Act 1 - Chapter 1

Act 1

“Où serait le mérite, si les héros n'avaient jamais peur?”

(Where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid?)

- AlphonseDaudet, Tartarin de Tarascon

Chapter 1

“Second Flight, Atten-TION!”

The barked command was followed immediately with clockwork precision, each movement rehearsed over and over. Each pony standing on the tarmac snapped into a rigid straight-necked position, head back, chest out, wings tucked tightly to their sides. All twenty of us looked straight ahead, awaiting our next command.

“Second Flight will take the open order for inspection. Open ranks, MARCH!” With that command the entire back row took a step rearward. With me being in the first row, this gave me the uncomfortable feeling of being on display. This feeling was only amplified as a broad-shouldered pegasus moved down the line, stopping at each pony in turn to inspect everything about their uniform, from the position of their insignia to just general cleanliness.

A few dings were noted here and there, and while Sergeant Major Iron Band wasn't yelling, his booming voice still carried across the tarmac in the dead-quiet morning. One mare's collar was turned. A stallion was missing a button. One stallion's uniform had some carbon fouling on the sleeves. Finally, the Sergeant Major got to me.

I was sure, damned sure, that I had everything in place on my uniform, but under the watchful brown eyes peering out under the wide brim of a silver-trimmed black Stetson, I felt like there'd be something he'd be able to find amiss. From hooves to ears he looked me over, ensuring my blue-grey uniform was flawless, that every insignia and button was right-way up and polished, that collars were pressed, all that. I typically didn't mind stallions checking me out but this was somewhat intimidating. It lasted maybe ten or twenty seconds and that was it, but it felt as if minutes had stretched by. Finally, the Sergeant Major gave a crisp nod and moved on to the next pony in line.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding but didn't dare to move. This was more than uniform inspection, it was drill and comportment too. If I faltered now, I'd be in worse trouble than any bit of misplaced uniform could bring me. So instead I stood stock still, sweating from the humid morning.

At long last the Sergeant Major passed the last soldier in line and gave a nod to our Sergeant, who turned to face the group. “Second Flight will take the closed order. Close ranks, MARCH!” she barked. I could feel the pegasus behind me step forward until she was practically touching my rear end. “Stand at ease, stand easy.” Given leave to relax, the whole line sagged visibly - adjusting their uniform and fixing individual pieces out of place - and yet not a word was spoken, not even a nervous laugh. I watched as the Sergeant Major moved to the next flight and repeated the whole ritual once again with the group next to us.

Long minutes ticked by until the whole affair was over. The Sergeant Major took his place in front of the three groups to give his own commands- and if the individual flight officers had voices that could carry, the Sergeant Major could be heard from here to Canterlot.

“Company, atten-TION!”

Sixty ponies immediately moved, wings snapping to their sides and heads standing tall. Two ponies marched forward, one bearing a folded flag on her back, and headed for the nearby flagpole. Without a command necessary, we all brought our hooves up to our temples.

A soft tune began playing over a set of speakers near the flagpole set off next to the tarmac, the opening bars of “Hail, Equestria!” piped over the crowd by a band that long ago had stopped playing for real. The flag was attached to the rope and run up above our heads, bearing three equal horizontal stripes of blue, white, and green. The song trailed off on a long note and left the parade in silence, aside from the soft snapping of the Enclave flag in the breeze.

“Company, RECOVER! Company will dismiss by flights starting from the right. Dismiss!”

“First Flight, dis-MISS!”

All the ponies to our right turned to their right and marched off. Next was our turn.

“Second Flight, dis-MISS!”

As we left the parade square we heard the Third Flight behind us being dismissed, then distantly, Fourth Flight. Our sergeant took us along the tarmac of the number 2 runway of Satchel Mouth International Airport. The base was abuzz with activity already despite the early dawn hour. Pegasi in uniform moved around the outside of the terminal, making their way to various hangars outside the terminal or returning from somewhere else. First Flight was already on their way to the barracks ahead of us, a re-purposed hangar not far from the terminal, while our sergeant stopped us next to the runway.

“Alrighty, fuck-o's, gather 'round,” she called out. “Come on, snap to it. Shut the fuck up. Like, now, please.” Sarge was a pleasant enough mare, with a white coat and a shocking red mane and tail that were always cut short. Despite her usually pleasant attitude, she also had a mouth that could make even the most hardened Shadowbolt double-take at times. She'd once told me it was just a little tic of hers, then told me to shut the fuck up.

Sarge climbed atop a small piece of white and red fencing marking the end of the runway and sat on the edge to give herself a little platform from which to speak. “Listen up, Second Flight. Got a big fuckin' day ahead of you. LT wants the Air Equestria hangar at the south end of the base cleaned and all that shit catalogued.”

There was a soft chorus of groans from the crowd, me included. It meant spending the better part of the day clearing the entire hangar out and having every single thing inside catalogued and inspected for use: spare parts, tools, scrap metal. Anything and everything.

The groaning made Sarge grin, her wings spreading out. “Oooh, I love that sound of Skies-damned misery in your voices! Gives me a little wing-boner just thinking about it. Hey, upside? Afternoon's gonna be fun as fuck. The Major's given orders that everypony is to be trained on the novasurge casters. Even the non-PA troops. So hey, think of it this way: you get to blow shit up on the range afterwards. How's that sound?”

“Gee, I dunno, Sarge, I'd rather clean the hangar all day,” somepony said to my left. A chorus of snickers rose up from the crowd.

“Have fun, Aviator Leaf. The rest of us are gonna go blow shit up. Alright, Second Flight. You have your orders!”

“Hodie, non Cras!” we all cried out the motto of the regiment. Today, not Tomorrow.

“Damn right!”

-=O=-

The hangar was an absolute mess. Whoever ran the hangar pre-war hadn't been a particularly clean individual. Most of the tools had been left out in disorganized piles, while the hangar's space was dominated by the rotting carcass of an old Sky Whale. Time hadn't been kind to the poor machine. Once it had been a mastery of engineering, combining the best of all three types of ponies: earth pony ingenuity and engineering, unicorn arcanotech, and pegasus cloud magic. These massive metal beasts had once dominated the skies of Equestria, ferrying ground-bound unicorns and earth ponies from every corner of the nation to the other in pure comfort. Now it was a sad sight.

Rust and time had eaten massive holes in the Whale's metal skin, exposing the rusted ribs of the interior. Parts had rotted away which caused the two wings to sag and snap off. One was still held on by the barest few metal girders, while the other was in shattered pieces upon the hangar floor. The cloud generators which once lifted and propelled it had long since run out of magic, and the Sky Whale's back sagged with the weight of a century of neglect. She wouldn't ever take flight again, not in this form. With time pieces of the great machine might make their way into power armour and Vertibuck repairs but as it stood now, this Sky Whale was done for.

Ponies in uniforms and grease-stained overalls climbed around it, wielding cutting torches and crowbars. Sparks showered down the metal sides and cascaded through holes in the airframe, sending strange shadows across the hangar's interior. As parts came off the Sky Whale they were thrown off into one of two piles. One was for the most useless parts, some good for nothing more than scrap metal. Another pile had to be brought outside and catalogued for later use, and that included copper wiring, Nixie tubes, half-full arcane batteries, and the like.

In particular, three of the four cloud generators were still in good enough shape to be salvaged. Weighing a couple hundred pounds apiece, they'd have to be carted out of the hangar. That duty fell to myself and a friend from the regiment, Sky Dancer.

With a last check of our harnesses, Sky Dancer and I started moving. The little wheels groaned in unison with us until they finally creaked forward and we slowly, carefully, hauled the cloud generator out. This single piece of equipment was - as one of the techs straddling the wing had informed me while they cut it down - worth more than I was, and I didn't once doubt it. Not to mention, it was a heavy piece of gear: if it got away on us, Sky and I wouldn't be able to unhook ourselves in time. “Death by Cloud Generator” was not exactly the most noble thing to have engraved on the Wall of Remembrance.

“Join th'Enclave, they said... see th'world, they said...” the stallion snorted in derision. “Ain't seen shit of th'world yet that ain't a blasted hellhole.”

“Oh, come on. This is fun!” I joked, glancing over at him with a grin. Sky's black mane was stuck to his red coat by sweat, and I could feel my own burnt orange mane stick on my forehead. It was an incredibly humid day, and the thick cloud cover that day wasn't helping either. “I mean, I dunno about you, but I'm having a blast. This is what I signed up for. Hard labour in the heat.”

“Ha! Speak for yaself. I was thinkin' I'd at least get Neighvarro, or Haywaii. Somewhere nice. Somewhere with an actual place for leave.”

“Or a place we could even get leave.”

“That too.” Sky snorted again and shook his head. “Feels like we ain't had a second t'stop for weeks.”

We brought the cart to a controlled halt next to the pile of useful materials. A few soldiers helped us offload the cloud generator, and we wrestled it gently to the tarmac next to one of its sisters. “Smoke break?” Sky asked.

“Count me in.” I could go for a break. The harness was trapping the sweat against my uniform, and when I pulled it off I could feel the uniform clinging to my goldenrod coat.

Sky motioned for me to follow. We found ourselves some shelter underneath one of the Sky Whale's tailplanes, which was resting like a lean-to atop a pile of body panels. It provided just enough room to crawl under and get some shade. Not that there was much sun to hide from, but even that little bit of shade felt that much cooler.

As promised, Sky fished out a pack of cigarettes from a pocket on his uniform, passing one to me. He lit them with a simple silver flip-top lighter and we sat back, watching the army inside the hangar moving around. From where we sat the inside of the hangar was just a yawning black hole, lit only by the blue-white sparks of the cutting torches flickering away inside.

“Fuckin' A. Three months, we still cleanin' this shit out.” Sky pulled a drag on his cigarette, blowing a little trail of smoke out of the opposite corner of his mouth. “Figured we'd'a pulled our shit together by now.”

I snorted softly. The smoke was a little harsh on the throat, but nicotine was nicotine, and it was good to just relax. I worked a knot out of my left shoulder, rolling it in its socket. “Yeah, I know. Sure ain't EFB Hurricane, huh?”

“No it ain't,” Sky said slowly, emphasizing each word. “Fuck, if y'all asked me a year ago if I'd ever miss Hurricane Bluff? I'd'a laughed in ya face.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Here we is.”

We sat in silence for a little while, just watching the slow deconstruction of the Sky Whale. A few others were following in our hoofsteps and finding quiet places to sit and have a smoke. Within a minute or two of us relaxing I could hear a squeaky cart wheel approaching.

“Chow!” somepony called out. The cart stopped just outside the hangar. A whoop went up as ponies filtered out in small groups to grab some food.

“Under here!” Sky Dancer waved a hoof out from under our little shelter. A pair of cardboard boxes slid across the tarmac. “Thanks.”

“Bon appétit.” I picked up one of the boxes and we tore into it. Lunch was served in classic Enclave style. We didn't exactly have a proper supply line, which meant fresh cooking tended to be reserved for dinners only and even then it was a rare occurence. What our new base did have, however, was a seemingly infinite supply of old, pre-packaged rations – some of which looked and tasted like they'd come from before the war. Mine at least seemed relatively fresh from the packaging facility at Neighvarro.

I spread out the cans inside and fished out the little can opener, working on them. There were three cans and a small wax-paper package inside the box. “Whadja get?” I asked Sky, who was quicker with the can opener than I was.

“Let's see... beans and rice, cold, o' course. Ah... there's some peaches here, let's see what...” as he opened the tallest can, Sky Dancer lifted the lid of the can and broke out into a huge grin before lowering it again. “Oooh, look at this. Even got me some'a that spicy cheese spread.”

“Lucky bastard.” My own ration tin coughed up a small container of blackberry jam. What made Sky Dancer so damn lucky was that pretty much any of the other spreads – and most of the meals in these rations to begin with – were tasteless or simply foul. The jams were too sweet, the standard cheese was disturbingly dry. Just the simple addition of some hot peppers to the cheese spread fixed that and actually gave them some flavour. That simple can, labelled Spread, Spicy Cheese was as good as gold around base.

As for me, the rest of my tin contained a stack of crackers and a fig bar, identical to what Sky got, along with an entrée of vegetable stew and a tin of apple slices. We traded our drink packets, too. I'd gotten one of the super sweet fruit punch packets while Sky Dancer got coffee, which I hoarded like mad. You never knew when supplies of it would run out and even simple instant military coffee was wonderful when you were alternating which eye was currently getting sleep.

I was eating – not exactly enjoying, either – a cold can of vegetable stew when Sarge made her appearance again, in her own usual way.

“What's up, fucknuts?”

“Hi, Sarge,” came a quiet chorus of replies.

“Gah, that's pathetic. I said what's up, fucknuts?”

“Hello, Sergeant, ma'am!” This time the replies came louder and with quite a few giggles.

“That's more like it. Looking for Autumn.”

“Down here, Sarge,” I called out, shuffling a little to peek out from under the tailplane.

She trotted over quickly and snorted. “Am I going to regret looking under here?” she asked, ducking under the tailplane. “Better have your uniform on...” She took a quick sniff of the air, glancing at Sky, who was part-way through spreading cheese on one of the crackers. “Oh, shit, is that spicy cheese Damn, you got lucky. You busy, Autumn?” Sarge asked.

“Real busy.”

“Smartass.” She snorted in laughter. “Soon as you're done eating I need you on your hooves. Got something for you.”

I glanced at the cold stew in the can, half-eaten. It wasn't exactly appetizing, so I shrugged and climbed out from under the piece of the Sky Whale, pocketing the rest of my lunch – cigarettes, candy, tin of fruit, and the coffee packet – and popping the fig bar into my mouth.

“You're gonna finish that shit before we get to the Major's, right?”

The what now? My eyes went a bit wide. “ 'he Ma'or?” I repeated around a chewy bar of almond and fig.

“Yes, the fuckin' Major. Don't worry, y'ain't in trouble.” Sarge turned to the gathered ponies, most of which were already sitting down anyway. “Alright, Second Flight! Take twenty, shake the stiffness out, have lunch, smoke, jack it, whatever. Autumn, fall in, let's not keep the Major waiting.”

I immediately swallowed the fig bar and fell into step with Sarge. Even if she was right about not being in trouble I was uneasy. Being singled out to go see the Major wasn't exactly a common thing – and everypony else knew it, too. It was like being called to the principal's office. The Major could be awarding me a medal but until I returned with it to the barracks, the rumour mill would turn and turn. As I left I could feel everypony's eyes on me, but I kept my composure. Even managed to avoid blushing. Somehow.

But it was a long walk up the runway back to the main terminal, and with each passing step my apprehension grew.

Level Up!

Level 2

Perks Gained: Tail Trick (Can use tail as prehensile limb)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 2

View Online

Chapter 2

The walk back to the terminal was a long one, taking me back past our flag and parade area. The cracked pavement wasn't exactly ideal for aircraft – we could still land our Vertibucks, just gently – but the old runways were perfect assembly points and training grounds. Ponies went about their day while Sarge and I passed. First Flight was sitting outside their barracks, using the diffused, grey light of the overcast sun to help them work on their armour. Regulations said to conserve power during the day after all, so might as well use some natural light. Soldiers were buffing scratches out of black, carapace-like power armour that stood on their own. Even on a grey day like today the armour gleamed.

The rear of the terminal was dominated by two long arms of loading gates, with each gate along them converted into living spaces. Lounges, briefing rooms, mess halls, lecture rooms, the like. Even the junior officers like Sarge got small offices along the terminal concourse. Despite the space we'd converted so far we'd only scratched the surface. Only the areas accessible to the public were in use. We knew from blueprints and maps in some of the old offices that the airport was dominated by additional space for baggage handling, maintenance passages, all that fun stuff. Problem was the airport's security was still in effect. Just two weeks ago a mare was severely injured by the security system in the maintenance halls, and since then the Major had ordered a temporary stop to all exploration of the first floor – the staff floor – of the airport.

We had relatively few troops here, she'd said. No use wasting a few when we had space to spare for now.

Two pegasi stood guard at the rear door of the terminal, battle saddles at the ready and combat armour polished and gleaming. They saluted Sarge, who gave them a crisp nod as we went into the stairwell up to the terminal itself. We emerged into the cavernous main floor, the vaulted ceilings arching overhead in exaggerated curves that brought to mind images of clouds and sensations of flight, covered in faded paint, and dominated by a round bar in the middle of the room. Neat rows of chairs were arranged near the bar, many of which were as faded as the rest of the place. Given that tall windows dominated the walls, I figured the long exposure to sun just eventually faded the once deep red chairs away to their current near-pink status.

The bar was still operational, at least partially. As I understood it it was envisioned that eventually we'd establish a foothold here and get the airport up and running. Travellers passing through the area could enter the terminal to relax and have a drink or three before going on to the city of Neigh Orleans itself. There were no visitors yet however, just off-duty Enclave pegasi hanging around at the bar, served by a pink-coated mare behind the counter – one of the only civilian contractors on site. Our route took us past the bar down the curved east wing hall. Windows dominated one side, while barred and barren shops occupied the other side of the hallway. Most of them had been raided before we even got here, but we still managed to secure a number of good supplies from them all.

“Where we off to, Sarge?” The quiet anticipation was getting to me.

“Briefing. Seems the Major's planning some shit and was looking for volunteers. Consider yourself volun-told,” she said with a chuckle. “You lucky bastard. She'll give you more details when we get there.” At the end of the sweeping hall, gates radiated out like a sunburst. Each gate was divided into its own space. The walls were made of old divider panels from the security checkpoint (many still bore signs that emphasized security measures: “see something, say something!”), along with any other scrap panels that could be found, roughly painted to try and match the walls around them and look a little more respectable.

I'd rarely been in this corner of the terminal before. Usually this wing was reserved for ponies that either were high enough up to enjoy a bit of privacy and luxury with their offices and quarters – or for briefings. We hadn't had a briefing in weeks.

My nerves were still on end as we walked past a tower of dead screens that sat in the middle of the rounded walkway. We made our way to a door directly opposite the main hallway. Sarge opened it and led the way inside.

The circular end of the eastern arm of the terminal was filled with seats, all facing one wall. The grey light from the overcast day was just barely lighting the room after being diffused by the curtains on the windows, but it was enough for me to figure out what was going on. Two ponies were seated already on benches, and the Major stood in front of them.

Major Summer Rain glanced up at us as we entered. Her blue-grey uniform was adorned in numerous badges of rank and regiment, her deep blue mane and tail were cut short, with her mane in tight curls around her head.

The moment she looked at us, Sarge and I saluted.

“At ease, Sergeant. This your candidate?” The Major's voice was crisp and measured.

“Aye, Major.” Sarge glanced at me, though I didn't need the prompting. The Major's eyes were on me and the words formed before I even was conscious of it.

“Aviator Autumn Breeze, Second Flight, ma'am.”

“At ease, Aviator. Take a seat. We'll be getting started shortly, as soon as Third Flight's candidate arrives. Sergeant, you're dismissed.”

I settled into a seat near the two others, leaving a single seat between me and a pony I recognized as being from First Flight. We all exchanged quick nods as we waited.

About a minute ticked by before the door opened again and Third Flight's sergeant deposited their candidate in the room and was dismissed. The mare from Third Flight joined us, taking the gap I'd left in the chairs.

“That everypony? Wonderful.” It was the first time I'd ever really heard the Major speak in a small-scale setting. I'd heard the occasional speeches she made to us every once in a while, but this was different, more intimate. She quietly paced from one side of the briefing hall to the other, as if chewing on what she wanted to say. “Before I begin, this initial briefing is going to be classified type three, understood?”

I joined in the quiet chorus of “Ayes”.

“Good. As you know, we've been here for near on three months. I've heard the grumbling about it. About how we're doing nothing, sitting on our wings. I... hesitate to say it's because we're blind but, quite frankly, we're blind.” Major Rain stopped at the end of the hall and turned to face us.

“We're Dragoons. We're to be the Enclave's eyes, ears, and if necessary we project initial force. And right now? We're in need of eyes and ears ourselves. We haven't moved out in three months... but that's about to change.” She paused a moment to look at all of us, her light green eyes intense in the dim light of the briefing room.

“I asked each of your flight officers to recommend to me a pony who's not particularly talented in one area or another. A... jack of all trades, if you will. I needed aptitude and adaptability, not highly skilled in something. All of you come personally recommended. Hopefully you all won't disappoint.”

Something about the way she said that made me sit up a little bit straighter. It was like hearing a parent say something similar. It was one thing to disappoint Sarge once in a while. It was another thing to disappoint the commander of the entire 9^th Dragoons. Plus, there was an element of gravity to this whole affair. A dim briefing room, the Major talking about how we were hoof-picked, the classified nature of it all... it was like one of those old Con Mane books I used to read (okay, fine, that I still read). I suddenly felt less like a lowly Aviator, and more like one of the old Royal Equestrian Intelligence Network officers, or a Royal Destrier, or something fun like that.

The Major continued on, turning to cross the floor again. “What I'm asking is strictly voluntary. It'll involve intensive field work and you'll be away for an indeterminate amount of time. If you're not interested, please, by all means, take your leave. I won't stop you.” She stopped and watched us all.

Not a single feather twitched toward the door. I saw the Major's lips curl into a small smile.

“Wonderful. In that case, let's get this briefing underway, so I can stop with all this smoke and mirrors bullshit.” She took a few quick steps toward a projector sitting on a nearby table. “The following is going to be classified type two. The details of this briefing are known only to myself and Lieutenant Polar Vortex. Your flight officers have received the gist of it, but the only words that can leave anypony's mouth to anypony else on base is “field op”, and nothing else. Understood?”

“Aye.” Once again the chorus rang out. By now the whole room was relatively captivated by the secrecy of it all.

Summer Rain clicked the top of the projector. It gave an almighty ka-chunk and an overhead map of our airport base was displayed. Another ka-chunk and the map was replaced by one of the crescent-shaped city of Neigh Orleans. The city hugged a curving section of the Muddy River as it arced eastward toward the Lunar Sea.

“Welcome to Neigh Orleans.” I could just see the dim form of the Major next to the bright projector light.

“Your new area of operations.”

-=O=-

“Just shy of two months ago, shortly after we arrived, we began our Spritebot scouting program. One of our initial scouts to the area discovered a series of Ministry of Morale Spritebots floating around the city, following old programming. Later they found the warehouse for them, and with it, their control codes. We had ourselves a nice little army of scouts.”

Ka-Chunk. The aerial map was replaced by an old publicity image for the city, depicting a brightly-lit downtown core in wonderful airbrushed colour.

“When we arrived, we didn't know the state of Neigh Orleans. We didn't know if anypony had survived, if they were hostile to Equestria or to the Enclave, if they were even equine. We couldn't just show up and knock on the front door, not yet. Not until we knew for sure. So we spent some time preparing. We built up this airport into a proper little base. After finding the Spritebots, I decided to hold back on our own scouts. I didn't want to give ourselves away just yet, and the Spritebots were a perfect, natural cover.”

Ka-Chunk. A picture of a narrow street, covered in trash. The buildings on either side looked as if they'd seen significantly better days.

“The initial surveillance was good, but showed the limits of the program. It gave us eyes and ears into the city without exposing any of my troops to danger. We started to form a good idea of what the city was like. Problem was we decided to use the Spritebots' originally programmed routes. We didn't want to draw attention to the Spritebots. No more than usual anyway..”

Ka-Chunk. The photo was grainy but if I squinted I could see it: A clear equine figure standing atop a balcony of a building. The faded sign beneath it was nearly impossible to read. The figure was armed, however, that much was obvious.

“What we were able to tell though was that the city was inhabited. Not by a small group of survivors. There were, as far as we could tell, communities out there. This photo was taken in the vicinity of the Grand Equestrian Hotel, down in the Old Quarter. It's one of a few dozen taken by this particular Spritebot... until this little incident.”

Ka-Chunk. Two figures stood on the balcony now. One pointed with his hoof, the other had a large rifle balanced on the balcony's railing, pointed right at the camera.

“Before the Spritebot was destroyed we were able to get one recording from that area, and multiple pictures showing plenty of activity around this hotel.”

The Major turned off the projector, the dull roar of its fan winding down. She pressed the button on a small tape player near the projector. It whirred to life with soft crackling noises. Voices could be heard, faint and practically unintelligible over the static. The voices were getting louder, however, and clearly the bot was getting closer to the source.

“-n't like it... he's never been like this before...” a male spoke.

“Stressful job, what can you... you hear that?” The reply was that of a mare's voice. There was a slight pause, then: “Ah, just one of those fucking floating things.”

“I fucking hate those things.” The stallion's voice was quiet.

“Just wait for it to pass, it's harmless.”

“It's watching us.”

“It's not watching us, it's just a robot.”

“At this point,” the Major put in, stopping the tape. “The Spritebot moves on. But it appears that anypony living in Neigh Orleans has become somewhat... paranoid of our little robotic friends. So. I'm in an unfortunate position. Our Spritebots are being shot down or avoided, which of course makes us blind. That's where all of you come in. It's time to get a more detailed scouting job, but a little more in-depth than I can get from a few set routes.”

Major Rain stepped around the front of the desk, facing us all. “You'll head into the city at various entry points, each given a section to monitor. After that? You observe. You explore. I need to know everything there is to know about the city and its inhabitants. You'll be submitting reports regularly to myself and the Lieutenant.”

She returned to the projector. Once it warmed up again, the next slide was an aerial map of the city west of the river. “Corporal Barley Stalk, you get this place. West of the Muddy River. Aerial photos seem to indicate that it's mostly small housing, tightly packed, as well as numerous industrial areas including a large trainyard.” The next slide was the opposite side of the river. “Aviator Autumn Breeze, your area of operations is east of the River. Downtown, Old Quarter, and what appears to be residential areas here and here, on either side of the downtown sector.”

The slide wasn't up for long, but I managed to get a decent idea of what I was going to have to deal with. I knew I'd be getting a proper package later but it was always a good idea to get a sense of things first. How I was going to manage scouting an entire half of a city on my own I wasn't quite sure, but I'd manage. Couldn't exactly disappoint the Major.

“-you're dealing with north of the city, the community of Bakersmill and the plantations along the Muddy River. Finally, Aviator Monsoon Lotus, you're in command of this area, across the Crescent Bay in Stalliondell. You'll all get copies of these maps later, don't worry. Now, I've been talking a while, any questions?”

I had to admit I was so overwhelmed I couldn't quite come up with any questions. Luckily, the others seemed to have some to ask.

“Yes, Aviator?”

One of the mares spoke up. “We're not going to be sneaking in here, are we? How hooves-off do you want this observation?”

“You don't need to be a Sky-Eyes agent here. There's no smoke and mirrors, no playing like you're a super spy,” Summer Rain said. “You're not infiltrating, you're observing. Nopony knows who you are, so use your real names, if you'd like. Just don't tell them where you're from. Be right at the heart of the action, as much as possible.”

“Understood, Major.”

Summer Rain nodded, then looked at another pony in the room with a nod. “Corporal.”

“You asked for reports, ma'am. On what exactly?” Barley asked.

“Anything and everything. Information on infrastructure, both pre-war and new construction. Settlements, survivor groups, power structures, whether or not there's any semblance of the old government,” Summer Rain shrugged. “Whatever we can use to get a picture of the city, and a roadmap for the way forward.”

“And how do you want these reports delivered?” one of the others, Monsoon Lotus, put in.

“However you can. All reports are to be coded as classified level 3. We'll make sure each of you gets a radio frequency. Get a hold of us via radio, then send your reports. Coded across the radio, cloud-drops, whatever. You want to hold up your report in front of a Spritebot? Go ahead. Just make sure the reports are secret and semi-regular.”

Everything seemed rather nice and simple so far. My own hoof went up. So long as question period was on I might as well ask away.

“Aviator.”

“What's our timeline looking like?” I asked. “I mean, how long are you planning this op to be, and when are we stepping off?”

“Our first window of opportunity is tomorrow night, 2000 hours. We want as dark a night as possible, and tomorrow is the new moon, and mostly cloudy.”

“We can't make it cloudy?” Barley asked.

“No, we tried that.” Oddly, it wasn't the Major that spoke up, but the mare who's name I hadn't caught, from Third Flight. “Back when we first got here. There's something about the background magic here just... fucks with it all.” She shrugged. “Our cloud-formation spells either fizzle out, or we get some crazy effect we can't control. So we stopped that.”

“Ha, damn. Now that's fuckin' old school,” Barley said with a snort of laughter. “Relying on Equestrian weather.”

I couldn't help but laugh with the rest of the group. Growing up on the cloud farms of Chicacolt, I couldn't even conceive of letting the weather do its own thing, uncontrolled and wild. There was a slight tinge of nervousness, though. Somehow I hadn't actually had the fact we couldn't control the weather sink in until now. If the weather decided to kick up a killer storm, well... Being on the coast, hurricanes were a concern.

“Aviator Blue is right. We're stuck with whatever hoof we're dealt. I don't like it either, because if we miss tomorrow's opening it'll be weeks before the next.” The Major shrugged. “So let's try and get going tomorrow, shall we? As for your other question, Autumn, this mission is indefinite. You're to spend as long as possible in your patrol zones, barring any emergencies. We'll of course be providing you with a way to extract, but try to stay as long as equinely possible.”

I nodded. The instructions were simple enough, but that didn't make it easier. The thought of spending an indefinite amount of time in a dangerous location – where food and water supplies could be scarce, where we knew nothing about the inhabitants – was enough to make even the strongest Enclave hero think twice. The questions seemed to stall out after that. The massive projector whirred to a stop again and the curtains were opened a little to allow some light in.

“That will be all. We'll provide everypony with a basic mission package. Pack any additional items you'd like but keep it light. I'll see everypony on the end of the south runway at 20:00.” Major Summer Rain stepped up to the front of the room to face us. “Dismissed.”

Chapter 3

View Online

Chapter 3

Every year when I was a colt, my family would have a little tradition at Hearth's Warming Eve. Dad would make up some hot cocoa in the kitchen while the rest of us sat around a radio, listening to the local DJ broadcasting Hearth's Warming music. As soon as he came back in we'd all settle in to listen to Mom and Dad read the story of Hearth's Warming.

I loved that story, but I remember always being antsy – and not just because of the sugar in the drink. No, young Autumn Breeze was always anxious to get to bed and wake up for the presents the next day. As presents became less important, I still got that feeling in my gut, that little lurching sensation as The Big Day came on; but that was just to wake up and spend a holiday with the folks rather than gifts.

Waiting through the next day was a lot like that.

There was that same feeling. That anxiousness that made you double-check everything you've already triple-checked. That fidgeting that made you unable to sit in one place without watching the clock, knowing it was too early to leave but not enough time to do anything else but wait. I spent the day working with my Flight, of course, but I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing really mattered when I was going to be leaving in twelve hours, then ten, eight, six hours. As the day wore on the feeling got worse and worse until I found myself sitting alone in the barracks around seven that evening, just a scant hour before we were to step off.

It was quiet. Sarge knew what I was up to – as did the rest of the Flight, though everypony just knew I was on a field op and nothing more – and so after dinner I was given leave to prepare. While everypony was out doing work for the evening, I sat on the edge of my cot, listening to and watching an old mechanical clock clunk away on the wall.

My kit bag was packed at the base of the cot, had been for ages now, and I was sitting in just a basic set of stripped-down fatigues. No Enclave emblems, nothing that could identify where I came from. I didn't even have my dogtags on me. It was strange. Being in the Enclave was my life, part of my family's life, and now I had to keep that pushed aside and only known to myself.

I fished a single cigarette out of the pack I'd gotten with my rations that day, fitting it between my lips and letting the smoke encircle my head as I sat there, not really thinking about anything. I mostly just stared at a spot on the floor, boring a hole through the concrete with my gaze. Once I finally dragged my smoke down to nothing, I tossed the butt on the ground, stamped it out with a hoof, and grabbed my kit bag.

No time like the present.

I hiked the canvas bag over my back and trotted out of the barracks hangar, headed for the southern corner of the airport. The evening was definitely cloudy as expected, so chances were good that we'd be stepping off tonight. No sun had been seen all day, just oppressive, thick grey clouds. Unpleasant weather for most folks but for us it was perfect.

I made it to the end of the runway. One of our few vertibucks that were left operational sat there with a small crowd gathered around. The parts involved with their upkeep made it impractical to use them too much. I guess today was a special occasion. As I approached I saw the Major was there, along with another one of the scouts – Barley Stalk – plus a pair of pilots for the vertibuck.

“Welcome, Aviator.”

I saluted and nodded. “Major.”

“At ease, Autumn. We've still got time.”

The vertibuck was a lot like the Sky Whale we'd disassembled earlier, just writ small. A bulbous metal frame sat low on four cocked legs, like a crouching insect ready to pounce. The comparison was helped by twin front windshields made of a yellow Plexiglas. Squat wings extended out the top of the main body upon which two propellers sat, along with some arcanotech engines to power them. A tail stuck out the back which held a series of cloud cages, and the whole vehicle had two more cloud cages along the bottom to help it float.

Sure, pegasi could fly. But when one was going into combat it was best to be fresh, not having just flown from whatever the kick-off point was to the battle. Hence the vertibuck. Transport and firepower all in one, though this one seemed unarmed. The pilots were running their final checks to make sure the whole thing would actually work.

“Looks like we'll be flyin' in style,” Barley said. He offered me a cigarette and I snorted in laughter.

“Been a while since we got any style.” I blew a bit of smoke out of the side of my mouth. “Thanks.”

“Any time. Ready for this?”

I shrugged. “Ready as I'll ever be, I guess.”

“Hey, I'm excited. I ain't been off base since we got here. Gonna be good to stretch these wings!” Barley swung his wings out and laughed.

“You'll be getting to do a lot of that, that's for damn sure,” the Major said.

The others slowly filtered in until all four of us were there. Everypony else had packed light as we'd been instructed. The Major passed out four simple manila folders, explaining that each contained a few aerial photos and maps of the immediate area as well as our drop point. While the pilots finished the last of their checks I took a moment to study the photos. I'd take them along but they weren't great. My insertion point looked to be a small building off the side of the highway. There was a small aerial map that showed a simple route into the city along the highway and one that marked off a few points of interest in my area.

The Grand Equestrian Hotel, the Equestrian War Museum, the Temple of the Celestial Sisters... names that meant nothing to me. Somepony had helpfully stapled a tourism guide of the city to the map, which provided short blurbs on each of the highlights. Not that I had much time to check it. A soft breeze kicked up over the pavement, tugging at the cloth on my forelegs. The pilots had placed white fluffy clouds within the cloud cages, and the last steps to takeoff were starting.

A door slid open on the side of the Vertibuck. The Major turned to face us.

“Okay, Dragoons, listen up. From here on out all of you are on your own. Inside is a duffel bag full of survival gear for you, as well as some weapons. Be aware of the added weight. The pilots will signal your jump sites. Good luck, and happy hunting.” She gave us all a crisp salute, which we all returned. “Hodie non Cras!” she barked.

“Hodie non Cras!” we shouted in return.

She smiled at that and nodded. “Now get to work!”

We piled into the waiting vertibuck and settled onto the benches. I was a little excited actually. I hadn't had a chance to ride in a vertibuck since we'd gotten out here. Once the safety harness was attached around my middle I took a look around. The others were getting ready, settling in and strapping down. As soon as the last pony was locked into their seats the co-pilot slid the door shut and climbed into the cockpit.

Two harnesses in the front connected the pilots to a series of controls that were attached to their forelegs and wings. I'd never flown one but had a general gist of how they worked. Wing and leg movements would control the clouds in the cages on the outside, the arcanotech propellers, and of course a number of metal feathers on the vertibuck's wings to allow it to turn, bank, and brake.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, this'n yer pilot speakin',” a thickly-accented voice piped over the speakers in the cabin. The vertibuck shuddered as he spoke and almost imperceptibly started to rise on the power of clouds alone. It was so quiet none of us would need a bulky headset to hear the pilots – or ourselves. The runways of Satchel Mouth International Airport fell away beneath us. Out my small rounded window I could see the Enclave Tricolour coming down its pole for the night. No lights could be spared to keep it lit, so it had to come down; rules were rules.

“Y'all aboard the 20:20 flight wit' service t'Neigh Orleans, Bakersmill, an' Stalliondell. Th'inflight entertainment don't exist, an' th'snacks are whatever ya brought.” I snorted in laughter and I could see the others cracking a smile at that. “We gon' be runnin' quiet here so th'flight's gonna take a while. Neigh Orleans should be half an hour, den another twenty to Bakersmill, an' an hour t'Stalliondell. Sit back an' enjoy.”

I did just that, staring out the window as the vertibuck rose steadily into the air. It was somewhat disconcerting to be moving up so high and not hear a single noise however. On any of the larger cloud ships there was always an overwhelming hum from the engines, air recyclers, all that. A little vehicle like this on ultra-quiet was incredibly – almost eerily - silent. The airport below got smaller and smaller. Minutes ticked by in relative silence; only a few snippets of hushed conversation moved around the cabin.

Small clouds flitted past the window, then more, until the entire view was obliterated by a thick grey fog. When we emerged my heart soared.

It had been months since I'd last gotten up above the clouds and saw the world I had left behind. There wasn't any light from the new moon, but countless points of starlight twinkled above us. There was no light pollution out here from sky-cities, making the sky as clear as possible. I hadn't seen a view like that, that clear, in years. “Wow.”

“Been a while, huh?” Monsoon asked from next to me.

“Yeah,” I replied. The vertibuck hummed softly and banked southwest. The going was certainly slow, with the propellers at half speed and the cloud generators providing most of the movement, but we were definitely going to be quiet.

Not much was said for the flight, with everypony concentrated on their own thoughts or studied their own files. I wondered what the others were thinking. Sure as the sun rose each day I knew what I was thinking: I was nervous. Very nervous. I hadn't done a high-altitude drop in a while, and I was going to be dropping into a totally unknown area. I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other end and I had nopony to fall back on. Nothing but my own wits.

A single red light lit up in the cabin. The co-pilot came back from the cockpit. “First drop, east Neigh Orleans.”

I motioned with a wing. “Me.”

“Up, let's get you kitted out.” The co-pilot took my left foreleg and hooked a small device to it. Three small glass tubes sat within the squared frame. “Altimeter ready.” He tightened the strap, then helped me strap the duffel bag to my back. It was a heavy bag and I definitely would need to compensate for that weight during the drop. “Bag ready.”

“Two minutes to target,” the pilot called out.

“Copy two.” The co-pilot looked me in the eye. “You good?”

“Yeah, I'm good.”

Two minutes ticked by and the vertibuck slowed a little. The co-pilot trotted over to the door and pulled it open. A blast of cold air filled the dimly lit cabin, the sudden pressure change causing my ears to pop. I worked my jaw to fix that as the co-pilot cracked a glowstick.

“Marker,” said the pilot.

“Marker,” confirmed the co-pilot. A sliver of bright yellow light fell out the vertibuck's open door and vanished past the cloud cover just inches below us. The stick was just heavy enough to avoid being blown off course, and durable enough to not be destroyed by a fall from even this high up. As soon as it tumbled past the clouds the co-pilot motioned me over. “Hold.”

“Holding,” I mumbled. Not much else to do. I looked out the open door at the clouds drifting lazily by. This was going to be fun. Really. I hadn't had a chance to stretch my wings like this in a while and likely wouldn't for a while.

A green light came on to replace the single red one. “Go,” the co-pilot said calmly.

I walked out the door and plummeted to the ground.

-=O=-

Contrary to what one would expect, a freefall isn't that scary. Almost every pegasus that did any aerobatic flying knew how to dead-wing for tricks. The feeling I got wasn't a gut-churning feel of fear and panic but rather that light sensation that happened just before you missed a stair going down, or leaned your chair too far back. Just... more constant, for almost a minute.

I wanted to whoop out in delight as I fell but the wind had other plans, stealing my voice and flapping my cheeks back in a truly undignified look. My wings tucked tightly to my side, I plunged through the cloud layer, emerging on the far side a little wetter but otherwise no worse for wear.

Once upon a time, I imagine, the view might have been wonderful. Seeing all of Martingale territory below you (it wasn't a very large territory in Equestria), mainland Equestria stretching out to the curved horizon. At night below thick clouds though, especially nowadays when there was no power left, it was a different story. I couldn't see much at all, just a small speck of bright yellow below and to my right.

My body twisted slightly to put me on track with the glowstick light. On my left hoof a small vacuum tube slowly lit with a deep red arcane light. I was entering the safe zone. Too early to pull out my wings – and besides, the drop was exhilarating so far. I didn't want it to end. This must be how Shadowbolts felt – high-altitude-low-opening drops were more of their style than a Dragoon's. For a brief moment I imagined myself wearing the black and blue suits, smooth black armour plating keeping me aerodynamic as I soared wingtip-to-wingtip with some of the best flyers in all of the Enclave.

The red light on my hoof went out and was replaced by a yellow one. Too early still.

For a brief moment the funniest thought struck me. The sky was so dark here with the cloud cover. The little light on my foreleg must have been pretty visible streaking through the sky. Somewhere somepony was making a wish on me – thinking me to be a falling star. A snort of laughter managed to get past my snout.

The light on the ground was getting bigger and brighter. I swung my wings out, keeping their leading edge pointed into the wind. If I flattened them out at this speed I would break my wings clean off.

Green light. I immediately went into a wide spiralling turn, twisting my body into the turn to make me as least aerodynamic as possible and bleed airspeed. I could feel my descent slowing gradually. The ground was rushing up quicker now – I could feel it. Every pegasus had an instinctive “feel” for altitude that was usually better when we could actually see the ground and horizon. Even though I couldn't, I knew that it was coming up fast.

My descent wasn't slowing enough and for a brief moment I wondered if I'd misjudged the drop. But no. I slowed enough that I was able to flatten out my falling spiral and get my wings horizontal.

Air immediately caught under my wings and the sudden rush actually lifted me back up a little before giving me a fully controlled descent. I let out a soft “Yes!” and glided down toward the yellow glowstick. My instincts hadn't been too bad. It was just about fifty metres to the ground where my hooves finally alighted.

Freefall was an intense rush and I took a minute to calm my panting and shake out the adrenaline a little. Once I was calmed I took a look around – the glowstick was bright enough to shed some light on the area. A wide open concrete field surrounded me. One end passed through a broken chainlink fence out toward a small road. The other brought me to a squat building consisting of a garage and a connected... office, I'd guess.

I snatched the glowstick up in my teeth and trotted toward the office. Harsh yellow light followed me, casting bizarre shadows on everything. A rusted carriage sat near the front entrance, bristling in road work signs and construction tools. Emblazoned on the side was an emblem for the Neigh Orleans Road Works Department. The reflective material reacted strangely with my glowstick's light, sending it back to me in a way that looked almost like a griffon's eyes in the dark. I shuddered at the thought.

A griffon in the dark would probably be the single worst thing I could experience right now.

The office's front door was unlocked. Before I went inside I took a look in the sky, looking west – toward the city. Faintly, in the darkness, I could see the smallest dot of bright yellow light falling through the sky. I snorted in laughter and made a wish upon a falling soldier.

Safe travels, and good luck.

Still coming down from the high of freefall I nosed the door open to the office and stepped inside.

Desks were strewn with scrap parts and dust. Old terminals sat abandoned and quiet, no longer humming away happily as they dutifully recorded notes and records. At the back of the room was a small break area and kitchen with a few comfortable chairs, a threadbare couch, and a fridge with a truly... fascinating scent coming from it. A bathroom capped everything off at the back of that break room. Empty. A perfect place to spend the night and get my bearings in the morning.

I grabbed a few empty tin cans left in the break room and strung them on some wire found in the office. I tied this little contraption to the door so that no matter how it was opened it would rattle and hopefully wake me up. Then I locked the doors, the windows, and collapsed onto the couch.

Rather than anxiety and adrenaline keep me up as I'd expected, exhaustion won out in the game and I was asleep in seconds.

Chapter 4

View Online

Chapter 4

My morning routine on the first day of the field op was certainly... different. For the first time in nearly two years there was no loud shouting, no pre-recorded Reveille to wake me up with the dawn. No call to formation, no morning inspection.

Nothing but eerie quiet.

I sat up on the couch and looked around the room. Sunlight streamed lightly through the small windows – just enough to see by. I hadn't bothered to try the lights yesterday but had a feeling they wouldn't work. Either way it was time to see what the duffel bag of goodies contained.

First up on it was a tablet about the size of a book, bearing a few buttons and a rotary dial next to the screen. A smiling pony with a wavy mane was emblazoned on the back, grinning widely and happily beneath the faded lettering that identified the device: Pip-Buck 2000. A sticky note was stuck to the back.

'Slide switch on top to turn on. Select Data, then play included tape.'

Simple enough. I followed the instructions. The device whirred to life, the green-on-grey screen displaying the loaded tape as being called “Instructions”. I clicked the dial in to play it.

“Congratulations on your purchase of Stable-Tec's NEW and improved Pip-Buck 2000!” An impossibly cheery stallion's voice came through a speaker on the device, sounding distant and tinny. I set it down on the couch next to me while I dug through the saddlebag. “Stable-Tec is proud to present our first truly portable arcanotech terminal. It includes Stable-Tec's latest versions of all our most popular portable spells: our patented Automapping spell ensures you'll NEVER lose your way again, while the included sorting spell means no more messy saddlebags! Your Pip-Buck 2000 even includes such useful features as a radiation detector and Stable-Tec's two latest spells: The Eyes Forward Sparkle will make you as perceptive as a griffon and is so powerful even the blind could see with it! Meanwhile, our Stable-Tec Assisted Targeting Spell, SATS, will give you the reaction times necessary to never miss a thing. The Pip-Buck 2000 even includes an add-on peripheral to ensure you have access to its functions even when it's not in hoof!”

So far so good. It sure seemed like a useful little device. As it mentioned the peripheral I found it sitting within the duffel bag. A small square piece of metal with a few buttons on the front, colour-coded, with a coiled cord dangling from it to be plugged into the Pip-Buck. I plugged it in while it kept talking.

“The Pip-Buck 2000 is even equipped with our patented medical assistance spell. Never miss a dose of medication again! We at Stable-Tec are proud to bring you only the greatest in personal information and assistance technology, and hope you enjoy your purchase!”

The tape whirred to a halt, and the room was quiet again.

“Neat.” I could definitely do with a companion like this on the road. Having all those extra features would certainly keep a weight off my shoulders. I dug through the saddlebags to find what other goodies the quartermaster have given me.

I got a weapon, which was nice. A 10mm pistol of pre-war design, boxy and weather-worn, the kind everypony in the Enclave knew how to use, from the most elite Shadowbolt spec-ops team to the lowliest desk clerk. A box of cartridges came with it, as well as a few spare magazines. Next up was a harness with a holster, and a simple set of barding to go over my fatigues. It was made of canvas, with a thick weave at the front and a thin metal plate inside that would turn away most light attacks. The whole outfit covered my torso on all sides, but little else. My legs and hindquarters were exposed. Well, it was better than nothing. Plus, it showed off my cutie mark nicely (a brain-shaped cloud, with bolts of lightning shooting every which way).

The duffel bag also contained some additional healing supplies, a set of canvas saddlebags to haul everything so I wouldn't need to toss the duffel bag and kit bag over my back, and the infamous Enclave Box o' Scraps – better known as the Box o' Shit to most of us. A small cardboard box full of scrap bits of all kinds. Wire, bolts, washers, anything and everything one could want to jury rig anything into working... maybe once. It was infamous for its ability to hold, at the exact same time, parts that you both desperately need but can never find when needed, or parts that would never serve any functional purpose. Maybe Stable-Tec's sorting spell would be enough to crack the mystery that was the Box o' Shit, but I wasn't going to hold my breath.

The rest of the kit was fairly standard survival stuff; food rations and the like. Everything and anything a good Dragoon would need for a long scouting mission.

I organized the contents of the duffel bag into my new saddlebags, including the small stash of oat bars and instant coffee I'd packed to bring along. I just waited for a moment, sitting on the edge of the couch, then got up in a slight huff and checked the PipBuck's automapping spell against the provided aerial photos.

Turns out the PipBuck had already done some work, so bonus points to Stable-Tec for that. The map on the little green-and-black display wasn't great but it was good enough to match with the aerial photos and get an idea of where I was going. The automap was missing markers that my paper map had though, so I kept that on me. My route was simple enough based on both maps: take the path that led from the parking lot to the main road, turn right and continue on till the city.

Before heading out I grabbed a few road work log books and tore out the filled in pages, keeping only blank ones. They'd made a good place to write my reports once I decided just exactly how I was going to report back. I added my first entry before leaving.

Day One – 05:41 – Partly sunny – Road Works offices

Dropped successfully. Found some shelter – too far from city to return regularly. Building in good shape.

I hesitated a moment and looked at a dusty lamp next to me. I flicked the switch with the end of the pencil. As expected it stayed dark.

No power I added to my report. That done I packed the log away and decided to just... go for it. Nothing else to look at here in these offices and I had about an hour, hour and a half's walk to the city. Might as well make the most of the good weather while it lasted.

I stopped a moment at the door and grabbed a felt-tip marker from a nearby tray. Might as well add a little mark to show that I'd been here. Just next to the doorframe I drew a quick doodle of the upper half of a pony's head peering over a line representing a wall. “Killjoy is Watching” I wrote underneath it, then signed it with a simple winged “E”. An instantly recognizable bit of graffiti to any Enclave pony that would wander by. “Killjoy is Watching” was found universally anywhere the Enclave were. Don't ask me why, I don't know.

The day was as hot and humid as ever but at least the clouds had broken today to allow some sun down for once. The thick cloud cover had ragged holes here and there, as if a great big shotgun had been fired at the sky, then some griffon had slashed it with their talons. The Enclave had no control over the weather here obviously, and as far as I understood from when we first got to base, Martingale had never had any weather control spires placed anywhere as part of the Single Pegasus Project. Both its major cities, Neigh Orleans and Steedport, had to rely on old fashioned pony-power to plan and manipulate with their weather. It'd be definitely a change from back home, where weather was planned weeks in advance, allowing everypony a way to plan around it.

Out here, well, who knows what the day to day could bring? Still, I'd take hot and humid over a hurricane or storm any day. Hopefully this weather lasted. I checked my pistol, checked my armoured barding, stretched out my wings and took my first steps toward scouting the city.

-=O=-

The walk into the city may have been long but it was entirely uneventful. Tense perhaps, but not anything particularly gruelling. I just walked along the highway as the trees on either side gave way to open fields and swampland, which then gave way to the first signs of civilization: squat houses and businesses scattered here and there. Everything looked remarkably intact for having survived near on a century of neglect and harsh weather. According to our briefing when we'd deployed out to Neigh Orleans the city hadn't been the direct target of any megaspells. If I didn't know any better, I'd think the city was completely fine. I half expected to find ponies playing outside in the cul-de-sacs and streets of the suburbs, or standing outside shops or what have you.

What I got instead was nothing but silence. Empty windows gazed back at me while streets stayed abandoned, cracking under the rigours of time and disrepair. Not a toy ball bounced off walls and pavement, no scooters or tricycles rattled along, no morning gossip was shared outside coffee shops and mane salons. Not a single whisper of life.

Unsettling was a mild way of putting it. I had grown up in a relatively large area, a small cloud-city over the ruins of Chicacolt. There was always something going on, ponies flying this way and that, a buzz of activity throughout the day. There were shouts to old friends, music, laughter, news hawkers, Vertibuck formations. Out here it was mostly silence broken by occasional far off (at least I hoped far off) noises. An echoing gunshot carried on the wind in one case.

It was nerve-wracking to walk like this, exposed and alone, with nothing but a quiet breeze gently tugging at my fatigues and the clip-clopping of my hooves on pavement. I kept my head on a swivel, but constant anxiety about an ensuing attack that may or may not come was enough to drive anypony mad. It had already been over an hour since I'd left the Road Works and by the map on my PipBuck it would be another long hour or two until I was really into the city rather than the outskirts of the suburbs.

A good candidate for a quick rest popped up within a few minutes of walking. A little rest station was built on the side of the highway deep inside one of the suburbs. It was the kind of place one used to stop with the family carriage to let everypony out to stretch while the driver got to rest a little. Everypony would buy snacks and take a bathroom break while the station attendants would recharge the arcane batteries built into each carriage – who's spell could make even the heaviest vacation supplies feel as light as a feather across the driver's back.

Everything the rest stop should have been, however, it wasn't. A few carriages did remain where they were abandoned by previous owners. Some had been in the process of charging, though none looked to me like they'd ever work again. One of them had all the windows gone with the doors having long since fallen off to rest at its sides. The others were in just as bad shape.

I turned off the highway to check it out. I had food enough to survive but water would be important. I had tablets that would let me clean up a good amount of water, but not enough to keep me going for longer than a few days at most with this heat. If I was going to survive, I would need way more water than I had. If there was anywhere that I could get water it'd be here.

The radiation detector on my PipBuck clicked ominously as I approached the carriages outside the rest station. It wasn't loud or insistent enough to mean danger, just a soft click every other second as if to tell me something was amiss. Whatever magical radiation had lasted from the Great War had obviously sunk deep into the metal of the carriages, holding out all this time.

There was nothing of use in the carriages, so I moved on to the shop itself. The place had been picked clean, with little left inside except trash and broken glass. I carefully stepped around broken bottles and fallen cans, heading down the aisles of the rest stop's little convenience store. As far as food went I was able to salvage a dusty box of preserved, dried apple slices. I checked the best before date and burst out into laughter.

Whatever preservatives were in there, magical or otherwise, the apples were just two years out of date. The War had ended over eight decades ago. Score one for pre-War preservation techniques.

At the bottom of a nearby freezer – long since thawed and unable to do much more in the way of actual freezing – I found three bottles of water. I grabbed those and the apples and went to have a break at the counter. I settled onto it and took a look at my haul. The water bottles were old, but the seals unbroken and after cleaning the dust off, I saw that the water inside was mostly clear. I still didn't take my chances. I used the clean water from my canteen instead, then fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from my pocket.

It was the same pack of Bluebloods – my preferred brand - that I'd gotten in yesterday's ration, minus a few. I stuck it between my lips and stared down at the faded image of a light gray unicorn stallion with a flowing blonde mane and a red rose clenched between his grinning teeth.

I found myself staring into the stallion's eyes through the rising smoke. He was a rather attractive stallion all said. A little line was written under the brand name: “Fit for a Prince!” Wouldn't mind having a prince like that in my life, brand icon or not. An attractive prince all decked out in finery with a rose clenched between his teeth, there to sweep my off my hooves and take me away from the unsettling emptiness of the wasteland I was dealing with. A distant part of my mind wondered if he'd survived the war, or if any of his descendent did. I then came to realize that this Blueblood probably never existed outside of some company's imagination, and my hoof slipped, dropping the paper package to the floor.

It hit with a surprisingly loud crunch, which made me tilt my head in confusion, until I realized a split second later that it was the crunch of gravel. A second crunch sounded out and I quickly drew the pistol from its holster, cocking it back and setting the grip between my teeth. The old plastic grip moulded roughly to my teeth, and my tongue rested against the trigger. I was way too slow. A mare stepped around the corner carrying a pistol nearly identical to mine in her teeth, complemented by spiked metal horseshoes.

“Hey!” I called out around the bit of my pistol. “ 'ol' up!” She immediately levelled her pistol at me in return. We stood off like that for a moment.

Somewhere behind one of my ears a shotgun cocked.

“Oho, wow, have y'all fucked up,” a voice drawled behind me, gravelly and laden with smug pride. “Lookie what Ah found!”

The mare grinned around the bit of her pistol. Her teeth were stained yellow and cracked and my oh my was it an unpleasant smile.

All in all, my first day in the wastes could have gone significantly better.

Chapter 5

View Online

Chapter 5

The tension in the air was palpable. For a long few moments we all stood there, the mare's broken teeth grinning at me, the cold knowledge of a shotgun placed not far behind me.

“Look at them saddlebags, Nails.” The stallion's hot breath washed over me from behind, and not in the way I usually preferred. His breath was foul. “He looks loaded.”

“Heh, damn righ',” the mare said casually. “Cu'e li'le t'ing, too. Bettin' he wort' somet'in' hisself.”

It was a hard thing to not move. My brain was screaming at me for multiple conflicting reasons, but all coming to the same conclusion: run. Either run to cover and engage like the well trained, well tuned instrument of badassery that the Enclave trained me to be... or run away as fast as possible and never look back. Neither idea would work well. They had me in a good crossfire. If I ran, I wouldn't make it two steps.

So I stayed put. It was a hard thing to do, and I wouldn't ever lie and say I stood strong and defiant – my hooves trembled slightly the whole time – but it prevented me from getting a buckshot enema, and it gave me time to think. Gears turned within my head as I worked out my options and came up “bleak” every time.

“Here's how it gon' go,” the stallion said. “Nails there gonna come over an' relieve you of them saddlebags. Y'ain't gonna move a muscle, least till Ah tell you. Then y'all gonna drop all ya got. That gun, them clothes. All of it. We ain't gonna kill ya, less ya fuck up.”

Somehow I just didn't quite believe him, and I really didn't know why. Maybe it was the shotgun pointed at my back, or maybe it was the rusty spikes on the mare's horseshoes that were covered in something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. “Let's talk this out,” I ventured, speech a little muffled and less well enunciated than I wanted to. Such was life with a gun gripped in your teeth.

The two ponies on either side of me burst out laughing, and the stallion behind me snorted as he stopped.

“No.”

Well, it was worth the shot.

I had to find a way out of this. I couldn't lose these supplies this early. If he took the PipBuck I'd be up shit creek without so much as a boat let alone a paddle. I'd have no way to communicate back to the Enclave, no maps. Lose the water and food, and I'd be in dire straights too – especially if they took all my water purification tablets and...

My saving grace came in the form of a small glimmer of movement in the corner of my eye. It came just as the mare stepped a bit closer toward me to start, as the stallion put it, “relieving me” of my saddlebags. In the dusty upper corner of the shop was a broken dome mirror, the kind used to check around aisles for shoplifters and to avoid collisions. It was half-broken and dirty, but there was just enough left for me to assess my situation. I could see the mare approaching me of course but I was more interested with who was behind me.

