to free itself from the trap. Its claw has gotten in between the metal sheathing. Taking advantage of the beast’s confusion, I unfolded the holster and gripped my teeth on solid pistol handle. I pointed the gun in animal’s general direction and attempted to summon the Arcane Targeting Spell, but the PipBuck made a shuffy beep and displayed an error. I remembered the day I got my PipBuck: the technician said “You won’t ever need SATS, right?”. Wrong. I just did. The manticore pulled its paw fiercely, but fruitlessly. I aimed to the monster’s head and was able to see its piercing blue eyes, full of pain and rage. The heavy gun in my teeth wavered, I hit the safety latch and clenched my teeth. The recoil sent my head back and the bullet went high, hitting the wrecked sheathing. I hoped my next shots hit the animal’s forehead, but, as if on contrary, the beast emitted a deafening roar of rage and started to break through the vehicle, bending its metal “ribs” aside with incredible force. I ran away. Clenching the gun in my teeth, I ran, without looking under my hooves, jumping over boulders automatically. I didn’t turn back but the manticore’s ocassional roar told me it’s too early to slow down. My run ended abruptly by another vehicle, this one being almost intact. I jumped through the doorway and realized there was no other way out. I’ve just driven myself into a trap! The manticore dashed into the vehicle, bending its board inside, showering me with glass. I bent down and crawled towards the doorway, hoping to sneak past the raging predator. My attempt, however, was interrupted by a huge paw with razor-sharp claws: the beast was wild, but definitely not stupid. I backed into a far corner of the vehicle and desperately tried to think of something. A window! Right above me, in the ceiling! More like a hatch, narrow and glassed, but if I drop my saddlebag with all equipment... Nonono, no way! The whole vehicle started to lean. It seemed like the manticore decided to shake me out, right into its jaws. The predator swung the wagon and I rolled inside like some piece of junk. With a thud the wagon fell down and the ceiling became a wall and a wall became the floor. That’s it! I dashed towards the narrow window and hammered it with the pistol’s handle with all force I could muster. For Celestia’s sake, how sturdy it is? “Everything for your safety. Diamond Glass, inc, division of Ministry of Image.” They owned every window in the Stable. The window cracked, but remained in place. Meanwhile, the manticore reached somewhere atop the wagon and started to tear its sheathing sheets apart. My firm buck caused the glass to finally fall away. Now useless gun holstered, I started to squeeze through the window. Of course, my saddlebads stuck and I had to unfasten them. Immediately, my pursuer’s huge head pushed through the roof, followed by a mighty paw, catching the saddlebag’s belt. “N-no way!” - I shouted, sticking the PipBuck in the manticore’s face and hitting the “strobe” mode. Apparently, the creature didn’t like it, as it loosened its grip and I pulled my belongings into the hatch after me. “No luck for you today, little one” - I thought, raising on my hooves. It was too early to celebrate victory so I charged with my last effort, throwing the saddlebags behind as I ran down the path. I could hear the wagon falling into the abyss behind: the predator simply pushed it aside and ran on after me. What a determined one! A stone, a branch, some rusty metal... Normal jumps, side jumps, sliding jumps - I’ve got really skilled in these... The abyss! The path broke off into the abyss! Behind me is the raging manticore, ahead of me is the precipice. Here it is, the flight I dreamed about! I reversed a few steps and ran down the path, flapping my wings fiercely. On the very edge of the slope my hooves left the ground and continued running in the air. I flew! No, I actually controlled my flight, rather than being just another snowflake in the rough wind! The manticore made a disappointed howl, loosing track of its prey. “Take that, bastard!” I teased behind. Boy, did it deserve it! I flapped my wings as fast as I could but soon I realised that it was not speed that mattered, but the force of the flap. This was the mistake I did every time before. Now that I could control my flight, I could fly wherever... Suddenly I felt a wave of weakness, and my flaps became dangerously slow. I remembered the headache pills label: “Three hours - weakness, flying prohibited!” Screw it! I certainly had some weird kind of luck: a failure followed every considerable success. The abyss’s edge was close but I had to turn right in order to catch the wind. The wind brought me to a ledge some thirty feet higher than I aimed. Landing, and at least, not a crash. Breathing hard, I fell into the snow, face first, while pushing myself away from the abyss with my rear hooves. I crawled until I faced the rock wall, leaned to it and tried to catch my breath. Before I could make a couple of steps, I found a tin can, that once contained canned beans. Oh yes, I remembered a joke some technician made. From the times of Stable’s construction, there had been a poster hanging on the wall of technicians’ room, advertising these particular beans, featuring some slogan, like “Saving your beans through centuries. Wartime Food Concern”. There was a tin can painted with its lid pointed towards the observer, and some joker drew the number “96” on it. Actually, I did not even know how to treat this joke: after all we were actually canned, preserved to fill Equestria with qualified specialists and knowledge. Although, I doubted anypony was going to open this particular can in a century or two or even five... I’ve been a whole day up here on the Surface and all I saw was bones and no alive intelligent being whatsoever. It seemed like there were nopony left at all to open the Stable from the outside. And here goes another corpse! A few feet away from my landing spot I could see a brown barding from under the snow. I’ve already got used to the dead so I started to rake away the snow, already knowing whose remains exactly I was going to see. “Hello, Maney Brown” I said quietly. * * * The wind was determined to blow me off the ledge. The ledge itself was plain and empty, save for a lonely dead tree, its trunk protruding from the rocky wall. I tried to turn Maney’s body on its back to reach into his pockets. The corpse was deeply frozen and still kept some resemblance to a pony. I justified my unplanned act of marauding by my desperate condition. If I fail to find anything useful on this Celestia-forsaken cliff, I would decease right there, next to this Maney fellow. “He must have pockets in his barding. And the pockets are filled with all sorts of stuff.” Of course, I judged by myself, but I truly hoped other ponies filled their pockets with useful things, too. The barding was sturdy and was frozen to the body, so I could not rip it off even with my mouth. Actually, I managed to rip off its hood and saw a grinning skull. As expectable as it was, I still recoiled in disgust. However, I did manage to find something useful: the dead stallion still clenched his teeth on an ice-pick. Was it destiny, blind luck or a sign from above, did not matter. I preferred to call it a coincidence. Having seized the ice-pick, I started to chop ice around the stallion’s body. Every strike cause a pain in the back of my head, but I was prepared for worse. His barding actually had two pockets: one of it was empty while another contained a pocket watch with a thin metal chain - the most useless thing in given circumstances. I carefully turned the corpse on its back. The barding’s lining rotted almost entirely, and I discovered an obligatory flask with some liquid inside deep inside his ribcage. Quite symbolic, isn’t it, Maney? The poor fellow, apparently, had a really unfortunate fall: most of his ribs were broken. I instantly remembered my night fall and thanked the Goddesses for a couple of wings on my back. I did my best to cleanse the flask from, ugh... Okay, it’s no time for disgust. Whatever, I unfastened the lid and poured whatever remained inside of me. A familiar taste of “AmberMare” spilled warmth all over my body, but my empty stomach protested. Doing my best to ignore it, I retrieved an alpine safety cord that was covered by Maney’s remains. The cord was followed by a heavy double-barrelled shotgun, damaged beyond repair. However, I already knew hos to use it. * * * What I was doing at the moment was the most dangerous and reckless thing of anything I ever had to do. I hanged over the abyss on a safety cord. It’s upper end was snapped to the shotgun I secured in a fork of the dead tree. I swung from side to side, desperately trying to stick the ice-pick into the cliff I aimed to. Every swing brought me a bit closer, but then I swung back, with an ice-pick in my teeth. The darned tree could snap any moment, but I preferred not to think about it. Somewhere deep inside of my mind I decided that if luck could be measured from one to ten, I’d have mine somewhere around seven. Next time I approached the cliff, I nodded powerfully, driving the ice-pick into frozen ground. The Dodo Pendulum stopped and the safety cord stretched dangerously. I hanged right over a bit of stony soil. I could feel myself being pulled backwards and downwards at the same time and this was not a pleasant feeling. The cord was too short to let me reach the ground, and I understood that this setup won’t keep its state for long, so I hastily tried to unsnap the shackle with my rear hoof. Thankfully, the lever was large enough, and the very moment the ice-pick started to plow the iced earth, the safety cord went off into the void like a slingshot with an audible snap. I fell on the rocks, belly first, and this was painful. I could almost see sparks of pain burst from my eyes, followed by tears. I turned on my back, trying to ease pain and catch my breath. Fortunately, my ribs were apparently intact. I retrieved a painkiller from my med-kit and reckoned I would have to put it away: one of its side effects was weakness and drowsiness, and that I could not afford. I stood up on my hooves and started walking up the path, peppered with rocks. I did not understand that moment that I actually was a perfect victim. My lavender pink hide and blond mane contrasted to white snow. I could neither fly nor run away. Actually, I could barely move my hooves. To cheer myself up a bit, I remember an old Pre-War rhyme about the Winter Wrap Up. I didn’t remember the lyrics too well. The only image I could recall included pegasi and a particular pink earth pony in warm and cozy blue jackets pushing snow down the rooftops. Every time I forget the lyrics I started humming the verse from start. In the end, I’ve got stuck at the moment where pegasi push away clouds, giving way for sun beams and then I got completely discouraged. * * * The landscape changed. The left edge of the road was into abyss no more, and the path became wider now. It meandered between large boulder that obstructed my field of view and I had to realy on my EFS and my luck. And I sure hoped the latter was on my side, for I could not wind another run from a manticore or any other agile beast, whatsoever. Good thing not every winged creature can fly. I remembered manticore’s tiny wings, unsuitable for flight, and smiled to myself. After the next turn the boulders ended and the descend became more gentle. I’ve been on the Surface long enough to get used to all shades of gray and brown around me. That’s why a lone yellow point on the horizons immediately drew my attention. I retrieved the griffon’s one-eyed binocular, I examined this bright spot, which turned out to be another carriage. This one had large wheels and apparently used to roll the ground instead of flying. Unlike the ones I met before, this one was cleaned of snow and, from the looks of it, inhabited Until this moment the only evidence of sentient life on the Surface was, as weird as it may seem, the fresh corpse from the cavern I emerged from. And now I saw a dwelling, obviously created after the Catastrophe, and that told me that ponies or whatever creatures they turned into, still remained their sapience. And that meant I could try to find some common ground with them. And whoever inhabited this colourful dwelling, was at least a curious sort of person, as now I could see the whole vehicle was turned upside down. And then I saw the most interesting detail: the vehicle’s board featured a large wind rose. And of all possible wind roses I saw the one that was exactly the cutie mark of Daring Do! LEVEL UP! (3) New Perk added: Adrenaline Rush. In critical circumstances you move faster and more agile than most ponies. New Quest Perk added: Nestling’s Flight. You learn to fly, step by step. But remember: low strength or endurance may end your flight deplorably. Author's Note Alnair's Notes. Now it feels like we've managed to get the story running, haven't we? I would like to thank everyone who left their comments: they do help us make the story better. I would also like to thank the artists who dedicated their works to "The Fossil". You can find them on DeviantArt. For those of you who might wonder what Dodo actually looks like, here is Lucky's own rendition: http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d5p61vq I absolutely love to see more artworks! And, also I would like to point our readers to another awesome fic I truly enjoyed reading. It's called "Wild Wasteland", by ClickClackBrony. It's as interesting as it is hilarious. Keep up the fine work, Click! Jester Chapter 03: Jester Yes, I love coincidences. And this sort of coincidence left me no choice. I hustled up, but it still took me about ten minutes to reach the vehicle. Even when I went downhill, I could beraly move my legs - so much they hurt. I could hear soft rumble of a small generator fixed to a wagon’s door. Of course, I had no intention for robbery. However, I really wanted to find out what was inside. Daring Do’s mark promised the vehicle’s owner could know something about her. Maybe, there even were some book that were not present in the Stable’s library! What if... Well, there could be dozens of ‘ifs’. I walked around the wagon, peeking into windows. Unfortunately, there was no light inside and almost every window was covered by a faded curtain. Even with my PipBuck’s light on all I could see was a pile of cardboxes in a corner. Then I climbed on an improvised porched and pushed my muzzle towards the door’s glass. It was almost at the ground level - remind you, the vehicle was turned upside down. Peeking into darkness I understood I’ll find out nothing until I’m inside. And the door begged to be opened, even if with my muzzle, as it was latched only with a tiny hook. I had no more strength to sit there and wait for whoever lived there. The temptation was too strong. I pushed my head inside. When I saw something that my PipBuck light illuminated, I fell back on my rump, bewildered. A sinister silhouette of a zebra with glowing red eyes looked directly at me. It was a poster, with a scarlet background, so the silhouette cast a shadow on a line of chained military ponies. Obviously, these were meant to be prisoners of war - their pale uniforms looked more like prison robes and a huge round iron weight appeared just like in a “Showflank Redemption” book. Underneath this exposition of wartime pony misery was a classic slogan: “Better bullet in a head, than become a zebra's friend!” The poster looked definitely menacious, but the rhyme reminded me ponies were not so much different from zebras, after all. Also, I decided this poster has been painted by a unicorn: I could think of no way an earth pony could push the gun to its noggin and pull the trigger at the same time. Anyways, the best way to get over a scary thing is to make fun of it. So I coped with my inital fright, entered the habitat and went on exploring. Unlike previous vehicles I encountered, this had a particular scent inside - not of rot or rust, but of dusty cardboard. And the most spectacular was that there was really warm inside! After all those ours outside I almost forgot what Stable’s 78F could feel like. And it was definitely was much warmer inside. I was all covered in snow and it immediately started to melt, and I left wet hoofprints all over the wagon’s wooden floor. It was clear that this strange house has been rebuilt with skillful hooves. Probably, once it was no different from any other wreckage I found, but now it was a true apartment, with furnishing, a lot of shelves around and a real wooden floor. All parts of the vehicle’s original interior have been unscrewed, turned into appropriate position and screwed back again. At the far end of the wagon lay the cardboxes that I saw from outside. Each one had a letter inscribed with marker. Whoever inscribed these letters, had a terrible handwriting, so I could discern only “A”, “E”, “P” and “O”. The latter one had been offhandedly pushed under a folding table beneath a boarded window. I pulled this one out, casting a whole cloud of dust around. It was all like our Library’s archives, and I thought the cardboxes must have contained books. One can imagine my surprise when I found quite a collection of pre-war vinyl discs inside! I landed my rump on the floor and started browsing through faded envelopes. True to the inscription, this box contained discs with perfromrs starting with “O”. I’ve picked one, and the label said “Omnipony - Equestria in Grey”. I found it gloomy. Another one was Octavia. Surprising, isn’t it? I’ve seen most of Octavia’s albums before, in my father’s collection, but there were a few I have not heard before. One particular disc caught my attention, it was called “DJ Pon3 feat. Octavia: Live in Hoofbeats!” The cover artwork featured a pair of enormous loudspeakers and in front of them stood Octavia and some other white unicorn mare with an acidic blue mane. A pair of huge violet shades covered upper half of her face. I’ve never seen this mare before. She hugged Octavia with one hoof familiarly, with cello pony’s face expressing both perplexity and embarrassment. The white unicorn mare, however, smirked and looked confident. Instead of her trademark cello, Octavia clenched her hooves on an instrument of a most spectacular design. Well, it actually looked a sort of like a cello, but basically represented a curved frame, decorated with red and blue luminous gems, with strings attached to the frame. I could see a cord, going from the instrument somewhere beyond the picture. An arcane cello? This thing looked weird and, and the same time, fresh and cool. And I had no idea what exactly it could sound like. Putting the curious envelope aside, I pushed the cardbox back under the table. Searching for a some kind of playing device, I noticed an old refrigerator in a far corner, by the door. My starving stomach sent another alert into my brain and, being fully aware of my wrongdoing, went towards it. Suddenly, I could hear a brief rustle, and a yellow point appeared on my EFS for a moment and disappeared instantly. I turned around but saw nothing. “A radroach,” I thought. Back in our shafts they used to appear and vanish in a split second. Darned quick creatures. Good thing a good screwdriver stab or a shocker charge was enough to calm them down forever. Muttering “Celestia forgive me”, I pulled the refrigerator door. A clang told me my effort was in vain. “Of course, there is a lock I missed”, I noted. Examining the lock, I reckoned it was no different from ones used in fuse boxes. I have already retrieved a suitable screwdriver from my sleeve pocket and prepared to insert it in the keyhole, when I’ve suddenly got deafened with a terrible blow. A combination of can grinding, a preforator drill, and a crying screech, vaguely reminiscent of a cello, suddenly broke out behind me. I dropped the screwdriver and jumped on all fours. Bloody hell! I unholstered a pistol, which, by my calculations, contained only a couple of bullets after my manticore encounter. I aimed the gun in all directions, hoping to catch an invisible foe in my sights. At the same time I drooped my ears in a desperate attempt to dampen the unspeakable wall of sound around me. A slow, pendular rhythm countered rapidly changing bending, ear-tearing sounds, that summoned a perfect chaos, disabling me from concentrating on anything. “Come out! Enough hiding! Whoever you are!”, I muttered, trying to light up darker corners of the wagon with my PipBuck. I was not going to kill anypony, but I sure hoped my adversary would prefer to keep his distance. The horrible noise ceased as instantly, as it exploded seconds ago. At the same time, I felt somepony’s hoof on my shoulder and knew I’ve just got owned. “Spit your gun, or you’ll swallow it one day,” a mare’s voice sounded right at my ear. The voice was calm and mocking at the same time. I shook my head vigorously in denial. “Nuva!” “What?” “I said: never!” I said it so legibly, that the gun fell down on the floor with a thud. “Oops!” I tried to bend down to pick it up but met my captor’s another hoof’s resistance. “Now, now, let it lay there, girl. Nopony perforates my house until I say so.” So, here’s the mistress. I peeked at my PipBuck to see a lonely yellow point in the middle of EFS compass. This promised some negotiations without hooves on so far. At least I hoped so. I stopped pushing my adversary with my wings and she loosened her grip on me and said almost protectively: “See? It’s not that hard.” The mare’s voice had a strange accent I’ve never heard before. But at least we were speaking the same language. “Now, who are you filly, and what are you doing in my house?” “Filly?!” I gasped in indignation. “I have my cutie mark already! And my name is Dodo!” “Oh, what a funny nickname.” “It’s a... name!” Yes, I’ve considered that my name for a long time already. It was not as long and fussy as my given name. “Whatever. Still, you’re avoiding my question. Touching somepony’s else belongings is a reason for a good spanking!” I did not take her words seriously. I had two thoughts on my mind that were way more important: first, where this conversation could lead to and second, what’s that strange accent? “You won’t do that! You’re neutral on my compass!” I parried brightly, as this conversation’s tone started to annoy me. I heard a playful chuckle. “You don’t say!” The EFS point suddenly became red and then I heard a fruity slap... Of somepony’s hoof on my rump! What the hay! Two slaps followed and the fact that they were dampened by my rough cotton shorts did not make me any happier. The last time I’ve got spanked was in my fillyhood, when I got caught jumping upwards to the Overmare’s window, knocking on it and then hiding under the balcony. “Stop it! Ouch! I - saw - a cutie mark - ouch! - of Daring Do! That’s - why - I came in!” “Whose cutie mark?” I heard no surprise in the mare’s voice, only disbelief. “Mind you, I can keep spanking you all day.” “The symbol on your wagon. The wind rose. It’s Daring Do’s cuite mark! You live in a house with one on its wall and know nothing about it?” “So what? Is that a some sort of a mysterious sign saying “Free food here”?” “I could have exchanged that for services!” “Now that’s interesting! What kind of services, if I may ask?” I could hear my captor’s voice become playful and interested. “I could have w-washed your laundry! Or c-cleaned your room! You... pervert!” Stumbling at every syllable, I almost spat the last word. The pony burst out in laughter in response to my lame accusation. “Oh yes, I am a bad girl. Seriously, you should have seen the look on your face now! Pity you’re already pink.” “I’m lavender! You’re so...” “Annoying? Fascinating! You’ve broke into my house and dare to complaint!” “I don’t!” “Then what are you doing?” This pony started to get really annoying. It felt like on every one my word she had two. Besides, she had a nasty habit of starting speaking even before I finished my sentence. I turned my head to the right a bit and then I noticed an old mirror on the wall. Through it I could see my face, all dirty and haggard, my messed mane and... a grey zebra with green playful eyes and pale stripes on her face. Her white smile contrasted with her long sleek black mane and her whole look was like she was ready to start laughing again at any moment. “So, you’ve found me, filly. Nice to meet you at last. Listen, I don’t know who you are and where you crawled out from, but I’m going to release you now, and you are not going to run, scream or do any other sort of stupid things. Okay? And then we can have a sweet talk about cuite marks, Darling Doom and stuff. Otherwise, I’m going to catch you again and then I’ll spank you until you become as soft as filly’s bottom.” “Alright. Only, it’s Daring, not Darling...” “Whatever.” I could breathe deeper now. Nopony held me now, so I made a few steps and turned around, towards the zebra mare. Now I could see her better. The wagon’s mistress wore a cape of grey and green patches. She also wore trousers of the same patched pattern, covering her cutie mark. Looking at her face, I realised this was neither a zebra, nor a pony, but something in between. As if somepony painted stripes over a grey pony. It was exotic, almond-shaped eyes that ruined the illusion. I tried to come up with some polite way to ask her what she were exactly, but I could not finish my thought. My body swayed. “Filly? Where are you going?” My vision blurred, my legs gave way and the last thing I saw was a couple of grey hooves I fell into. * * * Well rested and fresh, I trotted down the mountain path. My bags were filled with food and the gun had been thoroughly reassembled and oiled. The weather got better, too. This morning was so friendly and calm that I expected the sun to come out any moment. As I jumped over another boulder, somepony called me: “Dodo!” I actually thought I heard that, but soon the familiar voice called again: " Hey, Dodo! There you are! - I stopped and turned towards the voice. To my greatest surprise, I saw Copper Wire standing higher up the path. This stubborn pony managed to get out from the Stable and find me! And, judging by her neat, almost perfect, appearance, she managed to avoid all the obstacles I met. "Copper?” Was all I managed to say before the little unicorn dashed into me. Despite her tiny stature, she tried to give me a bear hug. I found it funny, but then she said: "Dodo! You’ve made us all worry! And worst of all, you’ve made me worry! Why, you know how much I love you!” And with that she tucked her muzzle into my neck. I could feel her tears on my hide. I tousled her mane and pushed her away gently. "Yeah, I do.” Now I had better to drive our talk to a safer ground, so I made my face look as serious as possible. I looked strainght into Copper’s eyes and said: "But now it’s me who’s going to worry. The whole Stable must be looking for you, Copper. Losing two technicians in one day - that’s a bit too much, you know. Copper looked at me upside from under her ruined mane, like an offended child. "Silly Dodo. It’s you who they are looking for. The whole Stable. When we’ve realized you managed to get outside, the Overmare canceled the upper level lockdown. It was dangerous to blast all that concrete, but now the Stable is connected to the Surface, like you always dreamed! Copper paused to inhale some air. "You know, Dodo, I so so much happy it was me who found you!” She winked at me and smiled in absolute happiness. I looked at my young admirer and I could feel my cheeks burning red. But my curiousity has got the better of me: "But how exactly did you manage to get to me? There seems to be only one way here, with a deadly abyss in between.” Copper’s smile turned into a proud grin. "Levitation! Or, rather, self-levitation. If we unicorns don’t have any wings, this does not mean we can’t fly! - With that, she put her hoof to her horn and knocked on it lightly. And then I heard a loud clap. A small red point appeared on Copper’s forehead and blood spurt all over me. Copper Wire’s eyes rolled up and she collapsed.” I turned around and a bullet hit me in my neck. Trying to hold the wound, I watched the walking dead in a torn barding with its cape dangling aside. Maney Brown aimed a compact revoler right in my face. Then he shot again and I fell into the snow face first. * * * I was alive. Lying on my belly, I desperately tried to inhale. My muzzle sticked into something soft. “Copper’s body,” I thought dreadfully. I had no wish to open my eyes, I felt like burning all over my body and my throat felt sore. I turned on my side and cuddled. Little by little, my mind cleared, my ears caught a repeating metal clang and my congested nose discerned a smell of cooked food! For startes, I was in compartment. All those bloody nightmares I saw were just a bad dream. I have never dreamed such abominations since I had my time in Stable hospital, covered in bandages. At least I felt safe for Copper now. Now it was time to take care of myself. My whole body was numb, my rear leg emitted dull pain, my mouth was dry and my stomach remained empty. I stretched and turned on my back. I’ve been wrapped in a blanket and, worst of all, I was completely naked! I opened my eyes and saw a baige ceiling with a dim lamp - apparently, a night-time illumination. I layed in a hammock inside the familiar wagon. My clothes have been neatly folded next to me. Despite my fears, that strange striped pony (somehow I treated her as a pony, not a zebra), has done nothing bad to me. And there she was, sitting next to the refrigerator and cooking something with a soup ladle, fixed on her hoof. I sniffed, curious about what was that she had been cooking, but immediately started caughing badly, attracting my mistress’ attention. She turned towards me and narrowed her eyelids, pleased. "Now, good morning, filly.” She cooed. I was too weak to get angry. So I turned towards her slowly and got out only two words: "Do Do...” And turned back towards the wall. My voice was unexpectedly hoarse. I started caughing again and could not stop. I’ve caught cold. Marvellous. I wanted to stay alone, to gather my thoughts, or at least try to. And I also needed to wipe my tears, caused by caugh. I would hate to make my ‘savior’ think I’m crying out of self-pity. "Are you denying a breakfast in bed? Mind you, there will be no second call.” The word ‘breakfast’ made me stop caughing and stick my head from under the blanket. The striped pony stood over me, smiling as usual. "Okay, at least you are hungry.” The striped pony winked and picked a small pot with her teeth. I forced a smile. "Even if this is made from radroaches, I’d eat it all - so hungry I am.” And after a thougt, I added, “Yeah.” "Well, then you’re lucky little one. It is made of radroaches.” "Very funny.” I replied, making a sceptical face. "Hm, you’re a swift learner.” The striped pony held out a hoof and said: "Jester.” I bumped her hoof weakly and raised myself on my elbows a bit. My new acquaitance scooped her brew from the pot and carefully poured it into my mouth. I’ve read before, that when you’re hungry, even the worst of food would taste good, but now I could say firmly: this soup was delicous. Even despite the only ingredient I knew were cooked carrots. I could smell spice - back in the Stable I used some, too, but here the thickness of soup depended on the base. And although the base tasted like dried mushrooms we kept in the Stable since pre-war times, was something else. With every sip I could feel my strength come back to me. Besides, the hot soup warmed my sore throat and the spice returned my sense of taste. Jester kept silent, as she watched me tucking into her soup. I could see satisfaction on her face. It was not until I licked the pot clean that I could adress the striped pony by name. And I tried to make it as friendly as possible: "Listen... Jester. You know, I used to be a somewhat good cook. Pray tell, what is this soup made from, actually? It was delicious!” Yes, I meant it. "I told you, it’s made of radroaches.” Jester’s voice was deadly serious. “Kheck!” The comprehension of what has just happened made my eyes buldge. Not only that was the first time I tasted meat, the worst thing was, whose meat I’ve just tasted. However, it was too late to spit, and I had no intention to force it out. Now I could see Jester literally shine with joy. Apparently, she used to set this sort of ‘traps’ for the unsuspecting for her own enjoyment. “Darn, I wonder what her cutie mark looks like”, I thought, but then I decided she may have none at all. I looked at stripes that covered her face, almond eyes, remembered her strange accent. All in all, I decided a straight question was better than guessing. So I made my face a bit easier than “Sweet Celestia, I’ve eaten a cooked radroach!”, and said: "Jester...” "Not on the floor! Here’s the pot.” She interrupted me again, and, apparently, she thought I’m really just a filly, fit only for troublemaking. "It’s not a about that!” I snapped. “It’s okay. I’ll survive.” "No doubt. Nopony died from my soup.” Darn, she’s impposible! "Je...” I paused, expecting her to throw in another embarrasing line, but she patienly waited me to continue, smiling with corners of her mouth. She even turned both her ears towards me. "...ster.” I exhaled and coughed. "Wot?” "I keep thinking: you’re not exactly a pony, right?” "How perceptive. My father was a zebra, and my mother was a pony. I am what is called a hybrid.” I could not read a single emotion on her face now. She mastered her mimics perfectly. "Then why are you keeping that terrible poster? Ain’t it a little bit offensive towards your ancestors?” "I think I’ve overestimated your perception.” With that Jester pointed her hoof to the darker corner of the wagon, where I saw another piece of paper. ”Point your light there.” I had to twist my hoof in a most uncomfortable manner, but in the light of my PipBuck the shapes on the wall turned into a poster. This one was in blue and violet. But, actually, it did not differ much from what I’ve seen before. This one also featured a ‘menacious shadow’ theme. An effective device, never too old. But this time it was a pony soldier, with a bloody serrated knife in his teeth. He cast an alicorn-shaped shadow on a zebra mother and a filly. The zebras pushed their backs to the wall of a destroyed building and watched the soldier with eyes full of fear. Beneath the drawing was a weird ornament of triangles and spirals. Jester commented: "It says “Nightmare comes with a load of sorrows, do you care for your tomorrow?”. How is it towards my other ancestors? I remained silent. "Say, here you are, a pegasus. And pegasi are not exactly welcome in the Wasteland for closing up the sky at the Last Day.” "For what?” Now I could see why there were no stars outside and the dawn could barely pierce through the grey wall of clouds. "Girl, you don’t even know such things... When the first balefire bombs fell, the pegasi have separated themselves from the surface with a cloud curtain, taking away the sun, the moon, and the stars from those who remained on the ground.” "But that’s...” I stammered, feeling tears coming from within. “How could they?” "That’s it. Everypony got their hooves dirty during the War. And these posters remind me of that. Believe me, I’ve picked through all sorts of ruins, and saw enough traces of both sides’ evil. So what, should I feel guilty for those who lived and died two hundreds years ago? Or should I repay my ancestor’s sins?” I tried to apply the situation to myself. If Jester’s words were true, the pegasi have doomed the whole Equestria to starvation. And all this snow around... But was there any of my fault? "No.” I replied firmly. "Then don’t think about it and live on.” "And how do you live?” It seemed like the conversation has finally went on. The normal way, at last. I hoped to find out more about my new strange acquaintance. Something just kept telling me there had to be a lot of interesting things happening to her kind. "I dig throught the garbage.” "Eeh? Why? Are you a cleaner?” "A scavenger. All the junk scattered around is more than just empty bottles and smashed cans. The local ruins contain a plenty of ancient hardware, and all sorts of curiosities that not every trader could identify. Even works of art. And if you are lucky enough to stumble upon a military camp, you may raid the armory. You will need, however, a set of fine lockpicks and a defense system bypassing skills...” "So, you are an archeologist?” I could feel my heart flutter with excitement. "Well, that’s a bit too much to say” Jester chuckled, “I’m not looking for any ancient treasures of lost empires, after all. One needs to know history and mythology for that. And we are a bit short on universities here, you know. No, Dodo, they call ones like me ‘tomb raiders’, ‘grave robbers’ and ‘marauders’. They usually forget that it is us who provide them with goods in first place.” I nodded and opened my mouth to continue talking about all the strange things in Jester’s house, but she interrupted me: "Alright, it’s my turn to ask questions. Who are you, after all?’ "I am...” I paused. After all I heard, I wanted to picture myself as something worthy. So I called myself what I always wanted to be called. “I am The Adventurer.” "Oh, I bet you are!” This was the first time I didn’t feel insulted by her mocking tone, because I knew she was a sort of right. However, I pretended to be displeased and even put some effort not to stick out my tongue. "Seriously, though. Where did you come from? You didn’t fall from the Moon after all, did you?” “See? You shouldn’t have spanked me, and would have told you everything myself,” I thought. "Where else? There are all those beautyful craters there...” My irony didn’t confuse Jester at all. "Alright. It’s more fun to guess!” Said she and then mumbled to herself, “What kind of rock have you crawled from under?” A brief pause followed, as Jester looked somewhere to the side. And then she eagerly followed: "Let’s start with simple thing. Judging by your uniform and that thing on your leg, you’ve emerged from some sealed underground shelter.” "The Stable.” I noted. Jester pretended not to hear me and followed: "The weird thing is, as far as I know, the pegasi Stables have been constructed separately, and they all are devastated by now. And all the pegasi now live up there,” Jester pointedly raised her hoof upright, but, seeing a misunderstanding in my eyes, explained, “behind the clouds.” And then I decided to finally cool her down a bit. "So it has never occured to you that I could have been born in a regular Stable by wingless parents?” "Oh,” she said perplexedly, “I did not know such things happen.” She gave no sign of disappointment. She just kept on speculating: "Now, about your cutie mark. I examined it carefully while you slept.” Jester looked at me pointedly, and I bet I’ve become all red. "So you stared at me while I was asleep! You! You...” I suffocated with indignation. "I counducted a thorough medical examination.” "Eeeh? What?” A row of obscene thoughts rushed through my mind, as I recalled some... leisure journals I’ve found one day in the technicians’ locker room. Amazed by my own naughtiness, I noticed Jester’s look. But of course! She expected me to react like that. Enjoying he own success, she continued: "And you’ve bandaged your leg really well. No, I did change the bandage, but was sorry to cut it off.” I promised to myself to never again fall into Jester’s ‘traps’, but I was not sure I could do it. It seemed like she had a whole warehouse of hints and ambiguous lines prepared, especially for me. "So, your cutie mark tells you’re good with electrical equipment, if only your special talent is not piercing red worms with lightning strikes.” "Hey!” "And, after all, you are not long here. A day or two, maybe. Am I right?” "How did you know?” "Your barding’s collar is dirty with sand and soot, but its fold is clean from inside. The same is true for you pocket flaps. So, am I right? Huh, Adventurer?” "Y-yes...” I’ve read some detective stories featuring a detective pony named Sharing Hopes, who could use a solitary hoofprint to tell not only a criminal’s age, sex, and species of the criminal, but also could describe his habits and his manner of speech. Apparently, Jester used the same method. Anyways, I cound not deny her observancy. I had another thought, however, and not as pleasant, and I decided to voice it: "Maybe, you’ve examined my bags, too? Say, searching for the clues?” "No.” Jester frowned. “We scavengers respect such thing as ‘khabar’ - ‘the loot’. And your respect towards another one’s loot determines what kind of Scavenger you are. So, only external exam.” The change in her tone told me I’ve insulted her with my idiotic suspicion. The only thing I could do now was to excuse and wait for reply. "Sorry... I didn’t think...” "You should think, filly! In this place, the ones who do not think, or do it too slow, tend to get in situations very soon. Damn, we almost know each other already. But what if you say something like that to a complete stranger? One may just spit in your face, and another may shoot you - just so, for a lesson.” She sighed and continued her tonguelashing: "I guess they people were right when they told me you Stable folk are like mares from the Moon. You know nothing, and instead of looking around yourselves you start bothering everypony with dumb questions, and more, only you can munch on salad leaves, while freezing your arse off, having a can of nutritious manticore paste in your bags...” "Stable folk? As if, in other Stables?” "You don’t want to know.” Jester’s look suddenly became dark, and I reckoned she was right this time. "But...” "Girl, this is no place for you.” Jester shook her head. ”You need to sleep, gain strength. Together we will get back to the Stable...” she nodded towards my barding “...96, right? And while we go there, I’ll tell you about the Last Day, about the Wreck and about my twice removed paternal uncle...” "To the Stable? But why, if I’ve just got out of there?” "I’ll get you back home, of course. Alive and kicking, right in the hooves of your mom and dad.” So, that’s how it is. * * * Jester had to go outside for some business of her own, so she showed me where the lavatory was. Actually, it was what I mistook for an old locker. I could have spent ages looking for it! Also, Jester put a heavy washbowl next to my bed - “just in case”, as she said, and went on dressing up. Then I heard a light switch click, a door bang and then I was all alone with my thoughts. It was deadly quiet in the room, but I could not sleep. According to my PipBuck clock, I was unconscious for approximately 6 hours. But wait! There was a date on the screen: November 7th. I was out cold for more than a whole day! Of course, Jester was kidding when she said “Good morning” - it was dark outside already. I wondered, how serious she actually was. At least, her intention to bring me back to my parents appeared serious enough. Parents. It just occurred to me it was the first time I remembered them since I’ve left the Stable. And it was Jester who reminded me about them. Father. An engineer unicorn. His education was a product of the best of Ministry Of Wartime Technologies programmes. He was a pneumatic systems specialist. Each time any Stable door started malfunctioning, it was him who always made it work again. And this was the least he could do. As far as I could remember myself, he was constantly repairing something. He always had blue papers with white lines and digits on his table, along with some metal cylinders and all sorts of tools - from precision screwdrivers to a huge red wrench. My Mom has told me once, that when I was born, Dad could not even understand - what exactly I was, and how this sort of thing could happen to him. But the Stable had been overcrowded already, so the Overmare has put a restriction: no more than one filly for a family. So, Dad decided to raise a heiress. His skill of tampering with all sorts of engineering descended from him to me. Also, it was him who constantly fed me classical music, and I think he had really overfed me with it. Mom. An earth pony. She worked at the catering department as a chef’s assistant. I remembered her starched apron and rows of vegetables, synthesized by a food talisman, ready for processing. I have no idea how close they were to the real ones, but at least they had different taste. I could also remember a locker with all sorts of spice and a huge refrigerator where I conducted my experiments of turning water into ice. The day I received my cutie mark, mom presented me a small orb made of magical glass with a piece of real cloud inside. It’s base had an inscription: “From Cloudsdayle with love”. By the way, I still had it with me in my saddlebags. Once it belonged to my distant maternal ancestor, an descended through generations. This ancestor was a pegasus, who fell in love with an earth pony. Such marriages were rare in pre-war Equestria, since unicorns and earth ponies could not walk on clouds and pegasi refused to be tied to the ground. However, it was this lucky gene combination that made me so special. When I’ve got my cutie mark, I’ve become an adult. Well, at least according to the Stable laws. So I was assigned to a job, and in a year I’ve got my own room, where I lived alone, listening to music and reading books about the outer world. My parents have long got used to the idea that the Stable was not a suitable place for me. A couple of months ago we had a conversation when I told them that I was determined to leave the Stable, sooner or