There was a big buck of a unicorn behind me, floating the shotgun a mere inch or two behind my left ear. The buck himself was a few steps behind me, staring me down and waiting for any sign of movement.

The shotgun itself was just in reach of my wing. I'd have to move quickly, and I was only going to get one shot. Military training, don't fail me now.

One, two... I took a breath and went for it.

My left wing flew up and out, slapping the shotgun up. The stallion shouted in surprise. Not sure how he was so surprised, though. It wasn't like my wings were hidden or anything. Either way he pulled the trigger a second too late, his scattergun blasting a ragged hole in the ceiling and sending dust down onto our heads. My advantage wasn't going to last though: the unicorn had way more control over his gun than I could exert and already he was fighting to level it for shot two.

I ducked low and twisted in, taking me inside the shotgun's reach and thus behind the barrel. My pistol was only a few hairs away from the stallion's chest. I didn't even aim, I just yanked my tongue on the trigger.

Turns out, a 10mm Automatic makes one incredible racket when it went off. I fought to control the recoil as the bullet slammed home into the stallion's leg. He gave out a shout of pain and crumpled. Two follow-up shots nailed him in the chest, easily punching through the clothes he wore and ripping out the far end of his neck. He was dead before he hit the ground and I turned to face the mare.

She'd dropped the pistol at the start of the fight to avoid shooting her companion and was now charging me. A truly impressive distance was crossed in just a few steps, and she was on me before I could get my pistol around to bear. I pulled the trigger twice anyway. My instructors at the range would likely have found a dozen things wrong with my technique, and they'd be right. My two shots sailed harmlessly past the mare, punching through a steel shelf in a spray of dust.

Her hoof took me in the chest, flat on rather than the spikes, and knocked the wind clear out of me. I hit the ground and rolled and she was on top of me, bringing her hoof down. The initial tackle had knocked my gun away, and I fought to grab it with my wing as her hoof connected with my jaw. The tip of one of the spikes cut deep against my cheek.

My gun clattered away out of reach of my wing but just in reach of my tail. I wrapped my tail around it and brought it up immediately. By this time the mare already had her other hoof coming down, spikes aimed at my face. I jerked my head aside, dodging the spikes just in time, and pulled the trigger. Two rounds of 10mm Automatic tore through her ribs and she fell off my chest. As soon as I had my hooves again I put a third shot between her eyes.

I stood there for a long moment. The last brass casing clinked to the floor. The report of a few shots echoed in my ringing ears. The gun's barrel smoked faintly and quivered in midair.

I'd never ended a pony's life before.

Two years of training did absolutely nothing to prepare me for this; not the adrenaline of combat or the sudden shakes when it was all done, not the sudden rush of emotion and sickness afterwards. I'd fired hundreds of shots down range, I'd engaged in live-fire training exercises, I'd played in the kill house with simulated paint rounds against other regiments.

The gun clattered to the floor. My snack of apple slices joined it. That just made me heave some more.

The two had tried to rob me, sure. But they'd had lives that led to this point. Experiences, hopes, dreams, fears. Loved ones. Family members. Maybe one or both had a foal back home to take care of and this was the only way to ensure that kid stayed alive. Or maybe they were just purely selfish and out for themselves.

It was impossible to know now. All of those moments were gone... and I'd taken them.

I heaved again, but nothing came out.

Tears burned in my eyes as I fell back against the counter, slumping over a little. My forelegs shook – my whole body shook for that matter. A potent cocktail of emotion tore through me: fear, shame, anger, pain. I fished a small roll of enchanted bandages out of my saddlebags and slapped it on my gouged cheek. It helped that pain out at least.

I wiped my hoof across my eyes to clear them of tears and sat back against the counter, letting out a shaky breath. The grinning stallion on the cigarette pack I'd dropped looked up at me, stained with blood. I'm sure I was too.

“I had to,” I told him quietly. “It was them or me.”

He never answered.

-=O=-

My hooves carried me down the road about an hour later. I was alert in the moment but nothing registered – for instance I knew I'd left the service station but couldn't tell what I saw on the way past it. There was a haze in the air that wasn't just in my head, blurring the way forward and fading the colours out like an old photograph. My hooves just carried me on a subconsciously chosen path and I had no control over that.

Was this what it was always like? The rush of adrenaline followed by a sudden crash? We'd been trained for a lot in the Enclave. One part of it had always stuck with me: my instructor at Hurricane Bluffs had constantly reminded us that when the shit hit the fan, when carnage broke loose, training prevailed. Ponies would fall back on what they knew. If they didn't have an immediate card to pull out and read from, they'd go into a panic. The Enclave was there to train us for most eventualities: how to survive an ambush, what to do when under sniper fire, how to fix, flank, and eliminate targets, ways of surviving in the harshest conditions. It was how I was able to pull some seriously Shadowbolt shit with my pistol and... stop the stallion with such efficiency.

But there was never training on what to do to get over the shock of causing a death. I didn't panic, but there was nothing to fall back on. No cue cards, no muscle memory, no anecdotes from training. Nothing but my own brain to try and work it out.

The utter silence of the world around me wasn't helping.

I tried to think back on many of the Enclave's best, the heroes past and present. Thatch Roof, General Stormy, One-Eye, Ironwing. They had to have dealt with all of this kind of stuff. They were each aces in their own rights, each incredibly efficient killers and flyers. I couldn't imagine any of them feeling sorry for themselves after making a kill. Take Ironwing, for instance. The mare famously took on three of the best aces the griffons had in the Battle of Rockwington and won, despite being wounded multiple times. I couldn't imagine she spent the rest of the day moping in the barracks. And Thatch, well, he was best known for developing better, more effective ways of killing other flyers, and by all reports was proud of inventing the Aerial Combat Harness.

Each and every one of them were heroes, sure, but they were still equines, just like me. And if they could get through it so could I.

I shrugged my shoulders and let out a huff, steeling myself a little bit. I wasn't a murderer, I repeated to myself. They were enemy combatants. If it wasn't me, they would have just robbed someone else. And they'd held me at gunpoint. I'd done what I had to do. I wasn't a murderer.

I wasn't going to be getting the Hero of the Enclave medal, but at least I wouldn't go crazy with guilt.

To keep my mind of things I buckled down and got to work. It was the best way I'd always found to get stuff done – or get over something. It wouldn't do anypony any good – not me, not the other Dragoons, not the ponies waiting for our reports – to mope and whine. I'd been chosen for one thing on this mission: adaptability. It was my own special talent in fact. I was good at coming up with responses to situations. They weren't always perfect, weren't always The Right Thing, but I always sprang into action when I had to.

The gears in my head churned and stopped on one simple answer: do your job. Adapt to the new, forget the old. I'd killed two ponies. This was the new. This was me now.

The gears got to turning again as I took stock. I could make a beeline for the city itself, but what was the point? I had a larger area of operations to check out first and I was in it, as far as I could tell on the glowing amber map of my PipBuck. I'd rather take time to properly scout the area. I noticed there was a labelled marker for the Old Quarter, plus a bright arrow where I was. At least I'd never get lost.

Narrow roads meandered, lacking any discernible pattern, which made me damn glad of my PipBuck's map. Without it I'd be hopelessly lost. I could fly up and regain a sense of direction but that would make me a damned easy target. More than that, this wasn't about flying around, taking a look at things, and going “Yup, that's a city”. This was a proper reconnaissance of the place. If they'd wanted an overview they could send a pegasus hiding in a cloud with a camera. Best to keep my hooves to the pavement and get a good look at things.

What I saw was actually somewhat encouraging. The lack of any direct megaspell hit meant everything was in surprisingly good shape, considering everything. Weather-worn sure, missing windows and such, but none of the buildings looked to be in any imminent danger of making me into a pegasus pancake. A once cozy suburb of the city was no longer terribly inviting however. Signs hung loose in their brackets, threatening to conk me in the head if I didn't pay attention. Broken glass opened to yawning blackness inside buildings that gave me the distinct impression of being watched.

And yet it wasn't hard to see it there, hiding beneath the ruined veneer of things. Underneath the caked on dust and grime was bright paint. Behind cracked storefronts were the coffee shops and book stores that ponies had once loved. If I closed my eyes (which I didn't dare do) I could easily imagine this being a busy little thoroughfare into the heart of what was once the capital of Equestrian art, music, and food.

It took more than the total devastation of a nation to erase that kind of a reputation. Ponies who had never even left their neighbourhood of Chicacolt had congratulated me on being lucky enough to visit Neigh Orleans. Everypony knew there was no cloud-city nearby, and that the city itself hadn't likely survived, but it was firmly fixed in everypony's mind as a beacon of wonder and festivity – and debauchery.

Of all the things I expected to see in a suburb, it wasn't a burlesque club. I snorted in amusement at a sun-faded poster behind dusty glass that showed a chorus line of dancing stallions, each wearing a hat, just not on their heads. Well, not the one you were thinking of anyway.

I left the club behind and kept walking. The state of the city meant it would be easy to bring it back to that beacon it had once been. I hadn't had much chance to read into the city's history before I got out but the way I understood it it was one of the only neutral zones in the war, a melting pot of ponies, zebras, changelings. A gathering place of misfits, one book had put it succinctly. I kinda wish I'd read more into it but, then again, maybe it was best I didn't. There's a saying that goes: never meet your heroes. Best not to hype myself up too much.

If I was as excited to see the city as I was now, worn and sagged and long since past its prime, I couldn't imagine how badly I'd be crushed if I had read more and gotten attached to the Neigh Orleans that was.

After all, that was the old, right? This was the new. That was going to come across my mind a lot, I reckoned.

Shelter that night came in the form of a bookstore about two hours' walk outside of the Old Quarter. I had deliberately gone on a slow pace, taking careful care to see what I could see. I'd been looking for signs of life anywhere and kept coming up blank each time. Unless you could count the feeling of being watched as a sign of life – and I sure as shit didn't – the city so far consisted of one single pony, myself. Well, used to be three, but well, yeah.

The smell of old books filled the space as I settled in for the night, updating the logbook. Mostly boring crap, with descriptions of the places I'd seen, the lack of any surviving infrastructure besides roads and buildings. I set the logbook down and looked out the front of the store. The last bit of sunlight was fading and would soon vanish completely.

On a whim I reached for the nearby light switch and gave it a press. It clacked on, giving me just a small lamp next to the register. It flickered rapidly into life with a metallic “pink” sound. I stared in disbelief for a moment, then laughed. I immediately added a new line.

18:02 – Some power remains. Possible on-site arcane generator, or neighbourhood one. Solar chargers?

Upstairs was a small apartment with a dusty old bed that creaked ominously as I settled onto it. I unhooked the PipBuck from my barding as I stepped out of it, and sat back to try to figure some of its features out.

I discovered that by using the peripheral remote amber lettering would appear – literally appear out of thin air – around the edges of my vision. If I concentrated on them they'd come into sharp focus, only to vanish like the rim of a pair of glasses when I wasn't thinking about it. Neat, if a little motion-sickness inducing at first.

Radio. I selected that using the remote dial. The number 98.9 appeared at the bottom of my vision. I clicked the dial one to the right. 99.1. Static piped out of the little speaker on the remote on both channels.

With a cigarette resting in my lips lazily I checked out the other frequencies. Each went up in little increments. 101.1. Nothing. I kept trying, the cigarette burning low. 103.7. 103.9 104.1. The static broke immediately, and out came a peppy piano tune with bombastic trumpets chiming in on occasion. All at full volume I might add. I fumbled the remote in sheer surprise, trying my damnedest to catch it mid-air. I managed to, but not without dropping my cigarette across the floor. “Shit!” I rolled off the bed and stamped out the cigarette.

'-ear hearts and gentle ponies who live and love in my hometown! Those dear hearts and gentle ponies who li~ive in my~ ho~metown~!'

I'd heard this song before! I was immediately brought back to Chicacolt. Suddenly I was sixteen again, hanging out at a coffee shop that only seemed to have one record that crackled away on a phonograph behind the counter, talking with a stallion that was as blushy and nervous as I was. I rocketed back forward through the years as the last notes faded out. I cranked the volume knob down – a small dial on top of the remote.

“That was Bobcat with “Dear Hearts and Gentle Ponies”, before that was the Princess of Jazz with “Let's Fall in Love”. You're tuned to the one and literally only station around, Jazz 104. The sun is going down and I'm soon going to be headed out, but I'm not going to leave my little ponies without some news. Seems there's a few newcomers to this wonderful city: our very own group of griffon mercenaries! Look at us, it's like we're a proper Wasteland city now! Go Neigh Orleans. No word on why they're here yet, though. Till then, keep safe, keep alert, stay off the pipe, and don't forget to wipe. DJ Shorty says: goodnight, my little ponies. Before I head out though, here's Fat Cat with “The Joint is Jumpin'”.”

'They have a new expression along ol' Hoofem way, that tells you when a party is ten times more than gay. To say the joint is jumpin' leaves not a single doubt...'

“Skies above...” I breathed, sitting back.

It was like that moment where you realized who was really putting that bit under your pillow whenever you lost a tooth. Who really put the gifts under the tree at Hearth's Warming. I was suddenly aware of the situation. There was a radio station dedicated to music out there. Music. That meant that ponies weren't simply surviving out here, they were thriving. There was a community served by this station, I just had to find it.

Being accosted like I had been, and just wandering empty streets for the hours afterwards, had made me think that maybe the city was just going to be a lawless wasteland of desperate survivors doing desperate things just to stay afloat. The pony on the radio –DJ Shorty, was it? - sounded downright pleasant. There had to be others like him somewhere in the city.

I scrambled for the log book and jotted down a quick log line about the discovery. My pencil was a little shaky from nerves. We weren't going to be just rebuilding a city... we'd be reintegrating into society.

Level Up!

Level 4

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 6

View Online

Chapter 6

Sometime way back in the past, some smart cookie worked out what an equine would need for survival. The most basic needs were food, water, shelter, and sex, he argued. From there, it was all psychological: safety, belonging, esteem, and finally, self-actualization.

Running down that list right now, I was still at the basic, physiological stage, for the most part. Shelter I had plenty of of course. The city being in the shape it was meant that I wasn't wanting for places to stay with a roof over my head. Sex, well, that was still a somewhat secondary concern. I'm sure I'd be able to find some nice stallion who swung the same way, but I was good for now.

Which just left food and water. I had enough survival rations for three days, enough water for maybe as many. Back home I could just walk to the local market. On base I got three meals a day. It would be damned hard to do a proper recon of the city if I was worried about where my next meal would come from.

Which was why I found myself standing in an empty parking lot the next day, staring up at a half-broken sign for a Cornucopia Grocers. It was one of the least welcoming grocery stores I'd ever seen.

Broken re-bar formed sharpened abattis across the front door. Windows were boarded tight. A skeleton hung over the door looking suspiciously like a real one. From across the parking lot, I was getting the message loud and clear:

Keep the fuck out.

Despite that it was my best option to find food. It would likely have been picked clean early on, sure, but my other option was to raid every fridge I came across – which wouldn't be nearly as efficient and would take me off my job more often. This was the best option so far... if a little bit of a hostile one. Of course the front door was out of the question but there was a side exit door. I gently pulled at the door to find it unlocked. Pistol leaning the way I slipped inside.

The sudden transition into darkness temporarily blinded me. A few seconds ticked by until I got used to the darkness again. I was in a small hallway with two doors on one side, and two on the other. The ones on my right were definitely bathrooms, based on the signs. Most of the store was lit in a dim light that filtered through the boards, lighting up the end of the hallway, but the hall itself was fully dark.

I went for the switch for my PipBuck's lamp. A soft amber light shone from the remote attached to the front of my barding as I poked my head into the first room. It was an office with a simple desk and a knocked over chair. Papers were thrown all over the room. Somepony had clearly left in a panic – either they'd just gotten news of the apocalypse, or they'd left the stove on at home. A pair of eyes stared back at me from the gloom and I yelped a bit in surprise.

There were multiple pairs of eyes, each printed on faded paper, and yet the eyes seemed to stare right back off them. The irises were made of some kind of reflective red material.

“What in the world...” I picked one of them up off the floor. A garishly pink pony was creeping behind a wall, looking over at two hunch-backed zebras with red eyes, scheming in the corner. The pink pony's ear was massive to ridiculous proportions, with one physically peeking around the wall. “Pinkie Says: Stay Alert!” it read in bold orange lettering. “Report all suspicious activity to your local Ministry of Morale Representative!” was added in yellow beneath.

There were more just like it, scattered across the floor, all coming from an overturned trash can. “Pinkie Pie is Watching, Forever!” said one, bearing just the face of the pink mare. “See Something, Say Something!” another one said, this one showing the top half of the mare's face looking down at some zebras. Each one had the same bright pink mare, the same reflective eyes, the same wild puffy mane of pink and grey. She looked utterly insane.

It made my skin crawl seeing how they just... stared. The eyes were unsettlingly life-like. Apparently the office's occupant had thought the same, given how they'd trashed all of them. There were just so many of them. Somepony had put a whole lot of effort into this.

It made sense, I guess. Zebras were the enemy. But asking citizens to spy on their own neighbours? That was something on a whole other level. Maybe things were different then, though. My grasp on the history was a little fuzzy but I did know at least the basics. Zebras and ponies in a war, The Last Day, the Defence of Cloudsdale – when the Enclave sealed up the sky to save pegasus-kind – and of course, the formation of the Grand Pegasus Enclave. I also knew that there'd been zebras living in Equestria at the time of the war, those who'd been citizens. Just civilians.

I figured they'd all been moved to the Sanctuary Camps that had been built across the country for their safety, but I guess not all made it there if there was a need to urge civilians to spy on zebras. Maybe looking for zebras that had escaped the initial groups evacuated to the camps or something. It just seemed so weird. I'd never met a zebra in my life but they couldn't be that different. Four legs, two ears, a tail, just like us. They even had their own versions of cutie marks. So why-

A shuffling sound caught my attention somewhere further in the store. I took one last look at the brochure in my hoof, at the pink pony and her massive ear, and dropped it to go investigate the noise.

The main floor was a mess of shelves - some partly collapsed and others just fallen apart entirely – dust and fallen cans and bottles that littered the ground everywhere. I tripped over at least two Sparkle~Cola bottles on my way through. Part of the roof at the far end was collapsed, lending at least some more light to the place as it came through the ripped hole in the ceiling. Wires and pipes dangled ominously in the dingy light.

Wide slices of shadow moved across the walls as I crossed down the aisles, taking a look down each one for some sign of intact food – and whatever had made the noise I'd heard. Most of the shelves were empty, or the boxes too crumpled to recognize, cans too rusted to be safe. A light popped up in my vision.

I stopped short between two aisles. There. At the top of my vision. A little red dot that tracked slowly across. It took me a few seconds realize what I was looking at. This must be the Eyes Forward Sparkle; EFS. The dot stopped and I heard a voice cry out.

“Hello?”

I immediately clicked the flashlight out and dropped down low.

“Who's there?”

“Aw, it ain't shit, Willow. Jus' hearin' a bug or somethin'.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. “Yeah, I guess.”

I waited a few more moments and let out a shaky breath. The dot slowly faded until it disappeared entirely. The pony must have moved out of range. I quietly approached, making sure to watch my hooves as I did. Wouldn't do to knock over another bottle.

I needed to know who these two were. Red meant hostile, at least I figured it did, so I wanted to see why my EFS was registering them as that. It didn't take long to find them. At the far corner of the Cornucopia grocery store was a pharmacy, the sign written out in bright yellow with a pair of pink butterflies on either side. A lantern was lit on the counter, throwing the shadows of two ponies onto the wall. One a unicorn, the other likely an earth pony.

I crept up to the counter, peeking up around the corner and feeling uncomfortably like the pink mare. I got the sudden mental image of my own ear growing huge to peek around the corner and fought the urge to snort in laughter at that. Any and all urge to laugh immediately fled with what was behind the counter.

A rough cage was built out of rebar and shopping carts, welded to the wall at the far end of the room. A stallion was laying on his back inside, while two ponies sat nearby. They were rolling dice along a floor, passing piles of bottle caps back and forth on certain rolls. The unicorn was a mare, who's voice I'd heard calling out. Her coat was a sickly green colour, her mane shaved to nothing while her tail was a dirty brown. The stallion next to her had a spiked mohawk mane, bright red, with a grey coat. Both wore dirty, dingy armour covered in far more spikes than looked strictly necessary – along with what looked like dried blood on the spikes.

If that didn't scream “hostile” then I didn't know what did.

“Boss been out a while,” the mare was saying as I peered around the corner.

“Well, them runners took right off. Gonna take a lil while. Ha! Snake eyes, s'all mine.”

“Fuck off.” The mare punched him on the foreleg and passed – grudgingly – some caps over. “Taking their sweet time. Better not kill them either, we ain't gonna be paid well for just one.”

“I'm right here, ya know,” the stallion in the cage mumbled.

“Y'all lookin' for another beatin'?” Mohawk barked. The stallion stayed quiet.

“You'll find shit way less funny when we're through. You can work the fields with one ear missin'.” The mare smirked his way. “Both ears missin' too.”

I winced at the thought of that. The stallion in the cage did too, raising his head up to look at the two spiked ponies.

For an instant, our eyes met. He saw my head poking around the corner. He opened his mouth to say something, then tilted his head in confusion.

“What, nothing to say, smartass?” the mare sneered. If she realized he was looking over her shoulder... “Come on! Wh-”

“Oh, I got something to say,” the stallion said, eyes snapping to the mare. The immediate reaction was dead silence from his captors. “I think your hair's Luna-damned stupid,” he indicated the stallion. “And I'm guessing your parents were related... way closer than cousins.”

“Ya little shit!” Mohawk snarled.

It took me a second to realize the stallion wasn't just trying to stir the pot. I blinked and then quickly fumbled my pistol out of its holster. His loud-mouthed antics were a perfect distraction for somepony to get him out. Some conveniently placed pony with a gun and a sense of justice trained into them.

A little somepony like me.

I stepped out around the corner. Both the ponies with the spiked armour had their backs to me. Two on one odds weren't great, even if I had the advantage of surprise. I did have my PipBuck though, which had targeting spells I wanted to take for a spin.

“Y'all think ya smart? Y'ain't gettin' out. The boss gonna run ya friends down an' fuck 'em up, then y'all gonna be off to a plantation. Y'all alone here.”

“No, I'm not. I got a guardian angel.”

The mare turned to look at me just as I tapped the remote on my chest to get the targeting spell activated.

Time slowed to a crawl as she turned. Little balls of amber sparks floated around everypony in the room – the mohawked stallion, the sickly green unicorn, the caged stallion – and as I looked at each ball of sparks they listed a percentage and labelled what I was looking at. Legs, head, ears, eyes. In the bottom right corner of my vision appeared the smiling face of a wavy-haired stallion. “The Stable-Tec Assisted Targeting Spell allows you to to pick your own pace,” a little text box said. “Just a few simple thoughts are all you'll need. Plan your attack like you would normally, and let Stable-Tec do the rest!”

My chance for getting either of the spiked ponies in the head was fairly low, but body shots were just as effective – and I had an over eighty percent chance to hit them. Two to the mare should do it, I figured. The stallion was bigger, with more armour on his front. I'd probably need an extra shot to get through with him. The dots glowed brighter with each shot I mentally planned out. I went to pull the trigger on the pistol.

Without consciously willing it my head snapped to the left, pointing my pistol level with the mare's chest. My tongue yanked the trigger once – again without me being conscious of it, which was a bizarre feeling - then again almost immediately after, faster than I'd ever dare outside of point-blank range. Half the reason I hated slug-throwers so much was the recoil. I hated it. It always threw off my follow-up shots, and I'd just barely qualified as “Markspony” with pistols. And yet the first two shots flew true, so slowly I could see them through the air. Before the second bullet even hit the mare my head was already turning to the stallion with the mohawk. Once, twice, three times the gun barked.

The world returned to normal speed so fast I nearly felt physical whiplash. The mare crumpled to the floor, and the stallion joined her soon after. The last of my bullet casings pinged off the counter, spiralling to the floor and clattering away. My ears rang from the echo of the shots in the quiet store.

Inside the cage, the stallion's jaw dropped. “Twilight fuckin' Sparkle,” he breathed. “That was bad ass!” Now that I was closer and he was standing I could see that he was a unicorn, with a pale grey coat and a shock of white mane and tail.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah, I'm okay. That was awesome! Who the fuck are you, anyway? I've never seen shootin' like that!”

“I'm uh, my name's Autumn. Autumn Breeze.” I holstered the pistol and climbed over the pharmacy counter. I looked down at both ponies on the floor, dead before they'd even realized I was there. That SATS was something else. I'd never been that accurate or that fast in my life, not with a pistol anyway. I doubt I could ever have done that without that magical assistance, even with every range officer and instructor from EFB Hurricane breathing down my neck.

“You're a fuckin' hero is what you are. My name's Comet Spark. Now get me out of here before their friends get back. Pretty sure that snot green bitch had the key.”

My stomach turned at the thought of rifling through her pockets but luckily I didn't have to. The key was hanging from her side, next to a rather deadly looking knife. “What happened?”

“I was out here lookin' for food with the rest of my Krewe,” he said. “There were five of us. These assholes ambushed us. Sugar bought it in the fight. Two-Bit was too injured so after a while of dragging him they just killed him. The rest of us were brought here. I guess Brass Case figured he could surprise them and escape out the back door, I dunno. I was already in the cage when he made a run for it with Cinnamon Heart. They locked me in real quick and took off after the others.”

“Why'd they do that?” I asked as the cage door swung open. I dropped the key to the floor while Comet stretched out. “Like, cage you, I mean.”

“They were gonna sell me to a plantation, I guess. Fuck if I know.” He went to the body of the stallion and floated up his fallen weapon. It was a simple sub-machine gun, pre-war design, with a big drum magazine and some scratched wood furniture. “All I know is I didn't want shit to do with it. Thanks for your help, but I say we get out of here rea-”

A door creaked at the far end of the store. “Hey! We heard th'shots!”

“Aw, fuck, get down.” Comet grabbed my collar and pulled me down against the pharmacy counter. “They're back, shit.” He checked the chamber on the gun.

“How many?” I asked around the bit of my gun. I dropped the used magazine out and used my tail to fish another one out to reload, then stuck the used one away in my saddlebags.

“Seven more. Hope that crazy desperado shit of yours is up for this.”

The door slammed shut on the far end of the store. If one on two were tough odds, two on seven were even worse. We were going to be in for one hell of a fight.

-=O=-

There was one point our instructors used to always drill into us: the old ways were gone. Most of the original drill manuals and tactics were designed for larger units fighting in combined arms groups. In the modern day squads were smaller, more isolated, and so small-unit tactics and guerrilla warfare were trained and emphasized more than anything else.

A good soldier using proper tactics could easily take out a force bigger than they were – if and only if they made sure all the advantages were on their side. Surprise was always good, as was ensuring the enemy was never aware of how many troops you had nor where they were. Do it all right and a single squad, a single flight of pegasi, could bog down or even completely eliminate a force two or three times bigger than they were.

Of course that usually relied on the defenders having a good amount of time to prepare. I had at most a minute. It also relied on having a full flight of trained soldiers.

I had Comet.

“Think we can take 'em?” he asked, peering over the counter.

“Definitely, just... gotta get creative, hold on.” The mare had a pair of grenades hanging from a belt. I passed one with my tail to Comet, then took the other one for myself. Using my wing I quickly pulled a small coil of wire out of my saddlebags, the same I'd used to rig the can alarm on my first night. I wrapped it tight around the grenade, then set the apple-shaped explosive next to the door. The other end of the string I tied onto the door-handle.

Comet watched me and tilted his head. “What are you-”

“Soon as they get back here they're going to set it off,” I explained as I quickly tied it off. Using my tail I yanked the pin from the grenade. I'd done this once or twice in training but it was always a heart-stopping moment. I winced as the pin came free. There was no ping. The safety spoon was still in place. Perfect. “Okay... so, we'll need to move,” I told Comet. “We'll take a few shots at them and then... over the counter, quietly, along the left wall.”

The unicorn nodded and peered up over the counter again. My EFS was going crazy now, with red icons appearing in my vision and spreading out. A figure of a pony climbed up onto one of the shelves, silhouetted in the light of the broken roof. “Start with him?”

“Sure. Just be quick and quiet on the move. On three. One, two, three!”

On three his gun rattled out a long burst. In the quiet store it sounded like a freight train crashing through. The figure dropped from the shelving unit with a shout of alarm, the EFS icon vanishing from my vision.

“Go!” I grabbed Comet by the shoulder and quietly vaulted the counter, making as quick a beeline I could for the nearest shelves. We took cover behind it and quietly waited to hear what was going on.

I could see the red icons approaching our previous location. “Come out!” a deep voice growled. “Y'all ain't got nothin' t'worry about!”

“What now?” Comet whispered.

“Just wait.” I peered around the corner, and ducked back as a fusillade of gunfire ripped through the store. The hail of lead wasn't pointed in our direction though – rather it was tearing up the countertop and punching holes in the bright yellow pharmacy sign. A pink butterfly crashed down from the roof, broken free from its moorings. The gunfire was constant, a staccato meant to keep anypony's head from poking up from the counter.

Suppressing fire. Frighteningly effective... but only when actually directed at somepony. If there wasn't anypony to suppress, like now, well that just wasted ammunition.

Two red dots tore from the group, passing left to right. I heard a door slam open just as the gunfire stopped.

“Well?” the deep voice shouted.

“Ain't n-” The explosion rocked the building, blowing a cloud of dust past my snout. Shrapnel pinged off every surface and I was pretty sure I heard something wet and meaty hit the floor. I calmly ducked behind the shelf again.

“Alright,” I whispered to Comet, who was staring at me like I had two heads. “I'm going to make for the hole in the roof. When you hear me shoot, go around the corner and nail one of 'em, then duck back. Move to the front of the store after.”

“What?” I was already gone. My wings beat quickly and I soared as quiet as I could up to the hole. I immediately cast a shadow on the raiders below. It looked all the world like some massive bat swooping down on them – heck, even I was intimidated by the shadow.

“Th'fuck?” somepony shouted. I could see two taking cover behind a shelf, one peering over the counter, and one staring up at me with her jaw hanging open. A unicorn floated up a shotgun, taking careful aim. “He's on th'r-”

I didn't trust my aim in such an important situation, so I quickly brought SATS back up. This time I planned for three shots right into the figure's chest. The first one missed, carving a deep gouge in the tile floor of the grocery store. The second and third rammed home, sending her sprawling away.

As my perception slammed back into gear Comet took the corner and opened fire. The figure at the counter vanished in a hail of sub-machine gun fire, the bullets tearing through him. He then tossed the second grenade around the corner, where it exploded and sent up another huge blast of smoke and debris. I yelped in surprise then dipped back into the store, landing on the far side from where Comet Spark was. Clever. I hadn't told him to throw the grenade.

The two remaining red dots glared bright on my EFS and I could hear them shouting in confusion, trying to lock us down. The dots split up, one moving quickly toward me. An earth pony stallion sprinted around the corner only to come face-to-face with me in the darkness. He had a shotgun in his foreleg that he immediately levelled at me. We both fired at the same time. In his fear and confusion the shot went wild, and only a few of the pellets grazed past me. One did a number on my wing, the others mercifully only scratched my armour. My own shot took him in the chest and he stumbled. The next took him under the left eye.

Somewhere at the front of the store I heard the rattle of Comet's gun. Just like that the store went quiet. It was hard to see in the semi-darkness now that the dust was kicked up. Massive Celestia rays cut through the gloom as sunlight poured through the roof, cutting through the dust.

The second pink butterfly crashed to the floor.

“We good?” I called out after a moment.

There was a cough as a reply. “Yeah... Yeah, we good.” A small amber light lit up on my EFS as Comet came around the corner. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that? You some kind of mercenary or something?”

I shrugged. I couldn't exactly tell him the truth now, could I? “Yeah. Back home in Chicacolt.”

“Well, shit. That's badass.”

I shrugged. “It's nothing.”

“You saved my life twice. Fuck you it's nothing. Come on, let's take what we can and head out. Might as well let the rest of the Krewe know what happened.” Comet floated his gun onto his back, strap around his shoulder, and trotted back to the pharmacy.

Level Up!

Level 5

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 7

View Online

Chapter 7

“Long and short of it is, you set it up right, and a small hoof-full of defenders can hold off an entire regiment. Just gotta get 'em confused and questioning, that's all. Back there, they had no idea where we were or how many.”

We were long past the battle in the grocery store, trotting back toward Comet's ponies. I was busy explaining to Comet what exactly I'd done back there, and small unit tactics in general. Our saddlebags were full to bursting with supplies and ammunition. I'd even gotten a new rifle out of the deal. It was a Sunbeam 2000, probably the simplest magical energy rifle I'd ever used. More accurate and much more durable than the later model Arcane Energy Rifles that we got to use in the Enclave – but less of a punch. Just carrying one again brought me back to simpler times back home above Chicacolt, taking tin cans off of clouds floating in the breeze. My father had taught me how to shoot, and everything I'd ever need to know about weapon safety, on a Sunbeam.

Originally I hadn't been too happy with the thought of stealing from the dead, but Comet had brought up a good point. They weren't going to be using it anymore and survival was the most important thing these days. It was take from them or lose to somepony later. And with my pistol not going to last forever and me being more comfortable being behind a rifle, I figured I'd just have to suck it up. It was just stuff. So long as I gave respect to the dead, should be alright.

The boxy rifle bounced against my chest lightly with each step, the perforated metal barrel extending out to my right, away from Comet, so that the only thing it was threatening were old storefronts and empty houses. We were still a little ways outside the city. I could see the tallest buildings on the horizon, only about an hour or two on hoof away.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“We're just gettin' near to my krewe's territory. If you're really curious we're east of the Old Quarter by, ah, maybe what, ten kilometers? Not far that way. I don't tend to go much.”

“Why's that?” My hoof gently pushed a can out of the way and I turned to look at Comet. Now that I didn't have to deal with raiders (as he called them, along with a number of choice cusses) and the dark grocery store, he was a reasonably handsome stallion. His pale grey coat was well kept, and his white mane was styled in a few sharp angles. “Piss someone off there?”

“Ha! Nah, I just don't like paying the taxes. I visit, but I don't trade there.” Comet grinned at me, the amusement visible in his blue eyes. “The Krewe of the Sea and Old Krewe have had disagreements on that in the past, so at the moment, we're keepin' clear.”

“You've mentioned the crews before. They some kind of... what, tribe, I guess?”

“I mean, sorta. Forgot you're not from here. Where'd you say you were from?” Comet asked.

“Chicacolt.”

“Right. Northerner.” I was just starting to notice that my accent was going to give me away. Comet – and everypony else I'd met so far – had varying degrees of drawl to their voice. Some dropped entire syllables from their words. I guess I'd have to keep going with the whole “mercenary from the north” thing. “Well, the krewes... that's krewe with a K at the start, E at the end. Don't ask me why, it just is. I guess you could call us tribes.” He hiked his saddlebags higher up on his back. “Just a group of ponies stuck together either by choice or just being born, I guess. We've got most of the harbourfront here along the bay, some of the territory inland. Oh, shit, that reminds me.”

Comet reached into his barding – a simple white shirt and some similar canvas armour to what I had – and passed over what looked to be a small golden trident on a string. My left wing was bandaged following the shotgun winging me, so I had to use my hoof to take it from him. Judging by the weight it was clearly a plastic trident. “Thanks?”

“It's called a dubloon. Just a kind of marker to show you're from the area. They know me so I won't need it, and I can get a spare. You keep it. You wear that, least in Sea territory, and you'll be fine to come and go as you please.”

“Just like that?” I asked. “That's... wow. Thank you.”

“Hey, don't thank me, brother, you saved my ass twice now.” Comet snorted in laughter. “Least I could do is give you somewhere to shack up for a bit.”

“What? You sure?”

“Yeah! We got plenty of room. There's probably a room somewhere you could take over.” Comet smiled at me. “Welcome to the Krewe, I guess. For now anyway. You staying in Neigh Orleans long?”

I nodded and put the cord over my head. “Yeah, decently long I think. See how the ah, the contracts hold up down here. Heard there were some griffon mercs in town so I might as well see if they're looking for recruits. I know I'm not a griffon but hey, you never know.”

“True that.”

“So, any other advice for a newcomer?” I ventured. Might as well. Comet had been pretty forthcoming so far after all.

“Well, let's see... don't wear that dubloon outside our territory, that's how you get shot. Uh, if you ever need a place to stay outside of the krewe territory you could always try the Temple. Right on the west of the Fancy Quarter, down at the water's edge. But you'll have to pass Old Krewe territory and the Maisha's, so be careful.”

“Maisha's?”

“Maisha Social Club. All zebra territory. Unless you got stripes under those wings they're not gonna let you in.” Comet shrugged. “Lot of infighting everywhere too. It's a pain the ass.”

I nodded. “Seems that way. And uh, south of the river?”

Comet snorted at that. “Lawless. I wouldn't go there unless I had to.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. Mostly raiders down there. No official krewes that I know of, except maybe the Knights of Celestia, 'cause nopony's got a clue where they're from. And west of the Old Quarter you gotta deal with the Queen's Krewe. All mares. I don't mix with 'em either. Other than that, watch for ghouls pretty much everywhere, but if you're from Chicacolt you know about those.” Comet scratched the back of his head with a hoof. “Uh... and keep out of the bayou. The city starts to kinda... fade at the edges. You just go and go and suddenly, whoops, bayou. There's dangerous shit in there. Mosquitoes the size of fuckin' ponies that'll drain you dry in a second. Wicked intelligent cragodiles. Giant parasprites. Ghouls. Swamp ponies.”

I snorted in laughter at that last one. The others actually sounded intimidating – though I didn't know what a ghoul was – but that last one... that just sounded hilarious. “Swamp ponies?”

“Swamp ponies. Crazy inbred fucks that live in bayou communities and have a tendency to kill and eat ponies that wander in. So I hear.” Comet shrugged. “Really, you hear stories like that, you really want to fuck with that?”

“Nah, guess not.”

“Neither would I.” Comet looked up as we passed a small road sign painted with a yellow trident. Nothing looked outwardly different. Houses were the same squat single-storey buildings as everywhere else we'd passed and every storefront was the same two-storey type. And yet I suddenly felt almost as if there were eyes on us. “We're here. Just passed through the edge of the territory. About two blocks up we'll turn and boom, there's the place.”

I peered around. Everything still looked the same as the rest of the city. Dead and empty. “Where ah, is everypony?”

Comet shrugged. “Mostly in Seatown. What we named our little community. Just cause we call this whole territory ours don't mean we have folks everywhere. Just means we can project influence out that far, y'know?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Two blocks up we turned. A stack of carriages provided a simple barricade across a narrow street. “Home,” Comet said. “Follow me, we'll get you a place to stay.”

As we approached the gate two ponies poked their heads over, a blue-and-red mare and a pink-and-yellow stallion. Both unicorns, floating heavy looking rifles. As soon as we approached the stallion ducked low to get the gate while the mare waved at us.

“Where y'at, Comet!”

“Heyo, Berry! New blood!”

“Ah see dat! We getcha in, no worries.”

The gate rattled slowly open. A small strip of the street had been cleared of trash with multiple small, squat houses along the road, which was somewhat wider than the others. Dominating the centre of one side was a large schoolhouse, which towered over the other buildings. A few ponies wandered from house to house, many of the houses modified and decorated in wild colours and ramshackle add-ons.

My jaw must have been hanging open because Comet Spark grinned at me. “Nothing like this in Chicacolt, huh?”

I didn't have to heart to tell him – nor would I have even if I did – that it was exactly like my town in the clouds above Chicacolt, and that's what surprised me. It was completely outside of what I was expecting.

There was no way known anypony was going to believe my report.

-=O=-

That night I didn't spend on a dirty, musty bed on broken frames, but rather on a well-kept, cleaned bed. The room was spartan, somewhere on the top floor of the schoolhouse. Communal housing up there. I didn't really mind. It was better than nothing.

I stretched out on the bed and tucked my forelegs behind my head. This was a good place to start. A great way to really get a handle on how ponies were living now post-war. As far as I could tell, from Comet's half-bit tour of the place, there was power and properly filtered water pumps in what passed for the main “square”, really just the schoolhouse parking lot.

In my wildest dreams I would never have imagined this level of reconstruction. In hindsight I should have known. We had been away for a few decades now – near on a century – and the radiation levels had lowered. The Enclave had never had to rebuild from the ground up so I didn't really have a grasp on what a dozen determined ponies could do with a well-preserved city and a desire to thrive.

With that in mind I sat up and wrote out a proper report on the back of a blank log sheet. I folded up the piece of paper and tapped it on the edge of the bed for a moment before figuring out how I was going to send it up.

When every pegasus was young it was a popular thing to pass notes and prank others using little controlled clouds. Build up a small cloud, stick a love note in it to a crush, and send it across the room. It was childish, sure. But as I scrawled a classified notice on the back of the paper, it also seemed to be the easiest way to send it.

At midnight I opened my window and let a small dark cloud float out. It took to the skies and lazily drifted northwards. In a few hours I knew it would land lightly on the tarmac just outside the communications tent, provided my aim was right. Shortly after it would hopefully be delivered to where it needed to go.

I watched the cloud lazily drift away. Tomorrow I'd get a better sense of this place – Seatown – and from there... I'm not sure.

But at least I had a home.

Entracte 1

View Online

THIS NOTE IS CLASSIFIED TYPE 2

Aviator Autumn Breeze, Enclave ID #4619-3, FOB Thunderclap.

It has been just over 48 hours since I left FOB Thunderclap for a scouting mission to the city of Neigh Orleans. This is just an initial report of everything I've seen so far.

I have met with a number of survivors living in the city. It would be better to call them citizens however. They are certainly past surviving, now into thriving. There are two categories that I've discovered so far. The first are raiders. Bandits. They display a capacity for absolutely shocking amounts of violence, and seem to default to violence over all else. They kill for fun, they kill for supplies.

The other camp are your regular Wasteland survivors. They have just as much of an ability to be violent, but that's necessity, not something they do often. They work, they scavenge, they rebuild. Obviously, they're the ones we're going to help. From what I can tell there's lots of them. At least twenty live in a safe area known as Seatown, near the Port of Neigh Orleans.

Seatown is run by a krewe – yes, spelled like that. Don't ask me why, it just is – which is somewhat like a tribe. They govern large sections of the city. The krewes don't fully control the area the same way the Enclave would. Territory borders are nebulous at best, and somewhat porous depending on the krewe in charge. At least that's how I understand it. If we're going to bring government back we'll half to deal with pushback from these krewes. I'm currently staying with a group known as the Krewe of the Sea.

City infrastructure is remarkably intact. The roads need work but are all still there. Many of the buildings are still intact if somewhat damaged. Power is still working in certain places, likely ones that have built in arcane generators or neighbourhoods that had their own generator station. Around Seatown spark batteries are abundant as are the unicorns to charge them. This gives them enough surplus power not just for lights and food but for radios too. A popular station can be found at 104.1 kHz. It plays music and news – the news may be of interest if we can spare somepony to keep an ear on it.

A main downside is radiation. It's pervasive. It settles into a lot of the metal around the city. Most of the city is surrounded by a very minute, low-level radiation. There are pockets of intense radiation however, which can make things dangerous. I'm not sure whether or not we can clear the radiation or if we'd have to wait it out.

I'm going to soon visit the city itself and add to a proper log later on. Consider this just a preliminary report. Will likely continue to use cloud-drops like this.

Hodie non Cras.

Autumn Breeze

Act 2 - Chapter 8

View Online

Act 2

“Today the atomic bomb has altered profoundly the nature of the world as we know it, and the human race consequently finds itself in a new habitat to which it must adapt its thinking. ”

Albert Einstein, “Only Then Shall We Find Courage.”

Chapter 8

Fire raged through the rafters of the once-proud plantation home. Dry wood, already well aged by a century long before megaspells were even an itch in their inventor's mind, crackled and popped madly, sounding for all the world like bones breaking clean apart – repeatedly. The upper floor windows held fast in their vigil at first before finally giving up. The sudden rush of air flared the fire up even taller; a pyre that lit the rainy afternoon like if Celestia herself had graced the scene with her own personal sun.

Finally the house's spine gave way. Straight down the centre it folded upon itself in an almighty crack. Timbers rattled down in a wave of unbearable heat. Just like that, a house that had stood nearly two centuries fell.

I sat on the front lawn aghast. My mane was covered in soot, my cheeks slightly scorched. Well, quite frankly, I was covered in ash and soot from head to toe. So was Comet, sitting next to me.

“Fuck me,” Comet breathed out. The two of us were equally breathless, having just escaped the inferno.

“What the fuck,” I agreed.

For some reason or another, Comet started laughing. At first it came out choked, then bubbled into full belly laughter. “Oh, wow. Fuck. Red is gonna be pissed.”

So how did I end up with an uncomfortably close front-row seat to the destruction of a piece of Neigh Orleans heritage? Good question.

As with a lot of other things... nopony was going to believe my report back home.

-=O=-

It started two days after my arrival in Seatown – by my log I'd been in the Wasteland just about six days now. I'd taken some time to recover. The bit of buckshot I'd taken to the wing had been causing me a few problems, for one, and had taken its sweet time to heal up. For another, I was just enjoying some downtime. Half my job was learning about the local populace and what better way was there to do that, really, than to live with them for a bit?

All I had to do to stay was to contribute. It was simple enough. I did most of my contribution by teaching the locals in the krewe how to use small unit tactics the way I'd done with Comet. It was a little... odd, honestly. Quite literally this was above my pay grade: Aviator was the lowest enlisted rank the Enclave could offer (the lowest of course being Recruit, but they didn't count as fully enlisted until they finished basic and received the rank of Aviator). To be a teacher of any kind usually meant I'd have to make Sergeant, and I wasn't going to make that rank for a while.

The oddest thought though was that I was acutely aware that these skills weren't necessarily going to be used in self-defence against raiders and the like. There was a non-zero chance they'd be used against other ponies, innocent ponies, caught up in territorial disputes. That made me, by extension, responsible. I justified it by figuring that the tactics I'd learned were from old manuals. If I could learn them from manuals so could anypony else. If it wasn't me teaching these, they'd find a way somehow.

And besides... they weren't really good at it anyway.

Not long after some training I was in Comet's shop. The stallion ran a little trade shop and town's one and only caravan. There'd been others of course but he was the last survivor of the incident that put him in the cage at Cornucopia anyway. I'd swiftly learned that cash was king around the Wasteland – especially in Neigh Orleans. It was no longer strictly a barter economy (though you could still trade like that if you chose). Large sums of money changed hooves every day for instruments of death, delivery of vices, and more. All this money came in the form of one of the strangest items:

Caps. Bottle caps, from the top of Sparkle-Cola bottles. The very same Sparkle-Cola bottles found strewn literally everywhere as trash. Caps. It had taken me a long little while to get over my bewilderment of that. I couldn't even ask why, which was the most irritating part. I was supposed to be from the Wasteland where caps were, as Comet Spark implied, universal currency. These things I was just supposed to know.

But really... caps? They had no backing! No mint controlled them, they meant nothing. The first pony to find a Sparkle-Cola bottling factory was going to be the next Filthy Rich. At least Enclave still used the old bit system, and backed it with actual value – typically in food or water rations.

So it was that caps – and not a stack of Enclave scrip - changed hooves (from mine to his) in exchange for a supply of gem packs for my new rifle.

“Say, Autumn...” And that's how it started, the same way every bad plan starts, with a “Say...” in that tone. Never did that tone ever propose something smart, or benign, like, “Say Autumn, how about going for dinner?”.

“What's up?” I answered automatically before my brain could even process the tone of voice. Fuck.

“You're a merc, right? How's you feel about makin' some caps doing some, well, mercenary stuff?”

I couldn't say no. A healthy stash of caps on my side would make survival a little easier. No need to scavenge when I could just buy. “...Sure.”

“Cool. I need to head into the city. Old Quarter, to The Grand. Somepony there owes me some caps, and I need to talk to an old friend. When my caravan got hit... when Sugar and the others died... I lost a lot of supply. A lot of stuff.” He sighed a bit and tossed the caps into a till. “I can't get Sugar Cane back. Or Two-Bit, or Brass Case. But I can get some supply back.”

“And you need me to cover you,” I guessed.

“Ooh, you smarter than you look. Exactly. I need an escort into the city and really, after that shit you pulled back at the grocery store? Ain't a pony in all of Martingale – heck, all of Equestria even – I'd rather have at my side.”

“When do you want to leave?”

Comet shrugged. “Soon as we can. A few hours maybe. Tomorrow if you really busy.”

Most of my stuff was packed anyway. It wouldn't take me long to get up and go. I'd been deployed on missions with a lot less prep time. This particular one, in fact. The one that brought me to Neigh Orleans in the first place. “I can do a few hours.”

“Sweet. Front gate, three hours time. It'll be a milk run out there, no worries.”

Somehow that didn't do much to prevent me from worrying.

-=O=-

“That there's Maisha territory. Know how I said we don't like, patrol every inch of our territory?”

“Yeah?”

“Maisha does.”

The area Comet Spark indicated as being part of the Maisha Social Club was underneath a massive overpass, and was otherwise unassuming. To me it looked like any other part of the city. I was suddenly glad to have a guide along for the ride. I could have easily wandered inside the wrong krewe territory by accident and gotten a bullet for my troubles.

“What's over there?”

“A few cemeteries and city streets. One of the better defined borders we got. Old Krewe keeps their borders tight. There's a real definite line between us, Maisha, and Old.”

“Noted.”

Comet nodded. “Which means take ya damn dubloon off, jagoff.”

I blinked for a second before pulling the plastic trident off my neck, stashing it into a pocket of my barding. “Hey, about these... I mean, dubloons and all that. What's the point of them if you can just take them off or whatever?”

“Well, that's the thing, yeah? They don't mean nothing.” Comet opened a pouch on his belt. Multiple other tokens sat inside. A golden crown, a silver coin, a string of beads. “Each krewe got their own, but they mean something different. They don't mean you're a part of the krewe exactly. Just that you're trusted. That don't mean they won't come down to stop you if'n they feel, or that you're safe to go on your way. Which is why I got you along. Here.”

Comet Spark passed me another dubloon. This was a string of bright gold beads, once again made of plastic or wood – definitely not real gold. I pulled it over my neck.

“Old Krewe's symbol. But yeah. The symbols just identify that you been around before an' can be somewhat trusted, least at a glance.”

I nodded. The buildings were getting a little tighter together and a little taller now that we were getting closer. Even the architecture changed. Most buildings were two or three storeys tall now with tall narrow windows and bright colours faded by sun exposure. “So what are we doing down here anyway?” I asked. “Like, at The Grand and all that.”

“Well, I need caps, put simply enough. I gotsta pay some to Sugar's wife, and Brass' kids. Give them... something to go on with I guess. Two-Bit was single.” Comet motioned for me to follow. We ducked into a laneway between two rows of houses. “And then I gotta recoup my costs. We lost a lot in that caravan, and I can't take th'time to scrounge up enough stuff to do that. Ain't but one pony out there who can get me the big ticket trade items I need to get the caps back. And they live at The Grand.”

“Got it.”

The laneway led out to a small side street that took us past a tall brownstone building. My PipBuck updated itself regularly on our walk, and the amber letters sprung up again as I passed the building.

Discovered: Neigh Orleans Police Department Precinct 1

It was getting less and less surprising for those amber letters to appear now. In fact it almost felt natural. Honestly? I liked it. The additional information at all times was a little bit much but the information was just so useful. I brought up the automapper using the chest remote and set a little reminder to come back out here. A police station might provide some useful supplies.

The Old Quarter unfolded before us in a narrow grid pattern. Tight roads and blind corners were the way of things. It was crowded and somewhat nerve-wracking actually. The wrought iron balconies, beautifully designed as they were, provided great movement over the streets. It would be trivial for somepony watching us to keep ahead of us and ambush us anywhere. Narrow alleyways crisscrossed the roads, which were all covered in junk. Strewn papers, bottles, tin cans. Upturned and abandoned carriages and wagons.

Made sense as to why Comet would want somepony at his side. This was uncomfortably tight and anypony on their own would go a little batty from the anxiety.

As we walked the narrow streets I was starting to feel more and more of a sense of familiarity about the place. It took me a moment to realize that it was due to the briefing I'd had. The pictures the Sprite-Bot had taken looked just like this one.

Moments later I realized why.

The street was blocked off by more carriages, not unlike Seatown. The doors of a cargo wagon formed a gate through the wall. A guard stood on a balcony nearby, watching our approach with interest. His barding was definitely built for combat, with a dented helmet just covered in the dings and scratches of countless fights.

The barding of somepony who meant business.

“Hol' up!”

Comet and I stopped short.

“Who dat?”

Comet looked up at the guard. “Comin' in to do some trading.”

“Y'all hol' up, we'll open th'gate.”

A clanging noise rang out as the cargo wagon's doors swung open. Two guards met us as we came through. “Weapons?” one asked.

“Right here.” Comet passed over the submachine gun he had and urged me to pass over what I had. The guard, a unicorn stallion, floated up our weapons and ammunition, stashing them in a small metal locker.

“Name?”

“Autumn and Comet.”

The stallion wrote a name on the locker, then brought it inside. The second guard, a unicorn as well but this one a mare, lit up her horn in bright yellow magic than ran across both our bodies. I felt an odd – and somewhat satisfying, in an bizarre way – tingle as it did. I suppressed the urge to shiver. She nodded. “Y'all clear.”

We walked to the door. Bright blue banners were strung below the balcony over the door, where a fourth guard stood. White text was printed in flowing script across the banners, and each bore an icon of the Equestrian Royal family's crest.

“The Grand Equestrian Hotel”

-=O=-

Comet Spark was going to be busy with some meetings so I was left to my own devices. I just couldn't leave the hotel until he came back.

That was all well and good. I was too floored by what I saw to want to leave.

There was an immense hustle and bustle to the place. The hotel took up an entire block and while one corner of it had collapsed to time, that still left two fully intact wings (south and west) to explore, and even the north and east wings were in good shape before you got to the collapsed parts. The entire ballroom of the south wing was full of market stalls and packed with shoppers and sellers alike. Goods were bought and sold, voices barked, and caps changed hooves.

There was a fountain. A fountain in the lobby babbled happily in front of a desk and twin sweeping staircases to the upper floors. There were restaurants, rental rooms, permanent residence rooms, a swimming pool, a bar.

The Grand was civilization in a microcosm. You could stay there and never want for anything. It had security, sustenance, shelter. It didn't stretch the imagination to figure that there must have been those that did stay there, full time, and had never left the hotel. Born there, stayed there... possibly even to die there, never to meet a raider or the harshness of the wasteland. It boggled the mind.

I was at the bar, outside in the courtyard, enjoying a beer from a somewhat dusty bottle. The beer was warm, sure, but still completely drinkable. It was bizarre. It felt as if I'd gone back in time to before the Great War and honestly, if it hadn't been for the sight of a half-collapsed corner entrance opposite the main one, or some armoured ponies around the bar with me, I wouldn't even doubt that I had entered a time portal.

A song gently hummed away on a radio sitting atop the bar.

“Life could be a dream, sh-boom, if I could take you up to paradise up above, sh-boom, and tell me darlin' I'm the only one that you love, life could be a dream, sweetheart hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin' we meet again...”

Life could definitely be a dream in a place like this. A place of safety, music, and ponies splashing away in a swimming pool. I had no idea how I was going to make this part of my report seem real.

The beer bottle was halfway to my lips when Comet Spark made his appearance again. He did not look happy, not one bit. That was only reinforced by the first words he spoke to me.

“Fuck.”

“Problems?” I asked.

“Yep. Beer, something dark and bitter if you have any.” The bartender passed over a dusty bottle. “Thanks.”

I hesitated a moment. “...Big problems?”

“Yes.” One word answers were never a good sign, particularly when mixed with a terse tone and actual chugs from the bottle.

“We talking like, shooty problems, or...?”

“Let me lay something out,” Comet started. “This ain't for you in particular, just in general. I hate debts. I hate doing favours. I understand caps, 'cause caps make sense. You pay five caps for something if it's worth five caps. But paying back favours never works that way, 'cause how do you know you're square? Even paying debts incurs a new debt, usually, 'cause now someone's feeling thankful and shit. Get me?”

I blinked in confusion. “I... think?”

“Well, turns out, Red's calling in a favour from me. She can't... well, probably won't, but right now she can't sell me what I need without this fucking favour first.”

“The shooty kind of favour.”

“Look at you, y'ain't half as dumb as you fucking look.” He sipped his beer. “Sorry, that was out of line.” I waved a dismissive hoof and he continued. “I'm just a little fucking annoyed, that's all. Come with me.”

We both finished our beers, set them on the bar, and I followed him through the market stalls. The equine tide bobbed us back and forth, pinballing us between shoppers. I eventually stopped even bothering with “excuse me”s and “sorry”s, because nopony else was.

An exquisitely carved wooden staircase spiralled upwards in a hall at the end of the ballroom. As soon as the huge doors closed behind us the dull roar of conversation vanished, making things rather unnervingly quiet.

Whoever had designed this hotel had designed it with time in mind. Despite the long years of neglect everything was in great condition that reflected the wonderful opulence of an era long past. Dark wood and plush red carpet were the order of the day, along with shiny white marble crisscrossed with veins of black and gold. Brass brightwork gleamed in the light of warm lamps along each of the walls.

The whole place screamed “ritzy” in the biggest, brightest, gaudiest letters anypony could find. No wonder it was such a popular place to be – though I imagined not many got to stay here full time, and rental prices had to be exorbitant.

The opulence of the place was better explained when we reached the third floor. Nothing was outwardly different on the third floor, except that I suddenly understood how this place had been kept up so well for so long. A young mare in a maid's dress was sitting on her haunches not far from the staircase. Her purple mane was pulled up out of her eyes in a high, tight bun, while her deep blue, nearly black coat was well kept and clean. She was busy polishing some of the brass filigree near the stairs using nothing but good old fashioned pony power and a rag.

As soon as we were spotted she looked down and away from us. I could almost feel her shrink away in expectation of... something. My heart went out to her. Somepony had to keep the place to its degree of glamour after all. I could only imagine by her reaction that she wasn't exactly the best treated of mares.