later. Since then I’ve never wavered in this decision. I warned them that if I ever succeeded, and would not be able to contact them, they should mourn me no sooner than in a month. Also, I’ve told them that I may even not leave a farewell note. And not because I was an ungrateful daughter. I loved them a lot. It was just that you had to leave the Stable unnoticed - the Overmare nipped such ideas in a bud. It was bad that I’ve left so many traces. Now I had about 4 weeks to have a trip around the Surface and then find a way to get back to the Stable with minimal trouble. I could not count on my wings yet. And Jester... Boy, I believed she had no idea where exactly was my home. I longed to see her face the moment we reach the edge of the abyss. Remembering the abyss, I faces another problem: I had only two bullets and a quite weak pistol. I had to do something about it, and soon. Maybe I could offer some of my “loot” in exchange for a box of bullets. But first, I had to persuade her that I had no intention to go back home now. All these thoughts made my head ache again. Jester was right: first of all, I had to recover. I dropped my face into the pillow, stretched my legs and soon I was fast asleep. * * * I woke up in the middle of the night, and, obeying my bodily needs, crawled out of the bed. My stomach was not used to radroach meat, after all. Trying to move as silently as possible, I sneaked past sleeping Jester. She came back while I was asleep and now lay in the hammock, hanging her hoof into the passageway and snuffling. The door to the sacred place looked rather like a wardrobe, narrow and squeaky. Thankfully, inside was not a wardrobe, but a sterling restroom, just like in the Stable, if a bit older and smaller. Returning back in darkness, I managed to hit the washbowl, lose my balance and, after a painful second, fall down with lots of noise. Jester jumped out of her bed as if she was expecting it. Oh no, I could not see her in the dark, but I heard a brief rustling next to me and then I felt her weight on me. You know, lying flat on the cold floor, having hard hooves pushing against your back is very unpleasant. I had to twist my neck badly and hiss: "Get off me, damn it!” "Ah, Dodo, sweet relief!” Did she just...? Gosh, she’s nasty. "Thanks.” She finally let me stand up and shake myself off. Jester found a night illumination switch in the darkness and a dim light shaped her perfectly calm muzzle. We stood nose to nose to each other. For the first time. And Jester turned out to be almost half a head shorter than me. And all in all she was quite miniature. Our eyes met. "Why in Equestria are you attacking me like that?” I asked. "You’ve made quite a rattle. I decided that some of your friends have broken in.” "Are you kidding me?” "Not even a bit.” She replied. “Have it ever occurred to you that somepony would be looking for you?” "Now. Jester. Listen to me, please.” I stressed the last word, and, this has got her attention. Just like at the breakfast, she perked her ears. "You live at the base of a mountain. And my Stable is almost at its top. You know, there is a steel tower up there. And in between these two points is a huge abyss almost two hundred feet wide. There are no other pegasi in the Stable. So nopony would ever look for me here. Mind you, also, that if you are going to get me back to the Stable, you’ll have to learn to run the walls with a considerable cargo in your teeth, as I’m not going to go back on my own. Or, rather, conjure yourself a pair of wings, and carry me on air. I think you zebras are capable of all sorts of weird magic, right?” "We zebras?” Jester arched her eyebrow ironically and I reckoned I have just put a metaphorical hoof in my mouth. "Now imagine yourself a zebra with wome fluffy wings. Have you? Now, forget it and never remember again. And the latter option we do can consider, although it is not called ‘running the walls’, but an ‘alpinism’.” "You know, Jester. I’ve got enough up there.” I remembered a dead tree and a rusty shotgun; only Celestia knows how they managed to keep me from falling into abyss. “Don’t know about you, but I had enough of this cliffs and rocks. I’d rather stay as far away from them as possible.” "Sorry, girl, but I’m afraid you can’t. The mountain chain goes like a horseshoe around the Flashtown and you are where one of its ‘nails’ would be.” When I heard a familiar name, I flinched, hitting a Celestia-damned washbowl with my rear hoof, which made the poor thing hum like a large bell. "You said “the Flashtown”?!” "Yes, why?” Jester was apparently puzzled by my reaction. "Where are my saddlebags?” "I’ve put them under your bed.” Bucking the washbowl away, I dove under the hammock bed. With my saddlebags in my teeth, I trotted to the folding table and asked Jester to turn on more light. How could I forget about the planchette! Jester watched me unfolding the old map with visible interested. Aside from red pencil markings and blue relief lines, the map was almost devoid of color, as if it was covered with snow, too. There were, however, patches of what once was emerald green, pale green and beige shades. This told me that before the War the Equestrian climate was somewhat warmer. The mountain chin really looked like a horseshoe of a kind. They surrounded a pale green valley, and in its center was a settlement called “Polarstern”. Above it, a red pencil inscription read “Flashtown”. "Where did you get a pre-War map of the region?” Jester asked, bewildered. “It must cost a good fortune of caps.” "Caps? What caps?” Jester looked at me as if I were completely insane. "Ah yes. The bottlecaps are not currency back on the Moon, are they?” I browsed through my saddlebag contents and retrieved the old candy can. I opened it and shook some soda caps on the map. "Like these?” Jester clicked her tongue. "Where did you get such wealth?” * * * During the next 15 minutes Jester listened to me telling stories about my adventures. I expected her to interrupt me again any moment, so I rushed. The story did not go out smoothly, especially without the parts I preferred to omit, like my heroic ascend up the tower and the following hangover pills affair. And on the contrary, I described my escape from the manticore in every detail. Jester had never interrupted me. All sorts of emotions came across her face during my monologue. Worry, interest, surprise, even compassion. I could catch only the slightest traces of emotions on her face, but that was enough to understand: she was excited. I finished on the moment, where she sneaked upon me and deafened me with that noise. She knew the rest. I could not tell for sure, but it seemed like now she looked at me with more respect than before. And she kept silent, picking a bottlecap with her hoof. Finally, she smiled and said: "I think I understimated you. Not every pony can escape the hvyt dyret.” "The what now?” "The White Beast. The manticore. And, climbing the lighthouse tower during the blizzard just to repair the light? Girl, you’re crazy! I like that!” Listening to compliments from Jester was extremely pleasant, but I remembered what I’ve unfolded the map for. "Speaking of lighthouse towers. Jester, you’re good with maps, aren’t you?” "” With drafts, schemes - yes. But I’ve seen such detailed maps only a couple of times.” "But can you show me where we are?” I asked. "I’ll try. But I will need a familiar name, but this map is pre-war. All these places are no more. And those that still exist, have new names and new history.” Jester bent over the map, stretching her neck and almost scratching her nose on it. "What was the name of the lighthouse mark again?” "Altitude 472.” "Then it’s right... here.” Jester straightened herself and pushed her bottlecap to the southern part of the map. I took a closer look and noticed a point on a map, barely visible, saying “Stable 96”, next to the bottlecap. The point had definitely been set by hoof - presumably, by this map’s previous owner. The bottlecap reminded me the Stable door with its jagged edges, the symbol that my PipBuck used to mark the Stable on its map. I gulped and said: "Jester. I think I need to know what had happened to other Stables.” "Well, if you insist. Not every Stable had been built in such a back of beyond as yours. And of course they were not separated from the outer world by a convenient abyss.” Jester sticked her hoof in the map. “See? There was a bridge once. Now, there’s the abyss. That’s why you were left untouched.” "What do you mean?” I didn’t like the way she said the last phrase. "Raiders, Dodo. Since they’ve found out about the Stables, they invented dozens of devious ways to lure the naive Stable inhabitants outside. Then, they either killed them or sold them to slavery. Now these Stables are deserted. The survivors would barely be able to remember their life there. I’m not exactly sure, but I think I can bet a hoofful of caps that you are the first pony to come out from the Stable on your own, ever.” A dark silence filled the room. And then Jester continued: "But it is North here. When they run out of the easy prey, they found themselves out in the cold. The organized gangs fell apart and lonely raiders died or went south. Still, you should know: your outfit, this trademark barding of yours and this device you’re wearing is enough to trick you badly. This should not necessarily be raiders, but here’s my advice: watch out, observe, conclude. This will keep you out of trouble. And the main thing is: learn how to ask questions. Better if you don’t ask them at all. But if you really need to do that, your questions should better not be smart.” "But can I ask you?” Jester made a wry face, but then it turned into a smile. "Alright. You have to learn somehow, after all. And I can bet you have a question right now.” "Yes, it bothers me from since we’ve met.” "Something about my parents again? Why are you so concerned?” "Now you’re wrong!” I cheered. “I want to know, how do your refrigerator alarm work? I’ve peeked inside it once more while you were away, but nothing has deafened me this time.” "Oh, that one!” Jester laughed out loud. “Well, you’ve stared at the disc cover so long that I’ve decided to give you the taste of it. I think I’ve just... overdid it with the volume.” She proudly pointed me to the wooden box that hanged above us. I’ve never noticed it before. "Meet “Fiddlesticks Acoustics M6” audio system. Bog oak case, gilded contacts, gem amplifier.” "Just... Wow.” I nodded. I stood in the middle of the wagon, spellbound. Too see such a piece of art in this place was just beyond incredible. “Now, this is better than looking at the photos from the “Waves of Harmony” magazine, small and monochrome.” I thought. My contemplations have been interrupted by Jester, standing with the familiar envelope in her teeth. "So fwat? Are fwe goin’ to try fis one in acfion or fwat?” I nodded affirmatively. Note: LEVEL UP! (4) New perk: Mare from the Moon. You ask too many questions about the world around you. As a result, some pony may encourage your curiosity, while other may... discourage you all the way back to the Moon. Your arguments with Jester has raised your speech skill to 25. Good start. Author's Note Alnair's notes: So, Jester, my own character, has finally made it to the text. Hope you like her. Hope you'll like her even better as the story develop. And I personally adored the way Lucky portrayed Copper Wire. As always, I would like to remind readers that comments are highly appreciated. Falling With Style Chapter 04: Falling With Style The night has brought a lot of snow. The snow has flattened the landscape, but that was only an appearance of things. In fact, I kept falling into snow traps. Before we departed, Jester offered me some weird shoes to get on, that looked more like tennis rackets - she called them ‘snowshoes’. I instantly refused: they were bulky, ugly and they disabled me from using the PipBuck or even scratching my nose. And now I regretted my refuse. Keeping pace with Jester took a lot of efforts, and otherwise I had to speak really loud which was bad for my sore throat. “And where are we going again?” I asked. "To the Butterfly.” "And what are we going to do there?” "We’ll find a bigger gun and a better apparel for you, silly. Since you’re so stubborn and don’t want to go home, we need to equip you appropriately. You’ll talk to people, too. That would be good for you.” I could barely hear her last words. Navigating through shallow places, I managed to fall some ten feet behind Jester. And the darned mare won’t raise her voice as if on purpose. The path curved. Jester’s hoofsteps did too. It seemed logical to make a direct shortcut to catch up with her. As a result, my next step made me dive into snow almost up to my neck. So much for a shortcut! "Jester, waaaait!!!" I shouted loudly and my sore throat reminded me about itself again. My companion stopped and turned around to see if something happened. And when I pulled myself out of the snow pit and finally reached her, I heard: "I told you to follow in my hoofsteps.” We went on and I remembered: yeah, she did say so. But I had no idea she meant it literaaaa...!” I fell again and but my tongue painfully. This time, my legs slid to the side by themselves. “Darn, I’m fed up with this!” With that, I unfolded my wings and made a couple of flaps and then another one. My hooves raised above the snow cover and after some more flaps I reached Jester again. "Oh, hello again, Dodo. I had no idea you can be that fast." And, to my astonishment, she quickened her pace! But now I could keep up with her anyways so I could stop my snow-diving and continue our conversation. "So, Butterfly, huh? What is this place?” "A village. You’re going to love it. Merry folks, pretty music.” When she said “merry folks”, I shuddered. Jester alone was enough for me, with all her constant joy. And now I had a feeling I was going to face a whole Jesterville. I sighed, imagining it vividly. Jester even turned her head towards me. "Why so sour? I can’t speak for the whole Wasteland, but of all places I visited, Butterfly is the friendliest place.” Sure. "What is this ridiculous name - “the Wasteland”? " I cling to the new word. " As far as I can see, there is a plenty of things. There are even trees.” Jester stopped and looked right before herself, deep in her thoughts. I reached her and now stood next to her, gazing at already familiar northern landscape. Our path went along the top of a mountain ridge. To the left and to the right I could see snowy ravines and distant ridges, its shapes blurred with fog. And here and there you could see some trees on the mountain slopes " conifers, apparently. Backgrounded with snow, they did not appeared green, as I used to see them in the books, but rather black. But unlike the dead tree from the abyss, these ones did not appear dead at all. "When Equestria died, the most of its territory turned into the wasteland, literally soaked with all sort of poisonous stuff. But the mountains stopped the radiation flow, and the wind moved the fallout towards Manehattan and Hoofington. " Jester made a dark face, remembering something. " So, you’re right, Dodo. The Wasteland is just a common name for what have once been Equestria.” Jester went on and I had to hustle up again to keep up with her. Now I could see why my PipBuck kept silent all the time. The air here was not poisoned, and the radiation did not go beyond my Stable’s surroundings. I did not want to know what happened to the places that received the most of the fallout, but Jester spoke, as if she heard my thoughts: "Mind you, this region has its own dirty places, too, like the Wreck. Once, it used to be a large industrial center with a proud name of Stahlbarn. It’s new name, however, speaks for itself, although these ruins are always crowded with all sorts of losers. Losers without enough experience, guts or gear to stick their muzzle outside a local boozer and attempt a deeper recon.” Jester snorted. Apparently, she did not think much of these ponies. "Eh, and what are they doing down at those ruins?” Jester snorted again. "Picking, of course. Newbies like you. This shithole is crawling with them, trying to find something worthy where everything has been scavenged, like, a dozen times already. Only the dumbest and the desperate dare to venture deeper underground.” Jester spit under her hooves with disgust. "Those who have caps but have no guts, get themselves a fancy hazmat suit and stick to more or less safe places of the former city communications. Those who have no caps, but have brains, spur the newbies underground. Those who survive sooner or later replace their former ‘patrons’. Those who don’t even have brains usually die in a couple of hikes, choking on some poisonous shit or cracking their neck in another shaft. Usual story.” "And what about no caps and no guts?’ "Ah, those. Those are the most pityful sight. Beggars and wasted drunkies. Always dirty, stinking and with opaque eyes. For a cap or two they will tell you an awesome story of tearing a manticore’s maw with their bare hooves, or seeing an apparition of princess Luna with their own eyes. Well, I have no doubts about the latter, there’s so much you can see when you’re high.” I gulped. Jester’s story shook me well. All my disappointment with my little confined world I used to live in has suddenly been double-crossed with a single thought: I was born in a right place and in a right time. What would I have become if I had not been born in the Stable? Another loser from the Wreck kind? And what if my family was a couple of raiders... if they make families at all. Would I have killed and robbed? I even shuddered to this thought. And what about Jester? I doubted she had an easy time. I was almost sure she started her career of scavenger exactly in the Wreck. But she looked nothing like a loser, and even more - she dropped every hint to display she adapted to the Surface well. I wish I could borrow even a little bit of such confidence. "So, are you coming or prefer to stare at the snow?" Wow, Jester went quite far away while I digested new information. I charged to catch up with her, but my hooves slid away again and I rolled downhill. * * * Whenever I dreamed about flying, I imagined it happening in a relatively straight trajectory and farther from the ground. Hell, this was not flying, this was falling, and without style. I rolled down the slope, hitting snow-covered rocks every now and then. Earth and sky replaced each other rapidly, and I lost my sense of space. “More bruises incoming” " I thought in between two particularly hard hits. Some deep instinct told me to brace myself and not to wave wy hooves in the air. Then, a familiar sense of weightlessness came, followed by a crash into the snow, face first as usual. I heard an unpleasant crunch in my neck and then I stopped. My attempt to stand up and shake myself off failed. The morning radroach soup was about to come out in an unnatural way and I tried to make the world stop from spinning with my hooves, fruitlessly. I had to fall on my side to keep my breakfast inside. The world kept spinning around me and I decided to wait until the sky become one again. "Are you alive down there, filly?" Jester descended down the slope as if she was sliding. Darn it, how does she do it? I waved my hoof to her. "I don’t want to disappoint you, young one, but you’re doing your flying wrong. And stop looking at me like that, you’ve been barely scratched!" Jester came closer, looking down at me calmly. Oh boy, how I wanted to say something really unpleasant in reply. The world still tried to sail away from me and the snow melted under my collar in a most disgusting way. "And I see you’re making progress in your archaeology stuff.” "What are you talking...?” Jester interrupted me and pointed her hoof somewhere behind my back. I turned around and found my involuntary descend to end at the edge of a huge pit, like a scoop, with one side open to the abyss. The pit was filled with much deeper snow, and on the edge of it, something big and long layed, hanging over the abyss. Some kind of an prolongate construction or, rather, a machine, painted in grey. And almost entirely covered with snow. I could not realise what that was exactly from my point. "What is it?" I looked at the striped pony and saw her eyes sparkle with excitement. "Now, girl, it seems you’ve discovered a whole aircraft.” * * * We descended down the slope of the scoop with great care. I had my ice-pick ready in case I fall again and Jester layed rope so we could get back. At first I though the aircraft layed horizontally, but the closer we went, the more obvious it became that the whole machine had an angle: its tail was raised and its nose looked down the abyss. At the pit’s bottom I realised this was not the only illusion: the machine was much bigger than I thought first. Even despite the most of its body was under the snow, it was clear that a whole dozen of those carriages I saw before could fit inside this one. "Jester, have you ever seen such aircrafts before?" I could trot the snow much faster now, but I still lagged behind the grey mare. "Only on the ad posters. But I heard they were quite popular cargo transport those days. They delivered mail, cargo and sometimes - ponies. I bet this one is the Cloud Brigand, developed after Sky Bandits became too small for the war needs. "Sky Bandits?” "You said you’ve seen some weird carriages without wheels. Those are Sky Bandits. They were driven by a single pegasus and could take up to a dozen ponies with luggage.” "That has to make a couple of tons of weight. How is this even possible? " I failed to imagine a pegasus powerful enough to pull such payload. Jester stopped abruptly and looked at me as if I just put my rear hoof in my mouth. "Dear, do I look like a pegasus to you?” I had nothing to say to that. "Sweet Celestia, you’re so easy to disarm. " She shook her head dramatically and then her face suddenly changed to smile. "I’m not much into mechanics. It’s Hack Wrench who could tell you everything about these vehicles.” "Hack Wrench? You never told me you’ve got another pegasus friend.” "Actually, you’re wrong, little girl. She was an earth pony.” "Ahem, and what was her interest in the Bandits then?” "Oh, this mare was obsessed with the idea to repair one of those Bandits, not too far away from the village. She found the blueprints somewhere and turned her house into a whole warehouse of spare parts and cords. The Bandit is still there, unfinished.” "Why are you speaking in past tense? " I asked carefully. "She was good with mechanics and locksmithing, and she went on. But she could not cope with the wires " all those batteries and power lines were beyond her talents. And the worst of all, she could not find a pegasus nearby. You see, who needs a vehicle with no driver?” I nodded. "She came somewhere from the south and she could not handle the cold so well. So, in the middle of the winter she packed her saddlebags and left. “ "Well, I can relate." I answered, shivering with cold. “Bad climate it is. And I thought something bad happened. To hell with such thoughts”. "She told me there is an engine in every Bandit that propels the vehicle. The pegasus only steers it with the mechanical harness. And I doubt even she could tell you how to steer this thing." Jester pointed at the buried aircraft. We stood near its tail. Its huge keel was pointed towards the sky, the sky that was ready to burst into another blizzard any moment. The true sun could barely pierce the cloud curtain, but the airplane’s tail was decorated with another one - Princess Celestia’s cutie mark! Apparently, it was a some kind of insignia. I could read a partially worn label below, saying “Ryal Wnged Mil”. "Are we going to read somepony else’s mail?” "Sure, Princess Celestia’s love letters." Jester mocked. Jester’s word made me feel uncomfortable. Well, of course I knew Princess was made of flesh and blood, but saying such things about her... It’s blasphemy. "Hey, Dodo to Jester, come in! " Jester waved her hoof, without her snowshoe, before my face. " Are you going to spend a whole day outside? "Huh? " I think I’ve just got carried away with problems of theosophy. "Of course not. But how do we get inside?” I could see no doors that we could use to infiltrate to aircraft. They, if any, seemed to be buried under the snow. "And how would you have done it?" Jester undid her saddlebags and started picking through the contents. "Well, I will use the door. Probably, with the aid of hammer, ice-pick or some other property destruction device.” Jester even stopped picking through her saddlebags to that. "Well... If I fail to pick it with my screwdriver first." I pretended to pick the snow shyly with my hoof. Did I just managed to surprise her? "Then dig.” "Where?" I started to feel dumb again. "Right before yourself." Jester returned back to her saddlebags, apparently determined to find something in there. I estimated the snow at the fuselage. There had to be no less than five feet deep! "What, right with my hooves?” "Well, personally, you may use your hooves, why not." Judging by the silence, Jester has finally managed to find whatever she was looking for. I turned my head. Jester had a small portable shovel in her teeth. * * * "A window is fine, too." I shrugged. The two of us stood at the bottom of a small pit, dug in snow with our collaborative efforts. I had no intention to do that again. I examined the rim of the round porthole on the Brigand’s side. "Now we only need to open it..." I reached my head to retrieve the screwdriver from my pocket, but my movement was interrupted by a sound of a powerful blow and breaking glass. "...carefully.” Jester unholstered a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun, short enough to grip her teeth on it like a pistol. “Fo? Hoo firft?” She didn’t need to ask me twice. Excited by our excavations, I eagerly started inside, but a hard grey hoof stopped me. “Filly, you either do not listen to me, or you’ve got your memory blown off with snow.” I blinked in bewilderment. It was the third time she called me ‘filly’. It seemed like all the impression I made with my story back at her van has just vanished. “What’s wrong, Jester?” Jester winced as if she’d just eaten a rotten carrot. “You’re worse, than a sheep on a minefield. Do you really have no idea you are going to open your back to me?” I really had no idea at all. “What do you mean?” The petite striped mare dropped her shotgun to the ground and spat. “There’s nopony you should trust in the Wasteland. Nopony at all. You saw a shotgun in my teeth. What stops me from shooting in your back?” My jaw dropped from such a twist. “But you have just saved me, Jester! You’ve gone through a lot of trouble to get me back to life.” “Well, you’ve helped me carry your loot. So now I can shoot you for your belongings.” I could not tell if she was joking or not. I could feel the group slipping away from my hooves. “This is your vulnerability. There is no reason a Wasteland dweller should not kill you, no matter what he said or did before.” I did not believe her. I could not, I did not want to believe this. “Ponies don’t act this way, Jester.” I pushed her hoof away with force and went into the porthole, leaving the striped mare behind. Inside was dark and it smelled like humidity, rust iron and all sorts of other materials, whose smells I did not recognize. I jumped down, lit up my PipBuck and looked around. I’ve said it already that I had no idea how big this machine was. It appeared even bigger inside. I think the plane’s interior was wider and higher than some corridors in the Stable. The interior featured bare steel “ribs” and some pipelines on the ceiling. Apparently nopony bothered themselves with furnishing on a cargo plane. All this, along with round portholes, wooden boxes and metal latticed floor reminded me of ancient ships’ holds from pre-war books about pirates and sea travels. Well, even this plane’s name had a bit of pirate feel for me. But, unlike the ships from the books, everything - or almost everything - here was made from metal, and looked more or less contemporary even after two hundred years. I heard Jester rolling inside noisily behind me. Then I saw some light source ignite behind me and heard an approving whistle. “Jackpot! Speak about begginer’s luck!” Turning towards Jester, I saw a weird picture. Her forehead emiited a very bright beam of light, as if she was... a unicorn? I winked and realised my mistake. There was a hexagonal white gem in a metallic body with a leather belt on her head. “Surely, you know you’ve got a star in your head, don’t you?” I mocked, trying to give Jester a taste of her own medicine. “You jealous?” Of course I was. Such a tiny gem gave about three times more light than my PipBuck. I said nothing, though. “It is ‘LP-31 Lightbringer’. Branded stuff, not a some lame mule counterfeit. Where other toys would please you two times maximum, this little one can handle up to thirty and one extra! Or, at least, that’s what the package said... Tarnation, why does every, even the most innocent thing, sounded almost like obscenity in her mouth? My thoughts carried me away and I felt crimson on my face. Leaving me behind with my mouth open, Jester went on, and her headlamp illuminated more rows of boxes. “Shit, Dodo, it’s like Hearth Warming Eve in November! What are we waiting for?” Actually, I had no idea what should be done in such circumstances. Jester, however, obviously had no intention to lose any time. In a split second Jester was in posession of a red crowbar. Does she always carry all those tools along? Jester inserted the crowbar in between planks of the nearest large container and then forcefully pushed it with her hoof. In five minutes the whole wall of the container fell before our hooves, peppering us with wrapping paper confetti. “What the hay?” After spitting away the paper from my gaping mouth, I dercted the light forward. The whole container had been occupied with a huge old piano. A piano! Who could have thought of sending a piano with a cargo plane this far north? “Hey Dodo, you like classical music?” Jester had been definitely amused with my disappointed look. “You have no idea.” I replied sarcastically. The music Jester had shown me yesterday was a revelation to me. I have never heard such sounds before. Jester explained that such sound are emitted with special arcane devices, assembled on magic gems and spell matrix. Such instruments could be connected to other devices that change the input sound in many different ways. One could build a chain of devices of any complexity and, by adjusting them, get any sort of sound they desired. Such magical framework could make even the sad Octavia’s play sound magnificent. I was ready to listen to this music all night, but Jester forced me to go to bed. I spent the rest of the night cursing the Overmare and the Stable Cultural Council who made sure nopony could get their hooves on anything better than hoof-n-roll records. These elderly and respected but incredibly snobbish and boring ponies have completely forgot the true aim of our Stable and of all Equestrian cultural diversity they left only the most refined pieces publicly available. I guess it was up to me to discover what other forbidden masterpieces have been hidden in the deepest shadows of our archives. Unfortunately, there was only one crowbar and Jester already had it, so I left her to have fun with containers and went on exploring the plane. Some portholes were broken and there were huge piles of snow beneath them, but other than that, the Brigand was in almost perfect condition. I even managed to find a red bag of a weird shape with a stencil inscription saying “Self-rescuer Rebreather. Duration - 15 minutes.’ “Hey, Jester!” I shouted. judging by the sound, my striped companion had a nice time stuffing the bags with some loot somewhere behind me. “What is a ‘self-rescuer’?” “It’s like a gas mask, but with its own oxygen source. You can breathe in smoke or even underwater. Grab it.” Done. The containers, who were just expecting to meet Jester’s crowbar, were left behind and I passed by some lockers with equipment, into the front compartment. A plate saying ‘correspondence’ told me I had a nice opportunity to fulfill my lust for reading. The compartment was a mess. The floor was literally covered with all sorts of wet, rotten and dirty envelopes of every possible size. I picked the more or less intact one and retrieved a twofold sheet of paper. But it was impossible to discern a single word, as the ink has lost its colour and streaked beyond recognition. A canvas bag, also filled with letters, was not in better condition. Apparently, the letters have been destroyed by overall humidity and by water that flowed towards the plane’s front whenever it got warmer here. Disappointed, I turned back towards the tail, where Jester enthusiastically vandalised the containers, but then I noticed a huge steel locker. It said ‘First Class Delivery’. Of course, it enjoyed a considerable padlock, but this could not stop me. There was no way I could break it, so I used my ice-pick and my own weight. It was not an easy deal, but after a moment of swinging on the ice-pick, I managed to lift the doors from their hinges. You see, the bigger the doors are, the worse are the hinges, usually. Anyways, now nothing stood between me and the precious mail! Inside were blue plastic containers. They beared a logo of “Royal Winged Mail” - a white envelope pierced by a golden lightning. The containers seemed to be airtight. I tore a seal from one of them. Inside were some documents on a stamped paper - some contracts and bills with sums of millions of pre-war bits. They were written in a dry style and contained a whole lot of unknown words like “cadastre”, “diversification” and “end user license”. Boy, this was an embodiment of boredom for me. These papers had neither price nor meaning now, and I put them back. I looked down and saw a big crate, also made of plastic, saying “Letters for Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia”. Fascinating! Jester’s joke has just became real. I’ve overcome by confusion, opened the box and went on reading. “Dear Princess Celestia. I know, you can do everything. My dad went to war and disappeared. Please, bring me my dad back. Juno, earth pony.” “Dear Princess Celestia. We went to Polarstern recently. Here mom and dad have serious science business. And it’s is deadly boring and the weather is disgusting here. Could you please tell the pegasi to give us a little bit of Sun? You are the Sun Princess, they must listen to you. Sincerely yours, Orange Spot.” “Dear Princess Celestia. I saw you at the last Summer Solstice. You are incredibly beautiful. I painted you from my memory. I know, the resemblance is not exactly perfect. Please, tell, are we going to be ok? Sign: Nuit Blanche, Cloudsdale.” The painting was on another side of the letter. The Princess stood before the orange sky with a bright white Sun in the middle of it. Her magnificent mane was soft pink with a tiny stripe of cyan. There were faces of ponies on the foreground, but they were not detailed, unlike the Princess’ face, diadem and chest armor. Well, the picture was not perfect, but I guess this Nuit Blanche was definitely a gifted painter. I reckoned that all these letters have been written by fillies and foals. Unfortunately, their dreams, hopes and please have never been delivered. I put the picture away and took another envelope. “Dear Princes Celestya. Hi. My neim is Baton. I was good this year. Dunno why I get stupid paper from Stabletec for Hearth Warmin Eve. Mom say this your gift and it very expensive. I want toy train instead. Hope you don't mind.” I recoiled and retrieved a green piece of paper with Stable-Tec logo. Silly little foal... Every next letter was telling about new troubles of wartime. Torn-apart families, excruciating labor, work injuries, starvation and poverty. Many fillies and foals had no idea how hard it had been for their parents. They believed in better future. Now I could see that even if somepony had been lucky enough to shelter inside the Stables, it had been a loss - a loss of aspiration, of open space, of hard but usual life. The last letter was too close to my own life. “Dear Princess Celestia. Yesterday we harvested potatoes with our whole village. The autumn came before time and potatoes could rot. I worked hard and was all messy. We saved the crops, though. In the evening, when I washed all the dirt away, I discovered I gained a cutie mark: three potatoes. Why?! I always dreamed of becoming a surgeon and heal ponies! Now, with such cutie mark and my rural origins, I may as well forget about Medicine University forever. This is not fair! You are the most wise pony in Equestria. Please, tell why can not chose our own destiny? Neither griffons, nor the damned zebras have such problems. We are the only ones to obey the fate. You may think that I’m the only one disappointed, but this is not true. Maybe it’s time to change something? Hope for your reply, Heavy Duty, Hayfield farm pony”. When I finished reading, I pressed the letter hard to my chest and sobbed. The young colt who merely wanted to help got his life ruined because of his cutie mark. After all, I’ve managed to find a fitting job, and he could hope for no more than rural doctor’s position at best. My hooves trembled so I failed to put the letter back into the envelope. “Enough sad stories for today” I thought angrily and threw the piece of paper back into the pile of other letters. I wanted to push the box back but then I saw the Nuit Blanche’s drawing again. I could not let it remain here. There were two sections in my planchette: the transparent one contained the map and the closed one kept the griffon’s notes. So there was where I put the drawing of an unbeknown pony who lived two hundred years ago. My mood was ruined. No surprise. To distract myself I decided to check the rest of the locker. “Could not be worse” I calmed myself, picking through the middle section that contained yellow polymer packages with white and red stripe and a label “Winged Mail Delivery”. I stashed them on the floor, reading addresses and company names. “Baltimare Utilization Group (Northern branch)” seemed to care for ecology. With great efforts, I manage to tear the package apart with my teeth. Apparently the package still contained the pre-war air, along with snow-white sheets, as if they were printed, like, yesterday. Lots of tables and diagrams. Of course. One had to organize trash processing somehow. Not interesting. “Hydra” private security. “Woona Travel” touring bureau. “Pony Joe’s Donuts” bakery. Soon I had a little mountain of envelopes next to me that contained letters of no interest or value for me. The next one was large and heavy. It had been addressed to a person - somepony named Pepper Mint. Inside was - wow! - a bundle of Daring Do comics! I made myself not to jump and dance around the plane that hung over the abyss. But my heart was ready to jump away from my chest when I stared at the colourful cover - Daring Do crouched under a heavy axe that split her famous hat in two. And the bundle had some five or six stories! I hid the true treasure in my saddlebags and picked the last envelope. It had been sent by some Barbara Seed from Manehattan to a some number mailbox situated in a town of Maremansk. This envelope was different from others: it was bigger and, apart from papers, contained something round inside. It feeled like my souvenir Cloudsdale orb. Well, that was enough to open the package that instant. Good for me I was so careful. Surely, opening envelopes with teeth was a difficult thing to manage, but I did my best to rip only the edge to keep contents intact. I carefully pushed out a very strange sheet of paper. Or was it paper, actually? Anyways, this sheet was much, much older than the dead griffon’s map, and was inscribed with all sorts of symbols - like stars, horseshoes, wings, trees and even more mysterious signs I could not relate to anything at all. Well, it seemed like Jester’s joke about archeology was not a joke at all. This encrypted message that once belonged to this Barbara Seed had definitely had to do something about ancient pony history. “If only this is not somepony’s joke” my sceptical inner voice objected. Sticking my hoof deeper into the package, I picked a mysterious round object. It was a small black orb with barely visible glow. I did not know whether this was a some powerful ancient artefact or merely a decoration. I doubted Jester could tell me what it actually was, so I put it in my saddlebags until later. I carefully tucked the ancient papers there, too - away from the humidity. The locker was empty now. There still remained one place in the plane where I had not been yet - the cockpit. It was separated from the rest of the plane with a thin metal wall. While the wall appeared loose, the door merely fell down as soon as I touched it with my hoof. When I entered the cockpit, I gasped: after the darkness of interior this space blinded me with flooding light through the huge windshield; the windshield was as wide as the plane itself and was partitioned in separate panels. When my eyes got used to the daylight, I looked around. My first finding awaited me right at the door: a perfect leather pilot jacket with fur collar! Of course it was deeply frozen but the cold prevented it from decay. Apparently, the jacket belonged to a pegasus because it had holes for wings and even pockets for wings! Sweet Celestia, it was so cold! I had to move vigorously to make it warm from inside again. As I moved my body, I noticed a weird assembly in the middle of the cockpit. Honestly, I expected to see a pilot’s seat, a steering wheel or something to steer the machine with teeth or hooves. Well, there was nothing like that. And actually, there was nothing at all, put aside some personal lockers, a dashboard under the windshield and this weird installation. The installations itself resembled a big egg-shaped glass case with thick wires going inside. I stepped closer and peeked through the glass, but the frost was opaque. I brushed it with the sleeve of my jacket and recoiled: from inside a dried corpse looked at me. A pegasus, a stallion... I think. The thick wires ended on devices fixes on his body. They plugged a pony into a plane? Why? Apparently, this was the pilot, but I could not understand the necessity of such solution. I had my share of dead ponies recently, and I believed I had many more ahead. I had no interest in watching another one. So I left the dead pilot and his crystal coffin and walked towards the windshield. The opposite side of the abyss was barely visible through the glass. It rose like a grey wall above the plane. I could not see the abyss itself, though, because the Brigand’s nose obstructed my view. I crawled onto the dashboard to see at least something else. I knocked on the windshield frame to shake the snow away. And, as if on reply, that very moment something very heavy dropped on the plane’s rooftop. The huge machine swayed and I fell on the floor on my back. What the...? The answer came instantly. An old friend of mine, a white manticore - the manticore! - jumped on the nose. She was so close I could see my bullet wounds on its face. And, worst of all, it recognized me too; its blue eyes glowed with definitely not cold hatred. I knew this beast was stubborn, but I had no idea, how much! The manticore reached its paw towards me but it stuck in the glass. Unable to comprehend the obstacle, the animal furiously lashed the glass, showering me with shards. Too bad for it I already crawled far enough to push my back to the metal wall. This was far enough for the beast not to be able to reach me: the massive paw lashed across the air a couple feet before my muzzle. Well, at least here I was relatively safe... Tarnation! I was not safe at all! With a powerful jerk the beast tore the whole frame with remaining glass away and sent it flying down the abyss. I thought the beast was too large to fit into the gap, but I was absolutely wrong. The savage hybrid of a cat and a scorpion was incredibly flexible. It pulled itself inside the cockpit and stomped its paws against the glass capsule. The sturdy glass cracked and fell apart into several bulky parts and the plane’s fuselage cracked somewhere under me. With a soft and streaming jump the manticore landed on the metal floor. She pushed the capsule aside, throwing its disgusting contents right before my hooves. Before, I’d rather scream or even shriek but now such sight could not distract me from desperately seeking for anything sharp, heavy on the floor or on the wall. A red. Tubular. Fire extinguisher! I ripped the seal, pointed the horn right into the monster’s face and pulled the lever. A cloud of ice-cold white foam broke out with a loud hiss. “What? Don’t like this now?” I roared. Disoriented and blinded, the manticore attempted to sting me with her tail, but to no avail. I threw the exhausted canister in its head. The animal howled and shook its head, throwing flakes of foam all around the cockpit. Realizing I had no time to lose, I started towards the cockpit door and stopped only when I rammed into Jester, who had her sawed-off shotgun in her teeth. “Whaf the fuh if goin on there?” She asked. I rushed so hard I choked first part of my reply: “...core.” “Cove? What cove?” “Manticore!” Jester’s eyes widened and I realised she was not prepared for this. Or? A powerful blow made the thin cockpit wall bulge towards us and a furry head of my pursuer appeared in the doorway. Feeling shivers in my legs, I pulled my pistol and aimed with my left eye