“Looks good,” I offered softly as I went past. I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard an even softer, quieter “thanks” in return.

Comet glanced at her, then at me. As soon as we were out of earshot he spoke. “Rent's expensive. Not everypony can afford it without a bit of work.”

“I figured.”

“Mm. Class divide ain't dead, even now.”

I glanced back again. The mare looked like she was sagging a little. “Pay ain't great, is it?”

“Brother, I'm not sure they even get paid.”

I winced a little at that, mentally counting out some caps in my head to give her as soon as we were done with this meeting.

Chapter 9

View Online

Chapter 9

Red's office was a penthouse suite on the third floor and if the rest of the hotel was opulent, this was some unnamed next level of ritz. Royal would be a good start. It had its own miniature version of the fountain in the lobby – this one turned off – in polished granite, the pool around it lined with tiles of deep blue. Artwork graced every wall, some of Neigh Orleans, others of vistas and scenes from across Equestria. They were remarkably well-preserved, their colours as deep and vivid as they'd been when brush had first touched canvas.

One was of Cloudsdale, which brought along a little pang of homesickness. It was Cloudsdale from long before the war; yet she was still recognizable. The Enclave's capital was all soaring cloud spires, rainbow bridges, and bright sun. The artist had put an astounding amount of effort into the clouds, making them look as puffy as if they were real and could just... float away. I even recognized some of the landmarks. The weather factory, Cloudsdale city hall... I mentally added the Enclave tricolour flag above city hall, grinning to myself as it instantly became not just a painting of the Enclave capital, but a painting of home. My home.

“Like that one, Feathers?” The voice wasn't Comet's, but rather a female's, dark and smokey with just a hint of gravel to it.

“Hello, Red,” Comet deadpanned from somewhere behind me.

At the same time I turned to face the voice with an automatic: “Yes, I do.” I was taken aback. “Red” was the perfect name for the zony mare before me. Her stripes were a deep crimson, the coat between them a bright red. In the right kind of light those stripes would vanish. Her mane was done up in tight curls, and she peered out behind a pair of glasses perched on her snout.

“Where y'at, Comet.” The mare smiled and looked at Comet, who looked back at her with a lot less of a smile. “Oh, come on. Don't pout.”

“I ain't pouting.”

“Ya poutin', darlin'.” Red looked at me, grey eyes meeting mine. She had an unnervingly intense gaze. “So, Feathers, y'all got a name?”

“Autumn Breeze.”

“Autumn. My favourite time of year. Tell me, darlin', how did Comet wrangle ya into this?”

“To be honest I'm not quite sure,” I admitted with a small smile.

Comet snorted. “He saved my life. I asked him to come along. Caps make the world go 'round.”

“That they do.” Red nodded. “Shall we, then?”

The zony took us to the main room. A long couch formed a square U around a coffee table, upholstered in rich purple and gold accents. As soon as I settled my rump into it, I sank comfortably with a soft groan. The sound seemed to please Red, who smiled at me.

“Drinks, gentlecolts?”

“Just water for me,” I said.

“Same.” Comet still looked unhappy.

“Honey, dear, a pitcher of water,” Red called out. I heard hoofsteps in a nearby room but had no idea who Red was talking to.

A moment later a unicorn mare trotted out. She was dressed in the same maid's dress as the one in the hall, though much, much shorter. She also looked significantly happier than the other mare. Her colouring was nearly identical to that of her uniform too, a charcoal grey coat and white mane. A tray of glasses and a pitcher of water floated ahead of her in a glow of pink magic.

“Thank ya, dear.” Red kissed Honey's cheek as the tray was set down and Honey – Honeydew, I guessed, given her cutie mark was of a slice of honeydew melon (a cook of some kind?) - returned it, trotting back to the other room. I realized that the short dress was on purpose, given what it was showing off for Red. Despite myself (and my marked preference for my own team) I blushed a bit.

“So, Autumn. Where are y'all from? Northern accent, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. I'm from Chicacolt.” The half-truth was becoming more and more comfortable. It wasn't like I was lying or coming up with a whole new life. I truly was Autumn Breeze, truly was from Chicacolt. That made it easier to go along with it.

“Oh yeah?” Red sipped her water. “I got friends up there. How's Exhibition doing? I hear they've had some trouble with raiders lately.”

I hesitated a moment. To lie, or to tell another half-truth? “I dunno, been a while on the road.” I chose the middle road. I hadn't ever been to Exhibition – but I had been on the road a while too.

She blinked, sipped her water, and then after a long moment's hesitation just nodded. I did notice that her eyes were roaming over my wings and my flanks, taking a look at my cloud-and-lightning cutie mark. “I see.” I wasn't quite sure what the look was for. She could have just been checking me out... or there could have been something more to her look. I had the uncomfortable feeling Red liked being the mare that always knew everything.

Comet looked between us, then at Red. “So, what's this really about, Red?”

“Down to business. Perfect. Ya remember Whiskey Sour, Comet?”

My companion perked up at that, sitting a little taller and looking a little less miserable. “Yeah, I remember him. How's he doing these days?”

Red shrugged and sipped her water. “He got too big for his horseshoes.”

Just like that Comet slumped again. “Oh.”

“Far too big. Some little pony thought they could take a bit of my stock an' I wouldn't notice. Some little pony was wrong.” She set her water glass down and stretched out on the couch. “That's why I can't help ya, Comet. My hooves is as bound as y'all's.”

“How's that?” he asked.

“Some of what Whiskey took from me is what y'all lookin' for. Grab a couple rifles here, a few ammo cans there, I figure he figured he could start runnin' his own guns on the side. What that means in practice is, I've gotsta retrieve my stock before I can sell my stock. Understand?”

“Completely.” Yet as understanding as he was Comet didn't look particularly enthused with that news.

“Right now I can't spare th'pony power to go and deal with him. But I'll tell ya what. Ya go out an' get my stock back, I'll not only give ya whatcha need from it, I'll throw in a bonus. An' ya can keep whatever Whiskey got that ain't mine.”

“Does he know you know?”

“Oh, I'd guess. He weren't dumb. Funny enough I know exactly where he be.” Red picked up her glass and smiled at Comet over the rim.

“...and where's that-” Red raised an eyebrow as he spoke and Comet stopped short. “Oh. There. Bastard's got nerve, don't he?”

“That he does.” Red sipped her water. “Get out there. If he's there, kill him. If he's not, leave a message. I'm thinkin'... grave marker. Front lawn.”

Comet winced a little. “Ya sure, Red? I mean, he's an ass, sure, but...”

“But he fucked me. I don't like that. I need t'make a statement.”

There was a long pregnant pause before Comet answered. “Fine. But no more favours, Red.”

“Consider it business then, not a favour.”

I looked between the two of them, a little bit lost as to the details, but the gist of it was simple.

Shooty problem.

-=O=-

Comet and I trotted along Rampart Street, one of the main roads through town, just an hour after meeting with Red. And of course after stocking up at the marketplace first. I had some shiny new reinforcements to my barding, which consisted of a few new metal plates over important stuff that I didn't care to lose (like my lungs). We'd also both stocked up on ammunition in case of a good fight, which seemed like a possibility.

“So where are we off to, anyway?” I asked.

“A plantation outside town. Not a long walk, just one that means crossing a lot of other krewes' territories.”

“A plantation? You and Red were farmers?”

“What? No. Goes back a little ways,” Comet explained. “Oh, let's say five years back. Before I settled in Seatown, I partnered with Red. We had some plans to be some hot shit salesponies, the kind that had their hooves in every pot. The kind nopony fucked with. So we took up gun-running.” He held up a hoof and stopped talking.

We weren't far out of the Old Krewe territory, passing a wide swath of road. Two sets of four lanes cut down the middle by garden medians. The trees looked a little sad and droopy, their leaves scorched and dead. Comet paused his tale a moment and stopped, peering up and down the street.

“Main Street. Always a pain. I think we good.”

“What makes it a pain?”

“Contested border between Old Krewe and Queen's Krewe. Also, wide open and good for an ambush. Come on.”

We hustled to the other side, into a much more modern area of town. The architecture was similar to the Old Quarter in places, but with more glass and modernity to it. “Anyway. Those plans fizzled out. Red's still going for it, I guess. She got contacts across Equestria, eyes an' ears everywhere. Every time a caravan comes in I swear she gets somethin' new. Me, I got my little caravan. Every year or so we go revisit the idea a little. But it never quite comes to pass.”

The road we were on curved away, and Comet was moving close to the buildings. I kept just off his flank, head on a swivel.

“One thing that did come t'pass was a plantation. We, that is Red and I, plus an associate we picked up named Whiskey Sour – same one we're off to kill, yeah - took over a plantation along the old River Road. The idea was we'd have ourselves a nice base of operations. A home. Enough room to build an industry. Maybe we'd make guns, maybe we'd grow food. I don't think we had a fucking clue what we was going to do with it, but fuck it. We cleared out the critters there and cleared out the debris. Made it ours.”

He ducked down an alleyway and I followed. Graffiti lined the brick walls, with one icon in particular easily visible. A golden crown spraypainted across the walls, studded with red dots representing rubies. I stopped for a moment to look at the icon, figuring it had to be some kind of krewe symbol. Comet Spark didn't stop, so I hustled to catch up.

“We set some automated defences, robots mainly. Red and I used to rotate who would go check on it. Red got herself a few mercenaries and set them there too. Eventually, we kept tellin' ourselves. Eventually we'd go an' move right in. Hold up.”

Another cross street and more businesses. We hustled across. Our destination was a highway on-ramp that Comet indicated.

“I guess Whiskey decided it'd be a good place to take over for his place of operations. Guess he figured Red wouldn't think to look there.”

Comet hustled under the overpass and then onto the ramp before looking back at me.

“Whiskey be wrong.”

“So we're going to kill him,” I said, more a statement than a question. Blood money was an odd concept, and this was coming from somepony nominally paid to end others' lives. Except usually I got paid to kill other ponies paid to kill other ponies. It was a complicated system the recruiter never deemed necessary to explain. Getting paid to just kill somepony that hadn't done anything to me was odd, and somewhat unsettling.

“If I can avoid it, no,” Comet admitted after a bit of a pause. He checked the overpass, then looked over at me. “I like Whiskey. He's a good buck, just a little misguided. Hey, why don'tcha use those wings for something other than show and get a look up there?”

“What am I looking for?”

“Mines, traps, patrols. Snipers.”

“Snipers.”

“Mhmm. Look at the upside,” Comet said, clapping a grey-coated hoof onto my shoulder. “If they're any good, you'll never know.”

Yeah, 'cause that was an upside.

I spread my wings and caught the wind, fluttering up to the top of the overpass. The concrete was ruined and cracked, but seemed clear. What I didn't quite like was the openness of the highway. Anypony could hang out alongside the highway in some of the nearby buildings and pick us off. “Looks clear. Why are we taking the highway?” I called down.

“Highways is neutral. We're in Queen's territory. I don't like being in Queen's territory. Least not if I can avoid it.”

“Ain't you got one of their dubloons?” I surprised myself with the “ain't”. Comet's accent was rubbing off on me.

“Only good for trading. If I don't have trade goods on me they don't let me pass. Every krewe's got a long list of rules an' they don't ever make sense. Bureaucracy.” He got on the overpass next to me and nodded. “Come on, we should go. Skies are looking a little grey.”

-=O=-

The grey skies opened up on us about an hour out of town.

We were just crossing over the Muddy River when the first raindrops fell. It was a thick, warm summer rain, but it was still irritating. At least it wasn't a downpour.

On the other side of the river was a small suburb and I realized with a start that I had just left my area of operations. This was technically Barley Stalk's zone here; and all that made me do is wonder what he could be up to. Had he survived his airdrop and first hours? Was there a town out here he was with? I likely wouldn't ever know the answer, even if I did survive to ever go back home.

Our hooves clip-clopped through small puddles on our way down the bridge into a small residential area. The streets here were less grid-like than the rest of Neigh Orleans and instead meandered among the narrow houses I'd come to assume were just traditional residential architecture here. These houses were brightly painted much like the Old Quarter had been, though less well maintained. A little marker appeared in glowing amber.

Discovered: Upper Ninth District

“Upper Ninth District,” I read quietly.

“How'd you know that?” Comet asked.

“Oh. Uh, this thing.” I patted my chest remote. “Old PipBuck I have on me.”

“No shit? That explains the crazy merc shit you pulled against the raiders. Lucky you, musta found one of them good Stables up north.”

“Yeah, you could say that. So what's up with the colour around here anyway?”

Comet snorted in laughter. “Never thought of painting a house before, featherbrain? Ah, just yanking ya dick. They're watu houses. Watu's like... it's pure Neigh Orleans, brother. It's some uniquely Neigh Orleans culture. Word means “people” actually, in Zwahili. Kind of a blending of zebra and pony cultures that happened down here.”

“And they paint their houses bright colours?”

“Yup. Family colours, coat and mane, coat and stripe, whatever. Traditional stuff. Helped identify who was who, which was great way back when zebras and ponies spoke different languages. We talkin' way back now.”

One such house next to us was garishly coloured in pink and purple. The sun had done a number on the colours but they were still visible, clinging to the chipped and weather-worn wood. “Huh.” I looked at Comet. “I thought zebra and ponies were enemies.”

“They was. Just not here. It's a long story, and I ain't got much of the full story, but long an' short of it is, Neigh Orleans was neutral ground long before ponies and zebras ever got the hots for each other.”

Neutral ground. Interesting. “Cool.”

“Yeah, s'all ancient history though.” Comet looked up. We were leaving the suburbs behind in exchange for a long road through the bayou. “Here we go.”

We plunged down the path as the rain intensified a little. The gnarled trees reached out for us from the sides of the road. Leaves only seemed to hold to one side, the side facing Neigh Orleans and the sea. Anything facing north was barren and burnt. The shadows in the trees on either side of the road were an absolutely perfect place to hide and watch... or ambush.

And as it turns out there are some things you should never tempt fate about.

At a crossroads we were stopped. A line of bright red lights burned along the road that we needed to take. “Oh, what the fuck...” Comet grumbled. Each of the red lights were atop a round brown disk about the size of my head. “Are you kidding me? Like, for fucking real...”

“Mines.” I grunted in annoyance.

“You got experience I take it?”

“Just in their use. I've never really been good at disarming them. I could give it a shot though,” I offered.

“Well, your call, brother. I ain't going to force you into harm's way.”

I nodded and trotted forward. I hadn't been lying. The Enclave had taught us how to use mines and how to disarm them in case we needed to, but it was a tough thing to do under pressure. Especially if they were rigged on a proximity sensor.

My hoof crossed an invisible line. The mine's light started to flash and it beeped.

Beep. Beep. Beep beep.

Yep. Proximity sensor.

I launched myself forward with a push from my wings, placing my hoof down on top of the mine, and forced myself to breathe. Just breathe. I knew this type. Equestrian Army standard issue. The REA made things idiot proof.

“Just push in the detonator and twist counter clockwise,” I repeated to myself. “In, counter-clockwise. In...”

Beep beep beep BEEP B-

The detonator clicked into a stop after a full rotation, and the mine trilled at me. The red light went out.

“Fuck yeah!” Comet shouted.

A gunshot rang out, clanging off a bright red stop sign.

“FUCK!” Comet shouted, again.

A whoop came from the bayou. I ran to catch back up with Comet. He was already rolling off the road into a hollow that ran alongside it. It wasn't much but even that bit of elevation change would some kind of cover. More shots cracked, throwing up pieces of concrete and dust in my wake as I rolled down the hollow myself.

“This is some fucking horseshit.” Comet snarled, letting loose a long burst from his gun. His shots tore apart some bushes but not much else.

My EFS was going wild with red dots that I hadn't noticed before. I mean, the mines had taken a bit of a priority at the time. Made sense I hadn't noticed them. But now I had 'em all in my sights.

“Comet, two degrees left, fuck 'em up!” I instructed. I popped out and took aim at my own red dot with my Sunbeam rifle.

SATS kicked in just in time for Comet to let loose again. A massive lead slug slowly passed in front of my vision, twisting through the air in slow motion. I watched it for a moment before focusing on the target ahead of me. Even with SATS, my chances of hitting were low.

No matter. I was an Expert Markspony on a rifle. I had the badge to prove it. I dropped out of SATS and went for it the old fashioned way. Let the old Mark I Eyeball do what StableTec couldn't.

I sighted in and pulled the trigger.

A beam of angry red light lanced out of the long, perforated barrel. A second one came within half a second. Rapid fire on arcane rifles tended to degrade accuracy, so two or three shot bursts were the most to get anything accurate out of it. The sparkling red beams tore through the underbrush, burning holes through the wet leaves as they found their target.

A shout of surprise told me I'd aimed true. The red light winked out a second later.

“Where they at?” Comet shouted.

Two ponies charged out of the brush to our right. They'd obviously gotten a good flanking position. Both wore tattered clothing and little else for armour. One had a baseball bat clutched in his teeth, the other a fire axe.

“Bat!” I called out. Comet seemed to understand. His burst took the axe wielder in the chest, ripping out the back of that pony in a spray of red. Three of my arcane blasts took the baseball bat pony in the chest.

It was the first time I'd seen the effects of a magical energy weapon up close. They took the stallion in the chest, burning the front of his clothing. He howled in agony as the beams dug into his flesh, bubbling and burning it. He continued to howl until my fourth beam got him in the temple, searing the flesh there and killing him instantly.

There were still more red dots and more gunfire. I turned to face the flank we were being fired on from and lifted my rifle.

Something punched me hard in the chest and I fell back off the roadway into the muddy hollow. Against all possibility I felt as if I'd been hit at the same time by a hot water balloon, and by a solid buck from a pony in power armour. My head swam a little. For a second I lay there stunned.

I put a hoof to my chest. The goldenrod fur was matted with bright red.

So, that's what being shot felt like. My first thought was that it was pretty unimpressive. For some reason I expected more.

The second thought was: Ow!

“Autumn!” Comet called out.

“I'm good!” I rasped back. “I'm good, keep it up!”

Comet's gun rattled more rounds downrange as I rolled back onto my hooves. My PipBuck was flashing an icon. My chest had taken a hell of a wound, which I honestly didn't need any Stable-Tec spell to tell me.

Two more red icons left on my EFS. A stallion burst out of the trees nearby, running for cover behind a nearby carriage. I scrambled for my rifle and lifted it to pull the trigger.

Nothing.

I grunted and quickly brought it down, smacking the gem pack with my wing to try and fix the connection. The stallion was just raising a shotgun level with me.

The Sunbeam whirred to life. On the next trigger pull a red beam struck the stallion in the chest. A second one drilled him in the same spot.

A bright glow seemed to emanate from inside his dirty coat, glowing brighter and brighter. With a ghastly howl he exploded in a burst of ash and light.

“Skies al-fucking-mighty,” I breathed.

Comet emerged from the brush nearby. He had a cut across his foreleg and was limping but was otherwise okay. “We good?”

“I think so.” I dropped my rifle and immediately went for a healing potion. The adrenaline was already wearing down and with it the pain was increasing. I took a dose from the bottle and offered the rest to Comet. An altogether bizarre sensation spread across my chest as the wound closed itself bit by bit, and something cold wiggled its way out.

Healing didn't mean painless. I screamed in pain as the slug worked its way out of my body and the wound stitched itself shut behind it. I was driven to the pavement on my forelegs, heaving and panting.

The bullet hit the pavement with a metallic clink.

“Goddesses, you okay?” Comet asked. His leg wound had cleared up with significantly less trouble.

“Yeah.” I brushed a hoof across my lips and collapsed to the wet pavement. “Gimme a minute.”

By the time I'd recovered Comet had relieved the raiders of whatever meagre possessions they'd had. A few more rounds for his gun, plus a shotgun that he took for good measure. A few caps. A healing potion to replace the one we'd used.

I nudged over one of the bodies. Each of them seemed to have one thing uniting them all despite their hodgepodge armament and barding. A small red shield and pale grey horseshoe, made of crudely cut cloth for most of them, and in one case painted on.

“Recognize the symbol?” I asked Comet.

He shook his head. “Naw. But raider groups come and go. Fuck, they more active than usual these days it seems. Come on, we done here.”

Rain splattered on our heads as we moved past the ambush site, a little more wary now. Once we'd cleared the mines we were home free to head for the plantation.

Chapter 10

View Online

Chapter 10

The plantation was a small, modest one. A nice little squat building, storey and a half high, painted in yellow and blue. It was in decent shape, even if the area around it was overgrown and wild. Once upon a time a wide farmer's field had extended out off the back porch into the distance. Now the bayou was doing its damnedest to take its property back.

“Don't look like he's home,” Comet mumbled as we approached up the front path.

“Think we should ring the doorbell?” I asked. Comet snorted in laughter.

“Ha! I like you, you funny. No.”

There wasn't a sign of life to be seen anywhere in the plantation. Most of its windows were shuttered tightly. The hoofpath was crackled and overgrown. No guards. In fact it looked as if nopony had been there in ages.

Comet glanced around. “Whiskey musta paid off the mercs. Taken the place for himself.”

Something whirred and the single strangest thing rolled toward us. It looked like a metallic pony, just without legs; rather it had two sets of treads on either side of it that allowed it to dig easily through the mud around the plantation. Its segmented neck ended in a strange head that was in the shape of a stallion's, but blank. Instead of a face it had just an opaque, dirty yellow dome. Rather menacingly, two magical energy weapon barrels were mounted on either side of its body.

“What the f-” I began.

“Ponytrons. They're weird, but good guards. Never seen one before?”

“Nope.”

The Ponytron rolled slowly toward us. “Red and I got a couple of them working as guards for the plantation when we weren't around.” Comet trotted forward boldly.

“Warning! Unauthorized presence! By order of the Neigh Orleans Police Department, please step away!” The voice was metallic, halting, as if words were being grabbed at random from a database. They didn't quite fit together into a sentence, giving it a strange tone.

“Oh, him?” Comet asked, waving a hoof to me. “He's with me. Authorize him.”

“Halt! Unauthorized presence! Please step off the property or lethal force is authorized!”

I took a step back. “Uh, Comet?”

“Don't worry about it. It's just glitchy.”

Two more Ponytrons joined the first, rolling around the sides of the house. Somehow those blank yellow domes didn't look friendly.

“Comet!” Sometimes, my talent of coming up with quick solutions got me into trouble by coming up with the wrong idea for the situation. Sometimes, however, it came up with just the right one in the nick of time. “Run!”

Our only real saving grace was that time and disrepair had ruined the focusing mechanism on their arcane rifles. Their shots went wild, spraying energy blasts that tore up the trees behind me. I'd reacted significantly faster than Comet had.

For a split second I figured he was dead. He'd been at point blank range to the first Ponytron when it opened fire. I ducked behind a fallen tree and peered up over it.

Comet was crouched behind a flimsy-looking shield the same electric blue colour as his magic. It was taking the full brunt of the Ponytron's scatter-shot fire. “Little help, maybe!” he called out.

I took careful aim and slipped into SATS.

Two beams apiece, right into the dome piece on both. Arcane energy howled from the rifle, punching through the domes of the first two Ponytrons. Only one hit the third but it was enough to stun him. Now free to drop his shield Comet put a quick burst into the closest Ponytron, then turned to unload on the last one.

Flimsy steel had very little protection against a stream of .45, it would seem.

“That prick! That fucking asshole!” Comet dropped a few more rounds into a fallen Ponytron. “Reprogram my fucking robots?” He let loose another short burst.

“Hey, hey!” I stepped forward, a wing on Comet's shoulder. “Cool it.”

“I am cool. I'm cold as fucking ice.”

I shot him a glare. He dropped the drum magazine out of his weapon and threw it aside. “The fuck was that, then?” I asked.

“These bots were my fuckin' idea. My caps went into it. I programmed them first. And this... prick reprograms them to go after me? Shit's personal now. Come on.” Comet slapped a second drum magazine into the weapon.

We went up to the front porch, a whole half storey above the ground floor. A tall door was barred shut and I motioned for Comet to hold up. I checked the door frame for anything resembling traps. Nothing. Not a wire out of place. So I tried the door handle. Locked.

“Ya ever pick a lock, Autumn?”

“No, have you?” I asked Comet.

He nodded and joined me on the porch. “Got a loose feather?”

“What?”

“A loose feather. To pick with.”

I unfurled my left wing. There was a loose feather there, somewhere near the root. “Yeah, just by the root, it's the darker o-” Comet yanked one from near the wingtip. I shouted in pain. “The root, jackass!”

“Oh, suck it up.” He floated the feather forward and used the spine to reach into the lock. “I lost my picks a while back.” He slid a small pen knife from a pocket of his barding, using it to push the lock a bit. He wiggled the feather – my feather – in the lock. It took a moment, then the lock clunked open. “Want your feather back?” Comet asked.

“No, but thank you,” I grumbled. That had hurt. Not nearly as much as getting shot but it still stung.

The door opened to a wide hallway. The interior was dark and gloomy, with what little light actually made it in illuminating motes of dust that floated through the air. I flicked on my PipBuck's lamp and led the way inside. The doors on the right were open, revealing a sitting room that was well furnished and well stocked with books. An old terminal glowed on the desk nearby.

“Think you could check that?” Comet asked.

“Sure.” I trotted into the room. The sitting room was comfortable and clearly set up to be an office. The writing desk was set up in front of a bookshelf and a comfortable, tall-backed chair. A pair of chairs sat in front of the desk. I threw open some shutters to at least let a little bit of light in. The grey rainy afternoon light, rather than make the room dreary, just added to the coziness.

The smell of old books, of worn wood, the soft patter of rain on the windows. I could easily relax here with a book and a coffee.

I settled at the desk and booted the terminal up. While it took its time I noticed a number of magazines strewn across the desk. A few stallion's health magazines. A cooking magazine. One caught my eye: Guns and Bullets. I slid it off the pile and got a better look in the light.

Guns and Bullets! read the top in bold red and gold letters. The front page was graced with an image of one of the single most handsome stallions I'd ever seen (even more than the Perfect Prince (tm) on my pack of smokes), to the point that my wings twitched up a bit in interest.

I liked my bucks, what could I say?

He was getting up in years, definitely late middle aged, but in a way that looked incredibly distinguished more than anything else. Grey hair mixed with the bright orange of his mane, which was thinning at the top and brushed back beneath a crisp ten-gallon cowpoke hat. The stallion was settled comfortably behind a desk in a high-backed chair not unlike the one I was in. Across the desk were an assortment of gleaming new firearms: a deeply blued revolver, a compact automatic pistol. The crowning jewel on it was a brand new carbine and countless accessories laid out beneath it. New stocks, new sights, a suppressor, lights and aiming devices. A small, confident grin was fixed on the stallion's face.

Braeburn: All-Equestrian, all-powerful, the headline read. Beneath it, a tagline. How Ironshod Firearms is leading the charge with a new era of all-Equestrian armaments – including their new improved IR-15A3.

Damn. I slid the magazine away for later reading and turned to the terminal, which had finally booted up and was flashing a login request. I blinked.

A little amber pony appeared in the corner of my vision. “Locked out?” it asked. “Plug in and let Stable-Tec assist you with resetting your password!”

It was the same cheery stallion from the engraving on the back of the PipBuck. I pulled out the tablet itself from my pocket and found there was a cord on the side that had just the right connector for the side of the terminal. The screen blanked on the terminal, then a wall of text scrolled across it. The last few terminal entries it would seem.

The terminal informed me I had three chances. Perfect. I took a look at a few of the entries. Random snippets of words, some junk characters. My PipBuck was already parsing out some of the junk entries and leaving behind just a few probable options.

I selected one, “amber”. The terminal flashed that I had two attempts remaining, but also helpfully told me I was close to the password. One correct letter. I tried another one, shot in the dark. “Table.” One try remaining.

I closed my eyes and pressed a button at random.

The terminal trilled. “Apple.” Huh. The wall of text fell away and the login screen automatically came back up, filled itself in, and vanished again. The terminal left me with a few options. There were ledgers, inventory reports, and one that seemed interesting: log entries. I brought up the latest one.

“He's asking for more than I can give him at the moment,” I read aloud. “I'll have to start calling in markers to get some of this. How am I supposed to find a minigun, let alone enough ammunition for one?”

It made little sense to me, so I flipped one entry back. Even less sense, which just talked about what the writer had planned when he came into a windfall of caps. The words “orgy” came up once or twice.

“Oh, here we go,” I mumbled. The third entry back. “Met with the Prince today. I can see why he's in control, I've never met a more charismatic stallion. I'd been meeting with his representatives before but to meet the stallion himself, in person, is something entirely different. Validates a lot of my decisions.” I blinked a bit and continued aloud. “I'm not terribly worried about who's going to be on the receiving end of these weapons. I figure once the Prince comes around, so will everypony else.” I closed the terminal entry. What the fuck was all that about? Who was this Prince, and what did the writer mean about “coming around”?

“Hey, Autumn!” The shout came from downstairs, the “basement” level – just a half storey beneath us that formed the actual ground floor.

“What's up?” I shouted back, grabbing my rifle in a wing as I moved.

“Jackpot!”

-=O=-

Jackpot was a good word to describe what Comet Spark came across. Crates were stacked throughout the space beneath the raised house, locked behind a heavy steel gate that had been hastily – but securely – put into place. The crates were all meticulously, recently, labelled. Ammunition by the hundreds, crates of rifles. Explosives. And a crowning jewel at the back: a legitimate safe, dented but still as sturdy as could be. Whatever was in that was bound to be good.

“This what we after?” I asked.

Comet nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah. See those crates?” He indicated a few at the back that had much nicer printing across them, as well as a symbol that looked like the old symbol for an Equestrian Bit. Somepony had desperately tried to scratch it out. It hadn't worked. “That's Red's glyph mark, and yes, she alchemically burns them in. The others, without the glyph, that's all stuff I bet Whiskey picked up.”

“Okay, sweet. You able to pick the lock?”

Comet shook his head. “I found some bobby pins upstairs to try and pop it. Fucker's got a good lock on it.”

I nodded. The lock did look fairly sturdy. “You ah, you still got those mines?”

“Yeah, wh- oh.”

“Yeah.” Comet floated one of them to me, and I turned it over in my hoof. They were on the small side, as far as mines went. See, that was the insidious thing about them. Mines were never designed to kill. A mine like this would likely just blow somepony's foreleg clean off, rip them up real good, but not kill them. The morale effect on their comrades would be devastating as they fought to find a clear path to their wounded, losing more limbs in the process, and having to listen to the victims' agonized cries.

No, I hadn't had any education and training on mines, why do you ask?

With what was left of my coil of wire I tied the mine to the lock. Comet for once looked a little nervous. “Y'all know what you're doin', right?”

“More or less.”

He let out a choked noise. “More or fuckin' less?”

I looked up at him as I tied the wire down with my wings. “I know the theory.”

“The theory!”

“Look, everything starts with just theory. Stand back.”

“Oh, fuck's sake...”

I waved him on with a hoof. “No, no. Back. Back. There.” Once Comet was safely behind the cover of the staircase I turned to the mine and twisted the arming device a full turn clockwise. The mechanism popped up to indicate it was armed, along with an angry red light. I retreated to a safe distance and levelled my Sunbeam with the mine.

“This is fucking st-” Comet began. A loud explosion cut off the rest of his sentence. Dust billowed out at us as I ducked behind the staircase.

In such a confined space the explosion had my ears ringing wildly. Particles of wood and dust fell against the stairs and our heads.

A moment passed, then another, before I peered up over the stairs.

My explosives instructor from EFB Hurricane Bluffs would be happy. I'd correctly placed the mine to concentrate its explosion – which fired straight “up” and out from the mine – on the lock and surrounding door. The metal door hung open, swinging slightly from the momentum. The wall next to it was mostly untouched, though a little scorched and pockmarked.

Comet coughed. “Fuck! I can't hear shit...”

“It'll be fine.” The ringing was already quieting down. “Look, I got us in, didn't I?”

“This house is over two-fucking-hundred years old. Ya damn lucky ya didn't do us in.” Comet sighed and I gave him a small, sheepish smile. I hadn't thought of that.

Sometimes, quick thinking and adaptability got somepony into trouble.

“Fine, let's just go in and get our stuff back.”

We started with all of Red's boxes first, hauling them one by one up the stairs. A large wagon was stored next to the house, and Comet was more than happy to fill it full of merchandise. Next we went for some of Whiskey's merchandise, which was promised to us free of charge as a bonus.

Using a nearby prybar, Comet yanked the top off one of the largest boxes. The label read “Rattlesnake”. I sincerely hoped there wasn't an actual snake inside.

“Oh, fuck me sideways, that is cool,” Comet breathed.

A gleaming brass weapon sat inside the case. It was fairly huge, with a barrel easily thicker than my foreleg. The barrel itself was smooth, round brass, while the rear of the weapon was steel bolted together into a box. A tripod was folded up in the box with it. I took that out and set it up while Comet lifted the weapon out.

On its tripod it was easier to get a look at. It was a machine gun, just unlike any I'd seen in my life. It had all the pieces of a machine gun: hoof holds at the back, a paddle trigger, a slot on the side for a belt and box. But the whole thing looked sturdier than anything I'd ever fired, and way prettier. As it turns out, the barrel wasn't as big as it looked, it was just surrounded by a brass jacket. The muzzle was still pretty sizable though. Way bigger than any machine gun I'd ever seen. It looked easily capable of putting holes into a Vertibuck.

Shit, I could probably take out a smaller Raptor with this.

“Goddesses damn. I am taking this. I ain't sellin' it. This is mine.” Comet got behind the controls and pantomimed rattling off a few shots, mouth noises and all. He giggled like a schoolfilly. “Heh. Cool.”

“Having fun?” I asked with a wry smile.

“Ugh, I got a war-boner a mile long right now. I am so okay with this.” We disassembled the gun back into its case and brought it up to the wagon. The extra weight of everything made the wagon sit low on its rusted suspension. It was going to take some effort to get this back to the Grand.

All that was left was the safe. We returned to the basement and Comet got to work with the safe, trying his best to pick it. I just sat on my haunches nearby, watching him work. It was quiet. All I could hear was Comet's soft cursing as he broke another ersatz pick, the soft patter of rain, and an odd hissing noise I couldn't quite identify.

“Hey, Comet?”

“What?” he snapped. “Sorry, just annoyed.”

“You smell anything weird?”

“Yeah, gas. You probably damaged a pipe with that dumbass door stunt.”

I flicked a wing underneath my chin at him, a rather rude gesture (to replace a verbal “fuck you”). Comet returned it with the earth pony equivalent, clapping one hoof onto his upper leg, which he crooked upward. I snorted in laughter as he went back to work.

“Aha!” he shouted a moment later. “Gotcha, you fucker!”

The safe swung open. Something metallic twanged. Inside the safe was a massive bag of caps, plus a few other items. Outside the safe were two turrets that popped down from hidden recesses in the roof (well, floor of the house).

“Shit!” the both of us shouted.

I was up off my haunches in a second, wings beating to get me up faster. Comet shot past me and I grabbed hold of his barding's collar. With some wingpower I managed to propel us forward a little quicker than either of us could run. The two turrets opened fire, bullets spraying across the floor in a long twin line that carved up the dirt where we'd been a second before.

As soon as we were out of view and safely behind the stairs the turrets ceased their fire. Unfortunately for us, within seconds of trying to climb the stairs another turret popped up at the top of the stairs and pointed down at us.

“Son of a-” I began, sprinting up the stairs.

Bullets clattered through the wood of the ancient staircase as we flew up it at a dead gallop. Comet floated up his SMG and let a burst out into the turret. It exploded into fragments but we w

eren't safe yet. More turrets were popping up all over the house. Apparently Whiskey had anticipated somepony trying to steal from him – or was just that paranoid.

Whatever the reason was it sucked.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” Comet shouted as we sprinted down a hallway toward the main door. We both skidded to a halt before we'd even taken two steps. Two turrets blocked our path and it was only a quick shield from Comet that saved us from getting a few new breathing holes. We both threw ourselves through the nearest door, which turned out to be a kitchen. The smell of gas was stronger in here than anywhere else, and I could just see the haze in the air.

“Oh, great...” The windows in the kitchen were boarded up, but there was another door that led out to the hallway – and closer to the back door, which we'd left open. I bucked the door open, where it flew easily off its ragged old bolt.

There. The back door was open, just a few steps out to our left. “Go!” I shouted to Comet. He ran. I was right on his tail. The fire from the door turrets were on our tails.

Turns out, suddenly opening the door to a room full of gas had a tendency to make that gas escape. As it also turns out, muzzle flashes are excellent lighters. I didn't see the gas ignite, but I heard the whoosh behind me. Just as soon as my hooves hit the porch they left it again. A concussion wave blew me off the porch, my wings catching it automatically and sending me ass-over-ears through the air.

The air rushed out of my lungs when I hit the ground. The mansion was just above my head, upside down. Part of the roof was fully airborne.

And coming straight toward me.

Before I could move something enveloped me, all blue and tingly. I was yanked roughly out of the way like a discarded ragdoll as part of the roof crashed down onto where I was. A fireball sprayed through the air, along with a jet of flame that towered above the mansion. Rain hissed as it boiled instantly in the heat of the flames.

I scrambled back to my hooves, ears ringing once again. My back was uncomfortably hot, like a sunburn. Within seconds the whole house was up in flames, a tinderbox by any definition of the word.

Well, we all know the rest.

I sat on the front lawn aghast. My mane was covered in soot, my cheeks slightly scorched. My back was likely burnt by the blast.

“Fuck me,” Comet breathed out. He looked a little rough, and was panting from the exertion.

“What the fuck,” I agreed.

For some reason or another, Comet started laughing. At first it came out choked, then bubbled into full belly laughter. “Oh, wow. Fuck. Red is gonna be pissed. She loved that house.”

I snorted in laughter along with him, then my own choked snort turned into a belly laugh. As the house fell down in front of us, the rain doing little to stop the fire, I realized how lucky we'd just been. We'd both survived and so had the cart.

We had our caps and our lives to spend them on.

“Hey, Autumn?”

“Yeah?” I looked over at Comet.

“Let's never fucking do that again.”

“Agreed.” I got up and dusted some of the soot from coat. With a wince I trotted my sore muscles to the cart and hooked myself up to one side. Comet was busy with the piece of the roof that had come down. “What are you-”

“Leaving a message.” Comet stepped back. A simple graffiti spell had left its mark on the chunk of roof. A bottle of whiskey was drawn on it. The whole plank behind it was painted in amber and red. “Let's go.”

Level Up!

Level 6

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse (Better Critical chance)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 11

View Online

Chapter 11

“Y'all two look fuckin' awful.”

We were in Red's office. I was nursing a few burns on the backs of my wings, and a few singed feathers. Magical bandages were wrapped on them to try and keep the pain down and help with healing. The rum in my glass was doing probably a better job at dulling the pain than the meds were though.

“Thanks, Red,” Comet said. He had a cold compress stuck to his head. He'd suffered a small concussion from the blast. “We got your shit back.”

“I saw. And burned my house down.”

“Our house, Red. And it wasn't our fault. Well, kinda was, but Whiskey takes blame for installin' fuckin' turrets,” Comet countered.

I was thankful he didn't throw me under the bus for the mine incident that led to the gas pipe damage in the first place.

“Well, no matter. Ya left a message I hope?”

“If ya count seein' his own grave marker outside a burnt out shack that we robbed a message, then yeah.”

I fished out a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?” I asked Red.

“Sure y'ain't done enough smoking for a while?” she teased, delight evident in her eyes. At least somepony was having fun. She gave me an agreeable wave and I pulled a cigarette from a fresh pack of Bluebloods. At my offer Comet shook his head.

“Well, let it never be said that Red ain't an honest gal.” She clapped her hooves. Honeydew – I'd learned that was actually her name when we'd gotten to the office again – returned. She had the same short dress on as before, and somehow produced two sizable bags of caps from... somewhere inside. I didn't think too much on it as I took it from her. I was still unsure as to what a good quantity of caps was, but any money was good money.

“An' Whiskey wasn't there?” Red asked.

“Naw. Musta been out,” Comet said. I found that his accent got a little heavier when he was around Red. “He sure as shit'll get th'idea though.”

“Good.” Red lifted her own glass of rum. “To honest business.”

I joined in the toast. Honey set a small ashtray on the table in front of me, which I thanked her for with a nod.

“Well, now that I have my stuff back, I'm more'n glad to sell some to ya, Comet. I also hear ya picked up some gear of ya own?” The zony asked as she set her glass down.

“I did,” Comet nodded. “Some I'll sell. Some I'll keep.”

“Well, well. Y'know, any time ya feel like comin' back, I could use that merchandise. We could try again.”

Comet shrugged. “Naw. Not now. I like Seatown.”

“Ya call. So, Autumn. Enjoyin' ya time in th'city? Been here long?”

“Couple days,” I said sincerely. “It's... different. I like it. Lot of folks still around, that counts for a lot. Back home there ain't many left.” More and more I was getting used to the way of talking down here.

“Good. We're like a little slice of Old Equestria,” she said. “Especially here at The Grand. Music, food, gambling. Whatever vice y'all can think up. I can usually help provide. Booze, drugs. Mares.”

I coughed a bit, crushing a cigarette out. “I'm ah... not into mares.”

“I can do stallions too, y'know.”

Comet snorted in laughter at my blush as I stammered out a noncommittal answer. The idea of paying for somepony's company hadn't ever crossed my mind.

“Well, ya just enjoy ya time. Gonna be here long, Comet?”

“Enough to recover a bit. Head's still bangin' like a drum.” He shrugged. “Day or so should do it.”

“My door's always open if'n ya need anythin'.”

-=O=-

The next morning found Comet and I at a table in The Grand's restaurant. A decent breakfast of grits, fried tomatoes (for me) and bacon (for Comet) sat in ruins on our plates. Two cups of tea steamed lightly in front of each of us.

“So, ya got plans?” Comet asked.

I shrugged, nudging a tomato around the plate with my fork. “Good question. Probably check the market and then... not sure. I was thinking of maybe taking a look around the area. Play tourist a bit, y'know?”

Comet nodded. “Usually I'd say it's a bad call but ya can handle yaself.” He finished off his tea. “Fine by me anyway. I was gonna kick around a bit, see if I can't find a buyer for some of the guns. I'll probably make for home in two or three days.”

“Don't wait up for me.”

Comet snorted. “No offence, but I wasn't planning on it. I ain't ya momma. Ya got a PipBuck an' enough skill to find ya way back. I think ya can make it.” He clapped a foreleg on my shoulder as he got up. “Hey. Good lookin' out, brother. That was some solid shit back there. I don't give favours but... call me up if ya need a hoof. Paid, of course.”

“Wouldn't expect anything less.”

Comet grinned and nodded, then went off to find a buyer and I was left alone once again. Well, comparatively alone, anyway. It was hard to be completely alone in a bustling hotel community.

Now, what possibly could a stallion do, in a hotel where anything was available, and where he'd just come into a rather large sum of caps? The answer: go shopping, of course!

By now my original fatigues were well worn out. Bloody, sweaty, and torn in the chest. Not even worth getting cleaned. Not to mention the sewn metal plates I'd had put in had turned out to be as useless as a piece of wet tissue paper. Hadn't managed to stop much in the way of bullets. I'd need a replacement on that. The clothing along every stall was all hodgepodge and not always in the best of shape, but I still managed to get a few new shirts to replace my worn out fatigues. A nice grey plaid work shirt, primarily, plus a few simple t-shirts for under it. That had taken a good amount of my caps. I couldn't quite afford some new armour even if I'd wanted to even before the clothes – the mare who sold armour had listed off some prices far outside my budget – so I settled on just getting the damaged plate removed and replaced.

Later I stripped out of my fatigues in a bathroom, replacing them with a white shirt and the grey plaid work shirt. I felt a lot better now that I had some clean clothes on. A glance in the mirror told me my mane could use some work though. Burnt orange hair was out of place and even though I smoothed it back with a wing, I could definitely use a cleaning. Red was right: I looked like shit. Tired and scorched, not to mention grungy.

I slowly became aware of how I hadn't showered in a few days. I sniffed myself. Not bad, but not great. Though I'm sure the rest of the Wasteland couldn't claim to be much cleaner.

I trotted out of the bathroom and jangled my caps pouch. Not much, but enough to keep me going for a little longer. I moved along the stalls once more, looking for something to do. Eventually, something to do found me. A little hoof-drawn sign at the end of the market, three simple letters.

Spa. I shrugged. Somewhere in the back of my head, a little pony was saying “Treat yoself”.

So treat myself I did.

-=O=-

With fresh clothing, fresh food in my saddlebags, and right proper clean-and-cut back to normalcy (an undercut that was a little longer than usual and very out of reg), I was out and about on a fairly sunny day around the Old Quarter. It was rather safe here, given that the Old Krewe sent patrols on the immediate blocks around the hotel to keep the critters and raiders back. Anything was better than nothing and I sure would rather deal with a secured area than raiders again.

My first stop would be the police station I'd seen earlier. My canvas armour still had a ragged hole that had been just somewhat patched over. It wouldn't hold out much longer and, if the battle at the crossroads had taught me anything, it wouldn't even stop a .22 if the shooter was half good.

If I was going to survive I was going to need more. If there was anywhere I was going to find armour it would be at the local PD. It also gave me an excuse to check the place out and see if there was anything resembling local law enforcement aside from the guards from The Grand.

With an awful creak the front door of the police department swung slowly open. A little lobby and desk stood just inside the entryway. Dust was caked on everything except, strangely, the floor. It was still dusty, but it looked disturbed within the last few weeks, as if somepony had had the same idea I was currently having. The waiting room chairs sagged and slumped, springs coiling out of most of their threadbare seats. It looked terribly uncomfortable to wait in.

A nudge at the side door opened the way to the back hallways. The paint peeled from most of the walls as I went along. They were plastered with old posters espousing safety and alertness. One poster featured three pony heads, each wearing mirrored sunglasses and a peaked blue cap, saluting and looking off into the distance. “Do your part at home! Join your local force today!” it read, as if ponies working inside the back halls of a police station needed to be inspired to join the police. Another poster featured an elongated zebra's head with bright red eyes (these ones didn't glimmer and glow, fortunately) as they loomed over Canterlot Castle.

“They're looking out, so should you!” this one offered.

And so they went. More posters every few steps, decorating water cooler corners and cubicle walls, although why anypony would choose that for decor I couldn't guess. If I was stuck in a cubicle you could be damn sure I'd have something like the Canterlot Fire Department yearly calendar stuck to my wall, across from a poster of Haywaii. You know, something to give the place some feeling of comfort. Way more fun than chest-beating “Oorah” join-the-corps type posters, or fear-mongering anti-Zebra ones. And this was coming from somepony in the forces.

I was a little further down the hallway, not far from a sign for the briefing room, when my EFS sprang to life with an angry red dot burning just off my left side.

“Hello...” I said quietly. “And who are you?”

The dot started moving toward the right of my vision, toward the hallway. A hoof slid forward out of the open briefing room door.

I raised my rifle at the door. The figure walked further out into the hallway. It was definitely a pony, just missing all its mane, and most of its fur. Ragged holes were torn in the pony's coat – and I don't mean just in the hair, I mean through the coat. I saw bone.

The pony looked up at me and we met eyes. Well, its eye met mine. A ragged hole was all the was left of the pony's left eye. Somewhere above its head at the top of my vision floated a bright red EFS indicator.

It snarled at me.

“Wh-”

Before I could even finish the thought it sprinted at me. I dropped into SATS as quick as I could but my own reactions were a bit slow. By the time SATS slowed time down for me (rather, sped up my perception), the pony... thing was on me.

Pain in slow motion was an incredibly bizarre feeling. The creature's teeth latched onto my leg. They were broken, likely far dirtier than strictly safe, and very painful when ripped through the skin. I felt every second of it in slow motion rather than the sudden burst of white-hot agony: the breaking of the skin, the first bits of tearing flesh, the individual pain receptors lighting up on the way to my brain. Y'know. The good stuff.

Thanks to SATS I was able to get my Sunbeam around and get a few beams into its skull. Rotted fur, blood, and brain matter splattered across my barding – and the floor. SATS kicked out and brought me back to reality hard as the body of the creature slid away. This had the added side-effect of slamming all the pain back into my brain at full speed – and all at once.

I stopped for a moment to pant as the pain temporarily blinded me. My PipBuck trilled and an icon popped up. The wavy-haired stallion was there, his head covered by a hot water bag and a thermometer in his mouth. Apparently, I was sick.

With the remote I brought up some of the PipBuck's status functions. I had, apparently, “Ghoul Fever”. I grunted in annoyance as I pulled a tooth out of my leg, bouncing it up and down in my hoof. It was covered in blood. On the jagged, broken end was bright red blood – my blood, I noted with a bit of a lurch to my stomach – while the rotted root end was covered in viscous black blood from where it ripped out of the creature (ghoul's?) mouth.

My PipBuck trilled again. It updated my inventory. Apparently pulling the tooth out of my leg added it to my inventory, according to Stable-Tec.

Ghoul's tooth.

I looked from the tooth in my hoof to the headless pony-creature on the floor. Its ragged coat was soaked with blood from the ruin around its neck.

So that's what a ghoul was. I hadn't actually considered the existence of zombie-ponies until one had its teeth firmly clamped around my foreleg. Well, that was always fun to know that existed.

More red lights were flaring up on my EFS. Somewhere down the hall came another loud snarl.

“Alright, let's go...” I raised my rifle again.

Chapter 12

View Online

Chapter 12

Angry lines of red arcane energy lanced down a hallway at several angry ghouls. Each charged with surprising speed for their rotted frames. Arcane blasts cut them down one by one. One's coat caught fire, another turned to ash.

With just two ghouls left my rifle went dry.

A control next to the trigger bit opened the gem pack door and dropped it out. At the same time I had a wing in my bags pulling out another gem pack. I slapped it into the door and got to firing again a second too late. My first reloaded shot went wide and the first ghoul collided with me. He couldn't quite manage a bite and was already rolling past me when the second one reared up and brought his hooves down on my right foreleg.

This of course painfully yanked the Sunbeam's trigger bit from my mouth and shoved the gun down. A second hoof took me in the snout. I went down hard.

The ghouls were all over me, stamping with rotted hooves. It hurt a surprising amount given their state. I caught one of the ghouls in the chest with a double-legged buck and sent him flying backwards. The other one was still hitting me, but I was able to work my 10mm from its holster.

It roared a few times, 10mm automatic rounds ripping through the ghoul's back. It fell off of me. That ghoul was done but the other one wasn't. I slipped into SATS and executed the ghoul as it got up.

With gunshots still echoing through the hallways of the police station I grabbed my rifle. No more dots appeared on my EFS and yet I wasn't quite at ease. There could easily be more somewhere in here.

As I moved through the hallways no more ghouls popped out. I probably was in the clear. Once I finally felt safe I took a double-dose of healing potion. It hurt a lot less this time, considering it was just healing diseases, bruises, and a few cuts rather than forcing a bullet back out of me. So. Old Quarter. Not exactly completely safe.

All this definitely lent weight to Comet's earlier warning about ghouls and stuff. Feral ghouls, he'd called them. Well if anything could ever have the term feral, these ghouls I'd encountered sure fit the bill.

Most of the police station was dead boring. Old offices strewn with papers that meant nothing to me, broken office furniture, fallen cabinets. Drawers were thrown open and a lot of the debris looked relatively recent. Obviously ponies had picked the place clean looking for supplies. And yet they hadn't quite gotten everything. A few rooms had pale yellow metal boxes on the wall, decorated with pink butterflies. Most were unlocked and filled with some basic medical supplies. I was able to at least recover a new healing potion or two, just in case I had to deal with more ghouls.

The real prize however was the armoury. The door leading to it had fallen halfway from its hinges, making it easy to get inside. Within the armoury itself were multiple once-locked rooms on either side, each with rows of weapons cabinets and shelves. With most of the doors thrown open, almost no weapons remained there except for a single riot shotgun which, upon closer examination, had a non-functional mainspring.

However, there was one small room off at the far corner that was still locked. A terminal was set into the wall next to it. Deciding to test my new-found hacking skills from Whiskey's plantation I slipped my PipBuck's connector into it.

Passwords scrolled past the display and I went to work. It took a few tries – I discovered that by backing out of it I could reset my attempts – but eventually I found myself a password. “Hayseed”. The locks rolled past on squeaky hinges and the door slid open. With a silent little cheer I opened the way.

On the shelves inside the small room was a single set of armour and a few boxes of ammunition. The armour was roughly my size, a little too large but at least I could strap it down, and consisted of an armoured chestpiece and upper foreleg coverings, the ballistic plastic painted deep blue with a Neigh Orleans Police Department logo on the front. It was backed with cloth to give it some comfortable padding.

I immediately threw away the canvas armour. It felt good to be back in real armour again. It was pretty much the same style as Enclave combat armour, just felt lighter and not nearly as tough. Then again I didn't imagine many cops had to deal with say, full on combat. I still had no hindquarter protection but thankfully no pony had targeted my butt just yet.

Decked out in new combat armour I felt like a new stallion ready to take on the world. I checked the ammo boxes. They'd clearly been emptied out during some event in the past, given nopony had been in here in a while, but one still contained a dozen .357 Magnum rounds (based on the markings on the bottom of the case anyway). The other held a few shotgun shells. I briefly considered taking them until I realized there was no point. Ammo was good in a trade but there wasn't enough to bother with right now and frankly I didn't use either of those ammunition types.

Still, fresh clothes and a fresh suit of armour. I was also alive and, aside from a few bites and bruises that were healing, I was still in one piece.

All in all, chalk it up to a win. Go Enclave.

I was back up on the street in no time. The weather was grey today but at least the rain had stopped. Not long after I made it up onto the streets, my PipBuck flashed a new icon; it was being unusually “talkative” today. A new radio signal had just sprung up and my PipBuck was directing me to check it out.

I must have activated an automatic radio finding feature at some point. Arcanotech was never my strong suit. At least it was easier than randomly wandering the dial looking for stuff, and I had a feeling there'd be a lot more to this PipBuck that I'd find later.

“Automated Distress Beacon?” I asked myself, selecting it.

It was a soft beeping noise and nothing more. As I moved up one end of the street it got fainter; up the other side it got stronger. Hmm. Time to go play hero.

-=O=-

Neigh Orleans General Hospital had seen much better days. The upper floors were crumbling, and one entire wing was missing from the eastern side. A huge red cross was hanging alarmingly loose in its moorings on the roof. An ambulance wagon lay completely overturned in the parking lot just outside the front doors, one among a dozen of other wagons and carriages strewn about the place in heaps of rusting, time-ravaged metal. I slowly picked my way through the cracked concrete and a maze of broken vehicles.

Somewhere inside this old hospital was a distress beacon. The signal was strong here, as strong as I figure it would ever get. It had to be it.

The front doors lay on either side of the waiting room. Inside the room itself was a second ambulance, this one using an experimental arcanotech engine at the front. Skid marks tore up the lobby floor, tracing the ambulance's last ride. Up and through the front doors, careening across the threshold like a demented groom carrying their bride through, before fishtailing left and right and coming to a stop on its side against the triage counter. The rear doors were spilled open.

A small skeleton hung out the back. Too small. I winced a little and flicked on my PipBuck's lamp to get a better look inside the ambulance. Two more skeletons – larger this time – grimaced back at me. Well, one did. The other's skull was missing, and it sat on a chair deeper in the ambulance. The auto-carriage's driver was nowhere to be seen at least initially.

I found him behind the counter, sprawled and broken, the painful breaks plainly visible now that the flesh had come away long ago.

Skies above, the agony he must've been in. I counted no fewer than three breaks – and those were just the major ones.

The distress beacon blipped away loudly on the little speaker, echoing disturbingly off the marble walls. I turned it off, wondering if there was some kind of earphone to keep it from giving me away. I'd have to look later for that.

Suddenly drowned in silence the waiting room looked even more dreary and depressing. Pale light filtered through cracked dirty glass and illuminated old chairs. Dust floated through the air, suspended in slow motion in wide Celestia rays that pierced the gloom. There was something unnerving about places that should be busy being completely, utterly empty... aside from the dead of course.

The lamp on this older model of PipBuck only went forward like a flashlight, and with the remote mounted to my chest I had to turn often to pan it around. There wasn't anything visible on my EFS.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Hello?” my echo replied.

Spooky. Well, no time like the present, I supposed. I turned the lamp around from the waiting room to where the nearest door was. For a moment I swore I saw a small figure, no taller than a colt, standing behind the ambulance. As the light panned over it it vanished. Must have been the skeleton's shadow.

I trotted forward down the hallway toward Emergency. Beds lay where they'd been abandoned long ago. Some still had their skeletal occupants. Some were half out of their beds as if they'd tried to drag themselves out and away from something before death caught up. I made a few cursory checks at the medical boxes that I could find. Most were completely empty. Much like the police station the debris and dust had been disturbed, indicating somepony had been there – and hopefully not ghouls again.

But as much as there were signs that somepony had been there, there wasn't anypony there. Still, too early to call it quits.

The deeper I got in the darker it got and the more I was thankful for my lamp. Few windows were around to cast any light into the back halls. After about a half-hour of picking through empty offices and hospital beds I came to a closed stairwell. Inside was incredibly bright, the grey sunlight from outside blinding me a little and making me blink.

Part of the wall higher up in the stairwell was gone, exposing me to blue sky above – or at least a small sliver of blue as the clouds parted just a little – and bright sunlight. The wing opposite me in the stairwell was gone so that was right out. I debated to myself whether to go up first, or down. Yes, down; the hospital was obviously large and important enough to have just a small basement that wouldn't sink away from it into the swamp. Mix in a little magical ingenuity, and you had a basement. The airport that served as EFB Thunderclap was the same way. Get a big enough footprint up above and you could anchor it well.

Mounted to the wall next to my head was a little blue metal plate. I leaned in to get a better look.

First Floor: Emergency, Triage, Radiology, ICU, Cafeteria (something about the last one made me giggle at how innocuous it was among the rest of the markers). Second Floor: Operating Rooms, Recovery Rooms, Arcane Diseases, Arcane Testing... All the upper floors were much like that. Recovery rooms, long term care. Top floor, tenth, had palliative care. Pleasant. I didn't want to even check out any of the recovery or care rooms – and particularly not palliative. I couldn't imagine the wounded, sick, infirm, and dying were of any consequence in the apocalypse.

I was struck by a sudden image of nurses fleeing for their homes and loved ones, doctors leaving the staff behind, those still able to getting up and going. There had to be some left behind, just waiting while the clock ran out. While potion doses went unadministered. While death slowly crept down the hall. Had any staff stayed behind to give the left-behind company? To keep them comfortable?

I shook my head and checked the metal plate again. No time to dwell on that and frankly... I didn't want to know.

Basement: Medical Records, Experimental Treatments, Morgue, Maintenance.

If somepony was trapped in a hospital I'd guarantee it was in the basement. One could just lower themselves out of a window – or fly, in my or any other pegasus' case – but one couldn't as easily escape say, a collapsed stairwell in a basement.

Downstairs I went. The basement was pitch black aside from the ring of light in front of me. More than once I was convinced I could see more black shadows of ponies on the walls, but as soon as I turned to address them with my light they vanished. I stopped outside one door after one such incident, looking around to try and figure out what the fuck I was seeing.

The beam of light pierced through the gloom of the doorway, illuminating a silver door directly opposite me. A very small door that one could easily fit through if they crawled. A very small door matched by a half-dozen others arranged neatly on the ground level, and a few higher up at chest level.

One door was open, a long tray pulled out of it. Something was covered with a white sheet, laying upon the tray.

Anxiety gripped me. Hard. There was something wrong about looking at that covered corpse. I knew it was impossible, knew it, through every fibre of my body, that that sheet was not going to move.

But then again, three hours ago, I wouldn't have expected to be bit by the closest thing to a zombie pony before.

I quickly shut the door and backed away from the morgue. I fought to control my breathing and let out a laugh.

“It's nothing,” I whispered to myself. “Long dead, Autumn. Keep-” I heard a faint crash down the hallway. “CALM!” I yelped, turning to shoot the light down the hallway. My Sunbeam was up a second later.

I waited, staring down the hall with occasional glances to the EFS, just waiting for another ghoul to come out. Nothing. I let out a breath... again.

Shaky hooves carried me down the hallway. Pride of the Enclave right here. Spooked by a dark hallway and a few noises. “Come on, Autumn... get yourself together,” I said softly. “You're a Dragoon, skies-dammit. There's somepony here that needs help. Hodie non cras. Today, not tomorrow.”

I passed a few more open doors – mostly to janitor closets and offices – until I came to one locked one. “Experimental Treatments.” I checked my PipBuck's radio. The distress beacon was loud here. I quickly shut it off again and checked my EFS. Two amber dots floated at the top of my vision.

The Experimental Treatments door opened easily. An operating room lay beyond, table and everything. The opposite wall was a wall of glass, so dingy and dirty that my flashlight reflected back off it more than pierced through it.

The amber dots didn't move. I took a step into the room and panned the light left and right. The glass continued off to my left. To my right was a massive metal door and a locked terminal that glowed brightly in the dark room.

I took a few steps toward the glass to peer at it. An orange mare appeared right in front of me.

“Oh, thank Celestia!” she called out.

“FUCK!” I shouted, stumbling backwards. The lamp's light went streaking up to the ceiling and shook as I scrambled across my back toward the door.

“Sorry!” the mare giggled nevertheless. Somehow, I thought as I panted and fought to control a sensation not unlike a heart attack, she didn't sound too sorry.

Chapter 13

View Online

Chapter 13

“How'd you get stuck in there anyway?”

I was sitting on my haunches. It was hard to see each other through the grime that practically glowed in the light of our flashlights. I could tell the mare was fairly young, a unicorn, with pale orange fur and a light mane. That was about it. Her companion I hadn't seen yet, though I could see the other amber dot.

“Well, 's a long story,” the mare began with a sheepish tone.

“It's not that long.” A new voice, male but soft. I watched the amber dot shift on my EFS. I couldn't see him well at all, just a tall silhouette that was vaguely griffon-shaped.

“Starts with us comin' down t'check out th'hospital. We was hired t'find some medicine for somepony. They had some strange condition, so we figured, well, experimental treatments. Had t'be a place for medicine for strange conditions, yeah?”

“We found the door locked. Had to get through somehow, right? So we tried the terminal on the wall there. Peach Tea here powered it up, and it let us right in,” the male continued.

“What Ah wasn't expectin' though was that th'door was gonna then relock on us,” Peach Tea added. Her accent was thick but marginally different than the ones I had heard. Still spoke of country origins, though. And definitely not northern.

“I told you we should've wedged it,” the male said sheepishly. “I was worried it might lock.”

“Alright, so the door locked behind you. How'd you... get a signal out?”

“Mah PipBuck!” Peach said proudly. She held up her hoof. I couldn't quite see what she was showing off to me, given it was the source of her flashlight. “Gots a built in radio, an' even has a built-in distress signal. Course, Ah had t'rig it for more power t'get outta the basement but! Here ya is!”

Here I was. “So... I just access the terminal again to let you out?” I asked.

“Sho 'nuff.”

“Isn't there like, a fail-safe on the inside?” The terminal glowed and I inserted my PipBuck's connector cable to it.

“Oh, there's another terminal alright. But it doesn't work,” the male said. “Trust me. One of the first things we tried.”

“Ah done mah best on it but she's fried,” Peach Tea put in. “Ain't gonna work, not without some real fancy parts Ah ain't got.”

My earthy brown eyes scrolled down a list of characters. This was going to be a complex lock, I could already tell. “You uh, remember the password?”

“Naw, sorry.”

“It's all good, I still got a few attempts.” Which was a lie. I had to back out of the terminal twice and I still couldn't get it unlocked. “Okay, sit tight. The console's being a pain. I'm going to see if I can't find something to get this door unlocked.”

“Take your time,” the soft male voice said with a laugh. “We've got cards.”

“What he's sayin' is hurry th'fuck up, meanin' no offence, cause we been here a few hours already, an' Ah gotsta piss somethin' fierce.”

Right. I left the Experimental Treatments room and stood in the dark basement hallway. If I was going to store a reset password for a terminal in a hospital, where would I keep it...

My initial thoughts were the administrator's office, and that made me shake my head. Not that. Too high up. Maybe the head of Experimental Treatments? A computer department somewhere?

I checked down the hallway but there was no such thing for either option; no office for anypony, and no computer department. Just storage mostly. I hustled back out toward the hallway stairs, giving a quick double-time past the morgue so I didn't even have to think about it.

The heat and humidity struck me as I came back out of the basement into the sunlight. The stairwell looked relatively solid despite the missing back wall, yet I still tested every step gingerly as I went up it. Three steps up I rolled my eyes and unfurled my wings.

Forget that. I took off, flying up to the second floor landing. There was an Arcane Diseases department up here... what was the bet that they had the offices up here too? I trotted along the hallway, much brighter than the main floor. There were actual windows here, lining the walls. The grime on them and the early afternoon light lent the whole floor a warm orange glow. It was almost cozy.

I came up the stairs in front of a small hallway near the nurse's station. A skeleton sat in a chair behind the nurse's desk, resting back against the chair. A small pile of Rad-Away potion pouches were strewn on the desk, on the floor, one half-drunk on their lap. One single cigarette had fallen away to the floor and burnt a decent sized hole in the rug beneath the chair. The pack was still half-full; a smiling stallion prince on the front.

Bluebloods. “May I?” I asked softly to the skeleton as I took the pack and worked a single cigarette out. I raised my lighter in a small salute to the nurse before I lit up. Here was somepony that had stayed, fighting radiation poisoning and working tirelessly even as the world ended all around them. “Thanks.”

With the cigarette packet pocketed I checked the area. A few small offices were set near the stairs, as well as a quiet waiting room, but none of the offices were ones I could imagine the Experimental Treatments password being in. I went down the hallway to my left instead – the only other option considering the other wing was collapsed – and checked the doors as I went past. The first few were all recovery rooms, mostly empty, except for one.

When I opened the door a figure greeted me, though long dead. A pony skeleton hung from a frame above the bed, a loose moth-eaten hospital gown clinging to the bones. They had hanged themselves with a crude rope of bed sheets. I winced a little and gently closed the door behind me as I left.

All of this felt strange. The skeletons were starting to get almost commonplace at this point, but I was getting the distinct, odd feeling of intruding on somepony's tomb. Obviously no one had been in that room since the pony had died, except me, and it felt strange to be there. I had an overwhelming feeling that I didn't belong.

I turned down the hall. Once more I thought I saw a shadow of a pony not far from the door I had just closed but when I went to look it was gone.

A cold tinge of anxiety touched the back of my head as I walked down the silent second floor hallway. More recovery rooms. Arcane Diseases. I paused to look inside. There was a small waiting room beyond with a few brochures in a rack.

Be Aware of the Signs and Symptoms of Horn-rot, one read, while showing a unicorn with a bandaged horn.

Safe Intimate Arcane Practices read another, this one having a picture of a loving couple touching horns.

I chuckled a bit. Not quite what I was looking for, and quite frankly I was glad I didn't have to deal with anything like “Horn-rot”.

Just a few steps down from Arcane Diseases was a set of offices. “Doctor Midnight Star, Head of Arcane Disease Research,” I mumbled. “Doctor Featherfall, Head of Surgery... Aha! Doctor Bright Light, Head of Experimental Treatments.”

I tried the door handle. It was locked, but not a particularly strong one. I rolled my eyes and didn't even bother with subtlety. I turned my back to the door and rammed a good double-hoofed buck right below the lock.

Splinters flew through the air as the door slammed open. A ragged hole remained where the lock plate on the doorframe had been. Of course this had kicked up a ton of dust and wood particles, which immediately made me sneeze. The dust cloud seemed to glow with a faint green light.

My EFS updated with red.

“Oh, fuck off,” I breathed. The cloud of dust started to part.

Another ghoul was standing across the desk from me. Its jaw hung half off its face, held on only by a few commendably tenacious strips of flesh on the left side. It was missing half of its mane, and one eye was swollen shut. Its horn was cracked halfway up (maybe he could have used a pamphlet on Horn-rot).

And it glowed; an unhealthy bright green glow emanated from inside the creature which was definitely an odd look. The creature stared at me and I stared back. It snarled a raspy, hoarse snarl, but didn't charge like many of the other feral ghouls I'd seen so far. No, it look at me with a strange – and frightening - amount of intelligence. It started to circle the massive wooden desk between us, clearly aware that it was there and it couldn't just charge through it.

“Doctor Bright Light, I presume?” I snorted and raised my rifle. What a prophetic name. As the ghoul slowly crossed its way from behind the desk I unloaded the Sunbeam on him. Four shots drove right home into the ghoul's chest.

It kept on coming. I blinked as the unicorn ghoul's horn glowed a bright green. It could use spells? No fucking fa-

A massive concussive blast shot out from the ghoul's horn, throwing debris around the room. Desk supplies went flying, the window behind him shattered outward. A map of Equestria tumbled from the wall. And of course I went flying too. Out the room I went with an “Oof!”, sprawling across the hallway. Splinters of the door peppered my coat, but nothing serious on the outside.

On the outside: that was the key term. My PipBuck's radiation metre went wild, clicking angrily at me. That spell had smacked me with an intense burst of rads. I could taste metal in my mouth.

I looked up to see the ghoul free of the desk and charging at me. A well timed roll prevented me from getting flattened into the tile floor. I was up on my hooves in an instant, but my rifle didn't come with me. It was laying a few metres down the hallway.

I could just hear the voice of my drill sergeant chewing me out for not using my weapon's sling – or for not getting one in the first place.

“Oh, come the fuck on...”

The ghoul snarled in response. I grabbed my pistol and slipped into SATS.

True enough this ghoul was marked as “Dr. Bright Light” by the spell, and I could see it moving toward me in slow motion, broken teeth exposed and spittle flying. I had a feeling that those teeth would be as equally radioactive as the spell.

I targeted its head despite the poor hit chances and let fly with a few shots. Four rounds of 10mm went out, two hit, and none stopped him. The ghoul collided with me and we both went sprawling, but his momentum carried him over me while I stayed where I was. The glowing ghoul lit up his horn again and I flared out my wings.

This time I was ready for the concussion. It caught me square on, but I was a lot further away this time and my wings caught the blastwave, letting me take flight. I arced back toward my arcane energy rifle and grabbed it on the wing, soaring back down the hallway before turning quickly back. I was still airborne despite the cramped hallway.

My wings beat a few times to get me up to speed and I soared straight at the glowing ghoul, who charged at me in return. I fired shot after shot of my rifle at him. Firing so fast with an arcane weapon was always a bad call, as it usually tended to overheat a lot of important bits and degrade accuracy, but I didn't care. Angry red beams tore up the dirty tile and ripped through the glowing ghoul's coat.

I went over him. He bit upwards but only managed to take a few hairs off my tail and nothing more.

My hooves landed on the windowsill and I turned around, taking careful aim at his head.

He charged. I fired. What happened next surprised the shit out of me.

My last shot lanced out toward Dr. Bright Light. The ghoul's horn lit up again as it charged, ready for another blast of radiation. The single luckiest shot I made in my life hit home. See, I had been aiming for right between the ghoul's eyes. But I was elevated on the windowsill and he was moving at me. My shot went high – but that didn't mean I missed.

Red arcane energy smacked dead into the unicorn's lit horn. The effect of two deadly spells merging suddenly was... well, impressive. Like a pair of runaway trains headed straight for each other. Luckily my train had more mass behind it. Or energy, as it were.

The glow around the good doctor's horn turned to a bright red, and that glow spread outwards from the horn until its internal green glow had become a bright cherry light. Less than ten good strides from the windowsill, the ghoul doctor exploded outwards. The entire ghoul's body fell apart in a spray of bright sparks and falling ash.

I stood there on the windowsill for a moment, watching the pile of ash accumulate on the ground. This hadn't been like the time I'd vaporized a raider. The ghoul had literally exploded with an actual, audible “pop”.

“...fuck.” I climbed down from the windowsill and changed the gem pack in my weapon while it cooled. The air around the barrel visibly shimmered with heat. Next I pulled out a single dose of Rad-Away that I had. The liquid in the plastic pouch tasted faintly of carrots, if somepony had never actually had a carrot before. My PipBuck trilled: I was home free, no more radiation sickness. I could probably go for another dose to deal with the remaining radiation, but my PipBuck was assuring me I wasn't going to die of acute organ failure. Woo. Onto the office, then.

The ghoul's office was a mess, which made me worried I wouldn't be able to find what I would need to find. I crunched through the dust and debris, careful to avoid the broken glass and splintered door. A rather ominous looking crack had formed in the side walls – I would have to be quick.

A terminal glowed on the desk and I tested it. It was locked but the good doctor had taped a small note to the screen.

Sunny

I input the word into the computer. The password screen fell away and the terminal opened up before me. It was an inter-office email system. I selected one a few entries back.

“Dr. Bright Light,

I understand that you're the head of our Experimental Treatment department. I understand that you'll need to sometimes develop new methods of treatment and work with strange new ideas. But when proposing something to the board of directors, please, for all that is good in the world: a solid minute of stunned silence means “What the fuck did you do,” not “Please continue.”

In fact, continuing was probably the worst thing you could have done. Poor Starlight is still having nightmares. I'm attaching a copy of the Equestrian Medical Code of Ethics to this email, please read it over before proposing any more experiments like that.

Dr. Featherfall.

PS: I don't care who you sleep with on staff, but putting your mistress' name as your work area password is classless, even for you. Especially when her husband is our IT manager.”

I flicked over to the entry right after that.

“Hey, you know, my husband's out of town for the next week or so. Trade show in Canterlot. Janitor's closet on the tenth floor again? I'll bring the rope. Still got that old riding crop?

Rose Garden.”

I shuddered at the thought, considering all I knew of Dr. Bright Light was currently plastered all over the hallway outside.

Another entry followed.

“To ALL Doctors:

You may have seen the Equestrian fleet movements in the harbour today, and heard rumours of the approaching zebra fleet. Chances are good that we'll be looking at a fight Now, the ships do have their own medical facilities but they won't hold forever, and the battle will be dangerously close to the shore. Be ready to drop whatever project you're working on in order to help if we get swarmed with injured.

Dr. Featherfall.”

Next entry.

“URGENT

The reports are true. Cloudsdale has been hit. Canterlot is sealed off. I've heard unconfirmed reports from Manehattan too and early warning alarms are going off across Equestria. I'm staying, but I won't force anypony else to. Be with your families. Stay only if you wish.

Stay strong. I hope we'll all meet again.

Dr. Featherfall.”

One last entry.

“Light, I'm scared. The alarms keep going off. The radiation burns... I'm coming to see you. We'll make a run for it. I love you. Rose.”

I blinked back a sudden wave of emotion. The date on the last two emails was the same day the war officially ended. The day the megaspells fell. I can't even imagine what it would have been like on that day, to see Equestria all come crashing down around everypony's ears. The day we closed the sky and the day we locked ourselves away.

All this: the ghouls, the crumbling walls, the radiation, the raiders... all of this caused by disagreements spun far out of control.

I sighed softly and pushed myself back from the desk. I may not be able to bring back Old Equestria, save anypony from back then... but I at least had the password to save two ponies now, and that was worth something.

-=O=-

Rosegarden.

The lock on the door hissed and clanked as it rolled back and the heavy metal door opened up.

“Hoo, shit! We're outta here!” Peach cried out as she stepped out of the room. She immediately went to hug me. “Y'all a lifesaver.” She let me go and stepped back. “Whatcha name, anyway?”

I was about to answer when the other figure stepped out, and I suddenly understood the idea of being struck dumb.

The griffon that stepped out was gorgeous. His coat was a warm sandy colour, like a beach in the afternoon. The feathers around his head and wings were a steel grey, well preened and well kept. A few feathers formed a little crest over his head, just between two golden eyes set by his beak. I'd never seen a griffon up close before. This one was... something else.

I felt my heart race a bit. My cheeks went red. I was definitely staring. So was the griffon for that matter, staring back at me. Our eyes met and he looked down at his talons. He was blushing too (and it was cute as fuck). Peach Tea looked at me expectantly.

“Wha- Oh. Uh, Autumn.” I shook my head a little and offered a hoof. I'd not felt like this in a while.

“Thanks for th'help, Autumn. Ah'm Peach Tea, this is Renfeld.”

“Call me Ren,” the griffon said. His voice was still quiet and soft and oh-so cute.

In the light I got a better look at them. Ren was decked out in combat armour not unlike mine, just built for his species, and decorated with an icon of a dagger held between a griffon skull's beak. He was armed with a heavy, crude-looking assault rifle.

Peach Tea's creme mane was tied back in a ponytail, the matching-coloured tail just flowing free. She was wearing a bright blue body suit trimmed in yellow. The number 223 was printed on the sleeves and back. She had a black vest on that said “PPD” on the back... and a PipBuck on her left foreleg though one in a style radically different from mine.

Hers was smaller, mounted to a wrist bracelet. The same controls as my chest remote were mounted on the device itself. It looked newer overall and cleaner, better maintained.

Peach Tea smiled at me and nodded. “Ya saved our asses.” She floated up an odd weapon, a boxy looking shotgun that had controls for somepony with fingers – or talons, as it were. The weapon had to be griffon make.

“You at least find what you were looking for?” I asked, managing to stop staring at the gorgeous griffon.

“Oh yeah,” Peach Tea said, racking the bolt on her shotgun. “Found exactly what we needed in here, so that ain't bad. Was worth th'problems.”

I nodded. Peach slipped past me, followed by Ren, followed by me. “Where're we off to?” I asked.

“Back to the Temple, they'll probably be waiting for us,” Ren said with a shrug. “Anywhere but here, really.”

“I hear that.”

“Hey,” Peach glanced my way. “We uh, heard them explosions up topside. What was that all 'bout?”

“Oh, uh... don't worry about it. Everything's uh... fine. Just fine,” I lied.

“Uh huh.”

Somewhere far above us, a piece of plaster fell to the concrete below. I heard it crash down softly outside when we got to the basement stairs.

We went up and out of the hospital again. Peach let out a sigh as the sun hit her face and she trotted forward, swishing her tail happily. “Feels good bein' out again!” She grinned and looked over at me. “One heckuva day. Ah love it.”

Ren smiled softly at her excitement and nodded to me. “Thanks.” I could swear there was just the smallest tinge of pink under the feathers of his cheeks.

“Any time.”

We started walking back across the pavement. Peach Tea lifted her PipBuck and flicked a few switches. Music started piping out of a speaker that was still tall and tinny, but not nearly as bad as the one on mine.

“-or me, send for me... You'll never want any other, send for me, send for me... I promise you I'll be true, send for me... send for me...”

“That's a PipBuck?” I asked Peach.

“Sho is!” she said, slowing her pace a little to come alongside me. She held out her hoof. I could see the engraving right there on the top: PipBuck 3000. “Damned useful bit of gear. We talkin' radiation counter, inventory sorter, radio, map, targeting spells-”

“Oh, I know, I got one too, just... different.”

She blinked. “Y'all got one too?”

“Yeah.” I pulled the tablet out of a pocket on my barding. My old, scratched up PipBuck 2000. “Just a real older model.”

She burst out laughing. “Ha! No shit there. That thing real old. Still works? SATS an' all?”

“Yeah, for the most part. Radio sucks compared to yours.”

She grinned and turned it up. The bass kept grooving while a deep voice crooned on.

“I'll be there to protect you, wait and see, wait and see! Don't delay, right away, send for me... send for me... It's gonna be, twiddle-dee, yessiree, you and me, faithfully...”

“That's Orange Sky, with Send for Me. Hope you're enjoying the day, my little ponies. This is the one, the only, the stallion with the music, DJ Shorty. Here's a little word of advice from me to you, because I'm just that kind of guy. If you're out and about and doing your thing around town, try and avoid the edges of krewe areas. Sure, the krewe areas are safe, but in those little cracks on the borders, well, there's been an uptick of raiders slipping through and setting up shop. So keep your head up on a swivel, my little ponies, before somepony mounts it on a spike, eh?”

“Yeah, ya can say that again...” Peach mumbled.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Raider activity. S'real up. Keepin' Ren an' Ah real busy.”

“Not to mention the rest of the Scoundrels,” Ren pointed out. “Everypony and their dog wants guarding these days. Not that I mind, but... it's tiring.”

“-e leaving you with this song, a real favourite of mine. How about I get out my Big Ten Inch, which just happens to be Tapkey's favourite thing in the... heh, okay, I can't repeat that sign on air. Oh, wow, am I getting a death glare, ha! Here you go, my little ponies.” Some bombastic trumpets kicked in.

“Got me the strangest ma~are, believe me this chick's no cinch, but I really get her goin' when I get out my big ten inch... record of the band that plays the blues~ band that plays the blues~”

Peach Tea giggled. “Heh, never heard that one 'fore.”

I grinned and looked over at Ren. In the sun he was a lot more handsome, especially with how the sand colour of his coat glowed. “You're mercenaries, right?”

“Ayup!” Peach said happily.

“Yeah, uh... heh. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.”

“You're not rott-” I began automatically until I saw Ren's wry grin. I chuckled a bit. “Oh. Aha. The merc band's name.”

“Yup.” He grinned. “Heard of us?”

“On the radio a few days back. Shortwave warned folks to be careful because of you.”

Peach and Ren exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing. I felt like I missed something and blinked.

“Ha! Y'all ain't gots a thing t'worry about from Ren!” Peach giggled.

“Hey!” Ren said with a fake huff of indignation, puffing out his chest. “I am the most intimidating griffon around!”

“Ah dunno, Ren, Ah seen th'way ya look up at Kortig. Ah think he gotcha beat!”

Ren shook his head. “What the Freeloader (“Hey!” Peach interjected) is trying to say here is that we're really nothing to worry about. Kortig's a good leader, and doesn't tolerate anything like what some other bands get away with.”

“Like what?”

“Well, some other griffon mercs have gotten... pretty nasty reputations. Some of them deserved. The Talons for instance can get a little... rowdy.”

Peach snorted. “Rowdy's a light way'a puttin' it.”

“And fairly true,” Ren pointed out. “But yeah. Kortig's good people. So are most of the Scoundrels.”

“How many've you got?” I asked.

“Oh, about ten.” Ren tilted his head as he thought it over. “Myself, Peach, Kortig, Swen, Drache, Ana, Dieter... I'm still learning a few of their names, I'm ah... a little new,” he admitted with a soft laugh.

I blinked and looked at Peach. “You're with them?”

“Yup!” She said happily.

“But you-”

“Ah ain't a griffon, no. But Ah figure Ah'd give it a shot anyway. Kortig done laughed so hard Ah thought he was gonna piss hisself, but here Ah am. Ah think they just took me 'long 'cause nopony every asked t'be a griffon merc afore, an' they found it funny.”

“So that's why Ren called you a Freeloader?”

Peach Tea shot the griffon a playful glare. “ 's a joke Swen came up with. Cause Ah ain't a griffon so Ah'm just freeloadin' on they contracts. But Ah'm as good a merc as any of em, an' better with gun repair too.” She wiggled her rump. A crossed bullet and spring cutie mark graced her flank. “So they can suck it!”

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. She at least knew what she was aiming for in life. I couldn't imagine why she was aiming for being a griffon merc but, hey, power to her.

We were taking a different route back to town it would seem. I had just been following Peach Tea and Renfeld, not really paying attention, but I noticed our route was taking us through some tight alleyways and side streets. The narrow buildings of Neigh Orleans hemmed us in. Bright colours were now faded, cracked and worn, with long vines clinging to many buildings. Wrought-iron balconies rusted and sagged above our heads. Everything was so tightly packed somepony could easily cross the entirety of the Old Quarter just on rooftop alone; that is if they were crazy enough (or desperate enough) to climb to the roof and start running. Only two streets were too wide to do that on: the two main streets that hemmed the Old Quarter in on either side.

There was an odd beauty to it all. The narrow streets should have been anxiety inducing but, in a group like this, they felt safe. I felt like I was being drawn into wanting to explore, to wander, to find out what was around the next corner, down the next alley, through the next wrought-iron archway. I wanted to see more of the city.

We wandered our way down an alleyway while Peach's music kept us company, filling the quiet between us. We didn't really speak much, which was fine. It was a comfortable sort of silence. I got the feeling that Peach was the louder of the two. Ren just didn't seem to talk much, taking all of everything in with a soft cute smile.

After a while we emerged into a wide square, one of the first wide open areas I'd seen in the Old Quarter so far. To my left the walkway went out toward the bay, up onto an elevated platform to get a look at what was there – and of course to hold back the tides. To my right a park stretched out toward a tall white building who's three spires soared over the buildings nearby. It was easily the tallest one I'd seen outside of the city's downtown core.

“There it is: the Temple,” Peach said simply.

“Temple to what?”

“The Goddesses, of course! What else there'd be a temple to?” She said it so matter-of-factly as if I should have already known something like that.

“The Princesses,” Ren whispered into my ear as he came alongside. “You looked confused.”

“Thanks,” I whispered back.

Peach Tea led the way up the path to the Temple itself. Along the way we came up to a tall bronze statue. I stopped a moment to get a good look.

A earth pony mare stood proudly, one hoof raised and resting on a boulder. Her face was set in a determined expression cast forever in worn bronze, looking off toward the bay. A breeze frozen in time pushed her mane back in long curls. She wore combat armour nearly identical to my old Enclave set; old Royal Equestrian Army issue and had a large machine gun on her battle saddle. Beneath her statue was a dedication plaque.

“For Cornsilk Blues, hometown hero. Battle of Fet Loch, Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.” I read aloud.

“Y'all comin'?” Peach called out from the steps. I hurried after her.

The Temple soared over our heads. The white facade was nearly spotless despite all the decades that had passed since the end of the Great War. Atop the three spires were dark roofs that ended in tall peaks above the square. Atop the rightmost spire sat a rickety-looking antenna that must have been held up by little more than duct-tape and a dream. It was canted at an odd angle as it jutted out into the darkening afternoon sky. On the middle spire was a gleaming brass disc on a short stem, showing an image of half a sun, and a crescent moon that formed the other half.

There were no visible guards outside the building but I knew they were there. Call it a soldier's instinct or whatever, but I felt it the moment I passed some invisible threshold. My eyes were drawn to the two spires that flanked the middle one. They both had some open belfries near the top, dark and shuttered, but if I ran the place, you'd be damn sure I'd have guards there. Guaranteed there were some there. Under their watchful eyes Peach Tea opened the door to allow Renfeld and I into the Temple.

Level Up!

Level 7

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers (Better MEW damage)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 14

View Online

Chapter 14

The first thing that struck me about the place was how airy it was inside. The whole building seemed hollow and open with a wide arched ceiling. The room soared over my head as it extended back quite a ways. At the far end of the hall was a raised platform upon which stood a table covered with a gold-trimmed pink cover. On the front of the cover was the same sun-and-moon icon as the one over the largest spire outside. Behind this table was a huge stained glass window set above the platform. On it were two alicorns, white and blue, circling a small globe; our world.

Rows of benches had been moved into small little groups around the bottom floor of the place, some forming the bottom edge of some scrap wood walls, others forming just open sitting areas. Along one side of the building was what looked almost like a cafe, with long tables erected between the benches. A few ponies milled about in the rather hushed hall. Somewhere a radio played quietly.

“Oh sweetheart, I ask no more than this, a kiss to build a dream on... Give me a kiss before you leave me, and my imagination will feed my hungry heart. Give me one thing before we part; a kiss to build a dream on~”

“It's beautiful,” I said softly as we entered.

“Peach! Renfeld!” A warm voice called from not far away. A unicorn zony came walking slowly toward us. His appearance matched the warmth in his voice. The coat between his stripes was a warm orange, and the stripes a red-orange colour (or was it that the coat was red-orange, and the stripes orange? I hadn't quite figured that out with zebras). Together they invoked the feeling of a warm sunny day, which was put at odds by his rather dour dress. A black long-sleeved shirt with a small square of white at the collar. Not terribly inviting. “Good news, Ah hope?” he drawled.

“Ayup!” Peach Tea floated out a small case from her saddlebags. “We gots it.”

The zony laughed and gave her a hug before taking the case from her. “Doctor Bean!” He called out.

“Yes?” somepony drawled overhead. A green unicorn stallion's head poked out from the balcony, and his eyes went wide. “Is that-?”

“It is.” The case floated up to the balcony where the other unicorn nabbed it and immediately ducked back behind the rail.

“Y'all done us all an amazin' service, truly.” The zony fished out a small pouch from his coat and offered it to Peach and Ren. “Payment due, of course, but ya also have my eternal gratitude. The Sisters smile down on us all today.”

I blinked a little as the zony turned to look at me. “And it seems y'all made a friend on the road. And ya is?” He extended a hoof.

“Autumn Breeze.”

“Pleasure to meet ya, Autumn. They call me Father Sunray.” I could see why. Cheery disposition, warm coat colours. Didn't quite get the Father part; maybe he just used it as a title, like how he was the father of everypony here, or something. “Welcome to the Temple.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “If, ah... I'm new here. What exactly is this place?”

Sunray opened his mouth to speak but Peach held up a hoof. “Uh, sorry, Father, but before we gets ta this, is Vanilla in? Ah got some caps Ah feel like spendin'.”

“Upstairs, as usual.” He smiled at her. “Thank ya again. Y'all saved a life today.” By extension I figured that meant I also saved a life too. It felt good, even without the cap reward. Somepony's life had been saved which might not have been had I not found the distress signal.

After Peach left he turned to me again. “This is a sanctuary for everypony what needs one,” Sunray said simply. “Those that aren't able to secure and defend a home, have been rejected or forced out of the krewes, aren't able to afford the Grand. Whatever it may be, Ah'm here to provide for them. There's a li'l over a dozen under my care.” He turned to look at the large stained glass window across from us. “This place had originally been built as a temple to the Elements of Harmony. Ah found it intact after dreamin' of a place like this, a dream of Celestia an' Luna herself. The Goddesses themselves brought me here.”

I blinked. That didn't quite sound... plausible. I knew magic was magic and all, but the Princesses were dead, long ago. Had to have been. If they weren't dead, they would still have been active in Equestria. I could understand having them as deities; I was kind of liking the idea, actually. The idea that we were still being watched over, still being guided... it was nice, even if it wasn't any direct intervention. The Enclave didn't have a deity to speak of. No form of religion. The sky somewhat served as something to curse on, something like a god to some, but it certainly wasn't anything like these Goddesses were.

But as much as I liked the idea, I couldn't quite bring myself to think that the sisters had come to this one zony in particular and told him to find this place. He was a little odd to me, but Sunray seemed harmless enough... and the place did seem safe.

Ren glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and gave me a little knowing smile. He probably could tell I was confused.

“If ya a friend to Renfeld and Peach Tea, ya a friend of us. Stay whenever ya need to.” Sunray smiled and gave me a little nod before walking away.

Ren's smile broke out into a wider grin.

“What?” I asked.

“You look like someone just told you they were visited by the Ghost of Hearth's Warming Past.”

I snorted in laughter. “Just about. You believe that?”

He shook his feathered head. “Nah. Not that I'd tell Sunray. Or Peach. She seems to really dig the whole Goddess idea. I just don't quite believe in anything like that. You know. Prophecies. Visions.”

“You believe in anything?” I asked.

Ren shrugged. “I never quite thought about it. Not really, I guess.”

“Well, I guess he just... really, really believes in it. Like weirdly. Long as he's harmless, I guess.”

“Oh, I have no problem with it. I just find it funny. And you looked hilariously confused.” Ren smiled at me. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks a little.

I looked around the room. On the walls were numerous smaller stained glass windows. Many of them featured the same two alicorns – Luna and Celestia – and various stories I'd heard as a foal. One was the story of Nightmare Moon (“The Mare in the Moon”, as the book went). There were six different ponies featured on the last six windows nearest the Temple's main window, however.

“You uh, know anything about these windows?”

“Kinda.” Ren chuckled. “Sunray told me about them when Peach and I got here. Why?”

“Just curious. I mean, I recognize Luna and Celestia, and that one there-” I pointed a wing at one. At this distance the details were difficult to pick out, but she was instantly recognizable to anypony from the Enclave. Bright blue glass formed her coat, while intricately placed slivers of colour had been woven into a multi-coloured mane. “That's Rainbow Dash. The others though... I dunno.”

“Well, I just kinda know their names, from what Sunray's said before. They were all the bearers of the Elements of Harmony at the end of the War.”

I snorted softly. “Not much Harmony then.” That earned me a gentle punch on the shoulder from Ren and a sheepish smile.

“Hush, you. The white one, closest to us? Rarity, Element of Generosity. Leader of the Ministry of Image during the war, according to Sunray. Across the hall, the yellow one? Fluttershy. She's the Element of Kindness, which fits, because she formed the Ministry of Peace.” I squinted a little at the stained glass window. Something about her, about the name “Ministry of Peace”, was familiar to me. I looked closer. Three pink butterflies floated over the mare's head and on her flank and I clicked my tongue.

I'd seen those icons before, everywhere. On the Pharmacy sign at Cornucopia, on every medical box I'd come across. The Ministry of Peace. Must have been them who ran the medical stuff back then. Made total sense now.

“Uh, who else... orange one, who looks a bit like Peach? Applejack, Element of Honesty. Did something with tech during the War, I forgot what. Then there's Rainbow Dash, who you said you know, Element of Loyalty-”

I snorted without thinking and immediately scrunched up my muzzle. Whoops. I mean, I wasn't the kind of pegasus that was a chest-beating supporter of the Enclave, but I loved my country and my fellow ponies. To know that the one that had abandoned us, the one that had betrayed the Enclave and induced a few others – known as Dashites in her dubious honour – to abandon the Enclave too, was known as the Element of Loyalty was kind of amusing. Loyalty would have been staying behind to change the problems from within, not tapping out and flying away.

Ren stopped and cocked his head a little. “What's so funny?”

“Oh, uh... nothing.” It was one of the worst lies I'd told, but how was I going to explain to somepony that I knew her story of betrayal when I wasn't supposed to let anypony know I was from the Enclave? I was maintaining the illusion of being a ground-born pegasus after all. “I just ah... sometimes heard she was more... more loyal to herself than others. Sometimes. Just something I came across.”

“Well, I mean, I guess we all can be sometimes. Uh, moving on... Pink one, that's Pinkie Pie.”

“Ministry of Morale,” I said automatically. I remembered those weird, glowing-eyed brochures at the grocery store. The mental image of the pink mare's comically stretched ear came back to me and I burst into giggles.

“Heh, Element of Laughter too.” Ren grinned. “Seen some of the posters of her around?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Last one there?”

“Twilight Sparkle. Element of Magic. Ran some ministry for magic during the War, forgot the exact name.”

Sunray walked over to us and smiled. “Ministry of Arcane Sciences for Twilight, and Wartime Technology for Applejack. Six bearers of the Elements of Harmony, six Ministers of Equestria. Each of those mares embodied something important in the world. Ah strive to follow in their hoofsteps and get others to, too.” Sunray looked out over at the little cafe area, where a few ponies were eating. “Everypony has a virtue they embody. If'n Ah can just get more to embody some positive virtues, maybe we can get this world back on its hooves.” He turned to look at me, his eyes meeting mine. “Think ya found ya virtue?”

I shrugged. I honestly had no answer for him, put on the spot like that. I liked saving folks, and the idea of protecting them. That's why I joined the Enclave forces after all. Did that count as a positive virtue, the kind that would get me a little stained glass window in a Temple somewhere? It seemed to be pretty much a normal thing for the average pony. Everypony was fundamentally good, right? Even raiders engaged in violence in order to save and protect their own, in a twisted way.

Sunray got me thinking, though. What did I embody? What did I try to be in the Wasteland? The better pony, sure, but I'd killed a few ponies by now and knew I'd be killing more. Could I be the better pony and still kill? It wasn't a question I was able to answer right away.

“Y'all don't have to answer right away. Ah just like t'ask.” Sunray patted my foreleg and trotted away again.

Ren chuckled. “Everypony. No griffons, though.”

“Well, what virtue do you embody?”

“Right now, hunger.” He grinned at me. “Food?”

-=O=-

Music piped softly out of the stereo next to us as Ren and I sat together. Two plates were left aside with the last crumbs of food on them. It hadn't occurred to me that Ren was a carnivore, being a griffon and all, until he'd gotten a plate with a slab of roasted meat on it. It hadn't smelled half bad, honestly, but the idea of eating meat was still off the table – as much as it had been at lunch with Comet and his plate of bacon. Maybe one day.

With our dinner done I was enjoying a smoke. Ren had taken one from my pack of Bluebloods, and both of us sat quietly while rings of smoke curled around the table and up to the vaulted ceiling. The music was an instrumental, just a bombastic brass and drum number that didn't quite jive with the quiet evening I was having, but hey. Could be worse.

“Hey, Ren?” I asked softly. There was something tugging at the back of my mind, a little craving of sorts.

“Yeah?”

“Want some coffee?”

I saw him instantly perk up, though his look was somewhat cautious. “Never had it before. I uh, don't think they have it here though. Peach keeps looking for tins and says all the ones she's found have gone bad.”

I grinned a bit and winked at him. “I've got a secret method, don't worry. Go grab two mugs of boiling hot water.”

The griffon looked apprehensive for a moment before getting up and wandering over to the kitchen.

While he was away I dug out two little packets from inside my saddlebags, taking it from my little stash. I had been craving a cup after quite a few days out here, and I couldn't think of a better situation to share a bit of coffee than with a griffon I was starting to get kind of fond of. He was cute, what could I say?

Thankfully the two little brown packets weren't labelled any farther than just “Coffee, Instant, Type 2” (What Type 1 was and why it different I didn't know and had never bothered to ask). Explaining how I got possession of not one but multiple Enclave-marked coffee packets would get interesting.

Ren returned with two cups of steaming water and I nodded. Cupping the packets in my wing I poured them into the cups and stirred mine with the handle of my spoon. Ren followed suit. I watched as he sniffed the cup and looked at me.

“Where'd you get this stuff?”

“I have my ways,” I assured him as I balled up the packets of coffee. “There was a military base not far from where I grew up. Old Equestrian Army rations used to have coffee packets and cigarettes. Three guesses how I got my addictions, huh?”

Ren laughed at that. “Fair enough. That all there is to it?”

“Well I mean there's sugar and creamer too. Comes with each packet. I usually just put a bit of sugar in mine.” I passed over two more packets to Ren for him to add if he wanted.

“They really thought of everything, huh?”

“Well, I mean, aside from maybe not destroying the world,” I pointed out as I added a packet of sugar to my coffee and stirred it in. I looked down at it for a moment and chuckled softly. “Sorry, that was dark.”

“Don't worry about it.” Ren smiled at me.

“So uh... where are you from, anyway?”

“Rockwington,” the griffon said as he blew on the coffee to cool it. “Little community, or what's left of one, west of the Painted Pinto desert. You know, near Dodge Junction?”

“Oh, yeah. I kinda know where that is.”

Ren nodded. “You?”

“Chicacolt. A small farm area near there, just on the outskirts.”

“Cool. Been doing the mercenary thing long?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I kinda fell into it, admittedly. Y'know. One job leads to another, caps start piling in, all that jazz.”

Ren laughed softly. “Funny enough, I kinda know how that goes. Things are a bit different for us though.”

“Oh?” I took a sip of my coffee and fished out another cigarette. I offered the pack to Ren, who shook his head.

“Yeah, it's kind of a griffon... thing, you know? Like, earth ponies make good farmers. Griffons make good fighters.” The griffon shrugged. “We don't really... ah, have much to go on. Most griffon lands aren't exactly fertile to begin with and the war just made it worse. So we rely on what we always have: exporting mercenaries.”

“Not a fan of the life?”

“I like it, don't get me wrong. I love wearing the armour, I love the romance of it all. It's just kinda tiring being a mercenary. My parents were, it was expected I was too.” Ren sipped his coffee. “Hmm. Little bitter, not bad though.”

“Felt like being something else?” I asked with a soft smile.

“No, but if I did, I didn't really have any opportunity for it. At least I get to see some cool places. Kortig brought us here to try and establish a new toehold, considering there were no other griffon merc bands down in Martingale.”

“Getting to be a pioneer's not terrible,” I pointed out.

“Sure. And I like helping.”

I took a sip of coffee. “That's something, I guess.” The comfortable silence fell around us again as I lit up the second cigarette with the burning ember of the first. We watched as the evening wound down around the Temple. Ponies were off to bed, others slipping out into the evening. Occasionally I would glance over at Ren, and occasionally would find him glancing back.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“No, just...” I blushed a bit. “Just relaxing. Enjoying some quiet.”

“Enjoy it while you can.” It would turn out to be prophetic advice.

-=O=-

“I don't like this.”

The rain gently pattered down across the cracked pavement as we trotted along. Peach Tea was leading the column, and I wasn't far behind with Ren. It was Ren who spoke, his head on a swivel as he looked around the area. We were on the edge of the Old Quarter, north of it, and many of the buildings were starting to spread apart. Logically it should have made us feel safer: less places to get as good an ambush on us.

And yet I felt it too. There were eyes out there, in the shadows, watching us. I couldn't exactly put my hoof on it, not yet, but I knew it.

“Ah don't like it neither,” Peach Tea said softly. She floated her shotgun out and let it hang from its strap in front of her barding, where it bounced lightly off the security vest she wore. I followed suit, my Sunbeam 2000 resting across the front of my own combat armour.

“This is... Maisha territory, isn't it?” I asked. “The zebra krewe.”

“Ah think so, but Ah dunno 'em that well. Ah think ya got me beat on that one, Autumn.”

I snorted in laughter. “Well, shit. I don't know anything about the krewes.”

“So long as we know a li'l 'bout different krewes, we good.”

Something moved up ahead. I glanced up. There was a highway overpass that ran overhead. If I squinted through the morning haze and the soft rain, I could just make out what looked like an equine figure standing there. As I stared it ducked down and vanished.

“What's up?” Ren asked softly.

“Eyes on us,” I said quickly. “Overpass.”

“Copy.”

We had to pass underneath the overpass to go wherever Peach was leading us. As the shadow of the old structure passed over our heads and blocked some of the rain I got a bit of a chill. We weren't alone. My EFS jittered a little, on and off. Amber lights on the edge of my vision that flickered away as soon as I looked. Peach was looking in the same directions.

“Ah think we're-” she began as we emerged from the overpass.

Two zebra stallions stood in the middle of the road. One wore a large battle-saddle with two rifles pointed directly at us, his stripes a deep crimson. The other had a wide-bladed sword strapped to his side, and a heavy looking revolver on the front of his chest. His stripes were of dark blue.

“Lost?” the sword-zebra drawled, his voice smooth as silk, dark as a predator's.

“Ah'd say you is,” the other one's voice was significantly less smooth. It growled as if he'd been smoking from the moment he was born and gargled gravel daily.

I noticed they hadn't lit up on my EFS despite being right in front of me, until they started shifting. Mine must have been motion-activated. Fucking old school technology.

“Oh, they is definitely lost.” The sword-zebra grinned as more zebra emerged from the darkness under the overpass. They did light up on my EFS, which confirmed my earlier suspicions. Fucking hate out-of-date tech. I bet Peach Tea's EFS worked all the time.

“I don't see no stripes on those coats. I don't see no dubloon. So that means y'all ain't meant to be here.” The sword-zebra turned to his companion. “Whaddya think?”

“Ah says we fuck em up.”

Peach Tea raised her shotgun, pointing the massive barrel right at the battle-saddle zebra. “Try it!”

Other guns came up. I turned to my right, pointing my arcane energy rifle at a zebra mare who had a T-shaped machine pistol pointed at my face. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ren level a sizable pistol with one talon, his assault rifle in his other talon, pointed at another target.

Everything was quiet for a few moments while everypony assessed their options. Oh sure, we'd get a few shots off. But so would they. And, doing a quick bit of mental math, there were three more zebras that would be left alive than us, which meant that even if we did take out all our targets and they got us too, they'd still come out on top.

Not the best scenario.

“Oh, come on, y'all really pulling this shit?” the sword-zebra asked. “This ain't a movie. This our territory, an' I don-”

“Rosko!” a female voice cried out sharply. “Desoto!”

The voice's effect was immediate. Every zebra there looked as if they'd just seen – or rather heard – a ghost. Even Desoto, the gravel-voiced zebra (judging by how he reacted on the second name), looked a little cowed.

A figure stepped out from behind a tall stone wall that ran along the road ahead. She was an elderly zebra mare, her curled mane cropped tight to her head. A deep purple shawl trimmed with red was tied around her neck and draped down her back. She was flanked by twin unicorn zonies, both with blue stripes on a light grey coat. Both zonies had their horns flared up, and shotguns floated along with them. One was also pulling double-duty by holding an umbrella over the elderly mare's head.

She barked out commands in rapid-fire Zwahili. Two of the zebras nearest to me exchanged glances. The mare I'd been facing immediately lowered her machine pistol. The elderly zebra shook her head.

“Ah leave you two alone for ten minutes...”

“Stay outta this, Mamma-” I blinked as Rosko, the sword-zebra, spoke. Mamma? “This krewe business, ain't nothin' y'all gotta be concerned with.”

“Excuse me?” Mamma barked. “Krewe business is my business, ya no-good-” her insult came out in Zwahili. As she spoke she approached Rosko and cuffed him upside the head with her hoof. She may have been small – Rosko had at least a head extra height on her – but the zebra immediately shied away. “Now since when do we threaten guests?”

“They ain't guests,” Desoto grunted.

“They's guests if Ah say they is,” the elderly mare pointed out.

“Look, Kas said-” Rosko began.

“Ah don't care if Kaskazini said t'rebuild the statue in Harmony Square into his own image. Ah don't care if'n he said t'repaint th'entire district three times over. Ah know what he said, he said t'use your brain an' think on who we lettin' through.” She turned to look at all of us. “Look at them. Ain't threatenin' 'till y'all came an' shoved guns in they faces. They're guests, just passin' through. We ain't gonna get much business our way if we start killin' everypony what comes by.”

Mamma looked at the other zebras and barked out more Zwahili. Most of the others slowly melted away into the shadows again, leaving just herself, her twin guards, plus Rosko and Desoto. “If they pose no threat, then they ain't to be treated like one. Do y'all understand?” she asked Rosko. He remained silent. She raised her hoof again and the zebra shied away.

“Yes, Mamma.”

“An' you?” she asked Desoto. She got a grunt in reply, but it seemed to please her. “Good. Now you two skitter on back t'whatever hole you was in. Ah best not see y'all threatenin' passerbys again.”

The two zebras exchanged glances before leaving, heading down a narrow alleyway. Mamma waited a few more moments, staring down the alley they'd left, before looking at us. By now Ren had holstered his pistol and brought his rifle back down. Peach looked at me and I looked at her, and we both lowered our weapons to the low-ready: barrels at the ground, but still held and ready to go.

“Ah'm sorry,” the elderly mare said softly. “Some of these colts ain't got a single brain cell to share 'tween 'em half the time. Other half they get stuck on the same damn fool idea.” She shook her head and sighed. “They didn't hurt y'all at least?”

“No, we're good,” I said. “Got a bit tense there, thank you.”

She waved a dismissive hoof. “Don't mention it. Krewe's losin' it's way a little. Wasn't long ago we let anypony visit what wanted to.” She clicked her tongue. “Bah, Ah'm ramblin'. Name's Praline Sweet, though most call me Mamma Praline. Just passin' through? Ah'd hate to look the fool after all that.”

“Yup,” Peach drawled. “Ah heard there was a famous gunsmith what lived up north, by an ol' museum. Ah wanted to check out his workshop if'n Ah can find it.”

Praline Sweet nodded. “Ah think Ah know the one. Just north of here, past the old Magazine Street, yeah?”

“Ah think so, goin' off th'map anyway...”

“Well, don't mind. Ah'll make sure y'all can pass without too much trouble from here on out.”

Ren looked at the mare. “Do you lead the krewe here?” he asked.

“Me? Lead the krewe? Aha!” Mamma Praline burst into laughter. “No, son, that's my idiot nephew's job. Things'd be a lot different if Ah was in real control. No, Ah'm just the spiritual leader. The mambo. Technically it's supposed to give me more power than it does most days. But most folk'll listen to me when Ah speak. Ain't that right?” she asked the zony on her left, who nodded but said nothing. “He don't talk much, don't worry. If y'all passin' through, want to stop in for tea?”

With how the rain was starting to intensify outside, I could definitely go for some tea, so long as it was indoors.

Chapter 15

View Online

Chapter 15

The room was rather cozy and welcoming, which was a stark contrast to the rest of the welcome we'd had in Maisha territory. It was one of those narrow but long houses I'd seen everywhere in Neigh Orleans, this one painted in a multitude of colours outside. Inside it was a little dark, but not in an ominous way. Mixed with the heat and the tea, I could easily find myself dozing off.

It was just the four of us around a small round table in Mamma Praline's kitchen, enjoying cups of some strong tea. Rain pattered against the windows, and the light had taken on a grey look as it poured through the gloom. I cast my eyes around the room, taking in the strange decorations. Painted wooden masks, small stone idols, strings of beads. None of it made sense to me, but they had a certain charm to them.

“You said your krewe was losing it's way a little?” Ren asked after a few minutes of quiet.

“Mm.” Praline set her teacup down. “That's puttin' it real gentle. Things is gettin' rocky out there. Folk are gettin' scared. We've been havin' trouble with raiders more an' more an' it's startin' to get to folk.”

“Raiders? Ah thought they steered clear'a krewe territory,” Peach pointed out.

“Well they do, usually. But they've all been gettin' real bold lately. Gettin' deeper and deeper into the city limits, really pushin' at the edges of krewe territory. Just a week ago we lost three of our own and took four more injured to a raider incursion on the west of our territory. Somethin', Ah dunno what, is drivin' them to get bolder. Armin' 'em too.” Praline shrugged. “Ah don't like it. When they get like this, it usually mean somethin's goin' t'happen. Like a breakin' levee.”

“Let me guess, it's made your nephew paranoid,” I ventured.

“Bingo. Y'all got eyes like a griffon,” she said with a giggle. “But you right. Kaskazini, my nephew, started imposin' stricter rules on those what can come an' go from the territory. Made it harder for visitors to come in safely. Breakin' off old ties, not botherin' to make new ones. Some of ours...” her tone of voice was full of venom as she spoke. “Think that the Maisha Social Club bein' only for zebras mean only zebras should be in our territory an' try to drive out all non-zebra an' non-zony. That ain't what we about at all. We was about – should still be about – unity. Bein' proud of our stripes, showin' that we ain't what we was back in the War. Gettin' a chunk of land for ourselves.

Instead, we got a number of folk startin' to think it'd be best if we expanded. If we kept Maisha for zebra only, an' violently keepin' pony-folk out by takin' they territory, which ain't right. Ain't who we are. That's keepin' to stereotypes right there. Violent zebra invaders an' all. Ah can't stand it. But they got my nephew's ear, made him lock off our territory, tighten the screws.”

“Which is why we got threatened,” I reasoned.

“Yup.”

“These raiders,” I began slowly. “They uh, they from a unified group at all? Maybe a krewe of their own?”

Mamma Praline scratched her chin a moment, then lead back in her chair. She shouted something in Zwahili toward the front of the house – little elderly mare had a heck of a good set of pipes, with how loud she could yell at her age – and waited for a reply. I couldn't catch the reply but she nodded slowly.

“Mmm, might be a new krewe. Most had a grey horseshoe painted on their barding somewhere.”

“Oh.” I sipped my tea. I had wondered about that. Comet Spark had said some similar stuff when we were adventuring out together, about how raiders were getting a little restless through the city and all that. And then there were the raiders we'd killed at the crossroads, each bearing a symbol of a grey horseshoe... Comet had thought they were a new krewe, but didn't recognize the symbol.

“Recognize it?” Praline asked.

“Not really. I just... kinda encountered other raiders like that. A few days back, out on the edge of the city past the river.”

“Hmm. Ah don't like the sound a that. Not one bit.” Mamma Praline sighed. “Never good when raiders organize. Especially if it's goin' to keep wedgin' us all apart like this. Ah been sayin' it for years, we should be unitin' with the other krewes. So much here goin' to waste over stupid stuff like where in the city you stayin' in. It's just... ah, never mind.”

Peach chuckled softly. “Just how we is as equines.”

“Ah suppose,” Praline said quietly. “Ain't how it should be. Once upon a time we was happy to take guests in. Show 'em real hospitality. But if these raiders keep at it, we gonna find these borders locked tighter'n a fly's ass, Ah tell ya that.” A heavy silence fell as she contemplated the idea of united raiders somewhere in the city. I was contemplating it too and didn't like the conclusions. If a raider group could organized, unite, they could roll over a divided city easily. Mamma Praline was right: they'd need unity if there truly was a threat like that out there.

Ren looked up. “You said you were the spiritual leader of the Maisha Social Club?” he asked.

Happy for the change of tone, Praline Sweet smiled warmly. “Ah is!”

“Spiritual how?”

“Zoodoo.”

Peach Tea snorted in laughter, receiving a wing in the ribs from me that made her jump. “What? Ah'm just imaginin' her round a cauldron, doin' evil dances, puttin' folk in trances...” She got another wing, this time from Ren, right into the ribs.

Praline didn't seem to mind. She was grinning over the top of her teacup. “Careful Ah don't make you into a big tasty stew, Peach.” Peach blanched a little and Praline burst into giggles. “It ain't like that, don't worry. Some folk out there need somethin' to cling to when things get real bad. When the food run out, when the water talisman breaks, when houses get robbed. Folk need to believe it ain't just pure random luck. They turn to me, an' the spirits. Zoodoo just ol' zebra shamanism with a new look.”

“So ya talk t'spirits?” Peach asked.

“Ah do. Whether or not ya believe it, Ah do. Ain't much different than how an earth pony reads the ground, or a pegasus reads the weather. We got our own innate magics, just th'same, just work a little different.” Praline finished off her tea. “So Ah provide leadership in that role with a little bit of alchemy an' shamanism on the side to fix some of the bigger problems. Many in Maisha believe, at least as far as they get help. It's just tradition. Y'all gonna find many o' us tend t'be real traditionalists. It's why Kaskazini's zebra-only policy rings so true. S'tradition by now, an' ya can't fight tradition.”

“So what's going to happen?” Renfeld asked.

Praline Sweet circled her hoof on the table. “Ah can't really say. With folks so scared they's turning to tradition an' strength to get 'em through. But they'd rather hear that they's got someone strong at th'tiller, ready t'go t'the wall for 'em. Shoot, can't blame 'em. Nopony wanna hear some ol' biddy talkin' 'bout peace an' unity. Wasn't peace th'old Caesar used to unite th'tribes, they'll tell me. Weren't talkin'. 'Less ya consider “join or die” talkin'. Which Ah certainly don't. Anyways, y'all say ya headed north, t'the museum?”

“No, well, near there Ah suppose. But an' ol' gunsmith's shop. S'what Ah do,” Peach explained.

“Well, y'ain't far. Just up the road from here. Best way to get there would be to cross the street, go through the cemetery to the next street, then turn north an' keep goin' from there,” Mamma Praline said. “Should take you right there. Just be careful through the cemetery. Can get a little rough sometimes. Wild magic 'round these parts, it can do some strange stuff as ya pass through.”

“Thank you for the tea,” Ren said softly. “We'll take the advice to heart.”

“No worry no thing. If you're ever in the area again, stop on by. Ah like the company. Nice to be reminded that not everypony out there has their head up their rumps. Be safe, you three. Ah'll spread the news 'bout safe passage, but still. It may take time.” She waved a hoof, and one of her twin zony stallions came up with a trio of purple beads, each bearing a purple top-hat symbol on them.

“Take these an' wear 'em. May help. Good luck.”

-=O=-

A tall stone wall arched up on either side of us. From end to end, the enclosed cemetery was only a few hundred yards, not even. But with the rain coming down, the dingy grey afternoon light, and the way the elevated, crumbling gravestones hemmed the narrow paths in, it might as well have been a few hundred kilometers away. It just looked off, as if something wasn't right about it.