closed. But then I felt a rude push in my shoulder and Jester’s unamused voice over my ear: “Get off the line of fire, filly”. I stepped back and saw that Jester had no shotgun already, but a thick metal pipe with wooden stock. The metal wall opened towards us like a door. The pipe made a deafening thud and some invisible force sent the manticore flying back into the cockpit. Its huge body rammed into the dashboard so hard that the whole aircraft jerked forward and the floor angled towards the abyss. Jester looked disappointed. “Not good” She muttered “What’s not good? That we are slowly sliding into the abyss or that the manticore is coming to her senses?” Her roar of pain made this clear enough. “That the grenade’s detonator didn’t go off...” “WHAT?” I was absolutely sure this metal pipe shot a blast of some invisible magic or something. But... A blinding flash and a wave of hot air washed over me, and the blow was so loud that the Brigand shuddered to the last of its screws. The shockwave threw me down, and the aircraft slid a little bit forward and then its taile started to rise. A contained filled with something fragile slid by me and almost hit Jester in her head, while she tried to bite the grenade launcher by its belt. When she finally threw it on her back, she started climbing up the floor - the angle was not too steep yet. “Cargo door, go!” she croaked, pointing her hoof ahead. Thankfully, we were getting closer to the tail end of the plane, while fire flared behind us, in the nose of the aircraft. There was no way we could escape through the porthole. It took only a couple of hops and wing flaps to get to the cargo door. I unlocked the latches and bucked the emergency lever. The huge door fell down, and a flow of fresh air boosted the fire behind us. Jester, however, had almost reached me already. This crazy mare had her loot bags with her! “What are you doing?” I screamed over the rumble of a huge sliding machine. “We came here not to leave this wooooooow...!” The tail went up abruptly and Jester had lost ground. I barely managed to grip her grenade launcher’s belt with my teeth. My neck bent, but this bastardly mare had no intention to drop the bags! Tarnation, how much had she put into these bags? Desperately flapping my wings, I realized the loot still pulled me down. The tail continued to incline, making a loud and low sound that almost caused pain. It was still too far up to the cargo door, the fire raged below and I could swear I heard a scream of the dying manticore through the rumble of firestorm. “Jester, drop the bags, I can’t hold you!” I remembered my first flight over the abyss. The idea was to flaps forcefully, not frequently, catching as much air as possible with each flap. It looked like it did the trick - I managed to stop our descent and hang up in air. But I could already feel convulsions - the precursors of that my grip will eventually loose besides my will. Jester, however, desperately waved her hooves in the air, and I had no idea what she intended to do. To unfasten the belt? Boy, she’s certainly insane! “Stop it now! If you want us to survive, stop dangling, curse you!” Really, the more she moved, the harder it was for me to keep us in air. Flying up was not an option. I had to think of something immediately or otherwise we’ll soon find our death in the flaming cockpit below. Why does this thing not fall down already? I could feel hot air touching my hooves, and all this time Jester kept bucking, not helping me a little bit. Who’s the sheep on a minefield now? We’re both going to die now because of her damned loot! And then I felt Jester gone quiet. When I looked down, my mane stood on end: still holding her bags in her mouth, Jester used her hooves to point her grenade launcher downright below! “Jester, what are you doing?” “Adding fuel to fe fire” she hissed. She bucked the trigger lever and with a loud thud a grenade burst down. Oh. Shit. The grenade did not go downright, however. It hit the plane in the middle - right where the wings were attached to the fuselage. How could I know they kept fuel inside the wings? Believe me, the grenade explosion inside the manticore was nothing compared to the explosion of the wing full of aviation fuel. Before I could think of anything, the pressure wave embraced me, Jester and her damned bags and launched us all out of the cargo door like a bullet. As I skyrocketed, flames licked me and I smelled burned hide. The huge plane that remained under snow for two hundred years, broke its deadlock below us and finally fell down into the abyss, burning from inside like I’ve never seen before. When it hit the bottom, a monstrous explosion of the second wing blew the remains of the plane, the manticore and the cargo across the gorge below and only then I heard a rumble of metal falling apart and a heartbreaking farewell sound of an old piano. I unfolded my wings and easily landed us on ground. “Bitf, why did it ftuck” Jester excelled in her profanity as I carefully put her on the snow. Actually, I had enough profanity for her in my mind. But, on the one hand, she had just save our lives. On the other hand, though, it were her loot bags that got us into all this. Lying on a sooty snow I looked at my flank. Oh, I wouldn’t have been surprise if I found a new cutie mark there after such an adventure. I left Jester with her bounty and walked to the edge of the abyss. Down there the remains of the plane burned out and with them - my old foe. It looked like this was my first real victory on the Surface. My neck ached and I could barely hold my head upright, but I was full of pride. I felt an urge to say something badass, just to mark the moment. “I always said you need a bigger couple of wings.” “Dodo, who are you talking to?” Jester was on her feet already and almost glowed with happiness, as if she had not been hanging over a flaming abyss on a grenade launcher belt a minute ago. Where the hell did that come from, by the way? “With the manticore. Or, with whatever remained. Where did you get the grenade launcher?” “Found it in the airplane. I just could not miss such a big gun!” I looked at her sullenly. “What?” She was innocence itself. “Every girl can have her own little wishes.” Damn, I could not stay angry at her. Jester was such an incredibly resilient little lump of insanity and she definitely enjoyed it! But I could not just stay silent about what just happened. “Jester, we could have died because of your bags.” “Could have. But we haven’t” She started to untie the bags. “And if it became really tight, I would have thrown them away.” So, this was not tight enough? “But we survived, and we have loot. And if we threw it away, we wouldn’t have it now. Simple Wasteland arithmetics.” “Jester. You’ve risked me, yourself and your loot.” The striped pony stopped working on the rope and looked at me seriously. I already knew she can be serious, so I prepared for a lecture. “So, Dodo, you say you hadn’t risked yourself when you emerged from that Vault of yours?” “A Stable.” “Doesn’t matter. And you hadn’t risked your life when you dangled on a rope, fastened to a rusty shotgun?” “I had no choice.” “You always had choice. You could shoot yourself. Or you could jump down the abyss. Or you could shatter your hooves trying to climb the cliff. You have no idea how many choices a truly desperate pony can discover. But, the most of all, you could just stay down in your Stable and live the rest of your life in comfort and safety. But you made a risky decision and now blame me of risk?” Well, it seemed like Jester was right again. Yes, she was somewhat cynical, but generally, she was right. And I judged the situation according to my habits and stereotypes and not according to what actually happened. Jester’s ability to switch from her insanely playful mood to a deadly serious one amazed me. I started to get used to these changes and, from the looks of it, she preferred to say important things in serious tone. I gave up. After all, we’ve survived, we had two whole bags of loot and we’ve just dropped a huge plane with a dead manticore down the abyss. And this... was awesome! Shit, this was really awesome! Joy started to take over me and I could not help but smile. I remembered the both of us flying up, riding the blast and a giggle came out from my mouth. Then I looked at the joyful Jester with light burns across her face and then I’ve burst into laugh. I fell on the snow and could not stop laughing. LEVEL UP (5): New perk: Property damage. Opening locks with a bobby pin and screwdriver? That’s not your style! You never look for an easy way and invent the most exotic ways of breaking in. Other lock-pickers can envy your inventiveness and stubbornness. Quest perk: Nestling’s flight level 2: While you still can not fly far, you already can take more cargo on a short distance. Talking to Jester, you train your speech skill. You gain +2 to your starting 25 of Speech. Author's Note Sorry for the delay, people. I had to do some nursing for my grandma in a hospital, so it took a bit longer to translate the chapter than usual. So Lucky already brainstorms Chapter 5 as I upload this text to FimFiction. Basically, unlike previous chapters, I was the scriptwriter for this chapter and Lucky added details and emotions - I particularly like his letters to Princess Celestia. Hope you like it too. Please, leave us feedback, both positive and negative. It keeps us going. P.S. We could use some editors. Would anyone like to do it? We need a native enlish-speaker for that. Butterfly Chapter 05: Butterfly “Hustle up, Dodo! It’s a wonderful view here!” My striped companion was already on the top of the mountain pass, while I still struggled to climb uphill, with a huge duffle bag behind, breathing heavily. While I recovered from our adventure in the plane, Jester managed to craft a comfortable harness, using pieces of rope and belts she scavenged. It kept the bag pretty well balanced on my back and was comfortable enough. It took some getting used to, but still it was much better, than dragging the bag with my teeth. We shared the weight evenly, but Jester could still move much faster than me. She gave her snowshoes to me but her natural agility and low weight made up for it: even with the loot, her hoofprints were not deep. “Where are you?” she shouted impatiently, “you’re going to miss such a sunset!” “Sunset? Is it ever possible here?” It took all I had to finally reach the top and drop the bag right into the snow. Enough, we’ll make a halt here. Standing next to Jester, I could feel chilly wind flowing by my face. Fortunately, my new aviation jacket kept me from cold. The wind messed my companion’s long mane, and the frost made her cheeks pink; it was so strange to see a colour play on her monochrome fur. I guess I looked very much the same now. She kept looking at the long golden patch that illuminated the grey clouds and the distant mountain chain covered with snow. The sun! With every moment the pale glowing disc went lower and the golden pikes went dim. My thoughts went back to the Sun Princess - where is she now? I totally was not sure it was her magic that lowered the sun below horizon now. If she was here somewhere, there would be no cloud curtain. Whatever those pegasi may think of themselves. Celestia would simply not allow them to hide the Sun from everypony else. I wanted to get a better look around via the griffon binoculars while there still was a bit of sunlight. But, be it fast walk or our recent adventures that finished it - I could not see a thing through the monocular, and something rattled inside the thing. I put the broken binoculars back into the saddlebag and kept looking around on my own. A small valley lay ahead of us, between to mountain slides. There were trees here and there on the slides, but the surface below was almost free of trees. I could see, however, a black patch of forest far away. In the middle of the valley was a massive and solid building. Actually, this was a whole complex of buildings. When Jester mentioned Butterfly, I imagined it to be a shantytown of old wagons or scrap shacks, but nothing like a full-size fortification built entirely of wood and surrounded by a high palisade made entirely of tree trunks! Really, what I saw was not much of a village, but rather a fort. “Wow.” I muttered. “I haven’t seen such sun for a long time.” Jester replied. Apparently she happened to be to Butterfly often so she could not comprehend a true source of my amazement. I decided not to elaborate and just watched the last rays of setting sun. “Well, grab the ice-pick and onward?” I asked merrily when the sky turned back to its usual grey. “Yep. Just not like the last time, okay?” She definitely meant my rapid descend towards the plane wreck, and I had no intentionally to pull that stunt again. While we crawled up out of that plane bowld, using the rope line, Jester taught me how to use an ice-pick properly. Whenever one goes up or down the mountain, they should always keep the tool ready. If your hooves start to slide away, you’re going to have a moment or two to ram it into the ice or snow and stop your fall. Or, if you’re lucky, even hang yourself over an abyss. Yuck, I had enough of that feeling when I crawled down from that cliff. So, Jester only proved my own guessing to be true. More interesting was the fact that Jester treated it as a melee weapon. On a second thought, it made sense. I would not envy a guy who gets this thing into his head. But now I was going to use it the way it was supposed to be, and I started my descent. * * * I stumbled upon a tussock and veered into the snow, followed by a duffle bag into the back of my head. Fortunately, this happened on a flat surface, not on the slope. Just lost my focus again. “Ah, horsefeathers!” I sworn, and wondered why should this word be a profanity? There’s literally nothing special about it! “Why are you so clumsy?” Jester asked, suddenly appearing aside. “Gosh, her comments is the last thing I need right now!” I wanted to snap back, but as I picked the most vicious words, I realized that in fact I was angry because I was hungry and tired. And, it seemed that my sense of hunger appeared just when I catched a scent of cooked food in the air. And Butterfly side sure smelled of fried potatoes, with mushrooms! We’ve got to get there! I shook off the snow and turned my PipBuck light on to see what cause my fall. It was a tree stump, sawed off neatly, and I could see tree rings clearly. The Pony Scout Hoofbook said one can determine the tree’s age by counting them. And one of the Daring Do books mentioned that they should be thicker on southern side. And now I could check it was true. It wasn’t. The EFS compass pointed directly to the South, and the rings were thicker towards the West. “You have such a serious look one may think you’re up to a serious scientific research.” Jester said, hanging above me. “And no, they are not necessarily thicker at the South. Let’s go.” Butterfly’s yellow lights beckoned, and the smell of food tickled on my nostrils, so I left the stump and followed Jester obediently. Soon we were surrounded by such stumps and it became clear that they remained from trees that Butterfly was built of. The closer we came, the more I was amazed by what I saw. A village, huh? A true fortress with narrow embrasures in wooden walls, high iron gates and sturdy, almost cubic tower that raised over the whole complex. This was roughly what earth ponies’ settlements looked like back when they were a separate tribe, according to history books reconstruction attempts. And probably, the builders of this fortress used the very same books as an example. We went up the slope towards the settlement. As we proceeded, I could hear sounds: some animals screaming. And just when I realized what exactly I was hearing, I’ve been hit by a rust-colored ball of fur, so hard I fell back on the ground. Lying on the ground I could feel somebody licking my nose. “A dog! They survived!” When I opened my eyes I saw this ancient noble animal. As far as I knew, there were dogs in the Stable for some first thirty years or about so. They had to accommodate the confined space and synthetic food but soon they degenerated and died out. This fate, however, befell on all other animals, too, with the only exception of tortoises and snails. The latter, I must admit, could digest almost everything only to fall asleep for half a year inside their aquariums. And, of course, there were radroaches. Those ate everything at all, including rubber cord insulation, keeping me busy with collection their roasted carcasses across the Stable. I hugged the red ball of fur with one hoof and shuffled her withers. “Samantha! There you are!” An unknown female voice. Hearing its name, the dog jumped aside and a couple of pony faces appeared in my field of view, examining my disastrous situation. The faces were Jester and two other ponies. The voice belonged to the beige, almost white, mare with freckles and ginger mane. She wore a free canvas dress of warm grey colour with its collar decorated with... white feathers. Two red braids were tied together beneath her chin - quite exotic. Judging by Samantha playing at her hooves, this was the dog’s mistress. The other pony was a huge grey stallion with a long black mane and furry hooves. He wore a plate armor over a robe of the same canvas as the mare’s one. And behind I could see - there could be no mistake - a spring crossbow! Obviously, the antique technologies I knew only from “Archaeology annual” were of wide use here. I twitched to the side a couple of times, trying to get back on my hooves, but without any support I could only stir my hooves in the air in a most hilarious way. Then the grey stallion bowed his head and simply took my scruff with his teeth and put me on the ground without any visible effort. Back on my hooves, I was ready to kill Jester for making her share of fun of all my embarrassment. But, when I saw a smiling and friendly face of the ginger mare, I chilled down. She stepped closer to me and stretched her hoof, almost as furry as the stallion’s, towards me and introduced herself: “Helga Eulenfeder, a sentinel. I see Samantha liked you a lot.” I freed my hoof from a snowshoe and gave my new acquaintance a hoof bump. “Dodo. Pleased to meet you.” I decided not to clarify my occupation. Actually, I wasn’t entirely sure the Butterfly dwellers knew what “electricity” basically was. I managed, however, to catch a piece of chat between Jester and the second sentinel: “If I may ask, who is this lady with you?” “And this, Olaf, is your new engineer.” “How lucky!” Here it is. I’ve just been negotiated without my agreement. I approached them and tried to insert a word: “Actually, I...” but I catched a piercing look from Jester that intelligibly read “Shut up!” and did just that. Well, she even did not need to nudge me with her hoof, although I could swear she was ready to do it. “Well, yes, I was not quite right. Dodo is an electrician. But I believe, that with some right books from the library, she can handle mechanics as well. Right, Dodo?” When I heard ‘the library’, I nodded, realising there was no way out of this. “Yep!” “Great!” - the stallion summarized and gestured us towards the village. Helga followed him. Samantha was overjoyed and circled around our procession, sweeping next to me every now and then. Jester and I, with our heavy duffle bags, proceeded behind, and this was good because I really was not happy with Jester’s improvisation and had a whole heap of rude objections. “Why have you invented all this nonsense?” I hissed as quietly as I could. “Filly,” she sighed, “it’s for your own good. As we both know, you are not high on caps, right? Neither am I. Surely, will be able to push some loot on the market tomorrow, but the rest will end up at the warehouse. They sell stuff first, and pay caps later. Don’t know about your underground life, but that’s how business is conducted here.” “We’ve got our daily fee of food coupons. You insert one of those into a dispenser and...” I did not finish, because Jester covered my mouth with her hoof and replied angrily: “Whatever, filly. What I mean, is that there’s not many fools in the Wasteland. You know what happens to the fools. So if you want some tasty mushrooms before you sleep, you’ll have to work for it. As I can remember, you were ready for more when you were hungry.” Reminding of that situation confused me. “Well, right... But it is still not right to decide anything for somepony without this pony’s agreement.” “Well, next time I’ll provide you with full freedom of action, okay?” Jester was annoyed now. I guess, she was right again. But how is this? General experience? Probably. She was the only pony I knew on the Surface, but she saw dozens, if not hundreds, of Surface dwellers. Of course she knows better. I guess. Okay, engineer it is. After all, it’s a chance to dig into local library, as poor as it is. I wouldn't be surprised to find there some unknown technical books. And maybe they have some story books, too. But there was something else that I was actually interested in. I cleared my throat and said: “Okay, Jester, I’ll do it.” She looked surprised. Wow. I continued. “But on one conditions: you’ll negotiate with the locals to let me take a look at that Sky Bandit Hack Wrench tried to repair.” “Now we’re talking.” Our escort stopped at the main gate - a solid steel plate, raised some six feet above ground. The opening was fenced by a wooden wall with a narrow door and a square window. I could see a bored sentinel inside who looked very much like Olaf. After a brief talk with the escort ponies he opened the door and let us inside. A wide courtyard opened before us, cleared of snow and lit up by warm light of wall-mounted torches. To the right was a tent with lumber and firewood, with two tiny figures on top. “Told you, it’s Jester! You never believe me.” a tiny voice said. “Look, she is not alone!” a second voice replied, “Have you ever seen that mare?” “Nah. Look at her muzzle, she’s so grimy!” the first voice chuckled. “You know, Jester looks no better. They must have fought the fire.” the fillies - and those undoubtedly were fillies - looked at each other and burst into laughter. “Or, probably, we’ve started one!” Jester said loud and clear. The little sentinels realized they were discovered and dashed to the ground. And then half a dozen of filles ran from behind the lumber tent, shouting “Jester! Jester!”, and we were immediately surrounded. Wow, it looks like my companion was a local filly attraction! Interesting. A tiny little filly with funny short hay-colored braids rolled out of this pile of chaos. The young ones went silent and the little filly asked, looking straight at us: “Jestel’, tell us about youl’ adventules. Pleeease!” “Yeah, yeah! Tell us!” others cathed. And the chaos went on. A door bashed open to my left and an angry mare with a ruined mane appeared on a doorstep of what I initially mistook for a warehouse because of lots of wooden barrels standing next to the building. “Now, children! What time is it, huh?” I heard a loud annoyed voice “Get home this instant, all of you!” A brief silence followed then one of the filles shrieked: “Guys, scram!” and in a second or two the courtyard was empty and quiet like a grave. The door shut angrily and here came the silence. Helga looked at Olaf expressively and said: “Alright, Dodo. We need to patrol the wall. Jester will show you around. It was nice to meet you.” And she smiled in a broad and open smile. Unlike Jester, she had no need to hide her emotions. I smiled back. Helga turned around a made a loud whistle. Samantha appeared from around a corner and waved her tail in delight. The dog paused by me for a moment and then rushed to the mare. I watched her disappear in the dark and then turned back to Jester: “So, what’s about the engineer’s dinner?” “At the expense of the engineer. Let’s go.” * * * We sat at a wooden table and ate in silence. I chewed on a piece of fried potato, trying to understand how different it was from what we synthesized with food talisman. The difference was, actually, slight - the Surface potatoes were a bit more sweet and a bit more nutritious. And it was mushrooms what was really nutritious. Unlike the Stable half-stuff these were fat and hard, almost crunchy. When I saw such a delicacy, I followed Jester’s example and ordered a double serving. Why not, if regular costed 3 caps and double was 5. But I soon realised that greed took better of me and found myself sitting before a half-full plate. Jester, however, had no trouble finishing her meal and I was quite sure she was eager to add mine above, too. But I was not yet ready to part with a fairly purchased dinner - my latest adventures told me that there is no dinner time schedule on the Surface, so it’s wise to stock energy whenever you can. To win myself some time, I decided to bomb Jester with questions. Maybe that will buy me some time to empty my plate, after all. “Listen, Jester. Tell me about Butterfly. You seem to come here often, don’t you?” “What do you want to know?” “Everything. What kind of place is this?” “Well, let’s start with that there was nothing at all no so long ago.” “How long is not so long?” I was surprised, remembering powerful outer wall, sturdy log houses and that massive steel gate. And Jester told me that just some ten years ago there was a thick coniferous forest around a couple of ruined buildings, inhabited by a raider gang. They raided the more civilized places and, unlike those pricks from the Wreck, posed a real threat. After a couple of such raids, the local hunters discovered the gang’s hideout and wiped every last of them. The hunters wanted to settle this place a long ago, so the ruined remains came in handy. Once, these buildings were a Ministry of Peace sanatorium - a recreational facility for long-term illnesses. This was that very “camp” Maney Brown mentioned in his diary. The Ministries always built their buildings to last, so much of buildings’ communications were still functional. That helped a lot to recover the place initially. But for the hunters, this was not enough. Unwilling to bite onto remains of the past, they constructed a genuine fort, designed for autonomous existence. The main principle behind Butterfly was resource management and independence from external trade. Yes, they conducted trade with caravans from both North and South willingly, but in case of the attack, the steel gate fell firmly into the ground and the fort went to the state of siege. The most envious neighbors to attempt to attack this place, but to no avail. The inhabitants sticked to the ‘Earth Pony Way’, that is, they relied on collective labor and mutual aid, and in fight, they prefered cold weaponry or simple mechanical devices like crossbows. Such choice was obvious: most of Butterfly’s settlers were earth ponies. During the summer they farmed and gathered crops, and during the winter, they resorted to hunt. The important thing was that the sanatorium was built in proximity of geothermal sources. That meant there always was hot water in the village. Every single house had steam heating embedded in its structure. Some settlers even enjoyed electricity, produced by a small turbine, also powered with steam. And above it all, there was a mushroom farm next to the sources. For those ponies who rejected meat consumption, this was a blessing. Of course, such an infrastructure required maintenance. So when Hack Wrench left, malfunctions and breakdowns started. The settlers tried to maintain something by themselves, but other places required a specialist. And Jester believed I was just the pony for the job. As I munched on my potatoes, I examined a wall of the diner - a wooden one, with small windows with darkness outside. The mare on the street was right: it was dead of night already. The diner was almost deserted, with the exception of a slouching stallion of unknown age with a mug of booze and the mistress, occupied with drying the plates with a piece of cloth. “Listen, Dodo. If you can’t finish your serving, you’d better say so.” With my mouth full, I silently passed the plate to Jester. “No, you can just ask the mistress to wrap it up and take it with you.” “Uh-huh,” I finally answered, choking the food. “But, you know, I could use something to drink.” Jester rolled her eyes to that and then got up without a word and trotted to the bar. I heard some caps drop and then she came back with a large pitcher of berry brew. “Here.” “Jester, you shouldn’t have...” “Drink it already, filly!” she interrupted, “And I’m going to find out something meanwhile.” And Jester left me alone with the pitcher in an empty diner. The late customer already left and there was only the mistress mare, who silently cleaned the tables. When I finished the drink, I suddenly felt incredibly sleepy. I think I would have fallen asleep right there, if the mare hadn’t hailed me up. “Hey, Stable child, do you need your food wrapped up or not?” “Uh?” I replied drowsily, “S-sure.” Just when I finally received my dinner wrapped I saw my stripped companion outside, talking lively with some stallion. Finally, the stallion passed her something, that blinked in a torch light. Jester trotted inside the diner and told me the news: she managed to get us a cheap bed. The stallion Jester used for loot sale was also a local warehouse storekeeper. He dropped a hint that for a cap or two we could spend the night in one of ancient Sky Bandits that once belonged to the sanatorium and now served as a warehouse. Jester agreed to carry the loot bags herself, but passed me the key and commanded to go ahead - to unlock the wagon and set up the bedrolls. Following her puzzled directions I, obviously, got lost and now stood before the Main Gate trying to comprehend where I made the wrong turn. Of course there were nopony in the streets in the middle of the night, and I was too shy to ask ways from sentinels. I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I realized that it was Jester who made me feel calm in this alien place. And then I remembered I had a navigation software in my PipBuck! Surely, there were no new buildings on the map, but I managed to find a marker labeled ‘Butterfly Sanatorium’. And a ‘Sky Bandit parking lot’ was just next to it; I decided that the locals would unlikely drag them elsewhere, so I headed right there. Well, it was a lucky guess. When I finally reached the wagon, I found Jester sitting by the door on one of the loot bags, entertaining herself with trying to spit far enough to hit a nearby burn barrel. She jumped on the ground as soon as she saw me coming. “You surely know how to take your time, filly. Got stuck in a snow pile again?” Gosh, she called me a filly again, for educational purpose, undoubtedly. It was obvious now that she called me by name every time I was acting right from her point of view. I looked down and explained I’ve got lost. The warehouse lock opened unwillingly and we entered a confined space, almost completely filled with wooden crates and metal barrels. “Eeeeh?” I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “And where are we supposed to sleep now?” Jester illuminated the far corner of the warehouse with her Lightbringer, where a wall of crates was not high enough to touch the ceiling. “You will sleep up there. And I, so be it, will sleep on the floor.” Seeing a shocked and confused expression on my face, she went on: “Well, if it’s too high for you there, we can do an exchange, but who’s the pegasus here, after all?” She didn’t get it. After all these falls, flights and hikes I imagined to see a bed or, at least, a lone mattress, filled with hay and sleep, like, forever. How could one sleep on boards, with only a single blanket to cover oneself, I had no idea. Jester, however, seemed to be okay with that. I flipped on a switch and lit up a lonely lamp under the ceiling and walked to the far corner, where I found a pile of sacks, stuffed with something that smelled far from pleasant, but was soft enough for me. “Jester, this is my spot.” “Well, alright, but flip off the light first.” “Sure.” I nestled atop a pile of sacks, with my leather jacket as a pillow. I decided to stay dressed for the night. Yes, the iron pipe of steam heating emitted steady warmth, but the floor was still cold and humid. I rolled myself into the blanked, turned off my PipBuck light and fell asleep. * * * I was flying above clouds with my hooves stretched ahead. I soared just on top of the Cloud Curtain and the Sun warmed me from above. The Curtain looked like an endless sea, with grey and brown islands here and there, casting shadows on barely moving cloud surface. I knew these were the mountain peaks, the highest mountains of Equestria. Sometimes I saw other pegasi: red, yellow, purple coloured... My brethren soared lightly, minding their own business, or just layed on clouds, bathing in rays of the sun. On the one hoof, I was angry with them, remembering all the cold and grey and snow below, but, on the other hoof, this was not their fault; this all was something their ancestors have done centuries ago. I remembered why I was here. I wanted to fly to a big city above clouds and tell everypony about the Surface below. This was a bit naive, but what if the pegasi would listen to one of their own kind and change something? The sun was getting hot. There were more clouds above the Curtain, too, but they were white and almost transparent, compared to the heavy grey and snowy ones below. It seemed like a weather team has just cleared the sky and it was piercing blue and endless now. I decided to take a rest. Landed on a mountain peak, I poked the cloud with my hoof. The white substance sprang back and I poked stronger, with all my body weight. The cloud bore my weight, so I jumped onto it and fell on my back. It was fluffy and felt so soft and pleasant. I thought I finally found what I belonged to - my element. I stretched all four legs aside, trying to take as much cloud space as I could. I turned on my belly and stuck my nose into a cloud featherbed. And then something strange happened. First, something punched me in my shoulder from below. And then the nearby cloud started to rise like a small hill. In a split second I saw something I expected the least to see in this place. Jester’s head poked from below the cloud, with a broad smile, and said “Hi, Dodo!”. Then, she disappeared, only to emerge again a couple feet from me, breaking a hole in a cloud with her striped body with ash-gray wings on her back. The wings looked huge on her tiny shape. “Wow, Jester, where did you get those wings from?” I asked merrily. Jester flew closer, just next to my face. “Wings? Are you nuts?” The Cloud Curtain shivered, flickered and... I found myself lying on the floor. I opened my eyes only to squint to the bright daylight coming from a hatch on the ceiling. It was morning on the Surface, apparently. Jester towered above me, holding my blanket in her teeth and looked at me with disapproval. “I’ve afked to forket apout this winf nonfenfe alfeady.” She mumbled and then squinted as if examining something next to me. “Now, undress.” I was still lying on the floor, partially on the sack I was sleeping on, partially on the floor and watched my companion in severe confusion. “What? I’m not buying your nonsense jokes now!” “Who’s joking? Just sniff. As if it wasn’t enough that you smelled the whole trip like soot and... ahem, alcohol, now you stink with raw potatoes.” Jester made a face of disgust. “When you undress, shake your clothes well, tie it together and take it outside. I’ll talk to the bathhouse attendant and see if we get hot water and hoofful of soap.” * * * To be honest, I had no intention to leave a wooden tub, filled with hot herb-fragranced water ever in my life. Comforting myself in the tub, I watched the fogged window of the bathhouse and realized this was the first time on the Surface when I could feel really relaxed and unusually clean. We had to waste more than a single bottle of herbal soap, made of saponaria root, to wash my hide to its natural colour. To my deepest tragedy, Jester had a lot of errands planned for this morning, so in just an hour we were already trotting past the wooden buildings of the village, heading to the warehouse where we’ve spent the night. According to Jester, there was a roaring trade going on every sunday at the marketplace. Should I tell you that she was itching to sell our loot as fast as possible, and I was itching to see what exactly she looted back in the airplane. I shivered with cold, because for the first time I’ve been naked on the Surface. Now I had only my PipBuck and an orange towel on my not quite dry mane. We’ve taken all our outfit to the laundry next to the bathhouse. An elderly unicorn marked every piece with a label and then tossed it into a common pile of clothes of the same indefinable colour as ours. When I asked Jester how we were going to find our clothing, she told me that all labels have numbers. That calmed me down a bit. It was the laundry when I first saw Jester’s cutie mark. Well yes, being a half-pony, she had one, even if not quite regular for a pony. It looked more like a zebra folk ornament, just like on that Nightmare Moon wartime poster. The cutie mark was monochrome and looked like as if it was drawn on her flank with ink. It was an eye, but it was neither a pony’s eye, nor a zebra’s. Maybe it was an eye of some other creature? A griffon? Anyways, there definitely was something avian in it. I remembered my last dream and let a smile on my face. Between her clean and brushed black mane, looking a bit longer than usual, and shiny, slightly striped hide, Jester looked particularly unusual. Her tail swayed from side to side as she trotted gracefully. And even her eye-shaped cutie marked appeared impatient and ready for action. Jester rolled out a piece of canvas before the warehouse door, brought several plywood crates and then pulled out the bags, stuffed with loot. “And now let’s see at our gifts!” She exclaimed joyfully, untying the first bag with her teeth. Honestly, I’ve lost my breath when I saw all kinds of spare parts, jewelry, books, stationery, some electronic devices and clothes. And I actually felt like a little filly who got a whole load of gifts for a Hearth’s Warming Eve. Forgetting about everything else, I dug into the goods, fumbling every single item in my hooves and, actually, dreaming to leave it all to myself. I was fascinated by absolutely everything: contemplating every item, I touched that Old World, that existed before the Catastrophe. Even back at the Stable, reading pre-War books and magazines, I hungrily studied all the items that were in use during those ancient times. There were almost no such things in the Stable itself, and we mostly enjoyed items that bore the StableTec logo on them: sturdy, rough, but almost indestructible. And now I faced things of completely different design. I’ve picked a small wooden chest, decorated with gems, and discovered a stock of photographs, somepony’s valuable memories. The pre-War Equestria was so incredibly diverse: some photographs featured rural landscapes with crude wheelbarrows and country ponies, trotting before neat wooden houses. Some others depicted a multistoried conglomerates of concrete and glass cities, with aerodynamic flying vehicles, profusely decorated with chrome and curved glass, glimmering with sunrays. I think, these photographs belonged to a scientist of some sort. Many photos featured the same stallion - a unicorn with reading glasses, demonstrating different technical inventions, be it a sophisticated medical apparatus, blinking with colorful lights, or a hoof-free radio wirelessly connected to a wall-mounted terminal, and even a jet plane, stunning with its exotic shape. The stallion devoted his whole life to building the future of Equestria. The last photo showed him in his elderly ages, surrounded by his children and his children’s children, and backgrounded by a humble two-story house. His glasses were raised above his horn and his hooves held a newspaper headlined “Manehatten celebrates Doctor...”