“You first,” Ren said, nudging Peach with his wing.

“Nu-uh. Y'all first.” She nudged me with her magic.

“Oh, come on. It's just a cemetery. You want to worry about something, worry about raiders or whatever. This is nothing.” I was equally weirded out by the place but if somepony didn't take the lead we'd just be scuffing our hooves and getting soaked for an hour. I took a few steps forward through the gap in the stone wall.

Nothing happened, of course. It was just a cemetery. I walked slowly along the path, Ren and Peach a few steps behind me. My PipBuck's lamp shot out from the front of the remote, lighting up a small patch ahead of me. Things were quiet here, alarmingly so. All I could hear was the patter of rain on stone, the hoofsteps – and soft padding of Ren's hindpaws – behind me, and little else. It was as if the sounds of Neigh Orleans vanished in the cemetery.

A few of the grave markers were covered in flecked paint. Most of it was worn and scratched off, but a few looked as if they'd gotten some recent coats.

“Why are they painted like that?” Ren asked quietly. “Don't usually see colour in a graveyard.”

“Ah dunno.”

“They're the graves of Watu ponies,” I explained. “Uh, it's like some zebra and pony cultural mix, far as I've been told. They paint their graves in the coat and mane colours, or coat and stripe colours if they were zonies.”

“How'd ya know that?” Peach asked.

“Just something I heard.” I grinned at her and turned to look forward again. As I did the light of my PipBuck caught the edge of what looked like a shadow standing nearby to a gravestone. When I looked at it I didn't see anything, and just figured it was my own shadow lit by Peach Tea's own PipBuck.

I took a few steps forward and immediately blacked out. I was still conscious, but my vision went blank. I was dimly aware of my jaw moving, of the sensation of falling forward, and of a sudden rush of cold.

The day was bright and sunny, but tension was tight in the air. Ponies went about their business quickly, not stopping for chats with storeowners or passing acquaintances. There were things to do, places to be, no time for anything outside of that. Go, go, go, busy, busy, busy. The carriage rolled down the concrete, stuck in a long line of traffic that wasn't seeming to get anywhere. Exasperated sighs, shouted curses. A hoof-fight on the side of the road. In the harbour three behemoths of steel floated, long guns pointed to the horizon. A thump in the distance, like a deep roll of thunder somewhere far off.

Sirens. Ponies running to their carriages, running along the side of the overpass, running as fast as they could. Still the sirens roared. The steel behemoths fired once, twice, again and again. A dozen loud roars that rattled windows and shook trees. Something splashed into the water.

Hooves dug into the pavement, running through the chaos. More thumps, more splashes in the water. Black dots on the horizon, before the guns of the ships in the bay. Distant thunder again, followed by an explosion. One of the ships was hit, a column of flame rising through the air. Shards of metal tore through the water of the bay. A loud whistling filled the air as the second shell flew overhead. Heads turned to follow it.

The tallest building in the city caught the round as it crashed down. A low-yield balefire shell burst in the upper floors of a bank building. Green necromantic fire engulfed the top floors. Somepony screamed. Off in the harbour came another explosion, larger, louder. Windows burst in their frames as one of the steel behemoths went up in a column of smoke and flames licking green and red. The blast wave came on – sudden, violent.

A carriage took flight. My vision went black.

I was on the ground of the cemetery, alone. A leering stone face stared down at me from a tombstone. I scrambled up onto my hooves and called out. Nopony replied at first. I looked down either side from me. The stone wall went off in either direction, pockmarked by small grave markers. I went right, figuring it was the right direction. I got to the end of the wall and turned right, only to see another long wall. I sighed and hustled along the narrow tombstones, crumbling and weather-worn.

I turned right again, only to find another long wall. I blinked and tilted my head. This wasn't right. The cemetery was roughly square and that meant I should have passed one side of the gate by now. I ran down the length of the wall, heart thudding. Something wasn't right.

My hooves skidded off the wet grass. There was an indentation beneath a tombstone, roughly the size of a curled up pony. A stone face leered down at the indentation. My heart stopped a second. What the actual fuck?!

“Just be careful through the cemetery. Can get a little rough sometimes. Wild magic 'round these parts, it can do some strange stuff as ya pass through.” Praline Sweet's words echoed in my ear. I felt panic rising in my chest. If this was wild magic, then what chance did I, as a pegasus, have to get out? Well, fuck if I wasn't going to try it my way.

I unfurled my wings and took straight up into the air. The maze-like rows of the cemetery seemed way bigger from above. I could see two figures nearby. Ren was over by one gate, with Peach standing stock-still in the centre of the cemetery. With a shout I landed next to Peach. She was staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused. She wavered on the spot, then her eyes suddenly came into focus and she screamed out. I jumped back and then gently put a wing on her shoulder.

“Get aw- oh, it's y'all, Ah'm sorry, Autumn.”

“It's okay. What... what happened?”

“Ah don't know. Ah really don't.” She looked at me, trembling slightly. “Ah saw fire. Lots of fire.”

A retching sound hit my ears. Ren was leaned on the gate, retching off the side. I trotted over quickly and put my wing on his shoulder; Peach was right behind me. Ren held up a talon. “I-I'm okay. I think.”

“...what in th'fuck-” Peach Tea began.

I turned to look back into the cemetery. It looked like a crowd of silhouettes on either side of the path, hemmed in and gathered, broken up by the beam of my flashlight. As I stared they seemed to fade away.

Whatever the fuck was going on in this cemetery I wanted nothing to do with it. Praline Sweet had warned us, but I don't think Mamma Praline knew quite how new we were to this area. If she had, her warning might have been more specific or more dear. Or maybe it had to do with that “wild magic” she'd mentioned. Maybe it was usually safe, but just not today. Whatever the case was, I wanted out.

“Let's never go here again, ayup?” Peach said quietly.

“Agreed,” Ren said, hiking his rifle up over his shoulder a little. “Let's go. We can't be far off now.”

We left the cemetery behind. A narrow street took us away from it, and the rain kept driving down on our heads.

-=O=-

We weren't two blocks out of the cemetery when my PipBuck registered a quick flash of movement. Peach's ears twitched. She'd seen it too, on her EFS – she must have.

Ren jerked next to me, hit by a hammer blow to the chest. The crack came a split second later. The griffon stumbled and got back up again almost immediately.

“Down!” Peach shouted. She rolled off to the side and behind a mailbox. We didn't have much cover, but even concealment like that helped. And there were some small things we could use. The narrow street was lined with mailboxes, newspaper dispensers, things of that nature. Wouldn't stop a rifle bullet, but it would make a clean shot difficult.

I went down, crawling behind a carriage parked along the road. Ren got in behind a trashcan nearby, tucking his wings in tight. I wanted to take flight and get better cover, but the street was too narrow. Not to mention, taking flight didn't make us winged folk unbeatable, contrary to what folks thought. See, most pegasi (and griffons too I suspect) could get some impressive speed in the air, and be agile too. They were harder to hit. But they were also incredibly exposed. There was no cover in the sky, and as soon as you took flight well, everypony would start shooting at the big, easy to see, flying thing rather than a harder to see, harder to hit covered thing.

That meant I was stuck on the ground for now, at least until I could figure where they were shooting from – and then get behind, or above, them.

A few more rifle shots rang out, tearing holes in the cobblestones. I peered out from behind my carriage. On two of the balconies, about fifty meters down the road, were two equine figures. My EFS was registering more in the street, but I couldn't see them through the rain and whatever they covered behind.

I took aim at the nearest figure on one of the wrought-iron balconies and fired a few quick shots from my Sunbeam. They were wild, but they had the right effect: the pony ducked down. I heard a curse in a language that wasn't Equestrian. It sounded like Zwahili.

“This is our turf, pony fucks!” someone else shouted out. That confirmed it. Definitely zebra.

The next few shots were rapid-fire, from some automatic weapon meant to keep our heads down. It definitely did that: none of us peered out.

“Ha! Fuckin' cowards!” the voice continued. “This is why we takin' over! Stripes only!” the voice laughed raucously at that and more fire was being poured down the street at us. I could see EFS icons moving. They were moving up, closer and closer, and we couldn't peer out. Any time Peach or Ren moved they got a burst of suppressing fire their way.

“Look! We ain't takin' over shit, we just passin' th-” a few shots peppered the mailbox Peach was behind. Low calibre pistol, so it didn't go through.

“Ah look like Ah give a fuck? All this ours now!”

A striped figure stepped out of an alleyway off to my side and raised a shotgun. I ducked just in time for the buckshot to just barely clear my mane, and I responded with a couple quick shots of the Sunbeam. The rifle was a little low-powered against the zebra's armour though, so while a few did melt straight through, they didn't take him down yet. He raised his shotgun again and I had nowhere to go. He had me flanked, dead to rights.

Shots whizzed past my ear from a loud, clattering rifle. Ren's shots took the zebra square in the neck and dropped him easily. The zebra's shot went wild and clipped me in the side, scratching up my armour. One ball of buckshot got into a gap between the armour and my flank protection, lodging itself in the flesh. I snarled.

“You good?” Ren called out, rifle still shouldered, the heavy griffon piece steaming in the rain.

“Y-yeah!” I spat out through the pain.

“Can you fly?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He looked at Peach. “We'll draw their attention-” wait, we? “-you get a better position and flank them!” Ren looked at me and motioned up to the balconies. “Fancy a flight?”

Well, maybe two flying targets stood a better chance than one. They might split their fire. I spread my wings, Ren spread his, and we both took off. There was definite hesitation to the gunfire from the zebras as they figured out what to do with two suddenly airborne targets. Then the shots came. Most missed us – my initial burst of speed was a lot quicker than they'd anticipated – but they were irritatingly close.

Pain shot through my side from the buckshot ball. It would slow me down in the air, and I was visibly wincing. The shot was lodged in just the right spot that every movement that shifted my body and my hindquarters would squeeze on the wound.

Still, it felt good to be airborne again after a week or so on hoof, save for a few short hops of flight here and there. It felt even better to be airborne and fighting again. This was my element. The Wasteland may be an unfamiliar place, full of unfamiliar creatures and terrain I didn't know, but this was my house now. I was an Enclave soldier, a Dragoon, airborne, armed, and ready. So buckshot in my side or not, it. Was. On.

I weaved under a fusillade of gunfire and dove for the road, right at a pair of zebras hidden behind a large wagon. They both fired up at me, rattling the balcony above them with gunfire. I sprayed them with a few blasts and took off straight up. Before they could even react Ren had let loose with a burst of his own from nearby, and he was gone too.

Shots continued to sail at us, but nopony was sure who to hit first. The griffon and I were fighting in a rough kind of synchronicity. One of us would swoop in, strafe a target, and the other would come in for a clean up. I nailed one of the balcony shooters in the face with a few Sunbeam shots; Ren got the other from somewhere high up. We knew to not fly too close to each other to keep their fire separate. On the rare occasions they concentrated fire at just one of us, the other took care of the distracted group.

We were a perfect pair of flying death machines. He had his merc training, I had Enclave drill. Together, well, we were quite frankly terrifying. And yet things were getting a little hairy. Shots were landing close now. One or two hit me square in the chest. One went straight through my left hindleg, causing me to scream out in pain. Ren took another to the chest and one through the wing, which immediately sent him spiralling down due to the initial shock of pain.

He hit the ground not far from the carriage I'd hidden behind earlier. “Ren!” I called out.

From my vantage point I could see a small group of zebras charging down the carriage. Two were flanking, the others drawing attention. I levelled my Sunbeam and let loose. The rain helped keep it cool but even with that I lost accuracy after four or five shots. By the eighth shot, my arcane energy blasts were wildly splashing down around the targets. I'd hit them a few times, but the low power of my rifle was an issue. Nopony was going down.

Against ghouls, no problem. These zebras were made of tougher stuff. Or maybe just lack of maintenance was getting to the rifle. Something hit me in the chest, aggravating the wound on my side. One of the zebras had gotten to the balcony again and was drawing a bead on me with an assault rifle. I had to put on some speed to avoid his long burst. I still got hit a few times, luckily just glancing armour blows, but the impacts still hurt. Little concussive bursts against my side. Down below the zebras were gaining on the carriage.

Ren's wing was spread out, blood running thin through the water. He was calmly reloading his rifle, but I was worried. He didn't have much chance, good rifle-griff or not, against a quartet of prepared flankers. Turns out I had nothing to worry about.

From below, a combat shotgun roared. Peach Tea had gotten into position and was tearing a well-armoured shooter to shreds with her buckshot. The armour held up initially, but after three or four shots dead centre mass, the armour started to crumble – and soon the figure fell over. Before he hit the ground she had the shotgun moving to the next target. Two shots on that one, then she was on to the next. She moved incredibly fast, efficiency made flesh, reloading her shotgun between two shots so fast it barely seemed like there was a break.

I realized I was watching SATS from the outside for the first time. Her gun reacted before she even did, pointing to targets with lethal efficiency while her equine brain tried to keep up to the speed of the arcane. In the back of my head I could hear Comet Spark again.

“Twilight fuckin' Sparkle, that was bad ass!”

The way Peach Tea moved was awesome to watch. I felt a rush of sympathy for everypony I'd put on the receiving end of my own SATS. It must have been terrifying to see. I couldn't even imagine how effective a whole squadron under SATS' effects could be.

Peach's spell seemed to run out. She stopped in the middle of the street and yelped as a bullet hit her side. I turned toward the source of the shots and saw the zebra behind a concrete barrier. I flew dead on at him, which surprised the zebra. He looked at me like I was crazy, and didn't even go for the trigger until it was too late. Four angry red beams lanced into his face and neck, and the stallion went down. I arced down to the street and collapsed into a heap on the sidewalk. Pain shot through me as I settled to the wet pavement.

“We good?” I called out hoarsely.

“We good. Y'all hurt?” Peach called back.

“A little.” A lot. Buckshot in my side, countless grazed hits, a rifle slug in my hindleg. I was a mess of small wounds that each hurt like mad. Nothing major on their own, but together, they were dangerous. I uncorked a small bottle of healing potion and took a long sip... and then I mentally steeled myself.

This time I managed to avoid retching as the bullets squeezed out of their wounds and clattered to the ground, and I didn't even scream. Much.

Rain pattered against the still bodies in the street. It gathered up the blood pouring out into a long river that flowed steadily toward old drains alongside the streets. As I'd expected, they were all zebras or zonies. I recognized a few. The mare with the machine pistol from our standoff was lying against a column, one of her legs missing, the stump where it had been was charred black. One of my shots.

News of our safe passage must have travelled too slowly. Either that, or those two zonies, Rosko and Desoto, had enough followers and enough balls between them to ignore the orders – though I didn't seem them anywhere in the bodies. Whatever the case, we were alive... and that was what mattered. I made my way back toward Peach and Ren, who were both grabbing healing potions of their own. I was worried mostly about Ren.

He'd taken a few nasty hits and had to take a healing potion of his own. He seemed to have less experience at it than me, crying out in agony as the potion rid his body first of the bullets, then knit itself shut. He was unsteady as the last wound stitched shut.

I rushed to his side and helped keep him from keeling over. He looked awful, but still gave me a small smile. “Thanks.” His voice was hoarse.

“Any time.” I meant it. “You'll live.”

“Damn well hope so, for how much these potions costs.” I couldn't help but laugh at that, which made my sore side hurt.

“If y'all two are done eye-bangin', we should get goin'.”

I snorted at Peach. Ren just blushed. We all got to moving away from the grisly site before any other zebras showed up to wonder what the gunfire was all about. If there were this many interested in keeping this corner of Equestria for zebras only, there had to be more.

We hurried out of their territory as quickly as our battered frames could.

Chapter 16

View Online

Chapter 16

The Equestrian Museum of War was a brutish looking building. Tall and imposing, made of corrugated steel and few windows. It looked like one of the hangars from Satchel Mouth airport. I felt for a moment like I was back home with the rest of the flight, buffing out our armour, smoking, telling lewd jokes.

It looked deserted, though. Nopony around to tell a lewd joke to, except Peach Tea and Renfeld of course – and I swear Peach knew more jokes than I did.

“What's the bet-” I began as we passed the museum, my PipBuck automatically adding it to my map of the area; a map that was getting fuller and fuller by the passing hour. “- that that place has some seriously good firepower?”

“How so?” Ren asked.

“I mean like, we did okay in that fight, but we could probably do with some better firepower. My rifle's not great, yours looks a little... well, ragged. And a shotgun is fine, but not at longer ranges,” I pointed out.

Peach shrugged. “Ah wouldn't say no to some more firepower. Coulda used a missile or some grenades back there.”

I chuckled. I could just imagine how quick that fight would have ended with a well placed missile to the middle of the group. Or how quickly it could have gone badly for us if they'd thrown a well placed grenade.

“Wanna check it out?” I offered.

“Sure,” Peach said. “Ah'm just lookin' for gunsmithin' tools. Ah can do that after we leave. Lead the way.”

“And it's probably dry,” Ren said quietly. We were all soaked from the rain which didn't seem to want to let up at all. I could do to get a little dryer.

A cavernous front lobby greeted us. Inside the museum was as quiet and deserted as the outside. Dingy grey light shone through the dirty glass of the front, illuminating frayed red stanchions and shuttered ticket booths.

Above our heads hung a massive replica of a Vertibuck, one of the many joint ventures between the pony races that had brought about technological marvels. Earth pony engineering, unicorn science, pegasus designs. We still used Vertibucks just like this one in the Enclave, though full sized and painted a sky blue. I mean shit, I'd flown to Neigh Orleans in one just like this one. The bulbous, almost bug-like vehicle was hanging precariously from old supports that I didn't quite trust.

“What in the fuck is that?” Peach Tea said softly as she looked up at it.

“Vertibuck,” I said quietly. Ren glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “I uh, saw a picture of one once. Spent a night in a Royal Equestrian Air Force recruiting centre once. Heh. They said that anypony could join, wings or not, now that they were fielding these vertibucks. In reality I doubt any earth pony worth their salt would ever step onto one.”

The Vertibuck creaked ominously as we passed under it deeper into the museum. Beyond the old machine was a ticket counter that had long since stopped giving out anything. Brochures lay rotted and dusty on the counters, corners curled and pictures faded. The glass behind the counters were all shuttered, preventing us from seeing inside. The EFS wasn't registering anything though. All was quiet.

Two paths awaited us. The Past and The Future. Beneath the headers listed the exhibits beyond: The Past contained Equestria's not-always-peaceful past encounters with other races: The Griffon Wars, the Changeling Incursion. The multiple zebra border disputes. Heck, there was even an entry for the Sombra War. The Future talked about the war that had been going on before Equestria turned to a wasteland. Weapons of the future, arcanotechnology at its finest, developments in warfare, the megaspells, the Hall of Heroes...

“Ya really think we gon' find anythin' here?” Peach asked softly. Even though the museum was no longer taking in guests, it still felt odd to talk in anything louder than a whisper.

Ren shrugged. “You never know. Museums don't usually hold replicas. I mean, most of the weapons we'll find are old, but should be functional. Shit, I'd trust a weapon held in a case for a century rather than one behind a bar counter, exposed to the elements.”

Peach frowned at him. “Look, how was Ah supposed to know that coach gun weren't good?”

“The rust, maybe?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

I grinned a bit. “Ren's got a point. Any weapons kept here are going to be in pretty good condition.” I hefted my own rifle. The Sunbeam 2000 was a good, durable magical energy rifle, but even it was in rough shape. I could see a crack in the stock, I knew I had worn the focus lenses out from some pretty hardcore shooting, and I was getting less shots per gem pack than I should. An upgrade was definitely in order, and for arcane weapons, I would trust a preserved museum piece over anything I grabbed from a raider. My Sunbeam had been fine so far, but for how much longer I didn't know.

“Alright. So we's goin' past or future?”

“I'm interested in seeing the past a bit,” Ren said quietly, nodding doing the path to our left. I nodded and motioned for them to follow.

“History time, I suppose,” I said as we walked.

The hallway led to the first exhibit hall. A few had been here before us. The debris around the place had been disturbed in just the right way; way less than a century's worth of dust covered the room. Many cases were cracked or outright broken, as a few folks had definitely had the same idea we'd had. Most artifacts were still left behind, but some weapons – clubs, stone axes, things of that nature – had been pulled out. Well, when desperation called, I suppose even a millennium-old club would do... for all of like one hit, maybe. Hopefully it was a good hit.

The past exhibits weren't much to look at. Weapons and warfare from a time when the different ponies were still different tribes. Pre-contact zebra weaponry. Griffon bows. Names I didn't recognize.

Peach Tea screamed in fright when we entered the next room. A griffon was flying toward us, a stone club raised in his talons and his beak opened in a silent, wordless scream. It took me by surprise too, till I noticed the griffon wasn't moving. Just an old statue, meant to represent a griffon warrior from long in their past.

“T-the fuck they do that for...” she mumbled, lowering her shotgun. I hadn't even seen her draw it. I doubt SATS would allow her to target a statue, so she must really have just been that fast. Add another example to the list for why I wouldn't piss her off.

I saw Ren stare at the griffon and motion for some more light. I got a bit closer and flicked on my PipBuck lamp. The chest lamp lit up the statue a little more. It wasn't... entirely accurate. The griffon looked wilder than any griffon I'd seen – even in propaganda posters – with bristled feathers, a jagged beak, and vicious warpaint around its red eyes. Blood was painted onto its talons, even the ones raising the club.

“...We don't look like that,” Ren said softly. It was an odd tone, one I couldn't place. I reached out with a wing and put it gently on his shoulder.

“No, y'all don't,” Peach assured him.

Ren ran his talon along the griffon's beak, examining the way it was clipped to give it jagged saw-teeth. “No, I mean, we really don't look like this... do we?” the last bit was added rather quietly. I only caught it because I was standing next to him.

My heart went out to him. Griffons had long since been portrayed as vicious fighters, mercenaries for hire, bloodthirsty killers ready to fight for little more than their own amusement if not a little profit on the side. Still, to see a depiction of that, of a slavering, violent killer... it obviously hurt him. I couldn't even imagine what was going through his head at that moment.

I put my hoof on his outstretched talon. “It's just a statue. Obviously meant to frighten. Come on.”

He put his talon down and nodded slowly, leading the way past the statue. A header over the doorway told us the hall we were in:

The Griffon Wars.

I winced a little as we entered.

The Wars had been some of the only times ponies had outright gone to war. There'd been two big ones, and one smaller one. None of them had been good to either of our nations. The first hall dealt, obviously, with the first one. Ancient history even before the Great War. The various displays laid out the history, history I'd known only superficially through my Enclave education. Most of it seemed to match with what I knew.

Griffons and Ponies met. Griffons wanted Pony land. Ponies refused. Griffons wiped a Pony settlement from the map. Ponies respond by burning a Griffon town. Four years of back and forth, of raids on each other's towns, until the Princesses step in and get a diplomatic end to everything. “Remember the River Canter” and all that.

“This is wrong.”

I looked up from a miniature model of the last battle – the stoic defence by the Hoofington militia, the famous charge by the Solar Brigade to break through the griffon lines and allow the Equestrian forces to succeed in a counterattack (and thus turn the tide of the war in its last year) – to see Ren standing in the middle of the room. He was looking at the displays with his golden eyes wide, his feathers bristled in annoyance, his talons trembling.

“All of this is wrong.”

“How so?” I asked.

“The Massacre of the Canter River? Bullshit. We didn't massacre anyone. Every griffon knows that. It was propaganda, a misunderstood diplomatic mission.”

“But the settlement-”

“Was wiped out when the riverbanks overflowed. The diplomatic team included a company of troops for protection – and it just so happened they were closest to help. Those farmers that came back... they didn't know what they saw.”

“Y'all sure?” Peach asked from somewhere up the hall. “Ah mean, that's a real big mistake t'make, Ah can't imagine that.”

“I'm damn sure.” Renfeld looked at me. “What use would we have in wiping out a settlement like that? If we wanted the farmland, we'd take it over, sure. But why wipe out all the houses?” He snorted in annoyance. “Doesn't make sense. This is wrong. Not at all how it went.”

I watched him as he walked out of the room, shaking his head in disgust. I looked over at the battle plan again. I knew these stories as I'd been told them... the Charge of the Solar Brigade was famous, after all. They became the Destriers, who eventually became the famed Solar Guard – Celestia's own personal body guards. Those who survived anyway. I couldn't believe that so much history, the history I knew, could be wrong.

-=O=-

By the time we got through the Past, I was starting to believe Ren.

Every one of the displays we passed, each exhibit hall, had the same strong bias toward the contributions of ponies and nothing else. There was no mention of the griffons that helped out during the Sombra War (much to Ren's disgust) beyond just the basic token “Well they were there and kinda helped”, despite the fact that anypony who could read between the lines and analyze the fighting knew that without the griffon shock troops, we would have lost. The zebra border disputes had apparently always been started by zebra malcontents, even though on more than one occasion that meant the zebras had apparently decided to start up a border skirmish for no reason, against innocent pony settlements that just happened to cross a border by “accident”.

I was starting to see the real picture by the end of the Past exhibit. Every exhibit had been paid for, been sponsored by, or otherwise approved by the Ministry of Image. They were the propagandists, the ones who controlled the message.

And the message here was clear: pure, chest-thumping, pro-Equestrian sentiment. At the darkest periods of the war, ponies could always look back at our previous fights and know we'd come out on top. We always had, at least according to the Ministry of Image. We were always the good ones. Never a dark stain on our reputation.

All according to the Ministry of Image.

It was a disgusting mockery of history, of real heroes, of real sacrifice. None of it meant anything if it could just be written however somepony wanted it to go. History may have been written by the victors, but in my view it was down to the victors to ensure some sense of legitimacy to the history. To lose the lessons of the past, the real lessons, was... it simply was out of the realm of possibility for me. I walked among the displays is disgust, every Enclave high school history lesson (most matching the displays for information) crumbling like a worn-out building.

And if the Past exhibit was a horrible representation of the past, it wasn't like it was good for weaponry either. Most of the good stuff had been taken away, either out of their cases before the end or robbed after the apocalypse. A few old griffon muskets remained, but Ren just had a laugh about that. Why take a gun that needed ten seconds per shot when his could put out ten shots in a second? Anything and everything that was somewhat usable had been taken away. Neighponese battle armour. Destrier horn-blades. Old original Canterlot Solar Guard uniforms.

Shit, someone had taken Thatch Roof's prototype aerial combat harness. Seriously. I stood outside the case and shook my head at the broken glass. Back in the First Changeling Incursion, long before the famous Siege of Canterlot, Thatch had found that while his pegasus air force were good, changeling chitin was just a little more durable than pony flesh, and their fangs and hoof-blades cut deep. So he'd come up with a new system, a new way of doing things. The first aerial combat harness. Armour and weapons in one, to give ponies the edge in the skies against the changeling forces.

Later the ACH became more advanced, more deadly... and about a century later became the basis for the first pegasus power armour, funnily enough.

But back then it had just been frames of wood and canvas and basic iron blades. But somepony had been desperate enough to take a centuries old bit of harness and use it as a weapon. Well, power to them, I suppose. Fly on, you crazy pegasus (if it even was a pegasus).

By this point Peach had declared the museum a bust and gone off to the gunsmith's shop next door that she'd been looking for, leaving Ren and I to cross between the Past and the Future on our own.

A circular hall connected the two main exhibit buildings. The lights were dim, but somewhere an emergency arcane generator was still holding desperately on with admirable dedication. A few bulbs glowed faintly in their sockets above our heads, illuminating a long mural that went around the entire room, end to end. Without any sunlight to fade it and just a few weak lightbulbs overhead, the colours remained remarkably vivid. I could see every detail on every inch of it as we entered.

“Wow...” Ren said softly.

I looked slowly around the room. It seemed to start on our left, with images of ranks of earth ponies in gleaming steel, pegasi in their plumed helmets, unicorns with their dark robes. Time flowed onward much the way it had in the exhibit to show pictures of heroes I'd seen in my own history books. Up above, flying wingtip to wingtip with other famous flyers, was Thatch Roof (and his famous harness, which looked in better shape in paint form than it likely did on whoever had it now). The formation of flyers took us toward the Great War. Ironwing, General Stormy, Rainbow Dash, Spitfire. I couldn't help but smile a bit. No Enclave flyers, but I could see where we could paint some in later.

Below them, ranks on ranks of troops in Royal Equestrian Army uniforms marched past like a parade, showing off the change in style in one unbroken rank, from the old red and blue coats of the past to the modern khaki of the Great War. And at the far end: power armoured ponies, gleaming new in styles I was both familiar with and styles I'd never seen. Prototypes, maybe. Artist imaginings.

On the other side of the hall, opposite the fighting mural, was images of “back home” as it were. Of proud factory workers and farmers supplying the army. Of parades to heroes back in their hometowns. Statues and memorials. A casket at a funeral, draped in the royal flag. Retirement events, speeches, a couple embracing in the middle of Manehattan's Theatre Square: the mare bent backwards by her smartly uniformed coltfriend as they locked lips to the cheering and falling ticker-tape of a parade that marked the end of the first few years of the Great War and some of Equestria's first victories.

Ren was staring at that image as I came up to him. We both looked up at the couple for a moment.

“Handsome, isn't he?” Ren said with a soft chuckle.

“W-what? Oh, yeah.”

“It's the uniform. I mean, this whole place has the history wrong... but if there's one thing you ponies did right, it's the uniform.” I could see a tinge of red in his cheeks by the light of my PipBuck lamp. “Can't say I mind a guy in uniform.”

I shuffled nervously, weight moving from one set of hooves to the other. I was technically a “guy in uniform”.

“That's why I joined the Scoundrels, actually.”

I glanced sideways at him. We still faced the mural of the kissing couple. “Guys in uniform?”

Renfeld laughed, shaking his head a little. “Well, I mean, my boss is kinda hot when he's in uniform...”

I couldn't help but laugh at that. We both shared a little laugh for a while before quieting down. I worked a cigarette out of a pack and lit up while we stood around.

“No Enclave here I noticed,” Ren continued.

“Enclave?” I feigned ignorance.

“Oh, come on. You're ground-born, but you gotta know the Enclave.”

“I mean, I heard of 'em, but I just never thought they were, uh, a thing.”

Ren shrugged. “They are. Power armour and all.” He motioned for the side behind us, the warfare side, with its power armoured ponies. “Griffons deal with them a lot. You'd think there'd be enough sky over Equestria for us to have our own sections, but no.” I winced slightly, knowing exactly where this was going. “Constant fighting over borders. It's crazy. All we've been through so far, and we're still wasting lives over territory. We should be rebuilding.”

“But we're not,” I said softly. I hadn't meant to say “we”, but it came out that way.

“No, I guess you're right. Even down here we're not.” Ren sighed a little and held out a hand. “Pass me a smoke?” I passed him the pack and offered my lighter. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” I let out a little plume of smoke.

“Like, take Breakbeak Ridge. What is it with the Enclave and Breakbeak? They keep going at it, every few months a new skirmish. There's nothing there, we just like using the caves for roosts. But no, they keep fighting for it.”

Breakbeak Ridge. It was a stalemate over there. “Where Heroes go to Die” folks would say. Everypony who joined up dreaded getting the news they were being deployed to Breakbeak. Long hours behind clouds, rifles pointed across a wide open swath of sky and steppe. Occasional sniper shots that took out friends. Rattles of machine gun fire. Artillery. Once in a while a charge from either side to try and break the endless siege. I'd lost a cousin there, a few months before I joined. During a night assault on one of their positions, he'd been shot and killed – but found with his bayonet buried in his killer.

“Did you lose someone there?” I asked.

“One of my step-sisters.” Ren shrugged. “I didn't like her much, but still. Family.”

“Yeah.” My cigarette drew itself down to a small nub and I crushed it underhoof. “Stuff like that... it really dulls the romance, doesn't it?” My eyes were drawn to the right of the mural, toward the centre, where the caskets were lined. I could see the Enclave tricolour sitting atop my cousin Breezeway's coffin almost as clearly as I saw that mural in front of me. I wondered if griffons did the same thing with their caskets. I looked away before Ren saw my eyes tear up.

How many had to die before we sorted ourselves out? Another hundred? Thousand? Hundreds of thousands? How many more cousins, step-sisters, brothers, mothers. I knew something had to be done but what could I do? Even if I tried, Goddesses knew I'd try, but even then I was one pony.

“That's why I never joined the army.” Ren shrugged. “Went as a mercenary instead. I figure it would be easier. Still got the romance, still got the uniform, but I feel like I'm fighting for what's right rather than what someone else wants. Ah well. Come on.” He turned away from the kissing couple mural segment and went toward the entryway to the Future exhibit.

I watched him go, then looked down at my hooves. I should tell him. I had to tell him. I had never gone to Breakbeak, I had nothing to do with his step-sister's death, but it felt odd. I didn't want him to look at me different. To know who I was, that I was the enemy. The Enclave. The ones who fought griffons time and time again for land and resources. The aggressors in many cases. The ones that broke up his family and countless others.

Ren had a right to know. But I also had my orders. I knickered softly and shook my head. There'd be time for it later. A better time.

Just not now.

Chapter 17

View Online

Chapter 17

“Who's that?” I asked softly.

Nothing had shown up on my EFS, but I could see a figure in the gloom. I snapped my PipBuck lamp off and strained against the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

“Pony,” Renfeld mumbled. “Looks... like a unicorn. Not moving through. And... there's others.”

We waited a few heart-stopping moments until I finally grunted. “Fuck it.” I flicked my lamp back on and approached the figures. They weren't moving and my EFS was still dark. What's the worst that could happen?

The figure was a unicorn. A dashing stallion, wearing a bright scarlet coat and a tricorn hat. He was standing on a recreation of a small segment of ship's deck, staring out at sea. A red button stood on a pedestal in front of him.

“Hall of Heroes,” Ren read behind me.

“Huh?”

“On the banner. Hall of Heroes. Talk with the Great Heroes of Equestria.”

I shrugged and read the label over the button. “Captain Ocean Glimmer, huh.” I jabbed the button.

The figure moved and I shouted in surprise, jerking back. The unicorn captain moved jerkily, turning his head to look in our direction. Gears clicked audibly as he did and the eyes jerked toward us in the most disconcerting way. A lamp over his head lit up to try and illuminate the figure. “W-W-W-W-Wel-” it stammered before losing power and slumping a little.

“What the fuck?” I asked.

Ren lowered his rifle. “That's spooky.”

“Really fucking spooky.” I leaned away from the figure and moved away, keeping my eyes on it the whole time. I was legitimately afraid of it moving again.

Each figure down the Hall of Heroes was just like Captain Ocean. The First Destrier, Thatch Roof (more famous than I'd originally thought), Archmage Midnight Flash, and more. Each had a red button, and a dozen such Heroes line the walls. There was room for more at the end, with one under construction; a red cover was draped over the outline of a pegasus with outstretched wings.

“Coming soon: Rainbow Dash, Minister of Awesome,” I read quietly.

“See yourself as a hero?” Ren asked from further up the hall. I looked over at him. He was standing at the far end, right by display of a blank, white pony figure dressed in Royal Equestrian Army dress blues. The display was designed so that he could see his reflection easily on the blank face of the figure, making it look like he was wearing the blues. “Call your REA Recruiter Today. Paid for by the Ministry of Morale.”

“That's fucked,” I said softly. “Recruiting ponies in a museum?”

“Get them hooked on national pride, then turn 'em loose.”

It made sense, but it wasn't right. Recruitment, service, that was all something personal. A choice. There had to be a reason there beyond just national pride. I didn't care if the reason was something as simple as having parents in the army, there had to be something there beyond chest-beating nationalism. The idea of having a whole museum dedicated to just riling up some nationalism to get folks pumped... it made sense, but I didn't like it.

Mostly because it seemed so very Enclave. There were always recruiters at every festival, every parade, even the ones that didn't have anything to do with the military arm of the Enclave whatsoever. It was an excellent way to get support, really. Especially when they brought out the best of the best. The top tier regiments, the heroes, the crisp dress blues, the shiny new power armour. It was easy to get folks interested in the Enclave when they saw the 1^st Air Wing, the President's Own, flying formation over the start of every Golden Cup hoofball game.

Stuff like this never talked about the reality, or the fuckups. Nopony would ever know about the penal battalions – like the 30^th Air Reserve (The Spearheads) – made up of all the Enclave's criminals and prisoners of war, forced to fly at the front of the formation to absorb the first waves of the defence... or die. No talk of the horrors of seeing ponies losing life and limb in vicious aerial combat that always started high-flying but inevitably ended in the dirt, either as a flattened corpse or a knock-down-drag-out fight in the dust. Nopony talked of the names, the lines of coffins, the empty tables at homes, the tricolour at half-mast, the Highway of Heroes and the sombre parades.

No, reality just wasn't as shiny. Reality didn't win wars. But propaganda did. That's why it was so common to see it. Why we in the Enclave had an entire regiment – the 2^nd E-War Squadron (Hearts and Minds) – dedicated to the creation and dissemination of propaganda. It was just easier to win a war that way.

“Let's go,” Ren said at last. I was more than happy to go.

-=O=-

The Future was, according to the six Ministries, going to be very, very bright... had any of it actually occurred the way they'd foreseen.

The Ministry of Wartime Technology had started to perfect power armour. The old-fashioned T-45 was on the way out. T-51, that was the future. Gone were the skeletal lines of the old T-45 model. The flared shoulder pads had been trimmed back and rounded off, the long gas-mask snout of the helmet had been smoothed down and rounded as well. The new T-51 looked more like a shining suit of armour for a knight than the more intimidating, but crude, earlier models.

There was even prototypes for pegasus power armour, which made me laugh. It was a lot like the T-45, just made with wings on the sides. It was just too bulky. That shit would never take off let alone allow a pegasus to fight. But I could see where the Enclave modified the existing prototype designs into our own power armour. The prototypes were all full-sized, and I wondered briefly if they were functional. I wouldn't have to care about fighting if I had proper power armour.

Also being perfected were armoured fighting vehicles. The Ministry of Arcane Sciences had improved the arcane engine used in most carriages to replace the old weight-reduction harnesses to haul the carts by pony power. These new engines were pedal-powered, and converted just slow, casual pedalling into fast spinning wheels and propellers to move their incredible mass forward. Tanks, they were called. Armoured enough to shrug off small-arms fire, armed with a modified field gun. The earliest prototype looked like a long, squat box with a cannon sticking out the front, though now they had turrets and sleeker designs.

New aerial combat systems. Improved artillery pieces. Bigger and better field guns. The first Equestrian pegasus-carrier. Portable balefire egg launchers and megaspell projectors (as if those weapons weren't dangerous enough on a large scale). Prototypes drawn up for cloud-powered battleships that could soar through the air. I snorted at that one. Had the Enclave come to this museum, or just come across those plans? The sketch was almost, but not entirely, like our current-model Raptor and Thunderhead carriers.

One section was odd. A new section on small-arms and the development of Equestrian weaponry. An angry-looking elderly earth pony in a wide campaign hat seemed to be the “mascot” of this section of museum. “Gunny Says!” read a few of the headers to the individual display cases. However, each case was empty. Not broken into, not opened, but just plain empty, and each bore a simple paper sign on the inside:

'This exhibit is temporarily removed for maintenance. We apologize for the inconvenience.'

“Damn,” Ren grumbled. “There's a whole section here on griffon guns, there's just... nothing here.”

“Really? They put out a section for that?”

“I know, right? I mean... it's making it clear the griffon weapons aren't as good as Equestrian ones, but acknowledge that griffon manufacturing influences Equestrian design.” Ren looked at one display case and chuckled. “Hey, this one's mine.”

“What?” I asked, trotting over.

“This case is for my rifle.” He unslung the heavy rifle he carried and held it up, pretending to set it on the metal hooks within. It was a long gun, with a solid, worn wooden stock. The receiver was made of flat steel on either side, and the handguard was split: the bottom half was wood that tapered toward the barrel with a notch for his talons. The upper half was a perforated metal heat shield. “Well, not mine, mine. But still. Schnellfeurergewher 61.” It was the first time I'd heard him speak Gryph. It was a strange, harsh language, but still. I was impressed as his ability to speak another language and couldn't help but smile.

“Bless you.”

Ren giggled a bit and lowered his rifle. “It's Gryph. Means Fast-Firing Rifle 61. I'm ah... not great at the language.”

“Better than me.”

He chuckled. “Information is mostly right. Standard issue griffon rifle for the war, incredibly durable, not very accurate, but hits like a truck and hard to jam.”

“Looks like everything else has been locked away, though.” I took a look around the exhibition hall. “Wonder where they stored it.”

“What's the bet the museum curator's office has information?” Ren offered.

“Let's check it out.”

-=O=-

The upper floors of the museum could definitely have used some cleaning. Trash was strewn about and dust settled heavily on everything. Empty bottles of Sparkle-Cola rattled around beneath our hooves – well, my hooves, Ren's paws – as we went along. We'd kick them aside, where they'd rattle away. We'd gone through the whole museum and not a single sign of life had shown up. What was the danger in making a bit of noise?

There was just something unsettling about an empty place where public should be. Museums should be busy, bustling with tourists from far-away towns, with history buffs, with lines of schoolfillies and schoolcolts learning – or pretending to care – about their history. But here was... nothing. Pure emptiness. Not even a glimmer on the EFS. All the life had gone out of the place.

At least until we reached the upper floors. We'd gone just a few metres down the hallway when my EFS flared to life. I held up a wing to get Ren to stop and moved my rifle forward. I was getting uncomfortable flashbacks to the hospital as the EFS icon – burning amber for “not wanting to kill me dead just yet” - slowly moved with an odd, audible “Woosh”ing noise. No ghoul stepped out into the hall to greet me however.

Instead a round ball, roughly the size of a large beach ball, came floating by on a small jet of flame. It had four manipulator arms, two of which were currently working. One had a broom on the end and was working to try and sweep some trash into a dust-pan held by another arm. As soon as it filled the dust pan it floated a little ways away from us up the hallway and dumped the dust-pan in the middle of the room, scattering more trash.

The floating ball turned to face us. Three eye-stalks poked out of the top of the robot, of which only one still had a mechanical eye on it. The eye tried its best to focus on us, but I could see the aperture trying – and failing – to get a lock. Somehow, some way, the robot looked drunk.

“S-S-Sorry for the mess, Cur-Curator.” The synthesized voice didn't stutter so much as rewound and repeated itself like a broken record. “Curator. Cu~urator. Sorry. Mess.” The robot spun on the spot and floated away, mumbling to itself some kind of combination involving the Curator, a mess, and apologies.

“What.” Ren's tone didn't even indicate a question. He was probably as stunned as I was.

I put up my rifle and slung it on my back. “If that's all we gotta deal with, then some weird is fine by me.”

It wasn't quite the Curator's office, but Ren and I managed to find the assistant curator's office. I sat down at the terminal and looked up at Ren. “Might take me a bit, feel free to look around.”

“Sure. Be safe.” Ren ducked out of the room. Distantly I could hear the ball-shaped robot apologize to Ren about the mess.

I booted up the terminal and plugged my old PipBuck into it to try and see if I could reset the password and let me in. Words scrolled along the screen and I selected a few options. My first two attempts went poorly, so I backed out to let the terminal reset before it kicked me off permanently. I tapped my hooves on the desk as I waited, then started rifling through the drawer in case he'd written the password down.

A dented yellow metal tin stared up at me. “Mint-Als” read the red label on the front. I had a sudden realization. I hadn't brushed my teeth properly since I got here. I stuck out my tongue and held my hoof up to my mouth, blowing on it to try and figure out how my breath was. A sudden vision of going in to kiss Ren, only for him to back away from the smell, didn't help.

It didn't smell bad, but still. I pulled out the tin. Mint-Als. Mints. That would help. The tin was about half-full of large, chalky white mints. I popped two into my mouth and turned back to the computer.

My vision swam for a moment. It lasted all of a second, and when it returned I could see everything clearer, as if somepony had refocused my eyes properly after years of them being broken. All the soreness and tiredness I'd felt seemed to vanish in a rush of energy I didn't know I'd had. My mind raced through the combinations of words on the computer that went flashing by at a speed I hadn't realized before. How had I ever managed to hack a terminal? These words went by so damn quick, I shouldn't have ever...

Boom. Right there. I jabbed my hoof onto the keyboard to select an option. I don't even remember what. I just know the terminal trilled a success and let me in without trouble.

I scrolled through a few entries, feeling giddy as I did. I selected the oldest chronological email that had been saved.

'Hello Team!

I'm pleased to announce our newest addition to the museum. The Ministry of Wartime Technology partnered up with Ironshod Firearms, River Ferry Armoury, and the Rocky Top Arsenal Museum of Firearms to bring us their best examples of Equestrian firearms past and present, plus some of Ironshod's new developments. I also understand that Starlight Military Industries is joining on board as well to show off the latest in magical energy weapons development.

We'll be re-tooling our current weapons display in the Future exhibit to house the new weapons. I believe Rocky Top Arsenal is also going to provide write-ups on their weapons courtesy of their spokespony, Gunnery Sergeant Ironsides. I hope you're all as excited as I am for this wonderful new display and appreciate everypony's help in ensuring that the displays are ready for the new weapons to go in within the next month or so.

Thanks,

Assistant Curator Dusty Quill.'

Nothing. I checked the next email.

'Hello Team!

The weapons are due to arrive tomorrow. Because many of them include prototype technology, the companies are bringing private security along. Please check at the office and in the lunch room for approved security clearances. Anypony without the right clearances cannot be near the display as the weapons go in, and all access to the archives will be restricted to proper security clearances.

In addition, we will be implementing new heightened security measures for the duration of the exhibit, including-

A manipulator arm swung across the desk, pushing papers and sending a cup full of pencils sprawling onto the floor. The floating robot mumbled about the mess and tried to it up. It succeeded in pushing the papers and pencils around for a few moments before it finally floated away with an apology to the Curator. I shook my head and got back to reading.

-including the purchase and installation of automatic turrets in key areas. This new exhibit is fairly sensitive. We will provide new information on the turrets as we get it.

Go team!

Assistant Curator Dusty Quill.'

I felt I was getting somewhere on tracking these weapons down. I tried the next entry. It was an archived conversation, with the latest entry at the top.

'You'd better.

Curator Topaz Scroll.

>Top,

>I know what I'm doing. We'll get so much publicity, especially with everypony and their dog excited about the new MEPs from Starlight. We'll keep them in lockdown in the archives every night.

>Dusty

>>Dusty,

>>Did I understand that email correctly? We're getting live weapons put into our museum? I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with all of that. That's a lot of security risk I don't want to take. You know we're not far from the Zebra districts.

>>Curator Topaz Scroll'

Getting there. Lockdown in the archives. If I had to guess, that's where they were being kept right now. And if I had to guess, the Curator or the head of security would have the key. There were two more entries. Why not? I had the time. Another mail.

'Hey Team!

We're getting an upgrade to our Hall of Heroes display! The Ministry of Arcane Technology has recently come up with an incredible upgrade to their artificial intelligence packages, the kind used in most RoBronco products. They've offered to develop a series of AI-powered robots based on some of Equestria's best heroes to give our visitors an even better look at how these heroes think and act.

They will be building full AI into these robots, giving the robots the same personality and thoughts as the real ponies did, allowing guests to interact with them on a level they couldn't before. It's going to be amazing!

Great Work, Team!

Assistant Curator Dusty Quill.'

Last one. A conversation chain.

'It'll be fine? Just like that time a brand new Ironshod rifle walked out of our museum? You're fired. I want you gone by the end of the week.

Curator Topaz Scroll.

PS: Call me Top one more time. I swear.

>Top,

>Oh, get that stick out of your ass. They're just robots. Doesn't matter how they're programmed, there's safeties! It'll just mean the guests can have more fun interacting with them! It'll be absolutely fine. Don't worry. I got this.

>Dusty

>>Dusty

>>First you bring in actual weapons into my museum, making us the next best thing to a military target around here, but now you're bringing in AI based perfectly on the personalities of fighters and killers? That's the dumbest Celestia-damned thing I think I've ever heard you come up with. There's ambition and then there's being an idiot. I'm putting the kibosh on this plan.

>>Curator Topaz Scroll

>>PS: I don't give a damn what the visitor statistics say. I don't trust the AI. I want it gone.'

Ren poked his head into the office doorway. “Found something. Curator's terminal was unlocked. I guess they kept the weapons-”

“Somewhere in the archives. Yours was unlocked? Damn. I had to open this one myself. Sucked. Took me a few tries.” I packed away the tin of Mint-Als.

Ren gave me a wry grin. “Are those... Mint-Als?”

“Maybe? Who's asking? Got a problem with that?”

“No~” he cooed playfully. “I can just tell. Come on. I got something... the archive key.”

“Neat.”

-=O=-

Who the fuck packs a tin of mints with amphetamines?

I felt myself coming down as we went to the archives. As the blur returned to my eyes – or rather I got my normal vision back – and the edge faded out of my head, I pulled the tin out of my saddlebags and read it over. They were normal mints... mostly. Just spiked with a mild amphetamine to give the person using them a bit of an edge. Freshen Your Breath, Sharpen Your Mind, it offered.

Ren couldn't stop giggling when he saw me realize what had happen.

“I didn't know,” I grumbled, a headache forming.

“You regularly eat strange candies left in drawers?”

“No...”

“Just mints? And why mints, anyway?” Ren looked at me with a mischievous smile. There was a gleam in his golden eyes that made me blush... as if he knew exactly why, but he wanted to hear it aloud.

“No reason.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really!” I whinnied lightly.

He just laughed and kept going. Our route took us back through the Hall of Heroes to get to the archives, an unmarked door just between the Hall of Heroes and the round mural room. The Curator's keys weren't even necessary – with just a push, the door swung readily open. It was absolutely pitch-black, the air thick with a musty old scent. My flashlight barely broke the darkness beyond.

Nothing lit up on my EFS. I looked at Ren.

“You first,” he told me.

I opened my mouth to retort but just shrugged. Time to look like the macho stallion in front of a damned attractive griffon. I started down the hall, keeping the beam on my PipBuck's flashlight swinging to try and fight the gloom.

Cobwebs covered the hallway. One or two emergency lights clung to life down the hall, giving the place a weird red glow in some areas. It wasn't nearly enough. Doors lined the archives on either side, mostly labelled for mundane things. Cleaning supplies. Lightbulbs and paint. Simple stuff like that. One door looked a lot sturdier than the others. Steel, with an electronic lock on the door. A slot sat in the lock for a keycard. The door was dented and scorched as if somepony – or multiple someponies – had gone at it with blowtorches... or flamethrowers.

Ren stepped forward and tried the keycard attached to the Curator's keys, then pushed the handle. Nothing. Still locked.

“We need power,” I said softly. “Think we can jury rig a spark battery into the lock, get it working?”

“Probably, but I have an easier idea. Bet ya ten caps there's a backup generator somewhere back here.”

“Sure. I'll go find a spark battery.” We shook wings on it and I started checking nearby doors – those that were unlocked anyway – to try and find some batteries. Ren just walked away from the metal door, confidently striding to a nearby unlabelled door and stepping inside. I blinked and followed him in just as a something rattled and coughed to life. The lights flared on all around us.

Ren stood proudly next to the backup generator, a talon held out, beckoning with his claws.

“There was a map in the Curator's office, huh?” I fished out a small stack of caps and passed them over.

“Yup. Aw, don't pout. I got the power going, didn't I?”

I hadn't realized I was pouting. I blushed a little and coughed. “You did.”

Ren smiled at me and pocketed the caps. “Come on, pouty. We've got weapons to pick up.”

Now that the power was on the electronic lock chirped happily and readily accepted the Curator's keycard. The heavy steel door swung open easily to reveal a massive room beyond. Shelves upon shelves of artifacts. Strange shadows cut across the room as my flashlight panned around over weapons and boxes.

“Goddesses,” we said in unison.

Sitting in the middle of the room was a minigun on a tripod, equipped with its own spark battery power source. Sitting next to it was its twin, just made of brass, with a large hoof-crank attached to the side to power it. Sitting next to that was an honest-to-goodness field gun. It looked as if my hoof could fit down the barrel!

This of course was in addition to everything else. Weapons from every era lined the shelves. Most items on the right side were new, likely from the future exhibit, but there were cases and drawers for older weapons too, the ones that weren't currently on display. It was a collector's wet dream back here.

Uniforms hung on racks and behind hermetic cases on the walls, again from every conceivable era. I found myself staring at the nearest one, a near perfect replica of my own dress blues from back home. It appeared the Enclave had just used the standard Royal Equestrian Air Force uniform patterns as their own – just new insignia.

“Oh, fuck yes.” I turned to see what Ren was so excited about. He was hefting a new machine gun. It looked faintly similar to his old rifle, enough to clearly be from the same designer, except this rifle was a little longer, the barrel thicker and longer as well with a bipod tucked underneath. The reinforced body was modified to accept a belt-and-box combination. “I haven't seen one of these since I was home. Old Mg. 67.”

I giggled a bit. “Geeking out a little?”

“Damn right I am, these things are awesome.”

I chuckled and went along the aisles myself, looking for something to pique my curiosity. It was like going on a shopping trip. So many wondrous weapons of death and destruction. I was looking for something using arcane energy. Something sporty, too, that would go well with a tuxedo (if I ever found one of course).

At the end of the aisle I found it. A sleek-looking rifle with a long glass barrel and a sticky note stuck on it. I pulled the note off.

'All staff:

Yes, I know the CAER shows a bright red laser before firing. Yes, I have heard the rumours of Minister Fluttershy's famous ability to stare down her opponents. But the next person to label this weapon as “The Stare” on our official plaques is getting fired. It's the CAER-400, and nothing else.

Dusty.'

I hefted the weapon. It was light, and had a series of glass bulbs like vacuum tubes along the top. A larger vacuum tube stuck out the forestock, serving as the barrel, with three arms along the tube, meeting at a point just an inch in front of the rounded tube. Inside the tube was a miniature shock coil. There was an engraving over what I assumed was the safety.

“Channelled Arcano-Electric Rifle, Model 400, Starlight Military Industries.” I clicked my tongue. “Neat.”

I took aim at the nearest wall and pulled the trigger slowly. Halfway back it clicked into a stop. An angry red beam of light illuminated the wall across from me, emanating from just under the barrel. So, that must be The Stare, huh? I didn't want to pull it all the way in case the weapon was loaded. From what I could tell it used magical fusion cells. A little more advanced than my own rifle but still, not terribly difficult to find out and about.

I wondered what it did.

“This place is incredible,” Ren said quietly. “It's like a Super-Duper Mart, but for guns.”

“Could always take some of these. Sell them off, y'know. Get enough caps, buy a mansion.” I chuckled a little, remembering Comet Spark and Red's plans to do just that.

“What?”

“Ah, never mind.” I slung the rifle over my back, intent on using my Sunbeam until I ran out of ammunition or found enough to feed the CAER, whichever came first. “I say we keep the keycard. You never know when we might need something from here. And this place is pretty safe, if a little creepy.”

“Sure. Never know when you might need a cannon,” Ren teased.

I snorted in laughter. I had no idea that, within the month, we'd probably need that cannon.

Chapter 18

View Online

Chapter 18

At the end of the hall I got myself a face full of griffon rump. Not that I minded – Ren had a cute ass – but it was somewhat unexpected. He had stopped suddenly in the entrance to the Hall of Heroes.

I extracted my head from under his tail with some reluctance and looked around. “What's up?”

“It's empty.”

“Well, yeah, there's nopony here.”

Ren stepped aside and shook his head. “No, no. I mean, it's empty, empty.”

He wasn't kidding. The plinths that had once held the AI animatronics of Equestria's greatest heroes were empty. Not entirely. Many still held their old occupants. I figured those were the ones that hadn't had the AI upgrade yet. But a disturbing number of the plinths were empty. All the lights were on, and a very faint, tinny version of “The Mare I Left Behind Me” was playing over the speakers. Fear easily suppressed the urge to hum to what was my regiment's marching song.

Of the dozen of completed animatronics, seven were left behind. That left... five. No, six. The covered statue was also gone. Six AI animatronics wandering the museum, each with the personality of one of Equestria's heroes.

Ren and I glanced at each other and both immediately swung our weapons into the ready position. A second later came a loud clatter of hooves.

“Pour Celeste!” The First Destrier came charging down at us, his armour gleaming in gold and white enamel. A long braid of intertwined ribbons snapped ominously in his wake, each ribbon representing a colour in Celestia's mane. “A l'attaque!” More distressingly than the ominous ribbons was the long, gleaming lance held in a bracket on his armour and pointed right at my chest.

Back in the Enclave, one of the rules we'd been taught had been the 30-Stride Rule. It was a rule developed during some of the first Zebra border skirmishes, as the Zebra had a tendency to fight in close, with blade and hoof. The rule stated that if an attacker with a melee weapon was within 30 strides of you, they would be on you at a dead sprint before you could draw, ready, and fire enough shots to kill from any firearm.

The First Destrier was far closer than that and closing fast.

The lance point just caught me in the shoulder-pad as I dove aside, and the force of the animatronic's charge sent me sprawling just from a glancing blow. The robot went streaking past and cantered around in a circle to come around for another tilt. He dug his metal hooves into the tile floor and charge again. This time Ren was ready. He brought up his old rifle – having not had time to ensure the new one was loaded and ready – and let loose a long burst straight into the centre of the First Destrier.

Most of them were stopped short by the armour. Those that did go in didn't seem to stop the Destrier. He turned his lance and his charge toward Ren, who took straight off into the air and over the Destrier's head.

“Sacré! Vous avez aucune honeur!” the Destrier snarled as he tilted past. Hydraulic fluid leaked from the holes in front of the robot and it seemed he was moving slower and slower.

“Stand fast!” I didn't recognize the severe-looking mare that stood in the doorway at the end of the hall. Her uniform reminded me of the old REA dress uniform though. Bright red with blue turnbacks and cuffs. She drew a sabre from her side. “We'll assist with these foul interlopers!”

“Parfait. Charge!”

I dropped into SATS. The charging Destrier came first. He was already damaged. Taking him out would even the odds – and his lance had much more reach than the mare's cutlass did. I gave him everything I could from my Sunbeam. Ren responded with another long burst from his Sfg straight to the Destrier's chest.