. The stallion smiled. When I finally emerged from other pony’s memories, I found myself surrounded by books Jester retrieved from the bags. Science almanacs and physics textbooks, and next to them - colourful fillies’ fairy tales. These books were not as ancient as I’d prefer them to be, as they have been printed in Modern Equestrian typographic font and were not quite different from the Stable library pieces. Previously, I would have read all of them, but now I did not have enough time for all of them. In the end, I’ve picked about a dozen books regarding mechanics and electrics and some fiction books, and stashed the rest in a plywood crate. Anyways, I’ve already had a perfect subject for examination: the ancient manuscript of Barbara Seed, the griffon scriptures notepad and, of course, the Daring Do comic books bundle! The pile of items grew larger and larger, and the items were so completely different, both by the look and by the purpose. Apparently, the airmail was the main way of communication between the North and the mainland, so ponies used it to deliver absolutely everything. But the most amazing was how few items reminded about the War: either Jester left them behind or this far north the War had a much weaker impact. There was, however, a separate pile where Jester stashed everything related to weapons. Those were spare parts, mostly, except for a pair of light pistols and several magazines from a more serious weaponry. Initially, Jester tried to make fun of me whenever I picked one or another spare part with my teeth, but soon stopped doing that and started telling me names and purpose of the parts. Before I could lose my interested in her lectures, she tossed me a couple of strange items. Both had cylindrical shape, one with a some kind of mount, and the other - without one. Seeing me puzzled, Jester explained that these are pistol silencer and laser sight. I brought my pistol and tried to attach the modifications. The silencer had fit into place just perfectly, but there was no place for the laser sight. I’ve told Jester about it and immediately got a sarcastic look and a roll of duct tape. We used the same in the Stable. When both modifications were more or less in place, I’ve holstered the gun and switched to examining the pile of clothes Jester left right on the snow. The outfits were mostly civilian and were of little use for adventures. I’ve immediately sorted the most ridiculous of dresses aside. There were a couple of nice outfits I could use, if only they were of my size, and an almost perfect military jumpsuit had a terrible hole - it has befallen a victim of humidity. I had an impression Jester stashed all these clothes only to prevent all other things from pounding on each other. “And this, I believe, we can use.” Jester handled me a tiny electronic device, similar to a pocket music player or a voice recorder. “What’s this?” I fiddled the tiny device with an earphone in my hooves. “A walkie-talkie. A pocket radio transceiver. It only needs a fresh battery. It’s a nice thing, actually: voice activated, with a radius of a couple of miles. It even has a manual intact... mostly. Well, shall we push the wares?” I made a pity sigh and nodded. Seriously, we can’t take it all, after all. The marketplace was located on both sides of the Main Gate. Some vendors have brought a folding tables along, while others used empty crates and barrels for counters. Some have even displayed their goods right on the ground, on canvas or card box remains. The goods were of different quality. One could find everything there: from holey shoes and pierced canteens to once perfectly functional grandfather clock and worn “Royal Canterlot Voice” radio with half the knobs missing. Jester, however, preferred a different kind of trade. She was coming to one or another trader and started a lively talk, trying to push the ‘hot goods’ right away. She called ‘hot goods’ items and spare parts the were in most need on the Surface. Some deals were incredibly fast, while others took a lot of talking and arguing, with one pony pointing out the advantages and the other one arguing on its flaws. Against my expectation, Jester has been denied a couple of times, but that did not seem to disappoint her even a bit. As I strolled along the market, I discovered that there were three kinds of currency on the Surface: bottle caps, pre-War coins called ‘bits’ and gems. There was some barter, too, although it was not quite popular: nopony wanted to drag home new stuff instead of a sold one. But it was not the trade what was most peculiar. Apparently, these ponies knew each other long enough: they discussed their deals and even boasted to each other with little rarities they’ve acquired or sold. Their speech was usually straight and rude and their look was not exactly refined, but these were bright and outstanding personalities. Two ponies were especially notable: a stallion with an eye patch and a short cut mare who drank a suspiciously looking booze and swore an eternal friendship to each other, and a silent old stallion who just sat there and silently waited for somepony to buy a pile of water pipes and a couple of brass valves with scratched porcelain levers. And a customer was just there. It was a stalwart earth pony in a worn leather jacket with high collar and a flat cap low on his eyes. He took the water pipe with his teeth, swinged it powerfully in the air and tossed a purse of caps to the old stallion, saying “keep the change”. Then he took three more pipe pieces and went away. I had a strong impression that this fellow had no intention to go plumbing anytime soon. The old stallion, however, was happiness itself. And then I saw them. Among a pile of random junk stood a pair of high beige rear boots - with handy magnet clasps. Noticing my interest, the seller perked up immediately: “Come closer, young lady. The sole is spiked, they don’t get wet, with fur lining and well preserved, too. You won’t find another one in the whole Wasteland. Gonna take ‘em?” “Who would have thought.” I thought skeptically, but asked: “How much?” and got a disarming response: “How much you give?” I truly hoped to hear a fixed price, high enough to prevent me from bargaining. And this was something I was not prepared for. Unfortunately, the pre-War economics books bored me to death, so I had no idea about how prices are set. I kept low attention to Jester’s bargaining, too, so I decided to start with a double price of yesterday’s supper. “Ten caps.” The vendor sneered. “Come close, young lady, you know this is no price for such a wonderful boots.” I lost my bearings. Between “young lady” and my own apparent silly action, I was knee-deep in bewilderment. There was no retreat, though, so I went on: “Twenty...” The stallion shook his head. “Twenty-five.” His grin became wider. “Thirty?” I asked, completely discouraged. The vendor looked bored. “Still not enough.” And then I remembered how other vendors tried to bring down the price for Jester’s wares, pointing out the flaws, like scratches and dents. “I need to examine them. I need to know what I am buying.” “Oh, come on then.” The stallion replied. I took one boot and started fumbling it in my hooves, then the second one. Once or twice I was ready to pick on some minor flaws, but then met the gaze of the vendor who watched me all the time and kept silence. Honestly, it was embarrassing to pick at some insignificant flaws: all in all the boots were perfect. And I gave up. I put the boots back on the counter and sighed heavily, which caused my mane to fall on my eyes. I was ready to die of embarrassment. If only Jester was near, she’d say something like “Come on, filly”, and my fiasco won’t have been so humiliating, but she was far away and was not going to be near anytime soon. The vendor looked disappointed. He scratched his chin with his hoof for a full minute before he sighed, rammed both his hooves into the counter and tilted towards me, making me to recoil involuntarily. “So, young lady. How much are you actually ready to pay for them?” I blinked several times in confusion. “Uh.... what?” “I see you need them alright. You bargained so hard you forgot to try them on!” And then I sticked my hoof in my face, smearing a snow grime I stood in. “Idiot!” “So here’s what we’ll do, young lady,” the stallion interrupted my seance of self-deprecation, “you name the price one more time. And if it’s good for me and the boots fit you, you get ‘em. Otherwise, sorry.” I retrieved a candy can with my caps and put it on the table, and then put some pre-War coins above. “It’s all I have.” I said. The stallion opened the can, emptied it on the counter and counted them. Then he pushed the coins away. “You can keep the bits. I hate to deal with it. The course is unstable as shit.” He straightened himself and continued: “So, young lady, it makes forty-seven caps. Not much, of course, but it’s not the price that matters, but a satisfied customer, right? Go on, try them on.” I could not tell if this was an irony, a mockery or some other weird kind of attitude, either to the situation or to me. I got the boots on in silence and paced there and back again. The boots fit well, if not quite perfectly. And I actually failed to slide along an ice puddle. Now I had a good friction to keep me on slippery surfaces. “They fit you like a stocking, young lady.” the vendor said. “I tell you, they were waiting for you.” “Yeah, I take them.” I smiled and let my breath out. Finally, this game I was too lame to play was over. But I remembered Jester’s lessons and whatever I’ve learned on my own to understand there must be a reason for such a cheap price. “So, what’s the trick?” I asked the stallion, who was busy stashing my caps in a steel box he used as a cash register. “The trick?” He replied. “It was too smooth. There must be reason for you to accept this unprofitable deal.” “See, young lady, the deal was actually profitable for both of us. Seriously. It’s been a long time since I’ve got them I’ve gone desperate to sell ‘em. It’s not easy to find a pony with such a small hoof around here. Even mares look chunky next to you... mostly. So, you’ve got lucky indeed. And for being curious, you get a prize.” He pointed towards the box containing all sorts of smaller clutter. “Pick yourself a souvenir.” He acted weird, if you ask me. However, something was telling me that all these ponies at this makeshift marketplace were not aiming for pure cap income. This was something more, a lifestyle, if you please, with its own codex, rituals and traditions. After a brief excavation, I’ve picked myself a harmonica. My parents used to say I’ve got a musical ear, and my favourite style of ‘moon’ music always involved a harmonica solo, so I decided to try and learn to play this little one. “Nice choice. It’s higher reeds are a bit off, but you still can do something simple with it.” I thanked the vendor and said goodbye, but I made only a few steps when he hailed me again: “And remember, young lady. Next time you get into something, think through the pros and cons. Don’t count on your luck, alright?” This was a good advice, but for somepony else: it was not the first time when impulsive and risky action served me well. I’ve found Jester with her bag half empty already, somewhere in the far end of the marketplace. She looked at me not without interest and asked: “Nice boots. How much?” “Forty-seven caps.” “You’re kidding! Can’t be that cheap.” “So, it’s cheap alright.” I thought and calmed down, telling Jester the whole bargain. As we talked, we reached a two-story building with a bright yellow signboard over the door. The name, pierced with bullet holes here and there, read “GUNS! ‘n stuff.” The shop owner was a fat unicorn stallion with brass-colored hide, in a grey military vest with a dozen of pockets and in huge orange eyeglasses. He was reading a catalog of... gun ramrods. I had no idea there were ramrods catalogs. The unicorn glanced at us above his eyeglasses, and my grey companion retrieved the twin pistols I saw earlier. “Hey Backfire! How much for these two?” Jester chirped, and I knew this was a start of another bargaining, which in fact was more of a friendly chatter than actual caps earning. After my recent boots achievement, I had no interest in their trade now, so I decided to survey the shop on my own. Basically, this was a general store, selling many kinds of goods: from pocket radios and “Lightbringer” light gems, to tin tableware and clothes. Their condition, however, was much better than of goods from the marketplace. But all this was a mere decoration for the main merchandise: the main showcase and a couple of racks were devoted to weaponry, both cold and firearms with a wide set of ammo types. Even the wall behind the cash register was decorated with all kinds of carbines, assault rifles, and even a high-caliber machinegun, picturesquely placed across a banner of some Equestrian infantry division. I remembered Jester loved big guns. “Like it?” The stallion shouted across the whole shop. I faltered. I had no idea what to say. My knowledge of weapons was too poor, and a mere ‘like’ was not enough. I had to admit, this big gun was beautiful, proportional and menacingly elegant. “Awesome thing. I mean... As in ‘awe’.” “It’s a legend.” he replied, “MWT mark II ‘Storyteller’, a 20 mm heavy machine gun, production of Ironshod Firearms. It packs quite a punch, I’d say. It was used both in air and on the ground. A pair of those have been usually mounted in the rear of a ‘Cloud Brigand’ aircraft. It’s only flaw is weight: you can’t use it from a battle saddle. It’s recoil will most likely send you flying in reverse. It’s rate of fire is low - hence the name - but it can tear a power armor in pieces. I’ve heard a story of a solitary zebra legionary who captured a firing point with one of them machineguns. He took away a whole squad of Steel Rangers before a sniper pegasus exploded his head into a pulp of blood...” Jester cleared her throat loudly. “Ahem. Backy, are you going to buy these two or not?” “I thought we were though this already. I’ll set them for sale.” “Oh, okay. Then I’ll just push them at the gate and save me a lot of trouble.” Backfire’s face expression changed abruptly. “What? These guns for those losers?” “Well, why not?” “You’ll break my heart... twice!” “What a tragedy...” Jester said flatly and reached to put the guns back in her bags. I admit, watching Jester treating somepony else was more fun than being treated like this. Of course, Backfire could not handle this and, with a sharp motion of his hoof, dragged the guns closer to himself. Their eyes met. “Caps, Backy. Caps.” And then Backfire suddenly talked to me. “Just take a look, miss, at the unspeakable deed of this heartless kin!” Then he got a bag, apparently, full of caps and then another one. He even took half a dozen caps from his cash register. “Here, you bloodsucker. This is your advance. You get the rest after these two are sold. I’ll take care of them this evening and we’ll see about the rest. This is my last offer.” “Deal.” Jester was calm as a rock. Having reached her goal, Jester made an innocent smile and then talked to me: “Imagine, Dodo, this fellow does have a heart, which is incredibly rare thing in the Wasteland. And this heart starts beating faster every time he holds a gun in a need of repair. He spends nights disassembling them almost down to every screw, cleaning and oiling them, polishing stocks. This is his great passion. And I must admit, with his natural talent to trade, he settled himself well. Don’t count this for ads, but if you need a gun, go to Backfire. His guns do work properly.” Judging from Backfire’s face, he did not expect to hear that from Jester. To smooth the awkwardness of the moment, I decided to ask him about one rifle that got my attention. It featured a curved black body, a large optic sight and a bipod in the front. Other guns were fine, too, but this particular one begged to come in my hooves. “Mister Backfire, this is a sniper rifle, isn’t it?” I pointed to the object of my interest. His eyes sparkled, predictably. “This is the “Scout”. An interesting model. It’s good enough for both hunting and fighting a war. But more for hunting, rather than for fighting. It’s not the most powerful rifle, but I like her for ergonomics and easy aiming. See, how low are the sights are above the barrel? This allows you to make no altitude correction. Also, it is easy to carry, because its length is proportionate to an average pony body. And a composite body makes it lighter. I could leave this one for myself, but I prefer automatic weaponry.” “But how should I handle it?” Obviously, a pony could not hold such a long weapon in their teeth, but I could not figure out how this rifle was supposed to be operated. I kept praying inside not to look like a complete moron, but, despite my fears, Backfire replied calmly: “It’s best to shoot from prone position. You need to unfold a bipod for that. This will prevent barrel from swaying. You can mount it on a battle saddle, too, but that would be uncomfortable as hell. After all, this is not an SMG to spray the area with brass. Let me show you how to aim properly.” With that he took the rifle and carefully set it on a counter. But I had no chance to look in its sight, because that very instant the shop’s door bashed open and something huge, feathered and heavily breathing rolled inside. A huge griffon! I shrieked with surprise and almost sent a weapon rack flying. “Jester!” The griffon’s voice was so low! I’ve never heard such a bass voice before. “There you are!” Jester’s attention was drawn to our new guest completely, but I failed to read any emotion on her face, except for worry. Jester looked worried? “Basileus! What’s going on?” “We’ve got trouble. And who is this filly?” I flushed with embarrassment, but before I could say a thing, the griffon was right above me. “Basileus.” He stretched his huge claw to me. “D.. Dazzling,” I was so shocked I forgot my own nickname completely. “Dazzling Dusk.” LEVEL UP! (6) New perk added: More pockets! Now you know better than stashing all your loot into your saddlebags. Instead, you disperse smaller items across your outfit pockets. Now every item with a weight of 1 or less makes only half its weight for you.
Green LineFallout Equestria: The Fossil. by Lucky Ticket and Alnair. prologue story "Manehattan Noir" can be found here: http://www.fimfiction.net/story/66953/fallout-equestria-manehattan-noir Chapter 1. Green line. * * * “...And remember, trainees. Red - is positive and blue - is negative. Just like in a shower tub: you’d never get burned with cold water.” “A green one! And thick, like a liana. Where did it come from?” Being a Stable electrician for two years already, I’ve learned pretty much every its corner, including communication tunnels and vents. I’ve seen a lot of things, but a dark green line, crawling along the vent wall was something new. Even the fact, that I’ve never worked in Vent 9 before, as nothing has been wrong here for severals years already, did not make what I saw any less weird. However, as weird as it was, I had to finish my job at the site. I’ve inserted an amber gem in a socket, fixed it with a clamp tool, closed the junction box and hit the power switch. Through the box’s glass I could see the gem start emitting a warm light and hear electricity start humming along the cords and ventilation system start working somewhere below. “Hey, Copper!” I screamed down the shaft, metal reverbating with echoes. “Huh? I didn’t touch anything!” reverberations made my trainee’s high-pitched voice sound even higher. “You surely didn’t, ‘cause it was me who launched the circuitry. Do you have the reference book with you? If so, find page 119 and tell me whatever it says about green cables, one third o’hoof in diameter and with green insulation.” “Just a se-e-c.” My trainee Copper Wire stretched vowels in such a funny way so you could easily get it: she does all her best to please me. Actually, she treated me with some excessive care and attention, dropping all sorts of tiny hints I preferred to ignore. On a bright side, I could afford behave with her in a way like I’ve just got my cutie-mark, too. Even though I actually was her superior, I had not wish to be a role model for this little filly. Despite my expectations, my trainee kept a long silence. She knew the reference book almost by heart, but now she apparently has been searching it attentively to give me an answer as exact as possible. Despite her young age and playful behavior, she took her job really seriously. Finally, a voice came from below. “Dodo, you’re going to be surprised!” Copper shouted joyfully, “there is no such thing! I’ve searched both the book and the master’s abstract, but still, it just does not exist!” “Then there is no such cable dangling before me and I am asleep.” I could really use some sleep now. Even a lounge in the Atrium, accompanied with Octavia’s cello howls would be just fine. “Alright, let me get it clean... Looking for markings.. There it is!” “Go on!” Copper shouted. “It’s NS-35 mod 2” “That’s some bollocks, Dodo! I’ve got the best reference book, extended version! There is no NS index at all. The best diameter match is CmC-34 mod 1,2 and 3. Does your one have a rubber insulation?” “No, it’s fabric, and a rough one” I replied. “Congratulations, Dodo. You are asleep, hanging on your carbine and muttering Daring Do-style nonsense. Actually, our shift is long over and you’re still collecting dust up there. Come back down.” “Oh, come on, just release the safety cord and I’ll take a peek, where this green thing leads to.” “Okie dokie...” “Right. I’m going up! Tell Short Circuit not to start domino party without me!” “Will do!” My trainee’s reply chased me from below. Right after Cooper Wire went down back into the Stable chambers, I opened my PipBuck’s microphone and recorded an audio note: “November 5th, 20:35. Evening shift is over. Shift staff: senior electrician Dazzling Dusk, trainee Copper Wire. Problem: short circuit in junction box “9-12”. Result: problem resolved. Three rotary switches replaced, increased capacity filtering gem installed. Note: discovered green cable marked “NS-35 mod 2”, reference description absent. Intention: go up the shaft to determine its destination. Note over.” After I closed the microphone I latched safety hook on a cord over my head and started my ascension. * * * A safety hook is a really useful thing up in the vertical shafts. There are cramps on the shaft walls, so you can latch your safe hook on them, pull yourself up a meter or about so, then latch the hook on a next one and get higher and higher… To make my ascension more fun, I tuned my PipBuck radio receiver to Cashmire Wave’s broadcast. She’s our domestic DJ, who persuaded the Overmare to add tiny two-hour marathon of modern music to our usual all-classic playlist of Stable’s “Symphony” radio station. Now I could get some twenty minutes of energizing hoof-n-roll and flank-swing. It’s not that I hate classical music, but its constant, ominous presence at the Atrium, corridors, lounges and even restrooms was, actually, annoying. The Overmare was quite old-fashioned in her music tastes, as well as many other elders of the Stable. And I wanted something more progressive – as much as this word could be applied to a music written two hundred years back. The cramps ended almost at the very ceiling of the shaft, the cable went into the wall, and I saw a locked airtight door next to it. Pulling myself up and pushing the door aside, I managed to roll myself into a high and narrow corridor, painted grey and soaked with rust of all sorts of metal bars sticking out of the walls every now and then. High humidity caused a thick fog over the concrete floor, the green cable went on by the wall and dim lights flickered under the corridor’s high ceiling. To the left was a doorway leading into a stretched room, with cracked tiled floor and filled with remains of iron beds. After scavenging this long-uninhabited place, I’ve received a couple of mane and tail bobby pin boxes, some pre-war coins and a very old, dark badge with a “3rd degree plumber” inscription on it. Wow, I’ve started feeling like a true archaeologist! Aside from my loot, there was just some useless junk, like smashed bottles and rusty tin cans, so I decided to get back into the corridor. It was next to second corridor light where my safety cord stretched so hard I had to take it off and tie to a nearest bar of metal. Next to the fifth light (and, unfortunately, there were no more lights further) I tripped over some pipe, and it did hurt a lot, so I had to turn my PipBuck light on. It helped not to smash my head into a girder when horizontal corridor started to rise and the green cable disappeared between the wall and the ceiling. I’ve never seen such solution anywhere in the Stable before. The cables usually were covered with plastic boxes or hanged on hooks, but not put into a narrow space, which not every hoof can get it back from; that looked way too amateur to me. The feeling that this corridor does not belong to the Stable came to me already when I’ve pulled myself up from that shaft. Not there were no doubts left: these quarters were not built by Stable-Tec. One mystery now followed another and I hastened up, doing my best not to miss the green cable, which now went along the ceiling. A welcoming voice of Cashmire Wave has said goodbye to faithful listeners and the Canterlot Symphonic Orchestra entered the broadcast. I turned the radio off and went into thinking. Where have I managed to get myself to? A layer of dust under my hooves suggested nopony has been here for a long time. Could it be that I am the first pony to enter these quarters since they were built? As I went higher up the corridor, it became more and more chilling; I could even feel a slight draft. At least there was no fog this high up. To my disappointment, the “non-Stable” corridor ended abruptly and turned into a pretty high vertical well: concrete rings and familiar cramps and the ever-present enigmatic green cable, still going higher up. The trouble was that I have left my safety cord behind. No way was I going to sit down on my flank, chilled by draft and burning with curiosity. There were no cables I could not trace in MY Stable! So it was the first time I used my wings that day, as weak as they were useful from time to time. Wings. Of all the ponies in the Stable, I was the only one pony in the whole Stable who had wings. You see, I am basically the first and the only Pegasus of the Stable born in two hundred years. And this is really. Not. Fun. As a predictable consequence, some Stable dwellers called me mutant, a nature’s mistake and many, many other, less pleasant words. A couple of times it even came to physical confrontations – the last one ended with stabbing me with a horn and spending a week in the infirmary. Even my name – Dodo – was actually a tease. According to the history books, that was the name of an extinct bird which was unable to fly. It ceased to exist a very long time ago, even before Equestria has been hit by a first balefire bomb. But should I really have been insulted by being compared to a bird, even if it could not fly? I pushed myself up with my wing flaps, used my forehooves to hang onto metal cramps, then went again and I again. I wished I could just fly all the way up to the top of the well. It seemed infinitely long, just like Octavia’s “C-Dur cello concerto”, and also it was so narrow that my wing tips almost touched its walls. I had to rest two times, hanging on my safety hook and calming my breath down. A chilling sensation of draft, drilling my spine, disappeared, but exhaustion has stockpiled and it could only be removed by – oh yes! - “SPECIAL choice” chocolate bar (with peanuts!) that I always had with me in my sleeve pocket. I always wondered why “SPECIAL” was always capitalized, but no one in our brigade knew, even our brigade master, Short Circuit. Hanging on my safety hook and munching on the chocolate bar, I wondered: why the hay am I ever going up there? Yes, I could see a hatch on the top, but what if it is welded or has a padlock on the other side? But there was the GREEN cable! There are only red, blue and black cables in the Stable, and some striped ones, painted in colors above – so I just could not help but get curious. * * * My head touched cold metal. I strained my rear legs and set my forehead against the hatch. It was so heavy that with all my efforts I could only lift it a centimeter high, not more. It seemed that its movement was restrained by its frame, in which the hatch sat firmly and deeply. And then I got really angry. My safety hook unfastened, I strained all four of my legs and started flapping my wings in humid, foggy air. Basically, levitating a communication hatch using a pony’s head is a task for a grown-up unicorn with a strong telekinesis. I doubted Copper Wire could handle it. And there was I, all red and wet with tension, hanging over a Celestia-damned well with an iron pancake on my head! Half a second, maybe a whole second… Then the hatch dropped aside and I suddenly went up and rolled in face first. The world went dark before my eyes and I could feel my heart pounding in my head. I shut my eyes and waited for the sensation to go away. When I opened and focused my eyes… I shrieked and recoiled in fear: a shapeless pile lay before my nose, emitting an unbearably nauseating reek. If I were less lucky, I’d fall down into the manhole and die at the bottom of the damned well, but I managed to keep standing on my four unbending legs and staring at the remains of somepony, who died here before me. In the light of my Pip-Buck, I saw a bloated stallion, almost devoid of its equine appearance in ragged clothes of grey and green colour, a grey-haired elder; his neck had an unnatural twist and his leg was broken: I could see the bone protruding from the reamins of flesh. It seemed like the poor buck died right on the top of the hatch, trying to open it from above, and his weight prevented me from opening it from below. I have never seen dead ponies before, let alone so close, that’s why these rotting remains cause an expected effect: I felt sick. I blinked and tried to calm down, but both my headache, this disgusting stench and the very fact of facing death spasmed my stomach. The open hatch came in really handy... Not that it helped much. I was shivering. I could feel the stench even if I breathed with my mouth and my brain urged me to run as fast as I could. But in given condition this was not an easy feat. First I raised my head to seize a new wave of sickness and then I started walking sideways, doing my best not to look at the corpse. I felt my body touching a cold, rough concrete wall and next step I got my hoof into a hole filled with ice-cold water! My PipBuck started clicking rapidly, signalling an excessive amount of radiation, confirming Stable scientists’ apprehensions: even two centuries were not enough for Equestria to get rid of the contamination. I got up to my hooves and felt a warm blood running down my rear leg. I still felt sick. But despite this and the pain, looking almost downright into the concrete floor, stumbling upon some trash I tried to walk as far as I could. Damn it, I’d much rather get myself into a pile of dead radroaches; that would have been disgusting, but still bearable. And watching the remains of a sentient creature, just like you, who died in darkness and damp was a lot tougher to cope with. Dark thoughts swarmed my head and I tried to get rid of them, concentrating on avoiding holes and pieces of plaster on the floor. My PipBuck light illuminated a rough wall next to my left side. I decided to walk along the wall beacuse the light was not enough to illuminate the whole corridor to the right. Apparently, I was in some sort of an abandoned warehouse. There was no sight of containers or anything, but cracks on the floor told me that the cargo could have been evacuated in a hurry. My contemplations were interrupted by a sight of another radioactive puddle I evaded and then I reached the corner of the room which was strangely rough and irregular. It was not until then that I dared to turn around. And all around, as far as I could see, was an uneven floor, peppered with concrete. Another radioactive puddle sparkled far away and I could hear water drop down from the ceiling. My sickness retreated and the corpse hatch was left far behind which made me a lot more comfortable. I tried to get the Stable’s radio frequency on my PipBuck to determine how far away I was. But instead, I could get only static even the omnipresent cello music was not there. There was another frequency, though, that, unfortunately, was just a high-pitched beep repeating every two seconds. I’ve listened to it for a minute or two, but the signal didn’t change, so I turned the radio off. There was a medkit in my saddlebag, just what I needed to patch myself. First, I needed to treat an injure on the inside of my thigh, a trace of rebar. Acutally, Stable technicians have been almost forced to attend to medical courses and now they came in handy. At least, I approved the way I cleaned and bandaged my injury. The bandage came out not too neat, but firm. Now, with half of the medkit depleted, there was one more thing to do. I sat there, in an amber pool of light, surrounded by darkness and tried to comprehend what to do next. Getting back into the Stable was not an option, at least not now. I’ve lost trail of the green cable, and the floor surface was so uneven I had to point the right before my nose to to trip over something. I could definitely use a maintenance searchlight or something... But I still had something, probably not as good... I remembered a trick we used from time to time in the darkest vents of the Stable. There was an image in the Pipbuck’s memory, a plain fill of white - or of amber, in case of monochrome Pipbuck display. I maximized this image and it suddenly became much brighter around! I suddenly realized the place around me was neither a room, nor a corridor, nor a warehouse, nor anything that could remotely resemble a place where ponies could live and work. Moving the PipBuck’s light along the walls, I matched what I saw and whatever little I knew about things and a suspicion started growing inside my noggin, ready to blow outside. I noticed that the walls were irregular a long time ago, but only now I could examine them closely. Actually, the most regular thing was the floor. The walls could have been best described as “shapeless”. They appeared to be crushed inside with a some sort of colossal force. Bobmardment consequences were my first guess, actually, if only the walls were not made of some weird material, different from any kind of metal or plastic we used in the Stable. They were also wet and left dirty traces on my barding. Neither dry dust, nor liquid oil... I decided this sort of dirt resembled a powdery mixture used in water filtering devices. And then I finally realized that the concrete crumb on the floor was not a concrete. This was neither trash, nor rebar. Cross my heart and hope to die! These were stones and I was in a cavern! In a wet, dirty, dusty, real cavern! Just like in the books! I forgot about fatigue and pain that instant. It has hit me that I’ve crossed that very line, which I could only touch back in the Stable library, reading my favourity books about Daring Do’s adventures. Every time she went into another cavern or temple or whatever, I wished I were in her horseshoes. Or at least in her blue-hided sidekick’s, whose name was different in every book, but to see it all with my own eyes anyway! Of course, there were pencil pictures in those books, but they did not help much to understand what a real cavern could look like. Being Master Short Circuit’s assistant was interesting enough, and I liked the engineering, but this was beyond comparison to a true archeology expedition or something. And now here I was in a real cavern, all alone. Amazing! In a dim light of my PipBuck I could see dark damp walls, all shaped in irregular lines and particles of dust dancing all around me. Even the air itself was different from Stable and its shafts. I was away enough not to smell that disgusting corpse reek and I could breathe deep, feeling unfamiliar cold and humidity of cavern air. There were no wind and no sounds and this silence deafened me. I even had to try to talk to myself to make sure I could still hear things. For the first time in my life I faced something as alien and unknown as this space. It was chilling and exciting at the same time. I checked my bandage - the wound stopped bleeding. Little by little, I’ve started feeling creepy and decided to go on. Curiosity and reluctance to get back to that corpse chamber pushed me forward. I turned around next corner and stumbled upon a line of stone “teeth” growing from the floor. I knew these ones were called “stalagmites”, wow. Yes, between the irregular walls and stones under my hooves, it was difficult to navigate through the cavern. I had to watch my step instead of merry trotting and sight seeing. Not that there were much of a sight to see, anyway. However, the slow pace helped me to notice my old friend – a green cable that threaded along the wall, fixed to iron hooks which protruded from stone. The cable looked much older and dirtier here; a green cable looked odd enough even back in the Stable. Here, however, pretty much everything was quite odd. Arching my eyebrow, I followed the green line. “So, it did not end back in that well,” I thought, “where the hay does it go anyway?” The game went on. I liked to think of it as a game, ready to spend my energies to solve this mystery. According to my feelings, no less than half an hour passed when I noticed some change in the air. I stopped and tried to get what was wrong. Right: the air became fresh and more cold. Without wind, constant movement made me all sweaty and now a slightest wind made shiver with cold. From my books I knew: if you’d not like to freeze, you’ve got to move. The spacious cavern turned into a narrow tunnel, with a ceiling sometimes too low for me. At every fork I took the direction of the cable. I often had to bend my head down and sometimes I even had to crawl on my belly, wings tighly clasped, pushing my saddlebag before me. The tunnel was constantly ascending, and that helped me keep faith in succes of this little adventure, but it also took a lot of energy. But, it appeared like the darkness at the end of the tunnel became a tiny bit less... dark, and that suggested the tunnel’s end is near. Surface! Yesterday this was beyond imagination - well, I did imagine it, but had no idea it could become real. Even when I still was a blank flank, I poked my nose into every corner of the Stable and I knew that my home is a confined space with no exit whatsoever. And now I faced a chance to finally see the world we enclosured ourselves from two hundred years ago. * * * “...Stepping forth into a patch of brightest light, Daring blinked unwilligly, and when her eyes accustomed to the lighting, she retrieved binoculars from her saddlebag and proceeded to investigate the area ahead. The objective of her quest, the Forbidden City dwelled in greenery that met no resistance and flourished in windows, doors, on the rooftops and crawled along the walls of the Watchtower, decorated with majestic gryphon statues, darkened with time, yet still menacious. Abandoned centuries ago, the city has still not been ransacked by treasure hunters and thus, still remained in its magnificence. In a distance, the gilded dome of the Palace shimmered under the sun...” I hesitated at the end of the tunnel, dawdled undecidedly and shivered of cold. I knew that instead of the Forbidden City there would be something completely different, something one could not be prepared for. And I was not prepared for this, too. Cold white grains were being blown inside and turned into water as soon as they touched my nose. One could easily guess it was snowflakes, you know, like in the winter wrap up song. Presumably, there was much more snow at the outside, and where is snow, there is ice. I really regretted I had no thermos filled with hot tea with me... Or anything stronger, maybe. I coughed badly, and the sound reverberated across the tunnel, turning my voice alien and unnatural and it even felt like something else accompanied it. Remembering a corpse near the hatch I presumed there could be all sorts of creatures in this cavern, with, presumably, quite a vision in the darkness. I gulped and stepped outside, into the Surface night. * * * There actually was a lot more snow in the outside! It kept falling from above like a constant flow and at first I was afraid I would very soon disappear beneath it. It was fun at first, but soon cold started to penetrate my barding, chilling me to the bone. It was night outside, but the sky was covered with dark grey clouds. I knew it, because the Pipbuck displayed the time - 00:15. My first night away from home. Quite a dubious achievement. Still, this was the night, which, according to the books, always changed the life of a pony drastically. Well, at least, the current surroundings actually were drastically different from where I’ve been some three hours ago. Slowly getting accustomed to piercing cold on my muzzle and rough wind in my mane, I looked around, and saw no bright colours. The picture “Dodo out of the cave” was painted in grey, white and a tiny bit of brown. As far as I could see through the blizzard, I stood on a relatively plain space, which ended with an abrupt fall into darkness. The only way I could possibly go was upwards. Good for me that the green cable went uphill, too, diving into snow cover here and there. I bet, it’s nice and pleasant to climb up the rock in the middle of the jungle. Between warm wind and sun flaring on your cutie mark, hooves pace firmly, anticipating a great adventure. Now I could see why Daring always prefered warm countries with tropical climate! Crawling up the icy cliff, loosing ground every now and then and feeling your barding getting heavier and heavier with snow was much less than pleasant. The worst part was that the slope was not actually too steep, it was just damn slippery and I kept sliding down at the middle of it. After another countless attempt I sat down where I was and desperately looked at my PipBuck. There was a blinking notification on its screen, a landmark: “Altitude 472”. The device had also loaded a map of the location: in between the isolines a bulding was marked as “aux. bldg”. I had no idea where and why did the device store the map of the Surface, but all in all that seemed legit: the ponies were supposed to leave Stables one day, right? So, there was a building up there. I could hide from the wind and get my hooves warm at last. That was a boost I needed to get my teeth clenched tightly on the green cable and fix myself in that position. Having at least a some kind of support under my hooves, I could start a careful ascension towards the rickety iron shack, or the Auxiliary Building, if you prefer. By that moment I hated snow already, but I kept pushing forward with my rear hooves, pulling with my front hooves. I had no idea how to combine this hostile snowy environment with the colourful pictures I saw in the books, and likewise, I had no idea how much longer could I stay in the icy wind, but it was getting obvious, that whatever our ancestor hid from in the Stables, has broken something both in the earth and the sky. I kept crawling that way until I faced a black stone. There was an arrow painted on it, pointing towards a metal tower with the Auxiliary Building beneath - at least I hoped for it to be a building, not a some sort of a trash container. Almost immediately after I passed the stone, I felt a firm ground under my hooves and I finally made it out of the snow pile, shake myself off and take a better look around. Still, there was not much to look at. The metal tower looked like a some sort of an antenna. There were also some dark boulders and a heck of a lot of snow, a lot more than I could imagine being in one place. However, I enjoyed a most spectacular feeling in my life: the absence of walls and ceilings. Surely, I’ve been wet and cold, my head ached violently, and my inner voice kept saying “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Dodo?”, but this particular feeling of a vast room many, many times bigger than the Atrium, overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life I could stretch my wings and care not to break something, like, a fusion box on the wall or a lamp under the ceiling. The Stable was never engineered for pegasi, and almost each and every communication line has been routed right through the corridors for the sake of maintenance. And here I was finally absolutely free to move around! If not for the fatigue and a strong wind, I probably would have even tried my first flight tonight - with a long run up, sharp take-off and falling with style, back into the snow, face first. But not before I scout the windowless building that, despite resembling a trash container, enjoyed a roof and a small antenna dish. There was a small yellow trash container though, and it signalled that somepony had lived here once: inside were some tin cans and empty bottles, embedded in ice. At the opposite side of the building I found a door; it was not locked but the freeze latched it to the jamb. All I had was a screwdriver and I pierced the ice fiercely. Now I needed a little bit of leverage, and... done! I clicked a switch and powered up the light and a terminal on a table. Too bad any heating was either absent or malfunctional. There was, however, neither wind nor snow and that was an improvement already. Leaving the terminal for later, I examined a locker and found a medkit: iodide, bandages, patches, headache pills and - oh yes! - a bottle of a fine “Amber Mare” whiskey. Left there for medical purposes, obviously. Wow, boy! I never before had such luck to enjoy this beauty in any considerable amount. While not strictly forbidden, alcohol remanied a corporate bugaboo around the Stable. And even worse: a drunk technician on a shift could be easily demoted to a cleaning department or something as horrible as that. I believe you understand that with such a treasure in my hooves I could not resist to give it a try... until tears burst out of my eyes and a wave of heat went though my body. Trying my best to catch a breath, I suddenly realized I could feel the tips of my hooves again! My memories suddenly turned back to the Stable, to the elderly Overmare and her hatred of alcohol and everything chaotic in general. Out pride of being a cultural preservation of Equestria has turned us into snobbish and tedious creatures. As much as I loved the Stable for being my home, I would have eagerly enjoyed a fine feast. As much as I enjoyed Cashmire Wave’s hoof’n’roll tracks, I always wanted to turn it louder, much louder than my PipBuck allowed. Or proprieties allowed. I gulped more whiskey and went on exploring the building. * * * A thick bundle of yellow newspapers: “Equestrian Daylight”, “Pony press”, a naughty “Wingboner” magazine poster: a charming young mare in long striped socks! Oh, I could use some like these! From the looks of things, this building has once been inhabitated by a middle-aged stallion and he was all alone. A row of empty whiskey bottles under the bed acknowledged my assumptions. When I tried to power up a RCV-IV radio receiver, it made a popping sound and started smoking. Alright, these ‘Mark IV Royal Canterlot Voice’ receivers have never been durable. I had a vinyl player back in the Stable, made of three RCVs and I even had to raid the Tech Department for some spare parts. The StableTec-engineered terminal, though, was perfectly functional; it required a six symbol password. The password was nowhere to be found: neither on the table, nor on the wall, nor anywhere where the passwords are usually being kept. I knew a solution, however, a fat bearded computer genius in tortoiseshell glasses taught me. He told me that StableTec developed the terminals to be widely used in offices and remembering passwords proved to be almost impossible task for an average user. Whenever a secretary mare or even a CEO stallion blocked a terminal again you usually had to insert a hardware master key to release the block. In order to avoid a lot of useless trouble, a pin pair has been added to the termials’ motherboards that cleared a password memory, if short-circuited with a screwdriver... or a bobby pin. Of course, you needed to unmount terminal’s case first, but I could do that in a jiffy. It took me about three minutes to bring the terminal back to life and start browsing through whatever records were still intact. Record#28 Hell of a weather out there, and my mood is no better. Those StableTec bastards arrived this morning, started asking their fucking questions. What do I know about the dragon’s cavern down the slope? What the fuck am I supposed to know, bitches? It’s a freaking cavern! There has been no food deliveries for... a month? Oh sure, I have a lot of tinned beans and dried carrots to munch on. Record#31 These asshols are sure as hell not short on dynamite. The whole freaking mountain shivers like a house of cards and I jump every time it does. Getting jumpy, heh? I have no idea what kind of fossils they’ve found down there, but I guess sooner or later this fucking shack, this fucking antenna, these fucking beans and me will fall all the way down. Wow. How many bad words... Dodo, you should not be reading this! Record#34 The weather has gotten better, after all. Let’s hope for some food delivery. I hope it would be.... …cause I can’t stand these damned beans anymore! This way I’ll soon get myself up in the sky with a jet thrust. How funny. They said on the radio that zebras are bombing Hoofington again. Good luck smashing your hooves, fuckers! Record#38 These cocksuckers down there came out to be useful, after all. They jacked my shack to their generators, and shit, now I can turn on both the radio and the heater! What did he call a heater, that long box at the wall? It does not heat anything. They keep moving construction materials into that cave. Girders, sheet metal, cable spools. This shit doesn’t look like a mine digging at all. A pegasus fellow delivered food for three - holy shit, three months! Told me rumors about building freaking huge bunkers all across Equestria, just like for those bigshots in Canterlots. Long live the Princesses! And the damned news are getting worse and worse. Zebra maggots have used a freakish toxin at the Littlehorn. Record#43 …rows of refugees. And a Ministry Of Peace transport. Those StableTec faggots have really built a huge buker down there! Like, they’ve pickaxed the whole dragon’s cavern and... ...Stable 96, and that means there’s a fucking lot of them in Equestria! Bitch, this no single experiment, it’s a full-on serious business. And here is our new ruling Princess Luna saying there’s no reason for panic - right in the middle of the war, and like hell I believe! Right, I always knew our Stable was numbered 96. This numberwas everywhere: on my barding insignia, on every door back home, and even on some common wares. And still, I liked to call it “The Stable” as if it was - and it sort of actually was - the only Stable in the world. Record #67. ...hell of a blow! The radio is silent. Deadly silent. The end is really fucking nigh. I’ve been at the Cliff this morning, there are dead bodies all around. The vehicles are all wrecked and burning. The Ministry of Peace camp is no more. The magnificent Stable number ninety-six burns like hell. Guess I should call it Crypt 96 now. Or maybe, Vault 96? I feel sick. Shit, it’s bad now. What have you done, fuckers? I hate you all. Zebras, ponies, progress, megaspells... Record #70. I sAT halF a dday here,m huGgin my RaDio. Mmy hOOves are shakin. Tthe rAdio vOice saId two ttimees Manehattan s rUined, Cntrlt is in piNk ccloud hazMats dont savE. The pegasi are cloSing the... ...no food. Gotta go down to whatever remain from that camp to scavenge. My shift is over, the lighthouse is off, the crater is glowing green and so is the snow. Fuck. No signs of life below, save for 96 is still burning. Record #71 Got three packs of RadAway with whiskey. Whoever reads this, you should know that I, Maney Brown, watched over the lighthouse for 5 years and it didn’t ever fucking went off. Now I leave, into whatever is now Equestria. Wish me luck. This was the end of the shack’s dweller’s diary. From what I read I imagined him to be a rare sourpuss. A gumpy whiskey addict with no brightness in his life, but I still got curious of his fate. Aside from these records, there was nothing on the terminal, save for two-hundred year old weather reports, which told me that life on Altitude 472 was sconsistently disgusting. Oh, and I remembered I also had a table drawers unispected. The open ones were empty, save for some pre-war coins, bottle caps, bobby pins and a layer of random trash I was not interested in. The uppermost drawer was locked and the key, I guess, went with that Maney character. I hoped there was something interesting in the last drawer. This table deserved some respect. The lock was really hard, and my screwdriver was useless; after causing a severe wreck on the lock, I decided to look beneath the table, and there I found a key, scotch-taped to table’s bottom. Actually, it was useless now, as it didn’t move in lock cylinder now. But I accepted the challenge! The table was of solid wood and looked really out of place in this shack. And wood, I knew, was a subject to crack. I just needed something heavy enough... Five, no, six strikes. A StableTec issued maintenance hammer I clenched in my teeth left deep carvings in the wood and emitted orange sparks when it hit the lock. Every next strike hammered the lock cylinder deeper until it fell inside. I inserted a screwdriver in the hole and pulled. I admit, this was far from the most graceful lockpicking, but quite effective. When I peeked inside the drawer I knew such vandalism was not in vain: inside it was a great big black gun! A pistol, not as cool as the Stable Security used, but still a simple and a reliable one. Oh, and it was loaded. Adorable. My first gun. It made my saddlebag palpably heavier, but, whatever fauna expected me outside, now I could protect myself. Or so I thought. Actually, I had no idea how I was supposed to descend the down the cliff, but I reckoned there was no sense to keep freezing my rump in Maney’s shack. I had to reach the Ministry of Peace camp he wrote about, but first there was a two-hundred year old business to finish. I poured the rest of the whiskey inside, and launched the bottle to the trash bin. I opened the door in a cool harsh manner and a blow of wind tore the Wingboner poster from the wall. I switched off the lights and went outside, leaving the scavenged shack behind. LEVEL UP! Next level: 2. New perk added: “Break in”. Wooden crates and drawers are no more a problem to you: some blunt force will always do the trick! But remember: metal containers can not be opened this way. Author's Note Alnair's note: So, this is the start of a big adventure. Sincerely, I'm not sure if we can handle this, but we will do our best. What should you expect from this story? Say, less blood, gore, desperation and darkness, than usual. Also, less obsolete memes and less ties to Fallout games. Instead, more adventure, explosions, research on how Equestria was made and how magic works. More original setting, and more fanon nods, too. Treat the story as an Indiana Jones crossover to Fallout Equestria, a brilliant story by KKat. And here comes the imporant note: the story is originally in Russian (Lucky Ticket writes it in Russian) and then I translate it to English. Since I'm not a native english speaker, I may as well make mistakes I don't notice. So, each and every mistake reported would be highly appreciated and corrected. Thanks in advance, guys.