Our shots tore through the front of his armour which was irritatingly real, but time and damage had reduced its capabilities. He stumbled, but momentum was carrying the robot on. Ren dodged out of the way a second too late. The lance caught him in the side, cutting across his stomach as he did. It was a flesh wound, but a deep one. He cried out in pain.

“I'm okay!” he assured me, diving behind a nearby plinth. I looked up at the mare, who had embedded her sabre in the floor and was drawing a heavy-looking pistol made of wood and iron. She pointed it at me and pulled the trigger.

It made a goddessawful racket as it went off, belching a cloud of acrid smoke. I felt the impact on my armour as I dove for cover. The impact was surprisingly light. I glanced down at my chest. The lead ball – it was really just a ball, no bullet shape to it – had flattened itself on the armour and gotten stuck. I blinked.

“Blast it all,” the mare grunted. She dropped the pistol. I noticed she had a unicorn's horn. Thankfully the designers hadn't figured out a way to give her magic, and she seemed unable to reload her pistol without it. It did look pretty cumbersome. Of course she still had her cutlass and was already drawing it from the ground and running for us. “Rule Equestria!”

I figured the cover would give me some assistance with the 30-Stride Rule. I lifted my Sunbeam and fired two shots and she was on me. Her cutlass cut deep into my rifle's barrel and pushed it aside. I could hear the gears whirring beneath her “coat” as she fought to wrench it free.

Ren's rifle butt cracked her on the back of the head and she stumbled. Before he could follow up she led her sabre go and rammed her horn directly into his chest. The armour caught the blow but he still fell aside. She then turned to me with an ugly grin. At this distance I expected to be able to feel her breath, smell her sweat. Instead all I could see were the uncannily-made eyes that were at once incredibly perceptive and completely dead of emotion. Her irises even contracted like a camera aperture focusing in.

A shot rang out somewhere behind me, the bullet clipping the ground not far from my ear. The mare used that distraction to rip her sabre from my gun and attempt to bring it down on my head. I turned my head at the last second, the sabre's hilt crashing into the ground.

“Ren! Shooter!”

“I see 'em!” I could hear his great wings beat once, twice, and then he was gone after whoever – whatever – had been shooting at us.

Which of course left me alone with the mare.

I managed to get my wings up underneath her and use them, plus my hindlegs, to push her off of me and get some space. She pulled back as well, standing off with me as I picked my rifle up and went for a snap-shot, not even worrying about SATS.

The shot went wild. Even if it had hit it wouldn't have damaged her. I could see the beam was too wide, too faint. A focusing ring had been destroyed when I'd blocked her sabre stroke. My Sunbeam was officially out of the fight.

The mare kicked her hooves and smirked when she noticed my weapon miss. “For Princesses, and Country!” she snarled as she charged me down again. I slipped into SATS, using its time-slowing abilities to try and save myself. I was no good at hoof-to-hoof.

SATS directed my first swing. I was gripping the Sunbeam by its damaged barrel, swinging it like a baseball bat. The stock cracked against her sabre for the first swing. The second took her in the neck just as her sabre bit into my armour. My third and last SATS-aided swing came down from above, right onto her brow. It was a blow that would have caved the front of her skull in if she had one. There was a dent in the robot's casing, but little other effect.

Meanwhile her sabre had ducked under my shoulder when I'd gone for such a wide swing. The blade dug deep into the flesh in the weak point between shoulder pad and chest piece. My PipBuck very helpfully noted I had taken damage. My brain did too, by making me scream out in pain. My forelegs went out under me and I hit the ground.

“This is the end for you, ruffian,” the mare assured me. She drew her sabre out of my shoulder and brought it up to bring down on me again. I drew my pistol, my trusty 10mm, and brought it up to try and snap a shot off. The blade knocked my pistol aside, which at least deflected it from hitting my face... hard, anyway. It still dug a cut across my cheek, a rather painful one.

The mare raised her sabre again. I raised my pistol. Despite the nick taken out of the slide, it was more than happy to bark out a trio of rounds into the dent I'd already carved in the animatronic's neck. The weakened casing buckled and the robot fell over. I was able to get up on my hooves as she stumbled and clutched for her fallen sabre. She tried a desperate stab at my foreleg, which glanced off my armour.

I emptied the rest of the magazine into the robot at various points. Much like the First Destrier, the mare bled hydraulic fluid where she lay.

Somewhere in the distance was more shooting. Ren was out there somewhere. I took a moment to gather myself and take a healing potion to close my wounds for the next fight.

-=O=-

The museum's design became a maze of paranoia as I searched for Ren and whoever he was fighting. Every turn I would see another figure and swear it was another robot coming at me but usually it was nothing. I would hear shuffling, movement, and prepare for an ambush and yet so far I'd gotten off without a scratch after the fight with the mare in the red coat.

It didn't help that I hadn't seen which way Ren had flown off in the fight to deal with the shooter. He could have gone to the Past exhibit, or continued back to the lobby through the Future. I'd picked Past and still not found him yet. I just went back further in time, past the ancient fighters of Equestria and their ancient weapons. The museum's lights were on which made things a little better, admittedly. Less surprise from snarling images of ancient griffons and such things. I could actually see the zebras with glowing red eyes, and how much of a caricature their display was.

I felt it before I heard it. My EFS didn't have a chance to warn me given it had come from behind. I was just walking one second, then sprawled out on the floor the next. Something had bucked me in the back of the head hard. I clutched the back of my head as my vision swam.

Something was airborne and circling back toward me. A pegasus figure moving fast, very fast, that alighted in front of me.

“You call yourself a pegasus?” Rainbow Dash asked.

At least, it was meant to be Rainbow Dash at some point. Only her bottom half was fully done. Her sky blue “coat” was gleaming new, thanks to being covered by a red cloth for a century. Her cutie mark had been rendered perfectly on her flanks and her multi-coloured tail looked more vibrant than it likely ever was. The only things missing to complete the illusion were her wings (little more than metal frames with metal feathers, much like the wings on a Vertibuck) and her entire head (which was exposed metal frame and machinery, with two unnervingly realistic eyes staring at me. The jaw worked strangely with small servos to control lips that hadn't been installed and yet it still managed to perfectly render speech.

“That was pathetic! I expect a certain level of competence from my troops, yo-”

I didn't even need SATS to guide my shots into the animatronic's head while it monologued. Without the protective casing around the delicate machinery, my 10mm rounds cut through it easily. The robot crumpled to the ground without a fuss; a perfect if headless representation of the Minister of Awesome herself, the founder of the Shadowbolts, a founder of (and eventual traitor to) the Enclave. Somepony who came in here later was going to be incredibly confused.

At some point the shooting in the distance had stopped. I perked my ears up and listened for movement.

“Ren?” There was no reply. I reloaded my trusty pistol and started walking back to the lobby to see if I couldn't find him there.

The sun had gone down while we were in the museum, plunging the lobby into darkness cut barely by the weak lighting inside. The hanging Vertibuck and other signs made long shadows across the lobby floor and darkened the room even further. I looked around, scanning slowly with my EFS. “Ren? Where y'at?”

A red light flared up on my EFS. Just overhead I could see a dark figure diving down on me from above. I put two shots in its direction before diving away.

Captain Thatch Roof, famous aerial combatant, went streaking silently past me.

“Oh, for fuck's...” I grunted.

Thatch landed and immediately pivoted into a two-legged buck in my direction. He was wearing a full aerial combat harness, which meant all four hooves were encased in steel horseshoes and he'd likely have wing blades too. I managed to hop back but I hadn't gotten any better at hoof-to-hoof combat in the last ten minutes. I'd still be on the back-hoof in this fight.

I put out a single shot as Thatch Roof whirled back around with a wing outstretched, blade gleaming in the light. The shot went wild when his wing hit my pistol and knocked it aside. When I raised my head and tried to line a second shot up he slapped it aside again with the back of his wing, wrenching it from my mouth. My pistol clattered aside.

“Shit.”

The momentum of his back-wing strike carried his other wing toward me. It hit me in the leg and the blade cut deep. I tried to back away from another rear-facing buck but ended up taking that in the chest. My ass hit the ground.

Either whatever made these robots speak was busted for Captain Thatch, or he just was that quiet in combat. Either way he didn't make a sound as he tackled me to the floor. At least I was decent at wrestling.

I wasn't sure who's hoof went where in the melee, or who did what. Either way we grappled for a solid few minutes, back and forth, until I lost it somewhere. I wasn't sure where or how, but Thatch had me rolled over and cracked my head off the ground. The impact of head on tile stunned me a moment which was a moment too long. Powerful metal hooves wrapped around my throat and yanked me back into a chokehold... and not the nice knock-out kind.

My windpipe was shut. Unfeeling cold metal pressed to my back without even a breath or a sound aside from the click of gears. I beat uselessly at the hooves around my neck but my position was a bad one. I couldn't get the right kind of leverage to get the robot off my back and off my neck. I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't breathe.

I didn't even have the air to choke out a sound. I just kept beating at the metal forelegs. My vision darkened.

So this was it.

I was going to die, strangled out by an animatronic of my hero in an old museum. It might have been cool if it wasn't me dying. My flailing got weaker, my vision got darker, and I could feel numbness across my body. My oxygen starved brain stopped panicking and my beating hooves stopped entirely.

It was calming. A few moments and it'd be over. For some reason – lack of oxygen, maybe – I was okay with this.

Air rushed back to my lungs.

It felt as if I was breathing in fire. My lungs burned, ached, as they gulped in life-giving oxygen and my body began to restart.

I was on my side. Somehow. The cold metal was gone, replaced by cold tile. I could see figures in the dim lobby. A pony on its side. A griffon above it, plunging a huge combat knife over and over into it until the knife got lodged somewhere in a metal bracing. The robot flailed up at the griffon. The griffon rolled it over and stuck its talons into a hole in the armoured casing, digging and clawing it open. The griffon yanked wires out and bit down with his beak, tearing them clean apart.

The robot jerked and went limp.

Suddenly I understood why griffons were so feared. Why maybe that snarling, monstrous figure had been put in the exhibit to represent them. Why they were considered natural hunters. Fighters. I understood that those claws weren't for show and neither was the beak. It was awe-inspiring. It was feral.

It was terrifying.

Ren waited a moment, then slowly made his way over to me. He was bleeding. Injured. His oil-covered talon touched my cheek gently, tenderly, far more than it should have after that display. He should have scared the shit out of me – he did scare the shit out of me – but I realized, dimly, that he'd done that to save me. That whole feral display was one of protection.

“You okay?” his voice was distant.

I croaked out something that might have been “No”. I thought about him in shining armour.

I blacked out.

-=O=-

“What the fuck happened to y'all?”

“Long story.”

“Y'all covered in blood! Both a y'all! An' Autumn's half-dead!”

“We're okay.”

“Like hell y'all is! Ah leave ya alone fer a few hours, honestly.”

“I took a healing potion and fed him some. We'll be fine. I'm just... tired.”

“Ya look like shit.”

“I got shot.”

“He looks like shit.”

“Autumn got choked.”

“Fuck's sakes, y'all got lucky. Ah ain't leavin' ya two idiots alone any more. Shouldn't've split like that. Was damn stupid of all of us. Dang. Fuck.”

“Stop pacing and help me with him.”

“Ren, y'all gonna collapse. Let me take him. Help me get him on mah back.”

“...there. Let's go.”

Level Up!

Level 8

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers, Combat Veteran (reduced damage)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 19

View Online

Chapter 19

In the end it took nearly a week to fully recover from the museum fight. Even with the help of healing potions and powerful magic, getting choked to the edge of death did a lot of damage to somepony... mentally and physically.

Peach was of course annoyed at herself more than anything else for letting us go out on our own like we had. She blamed herself, though I didn't blame anypony but ourselves. We'd all made the call to go to the museum – and all could have made the call to leave. It had just been sheer happenstance, a pure accident, that had put us up against powerful robots with the perfect AI of Equestria's best killers and fighters in all her history.

And good as we might have been, we weren't that good. That was why we'd nearly died, and Peach Tea had nothing to do with it.

I'd learned that Ren had been shot up badly by the animatronic version of a famous Royal Equestrian Army general. A protracted gunfight that had taken them all through the remainder of the Future exhibit. In the end, Renfeld had come out on top – if only just barely. He had been near death himself, and only a good healing potion had saved his life long enough to save mine. I still hadn't found a way to thank him properly. I doubt I ever could.

Doing the mental math however left us with one last animatronic unaccounted for. Captain Ocean Glimmer. So far as I was aware, he hadn't shown up in the museum. Peach Tea hadn't seen him and neither Ren or I had.

It wasn't a mystery I was keen to solve.

Most of my recovery was spent just relaxing around the Temple. I wasn't too keep on heading out anywhere to go and get shot up again. And with the soreness and aches I was still dealing with I didn't feel a particular need to move much. I did what I could around the Temple to keep myself occupied and pay off Father Sunray's hospitality – which included food and a place to stay.

One of the main things I would do was guard duty. It was easy. Sit up in one of the belfries and watch the area around us for any signs of trouble. There wasn't much trouble to be had, just a good time to relax and get a good view of the area. I could see the Muddy River and Crescent Bay stretching out in front of Friendship Square. The River wound its way to the roughly semi-circular bay (befitting its name), while across the river and the bay was the southern end of Neigh Orleans, a very industrialized area. And it was the area of operations of another one of my fellow Enclave troops. Not for the first time I wondered how they were doing.

Out from the bay was the visible remains of the battle I'd seen during the vision in the cemetery. The rusting metal stern of a ship rose out of the water and at low tide it was easy to see the remains of others just faintly above the water. At night and even during the day they glowed with a ghastly green light, shimmering and shifting strangely like a distorted video transmission. It was a spooky sight. On certain nights it seemed like little storms brewed up around the remains of the ships, with bright green lightning bolts flashing. On those nights, with every flash, my PipBuck's radiation counter clicked ominously.

One such afternoon of guard duty, about a week after the museum fight, I was joined by Ren. The handsome griffon came up the ladder into the belfry with me and settled onto the chair next to where I was sitting. I offered him a cigarette, but he shook his head and instead produced a pack of his own. The brightly coloured pack proclaimed them as Sphinx brand cigarettes. Never had one. He offered me one with a sheepish smile.

“Figure I'll stop bumming them from you.”

“Thanks,” I said softly. I took the cigarette and lit it up, taking a long draw from it. A little smoother than my preferred brand, but I liked the earthiness of Bluebloods. Still, a free smoke was free. And if it was from Ren, I didn't mind.

“How're you feeling?” I asked.

“Better. Going to have a few scars, but hey... guys are into that, right?” he asked with a laugh. I laughed as well. “How about you?”

“Well, I've definitely decided I ain't got a choking fetish.”

Ren burst into giggles. “Heh, I'd bet.” He was quiet for a long moment, just rolling his smoke between his talons. “Thank you.”

“What for? I should be thanking you.”

“Well, just... I don't know. Felt like the thing to say,” Ren admitted.

“Hey, you're the one what saved my ass. I gotta thank you for that,” I said softly. “I uh... I saw what you did to stop that robot.”

Ren sheepishly looked away from me. “You uh... I'm sorry, it just kind of happened. I was in pain, you looked like you were dead. I had to do something. I was out of bullets-”

“I'm not blaming you,” I said sincerely, finishing my cigarette and adding it to the pile in the ashtray. “It was... well, it was incredible to see. Terrifying, yeah, but incredible. It was a good fight. And you saved me, so I don't mind.”

“Well, you're welcome,” he said with a soft laugh,before quieting down again. The silence was rather comfortable, all said.

Below us stretched the buildings of the Old Quarter. It was a great view up here and yet the rain and the ravages of time gave it a rather dreary tone. Still, it held it's own particular charm. For being such anold an austere place it was definitely a lot looser once you knew what the buildings were. Clubs or bars of some kind or another, offering better deals than the next on all sorts of drinks and vices. Numerous places advertising live music as well, from jazz to swing to country. All this was sandwiched between signs for antique stores, art galleries, and trinket shops. Anything a pony could ever want – anything for any kind of personality – could be found packed into this older section of the city. The Old Quarter.

Of course none of it was open anymore, but it wouldn't take much. Everything was relatively intact, barring the usual ravages of time. It wouldn't take more than a bit of elbow grease and spit-shine to get one of these bars up and running again, to get live music pumping down the street and drinks flowing. I ran the numbers in my head briefly. All the ponies I'd seen in Seatown, all the ones at the Grand, all the ones at the Temple... take them all, shove them all into the Old Quarter, and I doubt we'd have every single apartment filled.

And yet they weren't. The place was vacant. I could tell parts of the Old Quarter were occupied, sure. Trash was disturbed here and there, and there was the occasional sign of occupation somewhere. Tightly boarded buildings recently reinforced, or a far-off hoofstep. But while it was occupied it wasn't lived in. There was no community. No attempts at reconstruction – full reconstruction anyway, beyond places like The Grand.

It came down to these damned krewes. Fighting over more territory they could ever really deal with. More territory than they could need. Goddesses, what could be accomplished here if everypony just... co-operated. Pooled together into the Old Quarter. Get everypony on board and just work to improve what was here. Rebuild some bars and apartments, turn some old storefronts into hydroponics labs, all that kind of stuff. I chewed on my bottom lip a bit as I thought it over.

Unity. It would require some kind of governance. Even if we got all the krewes to sit down in the same place and try to rebuild the city they wouldn't go for it. They'd been at each other's throats for too long that the infighting wouldn't end. If unity was to be achieved it would have to be with a whole new system. Could ponies even hold democratic elections anymore? Say somepony like Comet (not that I ever expected somepony like Comet Spark to ever hold office) won the elections. I doubted the ponies of the other krewes would listen to him – let alone the zebras of the Maisha Social Club. It made me wonder if it was even a possibility anymore.

It was a point I had to give to the Enclave. We had governance. The President and the Council made sure we had some kind of leadership to turn to, a kind of figurehead to walk behind. They set the tune, we played the instruments, in a sense.

Down here groundside, everypony came to the jam with a different style. Somepony was in the corner playing classical piano while a punk singer belted out some anti-government rhetoric, while a blues bassist competed with a country banjo. Nopony was calling the tune; if only they had a conductor.

If. If, if, if. Lots of ifs. I had to assume there was a reason that Neigh Orleans hadn't recovered, but I couldn't see it. They had the perfect opportunity for it and yet they didn't; there had to be something there beyond simple krewe infighting.

“Something on your mind?” Ren asked softly.

I shook out my head a little. “No, not in particular. Just... chewing on something.”

“What about?”

“Neigh Orleans. Government. Wondering why this place can be so... intact, but with nopony here.”

Ren snorted softly. “You think about some boring stuff.” I huffed. “I get it, though. It's like having a house that could use a bit of work but everyone's camped on the front lawn.”

“Kinda. Is it like this back home, where you're from?”

Ren scratched his chin a bit. “Kinda? I mean, we avoided the megaspells, sure. But the civil war really took a toll back home, and we got hit with conventional weapons from pony and griffon alike.”

“I thought griffons were on our side?”

“Not everyone was. It split the nation apart. And a lot of griffons died for it. It left a lot of cities in ruins. Talonopolis was firebombed, twice, and it's mostly ruin nowadays. Rockwington got hit hard, and so did Breakbeak. So we don't really have any place to really... rebuild. And griffon lands were never really great to begin with for living. Rocky steppe and desert, not a lot of arable land.” Ren shrugged. “There's tribal councils, but they don't get along. Much like the krewes I guess. It's why so many of us turn to mercenary work. It's work, and living in whatever shelter we get is just like living back home.”

The light breeze picked at my mane as I listened, and threatened to put out my cigarette. I shivered a little as a bit of cold mist got into the belfry. Ren scooted a little closer and dropped a wing over me. I smiled at him.

The time ticked by. Not much was happening outside. The warmth of the wing around me and the griffon next to me conspired with the nicotine and the patter of rain to make me incredibly sleepy. I leaned against Ren, who tightened his grip and held me a little closer. My head rested on his chest, where I listened to the soft thumping of his heartbeat.

It was nice to have somepony in my life now. Well, someone. He wasn't a pony. And wasn't even technically “in my life” in the traditional sense that term got used. But Ren was still there at least. And he gave me something to fight for and look forward to. And with how shitty the last few weeks had been, I could use a little something nice to cling to.

It was, technically, outside my mission parameters. I should have been scouting. I should have been looking at more of Neigh Orleans to send back to base. But it felt wrong to just use everypony like that. I'd made friends, true companions, and I didn't want to just vanish on them. So maybe I'd use this as an excuse to stay a little longer. Get a more in-depth report for the Major.

And if I was down here, well, I might as well try to help out if I could. And maybe I'd even include it in the report; tell the Major that this place needed some guidance and a bit of a nudge in the right direction to get back on its hooves. That we, the Enclave, owed it to them to come and help. We'd locked ourselves away and taken so much with us. Military discipline, modern (by Equestrian Wasteland standards anyway) technology, farming, all of that we'd taken away from them. For what? It was time to bring it back. A century of decay, disuse, and death was enough.

I started forming the words for my report in my head, but the steady thumping of Ren's heartbeat and the warmth of his feathers made it very difficult. I started to doze off. At some point he must have realized and helped me to my hooves. We climbed down from the belfry and slipped off to the room that I had gotten from Sunray to stay in. After that, well... some things were best left out of the reports.

Afterwards I slept as soundly as I had in a very long time, snuggled up in the company of someone very important.

Level Up!

Level 9

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers, Combat Veteran, Explorer

Traits: Fast Shot

Entracte 2

View Online

Entracte 2

Rain drummed on the windows as the storm picked up. A bolt of lightning cut across the sky; a split second later the thunder rattled the glass panes in their frames. It felt so... primitive. Sitting inside to avoid the weather. Pegasi should be in control of this, Summer Rain thought. We shouldn't be leaving this to the elements. The wild weather was getting to be annoying but there wasn't much she could do about it. They'd tried. Whatever ambient magic saturated the air around Neigh Orleans made it too difficult. They'd already lost a stallion to it. He'd been killed when the clouds they were trying to disperse shot a lightning bolt into his chest.

Summer sighed softly. Another letter to send back home. Dear [Sir/Madam], we regret to inform you that your [son/daughter] has been killed in action, blah blah, leaving out the depressingly banal details of course. They will be recognized for their service to the Enclave. Know that they were killed in the service of the greater good and that their sacrifice will not be taken in vain. My deepest condolences, Major Summer Rain, E.A.F, EFB Thunderclap. Greater good. Sacrifice not in vain. What kind of heroic death was being shocked to death by a cloud?

A stack of reports sat on her desk, a motley arrangement of photos, holotapes, written reports, and radio transcripts. Her scouts had been busy as bees out there. She'd barely had the time to parse through them all; but they all had similar content anyway. Infrastructure was okay, pockets of survivors, pockets of danger. Radiation abound.

Nothing that pointed to a good course of action yet.

The door edged open and in walked a prim-looking stallion carrying a tray. A cup of coffee steamed on it next to a small plate of preserved donuts that had been found in one of the store rooms. The stallion set the tray down at just the right time: another peal of thunder and lightning added a bit of a dramatic flair to the mundane task of delivering coffee.

“Thank you, Aviator Sand.”

“Ma'am.” The stallion snapped a salute. “Another report came in while I was away.”

“Who was it?”

“Aviator Autumn Breeze, Ma'am.”

She heaved a soft sigh. “So no word from Monsoon, I suppose?”

“No, Ma'am. Not for two weeks.”

Dear [Sir/Madam], we regret to inform you your daughter was killed in action...

She took the report from the stallion and sat down at her desk. She flipped through the few pages of hoof-written notes. As her eyes scanned, her scowl turned to a smile. Well now. That was a good a plan as any. Major Summer Rain pushed the intercom button on her desk.

“Lieutenant, I think we need to hold that meeting now.”

Act 3 - Chapter 20

View Online

Act 3

Therefore a wise prince ought to adopt such a course that his citizens will always in every sort and kind of circumstance have need of the state and of him, and then he will always find them faithful.

- Niccolo Machiavelli

Chapter 20

Sunlight streamed through the thick grey clouds. It was warm, but at least the humidity had cut back a little. Well, just a little. It was still way more humid than any place had any right to be. How did folks live here? Even before the war? It was awful.

“You sure this is the right way?” Ren asked, looking over at Peach Tea. She was our unofficial guide to the area, given she had the better working PipBuck.

“Ah'm damned sure. Long as Stable-Tec actually got theyselves some accurate maps.” Peach Tea was walking a little further ahead, atop the levee wall that ran along the road. She was humming a jaunty little tune and balancing along the narrow ledge while she went. Somewhere along this winding river road to nowhere was our destination: an old plantation known as Oak Hall. It was the favoured campgrounds of a caravan that had gone missing recently. Their employers had gotten nervous and had decided to hire some mercenaries – Ren and Peach, and by proxy, me – to find their lost caravan.

“Well, only a poor workpony blames their tools~” I teased playfully. Peach Tea's horn lit up in a glow of pink. Something smacked me lightly in the back of the head; a ball of magic swirled around in front of me, then gave me the middle talon much like a griffon would. Ren burst out laughing. “Don't encourage her,” I chuckled.

“It'll be here, don'tcha worry.” Peach looked down from the levee wall. “We ain't far. Can't be.”

We'd been along the road for most of the day, dodging puddles and occasional rain squalls. The dark clouds had parted a little as if somepony had fired a great shotgun against the clouds, punching tears through it. Even that little glimpse through the clouds was nice. After so long on the ground it was good to see the blue sky above. Sometimes I wished I'd see somepony perched on a cloud, watching down on me. It had been nearly two weeks since I'd sent my last report to the Major and had gotten no reply yet.

Not that I really expected one, but it would be nice. Even just a confirmation like hey, we got your message, nice to hear from you, how're ya now, good an' you? Nothing. Maybe they were working on a way to get me a message. Maybe the message never made it. I didn't know.

Homesickness had never really set in for me... but once in a while I wished I would have a little insight into what was going on back home. I wondered what my buddy Sky Dancer was up to, what Sarge was doing with our regiment, what Barley Stalk and Monsoon Lotus and that damned third mare I never got the name of were doing out here. Some sign that the Enclave still persisted in some way or another.

I had never been much of a talkative pony before, never super social outside my own regiment. Despite that I liked being around others. To be a part of their lives even if I wasn't directly involved. To hear the shit-talk, the laughing, the stories. Down here, all I had was Peach Tea and Renfeld, plus a few other acquaintances. Just wasn't the same.

Although... I looked at Ren out of the corner of my eye, at his sandy coat and his grey feathers. He wasn't the Enclave... but he was mine. Ever since our little chat in the tower – and a more, ah, personal encounter in our room – we'd been... did dating even exist in Equestria these days? We were lovers, not married, but dating was such a foreign concept down here that I couldn't even think of it in those terms. Wasn't like the Enclave where I'd go for a shake at the local diner, maybe go for a walk. See a park. Listen to some music. Especially not with a griffon. Yeesh. Between the constant border skirmishes and just the general animosity I'm sure I'd be getting tons of odd looks.

Still. Bet Mom would like him. She didn't care much for old grudges.

I leaned up to place a little kiss on his cheek; that always made him blush a bit and look away, which I found just the cutest damn thing.

Our entire walk down here had been rather uneventful. The old shacks and shotgun houses that lined the side of the street opposite the levee were as quiet and ramshackle as they'd been when I was last down this way with Comet Spark. The whole area was just devoid of any life. Well, Equine life anyway. Occasionally we'd scare up a nest of fat, bulbous bugs that Peach identified as Bloatsprites. They were pretty harmless; those that wanted to make a go of it were easily swatted.

Not too far down the road, something changed. There was an odd nagging feeling at the back of my mind, a feeling of déja-vu of sorts. I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment while I tried to work all of it out and what exactly my brain was seeing that I wasn't. Then it hit me. I knew this area. Like, intimately. And when I took a moment to look closer I could see it clearer: the freshly burnt leaves, the trees laid bare by a blastwave. I counted out a few steps, then looked through the trees.

Between them I could see it. There lay the charred black carcass of what had been a stately, squat little plantation house. The once-brightly painted timbers were piled across the property in heaps like discarded toys. Rusted Ponytrons lay scattered on the front lawn.

Sitting in front of all of it was a wooden marker painted amber and red with a whiskey bottle icon.

“Hey, Autumn!” Ren called. The others had taken several strides ahead of me while I'd stopped to look.

“Hold on a second!” I called back. I stepped onto the property.

Goddesses, had it really been just a month? It felt like a lifetime. I stepped over one of the Ponytrons – riddled with bullets, this one must have been Comet's kill – and across some charred timbers toward the house.

Peach Tea came up alongside me, looking around. She nudged a Ponytron with her shotgun and, clearly satisfied that it was well and truly dead, looked over at me. “What is this place?”

“It's uh... a real long story.”

“Y'all lookin' at it funny, though.”

“Yeah,” Ren put in softly. “Means something, doesn't it?”

“Well, let's just say... shit. You'd never believe me if I told you the whole story.” I walked around the side of the house as I spoke and broke into a grin. A ragged, burnt, yet intact section of roof – twice the size of Renfeld, easily – was embedded solidly into the ground. Next to it was a depression in the mud that looked roughly, well, me sized. “Let's just say one of my previous adventures took me out here.”

“They ain't anythin' here worth a damn, though.” Peach was standing with her hooves on either side of a wagon rut Comet and I had carved when we hauled a few thousand caps worth of firearms and firearm accessories away from here.

“Nothing here worth a damn now.” I flashed her a sheepish grin, one of my goldenrod-coloured hooves touching the embedded chunk of roof. “I uh... may have had something to do with all of this.”

Her eyes widened as she looked around. Ren let out a snort of amusement. “I need that story.”

“You won't believe me.”

“Don't care, Ah need it too.”

“Come on, we got a bit of a hike. I'll tell ya on the way.”

-=O=-

“...so anyway, that's how I accidentally levelled a piece of Equestrian architectural history.”

“Bullshit.”

I grinned at Peach. “Sky's honest truth.”

“So let me get this straight,” Ren said. “You accidentally started a gas leak trying to breach a security door, which gets all bottled up in the kitchen. Then you let it out by throwing open the doors... and then a turret lights it all up?”

“Which then blows the lines, ayup, that's about the long and short of it,” I said with a chuckle.

Renfeld just clicked his beak and shook his head. “Not letting you touch mines anymore.”

“Ah'll say. Ah mean, y'all couldn'ta thought of a better way t'get inta the safe room?”

“Well...” I began, musing on it a moment. “It's kind of my talent to... I suppose get myself into trouble.” I wiggled my rear, flashing Ren a mischievous smirk as I did, even though it was just to show off a cutie mark of a brain-shaped cloud, and the little lightning bolts shooting from it. “I'm good at coming up with plans on the fly. But uh... quick thinking doesn't mean smart thinking, y'know?”

“Oh, very much so.”

I smiled sheepishly. “It's how it goes for me. I get plans in my head and go to execute 'em. Sometimes it works out. Sometimes you destroy historical buildings.”

Peach Tea burst into giggles. She lifted her hoof and pressed a few PipBuck buttons to activate the radio. We were lucky enough to just catch the start of a bombastic little piano piece. The song carried us onward for the next little bit as we passed the old burnt-out plantation (my bad) and continued up the street. It wasn't too far, maybe another ten minutes – the song transitioning into a more familiar one I knew as The Joint is Jumpin' – around a few corners. Peach Tea checked her PipBuck and came to a stop.

“We here.”

Wherever here was it didn't look terribly remarkable. There were subtle signs that pointed to there having been a battle around here recently though. A few bullet casings scattered about the road and in the muck on the shoulders. Trees carved up by stray rounds, their bark torn away to reveal the bright fresh wood beneath like long scars. A pile of ash. Scorch marks on the road. There'd be a fight here, that's for sure, but no sign of our caravan.

“Ah mean, this is where they said the caravan mighta gone missin'. But Ah don't see no caravan.”

“No, but they were here,” Ren said softly. He nudged the ash pile with his rifle barrel, pushing the fragments of a canvas bag out. There was the burnt remnants of a buckle on it, glittering in the sunlight, and what looked to be our missing caravan's logo printed on the side of canvas. “Poor pony.”

I nodded. I'd reduced a few creatures – and raiders – to ash with my own arcane rifles before. It wasn't a pretty sight. I stood near the ash pile, eyes scanning around the area. I'd noticed with most of the raiders I'd dealt with that they were always based somewhere nearby. A kind of hide-out of sorts. What was the point in robbing passer-bys if you got robbed yourself hauling all the gear a few kilometers away? “Ten caps say we'll find out more at that plantation.”

Peach Tea glanced at her PipBuck. “Oak Hall. That's my guess.”

“Looks like hoofprints off in the mud anyway. And blood on the trees.” Ren ran a talon along the nearest tree, examining the brown splotches on it.

“Nice work, eagle-eye,” I said with a grin.

“Hey, that's racist,” Renfeld gave me a mock look of indignation. “I am half falcon, thank you very much.” He broke into a grin and blew me a playful kiss.

“If y'all two is done eye-bangin', we gots a caravan to find.” The orange unicorn was already halfway up the road toward the path to the plantation. “Honestly.”

-=O=-

The trees that once gave Oak Hall its name still lined the white path up to the plantation itself. The plantation was a stately looking mansion even after all these years. Two storeys tall and made of white-washed stucco, with fluted columns holding up a dark red roof. Most of its many, many windows had been broken and as we approached the mansion we got a bit better sense of the damage it had taken over the years. Paint and stucco was flecked from the walls, and there were signs of water damage on the lowest reaches of the mansion. Still, it would have made a hell of a place to stay with just a bit of spit-shine. I made a mental note to come back some day. Wouldn't take much to get it livable again – give me a year, I could have it back a hundred percent.

A trail of bloodstains and hoof-prints led up the white gravel path to the mansion. Somepony had been here recently and they'd been injured, badly. We approached the house with weapons raised. My eyes were firmly fixed on the upper floors, particularly the tall widow's walk cupola atop the house. If there was anypony watching with a rifle, it would be there, with its commanding view of not just the plantation property but the road for quite a ways around.

No shots rang out to greet us, no flash of a rifle from the upper reaches of Oak Hall. It was as quiet and dead as most of the region. As I'd come to learn about Martingale territory – and the environs of Neigh Orleans in particular – quiet usually meant somepony was just hiding out.

Peach and Ren were ahead of me and took up breaching positions on the right side of the door. I went to the left and gave Ren a nod, who used his talons to push the door open. No immediate fire greeted us. I rushed the door with my companions behind me, breaching through the front and clearing the entry hall. Nothing. Just dust and cobwebs to greet us.

Nopony let their guard down just yet. Ren used his talons to point to me and motioned to the staircase. He then motioned to Peach to check the left side of the house while he went right. I nodded and unfurled my wings to quietly flutter up the stairs, rather than take what was likely to be creaky wooden steps. After all, who would be silly enough to give their position away like that?

There was somepony on the second floor. Had been anyway. Past tense. The somepony wasn't anymore. They were slumped against a wall with a rather significant amount of blood lost from a ravaged neck. It looked like the kind of damage buckshot would do at close range, on wide choke. They were wearing barding emblazoned with the emblem of the caravan company we were looking for.

Shit.

I crept forward, not even bothering to check the figure's pulse. The unicorn mare (easier to tell as I got closer) was stone dead. She was slumped directly across from an open doorway which had a bit of wood carved out of the frame from the shotgun's spray.

I quietly pressed to the wall and listened. It was hard to tell if there was anything. Certainly no loud movement. I checked my new rifle – that beautiful looking CAER I got from the museum - and quickly rounded through the door. I had just enough time to get the briefest impression of a pony laying against the wall before something hit me in the chest like a runaway freight train.

The air went out of my lungs and I fell backwards, hitting the floor hard. A cry came from downstairs along with a crashing noise. From on my back I lifted the rifle and fired it point blank at the figure. I didn't even think of trying SATS and, well, at this range it wouldn't be necessary. It was the first time I ever fired the CAER, in fact, after picking it up.

It was awesome.

First a little dot of red danced along the figure, helping my aim, as the trigger was half-pulled. Then, on a full pull, a bolt of bright blue lightning crackled out with a loud snap. A male's voice cried out in a convulsive scream as it struck home against his hip.

A pale green stallion with a shaved head sprawled against the floor, shaking and twitching as little arcs of electricity ran along his coat. His white tail was stuck out on end, puffy from the shock. A cut-down hunting shotgun lay at the earth pony's hooves, which he was desperately trying to reach for. I was back to my senses before he was.

A flap of my wings sent me across the room quicker than if I'd gotten on my hooves and run. I knocked the shotgun away, then pirouetted on the spot and rammed my hind-hoof against the stallion's temple. He snarled in pain and curled into the fetal position.

“Ah yield, f-fuck's sake, y'all win!”

I stepped back and aimed my rifle at him, trigger half-pulled to let the red laser dot shine on his chest, right where his heart would be. Around this time Ren burst through the room with his machine gun raised. He took a quick look at the situation, saw me with it somewhat well in hoof, and nodded.

“You alright, honey?”

“Honey?” the stallion on the ground spat in surprise.

My tongue relaxed on the trigger and I lowered the CAER. “I'm okay.” I glanced down at my chestpiece. Numerous dents scored the surface of the armour. Buckshot lacked any penetrative power and this police-issue combat armour had stopped it clean. Yet physics existed and were still a bitch, so when the buckshot hit it still had a lot of energy to transfer, hence my being knocked down... and the current growing pain in my chest.

“Ah heard yellin'!” Peach called as she stepped into the room.

“We're good,” I assured her. I was able to get a good look at the earth pony on the floor. He was dirty, unkempt, with wild green eyes streaked with red; bloodshot as they were and with their dilated pupils I'd bet he was high as a kite. Painkillers, probably. He was missing a good number of his teeth (not my fault) and those that remained were yellow and broken (maybe my fault). His armour was a hodge-podge mixture of leather and canvas pieces, with occasional metal plates sewn helter-skelter across it. He'd been shot before I'd gotten there, right in the upper left foreleg. One plate covered his other foreleg, right at the shoulder. A crude symbol of a grey horseshoe was drawn on a red shield, clearly painted by untrained hooves. Or a foal. Hard to tell.

“T-th'fuck y'all on 'bout wit' dat rifle?” the stallion stammered out, twitching a little still. Drugs or electric rifle. I wasn't sure which.

“The fuck you on about with that shotgun?” I countered. “You shot first.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“Want a second round?” The red dot danced across his face, and the pony shied back.

“Calm down, Autumn,” Ren said softly.

“Y'all kill that mare in the hallway?” Peach had her shotgun levelled at the stallion's face.

“Me? 'Course Ah did, bitch done kill't Breaker.” The stallion spat out blood – and a tooth – onto the floor. “Fuckin' caravaners, dey just gotsta sit still. Naw, shit, dat's too fuckin' much t'ask, apparently.”

I glanced at Peach Tea. Stallion sure looked the part of raider – though appearances were never great indicators. Dirty and unwashed were common in the wasteland. But I'd seen that insignia before... on a number of dead raiders.

“Take it you hit that caravan?” I asked.

The stallion burst into laughter. “Ya kill me if Ah did?”

“No. Your head's worth more attached, if we're to be honest,” Ren said softly. “The rest of you, though? Optional.” Something about the threat from such a quiet, soft-spoken voice made it all the more deadly... and the raider quieted down real quick.

“Dey shot first.”

“I didn't ask that.” I lowered my rifle just a little, pointing at the stallion's hooves rather than his face. “Found our raiders.” For some reason this just made the stallion grin widely. “What? Something funny? We've got you, my friend.”

“Y'all ain't even gotsa dang fuckin' clue whatch'all gots. Sho~oot, ya think it were jus' me?” His laugh was strained in pain, a wheezing noise that was more horrific than anything else. “Y'all fucked up good.”

I didn't like the sound of that. Drugs might have explained his twitchy behaviour... but there was some sincere conviction to his voice that I didn't quite like. Almost like he truly believed he held a card over us.

“Oh yeah? Then y'all best start talkin' 'fore Ah send th'griffon on ya,” Peach mused as she walked a little closer. Ren flexed the talons of one hand as if to show what he could do.

“Y'all gonna torture me? Ain't y'all de good guys? Ain't much good y'all is resortin' t'torture, no? Ah've seen worse, Ah've d-” he was cut off by Peach Tea cracking him on the chin with the butt of her shotgun. The stallion spat out another tooth. “Sumbitch!”

“Yeah, Ah'd bet that hurts. They ain't no good guys in the Wasteland, jackass, just evil an' not-evil.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Y'all gonna start talkin'?”

“An' if Ah do?”

“We take you in alive. Maybe you'll see the sun again in a few years,” Ren offered. “Or they hang you quick. One or the other.”

The stallion looked at the three large weapons pointed his way and grunted. “Fuggit. Why not. Y'all fucked anyway.” I glanced at Ren again, not quite liking the sound of that either. And by the look on his face neither did he. “ 'cause de Prince is comin'. An' he ain't comin' alone. Bend ya knees 'r die. Neigh Orleans ain't yo's no more. Dere's an army comin', comin' from Wise Apple. If'n Ah was y'all, Ah'd run. An' run real fuckin' fast, 'cause when de Prince catch ya? Shit, might make an ex-” a shotgun roared next to my ear, setting them a-ringing.

“What the hell, Peach?” Ren snapped.

She lowered her smoking shotgun. “He killed th'caravan we was lookin' for. Jus' finishin' the job. Besides, he was just rantin'.” She looked at Ren, who was still looking rather annoyed. “What?”

“He was surrendering!”

“They was gonna hang him! Ah done him a favour, ya ask me.”

“Guys?” I said quietly. “I think he was telling the truth.”

“Autumn...” Ren started softly.

“Ain't the first time I've seen that logo on a raider's clothes. Or the first time I've heard of the Prince before.” I quickly laid out the details of the crossroads shootout with Comet and the raider gang on the way to Whiskey Sour's place, plus the details of Whiskey's own personal journal and its mention of the Prince.

Peach Tea looked at the raider's corpse on the ground, then back at me. “Aw, shit.”

Chapter 21

View Online

Chapter 21

We'd just made it onto the rear porch of the plantation when the other raiders found us, bursting out of the bayou into the back yard of the plantation.

“We brought that backu- aw, fuck!” the leader, a slim stallion, cried out as he spotted us on the porch. Ren let loose a burst from his machine gun, scattering the raiders across the lawn. They had little in the way of cover but, conversely, neither did we on the porch. Peach ducked back inside and I immediately hit the dirt, lying between two pillars of the railing to use as concealment. Ren crouched behind the railing, his machine gun on its bipod as he kept firing bursts to keep the raiders scattered.

SATS helped me target one of the running raiders, a mare with a hunting rifle. A bolt of lightning crackled from my rifle and hit her dead centre. She clutched at her chest and fell to the side, dropping her rifle as she did. My aim was drawn to the lead raider and I put two more bolts his way, one missing and the other sending a shock through his leg that made him tumble.

I was starting to understand – partially – where the name The Stare came from with the CAER. The red beam that shot out before each bolt of lightning sure did remind me of an angry glare, staring down my opponents. Of course, what that had to do with Minster Fluttershy, I had no clue.

Shotgun blasts roared from the window next to me in quick succession, each shot hitting home with alarming frequency. SATS again, this time from Peach Tea. I grinned as Ren kept his suppressing fire on the few raiders that remained. The battle was over remarkably quick and without too much incident. Caught without cover, without concealment, and by surprise, the raiders had no chance. Before long we'd gotten most of them.

Ren's machine gun smoked slightly as the last burst caught a running mare in the side and she tumbled to the dirt. So much for backup. I fluttered over the railing and landed next to one of the raiders, rolling her onto her back. A crude red cloth shield was sewn onto her barding, with a silver horseshoe painted on.

“Shit.” The buzz around Neigh Orleans had been about increased raider attacks. And Mamma Praline had worried about a unified gang bringing trouble. And now this talk of the Prince again, and the same shield and horseshoe logo. Whatever was going on, finding this missing caravan – and any survivors – had suddenly dropped off the list of priorities.

I wanted to know who the fuck this Prince was, and what he wanted. I pulled the PipBuck tablet out of my barding pocket and flipped to the map setting. These raiders couldn't have gone far if they'd hustled out on hoof to find backup, and were just getting back now. There was an empty box – unexplored – for a “Wise Apple Plantation” not far.

“Who's feeling up to a little scouting mission?” I asked.

-=O=-

Not far from Wise Apple I noticed a soft buzzing in the air. A subtle noise that I couldn't quite make out. It sounded almost like a swarm of particularly deep-voiced mosquitoes, and it took a while for me to figure it out. The closer we got the more distinct it got, until I realized it was conversation. Several dozen of them in fact, distant and indistinct, mixing into one humming buzz that carried over the quiet bayou.

We were close.

At that point we got quiet and got off the main road. The three of us picked our way as stealthily as we could through the brambles and the trees. The darkening early evening helped conceal our approach, as did the shadows of the underbrush and the trees. We approached from an angle, not the main road, in order to try and get around to the side unseen.

“Oh, Goddesses,” Peach Tea breathed.

To say an army was waiting for us beyond the trees was an understatement. The encampment stretched out across the barren fields of the once-mighty Wise Apple plantation. Dozens of cooking fires were erected between rows of battered canvas tents and cobbled together wood and scrap metal shacks. Sections were marked out with banners, skulls, and hastily assembled fences. A sea of technicolour equines meandered between the tents; unicorns, earth ponies, and even a few pegasi of every colour combination imaginable – and some that really shouldn't have been imagined – intermingled with zebras, zonies, and one tent of bat ponies.

The buzz of conversation was more intense here, occasionally punctuated by a loud laugh or shout. Music from a dozen different sources mingled together in a chaotic background soundtrack.

Fluttering in the breeze over top the main mansion house, lit by a dedicated spotlight at its base, was a wide flag of crimson fabric, a grey horseshoe printed upon it. This icon was repeated over and over across the camp, on the sides of tents, on flagpoles and battle-standards. And, of course, it was repeated on the armour and barding of the ponies that milled about.

Know how you should never judge a book by its cover? Forget that. Everypony in the camp read “raider” to me by their appearance. Dirty, wild looks, spiked armour and gruesome decorations of skulls and the like. Weapons made more to intimidate than to kill. If they weren't raiders I didn't know what was.

“I think that raider wasn't kidding,” Ren said quietly.

“Ya think?”

I nodded in agreement with Peach Tea. “I mean, I'd say that's a raider army alright. Goddesses, there's hundreds.”

“I'd say at least three hundred, maybe more.”

“Ah ain't even seen this many folk in one place before.” Peach narrowed her eyes a little, squinting through the leaves that still clung to the deadened trees around us. “Ah can't even believe mah own eyes.”

So the raider hadn't just been a raving lunatic. There really was an army ready and waiting. It didn't look as if it was doing much in the way of “sweeping down” through the city just yet but it didn't look too far out of the realm of possibility. I didn't like it one bit. I also didn't like that I had really no detail as to what was going on. I'd heard mention of a Prince a few times now and I saw this army with my own eyes. Somepony needed to warn the city that this was here.

But what were we going to say? That we saw an army over three hundred strong assembling on an old plantation? And who would we even tell anyway? Neigh Orleans had no unified government and this story was so far fetched that I can't imagine anypony would believe us without details. We needed more information, we needed proof. What I wouldn't give for an Enclave EyeBot of my own. I could set up my own little slideshow and everything.

“We need to get inside,” I said simply.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that. I thought I heard you say we were going in there,” Ren said it casually, but I could hear the strained sarcasm in his voice.

“I did.” I looked over at Peach Tea and Renfeld. “All we have is the ravings of a mad raider to tell us what's going on here. Plus a bit of a view from the outside. We really don't know what's going on, right? So we've gotta get inside. Get a look around. Figure out what the deal is... and then warn somepony.”

“Ah don't like it. Ah ain't sayin' ya wrong, Ah just don' like it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Well we ain't got much choice, do we?” I pointed out.

“We could observe from the clouds,” Ren offered.

“Ah can't,” Peach put in. “Ah can't fly. Or walk on clouds.”

“No, we need to know what it's like at ground level. Observation is good but if we want to give a detailed report, we need to know what it's like in the camp. Morale. Weapons. Readiness. Plans. Shit, if we could carry out a battle map...” Oh, Goddesses, I was starting to sound like the Major. I had to police that. Being a mercenary could only be used as a plausible explanation of my background for so long – and I didn't think many mercenaries knew about intelligence-gathering techniques. “We have to get in there.”

Ren looked out from the trees, tapping his talons against the fore-end of his rifle for a little while. “I don't see any griffons there.”

“That's okay. I want you on overwatch anyway. Get a good position in the clouds and watch us. If we get into trouble, let it rain.” I put a wing on his shoulder when Ren frowned at the idea of just watching us in danger. “We'll be fine.”

“What if you two are discovered?”

“We're not infiltrating, we're observing. We're not playing super-spy here,” I said with a small smile. “Nopony knows who we are. If we dress as raiders looking for an in with this... army, then they have no reason to believe we're anything but.”

“Autumn's right,” Peach Tea put in. “Ah sincerely doubt there's anypony we've 'ssociated with in there. Still dangerous. But we gon' blend in, easy as pie.”

Ren sighed softly. “Fine. But you'll need disguises to do that.”

-=O=-

“This's mildly fucked right up, Autumn.”

We were all standing outside in the field at Oak Hall. I held up a long coat in my wings, brushing some dirt from the ragged tails. The duster had been modified over the years, with patches replacing bullet holes and a spiked shoulder-pad on the left foreleg giving that perfect, intimidating “I'm a raider” look. It was complemented by an long-snouted skull on the other shoulder. I wasn't sure what creature it could have possibly come from; personally I didn't care to figure out.

The long duster was completely impractical and heavy as all get-out for the heat of Neigh Orleans, and practically screamed “I'm trying to be a badass raider, witness me in my badassitude”, but hey, that meant it would do even better as a disguise; and it hid my wings fairly well to boot. I just tried to ignore the fact that I'd taken it from a bullet-ridden corpse. It was one thing to grab a gun, or yank a grenade off a vest. It was another thing to be wearing what amounted to the death shroud of somepony. “Just try not to think too much about it.”

Peach Tea was floating up a few various pieces of less-bloodstained kit from the corpses she'd found. Some leather barding with what looked suspiciously like the nose cone from a balefire egg strapped to the front, and some riveted metal leg guards. There was a ragged, wet hole right next to the nose cone, punched through the leather (I was really, really trying not to think of what all this leather was tanned from). “Oh, Ah'm thinkin' about it.”

“Tell you what: I know a really good spa. After this is said and done we'll get cleaned right up.”

“Ah'll damn well hold ya t'that.” She slipped out of her Stable suit and her security vest, then into the leather armour. She shuddered deeply as the bullet hole left a small streak of half-dried blood on her chest. “Ugh. Smells like somepony died in... oh, right.” Peach Tea rolled her eyes as she spoke. She started folding up her old clothes with her magic. I finally got a good luck at her Stable suit and the number on it. A bright yellow “223” adorned the sleeves and the back. I'd seen it before, when I first met her, but I never got much of a look at it with the way her cuffs tended to be rolled back and the vest over the rest of it. She stuck her clothes in a waiting duffel bag, where I'd also stashed mine. Ren would be taking care of our barding while we were away.

My own duster smelled disgustingly like stale sweat and booze with just a hint of musky smoke. Unpleasant to say the least. “How do we look, hon?” I asked Ren.

“Edgy.” The griffon tilted his head a little to get a better look at us, his golden eyes looking us over from the tips of our ears to the bottom of our hooves. “But it works. You definitely look raiderish. Oh, uh, hold on.”

He stepped forward and spread his talons through my mane. What had once been a well-kept mane that was short on the right and swept down the left of my head was now a mess that hung about without rhyme or reason. Ren turned to Peach with an apologetic smile, talons spread wide.

“Ah'll handle it, thanks.” She used her magic to pull the simple hair tie from her mane, letting the long creme-coloured hairs fall in loose waves. She shook out her head, wildly messing up the mane, then tied her hair tie (which I noted with some amusement was made from a length of always-practical paracord) around her left foreleg. “Ah dunno why we couldn'ta just been th'first fashion-conscious raiders.”

“Oh, you're both beautiful...ly awful.” I playfully punched Ren's shoulder for that. He grinned, then held out his talons to me.

“What?” I asked.

“The Stare. Not smart to carry something that fancy around a bunch of raiders.” I passed the rifle over to him. “Don't pout.”

“I'm not pouting.”

“You're pouting. Now, here's for luck.” He leaned in and pressed his beak against the tip of my snout. No lips, after all. Griffons couldn't exactly kiss, so I did it for him, pecking him on the beak. “I'll keep an eye out.”

“You damn well better, now that I have a spa appointment.”

Peach Tea snorted. “What 'bout me, where's mah kiss?”

I playfully kissed her cheek. “Better?”

“Naw. Let's just get this over with.” As a final detail she pulled off her PipBuck and stuck it in her saddlebags. I blinked. Right. Forgot. I quickly undid the remote for my PipBuck from the front of my barding and hid it in the saddlebags. The PipBucks were small enough to keep with us, so long as we kept them out of sight.

We turned back toward Wise Apple. Behind us I heard the soft woosh of wings beating; a wide shadow spread over us as Ren took off and punched through the low, grey cloud cover. I trusted he'd keep a good eye on us.

“Ready?” I asked Peach.

“As Ah'll ever be.”

Level Up!

Level 10

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers, Combat Veteran, Explorer, How We Do It on the Farm

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 22

View Online

Chapter 22

Not a soul paid us any heed as we passed the edge of the woods into the encampment. There was just so many ponies milling about that we easily blended into the crowd almost immediately. Our disguises weren't out of place at all. I'd venture to say we were some of the best dressed around, honestly. Many other raiders in the camp weren't even wearing armour, just rags that hung to their frames.

I noticed, now that we were at “ground level” as it were, that there were little subgroups among the unified raiders. They all bore the same red shield and grey horseshoe mark on everything, but there were themes to sections of the camps. Here and there were signs of their old style of gang: arrangements of skulls and crossed bones. Banners depicting garish colours or gory scenes. The usual for raiders.

We passed nearly invisibly through the crowds. Oh, we were seen of course; ponies greeted us with curt nods or suspicious glares from cookfires. But nopony stopped us, accosted us, or otherwise got in our way. So far as the camp cared we were as much a fixture as they were.

In short... the perfect disguise.

“Ah don't like this place,” Peach Tea mumbled as we passed by a small group of huts set a noticeable distance from the others, where a cooking fire roasted something that looked suspiciously like a pony's hind leg.

“We're not going to stay long.” Definitely a hindleg. I could see the green pepper cutie mark as it rotated on the spit. Bile rose in my throat and I fought back a wave of nausea.

“Ah feel nekkid without my PipBuck.”

“Me too.” Without the remote on my chest I'd have no access to my PipBuck's functions, either. I glanced around the camp, looking for some kind of central command structure. Somewhere with a radio, or a map with drawn battle plans. Some kind of living, tangible proof that there was this army out here and it was, for sure, no doubt about it headed for Neigh Orleans. Something other than the big house itself. I'd rather not try infiltrating what was probably the Prince's – whoever he was – own home.

There seemed to be a good candidate somewhere near the plantation house itself, however. A long tent, which looked like old Royal Equestrian Army vintage. One of the red-and-grey-horseshoe flags was flying just outside the tent, on a slightly taller post than most others. Just the way it sat separate from the rest, without a cookfire, caught my attention. It looked just like any FOB HQ I'd set up in training.

“Follow me,” I whispered to Peach, edging in that direction. We made it ten steps.

“Hey!” The voice that called out was harsh. Deep. We stopped. The way the shout cut through the noise it had to be directed at us. I turned to look at the source of the voice.

It was a tall, lanky zebra, his mane tied back in a long ponytail. He wore thick metal armour, and had a nasty-looking battle-saddle on. Both sides were equipped with huge combat shotguns.

“Who the fuck are y'all?” he asked. Before I even started to answer he gave me an out. “New blood, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peach Tea put in quickly.

The zebra broke into a mischievous grin. “Wey-hell, shit. Welcome to the Kingdom.” He extended a hoof to each of us in turn. I shook it hesitantly, trying to remember that we were meant to be infiltrating. If he thought we belonged – if we thought we belonged – then we belonged.

“Thanks,” I said, avoiding the urge to ask the apparent question - “What the fuck is the Kingdom?” - and instead just left it there.

“Noticed y'all didn't have the Mark-” I could hear the stress in his voice that gave the word a capital letter. “-so I figured you was new blood. Good to have y'all around. Got a place to stay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. On the edge of camp. Just a tent, we uh, we just got here.” I smiled easily. “I mean, I ain't heard many details, but shit. I heard enough for us to wanna make the trip down.” I didn't change my accent, but I did at least try to change up how I spoke a little.

The zebra barked out in laughter. “True fuckin' that, brother. Y'all two made it at a good time. Lecture night tonight at the big house. I mean shit, when me an' mine came around I never even saw The Prince for over two weeks. Y'all lucky fucks gonna meet him tonight. Hoo!” He stretched out a little. “Word of advice. Lot of folk round here are still a bit tweaked. Y'all want to be safe, get in with a bigger group. We up by the river, left of the big house. Look for the skull with the spiked helmet. Oh, and we'll hook you up with a Mark too. Best get that quick, 'fore you end up in trouble.”

The zebra nodded to himself and walked off, his armour clanging as he did. Peach Tea looked over at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Did uh, did we jus' get invited t'join a raider group?”

“I think we did. Y'know, I'd like to see this... what was it, lecture?”

“Why?”

“Might be good to check into what this Prince is like,” I offered. “Then we'll sneak into that tent tonight, and see if we can't find some information.”

“How long y'all think we gonna be here?” Peach asked. “Longer we stay, more dangerous it be. Ah don't like it here. Not a bit.”

“Hopefully not too long. Let's just keep walking.”