A Quest Of OneNorthern wasteland exploring theme: http://youtu.be/P0yiXyswSZg Chapter 2. A quest of one. I stood outside and exhaled onto snowflakes. They evaporated in midair and I felt like a little fire-breating dragon. I’ve been overflown with desire for activity. First, I wanted to make a snowpony! Then, I had a pile of whiskey bottles to trash. Next.. Oh! How could I forget the main thing! The idea that came to me inside Maney’s shack, danced inside my noggin. I catсhed it and examined it closer. It was genial! Shuck, I am a high grade technician after all! Not a some rookie trainee, barely able to grip their teeth on a screwdriver. And that means only one thing: whatever is broken up here on the Surface, I can fix that! And I’ll start from this lighthouse that doesn’t shine for two hundred years. Ayep, Maney, I take your watch. By the way, now I could see where that green cable ended! Standing beside the base of the tower, which undoubtedly was the lighthouse, I could hear the whole thing creaking under wind blows. The green cable stretched along one of its pillars and disappeared somewhere up in the darkness, obscured with a metal platform. The platform was accessible via a familiar bracket ladder. A challenging thing, urging to conquer the height, and without any safety, too. But first, I found it fun to stand up on my rear legs and push my forelegs against the pillar. I pushed strongly, but it didn’t bulge. The only outcome I got were some icicles that fell down, almost hitting my temple. I did the pushing sequence again and dodged three more icicles. Wow, I’m agile! But the devious thing prepared another surprise for me. My next blow brought a huge pile of snow from above! I shook it off and checked the score. Dodo: 0, tower: 1. Bollocks, that aint’ gonna happen! Now, it was time to get to the bad things. I walked around the pillar and set my hooves on an iron bracket. Unlike the shafts, this ladder had some angle and that made my ascension easier. I vigorously pulled myself higher and higher, hearing the tower shaking from feeling of imminent defeat. Now this is another story! Ah yes, I forgot the wind. It pierced the whole tower. If I unfolded my wings, I could fly right here and now, pretty high and far away. “Not now. I’ll have my flights later - the platform looks like a better start.”, I said to myself. It looked like I’ve been getting used to such obstacles, as I reached the top unexpectedly quickly. Well, I couldn’t quite remember how long did it take exactly... Yet, I did remember the moment I set all my hooves - if a bit unstable - on an iced platform and saw my reflection in a lighthouse flask. Now, that was an achievement to celebrate! Shame I had no booze left, so I needed some epic gesture instead. “I wish I had a flag of 96,” I thought, “I could set it on the fence, yay. But... I think my hanky is fine, too! It’s all blue and with golden clouds. Guess that’s nice!” Hanky bound, I understood I actually conquered the height over... Altitude 472. I think I should call it something? Altitude 473? 472,5? Boring. I think I should think it over, right? Naming such a small tower after the Princesses - this is just not serious. Naming it after myself - is top indecent, doesn’t fit, too. At all. I kept thinking hard, knowing the answer is obvious. I shooed my flock random joyful and genial ideas away and one humble, but incredibly correct one remained. I cleared my throat and proclaimed as solemnly as I could, “Hereby I name you a Maney Brown’s Peak. Whatever bore he was, he did well to keep you working. He changed bulbs, cleared ice and fixed the wires. From now on you’ll be named after him”. I only needed a cheering applause to finish the scene, but I was all alone, so I clopped my hooves a few times against the platform and nodded into darkness. Now, to repair the lighthouse, I needed to restore the circuitry. The green cable was intact and went into below the lamp, though a maintenance hatch. It’s lock succumbed to my screwdriver, and I was pleased to note that StableTec did have standarts even on the Surface. Hatch opened, I started looking for malfunction. The wind howled around, the snow kept flying from everywhere, the platform was shaking like mad and I picked in below a huge red glass flask with my screwdriver in my teeth. I found a breakage fast and poked my muzzle into where I kept my best pegasi technician friends: an honest hammer, handy wrenches, two sticky duct tapes - a blue and a red one, a crimper and a lot of other useful tools. I tried to organize them but found it unexpectedly complicated. It was hard to concentrate. A couple of times I tried to unscrew a bolt with a bigger wrench, and one time I even mixed up a slotted screwdriver and a crossed one. With every mistake I could feel my enthusiasm evaporate and my head getting heavier and heavier. The darned tower again started to win over me. My clumsiness brought up tears of my own worthlessness. Of course. Who needs a technician who can’t unscrew a bolt? I caught a whisper of a voice of reason, obscured with alcohol, in my head, saying “Why should you have gotten that drunk? How are you going to get down now, fool girl? Flying, huh? First seat the screwdriver properly, you useless prick! And don’t you dare to short these two cables!” The latter I needed the least, actually, so I put the screwdriver back into the saddlebag, stood up and shook my head. I stepped towards the wooden border of the platform, put my forehooves on it and closed my eyes. Icy wind blew into my face and now it felt pleasant. When I came back to work, I could take a fresh look at my activities. I have almost fried a fully operational chip! I returned every disassembled piece back and screwed all wires firmly and only then I noticed a real breakdown cause. It actually was a piece of cake: screw here, duct tape here aaand... Clang! A brigt red flash blinded me, I recoiled instinctively and next moment I rammed my back through the slimsy wooden barrier. I fell down, flapping my wings chaotically, trying to resist the wind. A bright red dot flashed up ahead. The wind blows threw me side to side, the visibily was a zero and my fligth abilities were downright negative. Dodging a suddenly appeared rock, I made a couple of ridiculous flips and, lost any air control, flew into a deep snow pile. Face first. I lay on my back, big snowflakes silently falling from above and two red circle flickered in my vision. I registered a blurred thought: “If I fall asleep, I’ll freeze to death”, but my body refused to respond. It was too much for today and I passed out. * * * A piercing beep into my ear made me open my eye. Alarm clock displayed 6:30 - time to wake up for work. I’ll get to the shower now... Wow, it feels like somepony damaged an air conditioning system. Otherwise why the hay is it so cold in my room? Whatever, just a 5 more minutes of beauty sleep... I opened both my eyes abruptly, as I suddenly remembered everything! Right: the grey sky above me, no more snowflakes falling now, and a red dot blinking on the top of the mountain; there was snow all around me, but the wind settled down. How long have I been laying here? An hour, two hours? I tried to stand up and felt a lot of dizziness. My vision went dark and it did cost me a lot of effort to keep myself upright. Feeling headache and chattering my teeth from the cold I finally stood up straight. A bottle. Hoof-sized, maybe a bit bigger. I had to admit the Overmare was right about this tasty drink being a brain poison. Maybe, though, it was a fault of my brain that decided to take it all in one turn. Brain... My head... Headache pills! As much of a bore as that Maney buck was, he surely knew a lot about drinking... and its consequences. I examined the pills pack: “Unicorns - two pills after meal, earth ponies - one pill after meal, pegasi...” I tore away a price label that covered the rest of the phrase and read: “pegasi - one pill after meal, three hours - weakness, flying prohibited! Maximum daily rate: three pills.” So I took a unicorn dose, just to be sure. I doubted I would try any more flying right now, anyway. Also, I doubted that unicorns’ and pegasi’ kinds of hangover were that different. Now I only needed to get warm again, but I failed to peform any jumping or dancing: unfortunately, these were regular pills without any magic amplification, so my head continued to crack from the inside. Stretching my numb wings, I kept walking in circles. My fall from that lighthouse somehow reminded me of a story of one of the Ministry Mares - her name was Fluttershy. A really weird pegasus mare: she was a poor flyer since foalhood and once she just fell off a cloud and went all the way down to Earth. She settled there and never yearned for skies before. I could never understand that. Until tonight I knew nothing about the real sky, but still, I never wanted to live like Fluttershy did. That rapid and uncontollable descend I survived this night did not discourage me to use my wings the way they were supposed to be used. Actually, it had been worse. Jumping over the Atrium balcony was definitely not a good idea. My contemplations were interrupted by a PipBuck signal. It turned out I’ve been walking in circles of bigger and bigger radius - actually I beat a huge spiral in the snow. A new label appeared on the PipBuck’s map and I almost jumped: it said “Stable 96”. Am I going to see my Stable from the outside? Since foalhood, I wondered why Stable 96 had no door to the Surface. The elders were usually so occupied with keeping Stable in a good shape that they just didn’t bother to tell stories to me. Mom and Dad told me that there must have been a door somewhere upside, where only the engineers were allowed to go. However, I peeked in each and every corner of the Stable (including the filly-restricted ones), but I failed to find the cherished Door, so I turned towards the library, named after the Ministry Mare Twilight Sparkle. The Ministry Mare’s name, written in purple volumetric letters, backlit with neon, decorated a lavender wall with a pink horizontal line. The Library’s interior was astonishingly beautiful compared to grey metal interiors of the rest of the Stable, with mass-producted humming lights and meals being served the same time every day. Granny Turtle, an elderly librarian had been really surprised to find out such a young filly as me could be interested in the Engineer’s Stable Reference Guide. But when I explained the reason, she told me everything she hear from her own grand-grandmother who was born back outside! Our Stable was not a simple refuge for civilian ponies during the war. It had a much greater purpose: to become the salvatory for knowledge and traditions of all the ponykind! The Stable was populated with best scientists and artists of the state. Books were transported here from every corner of Equestria, forming the one and only underground Library of its kind. Our laboratories were equipped with cutting-edge hardware and were ready for a big group of scientists from Hoofington itself! These scientists never came, though, as Zebras were apparently aware of both the Stable’s location and purpose and where the day came, they targeted their missiles precisely. And they were generous for missiles. A series of chthonic explosions shook the whole mountain. Neither the engineering designs, nor the covering stone could handle such a straight hit. The huge, multi-ton Door had been banged away like a bottlecap and the balefire radiation streamed inside. The balefire triggered a firestorm on the upper level, which no ordinary fire extinguishing system could handle. The hall had been stocked with magically enforced book containers that took the most of the damage and started to melt down. Every single thing was burning and melting on the upper level. The survivors have been evacuated to the lower levels deeper in the mountain, and upside went a special group of volunteers in a desperate attempt to win over the fire. Later, they would be named The Liquidators. When it became clear that the upper levels could not be reclaimed, it was decided to seal the corridor connecting the upper level and the Library with concrete. The Liquidator have not just been mixing concrete and pump it into the space between airlocks. Having hazmat suits, giving next to none radiation protection, on, they evacuated every book container, that remained, downside. All of them died in a matter of days. Despite the instructions, their bodies were not utilized, but buried with honor, in a vala comum - a bed of honor - carved in the Library’s floor and filled with the same concrete: so irradiated were their bodies. Now the story I knew since foalhood, turned into flesh and blood as I stood before an enormous tunnel, a huge gallery that, according to Maney Brown’s records, led to the dragon’s cavern. I dreaded to imagine the size of a dragon who could dwell in such a huge apartments before the StableTec arrived. Crawling up the stone pile I reckoned what I’m going to see there under the snow: bones of those who failed to enter the Stable in time. And I knew exactly what I’ll see inside the abandoned part of the Stable, if I am ever to get inside. PipBuck’s alarming cracking noise did not stop me. I had no idea what exactly made my head clear now - either a hangover pill or a lust for adventures, but I felt no headache anymore and night troubles were dislodged by curiosity I accumulated through years. Apparently one balefire missile hit the tunnel directly - it had almost no ceiling and I could see the sky above. It was much brighter now but remained grey and unfriendly. Almost 7 a.m. So, this is what sunrise looks like: diffused white light, just like Stable’s lamps. Normally, this is the sort of light that illuminates me staying next to a coffee machine and striving to get my sleepy eyes open. Contrary to adventure books, there were no bright colours, only grey, dim and gloom. I imagined myself being in another Stable, a freaking huge one, only frozen and unihabited. Such a dangerously discouraging idea made me buck a stone, right into a barely visible gap, making metal noise, apparently, somewhere inside the Stable. I bent over a gap with sharp rusty edges and sniffed the air, smelling with burning. I coughed hardly and started to pick stones aside. Not an easy job, but it helped me get warm again. Bigger stones proved to be easier to buck inside, rather than pulling aside. I could see now that the gap was actually where the huge Stable Door belonged to. Finally, I managed to crawl inside, turned on PipBuck light and froze, stupefied. The Hall was lit with emergency lights, dim and red and slowly rotating and that made the picture before me especially sinister. The room was unevenly damaged with fire: I could see burned bones mostly to the left. To the right, under a label reading “luggage examination”, were white bones, mixed with what once were personal belongings, cases and clothes. Well, there were bones everywhere, but the ones to the left were melted into plastic and glass. I could only guess who of the dead were more lucky. I had to breathe with my muzzle. A reek of soot made my nose sore and eyes watering. What I saw before me was basically a huge common grave and I lost any intention to pick through these ponies’ personal belongings. The most amazing, however, were not these atrocious remains. Staying on the stone pile, next to the Hall’s ceiling, I could see a gigantic gear-shaped Stable Door, thrown inside with a direct balefire hit. I could clearly imagine a number “96” painted on the burned surface, if only it was not covered with a cadaver of a huge bird, laying in the center, like a some sort of an ancient ritual’s sacrifice. Apparenly, it had been there for a long time already, as I could see empty eye-sockets and a bony neck, barely covered with feathers. Carefully descending into the Hall, I tried my best to remember everything I knew about pre-war Equestrian birds, fruitlessly. I simply did not know any bird of that size. Actually, the creature - a sentient, judging by remains of clothes and a gun in its paw - the creature was only a half of a bird, and an upper half. It featured two wings, two paws and below that... there were two more paws and a narrow, long, absolutely not avian tail. A griffon! I remembered these proud and independent inhabitants of Equestria had mixed feelings towards ponies. Say, some of them helped Daring Do to escape all sorts of troubles while others tried to assasinate her for good. My cookbook was written by some griffon named Gustav, and I tried to perform its recipes, fruitlessly, as half of its ingredients were merely not available in the Stable. This griffon, however, definitely was not a cook. Once he wore a leather jacket with a fur neckpiece and camouflage pants. His chest was covered with a steel plate which obviusly failed to protect its owner. It had holes here and there and I saw a puddle of dried blood beneath the corpse. Not that I liked this one any more than the pony corpse back in the tunnels but this mummy at least did not emit a suffocative reek of decay. He clearly died much, much later than all the ponies around and I wondered what killed him... And the answer was easy. As soon as I stepped closer to the griffin’s duffel bag, a hatch opened in the ceiling and an automated turret appeared! I charged across the Hall, almost hearing a ruthless automatic fire behind. Jumping over the piles of bones and skulls, I stopped abruptly only before the second turret that suddenly appeared right in front of me. I fell on the floor and covered myself with a nearest case, not quite comprehending this being a pretty poor protection from bullets. I tried to push myself into the floor as hard as I could, not that I could actually push myself into the concrete... THE END! Facing the dreadful fatal error of my whole life, as short and useless it was, I heard a dry click above and another one behind. The clicks repeated and I peek from under the old case. Turrets rotated as if they examined me, chambers clicking, but the turrets were empty. The nearest turret’s scanning beam paused over my PipBuck for a second. Then something beeped inside the machine and its red lights changed to green. Have these machines just examined me and declared me... friendly? Apparently, these guns prefered to shoot first and sort friendlies out later. I heard a loud click of hidden switch and regular illumination replaced the red emergency lights. I stood back on my hooves and walked back to the griffon corpse. Now this was the adventure I had to do some looting after! My gaze fell upon an airlock, a label stenciled above read “The Library lvl. 2”, and an index next to it told me there were also Caffeteria, Radio Room, Reading Room and an Overmare’s Office on this level. Right beneath the airlock door was a skeleton of a unicorn, partially embedded in concrete that once streamed from between the door and the floor. One of the Liquidators. I carefully stepped over it and put my hoof on the door, eyes closed. I imagined this layer of concrete, fifty feet that separated me from the Librarian’s bar. Yes, the purple wall I saw every time I visited the Library concealed the concrete seal that kept the Stable alive for two hundred years. But most important was that these fifty feet of concrete separated me from habitual, measured and boring life. Now I was sure I did not want to return home. See, I had a job and I was good at it, but it provided no sense of adventure I experienced now. Actually, I’ve been really disappointed when I received a spark piercing a red cord on my flank. I always wanted to bear a compass there, or a some map or a treasure chest. That very day I managed to open the airlock by shorting two cords, but that was not supposed to mean I wanted to be a Stable technician! I merely wanted to enter an inaccesible area! The cutie mark had been already there, however, and there were no way to remove it. On a bright side, I was the first filly in my class to get it, although two blank flanks virtually came to hate towards me for that... However, now I was grown-up and free. Although it had been more than a year since I left my parents’ apartments and lived alone, I still had to obey Stable’s weird rules - like the Library being closed at night, personnel being awoken with the same Octavia’s “Morning suite” every single day and boring security mares in ridiculously full armor forbade running in corridors. Living in confined space, having such a vast, if unfriendly, space around you? Doggone, I dreamed not to break free for all my life! Of course the Stable dwellers would be looking for me, but what could they do? It took wings to ascend that shaft, and I’d bet they won’t even try that one. I only hope Copper Wire won’t have to face the music too hard. She’s a trainee, after all, and bears no responsibility... Responsibility... What the hay am I ever thinking about? Listen to me, speaking as if any part of me still remained behind the seal, and I’m not that free Dodo who’d rather be picking through the griffon’s belongings. The last thing I needed right now was an imaginary excorciation by an Overmare. Enough! I withdrawed my hoof from the door and headed straight to the duffel bag I missed. “What do we have here? Two pistol clips, one empty, an old compass - a mechanical one, no electronics! Binoculars, one lens broken. So call it a monocular, but still usable. Now this is super cool! A planchette!” Inside the planchette was an old copy-book, without a cover, filled with incomprehensible writing - griffons language, maybe? How is called, I couldn’t remember. The transparent pocket contained a map. The names were in pony, yet I couldn’t find any familiar city on it. The only mark that drawn my attention said “Flashtown” and it had been circled with red. While most of griffon’s stuff could be examined instantly, the planchette’s insides required more thorough inspection, and in different circumstances. As I put all the records back in the planchette, I examined the bag. It was empty and holes gaped here and there so I threw it away and then I noticed a tin candy can. Inside was a whole collection of “Sparkle-Cola” caps of different condition, from new to rusty. This fellow griffin surely had a weird hobby, didn’t he? I wondered if he used these caps as chips in some sort of a game? Anyways, I had a plenty of pockets, so I took the can. To my deepest regrets, there were no food whatsoever. Whatever, the only thing I had to do now is to examine the corpse itself. Ugh... “So, Dodo, you wanted to be an archeologist? Come on, you can just close your eyes. What your eyes fear, your hooves do.” First, I retrieved the pistol from griffon’s grip, causing the skeletal paw to crumble. Clearly, I could not use this weapon - it was way too big and the grip had an angle, designed for hands. And it could be triggered neither with teeth, nor with... tongue. Yes, I did see such weird designs in “Armed To The Teeth” magazine! I guess I could have adapted the weapon for a pony, but I needed a workbench and a number of tools. So I just dumped the gun into the saddlebag. A holster, however, was a good thing to find. I managed to tie it to my leg, below a pocket. Although Maney’s gun was smaller, it fit into the holster and even did not dangle. Now I could draw it with ease. Scavenging griffon’s jacket pockets, I found only a pack of “Magic bubbles” bubble gum. The pack featured a yellow earth pony flying over a colorful city via a huge pink bubble coming out of his muzzle. The slices sticked together like a pink piece of stone one could hammer nails with. I threw it away and finally dared to peek at griffon’s head. Dark empty eye-sockets, half-open beak, several pefrorating bullet holes. Disgusting and creepy. I looked away and noticed a pair of flight goggles and the animal’s neck. Incredibly, they survived all the bullets. I tried to take them off, but they stuck. The tension caused griffon’s skull to detach and fall down, jingling with something. One could guess what was jingling. The goggles were just a bit dirty. I wiped them with my sleeve, trimmed the strap and got them on. Now this was the solution to piercing blizzards that made me look under my hooves constanlty. I returned the skull back to its place and headed outside. Nothing to do here anymore. When the fire broke out, automated alarm systems blocked the airlocks leading to other parts of the Stable. Of course, the lockdown could have been raised from the Overmare’s office behind the concrete seal and my special short-circuitry trick just didn’t work on the cables that were actually inside the walls. Judging by the turrets that obviously preferred to shoot before performing a friend-or-foe identification routine, the StableTec disregarded a single pony’s death over the Stable’s survival as a whole. I had to get as far as possible from this horrible place and to wipe away such conceptions, so rational yet so inequine, from my head. I need some fresh air: the omnipresent smell of burning and soot made my head ache and my throat burn. When I got out from this “Crypt 96”, as Many Brown aptly named it, I felt a lot better. It was cold and windy outside, yet I could breathe deep. Coughing, I tried to clean my barding with snow, succesfully, although some stains and a tiny scent of soot remained. I got a hoof-ful of snow and smeared it over my face to freshen myself, then I got the goggles on and started down the narrow path down the slope that disappeared in the snowfall. * * * I shivered with cold. The feeling was constant and it annoyed me a lot. Fitful wind wouldn’t stop and most of the time was blowing in my face, as if on purpose. Of course, I was hungry, therefore I felt cold. The PipBuck’s thermometer displayed 26.6 F degrees, and it was ridiculous after constant 78 F degrees I’ve got used to back in the Stable. The clock displayed 12:25 and this meant half and hour ago a lunch break started in our technicians’ room. I could bet my rump on that Steel Wire is going to steal another salad leaf from her talkative younger sister Copper Wire’s plate today. Thoughts of food made my stomach rumble - it has actually been a day since I had any considerable meal, not counting a chocolate bar. I had conflicting feelings tearing me apart: some part of me actually wanted to return home, into comfort and safety, where the most curious thing ever would be a green cable hanging on the wall, reminding me of all the adventures I failed to see. Having this kind of a remainder nearby for the rest of my life was more than I could bear, so I decidedly went on forward, towards the unknown. I kept walking down a narrow path between the rocky wall and the abyss, crawling over larger boulders and jumping over gaps. Here and there the path turned into an icy rink, and all I could do was carefully sliding down, praying I don’t fall all the way down. After the next turn I saw a huge pile of rusty metal. Actually, it was a wreckage of some vehicle. Whatever sheathing remained, was of dirty yellow colour, and a triple pink butterfly symbol was visible. I recalled an image from “Equestrian Ministries and Departments Guide”: this was a logo of Ministry Of Peace. So, that meant I was on a right track. The wrecked vehicle obstructed my way and I had to crawl right through it. Something crumbled under my hooves. I lowered my eyes and immediately regretted it. Black scorched bones protruded from under thin layer of snow. I realized that bones and corpses everywhere was all I saw on the Surface. At this instant my PipBuck emitted a high-pitched beep and a lonely red dot appeared on my EFS. A deafening roar thundered behind. A predator! A huge one, covered with shaggy white fur, it stood higher the path, where I just passed and prepared to jump. Its paws were strained and its membranous wings spiked aside. And yes, I knew this creature exactly: Daring Do did run away from one of those. A Man-ti-core! I could feel hair standing up on the back of my neck. This. Is. Not. Good. The beast charged towards the wreckage, roaring, and I jumped as far behind as I could. I could hear metal grinding as the manticore tried to free itself from the trap. Its claw has gotten in between the metal sheathing. Taking advantage of the beast’s confusion, I unfolded the holster and gripped my teeth on solid pistol handle. I pointed the gun in animal’s general direction and attempted to summon the Arcane Targeting Spell, but the PipBuck made a shuffy beep and displayed an error. I remembered the day I got my PipBuck: the technician said “You won’t ever need SATS, right?”. Wrong. I just did. The manticore pulled its paw fiercely, but fruitlessly. I aimed to the monster’s head and was able to see its piercing blue eyes, full of pain and rage. The heavy gun in my teeth wavered, I hit the safety latch and clenched my teeth. The recoil sent my head back and the bullet went high, hitting the wrecked sheathing. I hoped my next shots hit the animal’s forehead, but, as if on contrary, the beast emitted a deafening roar of rage and started to break through the vehicle, bending its metal “ribs” aside with incredible force. I ran away. Clenching the gun in my teeth, I ran, without looking under my hooves, jumping over boulders automatically. I didn’t turn back but the manticore’s ocassional roar told me it’s too early to slow down. My run ended abruptly by another vehicle, this one being almost intact. I jumped through the doorway and realized there was no other way out. I’ve just driven myself into a trap! The manticore dashed into the vehicle, bending its board inside, showering me with glass. I bent down and crawled towards the doorway, hoping to sneak past the raging predator. My attempt, however, was interrupted by a huge paw with razor-sharp claws: the beast was wild, but definitely not stupid. I backed into a far corner of the vehicle and desperately tried to think of something. A window! Right above me, in the ceiling! More like a hatch, narrow and glassed, but if I drop my saddlebag with all equipment... Nonono, no way! The whole vehicle started to lean. It seemed like the manticore decided to shake me out, right into its jaws. The predator swung the wagon and I rolled inside like some piece of junk. With a thud the wagon fell down and the ceiling became a wall and a wall became the floor. That’s it! I dashed towards the narrow window and hammered it with the pistol’s handle with all force I could muster. For Celestia’s sake, how sturdy it is? “Everything for your safety. Diamond Glass, inc, division of Ministry of Image.” They owned every window in the Stable. The window cracked, but remained in place. Meanwhile, the manticore reached somewhere atop the wagon and started to tear its sheathing sheets apart. My firm buck caused the glass to finally fall away. Now useless gun holstered, I started to squeeze through the window. Of course, my saddlebads stuck and I had to unfasten them. Immediately, my pursuer’s huge head pushed through the roof, followed by a mighty paw, catching the saddlebag’s belt. “N-no way!” - I shouted, sticking the PipBuck in the manticore’s face and hitting the “strobe” mode. Apparently, the creature didn’t like it, as it loosened its grip and I pulled my belongings into the hatch after me. “No luck for you today, little one” - I thought, raising on my hooves. It was too early to celebrate victory so I charged with my last effort, throwing the saddlebags behind as I ran down the path. I could hear the wagon falling into the abyss behind: the predator simply pushed it aside and ran on after me. What a determined one! A stone, a branch, some rusty metal... Normal jumps, side jumps, sliding jumps - I’ve got really skilled in these... The abyss! The path broke off into the abyss! Behind me is the raging manticore, ahead of me is the precipice. Here it is, the flight I dreamed about! I reversed a few steps and ran down the path, flapping my wings fiercely. On the very edge of the slope my hooves left the ground and continued running in the air. I flew! No, I actually controlled my flight, rather than being just another snowflake in the rough wind! The manticore made a disappointed howl, loosing track of its prey. “Take that, bastard!” I teased behind. Boy, did it deserve it! I flapped my wings as fast as I could but soon I realised that it was not speed that mattered, but the force of the flap. This was the mistake I did every time before. Now that I could control my flight, I could fly wherever... Suddenly I felt a wave of weakness, and my flaps became dangerously slow. I remembered the headache pills label: “Three hours - weakness, flying prohibited!” Screw it! I certainly had some weird kind of luck: a failure followed every considerable success. The abyss’s edge was close but I had to turn right in order to catch the wind. The wind brought me to a ledge some thirty feet higher than I aimed. Landing, and at least, not a crash. Breathing hard, I fell into the snow, face first, while pushing myself away from the abyss with my rear hooves. I crawled until I faced the rock wall, leaned to it and tried to catch my breath. Before I could make a couple of steps, I found a tin can, that once contained canned beans. Oh yes, I remembered a joke some technician made. From the times of Stable’s construction, there had been a poster hanging on the wall of technicians’ room, advertising these particular beans, featuring some slogan, like “Saving your beans through centuries. Wartime Food Concern”. There was a tin can painted with its lid pointed towards the observer, and some joker drew the number “96” on it. Actually, I did not even know how to treat this joke: after all we were actually canned, preserved to fill Equestria with qualified specialists and knowledge. Although, I doubted anypony was going to open this particular can in a century or two or even five... I’ve been a whole day up here on the Surface and all I saw was bones and no alive intelligent being whatsoever. It seemed like there were nopony left at all to open the Stable from the outside. And here goes another corpse! A few feet away from my landing spot I could see a brown barding from under the snow. I’ve already got used to the dead so I started to rake away the snow, already knowing whose remains exactly I was going to see. “Hello, Maney Brown” I said quietly. * * * The wind was determined to blow me off the ledge. The ledge itself was plain and empty, save for a lonely dead tree, its trunk protruding from the rocky wall. I tried to turn Maney’s body on its back to reach into his pockets. The corpse was deeply frozen and still kept some resemblance to a pony. I justified my unplanned act of marauding by my desperate condition. If I fail to find anything useful on this Celestia-forsaken cliff, I would decease right there, next to this Maney fellow. “He must have pockets in his barding. And the pockets are filled with all sorts of stuff.” Of course, I judged by myself, but I truly hoped other ponies filled their pockets with useful things, too. The barding was sturdy and was frozen to the body, so I could not rip it off even with my mouth. Actually, I managed to rip off its hood and saw a grinning skull. As expectable as it was, I still recoiled in disgust. However, I did manage to find something useful: the dead stallion still clenched his teeth on an ice-pick. Was it destiny, blind luck or a sign from above, did not matter. I preferred to call it a coincidence. Having seized the ice-pick, I started to chop ice around the stallion’s body. Every strike cause a pain in the back of my head, but I was prepared for worse. His barding actually had two pockets: one of it was empty while another contained a pocket watch with a thin metal chain - the most useless thing in given circumstances. I carefully turned the corpse on its back. The barding’s lining rotted almost entirely, and I discovered an obligatory flask with some liquid inside deep inside his ribcage. Quite symbolic, isn’t it, Maney? The poor fellow, apparently, had a really unfortunate fall: most of his ribs were broken. I instantly remembered my night fall and thanked the Goddesses for a couple of wings on my back. I did my best to cleanse the flask from, ugh... Okay, it’s no time for disgust. Whatever, I unfastened the lid and poured whatever remained inside of me. A familiar taste of “AmberMare” spilled warmth all over my body, but my empty stomach protested. Doing my best to ignore it, I retrieved an alpine safety cord that was covered by Maney’s remains. The cord was followed by a heavy double-barrelled shotgun, damaged beyond repair. However, I already knew hos to use it. * * * What I was doing at the moment was the most dangerous and reckless thing of anything I ever had to do. I hanged over the abyss on a safety cord. It’s upper end was snapped to the shotgun I secured in a fork of the dead tree. I swung from side to side, desperately trying to stick the ice-pick into the cliff I aimed to. Every swing brought me a bit closer, but then I swung back, with an ice-pick in my teeth. The darned tree could snap any moment, but I preferred not to think about it. Somewhere deep inside of my mind I decided that if luck could be measured from one to ten, I’d have mine somewhere around seven. Next time I approached the cliff, I nodded powerfully, driving the ice-pick into frozen ground. The Dodo Pendulum stopped and the safety cord stretched dangerously. I hanged right over a bit of stony soil. I could feel myself being pulled backwards and downwards at the same time and this was not a pleasant feeling. The cord was too short to let me reach the ground, and I understood that this setup won’t keep its state for long, so I hastily tried to unsnap the shackle with my rear hoof. Thankfully, the lever was large enough, and the very moment the ice-pick started to plow the iced earth, the safety cord went off into the void like a slingshot with an audible snap. I fell on the rocks, belly first, and this was painful. I could almost see sparks of pain burst from my eyes, followed by tears. I turned on my back, trying to ease pain and catch my breath. Fortunately, my ribs were apparently intact. I retrieved a painkiller from my med-kit and reckoned I would have to put it away: one of its side effects was weakness and drowsiness, and that I could not afford. I stood up on my hooves and started walking up the path, peppered with rocks. I did not understand that moment that I actually was a perfect victim. My lavender pink hide and blond mane contrasted to white snow. I could neither fly nor run away. Actually, I could barely move my hooves. To cheer myself up a bit, I remember an old Pre-War rhyme about the Winter Wrap Up. I didn’t remember the lyrics too well. The only image I could recall included pegasi and a particular pink earth pony in warm and cozy blue jackets pushing snow down the rooftops. Every time I forget the lyrics I started humming the verse from start. In the end, I’ve got stuck at the moment where pegasi push away clouds, giving way for sun beams and then I got completely discouraged. * * * The landscape changed. The left edge of the road was into abyss no more, and the path became wider now. It meandered between large boulder that obstructed my field of view and I had to realy on my EFS and my luck. And I sure hoped the latter was on my side, for I could not wind another run from a manticore or any other agile beast, whatsoever. Good thing not every winged creature can fly. I remembered manticore’s tiny wings, unsuitable for flight, and smiled to myself. After the next turn the boulders ended and the descend became more gentle. I’ve been on the Surface long enough to get used to all shades of gray and brown around me. That’s why a lone yellow point on the horizons immediately drew my attention. I retrieved the griffon’s one-eyed binocular, I examined this bright spot, which turned out to be another carriage. This one had large wheels and apparently used to roll the ground instead of flying. Unlike the ones I met before, this one was cleaned of snow and, from the looks of it, inhabited Until this moment the only evidence of sentient life on the Surface was, as weird as it may seem, the fresh corpse from the cavern I emerged from. And now I saw a dwelling, obviously created after the Catastrophe, and that told me that ponies or whatever creatures they turned into, still remained their sapience. And that meant I could try to find some common ground with them. And whoever inhabited this colourful dwelling, was at least a curious sort of person, as now I could see the whole vehicle was turned upside down. And then I saw the most interesting detail: the vehicle’s board featured a large wind rose. And of all possible wind roses I saw the one that was exactly the cutie mark of Daring Do! LEVEL UP! (3) New Perk added: Adrenaline Rush. In critical circumstances you move faster and more agile than most ponies. New Quest Perk added: Nestling’s Flight. You learn to fly, step by step. But remember: low strength or endurance may end your flight deplorably. Author's Note Alnair's Notes. Now it feels like we've managed to get the story running, haven't we? I would like to thank everyone who left their comments: they do help us make the story better. I would also like to thank the artists who dedicated their works to "The Fossil". You can find them on DeviantArt. For those of you who might wonder what Dodo actually looks like, here is Lucky's own rendition: http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d5p61vq I absolutely love to see more artworks! And, also I would like to point our readers to another awesome fic I truly enjoyed reading. It's called "Wild Wasteland", by ClickClackBrony. It's as interesting as it is hilarious. Keep up the fine work, Click!