-=O=-

There wasn't much time left in the evening, but we still had to kill time. We spent it by wandering the camp, getting a look at the layout. It was exactly like any Enclave field base that I've seen and set up. There were armouries and ammunition depots, barding repair shops, impromptu bazaars, cookhouses, butchers (ew), guards, and scavenge dumps. This was a true army, ready to roll at any time. I wasn't sure why they hadn't rolled out yet, but I was glad they hadn't.

As the night darkened around us the energy in the camp changed. A murmur arose throughout the gathered ponies. Folks got up and moved toward the mansion. Something was happening... and we had to be there. If we were going to look the part of being in the Kingdom, I suppose, we'd have to play along. I just hoped it wasn't a public execution.

Most of the camp was gathered around the back porch of the mansion. Strings of bare lightbulbs hung around the porch for illumination. A few ramshackle speakers were set up, rigged to the upper floor's railing with enough duct tape that I'm sure I could have built an entire Thunderhead out of it. Everypony was waiting for someone to take the stage, obviously. And it took only a few minutes of waiting for someone to finally make their grand appearance.

He was middle-aged, though with quite a bit of vigour for his age. Taller by a head than almost anypony, his coat was deep crimson, while his mane was a steel grey that helped hide the fact it was probably starting to naturally grey. He wore a light tweed suit, and a pair of glasses were perched on the edge of his snout. Around his neck was a silver medallion with a red stone. He looked like a professor at an old world university, somepony who would ramble on about history or something. And yet he carried himself with the dignified presence of a politician, mixed with the slight swagger of a rockstar. He didn't just exude charisma – he was charisma personified.

He wasn't alone however. Just behind him, coming through the door, was a mare that matched his height, and then some. Her coat was deep purple, her mane a deep enough purple to be nearly black that fell in loose curls around her ears. She had a regal, almost snobbish bearing as she came up alongside the professor-looking stallion, observing the crowd below as if she was looking at a crowd of radroaches. She wore the twinned medallion to the stallion's. Her bearing was just as full of swagger as the male's, except this one was the swagger of somepony who believed herself superior to all.

The strangest thing, though, was the race of the two; even at a distance it was immediately evident. Both mare and stallion were unicorns... and yet both had wings, to boot. The mare's were flared out, the stallion's were tucked to his side.

The crowd was dead silent. The male took his time, standing before a microphone on a rusty stand. Around his neck the silver amulet gleamed in the lights above him, its ruby red gem burning bright. “Good evening, everypony.” When he finally spoke his voice was calm, quiet, with a faint drawl to it. It served to really emphasize his professor appearance. The fact this was called a lecture didn't help. I was back at U of Chicacolt, listening to a droning lecture on philosophy. Oh, no.

“Hail, Prince Greyhoof!” the crowd shouted in unison. Peach Tea glanced at me and I glanced back. The Prince himself, it would seem. I was expecting more somehow. No prince I'd ever heard of had leather patches on the knees of their jacket.

“I'd like to first greet our newest members. I've been told that, today alone, we welcomed twenty newcomers. Welcome to the Kingdom.” A cheer rose up from the crowd, along with the banging of a hundred hooves on the dirt. The Prince smiled, then raised a hoof to silence the crowd. “Tonight, however... I'd like to talk to you about governance. In just a few weeks' time, we'll be entering the City of Neigh Orleans at long last. For the first time, Equestria will know who we are. When we arrive, we'll have to come in force. And we will. But once the blood stops flowing, we'll need to lead. I may be your Prince – but even a Prince needs to delegate leadership. That leadership will be delegated... to all of you.”

The reaction was equally pleased but far more subdued. I heard somepony shout “when do I get a crown?” to the laughter and delight of the crowd.

“You can come and take it,” the Prince said easily, but there was a cold threat there. He continued. “My delegates must rule properly if we're to succeed at forming a new Equestrian Kingdom. And that rule will be not a rule of violence, a rule of hatred and oppression, but a rule of compassion and love.”

This time the reaction was wildly different. There was a murmur of confusion and one or two shouts of indignation. The Prince held up a hoof to quiet them all down. That was odd. I'd never seen a pegasus – or well, anypony with wings, even Ren – use their hoof for body language before their wings. I didn't have much time to think it over before he went on.

“I know. I know. It seems so... out of character. I will get to that.” He paused a moment. “Once upon a time, the wasteland called you all raiders, slavers, bandits. For the most part, you are.” A chuckle of ascent from the crowd. “Wear those titles with pride because, for now, I need that. I need your brutality. Your ruthlessness. Your strength. But when the fighting is over I need somepony new.

This is why I hold these lectures. Consider this. There are two countries. In one country, the people are oppressed. Beaten. They ask for more; their leaders stamp them out each time. In the other country, the people are cared for. They ask for more and their leaders give as much as they can.”

There was a certain gravitas to his words. I found myself entranced, enthralled. The ruby on his amulet burned brightly on his chest.

“Rebellion is easy to incite in the first country. They have nothing to lose, and will turn on their masters because change, any change, would seem better. But the second country... they will be loyal to their leaders. Incorruptible. What could a rebellion offer them that they couldn't get from their leader? All of the greatest empires Equestria saw failed due to corruption and oppression. The old Pegas Empire. The Zebra Empires. The Old Griffon Republic. They held their ponies down with an iron hoof to their throat. All it took was a nudge from the outside and they readily – eagerly – took down their own leaders. We can learn from the mistakes of the past; we need to. Otherwise we'll fall victim to them. We have the advantage of learning how it was done in years past. We're making this Kingdom not from scratch, but on the bones and backs of those who came before.”

The crowd had gone deadly quiet at this point. I was enraptured, watching the Prince speaking. Even Peach Tea was staring up at the two of them, her attention wandering between both the Prince, and the unknown mare. The crowd itself barely blinked, let alone breathed.

“When we enter Neigh Orleans, you will be brutal conquerors. You will run roughshod across the city, you will slash, you will burn. You will crush any dissent underhoof. But once we have control, I expect you all to lead fairly. When those under your governance ask for food, you will feed them. When they ask for shelter, you give them shelter. And if they dare take advantage, you make an example of them. Do not mistake this leadership as one of weakness. If they demand more than they earned, you ensure they never demand again. And in doing all of this, you will ensure that nopony can ever tear us down from the inside.”

At that the Prince stopped a moment. A small burst of pine green magic lifted his glasses from his snout, and he cleaned them on his vest. He replaced them on his snout, then looked over the crowd with a small smirk.

“Of course, all that is for the future. When we leave for the City of Neigh Orleans, I wish to see you all at your absolute worst. Let me see my raiders, my slavers, my bandits. Let the whole city tremble under the Silver Horseshoe!”

A raucous cheer of approval at what the Prince said, followed by more stomping of hooves. I let out a cheer of my own before I could stop myself. What the fuck? The speaker himself stayed on the stand for a little while, then he and the mare turned and returned to the mansion. I blinked and fought the urge to shake out my head. It felt fuzzy, confused.

The gemstone. The amulet. Goddesses dammit. That's how he was so charismatic.

“Aw, fuck, that ain't good,” Peach Tea said simply, breaking me out of it.

I snorted. “No, it is not.”

In a few weeks' time, the Prince had said. That was when they would enter Neigh Orleans... and then he would unleash a raider army on a city of isolated krewes and innocent ponies. If I were him, I would do it one krewe at a time, starting with the biggest and best known, then slowly make my way down the list. And then after all that, he was expecting these raiders to just turn around and rule fairly over their subjects? A raider army ruling fairly? Not hardly. The Prince would lose control of this beast as soon as he turned it loose.

He had the right idea. Neigh Orleans did need a leader. It needed government and a figurehead and all that. But it needed it done right. It didn't need somepony who figured he could use a raider army as a tool. It needed his ideas... but not him.

“We need t'do somethin'. At least warn th'city.”

“That's not good enough. But we'll figure it out later. Come on.”

I motioned for Peach to follow and started moving just to try and get away from the crowd. Make sure nopony was paying too much attention. We wandered toward the nearby command tent, or at least what I thought was the command tent. It was well and truly night now, and as the crowd dispersed – taking with them their flashlights, torches, and light spells – the area around the command tent got darker and darker.

“In here,” I said, slipping through the flap. Bingo. I could see documents laid out on several tables around the inside of the tent, faintly lit by the camp's lights as it poured through the plastic windows.

“Ah can't see a dang thing. This look like a map though. An' it's got drawn krewe icons.” She picked it and folded it into her saddlebag. “Ah hope it's useful.”

I nodded and gathered up reams of paper, stuffing them under my coat. I hoped to be out of here before anypony got to the tent and realized they were missing. Maybe all the missing documents might even delay them a little. Couldn't take too long, though. We had to go.

“I think we got what we needed. I don't really care to hear another history lecture.” I kind of did, actually. I wanted to know how the Prince's history differed from what I was taught in the Enclave. But I wasn't going to stay overnight in a raider camp. That was just the kind of danger I wasn't interested in. No, sir.

We hustled through the camp, past darkened figures and gloomy tents. Eyes peered suspiciously at us over campfires and rigged-up lamps. In the gloom it was hard to see where we were going, but I had a decent sense that we were off south, back toward the main road. In the darkness, going through the underbrush was a bad idea. We'd have to stick to the main path off the plantation grounds, then make a break for it.

Almost to the main road. Almost. A few more steps and somepony bumped into me. I stumbled in the darkness.

“Wey-hell now.” The familiar, dark voice of the zebra from before. He hauled me to my hooves and Peach Tea squeaked in surprise. He'd shed his metal armour, which is how I hadn't heard him approach. “Now, new blood, if'n I remember y'all said you lived on the north edge of the camp. We're in the south here. Now, where y'all hustlin' to?”

I heard some crunching of hoofsteps nearby. I couldn't see them – my eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the gloom yet after rushing through the lights of the camp – but I felt them nearby. And five gets you ten they were armed.

“We uh, n-needed some privacy-” I began.

“I'll bet, after rifling through some papers like that. Now, I done heard of what the Prince does to those disloyal to him, but I ain't seen it. I'd love to see it now.”

I didn't. I smashed my forehead against the stallion's snout. He shouted and crumpled to the dirt.

“Autumn! Eyes closed!” Peach Tea screamed. I didn't question; I just closed my eyes.

The flash was as bright as a bolt of lightning. It was visible even through my eyelids. It lasted maybe a second. I heard shouts of alarm and confusion around us as the attacking ponies went temporarily blind from Peach's spell.

I opened my eyes to see the zebra groaning on the ground, holding his snout. I grabbed him with my wings and hauled the lanky stallion up. He was easy to carry now that he wasn't wearing heavy armour. With Peach on my heels I dragged the stallion to the front of the mansion.

“Hey! The fuck was that light?” somepony shouted. I saw a flashlight light up from in front of the house, right where we were headed. Then another. And three more. “Oh, fuck!” Gunfire opened up, tearing across the grass in front of us. I ducked and turned, running back to the camp. Peach Tea followed alongside.

Somewhere in the distance a whistle blew, loud and shrill. It was answered by countless whistles, shouts, and ringing of bells.

It was on.

Chapter 23

View Online

Chapter 23

We had three major advantages that saved our ass in the end.

The first: it was dark, and that meant things were confusing. The guards by the mansion had seen us, but they hadn't gotten a good look at us. I was dragging the only other pony – well, zebra – that knew what we looked like. So we still kind of blended.

The second: There were hundreds of ponies in the Prince's camp, and with all those ponies hearing alarms, there was pure chaos. It would be impossible to figure out what was going on and react fast enough. We managed to rush past a dozen raider tents before anypony even figured out that, oh shit, we were the trouble.

The third: we had Ren.

Shortly after the raider guards had lit us up with a flashlight and opened fire, he sprang into action. The piercing beams of their flashlights made them easy targets in the night. The rattle of his machine gun fire was distant, easily muffled by the chaotic noise of the ringing alarms. I could see the tracer rounds lighting up the night. One in five, if I had to guess, by the frequency of them. Bright yellow streaks that traced the direction of his fire toward the guards rushing us down.

By the Skies and by the Goddesses, I loved this griffon.

The chaos was an absolutely perfect distraction to get us out of the camp... if we had a way out. The mansion house was between us and the road, so that was completely out of the question. And diving into the brambles of the bayou at night was suicidal given we had no idea how to navigate it.

The zebra in my wings groaned and I smacked him with a hoof to keep him stunned. Oh, right! He'd mentioned his little gang was by a river. They must have a boat – had to, I figured – and rivers did show up on the PipBuck. That was our way out.

Progress was slow thanks to the fact I was dragging somepony along. Peach Tea and I wove our way through tents and shacks, headed toward where the zebra had mentioned his gang's camp was. A few tried to stop us, but most hadn't had the chance to get their weapons ready before we'd rushed past them. Those few that fired either missed us, or attracted the ire of our eye-in-the-sky griffon. Go griffon night vision.

Peach Tea kept her shotgun in front of her, the floating weapon glowing with her pink magic and providing just enough light to see in front of us. A raider stepped out from behind a shack with a sword in his teeth. He was cut down by two quick shots before he even reacted.

Through the pink glow of magic I saw a skull on a pole, with a spiked metal helmet resting atop it. We'd found the camp. And the camp had found us.

The raiders in the camp had one major target: Peach Tea. Her horn and gun were glowing brightly with dark pink light, making it easier to target her. I tucked in a little closer and held up the zebra as a shield to keep them back. Those few raiders I could see in the gloom hesitated.

“Shoot them!” the zebra snarled. I punched him in the snout. The raiders listened and opened fire.

At the range they were at they should have killed us. Peach Tea was quicker. Whether it was SATS or just quick-thinking, she put a shield up between us and the bullets. There was a quick withering barrage that stopped when they realized they were stuck against the shield.

It was quiet for a moment. “Give 'er up!” one of the raiders, a mare, shouted. “Y'all 'tween us an' th'camp an' they's on their way. Ain't got a place to run.”

I glanced up at just the right time, then smirked a little. “Naw. But I do have a friend.”

Renfeld's machine gun tore through the crowd, killing a few of the raiders and scattering the rest as he flew overhead, strafing them. He landed in front of us, letting loose with suppressing bursts. “Go!” he shouted.

I didn't need telling twice. Dragging our captive along, Peach Tea and I sprinted through the Spiked-Skull raider camp. As we ran she intensified the glow around her horn, letting it cut through the darkness. A few tried to take potshots at us; those that did had Ren send a few shots their way. I could see a break in the trees ahead; beyond it was dark, black water. The river. I pointed myself toward it.

A rickety wooden dock extended out onto the water. Against it floated a number of strange wide, flat boats with a tall propeller stuffed in a cage at the back. I threw the zebra captive into one and drew my pistol, putting some covering fire up the dock. Peach Tea jumped into the boat, conjuring up some arcane bonds for our prisoner.

I needed to make sure Ren made it out. I could hear his machine gun rattling but couldn't see him. Suddenly he burst through the trees, return tracer fire cutting apart the leaves and branches over his head.

“Go! Go! They're here!”

Shit. I climbed into the boat. I didn't recognize the controls. It was a bench with pedals and a few levers and switches. I climbed onto the bench and gave the pedals a test. Nothing. I pushed them again. Ren climbed in and set his machine gun on the boat's gunwale.

Framed by the light emanating from the raider's camp, I could see countless silhouettes on the shore. Gunfire tore up the dock and the water around the boat.

“Autumn!”

I kept trying the pedals. Still nothing. I kicked at one of the other controls. Something beneath and behind me whined softly. Two headlamps cut the darkness ahead of us. This time when I pedalled the boat reacted. Each little movement of the pedal corresponded to a broad spin of the propeller. With just a leisurely pace the propeller spun rapidly, buzzing loudly behind me.

“Hold on!” I shouted. A bullet snapped past my ear, alarmingly close, and knocked a hole in the front of the boat. Just a small one, nothing major. Renfeld drew a combat knife and cut us free from the dock. I gave the pedals a hard push.

The boat lurched forward with surprising agility, the bow lifting high out of the water and splashing back down from the sudden acceleration. I eased back on the pedals a little bit to bring the nose back down.

So. Hind legs powered our speed. Easy enough. I gave a tentative push of one of the foreleg controls. They moved a wide blade set in front the propeller, turning our airflow and, thus, turning us with it. I turned us broadside to the plantation. Little geysers of water shot up as bullets splashed around us. Ren raked the shoreside with machine gun fire, the tracers illuminating the opposition briefly.

In the distance came another loud whine. Two more headlamps cut the darkness by the dock. Then another pair, and another, and another. The raiders were on our tails.

“Aw, fuck me sideways!” I snarled.

Up ahead of us, a bridge over the river had collapsed. It wasn't going to be easy to get through, if it was even possible. I pushed hard on one of the pedals, our boat swinging around and kicking up a fine mist as it completed the wide 180.

The four pursuing boats were now ahead of us, their headlights glaring at me as I shot straight at them. Ren and Peach Tea took a position at the front of the boat, firing blindly at the oncoming lights. I kept us on path between two of them.

Contrary to popular belief, the best way to clear a field of fire quickly wasn't to go in a serpentine fashion. Weaving back and forth was an easy way to bleed off speed and get killed. No, the easiest way to survive was to just go full-tilt. It minimized exposure to the gunfire. With the pursuing boats coming on so quick, and with my sudden burst of speed on the pedals, we shot past each other before anypony even realized what was going on. Most of their shots missed. So did all of ours.

I heard shouting as the boats turned around to re-engage. We shot past the plantation again, receiving a few potshots for our trouble. Nothing to worry about. What we did have to worry about was the fact we were speeding blindly, at night, into the Neigh Orleans bayou... with four boats full of angry raiders on our tail.

Oh, what a night. What a lovely night.

-=O=-

Doggedly the raiders pursued us down the river away from the plantation. Their headlamps lit up our rear while ours lit the way forward. They were surprisingly stingy with their ammunition... but my guess was that nopony had anticipated a fight at that hour of the night, and so nopony had brought much in the way of extra. Likely whatever they had they were saving for clear shots. They still fired on occasion, enough to make me duck and flatten my ears with each shot. The fire was mostly inaccurate but still, inaccurate fire could still kill if it got lucky.

We were moving pretty damn quick too for the pace I was setting on the pedals. It was little more than a quick trot, but the propeller behind me was magically enchanted through what I was now understanding to be an arcanotech engine and gearbox (that I was currently astride) to spin ridiculously quick. The raiders were matching my pace, occasionally coming a bit closer only to be frightened off by a few machine gun rounds or a blast from Peach Tea's shotgun.

We had to lose them quickly. This race couldn't go on forever. Besides, they were all locals; chances were damned good they knew the area more than any of us did. Any side creeks that could get them ahead of us, or dead ends that would result in their catching us, they would know about. Add onto that the fact that they had us easily lit up while we only saw headlights meant they had an advantage in combat, too.

I spotted it on the edge of the light. A thick, gnarled log floating in the river ahead of us. Running into that full-tilt would have destroyed the boat. Instead, seeing it early enough gave me an idea.

“Peach!” I shouted. “Ahead of us!”

She looked forward. “What?”

“I'll go left! Throw it at them!”

She nodded and rushed to the front of the boat. As soon as we got close I swung the boat hard to the left then slalomed right. The boat kicked up a curtain of brackish water behind us, which made for a perfect bit of cover. Almost immediately after I turned, Peach Tea floated the log up and hurled it behind us.

One pursuer was too far aside to be in any danger. Two saw the log coming and split. The one behind them had no chance. I looked back in time to see the log hit the pursuing boat somewhere just above the headlights. I didn't see what happened, but somepony shouted and the boat swerved hard before the headlights lurched downwards and disappeared. A huge spray of water shot into the air.

One down, three to go.

I looked forward as Peach Tea shouted a warning. We were approaching a tree, fast. A whole grove of them – with just a small gap between them.

“Oh, FUCK!” I swung us around the right side of the tree, but scraped against the one next to it. I still managed to get us through but our boat could definitely use a new paint job. I slowed down instinctively after that. The raiders closed the distance, seeing the gap we used through the trees and shooting through it way faster than we had.

Closing the gap may have brought them closer to us, but that also brought them closer to Ren's machine gun. He lit up one of the boats, spraying tracers and bullets across it. It kept going for a bit toward a tree. A second too late it tried to swerve away – somepony grabbing the controls, probably – but it crashed dead on into it. A burst of bright blue fire shot out of the back of the boat, and a burning equine fell screaming into the dark waters, the arcane flames still burning and boiling beneath it.

Two down.

Problem was we were in a pretty unforgiving stretch of water. We'd left the river at some point and ended up into the bayou proper. Trees and roots reached out of the water like grasping claws, while reeds and cat-tails made it difficult for us to see where the water ended and the few bits of muddy land began. Our boat rocked up on the edge of one muddy bank before settling back down onto the water.

The other raiders were having a tough time behind us, but now that they'd closed the gap they were annoyingly close. Their potshots came more often now as they got a better view of us – and better angles of fire. One raider fired at me as I turned the boat to avoid a fallen tree. It skipped off the metal cage around the propeller and embedded itself into my side just behind my right shoulder. I snarled in pain, causing Ren to look back.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'll live!” I shouted, putting a quick burst of speed on to put some reeds between us and the pursuing raider. Someone on the other boat let fly a few rounds through the reeds, hitting nothing but air. For a moment we were hidden, and alone. I motioned to the headlights and made a slitting my throat motion.

Ren and Peach nodded, each dousing one of the lights. I let go of the pedals and our propeller stopped, so that we just started to drift almost silently. I could hear the faint whine of the arcanotech engine, but that was it. It was pretty much lost among the still audible roar of the other boats' propellers.

As we approached a nearby tree Ren reached out and grabbed one of the thickest limbs, pulling our drifting boat alongside. We tucked in against it, concealed by the willow's hanging leaves. If anypony got a lamp on us we were fucked, sitting ducks that we were, but for now we had a moment to breathe.

“Ammo check,” I whispered.

Peach Tea checked her shotgun and shook her head in disgust. “Dry. Two rounds.”

Ren flipped open the cover of his machine gun and ran his talon along the belt. “Mmm, maybe four good bursts.”

I hadn't fired my pistol yet, so I likely had all twelve shots waiting. I wished I had my rifle, but this would do. I could see the duffel bag Ren had carried it in, but I didn't to nosily rifle through it and risk blowing our cover. And good thing, too: the propeller noises from the other boats died off. In the dead of night and the stillness of the bayou, voices carried easily. I heard the raiders as clearly as if they were next to us.

“Fuck, lost 'em.”

“Can't've gone far. We musta hit they engine. Lights up.” Beams of light cut the darkness. One grouping of them was behind us by quite a ways, the other off to our left. They were a fair distance away. They had no idea where we were. Granted, we were trapped. Two on one, us with little ammunition and fewer fighters, and they with more lights. Plus, we couldn't navigate at night like this. The darkness was absolute in many areas. The bayou was so full of gnarled, tangled bushes and branches, so as to make the moonlight harder to see even if there hadn't been patchy clouds. It was an eerie effect to just see broken up light that would fade in and out at random intervals in random places.

We were trapped... but safe for the moment. Time to plan it out.

A rifle shot echoed out. Not loud enough to be pointed anywhere near us.

“Come on out! Surrender now, an' we'll kill ya quick. Trust me! It don't seem good, but it's a sight better than what th'Prince got planned!” Another rifle shot. I peered out through the hanging branches of the weeping willow. Through it all I could see a sickly yellow glow floating in the air, roughly the size and shape of a scoped hunting rifle.

“You ain't leavin' this alive. Either we take you to th'Prince an' he kills you, or Eye-Popper here does what she does best. Better t'have it quick, no?”

The lights behind us winked out. I could see the silhouette of a boat approaching the other one. The words were quiet but carried, even if they were little more than murmurs. The next time the lights winked up they were ahead of us now. We were being flanked. Another rifle shot rang out.

“Don't be fuckin' stupid!” A hesitation, then: “Fuck this.”

With a feral hiss a ball of red light shot into the air. It streaked up above the trees and hung lazily in the air, illuminating the bayou below in an eerie glow. Shadows took on elongated, distorted shapes as the flare lit the surroundings up. Between the flickering shadows was an unnatural red that seemed to just replace every colour with itself. Everything became red, from the black water to the green reeds.

The next rifle shot was surprisingly close. A few meters ahead of us but still. I heard some quiet words and the cluster of lights ahead of us started to drift closer.

In the bow of the boat, the zebra groaned softly. Oh, right. I'd forgotten about him. Peach Tea smacked him with her shotgun, but I still heard a shout from one of the boats. Shit. The cluster of lights nearest to us was slowly picking its way through the muck toward the source of the noise.

“See anything?”

“Just a fuckin' log in d'water, ain't nothin'!” a harsh voice called out.

The taunting raider snorted. Another shot. Before the echo even died down it was followed by one of the loudest roars I'd ever heard. The cluster of lights shot into the air along with a loud splash of water. I glanced around the tree. Through the monochrome red light and the willow's leaves, details were hard to make out.

I saw enough.

A huge, hulking silhouette was arched through the air. Screams tore through the night as the figure crashed back down. Gunfire erupted and flashlights swung wildly around in a panic. Suddenly two more huge figures jumped out of the underbrush and dove into the churning water around the sinking boat. The light caught one of them as it arched out of the water.

Neatly double the height of a pony reared on their hind legs, the figure was hunchbacked, almost bipedal in the way it moved. An elongated snout was its most prominent facial feature, while vicious fangs (currently tearing apart the silhouette of a raider) were the snout's most prominent feature. Eyes glowed like a cat's in the night, shimmering points of hate that disappeared swiftly below the water a few moments after.

“Fuck! Radigator!” somepony shouted. I heard the propeller of the other boat kick in. The screaming was dying down in the water... quite literally. It turned to choked, harsh noises, snapping and gnashing teeth, and splashing water.

The other boat made a good run of it, disappearing behind the tree. I edged my head out the other side to see it making a break for the river. It passed a tree that suddenly sprouted glowing red eyes and fangs. The radigator's scales made perfect camouflage against the tree. The raider never saw it coming as it collided with the boat and rolled it over. It floated upside down while the water erupted in movement again as the first radigators swam over for a feeding frenzy.

With screams still echoing out in the night the flare above breathed its last with a final hiss, plunging the bayou and its grisly contents into pure, terrifying darkness.

Chapter 24

View Online

Chapter 24

Minutes stretched into hours in the darkness. All movement had ceased a little while back; whether it was ten minutes or two hours I couldn't tell. There were no more screams, there was no more splashing. There was just the sound of our breathing, as quiet as we dared. But even that sounded too loud.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see the terror on my companions' faces. Ren was wide-eyed next to his machine gun, scanning out across the water. Peach Tea was cowered behind a gunwale. Her shotgun was empty, and her magic would be a beacon to these radigators. Frankly I didn't blame her. Even our zebra captive was quiet, fighting to control his shallow, rapid breathing.

Ren was covering our right side, the side exposed to the bayou. I drew my pistol and held it between my teeth, then put my back against his and flitted my eyes between the two sides of the tree. If I was going to die, I was going to die next to him. The warmth of his body was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. He slid a wing back against my side. I let one of mine fall over his.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. Every sound in the night sounded like something else. A light breeze sounded like heavy breathing. A far-off branch falling off was like a gunshot. We were all tense and on edge. All I could see, in my mind's eye, were those radigators charging and destroying two boats full of armed raiders. If they came after us in the darkness, we'd have no chance. At least we weren't likely to see the carnage that way.

As the hours ticked on the bayou began to lighten; a pale grey crept into the sky. Then we heard it. A noise. It was quiet at first, barely a whisper over the water. Peach Tea squeezed in a little closer and I tightened my grip on my pistol. Had the raiders sent reinforcements? Or had the radigators snuck up on us in the night and that was their breath beating down our necks? The sound quickly formed itself into words; distinct yet unintelligible.

With one eye peering out from behind the tree, I could see a single light beam piercing through the reeds. Through the greenish grey fog of the early bayou morning emerged a boat. This one was narrower, longer, more traditional than these big flat ones, with an old-fashioned outboard motor behind it though it drifted without power. The light came from a small spotlight mounted to the front.

“Ah saw a flare!” the voice called out. “Had t'wait till mornin', this is radigator territory. Anypony make it?” I saw the light stop on something and my breath caught. A head was floating through the water, which was turned to a deep crimson from the gore. The big propeller fan of one of the other boats was just sticking out of the water next to the head. “Aw, shit.”

Our zebra captive looked up over the edge of the boat. Spotting the other figure his ears perked up. Before I could even stop him he sat up and shouted out to him. “Hey! Over here! Help me!” Peach Tea reached up and tackled the stallion down, conjuring up a new set of magical binds – this time with a muzzle included.

Yet the damage was done. The light fixed itself on our position and the boat's outboard whined to life. I heard the splashing as it slowly drove toward us. “Y'all okay? Heck of a mess out here.” The long nose of the boat slowly, ever so slowly, slid past our tree. Ren turned to take up position at my side.

“Hooves up!” Ren shouted as soon as the figure appeared. The searchlight's beam fell to the water as the figure let go of it in a panic, hooves in the air.

“Don't shoot! Th'fuck!” the figure shouted back. “Ah'm here t'help!”

“Back th'fuck off!” Peach shouted.

The zebra captive started shouting against his muzzle, though all it did was come out as a muffled cry.

“Th'good fuckin' damn is going on?” the boatpony asked.

“Who are you?” I asked around the bit of my gun.

“Delta Blues. Ah live jus' up a ways, heard shots and saw a flare last night. Came along t'see what was up. Who's he? The fuck's goin' on?” He – it was definitely a he – was a zebra himself, wearing a dark coat and a simple baseball cap. He was armed but hadn't drawn it yet. The stock of a shotgun was poking up over the side of his shoulder.

“That's our business. You want to help, you drop it.”

The zebra – Delta Blues – looked around at the scene of the carnage. The darkened water, the crashed boat, the floating head. He winced a little and looked over at us again. “Well, shit. Fine. Y'all been here all night? Dayum. Lookin' for the way out?” Ren nodded and Delta nodded. “Fall in behind me, Ah'll lead ya.”

Peach Tea looked at me, then at Ren. I could see the bags under her eyes, the tension in her limbs. We'd spent the night without any sleep. We were exhausted, beaten, and ready to sleep. I wanted to get out as quickly as possible and figured that, if Delta was trying to lure us in, we would still be alert enough to stop anything... untoward.

The zebra turned off his boat's floodlight, then used a pole to move himself up alongside ours and turn around. “S'a nice airboat. Where'd y'all find it?”

“Long story. Maybe we'll tell it when we're out of here,” Renfeld said simply.

Delta glanced at the zebra laying in the boat. Peach Tea was quite literally sitting on him to keep him from squirming any further. He didn't look too happy. “Gots a feelin' this a real long story. Alright, let's get to it.”

-=O=-

As we went, Ren unzipped the duffel bag and started passing around our gear. It felt good to finally toss that big ol' leather coat over the side of the airboat and watch the radigator skull – at least, that's what I figured the skull on the shoulder piece was – sink underneath the brackish water. I was back in my dark flannel work shirt and my police-issue combat armour. Peach Tea had her Stable-suit back on. Our captive, for what it's worth, willingly averted his eyes as she changed. Good on him. He was probably trying to avoid another punch.

Peach Tea took over the controls for a bit so I could deal with the bullet wound I'd taken the night before. I barely even registered it until I got a look at it again, when the pain suddenly flooded back. It hit me like a wave and nausea crept back as I went for a healing potion. I steeled myself for the sudden rush of pain as the bullet pushed its way back out, my hooves gripping the boat's gunwale until I finally heard the lead slug clink into the bottom of the boat.

“You alright?” Ren asked.

I nodded. “Be fine,” I told him through clenched teeth. Damned healing potions. Did a great job, but it hurt as much to feel the bullet come out as it did going in. Ren nodded and turned back to face the front of the airboat, still holding the machine gun against it.

“Y'all won't need that.” Delta told him, glancing back over his shoulder. With our slow pace the engines on both our boats were quiet, though he still had to shout a little to get over the gap between us. “We in pretty safe territory. 'preciate it though.” Now that I had time to rest my aching legs – the hard pace I'd set through the night driving was catching up – I got a better look at Delta Blues. His dark coat was old REA vintage, a field jacket with big pockets on either side and a name tape that identified him as “Pvt. Corn Whisky”. His hat was the coat's match, an old REA field cap. He wore a red bandana around his neck, resting with its point down on his chest.

“Where are we?” I called out to him.

“Just outside my place,” Delta called back. “Well. Few minutes out. We still got a little hike, so settle in.”A hike it sure was. He led us on in silence from there, weaving his way expertly through the thick trees. The bayou was no better during the day than at night. Sure, I could see now... but all I could see was thick underbrush and old trees, hanging with moss and vines. I could faintly see movement here and there, which I wanted to assume was just the wake from our boats brushing against the bulrushes.

Delta led us past an old dock that had long since collapsed into the river. On a small section of solid ground were several dilapidated buildings, none of which looked particularly habitable, nor inviting. “Keep movin',” Delta said urgently. He took a turn to the right down a small creek. Peach Tea followed him. I glanced back at the little village just in time to see a ragged-looking figure step out of a building. My PipBuck's EFS registered it with a burning red icon. And then we were gone, the figure and the buildings vanishing into the swamp.

I turned to our guide. “The fuck was that?”

“One a the ol' swamp communities. Tons of 'em 'round these parts.” Delta slowed his engine a bit to come up alongside us. We had the room for it, considering the river ahead of us was widening somewhat, the old willows parting a little further from us. “Way I hear it, were a few years where Equestria was on th'back hoof an' some folks feared a reckonin' was comin' when the zebras took over. So they moved out here. Figured they'd do better workin' from th'land than hidin' in a Stable – Not that Martingale territory had any t'begin with. That one back there? Was a zebra community. Us stripes weren't accepted much. Neigh Orleans was said t'be neutral, but a zebra could still get hisself beaten or worse. So some retreated out here, made they own place.” He glanced over at me and shrugged. “Most of these communities is untouched, so I scavenge there.”

“There were ponies there, though.”

“Mmm. Were. That's th'operative word. Just 'cause they escaped t'the swamps don't mean the radiation didn't follow.”

Ren sat down next to me and offered me a cigarette. I took it eagerly. “I don't follow,” he told Delta, lighting up his own smoke.

“Swamp ponies. Well, swamp ghouls t'be real precise.”

“Lovely,” Ren mumbled. I wholeheartedly agreed. I'd dealt with more than enough ghouls in my lifetime and the last thing I wanted to deal with were swamp ghouls. Skies knew what kind of diseases I'd get from being bit by one of them.

Delta motioned just up the river and poured on a little speed to get ahead of us. He led us up a small creek to a still, wide bay. The ground around us sure looked solid, solid enough to support a cabin that looked downright cozy. A small dock jutted out into the bay, and Delta Blues came up slowly to the dock, guiding himself in with the long pole. Peach Tea took the opposite side of the dock, and Ren caught the pole when the zebra tossed it his way. He helped us come up to the dock and tie us off, his talons far more dexterous than I could be. Delta just threw a heavy weighted bag over the side, tied to his boat.

“Home sweet home.”

“Ya live out here? All by yaself?” Peach Tea asked as she climbed out of the boat.

“Ayup. I like mah privacy. Ain't too far from civilization, though.” Delta nodded over his shoulder. “Bout a half hour boat trip south a here is Bakersmill-” a suburb of Neigh Orleans, where that one Enclave mare who's name I didn't catch was stationed. “-an' I spend a lotta time there. Couple hours further, ya hit Neigh Orleans.”

“A couple hours?” Peach repeated.

“Boats is slow. C'mon in. Y'all need rest an' food. Ah'll get some food on, y'all can stretch out a bit. Bring the zebra along.”

I hauled our captive up out of the boat. Peach Tea released his hind legs from the binds, allowing him to hobble along slowly on his tied front legs toward the door. Delta stood beneath a bright red hurricane lamp and held the door open for us to all enter.

Level Up!

Level 11

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers, Combat Veteran, Explorer, How We Do It on the Farm, Leader (Nearby party members get +1 AGI, +2 DT)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 25

View Online

Chapter 25

We spent the entire day at Delta's cabin doing absolutely nothing... and it was amazing. We'd spent over 24 hours without rest, and in pure terror... plus a few back to back gunfights. It was good to just kick back and relax.

Delta had locked up our captive in the woodshed outside. Peach Tea periodically checked her bond spells, instructing us on how to properly hog-tie the zebra back up if he got free. After that she went into a room and promptly fell into a deep sleep. Meanwhile Ren and I took turns getting cleaned up with a small basin out back, and I took a chance to get my mane back up into a close approximation of the undercut I kept it in usually. It felt good to just get cleaned up after everything that happened.

As the day wore on, Delta Blues got to work getting dinner on the go. Soon a pot of delicious, thick brown stew bubbled happily on the stove. Our host told us we could stay there till the morning, and then he'd lead us out of the bayou. I automatically insisted that he didn't have to but he did make a valid point: without a guide we'd be hopelessly lost and turn in circles - if we weren't eaten by radigators or swamp ghouls.

I graciously accepted the offer.

The stew – or gumbo, as Delta called it – was fantastic. It was one of the first proper hot meals I'd had in far longer than I'd care to admit. Even the zebra captive – I'd drawn the short straw to go deliver to him - seemed relatively appreciative, though he was sullen the whole time. I wasn't sure what exactly I wanted to do with him yet either. Dragging him along had been kind of an impulse thing. I figured he'd make a good bit of extra proof of our story once we got into town... if anypony could keep him locked up for us.

After dinner we all sat in the main room. Delta was relaxing on a rocking chair while Ren and I cuddled up. Peach Tea sat on the floor. A long wooden plank was set across Delta's lap, with a single string stretched across an old Sparkle-Cola bottle. He played it easily, plucking it with a hoof while sliding a glass bottleneck across the single string to change up the tone.

As it turned out our host was something of a musician – a “wanderin' troubadour” as he called himself. On Peach's insistence he'd grabbed the one-stringed instrument and decided to play a song.

“Well it was bound t'happen an' one night it did, papa came home and it was just us kids. He had a dozen roses and a bottle of wine, if he was lookin' to surprise us he was doin' fine. I heard him cry for mama up an' down the hall, then I heard a bottle break against the bedroom wall. That big ol' cart made an awful sound as papa hitched it up and rattled into town...”

I hadn't heard any real music in a while, beyond the radio anyway... and aside from a snippet here or there in the raider camp. To hear some music played live was rather nice. I crushed out a cigarette and rolled over in Ren's forelegs, and felt his wings curl around me.

“Picture in the paper showed the scene real well, papa's cart was buried in the local motel. Desk clerk said he saw it all real cle~ear, he never hit the brakes and he jumped right clear.

Oh, mama was a looker, oh how she shined, papa was a good'n but the jealous kind. Papa loved mama, mama loved bucks... Mama's in the graveyard, Papa's locked up.”

Not long after, with myself dozing in and out of sleep, we drew straws on a guard detail to ensure the zebra prisoner didn't mess around. Peach Tea was first, so Ren and I disappeared into a room for the night.

-=O=-

Morning came far too swiftly for my tastes and yet I woke feeling more refreshed than I had felt in ages. I had been left on the couch after my guard shift, covered in a light, ragged blanket. Something was frying in the kitchen. I sat up, stretched, and took stock of things. Ren was nowhere to be seen, though I figured he was asleep. He'd had the last guard shift. Peach Tea was nowhere to be found either, while Delta Blues was in the kitchen. He was naked, wearing not even the red bandana from before. All he wore was a cord around his neck, and a blue and white fabric bag tied from it.

He must have heard me shift, because he looked up when I looked over the couch. “Mornin'.”

“Mornin'.” I rubbed my eyes with a wing. “Where's Peach?”

“Usin' th'workbench out back. Workin' on the feathered one's rifle, last Ah checked.”

I nodded and stretched out my wings, rolling the left one to work out a bit of soreness and tension. “Thanks for taking us in last night.”

“No trouble. Gotta look out for folks in times like these. Breakfast'll be ready soon.” He nodded to a pot on a small wood-fired stove. “Grits an' eggs.”

“Sounds amazing.” I got off the couch with a groan and stretched out. “...What is that?” I asked Delta Blues, motioning to the bag around his neck.

He looked down at it almost in surprise and covered it with a striped hoof. “Ah. It's jus' a little talisman. Zoodoo, y'know?” he chuckled.

I nodded, then headed for a small battered screen door that led out behind the cabin. Peach Tea was there, bent over the workbench. Ren's machine gun was open in front of her, the mare peering down the removed barrel. “You look like you're having fun,” I said casually.

“Ah'm reborin' it,” Peach said, chewing on her bottom lip as her magic worked with a small tool inside of it. “For somethin' more conventional.”

“Smart.”

“Sometimes Ah am.” She chuckled and peered over the barrel at me. “Figure some .308 Equestrian might be easier t'find than whatever this griffon stuff is.”

I nodded and fished out a cigarette to smoke. My pack of Bluebloods was starting to get fairly empty. I'd have to rip into another ration pack soon... or find another pack somewhere. The day was off to a decent start, aside from my lack of smokes. Hot and humid as usual, of course, plus some thick grey cloud cover overhead. A bit of a threat of rain, which would suck for us in an exposed boat. “How's that comin' along?” I asked, blowing the smoke away from Peach.

“Good. By the way...” She nodded to something on the bench. It was my 10mm pistol in its holster. She must have taken it some time during the night while I was asleep, which was a rather terrifying thought in of itself. I was supposed to be a trained soldier. I was supposed to wake up if somepony tried to rifle through my pockets while I slept. Granted, my training had never covered things like several hours of marching, followed by a running gunfight and a full night without sleep well into the day. I had been dead on my hooves – I just hadn't known it till I was out cold. “Ah did some work for ya. Hope ya don't mind.”

I slid the pistol from the holster, turning it over in my wingtips. It looked mostly the same, maybe a bit cleaner on the outside, but it was still a well-worn old sidearm. She had added an engraving to the front cover of the bit: an eight ball, somewhat scratched up and faded to match the rest of the gun. It looked good that way. I cocked the slide back, looking into the chamber, only to be greeted with the grimiest, dirtiest interior I'd ever seen. Back on a base, a gun this dirty would have my ass booted so hard I'd land back home in Chicacolt. “Uh...”

“See, real funny thing,” she said, concentrating on the work on the machine gun while she spoke. “Ah opened 'er up, yeah? An' by all rights, she shouldn't fire. But Ah saw ya shoot with it. Often.”

“I uh... guess I hadn't had a time to clean it...” I began sheepishly.

“Naw, see, that's the weird part. Ah just cleaned th'outside and put it together. It still works, fired a test shot earlier. So Ah ain't gonna fix what ain't broke. Luckiest damn pistol Ah ever seen.”

Hmm. I slid it back into the holster. “Weird.”

“Weird don't even cover it, but hey. Ain't even magical. Just one of them quirks.”

I chuckled a bit. “Thanks.”

Peach Tea smiled. “Don't mention it. Ah love this kinda stuff. Used t'do it back home.” The moment she said it it kinda hit me... I really didn't know much about her. Or Ren for that matter.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup. Used to work for Stable security.” She showed off her Stable-suit sleeve, and the yellow “223” emblazoned on it. “Ah was the quartermaster. As ya can imagine, there's only so many times ya can keep guns clean when they never actually get used. So Ah read a lot. Watched a lotta videos.”

“What happened to the Stable?” I asked. “Did you just decide on a career change to mercenary?”

She snorted softly. “Naw. One night things went... wild. Ah still don't quite know what went down.” She set the barrel down on the workbench. “Ah remember Ah was in mah apartment. There was this mare from the hydroponics bay Ah was sweet on, she was over for drinks. Next thing Ah know, whole place rocks, hard. There's this boom, an' the lights go out.” I could see her face falling a little, though she seemed to be using her work on the gun to distract herself. “Whole place was in chaos. Ah stepped up to help clear our floor an' help the evacuation. Th'emergency lights was on, an' the lower levels were on fire.”

I couldn't imagine it. A confined space underground like that, on fire, everypony trying to make for the same exit together. I winced a little.

“She wanted t'get somethin' from her apartment. Got down to her level, she heads out, Ah stay at the stairs to direct folks. Suddenly this pipe on the far wall bursts, an' there's flames everywhere now, burnin' through the halls. Alarms blarin'. Ah tried to hold back long as Ah could, but eventually... well. Had t'close the fire door. Ah don't remember much after that. Ah do remember endin' up topside in this train station just outside Peachtree, a few days north a here. Outside Martingale territory. There was a couple other survivors, we stuck around for a little, but eventually folks filtered out. Ah stayed. Dunno why.” I noticed she'd stopped working at this point. “Kortig an' the rest of the Scoundrels showed up about a week after th'last pony left, an' I joined up with 'em.”

Before I had a chance to say anything, the rear screen door opened and Ren poked his head out. “Breakfast is ready.”

I turned to Peach Tea, who was already packing up her tools. “You okay?”

“Ah am now.” She gave me a small smile. There was pain there but she seemed rather determined. “Been a long time now.”

-=O=-

The boat droned on and on, waves lapping away at the hull. Peach Tea was taking her turn at the airboat's controls. I sat in the bow with Delta, while Ren kept watch on both the zebra prisoner, and the bayou that streamed by on our left. Gnarled dead trees tangled together, casting strange shadows between each other as we passed. Nothing was leaping out at us though, despite the consistent feeling that something of that nature might happen. Maybe we were going too fast, or maybe the radigators were just waiting further ahead.

“The bayou really that dangerous?” I asked Delta, recalling our earlier conversation. I had to shout a little to get over the racket of the boat. The fan was louder than Delta's boat, but it was also significantly faster than his. Besides, I wasn't going to make him use up his precious arcane energy for the outboard when we had a perfectly serviceable airboat of our own. Call it a gift to him for helping us out.

“Mhmm.” He tapped the gunwale idly with his hoof. “Radigators is th'apex predator, of course. But there's others. Skeeters are a big problem. Big ol' mutated mosquitoes, with a sucker bout as long as you.” He shuddered at the thought. “Watched one drain a pony once. Just completely dry. Awful. Then there's the ferals, of course. An' livin' folk, too. Couple communities of...” he chuckled a bit.

“What?”

“Well... inbred types. Y'know, ya get one weirdo what goes out with a couple friends and they mares, next thing ya know they gots a little community going. Mud Hill's the safest, an' best known. Others... Ah avoid. Movin' down the list... that's 'bout it. Bloatsprites too, I guess. They're dangerous in numbers, sometimes, if ya too drunk.” He snorted in amusement at that. “Mostly... it's just weird. Strange stuff goes on there. Ya always feel like ya bein' watched. Ah'll go t'places Ah swear Ah'd been an' it's all different. Changed up. Things is been replaced, or taken.”

I noticed the zebra captive looking our way, eyes fixed on the red bandana under Delta's jacket. “Mmm. You forgot, Sabot-Seche rides through th'bayou here, too. Can't forget about that,” he rumbled. It was the first time I'd heard him speak since we captured him.

Delta seemed equally taken aback. “...she does. An' a couple of th'other Petro. Didn't peg ya for a zoodoo type.”

“Left my gris-gris in my tent when I was taken,” the captive said.

“Got a name?” Ren asked.

“Wali.” He shrugged. “Walipoteza Moja. Wali's easier.”

“What're the Petro?” I asked.

“They're-” both zebras spoke at once. Delta inclined his head to Wali, who continued. “So, zoodoo works on givin' the spirits of the world names. Ya then categorize 'em from there. Petro are the firey ones. Sabot-Seche is one, an' she dangerous. Can drag ya right down There, if ya get me.”

“Then there's th'Rada,” Delta added. “Usually th'calmer ones. Nicer ones.”

“An' my favourite... the Ghede. The Once Dead. Nothin' quite like Fete Lawkwa.”

Delta Blues laughed at that. “Somehow it don't surprise me a raider'd love Fete Lawkwa.”

Wali shrugged with a wry smile. “I like my pepper rum.”

“Stop fraternizing with the enemy, y'all,” Peach called from the control bench.

“Oh, come off ya high chair. Y'all the one took me prisoner. I'm just here for the ride.” The zebra stretched out against the gunwale, reaching over it with his tied-together forelegs and dragging his hooves through the water. “Didn't want me to come, shoulda left me back there.”

“And miss out on you paying for your crimes?” Ren snorted. “Hardly.”

“Crime of what, bein' a raider? Shit.” He laughed a surprisingly easy laugh, throwing his head back. “Y'all're gonna want me to sing like a perfect little nightingale, to tell all. Don't bother me none.”

“You seem calm about your fate.”

Wali didn't look down from the sky, even though he was addressing Ren. “Ain't nothing to be gained by pleadin' an' fightin'. So, she~eit, I'll sing any tune you want. Sing till my songbook's empty. Won't do ya any good. Th'Prince is comin'. Y'all won't stop that no matter what ya know, no matter who knows.” He chuckled darkly, then lowered his head and looked over at Delta Blues, meeting the other zebra's eyes.

“Baron ananijea. Na Prince huguswa na Doubye na Legba wote wawili.”

Delta narrowed his eyes. “Haiwezekani. Hawawezi kuunga mkono hili.”

Wali laughed. “Believe what you'd like.”

“What'd he say?” I asked Delta, as the zebra captive looked back out over the water.

“Jus' some shit-talk, if ya ask me. Big boast from a zebra hogtied in a boat.”

Chapter 26

View Online

Chapter 26

It was sometime late in the afternoon when our boat was finally in view of Neigh Orleans again. At my instruction Delta Blues took the helm to guide us down the shoreline toward the Krewe of the Sea border. I couldn't think of a better place to drop off our prisoner. It wasn't that I had any particular pull with them, but I trusted Comet Spark more than anypony else I knew in town. Granted that wasn't saying much considering how few folks I actually knew in town. Still, I didn't want to drag Wali around more than I had to.

I had no idea what I was actually going to do with him. I really hadn't gotten that far. It had seemed smart at the time to grab him and drag him along for the ride. Now that I had him tied up in the airboat.... All I could think was “Now what?” He might have some useful information. Maybe he wouldn't talk at all. It didn't seem like Neigh Orleans had a court of any kind, and dragging him around from Krewe to Krewe to go “See, look!” seemed... wrong. But he was a raider. And considering Wasteland law he was getting off pretty light.

For now anyway.

“Y'all sure 'bout this?” Delta asked over the drone of the engine.

I nodded. “You said there's a dock you use to trade from, right?”

“Yeah but usually Ah've got trade goods. An' mah boat.”

“You'll be fine.” I patted him on the shoulder. “They know me here.”

Delta snorted softly and brought us up alongside a dock that extended from what used to be a small marketplace. The boat gently rocked against the wooden dock.

“Ah know th'Krewe o' the Sea's usually pretty... understandin'. But if y'all...” Delta trailed off as I reached a wing into a saddlebag and extracted a small gold-painted trident on a beaded necklace. “...Well prepared, Ah see.”

“Always. You've been a great help.”

“Ah try.” The zebra chuckled and offered a hoof. “Ah'm gonna make a few stops 'fore Ah head back. Ah tend t'say near the Maisha border, but Ah trade at the Grand often. Case ya wanna yack some more.”

“Noted.” I shook his hoof. Peach Tea nudged Wali out of the boat, and Ren joined me on the dock. Delta pushed the boat away, then turned slowly on the spot with it before roaring off upriver a little, back the way we'd come. The drone of the engine echoed off the old buildings for a few moments before fading away. We were left in silence. “Alright... let me take the lead. This... Well, we'll be fine.”

“You know this Krewe?” Ren asked, coming up alongside me.

“I know a respected member of it and I stayed a few days in Seatown. I should be... ah... I guess welcome as long as we don't mess around.” My wing rotated the dial on the remote tied to my chestpiece. Before my eyes swam the holographic sparkles of the PipBuck's HUD until I found the map. Seatown was still marked on it, not too far away.

It had felt like a lifetime since I'd wandered through this area. It hadn't been that long, surely, but I hadn't been back in this area since I left with Comet Spark on our little adventure. Making sure the dubloon was resting very visibly on the front of my NOPD combat armour, I took point through the narrow, winding roads that made up this residential area.

The vibe here was different than in the older sections of Neigh Orleans. Everything had more breathing room here, with far less blind spots. It wasn't any less nerve-wracking to walk through deserted streets that once were full of life – quite the opposite, it was a feeling I don't think I'd ever get used to – but at least my Enclave tactical training wasn't being overloaded by counting ambush positions. Sure, we could get ambushed at any time... but I'd put better stock in our chances with an open-street ambush with nothing but squat shotgun houses around us than the tightly packed alleyways of the Old Quarter.

“Kinda nice out here.”

I looked over at Ren and chuckled softly. “Going house shopping?”

“Maybe. The neighbourhood though...” We all had to walk around an abandoned carriage in the middle of the road, a skeleton sitting slumped on the rear bench. “Needs work.”

“Yeah, not great for raisin' foals,” Peach Tea agreed from behind us.

“Bus service is awful,” I mused. “At least the neighbours are quiet.”

Peach Tea burst into giggles and Ren laughed, draping a wing around my back to hug me close.

“...Y'all fuckin' weird,” our prisoner grumbled.

“Don't recall askin' ya.”

Wali glanced at Peach Tea. “Where y'all draggin' me to?”

“If all goes well, a jail cell,” I assured him. “Course that's assuming all goes well. Best case scenario, y'know. Worst case... they hang you. Or shoot you.”

“Ball of fuckin' sunshine you is.”

“Aww, is th'big bad raider buck bitchin' again?” Peach Tea cooed playfully.

“Y'know what, I am. Draggin' me around like this. Fuckin' humiliating.” Wali spat on the pavement. “Woulda been easier t'just shoot me.”

Ren nodded. “Easier. But not right. You'll stand trial. You'll be punished as appropriate. It's better than you deserve... but we're at least trying to maintain some civility.”

A dot of amber appeared on the edge of my vision. I came up short and motioned for the others to stop at almost the exact same time as a female voice shouted out to us to halt.

A blue-coated mare with a red mane and tail stepped out from around the corner of a building. On the second floor of a convenience store, I saw the telltale glint of a scope. Two more mares joined the first one from around the corner, all holding weapons. “Who dat?”

I didn't quite know how to respond, so I just took a half step forward, making sure my chest was slightly puffed out to show off the dubloon. “We've come to collect a bounty.”

The mare narrowed a dubious eye. “We ain't gots a bounty up.”

“Trust me when I say this one's a city-wide bounty.”

The mare tilted her head, looking our prisoner over. “...He Maisha?”

“No. It's... it's a bit of a story. Look, we're on our way to Seatown. If you've got a holding cell for him, I'd appreciate it. By the way... is Comet Spark in?” The name was at least familiar to the mare, who relaxed a little. “He's a friend. Wouldn't mind seeing him again.”

“...okay. Y'all lead the way. Ah'll tell ya how to get to Seatown from behind. Don't go for weapons, and all'll be nice an' smooth.”

-=O=-

“Ho~oly shit, Autumn!”

The grey unicorn ran across the street and caught me in a half-tackle, half-hug. I laughed and returned it, playfully wrestling the stallion to the pavement to get out of his grasp. He stood back up and shook his coat out. “How're ya?” I asked.

“Fuck, should ask ya the same thing, haven't seen ya since we split after the job for Red. Look at ya! All decked out in armour 'n' shit. Like some real professional.”

“It's been a hell of a run.” I chuckled a bit. Ren looked at the two of us with bemusement, and I blushed slightly. “Right. Ren, this is Comet Spark. I saved his ass a while back. Comet, this is Renfeld. Mercenary and a friend of mine.”

Ren offered a talon to Comet, who looked at the griffon with a cocked eye. Not one of fear at seeing a griffon, but rather at the fact that a griffon was there in the middle of Seatown. “Charmed. Don't let Feathers fuck with ya head. I saved his ass.” He held out his hoof and shook Ren's talons.

This just caused my boyfriend to cock his eye in confusion. “Ren, remember the whole tale with the plantation a while back?” I asked.

“Oh, that Comet!”

“Fuck, I'm already famous.”

By this point Peach Tea had come to join us, trotting over from the tall school building that served as the centre point of the town. “Sheriff's got our buddy under lock 'n' key,” she announced.

“That zebra y'all hauled in?” Comet asked.

“Yeah. That's... a bit of a long story. If I recall, we both owe each other beers,” I pointed out to Comet. “Probably would be a good time to talk about it.”

“And if I recall, ya talkin' bullshit, 'cause ya know how I get about debt.” The unicorn chuckled. “Fine. Bar's this way.”

The four of us made our way up the divided street toward what had once been, coincidentally enough, a bar! A small pool hall and bar tucked into a plaza that served as the community gathering point. Ponies went to and from the plaza buildings, most of which had been repurposed into some sort of storefront or another.

I had it now. This. This was what I was going to fight for. This was why I wanted to see the Krewes of Neigh Orleans organized on a larger scale, and why the Prince's army terrified me so much.

I was going to have everypony stand together and fight back against the Prince. Not alone, but together. United as one. Nothing would solidify a union of the krewes quite like fighting side by side as one unit in defence of their home. Of course... standing shoulder to shoulder on a parade ground was one thing. Doing it on a real battle line would be something entirely different. Even in the best case scenario, we'd be losing a lot of folks... but that was to think about later.

First I had to figure out how to get everypony to the table.

Correction. First I had to down the pint of beer that Comet placed on the table in front of me. Ren sat next to me with one of his own, while Peach sat next to him. Over the course of the next hour, I laid out my adventures not just to Comet, but to Ren and Peach Tea, who hadn't ever really heard the full story of what I'd done in Neigh Orleans before I met them. When I got to the meeting with Peach and Ren at the hospital, both jumped in to add some context to the story.

I learned that they'd come to the city not long before I did, their mercenary group bringing a train in to the Ninth District at an old round house, and that they'd been working on their own smaller contracts here and there. Eventually they'd gotten around to working with Father Sunray from the Temple, which is where our paths crossed when they got stuck at the hospital looking for meds, and I freed them. Eventually our tale meandered its way – several pints later – to the encounter at Wise Apple plantation with the Prince and his raider army.