Jester Chapter 03: Jester Yes, I love coincidences. And this sort of coincidence left me no choice. I hustled up, but it still took me about ten minutes to reach the vehicle. Even when I went downhill, I could beraly move my legs - so much they hurt. I could hear soft rumble of a small generator fixed to a wagon’s door. Of course, I had no intention for robbery. However, I really wanted to find out what was inside. Daring Do’s mark promised the vehicle’s owner could know something about her. Maybe, there even were some book that were not present in the Stable’s library! What if... Well, there could be dozens of ‘ifs’. I walked around the wagon, peeking into windows. Unfortunately, there was no light inside and almost every window was covered by a faded curtain. Even with my PipBuck’s light on all I could see was a pile of cardboxes in a corner. Then I climbed on an improvised porched and pushed my muzzle towards the door’s glass. It was almost at the ground level - remind you, the vehicle was turned upside down. Peeking into darkness I understood I’ll find out nothing until I’m inside. And the door begged to be opened, even if with my muzzle, as it was latched only with a tiny hook. I had no more strength to sit there and wait for whoever lived there. The temptation was too strong. I pushed my head inside. When I saw something that my PipBuck light illuminated, I fell back on my rump, bewildered. A sinister silhouette of a zebra with glowing red eyes looked directly at me. It was a poster, with a scarlet background, so the silhouette cast a shadow on a line of chained military ponies. Obviously, these were meant to be prisoners of war - their pale uniforms looked more like prison robes and a huge round iron weight appeared just like in a “Showflank Redemption” book. Underneath this exposition of wartime pony misery was a classic slogan: “Better bullet in a head, than become a zebra's friend!” The poster looked definitely menacious, but the rhyme reminded me ponies were not so much different from zebras, after all. Also, I decided this poster has been painted by a unicorn: I could think of no way an earth pony could push the gun to its noggin and pull the trigger at the same time. Anyways, the best way to get over a scary thing is to make fun of it. So I coped with my inital fright, entered the habitat and went on exploring. Unlike previous vehicles I encountered, this had a particular scent inside - not of rot or rust, but of dusty cardboard. And the most spectacular was that there was really warm inside! After all those ours outside I almost forgot what Stable’s 78F could feel like. And it was definitely was much warmer inside. I was all covered in snow and it immediately started to melt, and I left wet hoofprints all over the wagon’s wooden floor. It was clear that this strange house has been rebuilt with skillful hooves. Probably, once it was no different from any other wreckage I found, but now it was a true apartment, with furnishing, a lot of shelves around and a real wooden floor. All parts of the vehicle’s original interior have been unscrewed, turned into appropriate position and screwed back again. At the far end of the wagon lay the cardboxes that I saw from outside. Each one had a letter inscribed with marker. Whoever inscribed these letters, had a terrible handwriting, so I could discern only “A”, “E”, “P” and “O”. The latter one had been offhandedly pushed under a folding table beneath a boarded window. I pulled this one out, casting a whole cloud of dust around. It was all like our Library’s archives, and I thought the cardboxes must have contained books. One can imagine my surprise when I found quite a collection of pre-war vinyl discs inside! I landed my rump on the floor and started browsing through faded envelopes. True to the inscription, this box contained discs with perfromrs starting with “O”. I’ve picked one, and the label said “Omnipony - Equestria in Grey”. I found it gloomy. Another one was Octavia. Surprising, isn’t it? I’ve seen most of Octavia’s albums before, in my father’s collection, but there were a few I have not heard before. One particular disc caught my attention, it was called “DJ Pon3 feat. Octavia: Live in Hoofbeats!” The cover artwork featured a pair of enormous loudspeakers and in front of them stood Octavia and some other white unicorn mare with an acidic blue mane. A pair of huge violet shades covered upper half of her face. I’ve never seen this mare before. She hugged Octavia with one hoof familiarly, with cello pony’s face expressing both perplexity and embarrassment. The white unicorn mare, however, smirked and looked confident. Instead of her trademark cello, Octavia clenched her hooves on an instrument of a most spectacular design. Well, it actually looked a sort of like a cello, but basically represented a curved frame, decorated with red and blue luminous gems, with strings attached to the frame. I could see a cord, going from the instrument somewhere beyond the picture. An arcane cello? This thing looked weird and, and the same time, fresh and cool. And I had no idea what exactly it could sound like. Putting the curious envelope aside, I pushed the cardbox back under the table. Searching for a some kind of playing device, I noticed an old refrigerator in a far corner, by the door. My starving stomach sent another alert into my brain and, being fully aware of my wrongdoing, went towards it. Suddenly, I could hear a brief rustle, and a yellow point appeared on my EFS for a moment and disappeared instantly. I turned around but saw nothing. “A radroach,” I thought. Back in our shafts they used to appear and vanish in a split second. Darned quick creatures. Good thing a good screwdriver stab or a shocker charge was enough to calm them down forever. Muttering “Celestia forgive me”, I pulled the refrigerator door. A clang told me my effort was in vain. “Of course, there is a lock I missed”, I noted. Examining the lock, I reckoned it was no different from ones used in fuse boxes. I have already retrieved a suitable screwdriver from my sleeve pocket and prepared to insert it in the keyhole, when I’ve suddenly got deafened with a terrible blow. A combination of can grinding, a preforator drill, and a crying screech, vaguely reminiscent of a cello, suddenly broke out behind me. I dropped the screwdriver and jumped on all fours. Bloody hell! I unholstered a pistol, which, by my calculations, contained only a couple of bullets after my manticore encounter. I aimed the gun in all directions, hoping to catch an invisible foe in my sights. At the same time I drooped my ears in a desperate attempt to dampen the unspeakable wall of sound around me. A slow, pendular rhythm countered rapidly changing bending, ear-tearing sounds, that summoned a perfect chaos, disabling me from concentrating on anything. “Come out! Enough hiding! Whoever you are!”, I muttered, trying to light up darker corners of the wagon with my PipBuck. I was not going to kill anypony, but I sure hoped my adversary would prefer to keep his distance. The horrible noise ceased as instantly, as it exploded seconds ago. At the same time, I felt somepony’s hoof on my shoulder and knew I’ve just got owned. “Spit your gun, or you’ll swallow it one day,” a mare’s voice sounded right at my ear. The voice was calm and mocking at the same time. I shook my head vigorously in denial. “Nuva!” “What?” “I said: never!” I said it so legibly, that the gun fell down on the floor with a thud. “Oops!” I tried to bend down to pick it up but met my captor’s another hoof’s resistance. “Now, now, let it lay there, girl. Nopony perforates my house until I say so.” So, here’s the mistress. I peeked at my PipBuck to see a lonely yellow point in the middle of EFS compass. This promised some negotiations without hooves on so far. At least I hoped so. I stopped pushing my adversary with my wings and she loosened her grip on me and said almost protectively: “See? It’s not that hard.” The mare’s voice had a strange accent I’ve never heard before. But at least we were speaking the same language. “Now, who are you filly, and what are you doing in my house?” “Filly?!” I gasped in indignation. “I have my cutie mark already! And my name is Dodo!” “Oh, what a funny nickname.” “It’s a... name!” Yes, I’ve considered that my name for a long time already. It was not as long and fussy as my given name. “Whatever. Still, you’re avoiding my question. Touching somepony’s else belongings is a reason for a good spanking!” I did not take her words seriously. I had two thoughts on my mind that were way more important: first, where this conversation could lead to and second, what’s that strange accent? “You won’t do that! You’re neutral on my compass!” I parried brightly, as this conversation’s tone started to annoy me. I heard a playful chuckle. “You don’t say!” The EFS point suddenly became red and then I heard a fruity slap... Of somepony’s hoof on my rump! What the hay! Two slaps followed and the fact that they were dampened by my rough cotton shorts did not make me any happier. The last time I’ve got spanked was in my fillyhood, when I got caught jumping upwards to the Overmare’s window, knocking on it and then hiding under the balcony. “Stop it! Ouch! I - saw - a cutie mark - ouch! - of Daring Do! That’s - why - I came in!” “Whose cutie mark?” I heard no surprise in the mare’s voice, only disbelief. “Mind you, I can keep spanking you all day.” “The symbol on your wagon. The wind rose. It’s Daring Do’s cuite mark! You live in a house with one on its wall and know nothing about it?” “So what? Is that a some sort of a mysterious sign saying “Free food here”?” “I could have exchanged that for services!” “Now that’s interesting! What kind of services, if I may ask?” I could hear my captor’s voice become playful and interested. “I could have w-washed your laundry! Or c-cleaned your room! You... pervert!” Stumbling at every syllable, I almost spat the last word. The pony burst out in laughter in response to my lame accusation. “Oh yes, I am a bad girl. Seriously, you should have seen the look on your face now! Pity you’re already pink.” “I’m lavender! You’re so...” “Annoying? Fascinating! You’ve broke into my house and dare to complaint!” “I don’t!” “Then what are you doing?” This pony started to get really annoying. It felt like on every one my word she had two. Besides, she had a nasty habit of starting speaking even before I finished my sentence. I turned my head to the right a bit and then I noticed an old mirror on the wall. Through it I could see my face, all dirty and haggard, my messed mane and... a grey zebra with green playful eyes and pale stripes on her face. Her white smile contrasted with her long sleek black mane and her whole look was like she was ready to start laughing again at any moment. “So, you’ve found me, filly. Nice to meet you at last. Listen, I don’t know who you are and where you crawled out from, but I’m going to release you now, and you are not going to run, scream or do any other sort of stupid things. Okay? And then we can have a sweet talk about cuite marks, Darling Doom and stuff. Otherwise, I’m going to catch you again and then I’ll spank you until you become as soft as filly’s bottom.” “Alright. Only, it’s Daring, not Darling...” “Whatever.” I could breathe deeper now. Nopony held me now, so I made a few steps and turned around, towards the zebra mare. Now I could see her better. The wagon’s mistress wore a cape of grey and green patches. She also wore trousers of the same patched pattern, covering her cutie mark. Looking at her face, I realised this was neither a zebra, nor a pony, but something in between. As if somepony painted stripes over a grey pony. It was exotic, almond-shaped eyes that ruined the illusion. I tried to come up with some polite way to ask her what she were exactly, but I could not finish my thought. My body swayed. “Filly? Where are you going?” My vision blurred, my legs gave way and the last thing I saw was a couple of grey hooves I fell into. * * * Well rested and fresh, I trotted down the mountain path. My bags were filled with food and the gun had been thoroughly reassembled and oiled. The weather got better, too. This morning was so friendly and calm that I expected the sun to come out any moment. As I jumped over another boulder, somepony called me: “Dodo!” I actually thought I heard that, but soon the familiar voice called again: " Hey, Dodo! There you are! - I stopped and turned towards the voice. To my greatest surprise, I saw Copper Wire standing higher up the path. This stubborn pony managed to get out from the Stable and find me! And, judging by her neat, almost perfect, appearance, she managed to avoid all the obstacles I met. "Copper?” Was all I managed to say before the little unicorn dashed into me. Despite her tiny stature, she tried to give me a bear hug. I found it funny, but then she said: "Dodo! You’ve made us all worry! And worst of all, you’ve made me worry! Why, you know how much I love you!” And with that she tucked her muzzle into my neck. I could feel her tears on my hide. I tousled her mane and pushed her away gently. "Yeah, I do.” Now I had better to drive our talk to a safer ground, so I made my face look as serious as possible. I looked strainght into Copper’s eyes and said: "But now it’s me who’s going to worry. The whole Stable must be looking for you, Copper. Losing two technicians in one day - that’s a bit too much, you know. Copper looked at me upside from under her ruined mane, like an offended child. "Silly Dodo. It’s you who they are looking for. The whole Stable. When we’ve realized you managed to get outside, the Overmare canceled the upper level lockdown. It was dangerous to blast all that concrete, but now the Stable is connected to the Surface, like you always dreamed! Copper paused to inhale some air. "You know, Dodo, I so so much happy it was me who found you!” She winked at me and smiled in absolute happiness. I looked at my young admirer and I could feel my cheeks burning red. But my curiousity has got the better of me: "But how exactly did you manage to get to me? There seems to be only one way here, with a deadly abyss in between.” Copper’s smile turned into a proud grin. "Levitation! Or, rather, self-levitation. If we unicorns don’t have any wings, this does not mean we can’t fly! - With that, she put her hoof to her horn and knocked on it lightly. And then I heard a loud clap. A small red point appeared on Copper’s forehead and blood spurt all over me. Copper Wire’s eyes rolled up and she collapsed.” I turned around and a bullet hit me in my neck. Trying to hold the wound, I watched the walking dead in a torn barding with its cape dangling aside. Maney Brown aimed a compact revoler right in my face. Then he shot again and I fell into the snow face first. * * * I was alive. Lying on my belly, I desperately tried to inhale. My muzzle sticked into something soft. “Copper’s body,” I thought dreadfully. I had no wish to open my eyes, I felt like burning all over my body and my throat felt sore. I turned on my side and cuddled. Little by little, my mind cleared, my ears caught a repeating metal clang and my congested nose discerned a smell of cooked food! For startes, I was in compartment. All those bloody nightmares I saw were just a bad dream. I have never dreamed such abominations since I had my time in Stable hospital, covered in bandages. At least I felt safe for Copper now. Now it was time to take care of myself. My whole body was numb, my rear leg emitted dull pain, my mouth was dry and my stomach remained empty. I stretched and turned on my back. I’ve been wrapped in a blanket and, worst of all, I was completely naked! I opened my eyes and saw a baige ceiling with a dim lamp - apparently, a night-time illumination. I layed in a hammock inside the familiar wagon. My clothes have been neatly folded next to me. Despite my fears, that strange striped pony (somehow I treated her as a pony, not a zebra), has done nothing bad to me. And there she was, sitting next to the refrigerator and cooking something with a soup ladle, fixed on her hoof. I sniffed, curious about what was that she had been cooking, but immediately started caughing badly, attracting my mistress’ attention. She turned towards me and narrowed her eyelids, pleased. "Now, good morning, filly.” She cooed. I was too weak to get angry. So I turned towards her slowly and got out only two words: "Do Do...” And turned back towards the wall. My voice was unexpectedly hoarse. I started caughing again and could not stop. I’ve caught cold. Marvellous. I wanted to stay alone, to gather my thoughts, or at least try to. And I also needed to wipe my tears, caused by caugh. I would hate to make my ‘savior’ think I’m crying out of self-pity. "Are you denying a breakfast in bed? Mind you, there will be no second call.” The word ‘breakfast’ made me stop caughing and stick my head from under the blanket. The striped pony stood over me, smiling as usual. "Okay, at least you are hungry.” The striped pony winked and picked a small pot with her teeth. I forced a smile. "Even if this is made from radroaches, I’d eat it all - so hungry I am.” And after a thougt, I added, “Yeah.” "Well, then you’re lucky little one. It is made of radroaches.” "Very funny.” I replied, making a sceptical face. "Hm, you’re a swift learner.” The striped pony held out a hoof and said: "Jester.” I bumped her hoof weakly and raised myself on my elbows a bit. My new acquaitance scooped her brew from the pot and carefully poured it into my mouth. I’ve read before, that when you’re hungry, even the worst of food would taste good, but now I could say firmly: this soup was delicous. Even despite the only ingredient I knew were cooked carrots. I could smell spice - back in the Stable I used some, too, but here the thickness of soup depended on the base. And although the base tasted like dried mushrooms we kept in the Stable since pre-war times, was something else. With every sip I could feel my strength come back to me. Besides, the hot soup warmed my sore throat and the spice returned my sense of taste. Jester kept silent, as she watched me tucking into her soup. I could see satisfaction on her face. It was not until I licked the pot clean that I could adress the striped pony by name. And I tried to make it as friendly as possible: "Listen... Jester. You know, I used to be a somewhat good cook. Pray tell, what is this soup made from, actually? It was delicious!” Yes, I meant it. "I told you, it’s made of radroaches.” Jester’s voice was deadly serious. “Kheck!” The comprehension of what has just happened made my eyes buldge. Not only that was the first time I tasted meat, the worst thing was, whose meat I’ve just tasted. However, it was too late to spit, and I had no intention to force it out. Now I could see Jester literally shine with joy. Apparently, she used to set this sort of ‘traps’ for the unsuspecting for her own enjoyment. “Darn, I wonder what her cutie mark looks like”, I thought, but then I decided she may have none at all. I looked at stripes that covered her face, almond eyes, remembered her strange accent. All in all, I decided a straight question was better than guessing. So I made my face a bit easier than “Sweet Celestia, I’ve eaten a cooked radroach!”, and said: "Jester...” "Not on the floor! Here’s the pot.” She interrupted me again, and, apparently, she thought I’m really just a filly, fit only for troublemaking. "It’s not a about that!” I snapped. “It’s okay. I’ll survive.” "No doubt. Nopony died from my soup.” Darn, she’s impposible! "Je...” I paused, expecting her to throw in another embarrasing line, but she patienly waited me to continue, smiling with corners of her mouth. She even turned both her ears towards me. "...ster.” I exhaled and coughed. "Wot?” "I keep thinking: you’re not exactly a pony, right?” "How perceptive. My father was a zebra, and my mother was a pony. I am what is called a hybrid.” I could not read a single emotion on her face now. She mastered her mimics perfectly. "Then why are you keeping that terrible poster? Ain’t it a little bit offensive towards your ancestors?” "I think I’ve overestimated your perception.” With that Jester pointed her hoof to the darker corner of the wagon, where I saw another piece of paper. ”Point your light there.” I had to twist my hoof in a most uncomfortable manner, but in the light of my PipBuck the shapes on the wall turned into a poster. This one was in blue and violet. But, actually, it did not differ much from what I’ve seen before. This one also featured a ‘menacious shadow’ theme. An effective device, never too old. But this time it was a pony soldier, with a bloody serrated knife in his teeth. He cast an alicorn-shaped shadow on a zebra mother and a filly. The zebras pushed their backs to the wall of a destroyed building and watched the soldier with eyes full of fear. Beneath the drawing was a weird ornament of triangles and spirals. Jester commented: "It says “Nightmare comes with a load of sorrows, do you care for your tomorrow?”. How is it towards my other ancestors? I remained silent. "Say, here you are, a pegasus. And pegasi are not exactly welcome in the Wasteland for closing up the sky at the Last Day.” "For what?” Now I could see why there were no stars outside and the dawn could barely pierce through the grey wall of clouds. "Girl, you don’t even know such things... When the first balefire bombs fell, the pegasi have separated themselves from the surface with a cloud curtain, taking away the sun, the moon, and the stars from those who remained on the ground.” "But that’s...” I stammered, feeling tears coming from within. “How could they?” "That’s it. Everypony got their hooves dirty during the War. And these posters remind me of that. Believe me, I’ve picked through all sorts of ruins, and saw enough traces of both sides’ evil. So what, should I feel guilty for those who lived and died two hundreds years ago? Or should I repay my ancestor’s sins?” I tried to apply the situation to myself. If Jester’s words were true, the pegasi have doomed the whole Equestria to starvation. And all this snow around... But was there any of my fault? "No.” I replied firmly. "Then don’t think about it and live on.” "And how do you live?” It seemed like the conversation has finally went on. The normal way, at last. I hoped to find out more about my new strange acquaintance. Something just kept telling me there had to be a lot of interesting things happening to her kind. "I dig throught the garbage.” "Eeh? Why? Are you a cleaner?” "A scavenger. All the junk scattered around is more than just empty bottles and smashed cans. The local ruins contain a plenty of ancient hardware, and all sorts of curiosities that not every trader could identify. Even works of art. And if you are lucky enough to stumble upon a military camp, you may raid the armory. You will need, however, a set of fine lockpicks and a defense system bypassing skills...” "So, you are an archeologist?” I could feel my heart flutter with excitement. "Well, that’s a bit too much to say” Jester chuckled, “I’m not looking for any ancient treasures of lost empires, after all. One needs to know history and mythology for that. And we are a bit short on universities here, you know. No, Dodo, they call ones like me ‘tomb raiders’, ‘grave robbers’ and ‘marauders’. They usually forget that it is us who provide them with goods in first place.” I nodded and opened my mouth to continue talking about all the strange things in Jester’s house, but she interrupted me: "Alright, it’s my turn to ask questions. Who are you, after all?’ "I am...” I paused. After all I heard, I wanted to picture myself as something worthy. So I called myself what I always wanted to be called. “I am The Adventurer.” "Oh, I bet you are!” This was the first time I didn’t feel insulted by her mocking tone, because I knew she was a sort of right. However, I pretended to be displeased and even put some effort not to stick out my tongue. "Seriously, though. Where did you come from? You didn’t fall from the Moon after all, did you?” “See? You shouldn’t have spanked me, and would have told you everything myself,” I thought. "Where else? There are all those beautyful craters there...” My irony didn’t confuse Jester at all. "Alright. It’s more fun to guess!” Said she and then mumbled to herself, “What kind of rock have you crawled from under?” A brief pause followed, as Jester looked somewhere to the side. And then she eagerly followed: "Let’s start with simple thing. Judging by your uniform and that thing on your leg, you’ve emerged from some sealed underground shelter.” "The Stable.” I noted. Jester pretended not to hear me and followed: "The weird thing is, as far as I know, the pegasi Stables have been constructed separately, and they all are devastated by now. And all the pegasi now live up there,” Jester pointedly raised her hoof upright, but, seeing a misunderstanding in my eyes, explained, “behind the clouds.” And then I decided to finally cool her down a bit. "So it has never occured to you that I could have been born in a regular Stable by wingless parents?” "Oh,” she said perplexedly, “I did not know such things happen.” She gave no sign of disappointment. She just kept on speculating: "Now, about your cutie mark. I examined it carefully while you slept.” Jester looked at me pointedly, and I bet I’ve become all red. "So you stared at me while I was asleep! You! You...” I suffocated with indignation. "I counducted a thorough medical examination.” "Eeeh? What?” A row of obscene thoughts rushed through my mind, as I recalled some... leisure journals I’ve found one day in the technicians’ locker room. Amazed by my own naughtiness, I noticed Jester’s look. But of course! She expected me to react like that. Enjoying he own success, she continued: "And you’ve bandaged your leg really well. No, I did change the bandage, but was sorry to cut it off.” I promised to myself to never again fall into Jester’s ‘traps’, but I was not sure I could do it. It seemed like she had a whole warehouse of hints and ambiguous lines prepared, especially for me. "So, your cutie mark tells you’re good with electrical equipment, if only your special talent is not piercing red worms with lightning strikes.” "Hey!” "And, after all, you are not long here. A day or two, maybe. Am I right?” "How did you know?” "Your barding’s collar is dirty with sand and soot, but its fold is clean from inside. The same is true for you pocket flaps. So, am I right? Huh, Adventurer?” "Y-yes...” I’ve read some detective stories featuring a detective pony named Sharing Hopes, who could use a solitary hoofprint to tell not only a criminal’s age, sex, and species of the criminal, but also could describe his habits and his manner of speech. Apparently, Jester used the same method. Anyways, I cound not deny her observancy. I had another thought, however, and not as pleasant, and I decided to voice it: "Maybe, you’ve examined my bags, too? Say, searching for the clues?” "No.” Jester frowned. “We scavengers respect such thing as ‘khabar’ - ‘the loot’. And your respect towards another one’s loot determines what kind of Scavenger you are. So, only external exam.” The change in her tone told me I’ve insulted her with my idiotic suspicion. The only thing I could do now was to excuse and wait for reply. "Sorry... I didn’t think...” "You should think, filly! In this place, the ones who do not think, or do it too slow, tend to get in situations very soon. Damn, we almost know each other already. But what if you say something like that to a complete stranger? One may just spit in your face, and another may shoot you - just so, for a lesson.” She sighed and continued her tonguelashing: "I guess they people were right when they told me you Stable folk are like mares from the Moon. You know nothing, and instead of looking around yourselves you start bothering everypony with dumb questions, and more, only you can munch on salad leaves, while freezing your arse off, having a can of nutritious manticore paste in your bags...” "Stable folk? As if, in other Stables?” "You don’t want to know.” Jester’s look suddenly became dark, and I reckoned she was right this time. "But...” "Girl, this is no place for you.” Jester shook her head. ”You need to sleep, gain strength. Together we will get back to the Stable...” she nodded towards my barding “...96, right? And while we go there, I’ll tell you about the Last Day, about the Wreck and about my twice removed paternal uncle...” "To the Stable? But why, if I’ve just got out of there?” "I’ll get you back home, of course. Alive and kicking, right in the hooves of your mom and dad.” So, that’s how it is. * * * Jester had to go outside for some business of her own, so she showed me where the lavatory was. Actually, it was what I mistook for an old locker. I could have spent ages looking for it! Also, Jester put a heavy washbowl next to my bed - “just in case”, as she said, and went on dressing up. Then I heard a light switch click, a door bang and then I was all alone with my thoughts. It was deadly quiet in the room, but I could not sleep. According to my PipBuck clock, I was unconscious for approximately 6 hours. But wait! There was a date on the screen: November 7th. I was out cold for more than a whole day! Of course, Jester was kidding when she said “Good morning” - it was dark outside already. I wondered, how serious she actually was. At least, her intention to bring me back to my parents appeared serious enough. Parents. It just occurred to me it was the first time I remembered them since I’ve left the Stable. And it was Jester who reminded me about them. Father. An engineer unicorn. His education was a product of the best of Ministry Of Wartime Technologies programmes. He was a pneumatic systems specialist. Each time any Stable door started malfunctioning, it was him who always made it work again. And this was the least he could do. As far as I could remember myself, he was constantly repairing something. He always had blue papers with white lines and digits on his table, along with some metal cylinders and all sorts of tools - from precision screwdrivers to a huge red wrench. My Mom has told me once, that when I was born, Dad could not even understand - what exactly I was, and how this sort of thing could happen to him. But the Stable had been overcrowded already, so the Overmare has put a restriction: no more than one filly for a family. So, Dad decided to raise a heiress. His skill of tampering with all sorts of engineering descended from him to me. Also, it was him who constantly fed me classical music, and I think he had really overfed me with it. Mom. An earth pony. She worked at the catering department as a chef’s assistant. I remembered her starched apron and rows of vegetables, synthesized by a food talisman, ready for processing. I have no idea how close they were to the real ones, but at least they had different taste. I could also remember a locker with all sorts of spice and a huge refrigerator where I conducted my experiments of turning water into ice. The day I received my cutie mark, mom presented me a small orb made of magical glass with a piece of real cloud inside. It’s base had an inscription: “From Cloudsdayle with love”. By the way, I still had it with me in my saddlebags. Once it belonged to my distant maternal ancestor, an descended through generations. This ancestor was a pegasus, who fell in love with an earth pony. Such marriages were rare in pre-war Equestria, since unicorns and earth ponies could not walk on clouds and pegasi refused to be tied to the ground. However, it was this lucky gene combination that made me so special. When I’ve got my cutie mark, I’ve become an adult. Well, at least according to the Stable laws. So I was assigned to a job, and in a year I’ve got my own room, where I lived alone, listening to music and reading books about the outer world. My parents have long got used to the idea that the Stable was not a suitable place for me. A couple of months ago we had a conversation when I told them that I was determined to leave the Stable, sooner or later. Since then I’ve never wavered in this decision. I warned them that if I ever succeeded, and would not be able to contact them, they should mourn me no sooner than in a month. Also, I’ve told them that I may even not leave a farewell note. And not because I was an ungrateful daughter. I loved them a lot. It was just that you had to leave the Stable unnoticed - the Overmare nipped such ideas in a bud. It was bad that I’ve left so many traces. Now I had about 4 weeks to have a trip around the Surface and then find a way to get back to the Stable with minimal trouble. I could not count on my wings yet. And Jester... Boy, I believed she had no idea where exactly was my home. I longed to see her face the moment we reach the edge of the abyss. Remembering the abyss, I faces another problem: I had only two bullets and a quite weak pistol. I had to do something about it, and soon. Maybe I could offer some of my “loot” in exchange for a box of bullets. But first, I had to persuade her that I had no intention to go back home now. All these thoughts made my head ache again. Jester was right: first of all, I had to recover. I dropped my face into the pillow, stretched my legs and soon I was fast asleep. * * * I woke up in the middle of the night, and, obeying my bodily needs, crawled out of the bed. My stomach was not used to radroach meat, after all. Trying to move as silently as possible, I sneaked past sleeping Jester. She came back while I was asleep and now lay in the hammock, hanging her hoof into the passageway and snuffling. The door to the sacred place looked rather like a wardrobe, narrow and squeaky. Thankfully, inside was not a wardrobe, but a sterling restroom, just like in the Stable, if a bit older and smaller. Returning back in darkness, I managed to hit the washbowl, lose my balance and, after a painful second, fall down with lots of noise. Jester jumped out of her bed as if she was expecting it. Oh no, I could not see her in the dark, but I heard a brief rustling next to me and then I felt her weight on me. You know, lying flat on the cold floor, having hard hooves pushing against your back is very unpleasant. I had to twist my neck badly and hiss: "Get off me, damn it!” "Ah, Dodo, sweet relief!” Did she just...? Gosh, she’s nasty. "Thanks.” She finally let me stand up and shake myself off. Jester found a night illumination switch in the darkness and a dim light shaped her perfectly calm muzzle. We stood nose to nose to each other. For the first time. And Jester turned out to be almost half a head shorter than me. And all in all she was quite miniature. Our eyes met. "Why in Equestria are you attacking me like that?” I asked. "You’ve made quite a rattle. I decided that some of your friends have broken in.” "Are you kidding me?” "Not even a bit.” She replied. “Have it ever occurred to you that somepony would be looking for you?” "Now. Jester. Listen to me, please.” I stressed the last word, and, this has got her attention. Just like at the breakfast, she perked her ears. "You live at the base of a mountain. And my Stable is almost at its top. You know, there is a steel tower up there. And in between these two points is a huge abyss almost two hundred feet wide. There are no other pegasi in the Stable. So nopony would ever look for me here. Mind you, also, that if you are going to get me back to the Stable, you’ll have to learn to run the walls with a considerable cargo in your teeth, as I’m not going to go back on my own. Or, rather, conjure yourself a pair of wings, and carry me on air. I think you zebras are capable of all sorts of weird magic, right?” "We zebras?” Jester arched her eyebrow ironically and I reckoned I have just put a metaphorical hoof in my mouth. "Now imagine yourself a zebra with wome fluffy wings. Have you? Now, forget it and never remember again. And the latter option we do can consider, although it is not called ‘running the walls’, but an ‘alpinism’.” "You know, Jester. I’ve got enough up there.” I remembered a dead tree and a rusty shotgun; only Celestia knows how they managed to keep me from falling into abyss. “Don’t know about you, but I had enough of this cliffs and rocks. I’d rather stay as far away from them as possible.” "Sorry, girl, but I’m afraid you can’t. The mountain chain goes like a horseshoe around the Flashtown and you are where one of its ‘nails’ would be.” When I heard a familiar name, I flinched, hitting a Celestia-damned washbowl with my rear hoof, which made the poor thing hum like a large bell. "You said “the Flashtown”?!” "Yes, why?” Jester was apparently puzzled by my reaction. "Where are my saddlebags?” "I’ve put them under your bed.” Bucking the washbowl away, I dove under the hammock bed. With my saddlebags in my teeth, I trotted to the folding table and asked Jester to turn on more light. How could I forget about the planchette! Jester watched me unfolding the old map with visible interested. Aside from red pencil markings and blue relief lines, the map was almost devoid of color, as if it was covered with snow, too. There were, however, patches of what once was emerald green, pale green and beige shades. This told me that before the War the Equestrian climate was somewhat warmer. The mountain chin really looked like a horseshoe of a kind. They surrounded a pale green valley, and in its center was a settlement called “Polarstern”. Above it, a red pencil inscription read “Flashtown”. "Where did you get a pre-War map of the region?” Jester asked, bewildered. “It must cost a good fortune of caps.” "Caps? What caps?” Jester looked at me as if I were completely insane. "Ah yes. The bottlecaps are not currency back on the Moon, are they?” I browsed through my saddlebag contents and retrieved the old candy can. I opened it and shook some soda caps on the map. "Like these?” Jester clicked her tongue. "Where did you get such wealth?” * * * During the next 15 minutes Jester listened to me telling stories about my adventures. I expected her to interrupt me again any moment, so I rushed. The story did not go out smoothly, especially without the parts I preferred to omit, like my heroic ascend up the tower and the following hangover pills affair. And on the contrary, I described my escape from the manticore in every detail. Jester had never interrupted me. All sorts of emotions came across her face during my monologue. Worry, interest, surprise, even compassion. I could catch only the slightest traces of emotions on her face, but that was enough to understand: she was excited. I finished on the moment, where she sneaked upon me and deafened me with that noise. She knew the rest. I could not tell for sure, but it seemed like now she looked at me with more respect than before. And she kept silent, picking a bottlecap with her hoof. Finally, she smiled and said: "I think I understimated you. Not every pony can escape the hvyt dyret.” "The what now?” "The White Beast. The manticore. And, climbing the lighthouse tower during the blizzard just to repair the light? Girl, you’re crazy! I like that!” Listening to compliments from Jester was extremely pleasant, but I remembered what I’ve unfolded the map for. "Speaking of lighthouse towers. Jester, you’re good with maps, aren’t you?” "” With drafts, schemes - yes. But I’ve seen such detailed maps only a couple of times.” "But can you show me where we are?” I asked. "I’ll try. But I will need a familiar name, but this map is pre-war. All these places are no more. And those that still exist, have new names and new history.” Jester bent over the map, stretching her neck and almost scratching her nose on it. "What was the name of the lighthouse mark again?” "Altitude 472.” "Then it’s right... here.” Jester straightened herself and pushed her bottlecap to the southern part of the map. I took a closer look and noticed a point on a map, barely visible, saying “Stable 96”, next to the bottlecap. The point had definitely been set by hoof - presumably, by this map’s previous owner. The bottlecap reminded me the Stable door with its jagged edges, the symbol that my PipBuck used to mark the Stable on its map. I gulped and said: "Jester. I think I need to know what had happened to other Stables.” "Well, if you insist. Not every Stable had been built in such a back of beyond as yours. And of course they were not separated from the outer world by a convenient abyss.” Jester sticked her hoof in the map. “See? There was a bridge once. Now, there’s the abyss. That’s why you were left untouched.” "What do you mean?” I didn’t like the way she said the last phrase. "Raiders, Dodo. Since they’ve found out about the Stables, they invented dozens of devious ways to lure the naive Stable inhabitants outside. Then, they either killed them or sold them to slavery. Now these Stables are deserted. The survivors would barely be able to remember their life there. I’m not exactly sure, but I think I can bet a hoofful of caps that you are the first pony to come out from the Stable on your own, ever.” A dark silence filled the room. And then Jester continued: "But it is North here. When they run out of the easy prey, they found themselves out in the cold. The organized gangs fell apart and lonely raiders died or went south. Still, you should know: your outfit, this trademark barding of yours and this device you’re wearing is enough to trick you badly. This should not necessarily be raiders, but here’s my advice: watch out, observe, conclude. This will keep you out of trouble. And the main thing is: learn how to ask questions. Better if you don’t ask them at all. But if you really need to do that, your questions should better not be smart.” "But can I ask you?” Jester made a wry face, but then it turned into a smile. "Alright. You have to learn somehow, after all. And I can bet you have a question right now.” "Yes, it bothers me from since we’ve met.” "Something about my parents again? Why are you so concerned?” "Now you’re wrong!” I cheered. “I want to know, how do your refrigerator alarm work? I’ve peeked inside it once more while you were away, but nothing has deafened me this time.” "Oh, that one!” Jester laughed out loud. “Well, you’ve stared at the disc cover so long that I’ve decided to give you the taste of it. I think I’ve just... overdid it with the volume.” She proudly pointed me to the wooden box that hanged above us. I’ve never noticed it before. "Meet “Fiddlesticks Acoustics M6” audio system. Bog oak case, gilded contacts, gem amplifier.” "Just... Wow.” I nodded. I stood in the middle of the wagon, spellbound. Too see such a piece of art in this place was just beyond incredible. “Now, this is better than looking at the photos from the “Waves of Harmony” magazine, small and monochrome.” I thought. My contemplations have been interrupted by Jester, standing with the familiar envelope in her teeth. "So fwat? Are fwe goin’ to try fis one in acfion or fwat?” I nodded affirmatively. Note: LEVEL UP! (4) New perk: Mare from the Moon. You ask too many questions about the world around you. As a result, some pony may encourage your curiosity, while other may... discourage you all the way back to the Moon. Your arguments with Jester has raised your speech skill to 25. Good start. Author's Note Alnair's notes: So, Jester, my own character, has finally made it to the text. Hope you like her. Hope you'll like her even better as the story develop. And I personally adored the way Lucky portrayed Copper Wire. As always, I would like to remind readers that comments are highly appreciated.
Falling With Style Chapter 04: Falling With Style The night has brought a lot of snow. The snow has flattened the landscape, but that was only an appearance of things. In fact, I kept falling into snow traps. Before we departed, Jester offered me some weird shoes to get on, that looked more like tennis rackets - she called them ‘snowshoes’. I instantly refused: they were bulky, ugly and they disabled me from using the PipBuck or even scratching my nose. And now I regretted my refuse. Keeping pace with Jester took a lot of efforts, and otherwise I had to speak really loud which was bad for my sore throat. “And where are we going again?” I asked. "To the Butterfly.” "And what are we going to do there?” "We’ll find a bigger gun and a better apparel for you, silly. Since you’re so stubborn and don’t want to go home, we need to equip you appropriately. You’ll talk to people, too. That would be good for you.” I could barely hear her last words. Navigating through shallow places, I managed to fall some ten feet behind Jester. And the darned mare won’t raise her voice as if on purpose. The path curved. Jester’s hoofsteps did too. It seemed logical to make a direct shortcut to catch up with her. As a result, my next step made me dive into snow almost up to my neck. So much for a shortcut! "Jester, waaaait!!!" I shouted loudly and my sore throat reminded me about itself again. My companion stopped and turned around to see if something happened. And when I pulled myself out of the snow pit and finally reached her, I heard: "I told you to follow in my hoofsteps.” We went on and I remembered: yeah, she did say so. But I had no idea she meant it literaaaa...!” I fell again and but my tongue painfully. This time, my legs slid to the side by themselves. “Darn, I’m fed up with this!” With that, I unfolded my wings and made a couple of flaps and then another one. My hooves raised above the snow cover and after some more flaps I reached Jester again. "Oh, hello again, Dodo. I had no idea you can be that fast." And, to my astonishment, she quickened her pace! But now I could keep up with her anyways so I could stop my snow-diving and continue our conversation. "So, Butterfly, huh? What is this place?” "A village. You’re going to love it. Merry folks, pretty music.” When she said “merry folks”, I shuddered. Jester alone was enough for me, with all her constant joy. And now I had a feeling I was going to face a whole Jesterville. I sighed, imagining it vividly. Jester even turned her head towards me. "Why so sour? I can’t speak for the whole Wasteland, but of all places I visited, Butterfly is the friendliest place.” Sure. "What is this ridiculous name - “the Wasteland”? " I cling to the new word. " As far as I can see, there is a plenty of things. There are even trees.” Jester stopped and looked right before herself, deep in her thoughts. I reached her and now stood next to her, gazing at already familiar northern landscape. Our path went along the top of a mountain ridge. To the left and to the right I could see snowy ravines and distant ridges, its shapes blurred with fog. And here and there you could see some trees on the mountain slopes " conifers, apparently. Backgrounded with snow, they did not appeared green, as I used to see them in the books, but rather black. But unlike the dead tree from the abyss, these ones did not appear dead at all. "When Equestria died, the most of its territory turned into the wasteland, literally soaked with all sort of poisonous stuff. But the mountains stopped the radiation flow, and the wind moved the fallout towards Manehattan and Hoofington. " Jester made a dark face, remembering something. " So, you’re right, Dodo. The Wasteland is just a common name for what have once been Equestria.” Jester went on and I had to hustle up again to keep up with her. Now I could see why my PipBuck kept silent all the time. The air here was not poisoned, and the radiation did not go beyond my Stable’s surroundings. I did not want to know what happened to the places that received the most of the fallout, but Jester spoke, as if she heard my thoughts: "Mind you, this region has its own dirty places, too, like the Wreck. Once, it used to be a large industrial center with a proud name of Stahlbarn. It’s new name, however, speaks for itself, although these ruins are always crowded with all sorts of losers. Losers without enough experience, guts or gear to stick their muzzle outside a local boozer and attempt a deeper recon.” Jester snorted. Apparently, she did not think much of these ponies. "Eh, and what are they doing down at those ruins?” Jester snorted again. "Picking, of course. Newbies like you. This shithole is crawling with them, trying to find something worthy where everything has been scavenged, like, a dozen times already. Only the dumbest and the desperate dare to venture deeper underground.” Jester spit under her hooves with disgust. "Those who have caps but have no guts, get themselves a fancy hazmat suit and stick to more or less safe places of the former city communications. Those who have no caps, but have brains, spur the newbies underground. Those who survive sooner or later replace their former ‘patrons’. Those who don’t even have brains usually die in a couple of hikes, choking on some poisonous shit or cracking their neck in another shaft. Usual story.” "And what about no caps and no guts?’ "Ah, those. Those are the most pityful sight. Beggars and wasted drunkies. Always dirty, stinking and with opaque eyes. For a cap or two they will tell you an awesome story of tearing a manticore’s maw with their bare hooves, or seeing an apparition of princess Luna with their own eyes. Well, I have no doubts about the latter, there’s so much you can see when you’re high.” I gulped. Jester’s story shook me well. All my disappointment with my little confined world I used to live in has suddenly been double-crossed with a single thought: I was born in a right place and in a right time. What would I have become if I had not been born in the Stable? Another loser from the Wreck kind? And what if my family was a couple of raiders... if they make families at all. Would I have killed and robbed? I even shuddered to this thought. And what about Jester? I doubted she had an easy time. I was almost sure she started her career of scavenger exactly in the Wreck. But she looked nothing like a loser, and even more - she dropped every hint to display she adapted to the Surface well. I wish I could borrow even a little bit of such confidence. "So, are you coming or prefer to stare at the snow?" Wow, Jester went quite far away while I digested new information. I charged to catch up with her, but my hooves slid away again and I rolled downhill. * * * Whenever I dreamed about flying, I imagined it happening in a relatively straight trajectory and farther from the ground. Hell, this was not flying, this was falling, and without style. I rolled down the slope, hitting snow-covered rocks every now and then. Earth and sky replaced each other rapidly, and I lost my sense of space. “More bruises incoming” " I thought in between two particularly hard hits. Some deep instinct told me to brace myself and not to wave wy hooves in the air. Then, a familiar sense of weightlessness came, followed by a crash into the snow, face first as usual. I heard an unpleasant crunch in my neck and then I stopped. My attempt to stand up and shake myself off failed. The morning radroach soup was about to come out in an unnatural way and I tried to make the world stop from spinning with my hooves, fruitlessly. I had to fall on my side to keep my breakfast inside. The world kept spinning around me and I decided to wait until the sky become one again. "Are you alive down there, filly?" Jester descended down the slope as if she was sliding. Darn it, how does she do it? I waved my hoof to her. "I don’t want to disappoint you, young one, but you’re doing your flying wrong. And stop looking at me like that, you’ve been barely scratched!" Jester came closer, looking down at me calmly. Oh boy, how I wanted to say something really unpleasant in reply. The world still tried to sail away from me and the snow melted under my collar in a most disgusting way. "And I see you’re making progress in your archaeology stuff.” "What are you talking...?” Jester interrupted me and pointed her hoof somewhere behind my back. I turned around and found my involuntary descend to end at the edge of a huge pit, like a scoop, with one side open to the abyss. The pit was filled with much deeper snow, and on the edge of it, something big and long layed, hanging over the abyss. Some kind of an prolongate construction or, rather, a machine, painted in grey. And almost entirely covered with snow. I could not realise what that was exactly from my point. "What is it?" I looked at the striped pony and saw her eyes sparkle with excitement. "Now, girl, it seems you’ve discovered a whole aircraft.” * * * We descended down the slope of the scoop with great care. I had my ice-pick ready in case I fall again and Jester layed rope so we could get back. At first I though the aircraft layed horizontally, but the closer we went, the more obvious it became that the whole machine had an angle: its tail was raised and its nose looked down the abyss. At the pit’s bottom I realised this was not the only illusion: the machine was much bigger than I thought first. Even despite the most of its body was under the snow, it was clear that a whole dozen of those carriages I saw before could fit inside this one. "Jester, have you ever seen such aircrafts before?" I could trot the snow much faster now, but I still lagged behind the grey mare. "Only on the ad posters. But I heard they were quite popular cargo transport those days. They delivered mail, cargo and sometimes - ponies. I bet this one is the Cloud Brigand, developed after Sky Bandits became too small for the war needs. "Sky Bandits?” "You said you’ve seen some weird carriages without wheels. Those are Sky Bandits. They were driven by a single pegasus and could take up to a dozen ponies with luggage.” "That has to make a couple of tons of weight. How is this even possible? " I failed to imagine a pegasus powerful enough to pull such payload. Jester stopped abruptly and looked at me as if I just put my rear hoof in my mouth. "Dear, do I look like a pegasus to you?” I had nothing to say to that. "Sweet Celestia, you’re so easy to disarm. " She shook her head dramatically and then her face suddenly changed to smile. "I’m not much into mechanics. It’s Hack Wrench who could tell you everything about these vehicles.” "Hack Wrench? You never told me you’ve got another pegasus friend.” "Actually, you’re wrong, little girl. She was an earth pony.” "Ahem, and what was her interest in the Bandits then?” "Oh, this mare was obsessed with the idea to repair one of those Bandits, not too far away from the village. She found the blueprints somewhere and turned her house into a whole warehouse of spare parts and cords. The Bandit is still there, unfinished.” "Why are you speaking in past tense? " I asked carefully. "She was good with mechanics and locksmithing, and she went on. But she could not cope with the wires " all those batteries and power lines were beyond her talents. And the worst of all, she could not find a pegasus nearby. You see, who needs a vehicle with no driver?” I nodded. "She came somewhere from the south and she could not handle the cold so well. So, in the middle of the winter she packed her saddlebags and left. “ "Well, I can relate." I answered, shivering with cold. “Bad climate it is. And I thought something bad happened. To hell with such thoughts”. "She told me there is an engine in every Bandit that propels the vehicle. The pegasus only steers it with the mechanical harness. And I doubt even she could tell you how to steer this thing." Jester pointed at the buried aircraft. We stood near its tail. Its huge keel was pointed towards the sky, the sky that was ready to burst into another blizzard any moment. The true sun could barely pierce the cloud curtain, but the airplane’s tail was decorated with another one - Princess Celestia’s cutie mark! Apparently, it was a some kind of insignia. I could read a partially worn label below, saying “Ryal Wnged Mil”. "Are we going to read somepony else’s mail?” "Sure, Princess Celestia’s love letters." Jester mocked. Jester’s word made me feel uncomfortable. Well, of course I knew Princess was made of flesh and blood, but saying such things about her... It’s blasphemy. "Hey, Dodo to Jester, come in! " Jester waved her hoof, without her snowshoe, before my face. " Are you going to spend a whole day outside? "Huh? " I think I’ve just got carried away with problems of theosophy. "Of course not. But how do we get inside?” I could see no doors that we could use to infiltrate to aircraft. They, if any, seemed to be buried under the snow. "And how would you have done it?" Jester undid her saddlebags and started picking through the contents. "Well, I will use the door. Probably, with the aid of hammer, ice-pick or some other property destruction device.” Jester even stopped picking through her saddlebags to that. "Well... If I fail to pick it with my screwdriver first." I pretended to pick the snow shyly with my hoof. Did I just managed to surprise her? "Then dig.” "Where?" I started to feel dumb again. "Right before yourself." Jester returned back to her saddlebags, apparently determined to find something in there. I estimated the snow at the fuselage. There had to be no less than five feet deep! "What, right with my hooves?” "Well, personally, you may use your hooves, why not." Judging by the silence, Jester has finally managed to find whatever she was looking for. I turned my head. Jester had a small portable shovel in her teeth. * * * "A window is fine, too." I shrugged. The two of us stood at the bottom of a small pit, dug in snow with our collaborative efforts. I had no intention to do that again. I examined the rim of the round porthole on the Brigand’s side. "Now we only need to open it..." I reached my head to retrieve the screwdriver from my pocket, but my movement was interrupted by a sound of a powerful blow and breaking glass. "...carefully.” Jester unholstered a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun, short enough to grip her teeth on it like a pistol. “Fo? Hoo firft?” She didn’t need to ask me twice. Excited by our excavations, I eagerly started inside, but a hard grey hoof stopped me. “Filly, you either do not listen to me, or you’ve got your memory blown off with snow.” I blinked in bewilderment. It was the third time she called me ‘filly’. It seemed like all the impression I made with my story back at her van has just vanished. “What’s wrong, Jester?” Jester winced as if she’d just eaten a rotten carrot. “You’re worse, than a sheep on a minefield. Do you really have no idea you are going to open your back to me?” I really had no idea at all. “What do you mean?” The petite striped mare dropped her shotgun to the ground and spat. “There’s nopony you should trust in the Wasteland. Nopony at all. You saw a shotgun in my teeth. What stops me from shooting in your back?” My jaw dropped from such a twist. “But you have just saved me, Jester! You’ve gone through a lot of trouble to get me back to life.” “Well, you’ve helped me carry your loot. So now I can shoot you for your belongings.” I could not tell if she was joking or not. I could feel the group slipping away from my hooves. “This is your vulnerability. There is no reason a Wasteland dweller should not kill you, no matter what he said or did before.” I did not believe her. I could not, I did not want to believe this. “Ponies don’t act this way, Jester.” I pushed her hoof away with force and went into the porthole, leaving the striped mare behind. Inside was dark and it smelled like humidity, rust iron and all sorts of other materials, whose smells I did not recognize. I jumped down, lit up my PipBuck and looked around. I’ve said it already that I had no idea how big this machine was. It appeared even bigger inside. I think the plane’s interior was wider and higher than some corridors in the Stable. The interior featured bare steel “ribs” and some pipelines on the ceiling. Apparently nopony bothered themselves with furnishing on a cargo plane. All this, along with round portholes, wooden boxes and metal latticed floor reminded me of ancient ships’ holds from pre-war books about pirates and sea travels. Well, even this plane’s name had a bit of pirate feel for me. But, unlike the ships from the books, everything - or almost everything - here was made from metal, and looked more or less contemporary even after two hundred years. I heard Jester rolling inside noisily behind me. Then I saw some light source ignite behind me and heard an approving whistle. “Jackpot! Speak about begginer’s luck!” Turning towards Jester, I saw a weird picture. Her forehead emiited a very bright beam of light, as if she was... a unicorn? I winked and realised my mistake. There was a hexagonal white gem in a metallic body with a leather belt on her head. “Surely, you know you’ve got a star in your head, don’t you?” I mocked, trying to give Jester a taste of her own medicine. “You jealous?” Of course I was. Such a tiny gem gave about three times more light than my PipBuck. I said nothing, though. “It is ‘LP-31 Lightbringer’. Branded stuff, not a some lame mule counterfeit. Where other toys would please you two times maximum, this little one can handle up to thirty and one extra! Or, at least, that’s what the package said... Tarnation, why does every, even the most innocent thing, sounded almost like obscenity in her mouth? My thoughts carried me away and I felt crimson on my face. Leaving me behind with my mouth open, Jester went on, and her headlamp illuminated more rows of boxes. “Shit, Dodo, it’s like Hearth Warming Eve in November! What are we waiting for?” Actually, I had no idea what should be done in such circumstances. Jester, however, obviously had no intention to lose any time. In a split second Jester was in posession of a red crowbar. Does she always carry all those tools along? Jester inserted the crowbar in between planks of the nearest large container and then forcefully pushed it with her hoof. In five minutes the whole wall of the container fell before our hooves, peppering us with wrapping paper confetti. “What the hay?” After spitting away the paper from my gaping mouth, I dercted the light forward. The whole container had been occupied with a huge old piano. A piano! Who could have thought of sending a piano with a cargo plane this far north? “Hey Dodo, you like classical music?” Jester had been definitely amused with my disappointed look. “You have no idea.” I replied sarcastically. The music Jester had shown me yesterday was a revelation to me. I have never heard such sounds before. Jester explained that such sound are emitted with special arcane devices, assembled on magic gems and spell matrix. Such instruments could be connected to other devices that change the input sound in many different ways. One could build a chain of devices of any complexity and, by adjusting them, get any sort of sound they desired. Such magical framework could make even the sad Octavia’s play sound magnificent. I was ready to listen to this music all night, but Jester forced me to go to bed. I spent the rest of the night cursing the Overmare and the Stable Cultural Council who made sure nopony could get their hooves on anything better than hoof-n-roll records. These elderly and respected but incredibly snobbish and boring ponies have completely forgot the true aim of our Stable and of all Equestrian cultural diversity they left only the most refined pieces publicly available. I guess it was up to me to discover what other forbidden masterpieces have been hidden in the deepest shadows of our archives. Unfortunately, there was only one crowbar and Jester already had it, so I left her to have fun with containers and went on exploring the plane. Some portholes were broken and there were huge piles of snow beneath them, but other than that, the Brigand was in almost perfect condition. I even managed to find a red bag of a weird shape with a stencil inscription saying “Self-rescuer Rebreather. Duration - 15 minutes.’ “Hey, Jester!” I shouted. judging by the sound, my striped companion had a nice time stuffing the bags with some loot somewhere behind me. “What is a ‘self-rescuer’?” “It’s like a gas mask, but with its own oxygen source. You can breathe in smoke or even underwater. Grab it.” Done. The containers, who were just expecting to meet Jester’s crowbar, were left behind and I passed by some lockers with equipment, into the front compartment. A plate saying ‘correspondence’ told me I had a nice opportunity to fulfill my lust for reading. The compartment was a mess. The floor was literally covered with all sorts of wet, rotten and dirty envelopes of every possible size. I picked the more or less intact one and retrieved a twofold sheet of paper. But it was impossible to discern a single word, as the ink has lost its colour and streaked beyond recognition. A canvas bag, also filled with letters, was not in better condition. Apparently, the letters have been destroyed by overall humidity and by water that flowed towards the plane’s front whenever it got warmer here. Disappointed, I turned back towards the tail, where Jester enthusiastically vandalised the containers, but then I noticed a huge steel locker. It said ‘First Class Delivery’. Of course, it enjoyed a considerable padlock, but this could not stop me. There was no way I could break it, so I used my ice-pick and my own weight. It was not an easy deal, but after a moment of swinging on the ice-pick, I managed to lift the doors from their hinges. You see, the bigger the doors are, the worse are the hinges, usually. Anyways, now nothing stood between me and the precious mail! Inside were blue plastic containers. They beared a logo of “Royal Winged Mail” - a white envelope pierced by a golden lightning. The containers seemed to be airtight. I tore a seal from one of them. Inside were some documents on a stamped paper - some contracts and bills with sums of millions of pre-war bits. They were written in a dry style and contained a whole lot of unknown words like “cadastre”, “diversification” and “end user license”. Boy, this was an embodiment of boredom for me. These papers had neither price nor meaning now, and I put them back. I looked down and saw a big crate, also made of plastic, saying “Letters for Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia”. Fascinating! Jester’s joke has just became real. I’ve overcome by confusion, opened the box and went on reading. “Dear Princess Celestia. I know, you can do everything. My dad went to war and disappeared. Please, bring me my dad back. Juno, earth pony.” “Dear Princess Celestia. We went to Polarstern recently. Here mom and dad have serious science business. And it’s is deadly boring and the weather is disgusting here. Could you please tell the pegasi to give us a little bit of Sun? You are the Sun Princess, they must listen to you. Sincerely yours, Orange Spot.” “Dear Princess Celestia. I saw you at the last Summer Solstice. You are incredibly beautiful. I painted you from my memory. I know, the resemblance is not exactly perfect. Please, tell, are we going to be ok? Sign: Nuit Blanche, Cloudsdale.” The painting was on another side of the letter. The Princess stood before the orange sky with a bright white Sun in the middle of it. Her magnificent mane was soft pink with a tiny stripe of cyan. There were faces of ponies on the foreground, but they were not detailed, unlike the Princess’ face, diadem and chest armor. Well, the picture was not perfect, but I guess this Nuit Blanche was definitely a gifted painter. I reckoned that all these letters have been written by fillies and foals. Unfortunately, their dreams, hopes and please have never been delivered. I put the picture away and took another envelope. “Dear Princes Celestya. Hi. My neim is Baton. I was good this year. Dunno why I get stupid paper from Stabletec for Hearth Warmin Eve. Mom say this your gift and it very expensive. I want toy train instead. Hope you don't mind.” I recoiled and retrieved a green piece of paper with Stable-Tec logo. Silly little foal... Every next letter was telling about new troubles of wartime. Torn-apart families, excruciating labor, work injuries, starvation and poverty. Many fillies and foals had no idea how hard it had been for their parents. They believed in better future. Now I could see that even if somepony had been lucky enough to shelter inside the Stables, it had been a loss - a loss of aspiration, of open space, of hard but usual life. The last letter was too close to my own life. “Dear Princess Celestia. Yesterday we harvested potatoes with our whole village. The autumn came before time and potatoes could rot. I worked hard and was all messy. We saved the crops, though. In the evening, when I washed all the dirt away, I discovered I gained a cutie mark: three potatoes. Why?! I always dreamed of becoming a surgeon and heal ponies! Now, with such cutie mark and my rural origins, I may as well forget about Medicine University forever. This is not fair! You are the most wise pony in Equestria. Please, tell why can not chose our own destiny? Neither griffons, nor the damned zebras have such problems. We are the only ones to obey the fate. You may think that I’m the only one disappointed, but this is not true. Maybe it’s time to change something? Hope for your reply, Heavy Duty, Hayfield farm pony”. When I finished reading, I pressed the letter hard to my chest and sobbed. The young colt who merely wanted to help got his life ruined because of his cutie mark. After all, I’ve managed to find a fitting job, and he could hope for no more than rural doctor’s position at best. My hooves trembled so I failed to put the letter back into the envelope. “Enough sad stories for today” I thought angrily and threw the piece of paper back into the pile of other letters. I wanted to push the box back but then I saw the Nuit Blanche’s drawing again. I could not let it remain here. There were two sections in my planchette: the transparent one contained the map and the closed one kept the griffon’s notes. So there was where I put the drawing of an unbeknown pony who lived two hundred years ago. My mood was ruined. No surprise. To distract myself I decided to check the rest of the locker. “Could not be worse” I calmed myself, picking through the middle section that contained yellow polymer packages with white and red stripe and a label “Winged Mail Delivery”. I stashed them on the floor, reading addresses and company names. “Baltimare Utilization Group (Northern branch)” seemed to care for ecology. With great efforts, I manage to tear the package apart with my teeth. Apparently the package still contained the pre-war air, along with snow-white sheets, as if they were printed, like, yesterday. Lots of tables and diagrams. Of course. One had to organize trash processing somehow. Not interesting. “Hydra” private security. “Woona Travel” touring bureau. “Pony Joe’s Donuts” bakery. Soon I had a little mountain of envelopes next to me that contained letters of no interest or value for me. The next one was large and heavy. It had been addressed to a person - somepony named Pepper Mint. Inside was - wow! - a bundle of Daring Do comics! I made myself not to jump and dance around the plane that hung over the abyss. But my heart was ready to jump away from my chest when I stared at the colourful cover - Daring Do crouched under a heavy axe that split her famous hat in two. And the bundle had some five or six stories! I hid the true treasure in my saddlebags and picked the last envelope. It had been sent by some Barbara Seed from Manehattan to a some number mailbox situated in a town of Maremansk. This envelope was different from others: it was bigger and, apart from papers, contained something round inside. It feeled like my souvenir Cloudsdale orb. Well, that was enough to open the package that instant. Good for me I was so careful. Surely, opening envelopes with teeth was a difficult thing to manage, but I did my best to rip only the edge to keep contents intact. I carefully pushed out a very strange sheet of paper. Or was it paper, actually? Anyways, this sheet was much, much older than the dead griffon’s map, and was inscribed with all sorts of symbols - like stars, horseshoes, wings, trees and even more mysterious signs I could not relate to anything at all. Well, it seemed like Jester’s joke about archeology was not a joke at all. This encrypted message that once belonged to this Barbara Seed had definitely had to do something about ancient pony history. “If only this is not somepony’s joke” my sceptical inner voice objected. Sticking my hoof deeper into the package, I picked a mysterious round object. It was a small black orb with barely visible glow. I did not know whether this was a some powerful ancient artefact or merely a decoration. I doubted Jester could tell me what it actually was, so I put it in my saddlebags until later. I carefully tucked the ancient papers there, too - away from the humidity. The locker was empty now. There still remained one place in the plane where I had not been yet - the cockpit. It was separated from the rest of the plane with a thin metal wall. While the wall appeared loose, the door merely fell down as soon as I touched it with my hoof. When I entered the cockpit, I gasped: after the darkness of interior this space blinded me with flooding light through the huge windshield; the windshield was as wide as the plane itself and was partitioned in separate panels. When my eyes got used to the daylight, I looked around. My first finding awaited me right at the door: a perfect leather pilot jacket with fur collar! Of course it was deeply frozen but the cold prevented it from decay. Apparently, the jacket belonged to a pegasus because it had holes for wings and even pockets for wings! Sweet Celestia, it was so cold! I had to move vigorously to make it warm from inside again. As I moved my body, I noticed a weird assembly in the middle of the cockpit. Honestly, I expected to see a pilot’s seat, a steering wheel or something to steer the machine with teeth or hooves. Well, there was nothing like that. And actually, there was nothing at all, put aside some personal lockers, a dashboard under the windshield and this weird installation. The installations itself resembled a big egg-shaped glass case with thick wires going inside. I stepped closer and peeked through the glass, but the frost was opaque. I brushed it with the sleeve of my jacket and recoiled: from inside a dried corpse looked at me. A pegasus, a stallion... I think. The thick wires ended on devices fixes on his body. They plugged a pony into a plane? Why? Apparently, this was the pilot, but I could not understand the necessity of such solution. I had my share of dead ponies recently, and I believed I had many more ahead. I had no interest in watching another one. So I left the dead pilot and his crystal coffin and walked towards the windshield. The opposite side of the abyss was barely visible through the glass. It rose like a grey wall above the plane. I could not see the abyss itself, though, because the Brigand’s nose obstructed my view. I crawled onto the dashboard to see at least something else. I knocked on the windshield frame to shake the snow away. And, as if on reply, that very moment something very heavy dropped on the plane’s rooftop. The huge machine swayed and I fell on the floor on my back. What the...? The answer came instantly. An old friend of mine, a white manticore - the manticore! - jumped on the nose. She was so close I could see my bullet wounds on its face. And, worst of all, it recognized me too; its blue eyes glowed with definitely not cold hatred. I knew this beast was stubborn, but I had no idea, how much! The manticore reached its paw towards me but it stuck in the glass. Unable to comprehend the obstacle, the animal furiously lashed the glass, showering me with shards. Too bad for it I already crawled far enough to push my back to the metal wall. This was far enough for the beast not to be able to reach me: the massive paw lashed across the air a couple feet before my muzzle. Well, at least here I was relatively safe... Tarnation! I was not safe at all! With a powerful jerk the beast tore the whole frame with remaining glass away and sent it flying down the abyss. I thought the beast was too large to fit into the gap, but I was absolutely wrong. The savage hybrid of a cat and a scorpion was incredibly flexible. It pulled itself inside the cockpit and stomped its paws against the glass capsule. The sturdy glass cracked and fell apart into several bulky parts and the plane’s fuselage cracked somewhere under me. With a soft and streaming jump the manticore landed on the metal floor. She pushed the capsule aside, throwing its disgusting contents right before my hooves. Before, I’d rather scream or even shriek but now such sight could not distract me from desperately seeking for anything sharp, heavy on the floor or on the wall. A red. Tubular. Fire extinguisher! I ripped the seal, pointed the horn right into the monster’s face and pulled the lever. A cloud of ice-cold white foam broke out with a loud hiss. “What? Don’t like this now?” I roared. Disoriented and blinded, the manticore attempted to sting me with her tail, but to no avail. I threw the exhausted canister in its head. The animal howled and shook its head, throwing flakes of foam all around the cockpit. Realizing I had no time to lose, I started towards the cockpit door and stopped only when I rammed into Jester, who had her sawed-off shotgun in her teeth. “Whaf the fuh if goin on there?” She asked. I rushed so hard I choked first part of my reply: “...core.” “Cove? What cove?” “Manticore!” Jester’s eyes widened and I realised she was not prepared for this. Or? A powerful blow made the thin cockpit wall bulge towards us and a furry head of my pursuer appeared in the doorway. Feeling shivers in my legs, I pulled my pistol and aimed with my left eye closed. But then I felt a rude push in my shoulder and Jester’s unamused voice over my ear: “Get off the line of fire, filly”. I stepped back and saw that Jester had no shotgun already, but a thick metal pipe with wooden stock. The metal wall opened towards us like a door. The pipe made a deafening thud and some invisible force sent the manticore flying back into the cockpit. Its huge body rammed into the dashboard so hard that the whole aircraft jerked forward and the floor angled towards the abyss. Jester looked disappointed. “Not good” She muttered “What’s not good? That we are slowly sliding into the abyss or that the manticore is coming to her senses?” Her roar of pain made this clear enough. “That the grenade’s detonator didn’t go off...” “WHAT?” I was absolutely sure this metal pipe shot a blast of some invisible magic or something. But... A blinding flash and a wave of hot air washed over me, and the blow was so loud that the Brigand shuddered to the last of its screws. The shockwave threw me down, and the aircraft slid a little bit forward and then its taile started to rise. A contained filled with something fragile slid by me and almost hit Jester in her head, while she tried to bite the grenade launcher by its belt. When she finally threw it on her back, she started climbing up the floor - the angle was not too steep yet. “Cargo door, go!” she croaked, pointing her hoof ahead. Thankfully, we were getting closer to the tail end of the plane, while fire flared behind us, in the nose of the aircraft. There was no way we could escape through the porthole. It took only a couple of hops and wing flaps to get to the cargo door. I unlocked the latches and bucked the emergency lever. The huge door fell down, and a flow of fresh air boosted the fire behind us. Jester, however, had almost reached me already. This crazy mare had her loot bags with her! “What are you doing?” I screamed over the rumble of a huge sliding machine. “We came here not to leave this wooooooow...!” The tail went up abruptly and Jester had lost ground. I barely managed to grip her grenade launcher’s belt with my teeth. My neck bent, but this bastardly mare had no intention to drop the bags! Tarnation, how much had she put into these bags? Desperately flapping my wings, I realized the loot still pulled me down. The tail continued to incline, making a loud and low sound that almost caused pain. It was still too far up to the cargo door, the fire raged below and I could swear I heard a scream of the dying manticore through the rumble of firestorm. “Jester, drop the bags, I can’t hold you!” I remembered my first flight over the abyss. The idea was to flaps forcefully, not frequently, catching as much air as possible with each flap. It looked like it did the trick - I managed to stop our descent and hang up in air. But I could already feel convulsions - the precursors of that my grip will eventually loose besides my will. Jester, however, desperately waved her hooves in the air, and I had no idea what she intended to do. To unfasten the belt? Boy, she’s certainly insane! “Stop it now! If you want us to survive, stop dangling, curse you!” Really, the more she moved, the harder it was for me to keep us in air. Flying up was not an option. I had to think of something immediately or otherwise we’ll soon find our death in the flaming cockpit below. Why does this thing not fall down already? I could feel hot air touching my hooves, and all this time Jester kept bucking, not helping me a little bit. Who’s the sheep on a minefield now? We’re both going to die now because of her damned loot! And then I felt Jester gone quiet. When I looked down, my mane stood on end: still holding her bags in her mouth, Jester used her hooves to point her grenade launcher downright below! “Jester, what are you doing?” “Adding fuel to fe fire” she hissed. She bucked the trigger lever and with a loud thud a grenade burst down. Oh. Shit. The grenade did not go downright, however. It hit the plane in the middle - right where the wings were attached to the fuselage. How could I know they kept fuel inside the wings? Believe me, the grenade explosion inside the manticore was nothing compared to the explosion of the wing full of aviation fuel. Before I could think of anything, the pressure wave embraced me, Jester and her damned bags and launched us all out of the cargo door like a bullet. As I skyrocketed, flames licked me and I smelled burned hide. The huge plane that remained under snow for two hundred years, broke its deadlock below us and finally fell down into the abyss, burning from inside like I’ve never seen before. When it hit the bottom, a monstrous explosion of the second wing blew the remains of the plane, the manticore and the cargo across the gorge below and only then I heard a rumble of metal falling apart and a heartbreaking farewell sound of an old piano. I unfolded my wings and easily landed us on ground. “Bitf, why did it ftuck” Jester excelled in her profanity as I carefully put her on the snow. Actually, I had enough profanity for her in my mind. But, on the one hand, she had just save our lives. On the other hand, though, it were her loot bags that got us into all this. Lying on a sooty snow I looked at my flank. Oh, I wouldn’t have been surprise if I found a new cutie mark there after such an adventure. I left Jester with her bounty and walked to the edge of the abyss. Down there the remains of the plane burned out and with them - my old foe. It looked like this was my first real victory on the Surface. My neck ached and I could barely hold my head upright, but I was full of pride. I felt an urge to say something badass, just to mark the moment. “I always said you need a bigger couple of wings.” “Dodo, who are you talking to?” Jester was on her feet already and almost glowed with happiness, as if she had not been hanging over a flaming abyss on a grenade launcher belt a minute ago. Where the hell did that come from, by the way? “With the manticore. Or, with whatever remained. Where did you get the grenade launcher?” “Found it in the airplane. I just could not miss such a big gun!” I looked at her sullenly. “What?” She was innocence itself. “Every girl can have her own little wishes.” Damn, I could not stay angry at her. Jester was such an incredibly resilient little lump of insanity and she definitely enjoyed it! But I could not just stay silent about what just happened. “Jester, we could have died because of your bags.” “Could have. But we haven’t” She started to untie the bags. “And if it became really tight, I would have thrown them away.” So, this was not tight enough? “But we survived, and we have loot. And if we threw it away, we wouldn’t have it now. Simple Wasteland arithmetics.” “Jester. You’ve risked me, yourself and your loot.” The striped pony stopped working on the rope and looked at me seriously. I already knew she can be serious, so I prepared for a lecture. “So, Dodo, you say you hadn’t risked yourself when you emerged from that Vault of yours?” “A Stable.” “Doesn’t matter. And you hadn’t risked your life when you dangled on a rope, fastened to a rusty shotgun?” “I had no choice.” “You always had choice. You could shoot yourself. Or you could jump down the abyss. Or you could shatter your hooves trying to climb the cliff. You have no idea how many choices a truly desperate pony can discover. But, the most of all, you could just stay down in your Stable and live the rest of your life in comfort and safety. But you made a risky decision and now blame me of risk?” Well, it seemed like Jester was right again. Yes, she was somewhat cynical, but generally, she was right. And I judged the situation according to my habits and stereotypes and not according to what actually happened. Jester’s ability to switch from her insanely playful mood to a deadly serious one amazed me. I started to get used to these changes and, from the looks of it, she preferred to say important things in serious tone. I gave up. After all, we’ve survived, we had two whole bags of loot and we’ve just dropped a huge plane with a dead manticore down the abyss. And this... was awesome! Shit, this was really awesome! Joy started to take over me and I could not help but smile. I remembered the both of us flying up, riding the blast and a giggle came out from my mouth. Then I looked at the joyful Jester with light burns across her face and then I’ve burst into laugh. I fell on the snow and could not stop laughing. LEVEL UP (5): New perk: Property damage. Opening locks with a bobby pin and screwdriver? That’s not your style! You never look for an easy way and invent the most exotic ways of breaking in. Other lock-pickers can envy your inventiveness and stubbornness. Quest perk: Nestling’s flight level 2: While you still can not fly far, you already can take more cargo on a short distance. Talking to Jester, you train your speech skill. You gain +2 to your starting 25 of Speech. Author's Note Sorry for the delay, people. I had to do some nursing for my grandma in a hospital, so it took a bit longer to translate the chapter than usual. So Lucky already brainstorms Chapter 5 as I upload this text to FimFiction. Basically, unlike previous chapters, I was the scriptwriter for this chapter and Lucky added details and emotions - I particularly like his letters to Princess Celestia. Hope you like it too. Please, leave us feedback, both positive and negative. It keeps us going. P.S. We could use some editors. Would anyone like to do it? We need a native enlish-speaker for that.
Butterfly Chapter 05: Butterfly “Hustle up, Dodo! It’s a wonderful view here!” My striped companion was already on the top of the mountain pass, while I still struggled to climb uphill, with a huge duffle bag behind, breathing heavily. While I recovered from our adventure in the plane, Jester managed to craft a comfortable harness, using pieces of rope and belts she scavenged. It kept the bag pretty well balanced on my back and was comfortable enough. It took some getting used to, but still it was much better, than dragging the bag with my teeth. We shared the weight evenly, but Jester could still move much faster than me. She gave her snowshoes to me but her natural agility and low weight made up for it: even with the loot, her hoofprints were not deep. “Where are you?” she shouted impatiently, “you’re going to miss such a sunset!” “Sunset? Is it ever possible here?” It took all I had to finally reach the top and drop the bag right into the snow. Enough, we’ll make a halt here. Standing next to Jester, I could feel chilly wind flowing by my face. Fortunately, my new aviation jacket kept me from cold. The wind messed my companion’s long mane, and the frost made her cheeks pink; it was so strange to see a colour play on her monochrome fur. I guess I looked very much the same now. She kept looking at the long golden patch that illuminated the grey clouds and the distant mountain chain covered with snow. The sun! With every moment the pale glowing disc went lower and the golden pikes went dim. My thoughts went back to the Sun Princess - where is she now? I totally was not sure it was her magic that lowered the sun below horizon now. If she was here somewhere, there would be no cloud curtain. Whatever those pegasi may think of themselves. Celestia would simply not allow them to hide the Sun from everypony else. I wanted to get a better look around via the griffon binoculars while there still was a bit of sunlight. But, be it fast walk or our recent adventures that finished it - I could not see a thing through the monocular, and something rattled inside the thing. I put the broken binoculars back into the saddlebag and kept looking around on my own. A small valley lay ahead of us, between to mountain slides. There were trees here and there on the slides, but the surface below was almost free of trees. I could see, however, a black patch of forest far away. In the middle of the valley was a massive and solid building. Actually, this was a whole complex of buildings. When Jester mentioned Butterfly, I imagined it to be a shantytown of old wagons or scrap shacks, but nothing like a full-size fortification built entirely of wood and surrounded by a high palisade made entirely of tree trunks! Really, what I saw was not much of a village, but rather a fort. “Wow.” I muttered. “I haven’t seen such sun for a long time.” Jester replied. Apparently she happened to be to Butterfly often so she could not comprehend a true source of my amazement. I decided not to elaborate and just watched the last rays of setting sun. “Well, grab the ice-pick and onward?” I asked merrily when the sky turned back to its usual grey. “Yep. Just not like the last time, okay?” She definitely meant my rapid descend towards the plane wreck, and I had no intentionally to pull that stunt again. While we crawled up out of that plane bowld, using the rope line, Jester taught me how to use an ice-pick properly. Whenever one goes up or down the mountain, they should always keep the tool ready. If your hooves start to slide away, you’re going to have a moment or two to ram it into the ice or snow and stop your fall. Or, if you’re lucky, even hang yourself over an abyss. Yuck, I had enough of that feeling when I crawled down from that cliff. So, Jester only proved my own guessing to be true. More interesting was the fact that Jester treated it as a melee weapon. On a second thought, it made sense. I would not envy a guy who gets this thing into his head. But now I was going to use it the way it was supposed to be, and I started my descent. * * * I stumbled upon a tussock and veered into the snow, followed by a duffle bag into the back of my head. Fortunately, this happened on a flat surface, not on the slope. Just lost my focus again. “Ah, horsefeathers!” I sworn, and wondered why should this word be a profanity? There’s literally nothing special about it! “Why are you so clumsy?” Jester asked, suddenly appearing aside. “Gosh, her comments is the last thing I need right now!” I wanted to snap back, but as I picked the most vicious words, I realized that in fact I was angry because I was hungry and tired. And, it seemed that my sense of hunger appeared just when I catched a scent of cooked food in the air. And Butterfly side sure smelled of fried potatoes, with mushrooms! We’ve got to get there! I shook off the snow and turned my PipBuck light on to see what cause my fall. It was a tree stump, sawed off neatly, and I could see tree rings clearly. The Pony Scout Hoofbook said one can determine the tree’s age by counting them. And one of the Daring Do books mentioned that they should be thicker on southern side. And now I could check it was true. It wasn’t. The EFS compass pointed directly to the South, and the rings were thicker towards the West. “You have such a serious look one may think you’re up to a serious scientific research.” Jester said, hanging above me. “And no, they are not necessarily thicker at the South. Let’s go.” Butterfly’s yellow lights beckoned, and the smell of food tickled on my nostrils, so I left the stump and followed Jester obediently. Soon we were surrounded by such stumps and it became clear that they remained from trees that Butterfly was built of. The closer we came, the more I was amazed by what I saw. A village, huh? A true fortress with narrow embrasures in wooden walls, high iron gates and sturdy, almost cubic tower that raised over the whole complex. This was roughly what earth ponies’ settlements looked like back when they were a separate tribe, according to history books reconstruction attempts. And probably, the builders of this fortress used the very same books as an example. We went up the slope towards the settlement. As we proceeded, I could hear sounds: some animals screaming. And just when I realized what exactly I was hearing, I’ve been hit by a rust-colored ball of fur, so hard I fell back on the ground. Lying on the ground I could feel somebody licking my nose. “A dog! They survived!” When I opened my eyes I saw this ancient noble animal. As far as I knew, there were dogs in the Stable for some first thirty years or about so. They had to accommodate the confined space and synthetic food but soon they degenerated and died out. This fate, however, befell on all other animals, too, with the only exception of tortoises and snails. The latter, I must admit, could digest almost everything only to fall asleep for half a year inside their aquariums. And, of course, there were radroaches. Those ate everything at all, including rubber cord insulation, keeping me busy with collection their roasted carcasses across the Stable. I hugged the red ball of fur with one hoof and shuffled her withers. “Samantha! There you are!” An unknown female voice. Hearing its name, the dog jumped aside and a couple of pony faces appeared in my field of view, examining my disastrous situation. The faces were Jester and two other ponies. The voice belonged to the beige, almost white, mare with freckles and ginger mane. She wore a free canvas dress of warm grey colour with its collar decorated with... white feathers. Two red braids were tied together beneath her chin - quite exotic. Judging by Samantha playing at her hooves, this was the dog’s mistress. The other pony was a huge grey stallion with a long black mane and furry hooves. He wore a plate armor over a robe of the same canvas as the mare’s one. And behind I could see - there could be no mistake - a spring crossbow! Obviously, the antique technologies I knew only from “Archaeology annual” were of wide use here. I twitched to the side a couple of times, trying to get back on my hooves, but without any support I could only stir my hooves in the air in a most hilarious way. Then the grey stallion bowed his head and simply took my scruff with his teeth and put me on the ground without any visible effort. Back on my hooves, I was ready to kill Jester for making her share of fun of all my embarrassment. But, when I saw a smiling and friendly face of the ginger mare, I chilled down. She stepped closer to me and stretched her hoof, almost as furry as the stallion’s, towards me and introduced herself: “Helga Eulenfeder, a sentinel. I see Samantha liked you a lot.” I freed my hoof from a snowshoe and gave my new acquaintance a hoof bump. “Dodo. Pleased to meet you.” I decided not to clarify my occupation. Actually, I wasn’t entirely sure the Butterfly dwellers knew what “electricity” basically was. I managed, however, to catch a piece of chat between Jester and the second sentinel: “If I may ask, who is this lady with you?” “And this, Olaf, is your new engineer.” “How lucky!” Here it is. I’ve just been negotiated without my agreement. I approached them and tried to insert a word: “Actually, I...” but I catched a piercing look from Jester that intelligibly read “Shut up!” and did just that. Well, she even did not need to nudge me with her hoof, although I could swear she was ready to do it. “Well, yes, I was not quite right. Dodo is an electrician. But I believe, that with some right books from the library, she can handle mechanics as well. Right, Dodo?” When I heard ‘the library’, I nodded, realising there was no way out of this. “Yep!” “Great!” - the stallion summarized and gestured us towards the village. Helga followed him. Samantha was overjoyed and circled around our procession, sweeping next to me every now and then. Jester and I, with our heavy duffle bags, proceeded behind, and this was good because I really was not happy with Jester’s improvisation and had a whole heap of rude objections. “Why have you invented all this nonsense?” I hissed as quietly as I could. “Filly,” she sighed, “it’s for your own good. As we both know, you are not high on caps, right? Neither am I. Surely, will be able to push some loot on the market tomorrow, but the rest will end up at the warehouse. They sell stuff first, and pay caps later. Don’t know about your underground life, but that’s how business is conducted here.” “We’ve got our daily fee of food coupons. You insert one of those into a dispenser and...” I did not finish, because Jester covered my mouth with her hoof and replied angrily: “Whatever, filly. What I mean, is that there’s not many fools in the Wasteland. You know what happens to the fools. So if you want some tasty mushrooms before you sleep, you’ll have to work for it. As I can remember, you were ready for more when you were hungry.” Reminding of that situation confused me. “Well, right... But it is still not right to decide anything for somepony without this pony’s agreement.” “Well, next time I’ll provide you with full freedom of action, okay?” Jester was annoyed now. I guess, she was right again. But how is this? General experience? Probably. She was the only pony I knew on the Surface, but she saw dozens, if not hundreds, of Surface dwellers. Of course she knows better. I guess. Okay, engineer it is. After all, it’s a chance to dig into local library, as poor as it is. I wouldn't be surprised to find there some unknown technical books. And maybe they have some story books, too. But there was something else that I was actually interested in. I cleared my throat and said: “Okay, Jester, I’ll do it.” She looked surprised. Wow. I continued. “But on one conditions: you’ll negotiate with the locals to let me take a look at that Sky Bandit Hack Wrench tried to repair.” “Now we’re talking.” Our escort stopped at the main gate - a solid steel plate, raised some six feet above ground. The opening was fenced by a wooden wall with a narrow door and a square window. I could see a bored sentinel inside who looked very much like Olaf. After a brief talk with the escort ponies he opened the door and let us inside. A wide courtyard opened before us, cleared of snow and lit up by warm light of wall-mounted torches. To the right was a tent with lumber and firewood, with two tiny figures on top. “Told you, it’s Jester! You never believe me.” a tiny voice said. “Look, she is not alone!” a second voice replied, “Have you ever seen that mare?” “Nah. Look at her muzzle, she’s so grimy!” the first voice chuckled. “You know, Jester looks no better. They must have fought the fire.” the fillies - and those undoubtedly were fillies - looked at each other and burst into laughter. “Or, probably, we’ve started one!” Jester said loud and clear. The little sentinels realized they were discovered and dashed to the ground. And then half a dozen of filles ran from behind the lumber tent, shouting “Jester! Jester!”, and we were immediately surrounded. Wow, it looks like my companion was a local filly attraction! Interesting. A tiny little filly with funny short hay-colored braids rolled out of this pile of chaos. The young ones went silent and the little filly asked, looking straight at us: “Jestel’, tell us about youl’ adventules. Pleeease!” “Yeah, yeah! Tell us!” others cathed. And the chaos went on. A door bashed open to my left and an angry mare with a ruined mane appeared on a doorstep of what I initially mistook for a warehouse because of lots of wooden barrels standing next to the building. “Now, children! What time is it, huh?” I heard a loud annoyed voice “Get home this instant, all of you!” A brief silence followed then one of the filles shrieked: “Guys, scram!” and in a second or two the courtyard was empty and quiet like a grave. The door shut angrily and here came the silence. Helga looked at Olaf expressively and said: “Alright, Dodo. We need to patrol the wall. Jester will show you around. It was nice to meet you.” And she smiled in a broad and open smile. Unlike Jester, she had no need to hide her emotions. I smiled back. Helga turned around a made a loud whistle. Samantha appeared from around a corner and waved her tail in delight. The dog paused by me for a moment and then rushed to the mare. I watched her disappear in the dark and then turned back to Jester: “So, what’s about the engineer’s dinner?” “At the expense of the engineer. Let’s go.” * * * We sat at a wooden table and ate in silence. I chewed on a piece of fried potato, trying to understand how different it was from what we synthesized with food talisman. The difference was, actually, slight - the Surface potatoes were a bit more sweet and a bit more nutritious. And it was mushrooms what was really nutritious. Unlike the Stable half-stuff these were fat and hard, almost crunchy. When I saw such a delicacy, I followed Jester’s example and ordered a double serving. Why not, if regular costed 3 caps and double was 5. But I soon realised that greed took better of me and found myself sitting before a half-full plate. Jester, however, had no trouble finishing her meal and I was quite sure she was eager to add mine above, too. But I was not yet ready to part with a fairly purchased dinner - my latest adventures told me that there is no dinner time schedule on the Surface, so it’s wise to stock energy whenever you can. To win myself some time, I decided to bomb Jester with questions. Maybe that will buy me some time to empty my plate, after all. “Listen, Jester. Tell me about Butterfly. You seem to come here often, don’t you?” “What do you want to know?” “Everything. What kind of place is this?” “Well, let’s start with that there was nothing at all no so long ago.” “How long is not so long?” I was surprised, remembering powerful outer wall, sturdy log houses and that massive steel gate. And Jester told me that just some ten years ago there was a thick coniferous forest around a couple of ruined buildings, inhabited by a raider gang. They raided the more civilized places and, unlike those pricks from the Wreck, posed a real threat. After a couple of such raids, the local hunters discovered the gang’s hideout and wiped every last of them. The hunters wanted to settle this place a long ago, so the ruined remains came in handy. Once, these buildings were a Ministry of Peace sanatorium - a recreational facility for long-term illnesses. This was that very “camp” Maney Brown mentioned in his diary. The Ministries always built their buildings to last, so much of buildings’ communications were still functional. That helped a lot to recover the place initially. But for the hunters, this was not enough. Unwilling to bite onto remains of the past, they constructed a genuine fort, designed for autonomous existence. The main principle behind Butterfly was resource management and independence from external trade. Yes, they conducted trade with caravans from both North and South willingly, but in case of the attack, the steel gate fell firmly into the ground and the fort went to the state of siege. The most envious neighbors to attempt to attack this place, but to no avail. The inhabitants sticked to the ‘Earth Pony Way’, that is, they relied on collective labor and mutual aid, and in fight, they prefered cold weaponry or simple mechanical devices like crossbows. Such choice was obvious: most of Butterfly’s settlers were earth ponies. During the summer they farmed and gathered crops, and during the winter, they resorted to hunt. The important thing was that the sanatorium was built in proximity of geothermal sources. That meant there always was hot water in the village. Every single house had steam heating embedded in its structure. Some settlers even enjoyed electricity, produced by a small turbine, also powered with steam. And above it all, there was a mushroom farm next to the sources. For those ponies who rejected meat consumption, this was a blessing. Of course, such an infrastructure required maintenance. So when Hack Wrench left, malfunctions and breakdowns started. The settlers tried to maintain something by themselves, but other places required a specialist. And Jester believed I was just the pony for the job. As I munched on my potatoes, I examined a wall of the diner - a wooden one, with small windows with darkness outside. The mare on the street was right: it was dead of night already. The diner was almost deserted, with the exception of a slouching stallion of unknown age with a mug of booze and the mistress, occupied with drying the plates with a piece of cloth. “Listen, Dodo. If you can’t finish your serving, you’d better say so.” With my mouth full, I silently passed the plate to Jester. “No, you can just ask the mistress to wrap it up and take it with you.” “Uh-huh,” I finally answered, choking the food. “But, you know, I could use something to drink.” Jester rolled her eyes to that and then got up without a word and trotted to the bar. I heard some caps drop and then she came back with a large pitcher of berry brew. “Here.” “Jester, you shouldn’t have...” “Drink it already, filly!” she interrupted, “And I’m going to find out something meanwhile.” And Jester left me alone with the pitcher in an empty diner. The late customer already left and there was only the mistress mare, who silently cleaned the tables. When I finished the drink, I suddenly felt incredibly sleepy. I think I would have fallen asleep right there, if the mare hadn’t hailed me up. “Hey, Stable child, do you need your food wrapped up or not?” “Uh?” I replied drowsily, “S-sure.” Just when I finally received my dinner wrapped I saw my stripped companion outside, talking lively with some stallion. Finally, the stallion passed her something, that blinked in a torch light. Jester trotted inside the diner and told me the news: she managed to get us a cheap bed. The stallion Jester used for loot sale was also a local warehouse storekeeper. He dropped a hint that for a cap or two we could spend the night in one of ancient Sky Bandits that once belonged to the sanatorium and now served as a warehouse. Jester agreed to carry the loot bags herself, but passed me the key and commanded to go ahead - to unlock the wagon and set up the bedrolls. Following her puzzled directions I, obviously, got lost and now stood before the Main Gate trying to comprehend where I made the wrong turn. Of course there were nopony in the streets in the middle of the night, and I was too shy to ask ways from sentinels. I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I realized that it was Jester who made me feel calm in this alien place. And then I remembered I had a navigation software in my PipBuck! Surely, there were no new buildings on the map, but I managed to find a marker labeled ‘Butterfly Sanatorium’. And a ‘Sky Bandit parking lot’ was just next to it; I decided that the locals would unlikely drag them elsewhere, so I headed right there. Well, it was a lucky guess. When I finally reached the wagon, I found Jester sitting by the door on one of the loot bags, entertaining herself with trying to spit far enough to hit a nearby burn barrel. She jumped on the ground as soon as she saw me coming. “You surely know how to take your time, filly. Got stuck in a snow pile again?” Gosh, she called me a filly again, for educational purpose, undoubtedly. It was obvious now that she called me by name every time I was acting right from her point of view. I looked down and explained I’ve got lost. The warehouse lock opened unwillingly and we entered a confined space, almost completely filled with wooden crates and metal barrels. “Eeeeh?” I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “And where are we supposed to sleep now?” Jester illuminated the far corner of the warehouse with her Lightbringer, where a wall of crates was not high enough to touch the ceiling. “You will sleep up there. And I, so be it, will sleep on the floor.” Seeing a shocked and confused expression on my face, she went on: “Well, if it’s too high for you there, we can do an exchange, but who’s the pegasus here, after all?” She didn’t get it. After all these falls, flights and hikes I imagined to see a bed or, at least, a lone mattress, filled with hay and sleep, like, forever. How could one sleep on boards, with only a single blanket to cover oneself, I had no idea. Jester, however, seemed to be okay with that. I flipped on a switch and lit up a lonely lamp under the ceiling and walked to the far corner, where I found a pile of sacks, stuffed with something that smelled far from pleasant, but was soft enough for me. “Jester, this is my spot.” “Well, alright, but flip off the light first.” “Sure.” I nestled atop a pile of sacks, with my leather jacket as a pillow. I decided to stay dressed for the night. Yes, the iron pipe of steam heating emitted steady warmth, but the floor was still cold and humid. I rolled myself into the blanked, turned off my PipBuck light and fell asleep. * * * I was flying above clouds with my hooves stretched ahead. I soared just on top of the Cloud Curtain and the Sun warmed me from above. The Curtain looked like an endless sea, with grey and brown islands here and there, casting shadows on barely moving cloud surface. I knew these were the mountain peaks, the highest mountains of Equestria. Sometimes I saw other pegasi: red, yellow, purple coloured... My brethren soared lightly, minding their own business, or just layed on clouds, bathing in rays of the sun. On the one hoof, I was angry with them, remembering all the cold and grey and snow below, but, on the other hoof, this was not their fault; this all was something their ancestors have done centuries ago. I remembered why I was here. I wanted to fly to a big city above clouds and tell everypony about the Surface below. This was a bit naive, but what if the pegasi would listen to one of their own kind and change something? The sun was getting hot. There were more clouds above the Curtain, too, but they were white and almost transparent, compared to the heavy grey and snowy ones below. It seemed like a weather team has just cleared the sky and it was piercing blue and endless now. I decided to take a rest. Landed on a mountain peak, I poked the cloud with my hoof. The white substance sprang back and I poked stronger, with all my body weight. The cloud bore my weight, so I jumped onto it and fell on my back. It was fluffy and felt so soft and pleasant. I thought I finally found what I belonged to - my element. I stretched all four legs aside, trying to take as much cloud space as I could. I turned on my belly and stuck my nose into a cloud featherbed. And then something strange happened. First, something punched me in my shoulder from below. And then the nearby cloud started to rise like a small hill. In a split second I saw something I expected the least to see in this place. Jester’s head poked from below the cloud, with a broad smile, and said “Hi, Dodo!”. Then, she disappeared, only to emerge again a couple feet from me, breaking a hole in a cloud with her striped body with ash-gray wings on her back. The wings looked huge on her tiny shape. “Wow, Jester, where did you get those wings from?” I asked merrily. Jester flew closer, just next to my face. “Wings? Are you nuts?” The Cloud Curtain shivered, flickered and... I found myself lying on the floor. I opened my eyes only to squint to the bright daylight coming from a hatch on the ceiling. It was morning on the Surface, apparently. Jester towered above me, holding my blanket in her teeth and looked at me with disapproval. “I’ve afked to forket apout this winf nonfenfe alfeady.” She mumbled and then squinted as if examining something next to me. “Now, undress.” I was still lying on the floor, partially on the sack I was sleeping on, partially on the floor and watched my companion in severe confusion. “What? I’m not buying your nonsense jokes now!” “Who’s joking? Just sniff. As if it wasn’t enough that you smelled the whole trip like soot and... ahem, alcohol, now you stink with raw potatoes.” Jester made a face of disgust. “When you undress, shake your clothes well, tie it together and take it outside. I’ll talk to the bathhouse attendant and see if we get hot water and hoofful of soap.” * * * To be honest, I had no intention to leave a wooden tub, filled with hot herb-fragranced water ever in my life. Comforting myself in the tub, I watched the fogged window of the bathhouse and realized this was the first time on the Surface when I could feel really relaxed and unusually clean. We had to waste more than a single bottle of herbal soap, made of saponaria root, to wash my hide to its natural colour. To my deepest tragedy, Jester had a lot of errands planned for this morning, so in just an hour we were already trotting past the wooden buildings of the village, heading to the warehouse where we’ve spent the night. According to Jester, there was a roaring trade going on every sunday at the marketplace. Should I tell you that she was itching to sell our loot as fast as possible, and I was itching to see what exactly she looted back in the airplane. I shivered with cold, because for the first time I’ve been naked on the Surface. Now I had only my PipBuck and an orange towel on my not quite dry mane. We’ve taken all our outfit to the laundry next to the bathhouse. An elderly unicorn marked every piece with a label and then tossed it into a common pile of clothes of the same indefinable colour as ours. When I asked Jester how we were going to find our clothing, she told me that all labels have numbers. That calmed me down a bit. It was the laundry when I first saw Jester’s cutie mark. Well yes, being a half-pony, she had one, even if not quite regular for a pony. It looked more like a zebra folk ornament, just like on that Nightmare Moon wartime poster. The cutie mark was monochrome and looked like as if it was drawn on her flank with ink. It was an eye, but it was neither a pony’s eye, nor a zebra’s. Maybe it was an eye of some other creature? A griffon? Anyways, there definitely was something avian in it. I remembered my last dream and let a smile on my face. Between her clean and brushed black mane, looking a bit longer than usual, and shiny, slightly striped hide, Jester looked particularly unusual. Her tail swayed from side to side as she trotted gracefully. And even her eye-shaped cutie marked appeared impatient and ready for action. Jester rolled out a piece of canvas before the warehouse door, brought several plywood crates and then pulled out the bags, stuffed with loot. “And now let’s see at our gifts!” She exclaimed joyfully, untying the first bag with her teeth. Honestly, I’ve lost my breath when I saw all kinds of spare parts, jewelry, books, stationery, some electronic devices and clothes. And I actually felt like a little filly who got a whole load of gifts for a Hearth’s Warming Eve. Forgetting about everything else, I dug into the goods, fumbling every single item in my hooves and, actually, dreaming to leave it all to myself. I was fascinated by absolutely everything: contemplating every item, I touched that Old World, that existed before the Catastrophe. Even back at the Stable, reading pre-War books and magazines, I hungrily studied all the items that were in use during those ancient times. There were almost no such things in the Stable itself, and we mostly enjoyed items that bore the StableTec logo on them: sturdy, rough, but almost indestructible. And now I faced things of completely different design. I’ve picked a small wooden chest, decorated with gems, and discovered a stock of photographs, somepony’s valuable memories. The pre-War Equestria was so incredibly diverse: some photographs featured rural landscapes with crude wheelbarrows and country ponies, trotting before neat wooden houses. Some others depicted a multistoried conglomerates of concrete and glass cities, with aerodynamic flying vehicles, profusely decorated with chrome and curved glass, glimmering with sunrays. I think, these photographs belonged to a scientist of some sort. Many photos featured the same stallion - a unicorn with reading glasses, demonstrating different technical inventions, be it a sophisticated medical apparatus, blinking with colorful lights, or a hoof-free radio wirelessly connected to a wall-mounted terminal, and even a jet plane, stunning with its exotic shape. The stallion devoted his whole life to building the future of Equestria. The last photo showed him in his elderly ages, surrounded by his children and his children’s children, and backgrounded by a humble two-story house. His glasses were raised above his horn and his hooves held a newspaper headlined “Manehatten celebrates Doctor...”. The stallion smiled. When I finally emerged from other pony’s memories, I found myself surrounded by books Jester retrieved from the bags. Science almanacs and physics textbooks, and next to them - colourful fillies’ fairy tales. These books were not as ancient as I’d prefer them to be, as they have been printed in Modern Equestrian typographic font and were not quite different from the Stable library pieces. Previously, I would have read all of them, but now I did not have enough time for all of them. In the end, I’ve picked about a dozen books regarding mechanics and electrics and some fiction books, and stashed the rest in a plywood crate. Anyways, I’ve already had a perfect subject for examination: the ancient manuscript of Barbara Seed, the griffon scriptures notepad and, of course, the Daring Do comic books bundle! The pile of items grew larger and larger, and the items were so completely different, both by the look and by the purpose. Apparently, the airmail was the main way of communication between the North and the mainland, so ponies used it to deliver absolutely everything. But the most amazing was how few items reminded about the War: either Jester left them behind or this far north the War had a much weaker impact. There was, however, a separate pile where Jester stashed everything related to weapons. Those were spare parts, mostly, except for a pair of light pistols and several magazines from a more serious weaponry. Initially, Jester tried to make fun of me whenever I picked one or another spare part with my teeth, but soon stopped doing that and started telling me names and purpose of the parts. Before I could lose my interested in her lectures, she tossed me a couple of strange items. Both had cylindrical shape, one with a some kind of mount, and the other - without one. Seeing me puzzled, Jester explained that these are pistol silencer and laser sight. I brought my pistol and tried to attach the modifications. The silencer had fit into place just perfectly, but there was no place for the laser sight. I’ve told Jester about it and immediately got a sarcastic look and a roll of duct tape. We used the same in the Stable. When both modifications were more or less in place, I’ve holstered the gun and switched to examining the pile of clothes Jester left right on the snow. The outfits were mostly civilian and were of little use for adventures. I’ve immediately sorted the most ridiculous of dresses aside. There were a couple of nice outfits I could use, if only they were of my size, and an almost perfect military jumpsuit had a terrible hole - it has befallen a victim of humidity. I had an impression Jester stashed all these clothes only to prevent all other things from pounding on each other. “And this, I believe, we can use.” Jester handled me a tiny electronic device, similar to a pocket music player or a voice recorder. “What’s this?” I fiddled the tiny device with an earphone in my hooves. “A walkie-talkie. A pocket radio transceiver. It only needs a fresh battery. It’s a nice thing, actually: voice activated, with a radius of a couple of miles. It even has a manual intact... mostly. Well, shall we push the wares?” I made a pity sigh and nodded. Seriously, we can’t take it all, after all. The marketplace was located on both sides of the Main Gate. Some vendors have brought a folding tables along, while others used empty crates and barrels for counters. Some have even displayed their goods right on the ground, on canvas or card box remains. The goods were of different quality. One could find everything there: from holey shoes and pierced canteens to once perfectly functional grandfather clock and worn “Royal Canterlot Voice” radio with half the knobs missing. Jester, however, preferred a different kind of trade. She was coming to one or another trader and started a lively talk, trying to push the ‘hot goods’ right away. She called ‘hot goods’ items and spare parts the were in most need on the Surface. Some deals were incredibly fast, while others took a lot of talking and arguing, with one pony pointing out the advantages and the other one arguing on its flaws. Against my expectation, Jester has been denied a couple of times, but that did not seem to disappoint her even a bit. As I strolled along the market, I discovered that there were three kinds of currency on the Surface: bottle caps, pre-War coins called ‘bits’ and gems. There was some barter, too, although it was not quite popular: nopony wanted to drag home new stuff instead of a sold one. But it was not the trade what was most peculiar. Apparently, these ponies knew each other long enough: they discussed their deals and even boasted to each other with little rarities they’ve acquired or sold. Their speech was usually straight and rude and their look was not exactly refined, but these were bright and outstanding personalities. Two ponies were especially notable: a stallion with an eye patch and a short cut mare who drank a suspiciously looking booze and swore an eternal friendship to each other, and a silent old stallion who just sat there and silently waited for somepony to buy a pile of water pipes and a couple of brass valves with scratched porcelain levers. And a customer was just there. It was a stalwart earth pony in a worn leather jacket with high collar and a flat cap low on his eyes. He took the water pipe with his teeth, swinged it powerfully in the air and tossed a purse of caps to the old stallion, saying “keep the change”. Then he took three more pipe pieces and went away. I had a strong impression that this fellow had no intention to go plumbing anytime soon. The old stallion, however, was happiness itself. And then I saw them. Among a pile of random junk stood a pair of high beige rear boots - with handy magnet clasps. Noticing my interest, the seller perked up immediately: “Come closer, young lady. The sole is spiked, they don’t get wet, with fur lining and well preserved, too. You won’t find another one in the whole Wasteland. Gonna take ‘em?” “Who would have thought.” I thought skeptically, but asked: “How much?” and got a disarming response: “How much you give?” I truly hoped to hear a fixed price, high enough to prevent me from bargaining. And this was something I was not prepared for. Unfortunately, the pre-War economics books bored me to death, so I had no idea about how prices are set. I kept low attention to Jester’s bargaining, too, so I decided to start with a double price of yesterday’s supper. “Ten caps.” The vendor sneered. “Come close, young lady, you know this is no price for such a wonderful boots.” I lost my bearings. Between “young lady” and my own apparent silly action, I was knee-deep in bewilderment. There was no retreat, though, so I went on: “Twenty...” The stallion shook his head. “Twenty-five.” His grin became wider. “Thirty?” I asked, completely discouraged. The vendor looked bored. “Still not enough.” And then I remembered how other vendors tried to bring down the price for Jester’s wares, pointing out the flaws, like scratches and dents. “I need to examine them. I need to know what I am buying.” “Oh, come on then.” The stallion replied. I took one boot and started fumbling it in my hooves, then the second one. Once or twice I was ready to pick on some minor flaws, but then met the gaze of the vendor who watched me all the time and kept silence. Honestly, it was embarrassing to pick at some insignificant flaws: all in all the boots were perfect. And I gave up. I put the boots back on the counter and sighed heavily, which caused my mane to fall on my eyes. I was ready to die of embarrassment. If only Jester was near, she’d say something like “Come on, filly”, and my fiasco won’t have been so humiliating, but she was far away and was not going to be near anytime soon. The vendor looked disappointed. He scratched his chin with his hoof for a full minute before he sighed, rammed both his hooves into the counter and tilted towards me, making me to recoil involuntarily. “So, young lady. How much are you actually ready to pay for them?” I blinked several times in confusion. “Uh.... what?” “I see you need them alright. You bargained so hard you forgot to try them on!” And then I sticked my hoof in my face, smearing a snow grime I stood in. “Idiot!” “So here’s what we’ll do, young lady,” the stallion interrupted my seance of self-deprecation, “you name the price one more time. And if it’s good for me and the boots fit you, you get ‘em. Otherwise, sorry.” I retrieved a candy can with my caps and put it on the table, and then put some pre-War coins above. “It’s all I have.” I said. The stallion opened the can, emptied it on the counter and counted them. Then he pushed the coins away. “You can keep the bits. I hate to deal with it. The course is unstable as shit.” He straightened himself and continued: “So, young lady, it makes forty-seven caps. Not much, of course, but it’s not the price that matters, but a satisfied customer, right? Go on, try them on.” I could not tell if this was an irony, a mockery or some other weird kind of attitude, either to the situation or to me. I got the boots on in silence and paced there and back again. The boots fit well, if not quite perfectly. And I actually failed to slide along an ice puddle. Now I had a good friction to keep me on slippery surfaces. “They fit you like a stocking, young lady.” the vendor said. “I tell you, they were waiting for you.” “Yeah, I take them.” I smiled and let my breath out. Finally, this game I was too lame to play was over. But I remembered Jester’s lessons and whatever I’ve learned on my own to understand there must be a reason for such a cheap price. “So, what’s the trick?” I asked the stallion, who was busy stashing my caps in a steel box he used as a cash register. “The trick?” He replied. “It was too smooth. There must be reason for you to accept this unprofitable deal.” “See, young lady, the deal was actually profitable for both of us. Seriously. It’s been a long time since I’ve got them I’ve gone desperate to sell ‘em. It’s not easy to find a pony with such a small hoof around here. Even mares look chunky next to you... mostly. So, you’ve got lucky indeed. And for being curious, you get a prize.” He pointed towards the box containing all sorts of smaller clutter. “Pick yourself a souvenir.” He acted weird, if you ask me. However, something was telling me that all these ponies at this makeshift marketplace were not aiming for pure cap income. This was something more, a lifestyle, if you please, with its own codex, rituals and traditions. After a brief excavation, I’ve picked myself a harmonica. My parents used to say I’ve got a musical ear, and my favourite style of ‘moon’ music always involved a harmonica solo, so I decided to try and learn to play this little one. “Nice choice. It’s higher reeds are a bit off, but you still can do something simple with it.” I thanked the vendor and said goodbye, but I made only a few steps when he hailed me again: “And remember, young lady. Next time you get into something, think through the pros and cons. Don’t count on your luck, alright?” This was a good advice, but for somepony else: it was not the first time when impulsive and risky action served me well. I’ve found Jester with her bag half empty already, somewhere in the far end of the marketplace. She looked at me not without interest and asked: “Nice boots. How much?” “Forty-seven caps.” “You’re kidding! Can’t be that cheap.” “So, it’s cheap alright.” I thought and calmed down, telling Jester the whole bargain. As we talked, we reached a two-story building with a bright yellow signboard over the door. The name, pierced with bullet holes here and there, read “GUNS! ‘n stuff.” The shop owner was a fat unicorn stallion with brass-colored hide, in a grey military vest with a dozen of pockets and in huge orange eyeglasses. He was reading a catalog of... gun ramrods. I had no idea there were ramrods catalogs. The unicorn glanced at us above his eyeglasses, and my grey companion retrieved the twin pistols I saw earlier. “Hey Backfire! How much for these two?” Jester chirped, and I knew this was a start of another bargaining, which in fact was more of a friendly chatter than actual caps earning. After my recent boots achievement, I had no interest in their trade now, so I decided to survey the shop on my own. Basically, this was a general store, selling many kinds of goods: from pocket radios and “Lightbringer” light gems, to tin tableware and clothes. Their condition, however, was much better than of goods from the marketplace. But all this was a mere decoration for the main merchandise: the main showcase and a couple of racks were devoted to weaponry, both cold and firearms with a wide set of ammo types. Even the wall behind the cash register was decorated with all kinds of carbines, assault rifles, and even a high-caliber machinegun, picturesquely placed across a banner of some Equestrian infantry division. I remembered Jester loved big guns. “Like it?” The stallion shouted across the whole shop. I faltered. I had no idea what to say. My knowledge of weapons was too poor, and a mere ‘like’ was not enough. I had to admit, this big gun was beautiful, proportional and menacingly elegant. “Awesome thing. I mean... As in ‘awe’.” “It’s a legend.” he replied, “MWT mark II ‘Storyteller’, a 20 mm heavy machine gun, production of Ironshod Firearms. It packs quite a punch, I’d say. It was used both in air and on the ground. A pair of those have been usually mounted in the rear of a ‘Cloud Brigand’ aircraft. It’s only flaw is weight: you can’t use it from a battle saddle. It’s recoil will most likely send you flying in reverse. It’s rate of fire is low - hence the name - but it can tear a power armor in pieces. I’ve heard a story of a solitary zebra legionary who captured a firing point with one of them machineguns. He took away a whole squad of Steel Rangers before a sniper pegasus exploded his head into a pulp of blood...” Jester cleared her throat loudly. “Ahem. Backy, are you going to buy these two or not?” “I thought we were though this already. I’ll set them for sale.” “Oh, okay. Then I’ll just push them at the gate and save me a lot of trouble.” Backfire’s face expression changed abruptly. “What? These guns for those losers?” “Well, why not?” “You’ll break my heart... twice!” “What a tragedy...” Jester said flatly and reached to put the guns back in her bags. I admit, watching Jester treating somepony else was more fun than being treated like this. Of course, Backfire could not handle this and, with a sharp motion of his hoof, dragged the guns closer to himself. Their eyes met. “Caps, Backy. Caps.” And then Backfire suddenly talked to me. “Just take a look, miss, at the unspeakable deed of this heartless kin!” Then he got a bag, apparently, full of caps and then another one. He even took half a dozen caps from his cash register. “Here, you bloodsucker. This is your advance. You get the rest after these two are sold. I’ll take care of them this evening and we’ll see about the rest. This is my last offer.” “Deal.” Jester was calm as a rock. Having reached her goal, Jester made an innocent smile and then talked to me: “Imagine, Dodo, this fellow does have a heart, which is incredibly rare thing in the Wasteland. And this heart starts beating faster every time he holds a gun in a need of repair. He spends nights disassembling them almost down to every screw, cleaning and oiling them, polishing stocks. This is his great passion. And I must admit, with his natural talent to trade, he settled himself well. Don’t count this for ads, but if you need a gun, go to Backfire. His guns do work properly.” Judging from Backfire’s face, he did not expect to hear that from Jester. To smooth the awkwardness of the moment, I decided to ask him about one rifle that got my attention. It featured a curved black body, a large optic sight and a bipod in the front. Other guns were fine, too, but this particular one begged to come in my hooves. “Mister Backfire, this is a sniper rifle, isn’t it?” I pointed to the object of my interest. His eyes sparkled, predictably. “This is the “Scout”. An interesting model. It’s good enough for both hunting and fighting a war. But more for hunting, rather than for fighting. It’s not the most powerful rifle, but I like her for ergonomics and easy aiming. See, how low are the sights are above the barrel? This allows you to make no altitude correction. Also, it is easy to carry, because its length is proportionate to an average pony body. And a composite body makes it lighter. I could leave this one for myself, but I prefer automatic weaponry.” “But how should I handle it?” Obviously, a pony could not hold such a long weapon in their teeth, but I could not figure out how this rifle was supposed to be operated. I kept praying inside not to look like a complete moron, but, despite my fears, Backfire replied calmly: “It’s best to shoot from prone position. You need to unfold a bipod for that. This will prevent barrel from swaying. You can mount it on a battle saddle, too, but that would be uncomfortable as hell. After all, this is not an SMG to spray the area with brass. Let me show you how to aim properly.” With that he took the rifle and carefully set it on a counter. But I had no chance to look in its sight, because that very instant the shop’s door bashed open and something huge, feathered and heavily breathing rolled inside. A huge griffon! I shrieked with surprise and almost sent a weapon rack flying. “Jester!” The griffon’s voice was so low! I’ve never heard such a bass voice before. “There you are!” Jester’s attention was drawn to our new guest completely, but I failed to read any emotion on her face, except for worry. Jester looked worried? “Basileus! What’s going on?” “We’ve got trouble. And who is this filly?” I flushed with embarrassment, but before I could say a thing, the griffon was right above me. “Basileus.” He stretched his huge claw to me. “D.. Dazzling,” I was so shocked I forgot my own nickname completely. “Dazzling Dusk.” LEVEL UP! (6) New perk added: More pockets! Now you know better than stashing all your loot into your saddlebags. Instead, you disperse smaller items across your outfit pockets. Now every item with a weight of 1 or less makes only half its weight for you.