Tipsy as I was, I still managed to lay out – with Peach Tea's help of course – what had exactly gone down, and why we'd dragged a zebra prisoner halfway across the territory of Martingale back to the city in order to imprison him here. I noticed Ren getting an increasingly worried look as we detailed it and I realized: he didn't know. He hadn't been down with us, and had just been watching us from above. He'd seen the army, but didn't know the details or how close the escape had been. I felt so bad for worrying him. Maybe it was the (several) pints I'd already downed, but I suddenly felt a rush of emotion and leaned toward the griffon, cuddling up under his wing.

Comet Spark gave a glance our way, then blinked. “So... uh... this zebra prisoner...”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Him.” I fished the last cigarette out of my pack and lit it up. “I uh... don't quite know what to do with him yet. I figured though... y'all have a prison. He can stay here, right?”

“I guess?”

“Well, just until we find a way to interrogate him or... or something.” I blew a little smoke ring out. Peach Tea was snoring gently in her chair, having gone a bit harder than the rest of us on the beer. “...Say, Comet...” I began, in the same tone of voice that every bad plan starts, like with a “Hey...” in that tone. Never did that tone ever propose something smart, or benign, like, “Say Comet, how about going for dinner?”.

“Oh. Oh no. Don't you even fucking dare.”

“Come on...”

“No.”

“I'll pay you!”

Ren blinked. “You uh... best not be propositioning him...”

“No! Just asking a favour.”

“I fuckin' hate favours, Feathers. You know that.”

“Hence why I'll pay. I just want ya to... well... talk to the Krewe leader about it. Y'know. The whole militia thing. Sit down at a table for a little... tête-a-tête.”

“...Fine. But it will cost you.”

And just like that... I'd made my first step on the way to getting the city united. Hopefully, anyway.

Chapter 27

View Online

Chapter 27

The next day I explained the plan over breakfast. It... didn't go over well.

I didn't really expect it to, but I got nothing but looks of concern from both my companions at the suggestion that I send them both away on separate missions while I worked on one alone. It wasn't something that I was super comfortable with either to be honest. But the Prince was out there and we had no idea when he was going to be coming for the city. If we took too long getting everypony to sit down and hash out a defence plan, he could easily overrun us when we weren't looking.

So the plan was simple. I'd go talk to my contact at The Grand – Red, if she still was around anyway – to see about getting the Old Krewe to the table, as well as talk with Mama Praline and the zebras, while Peach Tea, being the only mare, would go deal with the Queen's Krewe. Ren would go talk to his boss with the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and see if he could get them on board. We definitely would have a far better chance at survival if we had say, an entire platoon of well trained griffon mercenaries at our backs.

Well... I'd like to think it would improve our chances. Any amount of trained fighters we could get on the frontlines would help. Which is why I was planning to talk to the Major again after I finished up in town.

Ren wasn't going to be happy with it. That I knew. I still hadn't told him I was Enclave. There hadn't really been a good opportunity for it. At this point there didn't seem to be any good time. If I told them when I'd first joined, they wouldn't have trusted me. If I told them now, they'd definitely stop trusting me for keeping it under wraps.

I tried to tell myself that I hadn't said anything because a good time hadn't come up. But I knew the real reason.

I was a coward.

But cowardice or not, we needed the Enclave on board with this. If a platoon of griffon mercenaries would go a long way toward securing the town's successful defence... a regiment of highly trained and disciplined dragoons would ensure we saved Neigh Orleans.

I kissed my boyfriend goodbye at the gates of town and watched him take off into the air, his large wings catching the breeze of a rather windy morning and taking him off toward... wherever. Peach Tea had gone off out the northern gate, and my path was at the southern one. After spending the last few weeks exploring the city with them it was odd to suddenly be alone again.

Navigation was significantly easier this time around though. Unlike before when I was just stumbling around blindly exploring the ruins of Neigh Orleans, my PipBuck gave me a useful little amber arrow at the top edge of my vision whenever I was facing the right direction to The Grand. It was a comforting little thing, like a nightlight, or a warm blanket, or a trusty pistol.

All in all the city felt a lot less intimidating now that I'd been here... shit, it had to be pushing over a month now. I was starting to get a better handle on its inhabitants and how they acted, plus the threats I'd be encountering. I was decked out in some decent combat armour and thanks to a bit of help from Comet Spark I had ammunition to go around for The Stare. I felt more than capable to take on anypony that wanted to go a few rounds.

Yet it was still unnervingly quiet. I had just left Seatown and heard the faint sounds of life there but each step took me further and further into the strange overwhelming quiet of the empty city. I made it about a block before I turned on the radio on my PipBuck just to fill the silence. The tinny speaker did its level best to belt out a jumpy little jazz tune. Sure, the music would make me an obvious target, but I wasn't exactly being stealthy either. I also strongly suspected that this close to Seatown I'd at least be fairly safe from raiders and the ilk.

The compass arrow took me down a main street. The narrow two-lane road widened to an impressive four, divided with a concrete median. Dead grass formed a brown patchy carpet along the top of the median, with the occasional drooping tree here and there. Storefronts and office buildings lined the side of the street, everything from insurance companies to payday loan places, bank branches to convenience stores. The hollow jazz music bounced off the broken glass and hanging signs, breathing life back into the city for just a few moments as I went along. It had been a long time since music ever played in the bar I passed by, that's for damn sure.

Out of sheer curiosity – and the fact I was out of smokes and it seemed the best option – I poked my head inside the bar. The cloud cover today was fairly thin compared to normal, coming in ragged strips and bands that made the light level flicker a little. Whenever the sun did peek through, though, the warm light lit up the dusty interior. A long oak bar stretched into the darkness, caked with dust. A few pint glasses still stood on coasters, some with what looked like the long dried dregs of beer at the bottom.

I gingerly stepped over the broken glass of what used to be a large sliding window in the front and went past the bar. At the far end stood a cracked old cigarette dispenser. Sometime in the past a pony had gotten the same idea, and had cracked the glass in the front before prying the door half-open. Didn't exactly bode well for there being sweet sweet tobacco inside. And yet when I pulled the door open with a wing, there was exactly one packet left inside. A handsome blonde stallion smirked back at me, his teeth clenched around a rose.

“Oh, hello there, Prince~” I cooed, pulling the package out. Still sealed. Ripping the plastic away like a horny buck with his prom date's dress, I pulled the first cigarette out and stuck it between my lips. My little flip-top lighter clinked open and I took a quick draw on the cigarette to get it going, then sighed happily to exhale. Perfect. “Don't tell my boyfriend~” I said, blowing the stallion on the pack a playful kiss before putting it away into my saddlebags.

The bar gate opened with a simple push. While I didn't actually expect anything to happen, I still pulled on one of the beer taps anyway. Nothing. Too bad. Not that beer from a century-old uncleaned tap would have been all that appetizing.

“Good morning, my little ponies~” a familiar voice came over the radio as I dug through a small jar behind the counter. It was half-filled with a few dozen bottlecaps. “It's a beautiful morning out there, so long as you don't mind radiation, raiders, and mutated beasts. Bit of the ol' rumour mill for ya. If you're in the area of the Cemetery District today, keep your heads down. I'm hearing reports of some clashes between the Maisha Social Club and a small-fry gang calling themselves the Knights of Celestia. I don't know what it's about, but unless you got dreams of getting caught in the crossfire, keep your heads down.

Now onto some music. Here's Satchel Mouth with The Frim-Fram Sauce on the one, quite literally the only, Jazz Radio NO.”

I counted out the caps on the counter as the familiar raspy voice of the jazz singer I'd come to be a fan of filled the bar. For a moment things were back to normal. I was just a bartender, counting out bits as I enjoyed a smoke, while people sat at the bar nursing pints and problems in equal measure. It was easy to fall into that kind of reverie and it was just as easily broken when I looked up to see the bar empty. Dust covered the pint glasses rather than beer foam, and the chairs were all sagging and vacant.

With a bit of a sigh I swept the caps – thirty two in all – into the cloth pouch I kept, chucked it in my saddlebags, and kept on walking.

-=O=-

By mid-afternoon I had left the Krewe of the Sea territory and was nudging along the nebulous border between the Old Krewe and the Maisha Social Club. The familiar close-knit building style was back in full force, with their characteristic wrought iron balconies. I passed by one with a weather-beaten painted billboard for a custom carriage shop, another for an apothecary. I was about ten steps past the apothecary when a small red dot appeared at the top of my vision. Then another, and three more after that. I quickly ducked into a small alleyway and peered out.

Five equine figures trotted down the street, armed with a variety of weapons. I spotted one battle-saddle with a pair of rifles attached. One carried a shotgun. Another what looked to be a service rifle with a grenade launcher crudely tied to it. The quintet was loud, laughing and calling out to each other as they went. I was not in a good position. I was stuck in this little alcove as they approached slowly down the street. I couldn't take on five at once even if I had my SATS running. Even with a handful of explosives at my disposal, my position wasn't a good one for this kind of work. They'd overrun me easily.

Fucking raiders. And fucking short ranged EFS spell. The group had come around a corner up ahead, just outside my range. I hadn't heard them walking or talking, even though I'd turned the radio off a little while back.

They were getting closer. I had to make a decision. Behind me was a small gate that led to a courtyard behind some of the buildings. I could make it over the gate easily, no problem. And it was probably my best option: either over the gate, or try to bust out across the road down a narrow side street. That would probably get me full of holes, so... courtyard it was.

I flipped a piece of broken brick up with my tail and waited until I heard the group laugh again. They were close, just about to come up alongside my alcove, when I tossed the brick across the street. It clacked hard off the cobblestones.

“The fuck?” somepony said.

I turned and grabbed onto the gate, climbing up and over it. The alcove was too narrow to get my wings out enough to get any altitude. As I made it over the top the gate – which was apparently unlocked, good on me for fucking checking – opened with a loud, rusty squeak. I tumbled off the far side of it onto the dusty floor of the courtyard just as one of the quintet turned to look down the alcove.

“Hey!”

I was up on my hooves and running before they even moved. Shots rang out and skittered across the stone floor. My wings flared out and with a powerful push I was airborne. Something smacked hard into my side, digging into the combat armour and throwing me off course. The wrought iron of the balcony clanged and shook with the impact of me crashing into it. I held on and climbed up and over to see what the damage was.

A rifle bullet had struck the side of the armour. I'd be bruised in the ribs, but otherwise okay.

“Ya fuckin' dead!” somepony shouted. There came a familiar sound of scraping metal. Then came the thump that I knew all too well.

“Aw, fuck,” I breathed.

The grenade whistled through the air. I spread my wings and went to take off, then decided instead to duck when I saw where the grenade was headed. It moved slowly after all, and I could see it arcing high. I covered my head with my wing just as the HE shell lodged itself into the roof of the building above my head.

Concussive force ripped me off my hooves before I could even react. I was thrown backwards against the balcony doors, which fell away immediately. Turns out rotting wood doesn't really hold up well to a thrown stallion. Dust and woodchips fell onto my prone form. My head felt like it'd been in a big bell that had been clanged at that moment. Ringing in my ears, dizziness... I knew what it was long before my PipBuck decided to helpfully tell me.

A little amber pony face appeared in my vision, head wrapped in bandages and a sad look on its face. 'You've suffered a concussion!' it said, at the same time as I mumbled “Fuckin' concussion...” to myself.

Skies above it hurt. I stumbled up to my hooves. The dusty air was tickling my nose and I sneezed. The impact of the sneeze sent my head ringing and staggered me. This was a bitch of a concussion.

I could see the coloured pips on my EFS shifting around. They were trying to find a way into the building. Goddessdamn raiders. I shook myself off and took a second to get my bearings. I was in a bedroom, complete with a moth-eaten, sagging bed with several stains of unknown and frankly probably disgusting origin. I nudged past the bed and into the hallway. Down below came sounds of hooves beating at doors trying to find one that would open.

They'd be through before long. I flicked through the pages on my PipBuck's remote, looking for the right one. The auto-sorting spell listed everything in my saddlebags. I still had a frag mine and a few grenades, but not much, and the experience at the plantation house back with Comet Spark was coming back to haunt me. I didn't want to collapse another building, especially one I was inside. Which wasn't to say I couldn't use the explosives. I just had to get creative.

I set the mine at the top of the stairs, as hidden as possible, then slipped off into the next room. It was a living room. Past the dusty couch and the tilted bookshelf was a hole in the wall that led to the next building over. I passed through the hole just as something wooden gave way downstairs. My EFS was burning with colour, showing the raiders moving around below. They were spread out, likely trying to find where I ended up. They were trying to box me in.

Unfortunately for them I wasn't going to make it that easy.

Heavy hoof-falls stomped up the stairs as I picked my way through the living room in the next building. This place was in awful repair. The roof was caved in here and there, and the semi-darkness wasn't helping my attempts at being stealthy as I bumped into things. I crept around piles of fallen wood as best I could, wanting to avoid using my PipBuck's lamp as much as possible.

In the building I left I heard a distinct beeping, a shout of alarm, and then the whole building rattled from the blast. The concussive wave whumped around my ears, staggering me a little bit. Dust rained down on my mane. A female voice was shrieking in pain so bad I nearly felt it myself.

“Got my fuckin' leg!”

“Hold her still!”

“Find this prick, right fucking now.”

The EFS marks kept shifting and moving. One seemed to be climbing the stairs. I crouched behind the corner and peered out. A stallion with a shotgun. At this range he'd be lethal. I nudged The Stare around the corner and half pulled the trigger with my tongue. He wasn't even looking my way. Easy. He seemed to spot the red dot dancing on his chest and he looked down at himself.

“What th-”

The second stage on the trigger kicked in and the rifle shot its bolt of lightning along the red beam, striking the stallion in his chest with a loud snap. He staggered back, clutching his chest. “Upsta-” the second shot caught him in the neck and he fell.

I quickly skittered around the corner and readied a grenade with my tail. I pulled the pin, let the pan go, counted a quick two-count, then pitched it around the corner. It wasn't meant to really land on anyone, but rather discourage them from approaching.

The blast rocked more dust down, filling the space with a thick cloud of it. I covered my mouth with a wing as I hobbled on three legs – the fourth still through the stock of the rifle – and found some stairs down. I quickly descended, my head thumping still from the concussion and the blasts. I lifted a wing to my forehead and hissed in pain.

Something struck me hard in the chest.

I doubled over, my vision bursting in white. A stallion stood before me with a sledgehammer in his hooves. He'd just barely struck my armour, and it had hurt. A solid blow from that thing would destroy some bones – and he was already winding up for a round two. My reactions were slowed and I just barely managed to get under it. I could feel it brushing my mane.

If it had connected... no more me.

Quick thinking was my specialty and I did the first thing that came to mind: I drove my head into the stallion, knocking him down and sending a sharp spear of pain through my body. He drove the shaft of the hammer into my gut, knocking the wind out of me, then cracked me in the ribs with the head. He didn't have much of a chance for a good windup but still, a ten pound sledge to the ribs hurt even at slow speed. I felt the rib crack.

I rolled with the blow, falling off the stallion and onto the floor. He raised the sledgehammer and brought it down, but I was still rolling. It caved into the wooden floor and was temporarily stuck, which gave me just enough time to spring up on my hooves.

He must have noticed how shaky I was because he grinned, showing off cracked, yellowed teeth. I was running low on time. Any minute now his buddies would realize what was going on down here, and I'd be surrounded.

So I did the pegasus thing: I flared out my wings and kicked myself backwards to give myself some space. My side protested hard from the effort, but I managed to get some separation between us as the stallion wrenched the hammer free. He glared at me, gripping the shaft between his teeth rather than his hooves. Less strength behind the blow but he'd be able to do it on the run.

I wrenched my pistol from its holster, pointed it, and yanked the trigger once, twice, just as he hit me.

The blow came in from the same side as the first one, where my rib was cracked. The swing was light but done on the run it had much more power. I dropped the pistol and shouted out in pain; the raider kept on going and crashed into the couch across the room. He was bleeding from two 10mm holes in his chest.

He struggled to get up. So did I, for that matter. My PipBuck was flashing me the sad little pony, this time with a bandage across his barrel. My torso was crippled, whatever that meant medically. Breathing was hard, and raspy. My heart was pounding. Between us was the 10mm pistol. He looked at it. I looked at him.

Our eyes locked.

We ran for it. My chest burned with the effort. His hooves skittered out from under him, slick with blood. We got to the pistol about the same time. He was a big stallion, and when we collided, I basically bounced off of him. His hoof pressed down on my chest, holding me down. My tail flicked out under me, reaching for the pistol. The stallion kicked the pistol away.

“Oooh, you gon' fetch a real good price...” he growled to me. His cracked yellow teeth grinned widely at me before flying across the room as a rifle cracked out, the bullet smashing the stallion's jaw off. He gave a disgusting gurgle before collapsing atop me. The impact of the big buck knocked the wind out of me and I blacked out temporarily.

With as much effort as my crippled frame could muster I tried to push the dead raider off of me. Hoofsteps approached. I turned my head.

It was a zebra. Tall – he had at least a head and a half on me, all in the legs – and lanky. His barding was loose on his frame. A heavy metal-and-wood rifle was in his hooves.

“Koman ou ye?” he asked.

“...what?”

“Still talk, that's a good sign.”

I blinked. My vision was still fuzzy from the pain. “...am I dead?”

“Non. Bettin' you gonna wish you is tomorrow, though.” The stallion slung his rifle across his back and trotted over. “Hoo. This one nomm lèd, yeah?”

I was barely keeping up with what he was saying. I assumed the concussion wasn't helping.

With surprising strength for such a lanky frame, the zebra helped push the dead raider off of me. As he did I noticed that there was a bayonet on his rifle – and it was bloody. Skies above. I hadn't even heard him in the fight. “Dezole, was a little slow on the trigger. Té koret?”

“Everything hurts.”

That just made him laugh. I rested my head on the floor and let out a long groan.

-=O=-

My guardian angel was named Mtembezi, though apparently, most just called him Bezi. And while I was absolutely grateful for the super-strength healing potion he helped shove down my gullet, I was really hoping he would just shut up. I still had the remnants of a headache thumping through my head and Bezi was just not one to stop talking.

“So many slavers these days, yeah? Mové afær. Not like we don't have problems with that before, yeah? Pre-war an' all. Comin' up here, takin' us. Won't take me as nésklav, tell ya that.”

I rubbed my temple with a wing. “Bezi?”

“Wi!”

“Thank you.”

“Padekwa, zami! We ain't all bad, us stripes, unhun.”

I looked him over. My vision was clearer now. He was dressed in an odd getup of what was once a nice blue business suit pre-war, now tattered and torn by countless fights. It was patched here and there over the biggest signs of damage. Underneath it was a grey bullet proof vest that showed the dents of more than a few hits. A small bag of red flannel cloth hung around a leather cord around his neck, bouncing lightly off the armour. His mane was a coil of thick grey strands that fell in rows, bunched together with a tie made of the same cloth as the neck amulet.

“I've got no problems with zebras.”

“Mmm. Many folk do. Ain't sayin' ya did.” He grinned and patted me on the back. My body was still sore from the fight and I fought not to wince. “So! Got a name? Ki t'apé fé?”

“Uh, Autumn Breeze. And sorry, I don't... speak Zwahili.”

The zebra barked in laughter. “Not Zwahili, ami. Chu doin' here? We in Maisha territory.”

Maisha territory. I must have wandered off the path to The Grand. Well, that's fine. I needed to talk to Mama Praline anyway, might as well do it now. “I was lookin' for Mama.”

He chuckled a bit. “Oooh, pick a real good day, ami. Come on.” He got up and offered me a hoof. I got off the stair that I'd been sitting on with his help. “Gotta hike a bit. But it's all good. Ti prommnad, çé bon pou twa. Specially with the head. Don't forget ya dubloon!”

Just trying to keep up with what he was saying was making my headache worse. But I did know what a dubloon was anyway. I pulled out one of the gifts Comet had given me before we left Seatown a while back: a string of purple beads, capped with a smart purple and gold tophat on the end. I slid it around my neck.

Bezi shot me a grin, fishing a cigarette pack from inside his jacket. He stuck one between his lips – a hastily, poorly hoof rolled one. “Fumé?”

That at least I could parse. “Please.” I have never needed a smoke more than at this moment.

Chapter 28

View Online

Chapter 28

Bezi led the way through the streets. There was an eerie quiet to it all, more than usual anyway, as we passed from street to street. He seemed not to care too much; there was a distinct jauntiness to his steps as he went along. And why should he worry, why should he care? This was his territory. He could walk freely anywhere he wanted and be fine.

“Hey, Bezi... where is everypony?”

“No ponies here, ami, just us stripes~” he chimed happily, rolling a cigarette between his lips. He must have seen my disappointed expression because he just laughed. “There's an important ceremony today.”

“You weren't invited?”

“Ha! No. Last time I go to a ceremony like this, I got too drunk. Got kicked out, yeah?” I couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not. “Besides, Mama likes to keep guards on patrol. Just in case. Never be too careful these days, ami, so we keep the peace.” I could tell he was making a more concerted effort to dumb things down for me, language-wise.

I nodded. “What about like... towns? I've passed through a few times and never actually seen a town around here.”

“And ya won't! It's well hidden.” He turned his head toward me. “Gotta keep safe. But there's little groups here and there. Folks live where they like.”

He had a point I supposed. If they had trouble with other krewes, or with raiders, the best thing to do would be to keep tightly knit somewhere deep in their territory. To me it just added a new layer of mystery as to where everypony was though. I hadn't seen more than half a dozen together at once here.

Bezi led the way around a corner. The narrow street was mostly cleared of trash, oddly enough, and completely empty. A breeze picked up and rattled a single tin can along the way. If I was alone I'd be nervous, but Bezi just kept walking along, bold as brass. It was strange to not have to stare at windows and balconies, not having to think about bullets flying down at me in an ambush. Bezi started to hum a tune, the sound echoing lightly off the old stone buildings.

Once again I found myself wondering what this place must have been like before the War. It reminded me of back home above the clouds, one of my favourite streets in Chicacolt. Both were lined with cafes and terraces, with bookstores and restaurants. I could imagine folks sitting on the wrought iron balconies, sipping sweet drinks in the sweltering summer heat and watching as tourists filtered down the streets.

Back in Chicacolt I'd had a coltfriend named Sunny Sky who introduced me to ponywatching. We'd relax at a cafe on a terrace and watch the world go by. We'd see lovers wing-in-wing trotting along, we'd watch formation flights from the nearby base. Sunny would come up with often the most ludicrous and hilarious stories about the folks that we saw.

I saw him there for just a moment. Blue eyes twinkling with laughter set against a yellow coat. He blew me a kiss from a chair outside a cafe, and I stopped short for a moment. I blinked. He was gone, the chair sitting empty and fallen to disrepair. Above us the clouds were thickening and starting to threaten rain, rather than the open sky and easy sun of Chicacolt.

I missed home.

Homesickness had never really been an issue for me before. I hadn't been back to Chicacolt in... must have been nearly four years. I hadn't seen my parents in as many years and had last talked to them probably two years ago via mail. Trotting through these streets that were at once so familiar yet so alien was starting to get to me. Everything was the same but... different. Everyone still had four legs, two ears, a tail, but they didn't know the world I knew. Didn't think of the things I thought of. I couldn't crack the same jokes I'd make back home, or talk about the same things I could with my unit. I hadn't seen another pegasus in ages. I was a stranger in a once-familiar land.

I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to go back. To feel clouds under my hooves instead of cobblestones. To hear music, new music, not the same twenty songs over and over. I wanted to see mom and dad again.

“You okay, ami?”

I blinked the beginning of a tear away. “Hm?”

Mtembezi was standing on a corner a few steps ahead of me, looking back. “You lookin' at that chair real intense like. I want a mare to look at me like you look at that chair, pou vré.”

“Just lost in thought, that's all.”

“Mm. Wouldn't think that be a long trip for you,” he said with a teasing smile. “Come on.”

I hustled a few steps forward to catch up with him. “We far now?” I asked.

“No. Just a few minutes.”

A moment ticked by, then I asked: “Look, I've been wondering for like an hour now... what accent is that?”

Bezi chuckled. “Pure bayou, ami. Ti bann out in the swamps north a Neigh Orleans, south of Corne Rouge. Marepas bayou. Weren't the nicest place 'round so I left. Hopped on with a trade ship, ol' Cap'n Friendly, when he passed by. You? You ain't from oz alentou.”

“Nah. Mercenary from Chicacolt,” I explained. Had been a bit of time since I'd had to use that half-lie. “Found my way down here after a while of exploring.”

“Heh. Give it time. You get an accent like mine, ami, you watch.”

Our destination truly wasn't that far away. Within a few minutes, we rounded one last corner, and then we arrived.

I first heard the noise. For the first time in quite a little while I could hear a faint mumbling of voices and music on the wind. Then we approached a tall alabaster white wall of stone that took up an enormous footprint, easily two whole blocks or more. Broken glass shards were jammed in along the top, mixed in among more proper-looking iron spikes that had been painted white. It all sent a clear message: don't try climbing.

“We here.” Bezi turned to look at me. For the first time since I'd met him he actually looked deadly serious, which I took equally seriously. “When we get inside, you step where I do, you say nothing to no one, you make no sound. Don't touch nothing either. Komprenn?”

“Komprenn.” I didn't know exactly what it meant, but I could guess the context.

“Good. You learn quick. Come on.”

He made his way through a gate flanked by two intimidating looking guards, both of who glared at me hard enough to burn a hole in my armour. Beyond the gate was another cemetery not too dissimilar to the one I had been in before with Peach and Ren. This one was different though. The graves were maintained with loving care and were awash in colours. Some were just stone (white or untreated grey), but most were painted with pairs of colours.

“Watu graves?” Comet Spark had told me about them but I hadn't actually seen them. This must be a zebra cemetery, either for full-blooded zebras or zonies – Watu, as they called themselves. And based on how clean and maintained it was I'd guess it was active.

“Wi. Now hush.”

Sounds bounced strangely off the graves as we meandered through them. Sometimes it sounded like it came from behind us but there'd be nothing there, other times it sounded farther away than possible. The path we took had no rhyme or reason to it either, going down strange narrow gaps between graves and at one point I swore we took three left turns, which was... concerning. Bezi seemed to know where he was going though, never stopping or even hesitating as he took me through the cemetery.

The atmosphere was thick, not just from the threat of rain either. I felt intensely aware of the fact that these graves could possibly be recent as I brushed up against stone here and there. I wanted to ask questions – why where these graves so tall, was the place still active, what are these noises – but Bezi had said no talking so I stayed quiet. I passed a gleaming white pyramid of a gravestone, then followed Bezi down a narrow opening between two more. As I brushed one I swore I heard the sound of something shifting from inside.

Finally we made it through the thickest part. The noises started to sound more coherently of voices and they sounded more firmly placed as right ahead of us. A few more arbitrary – to me anyway – turns, and we arrived at what I could best describe as a clearing. A large swath of the graveyard had been left open, with a stretch of surprisingly green grass instead of paving stone. At the far end of the clearing a white tent had been set up, and in the middle was a roaring fire. All around the fire in a rough circle were dozens upon dozens of zebras, dancing in a roughly circular motion. Drums and a chanting, almost barked singing came from the crowd.

Mtembezi and I stood far off to the back. “You one of the first ponies to see this, ami. You tell anypony what you see here, we'll have trouble,” Bezi mumbled to me. I nodded. Trouble was certainly what I wanted to avoid.

The tent opened up to let a mare step out, wearing a flowing white robe and a tightly wound headdress of white cloth. Around her neck hung a beaded orb attached by a cord that audibly rattled - even at this distance – with each step. I didn't recognize her at first, not through the heat haze and the rapidly setting sun, but recognition slowly dawned when she started speaking in loud Zwahili.

Mamma Praline sang loudly above the crowd in a strange call and repeat kind of way. I didn't understand any of the words of course, but I could hear words repeated back to her. She began to dance with much more grace than I expected from a mare her age, the rattle around her neck swinging in wild patterns that matched the rhythm of the drums. Slow at first, but building up. She moved almost as if in a trance, the little elderly mare moving faster and faster as the rhythm built to a crescendo, peaked, then fell silent.

Standing before them, Mamma Praline began speaking again, her voice strong and clear across the field. Every now and again her followers would bow their heads and mumble a reply to what she would say. The twin zonies with blue stripes that always attended her stepped out of the tent, floating several items in their wake. First she poured out a fine yellow powder from a tin onto the dirt by the fire, drawing complex, spidery sigils around herself. Next came wooden boxes of some kind and what looked like a bottle of alcohol, which were all placed upon the sigils.

The twins disappeared into the tent again and came out flanking a stallion wearing a similar white robe. He had a pretty severe face from what I could tell, with a mohawk that was as striped as the rest of his body. He stood before the crowd, which roared in approval.

Bezi leaned toward me again. “Kaskazini Nyota. New leader. Mamma's nephew, komprenn? He's taking over today.”

“Coronation ceremony?” I whispered back before I could catch myself.

“Something like that. Now, hush.”

I looked back at the ceremony. Mamma Praline was speaking to Kaskazini, who stood stoically before everypony. The drums started slowly again, picking up in pace, and the crowd began dancing again. Despite his stoic appearance, Kaskazini joined in, though his moves were somewhat more brutal and jerky. He had a fighter's build. Strong, confident in his motions, and that's what made them jerky. There was no excess movement, no wasted energy. Each motion was precise, planned and executed with precision. The drumming and rattling stayed steady even as Kaskazini collapsed suddenly to the floor.

The music continued but the crowd stopped moving. Kaskazini seemed to convulse on the ground for a moment. I glanced over at Bezi out of the corner of my eye. He didn't look afraid, but rather there was a gleam in his eye. Bezi was excited. I turned back to the crowd to watch Kaskazini finish convulsing against the grass and stand.

He hadn't changed physically but even from where I stood I could tell things were... odd. His movements were looser, more fluid. He carried himself like somepony far lankier than they were as he trotted easily over to the bottle of rum, uncorked it, and took a very long pull. The stoic expression was gone, replaced by a wild grin. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

The music quieted down a little at Kaskazini's insistence. Mamma stood before him and the two exchanged words in Zwahili. The conversation lasted a fair time, but eventually she turned to the crowd and let out a simple barked word. The whole crowd cheered and the music began again in earnest. Kaskazini picked up one of the boxes and danced with far more grace than he'd had before into the tent, followed by Mamma and a few others.

“She'll be out soon. Party starts now, ami, so enjoy. Remember... you never saw this.” Bezi clapped me on the back with a hoof. “Wait here.” He headed off into the crowd, leaving me alone by the graves.

-=O=-

The party went on for quite a while. I got the bizarre feeling of being a third wheel to everypony there. Drinks and food were being passed around from hoof to hoof and occasionally somepony would glance my way. Instead of the usual reaction to seeing a wallflower at a party – that is, to wave at them and invite them to join – I got some of the most hostile glares I'd ever seen. Folks who wandered nearer to the graves would spot me and head back off into the crowd.

Mamma Praline may have put the word out that I was allowed in, and my dubloon guaranteed me safe passage... but that didn't mean I was accepted here. And that was quite fine by me, in fact. This wasn't for me anyway. This community wasn't mine. I spoke no word of Zwahili, knew nothing of the Zoodoo religion. And shit, the war that had destroyed this city was their kin versus my kin. It was better if I stayed off to the side, out of sight, out of mind.

I still felt uncomfortable standing there though. The least Bezi could do would be to come and join me, show me around, introduce me. Eventually he showed up again, coming out of the crowd with a giggly zebra mare at his side. “Mamma be out to see ya soon!” he called out to me, then leaned toward the mare and nibbled her ear, telling her something in Zwahili that made her burst into even more giggles. “Have fun, ami!” and just like that they were gone around the corner.

Great. Well at least he would have some fun. I shuffled impatiently from one set of hooves to another, then lit up a cigarette. About halfway through my second one, a still-dressed Mamma Praline showed up with a warm smile.

“Autumn! Where y'at?”

“I'm fine enough. You?”

“Ah'm livin'. Got my idiot nephew all done up. Spirits is happy. Ah ain't. But if they happy then Ah'm happy.”

I snorted in amusement. “Gotta ask ya something, if you don't mind.”

“Ah do not. Come, let's walk. Ah wanna head home anyway.”

She led the way out of the cemetery, taking the same convoluted path we took to get there. At one point I heard the giggles of the mare from somewhere behind a grave – yuck – but gave it no thought. Mamma was quiet as she led me out into the street, then nodded to the guards, who followed us at a respectful distance. By now the sun was firmly below the horizon and so I lit the lamp on my PipBuck's remote as we went along.

“Well?” she asked.

“I'm...” I hesitated for a long moment while trying to figure out just exactly how to get the point across. “I need you to help unite the krewes. I need the Maishas to join up with the others.”

She burst into laughter. “Darlin', Ah can give ya anythin' ya want, but if y'all had asked for the moon, Ah'd have an easier time deliverin' it than that.”

“I know, I know. This time is... it's different.” I crushed my cigarette underhoof.

Praline Sweet stared at me for a moment. “Mmm. If'n Ah had a golden bit for every time Ah heard that, Ah'd be richer'n all of Canterlot. But Ah can't.”

“Why not? You said you wanted to see more cooperation between the krewes.”

“That's different.” We passed underneath the gate of the cemetery. One of her blue-striped zony attendants was already waiting to follow us down the street. “Whaddya know about our history, Autumn?”

I paused. Nothing, admittedly. The pause was all the answer she needed.

“What ya askin' for is for us to be put under majority pony rule again. That's dangerous t'ask of us.” She turned her head to look at me as we walked. “Back before th'war, Neigh Orleans was neutral. Ya know that?”

“I'd heard something to that effect, yeah.”

She nodded. “Long before th'war, way way back, the city was founded both by ponies an' zebras. Who gots here first is up to debate, of course – Ah say zebras first,” she told me with a playful wink, “but that's jus' me. Point is we lived together, rough, but fine. There was troubles of course, always gonna be. But th'two races mixed well after a time. Ain't that right, Moja?” she asked, looking back at the blue-striped zony following us.

He said nothing, he just nodded. His silence was starting to get unnerving.

“Pony an' zebra together. Zony.”

“Watu,” I added.

Mamma Praline beamed at me. “Ayep. S'what we call them.” She walked along, taking us further from the cemetery. “The entirety of Martingale was agreed on as neutral territory 'tween th' Caesars of old, an' the Princesses. Kept the peace for centuries. Sure, zebras an' ponies had they differences, they troubles. But until the Big One, we had no real problems here. But things boiled over and... well...” she waved a hoof around at the destruction around us.

I nodded and waited for her to continue.

“But neutrality didn't stop the problems. Zebras got chased outta places. Fired from jobs. Ran outta town. Beat. Strung from trees. Everypony looked at anyone striped like they was reportin' directly to th'Caesar. Course it weren't true but that didn't stop nopony. Neutrality's just a piece of paper at th'end of the day, a paper ain't much of a shield in th'moment. So folks decided to come together. Protect theyselves. They were called krewes too, back then. Outta the ashes of th'old pre-war zebra krewes we made the Maisha Social Club. We had to carve out a place that was safe for us. A place of our own where it weren't ponies dictatin' our lives an' chasin' us out when they didn't want us no more.” Mamma Praline stopped to look at me, her eyes meeting mine. “Ya understand?”

I nodded. “You think that uniting the krewes will cause your people to be second-class again,” I ventured.

She nodded slowly. “Exactly. An' then what? We lose our territory? Our way of life? Ah said Ah wanted to see the krewes workin' together. But Ah fear unitin' 'em is just gonna hand the reins to somepony we may not like.”

She turned and continued on down the street. I recognized the area as being not far from her house. “What if...” I began. “What if the leadership was split? A sort of... council of leaders. A figurehead, sure, but no decision is made without consensus of the entire council?”

“It's a possibility for sure,” Praline said softly. “Ah just hope ya know whatcha doing.” She was quiet for a moment. “Why ya so insistent on this now? Ya were interested last time, now ya seem real riled up.”

So I explained it to her, from start to finish. Coming across the army, the raider leader who called himself the Prince, their plan to wash over Neigh Orleans in a divide-and-conquer strategy to take it over. In the time it took to lay it all out we'd made it to Mamma Praline's shotgun house, decorated as ever in its bizarre collection of talismans, skulls, masks, and more.

“Ah see.” She unlocked the door and held it open for me. With a thankful nod I crossed the threshold. “Ah'll talk to Kas about it. But Ah'm puttin' a lot of trust into ya, Autumn. A lot. Ain't just for me ya asking, ya asking for th'future of every zebra in the krewe. That's a lot to ask.”

“I know. And I wouldn't ask it if I wasn't sure. But if even one krewe stands separated...”

“Mmm. Enough depressin' stuff. How about a bit of tea before bed?” Mamma Praline asked. “Ah got a spare room. Won't have to walk all th'way to The Grand at night.”

“Thank you.”

-=O=-

All yesterday the sky had been dark and threatening rain. Sometime overnight the threat had become a reality. And no gentle rain either. Thick bands of heavy raindrops clattered on the windows and the roof, filling the space with an unending white noise. I had woken with the dawn, and with the weather outside I sure as shit wasn't anxious to hit the road again. Not to mention my entire body was sore from the solid beating I'd taken yesterday – it took most of my energy just to get up.

For the first time in a while I'd had a chance to stop and take stock of things. I sat on the edge of the bed and cracked open my saddlebags. I upended them on the floor to arrange it all.

First order of business: my flannel shirt smelled like it'd been dunked in the bayou for a few weeks. It was dirty, grungy, and altogether unpleasant so off that went. I replaced it with something I hadn't taken out in a while: my stripped-down pale grey Enclave fatigues. Smelling a little better and feeling a littler cleaner, I took stock of the rest.

For my pistol I had a couple spare mags, and a box of loose rounds (I had to remember to stop dumping magazines where they may. I needed a dump pouch), two remaining ration packages, plus a few healing items I'd gathered. I'd run dry on explosives during the fight with the raiders. A good supply of powerful magical fusion packs to keep my electric rifle charged and ready. The Enclave Box o' Shit, which still hadn't served me well. Of my supplies though, one thing caught my attention – a small logbook, dog-eared and worn, bearing the crest of the Neigh Orleans City Works department.

Goddesses, I'd forgotten all about that. I flipped through it, all the way back to an entry that felt like an eternity ago.

Day One – 07:41 – Partly sunny – Road Works offices

Dropped successfully. Found some shelter – too far from city to return regularly. Building in good shape.

No power.

I flipped through further entries. They got more spaced out and eventually stopped a few days after I'd met Peach Tea and Renfeld. It had become harder and harder to find an excuse to slip out and write an entry into my unofficial report. I used to do it when they went to bed, but nowadays I usually spent my nights with Ren, and getting out from under his wings stealthily was difficult. I'd just been giving cursory updates by occasionally sending cloud messages with my Enclave ID to ensure they knew I was still alive, and that was about it.

No better time like the present. I slipped the stubby pencil from its holder and tapped it to my lips. I mentally tallied up the days since the last one, lost count, and decided to just ignore it altogether. Instead I pulled out my PipBuck 2000's tablet to check the date

08/03/2243 – 06:38 – Rainy -

I hesitated at the next line. This would likely be part of an official record later on. It was entirely possible Mamma Praline would never even know it existed, and I didn't want to just have her house laid into the official Enclave record like that without her permission or knowledge. Just felt odd. So I pencilled in “Zebra Territory” instead.

Still alive. Another hesitation. My first entry was simple and to the point. A few got more verbose as time went on. This seemed a good a time as any to add a longer entry. Still with previously mentioned companions. Discovered and connected with several groups in the areas known to locals as Krewes. Companions and I discovered threat to city – are currently attempting to stave off threat. Will not continue with regular entries, but I will update on success of mission. Hopefully.

I wrote the last word without thinking and erased it from the record, though the pencil marks were still faintly visible. Chuckling to myself, I stuck the notebook back into my saddlebags. My PipBuck tablet went in next and I affixed the remote once more to the front of my armour. One quick “stupid check” later to ensure I hadn't forgotten anything, I went downstairs.

Mamma Praline had made up a simple breakfast of what she called hoecakes (sounded more like an insult to me) and tea. It was a quiet, simple affair. Not much said between us, which seemed fine to her and was equally alright by me. A phonograph in her main room played some music I'd never heard before. It was full of drum beats and wild horns in a way totally different than the jazz I tended to catch on the radio, and the singing was in Zwahili, so it wasn't like I could follow along anyway.

Once breakfast and the tea was done with I said my goodbyes. Mamma Praline offered a gift on the way out: a simple, dark poncho with a hood. I couldn't thank her enough as I clipped it around my neck and ducked out into the rain.

Thick heavy drops of water splattered against the poncho. The hood and the white noise from the rain muffled any sounds that came in, even my own hoofsteps, and I couldn't see much anyway with the grey rain bands cutting visibility. I was paranoid after yesterday's encounter. I kept closer to buildings, under awnings, trying to stay out of sight and alert.

Luckily the dark poncho helped me keep to shadows a little bit easier. I found myself glancing at the EFS a lot more this time as I stumbled my way down the narrow streets in the Maisha territory. It was a lot less open and grid-like here, with narrow cobblestone streets that meandered here and there, turning into narrow one ways before dumping out into wider streets.

There was a flicker of some kind of light off to my side. I swore it was from the EFS, but when I looked toward it it was gone. Off in the distance thunder rumbled gently. Just a bit of lightning, that was all. I was paranoid, nothing more. I ducked through a narrow gate to cross a garden and bypass a street where a building had collapsed across it. Rubble clattered underhoof as I scrambled over a section of fallen wall into the street beyond.

How far was it to the Grand? I had to stop and check my PipBuck to figure it out. Not far. A fairly straight shot to boot, just a few more alleyways to cut my way to Bridle Street, then I could just hustle my way down to the hotel. Easy. I dropped the map overlay from my vision. The wind picked up, tugging at my poncho and sticking the cold material against my exposed hindquarters. The screech from a weather vane on a nearby roof made my hairs stand on end. I glanced up as I neared a stone arch. The weather vane was a massive, dark hunk of iron. I wasn't entirely sure what shape they were attempting to portray with it. I ducked under the arch, trying to get a bit closer to the weather vane to see what it was. I looked up again and a lump caught in my throat.

The weather vane wasn't there anymore.

Something wasn't right. I had to be incredibly careful. Last time I'd been caught out I'd nearly died. I remembered what Praline had told me not long ago: Neutrality's just a piece of paper at the end of the day. The purple top hat dubloon around my neck was just a hunk of plastic, not an ironclad guarantee of safety. It wouldn't stop a bullet.

A metallic squeak sounded out somewhere not far away, like wind pulling a gate shut... except I could hear the latch rattle into place. The alleyway I took ended abruptly at the far end with a closed wrought iron gate. The dryness in my mouth was getting more intense as another flash of light caught my eye on the EFS, only to disappear when I turned its way.

With my only option forward being a nearby garden courtyard eerily similar to the one I'd been attacked in, I quickly ran through the archway and across the garden, only to find it too was blocked off. The only other exit was a wooden door but try as I might it wouldn't budge. Locked. It forced me to go through the building itself, through an open window.

The kitchen I passed through looked undisturbed but I knew it wasn't the case. I could see the hoofprints in the decades of dust that accumulated everywhere and they were fresh. Try as I might to fight the panic I was losing that battle. I burst through the front door of the house into the street and took off running. My hooves slipped on rain-slick cobblestones and yet I managed to keep balance thanks to my wings. Something moved on a balcony above – was it wind that pushed those curtains, or something else? Another closing door. Another flash on the EFS. I was going mad, I had to be.

I rounded the corner onto a dead-end street. The road abruptly butted up against the rear of a building with an old faded advertisement for Cornucopia Grocers. “Shit!” I shouted, my voice swallowed by a rumble of thunder. I strode to the end of the street in frustration and turned around, finding myself face to face with a red-striped zony. My brain shot into overdrive, panic making my hooves skitter backwards across the wet pavement.

“Boo.”

Somehow I managed to control my footing. My breathing on the other hoof, not so much. The stallion burst into raucous laughter. I knew the figure too. A red-striped zebra stallion with a familiar sword across their back, and a deadly revolver on their chest.

“Ha! Ah think Ah scared him.”

I fought back the urge to gulp. “Hello, Rosko.” My voice was far less stoic and steady than I'd wanted. I'd intended to show fearlessness. The zony knew better.

Rosko grinned widely at me. “He remembers. Betcha all that time with Mamma Praline means Ah was mentioned once or twice. Lookit me, Desoto, Ah'm famous.” He grinned over his shoulder at another figure that emerged from the shadows. His blue-striped companion with the rifles – Desoto. That one was making his way along my left side, trying to circle in behind me. I steadied my hooves and started circling away from him to at least keep them from blocking my exit.

“What do you want?” I asked with a lot more confidence than I felt.

“Now ain't that a funny question because, and correct me if Ah'm wrong here, but this is MY territory!” Rosko snapped. His expression calmed right away. “Better question is, what are you doing here? Because Ah recall seein' ya at the cemetery. An' you was just comin' from near Mamma's house.”

I made sure to straighten up a bit and keep staring down Rosko. “It's none of your business.”

“It is my business, because see, Ah'm what ya'd call the... neighbourhood watch.” The zony stared me down in return, projecting far more confidence than I was. He knew he was winning and he was playing with me, like a cat with a mouse. “Which means Ah like to keep an eye on the goings on around here. Like when Ah see a lost little pony somewhere he ain't supposed to be.”

“I've got a dubloon, I'm allowed h-”

“All that means is you're allowed to be here, not that you have immunity,” he snapped back, cutting me off midsentence. “In fact, we could kill you right now. Wouldn't even need to be subtle. Dump your body in one of th'old graves. Who's gonna care? We're two fine upstanding members of the neighbourhood watch takin' care of raiders. Ain't that right, Desoto?”

“Mmm.” The growly voice was familiar, coming right over my shoulder. It was hard as all get out to keep them from getting behind me, but I kept circling anyway, trying my best. “Dubloon's just made of plastic. Doesn't stop bullets.”

“He doesn't talk much but when he does, he's right,” Rosko said casually. “And he is right. So don't ya go thinkin' you're safe just cause you're Mamma's favourite.”

A shiver of cold ran through me that had nothing to do with the rain. A dead-end alleyway and two zonies ready to kill if I mis-stepped. He was absolutely right too. It was just a plastic top hat on a string of plastic beads. It was nothing but tradition that kept me alive at this point. And if someone did kill me, would they really rule in my favour? Fuck it, even if they did, I'd still be dead.

Any justice after that was literal cold comfort.

“...What do you want?”

“What do Ah want? Ah want you gone, my little pony,” he emphasized that last bit with a little too much mocking venom for my taste. “Gone from my territory. Gone from our politics. Gone from our lives. Y'all gettin' too far involved for my tastes.”

“I'm just here to help, that's all,” I explained, reversing my steps to keep them on their toes. The two responded immediately by changing their directions to match mine. “Not trying to interfere.”

“No, see, you don't get it. By bein' here, ya interferin'. By bendin' Mamma's ear, ya interferin'. And Ah'm not a fan of that. See, Ah get ya, Feathers, Ah do. Ah really do. Ah know ya type. Naive, fresh faced. Think ya got all the answers. Ya see a group with a problem, ya figure ya got the solution. So ya go in, headfirst, half-cocked, tryin' to fix it all up. But ya know what the problem is, Feathers? You. Ain't. Us.” I could see the anger rising on Rosko's face, burning in his eyes. “This is zebra territory. It ain't your place to come in.”

“Look, I get it, but this is different.”

“Aw yeah?” he asked. “How?”

I figured he wasn't quite asking in good faith but pressed on. “There's a threat, bigger than anything any one group can handle. It's an army about to march on Neigh Orleans.”

Rosko barked out in laughter in that odd way zebras did. “See? This is what Ah mean. Ya don't get it. Ya see a threat to ya lifestyle as a pony, so ya come in an' try to push that on everypony. But guess what? We're not the same, you an' Ah. Our needs is different. Y'ain't the first pony to come into zebra territories an' start imposin' your solutions on our problems, ya won't be th'last. Th-”

“There's a raider army on the way!” I blurted out without letting him finish, but Rosko continued on.

“-is city was majority zebra anyway, till ponies came in an' fucked that all up! Took all th'good places 'round the Gardens an' pushed us o-”

“He's going to roll over everypo-”

“And what if we called on him!” Rosko suddenly shouted. His words reverberated around the stone walls surrounding the street. The anger stunned me into silence, into stopping my circling. Desoto settled in firmly behind me, blocking my exit from the street. “What if we called on him?” The red-striped zony ahead of me asked in a much calmer voice. “What if he came down, knocked on our front door, and we joined him? What if we decided that that was what was best for us, not to join into whatever little scheme ya been puttin' in Mamma's ear?”

“Well, I-” I sputtered.

“Mm. Got nothin'. What Ah thought. See, ya came bringin' solutions, without thinkin' it to th'end. Once again, a pony comin' in tellin' zebras what's best for them.” Rosko spat on the ground ahead of me, the glob washing away in the rain. “Ah don't know whatcha been tellin' Mamma, whatcha been talkin' about hidden away together, but Ah. Don't. Like it. So ya best get to runnin', an' get outta Maisha territory, before Ah make ya leave.”

I didn't need telling twice. I half-turned away from him in order to keep Desoto in my vision as I backed out of the alleyway, but the rifle-zebra had turned aside to let me pass. I kept them firmly in sight until I was around the corner and then, admittedly, turned tail and sprinted as fast as my hooves could damn well take me. I didn't look back. I'll be the first to admit I was shaken and afraid.

My flight took me down random streets that threw me off for a little bit. I had to force myself to stop in the shadow of an old bus to catch my breath and reorient myself. My PipBuck map put me on mostly the right track, just off by a block or so. Not bad. With my back to the cool metal of the bus I checked my EFS. Not a single sign of movement. Either Rosko wasn't following me, or he was being far more subtle about it.

I peered around the bus up the street. Nothing. At least... nothing visible. Every yawning window, every dark corner, every blind alley could be a hiding spot. I felt the swell in my throat again and fought it back. Panic wouldn't do me any good. I wasn't far from The Grand. I could make it.

With a deep breath to steady myself I left my hiding spot behind the bus and started off down the street towards The Grand.

Level Up!

Level 12

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers, Combat Veteran, Explorer, How We Do It on the Farm, Leader, Sniperpony (Penalty for ranged called shots is halved!)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 29

View Online

Chapter 29

I'd gone up to find Red in her office. Her assistant, Honeydew, had told me she'd be out for a little while and invited me inside before leaving to go find Red. A little while turned out to be quite a long while, in fact. Which was perfectly fine by me: Honey left me in the penthouse office with a carafe of coffee, a fresh carton of cigarettes, and my thoughts. I was curled up in a blanket on the couch, staring at the steam as it rose from the coffee cup.

The conversation – rather, the targeted rant – with Rosko kept playing out, over and over, in my head. I'd finally gotten relaxed enough for it to sink in fully and boy did it sink in. I found myself thinking over everything he'd said, every word of it, and couldn't get his damned voice out of my head.

The worst part was that Rosko – and Praline to a degree – were right. I thought I was too, but they were both right. Rosko absolutely had a point: I was interfering somewhere I didn't quite belong. I didn't know the politics of the place. I didn't know what Neigh Orleans was like – fuck, I didn't even know the city had ponies in it until two months ago. What right did I have to come in and start imposing my will on the folks around here? Because in the end, this whole plan was just that: my will.

And Mamma Praline was right, too. I was asking entire communities to give up their independence against an enemy that they didn't know anything about. And while the idea of making a republic out of the place was nice and all... how was I able to promise to everypony that their way of life wouldn't change?

The worst part was that it was my decision to bring this plan into motion. My decision to ask – well, shit, practically coerce – everypony in the city to stand in its defence against an army greater than it that was ready to kill. Not just kill, but to kill for pleasure. Yet I was imposing myself onto an entire city full of ponies I had never and likely would never meet.

Nothing I'd ever been taught in the Enclave's courses talked about this. About the crushing weight of leadership and the feelings that arose from asking folks to go to their deaths for you. Goddesses, what if the battle went poorly? What if we lost? I could be asking everypony to come together and stand against a threat that they might not even survive. I could be condemning everypony in the city to death because I didn't like the idea of a raider army.

It almost seemed self-evident that a raider army was a bad thing... but Rosko had a point. What if the krewes I was asking decided that they wanted to stand with The Prince instead? If they defected halfway through the battle or even prior to it then the whole plan itself would fall apart... and I'd be starting a literal civil war in a city I didn't belong to.

Leadership fucking sucked.

“If y'all lookin' for answers, ya won't find 'em there.”

I looked up from my cup of coffee. Through the steamy haze I watched Red walk past the fountain toward the couch. She wasn't wearing anything, carrying nothing, giving me no indication as to where she might have been for this whole time. She just settled into a chair nearby like it was a regal throne and looked over at me.

“What's that?” I asked.

“I've done my fair share of tea leaf readin's. Some of 'em with coffee grounds. An' lemme tell ya: omens found at the bottom of a cup are rarely good. So... found an answer down there?”

I responded by lifting the cup to my lips and taking a sip. “Just that if coffee exists, then there must be Goddesses looking out for us,” I reasoned.

Red burst into laughter and even I managed a small smile. I set the cup down on the tray just as Honeydew came by to drop off a drink for Red.

“So. Welcome back, Feathers. Come to grace my office again, huh?” she asked, relaxing in her chair. “How's Comet doin'?”

“Fine, last I saw him. Seems to be holding up well, been doing well with his trading business, now that he's got a side hustle with sidearms, y'know.” I grinned knowingly at her and sipped my coffee. “Hasn't he been back around to talk?”

“Occasionally. But I always like t'here it from other folks, y'know? Folks tend to lie when it comes to how they're doin'. I like to check with others to find the truth.” She sipped her own drink, though what it was I had no idea thanks to the opaque glass it was served in. “So! What brings y'all back to my humble home?” she asked. There was an odd twinkle in her eye that I couldn't quite place. She knew something, or wanted something. Or knew that I wanted something.

“Well, funny how you should ask. I need a favour. Well, two favours, actually.” I paused a moment to sip my coffee.

“Would it have anythin' at all to do with a raider army?” Red asked casually. I nearly spit my drink across the coffee table in surprise. A giggle bubbled past her lips. “Oh, don't be so surprised, Feathers. Y'act like ya don't know me. I've got my ears everywhere. An' I heard that some little pony's been goin' around the last few days, spreadin' tales of a raider army an' the need to organize against it. Sound about right?”

I blinked in surprise. It was exactly right. And somewhat refreshing to know I wouldn't have to drag the same old tale out once again. At least somepony else knew about it. “Who told you?” I asked, incredulously.

“A mutual friend.”

“Comet?”

“Mmm, not quite.” Red smiled softly at me. “But what's important is that ya need somethin' from me to do with this, don'tcha?”

“Well, I figured if there's anypony at the Grand who can help me out, it's going to be you.” She seemed pleased at the compliment, her red-on-red coat practically glowing with pride. “Mostly, I need to get in touch with somepony who runs the Old Krewe. I understand they run out of the Grand, somehow, but I don't know anything about them.”

Red leaned back a bit and contemplated the question. The gleam in her eye was still there. “The Old Krewe. They like th'shadows for a reason. Keeps everypony honest around the territory.”

“Why's that?” I asked. I motioned a wing to the carton of cigarettes as I spoke, and Red nodded in affirmative. I picked out a cigarette, lighting it up. “Considering they run the biggest trading post in town it would seem like they'd be, y'know. More accessible.”

Off in the distance a bit of music started up as quiet background noise. I could hear Honeydew shuffling around somewhere in the opulent penthouse. Red sipped her drink and grabbed a cigarette of her own. I offered my lighter for her. “Good question,” she eventually said. “One I lack the answer to. My best guess is is that ownin' th'biggest tradin' post in town makes them a bit of a target. Th'Krewe in general takes a more... hooves off approach anyway. Not havin' a traditional power structure helps. Lets folks see the Grand as just a place, rather'n a place of power, if that makes sense.”

“Not really.”

“Well, think of it this way. 'Bout seven years ago, the krewes was at each other's throats for territory. Th'Old Krewe realized they was pretty central to the city – to get to most krewes, ya pass through they territory. So they brokered a peace deal with the groups around, called the Fat Tuesday Agreements. Keeps th'peace around here by makin' The Grand, an' Old Krewe territory, fair game for most to visit. At the expense of that, th'Krewe pretends they ain't the defacto leaders of Neigh Orleans to prevent the Agreements from fallin' apart on grounds of favouritism. Gettin' it?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

Red smiled and blew a small plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “So! Ya wanna talk to 'em. Ah can do that. An' the other part?”

“Well, you know I'm trying to organize the Krewes to stop these raiders. But to do that I need a meeting place. You say The Grand is fair game, so I figure this is a good spot. But I need to get the message out. How am I going to do that?”

“That is somethin' I can definitely help with. Ah know which strings t'pull. Don't go far from Th'Grand, when the time is right, Honey 'r I'll find ya.”

I nodded and drew on my cigarette a bit. “That was... surprisingly easy.”

Red gave me an easy smile, relaxing in her chair with all the easy confidence of somepony who knew far more than she ever let on. She had the look of a cat that was lounging over its prey, enjoying the game. “Why would I make it hard?” she asked. “Y'all asked for a favour. Ya did a lot for me in th'past. Y'all gonna keep doin' good work in th'future, I assume.” She waved her cigarette lazily as she spoke. “I like you, Feathers, an' so I wanna help out. Besides – a raider army is bad for business, no matter how y'all slice it. So if it means stoppin' it, I'll help.”

“Thanks, Red. I owe you.” I crushed out my cigarette butt and got up to leave.

“That ya do. Keep in touch, I'll have ya answer about meetin' with Th'Old Krewe by tomorrow mornin'.”

“Thanks, see ya tomorrow.”

-=O=-

G&B: So, what's different with the new A3 model?

Braeburn: Heh, well, glad ya asked. We've taken a lot of the suggestions from our brave mares an' stallions in the field about what they liked an' didn't. We've made some minor adjustments to the outside, sure, but the real change is from burst to full auto, giving our soldiers that extra punch they need to out-shoot any zebra unit they come across.

I lazily turned the page. The next image was that same handsome old stallion, Braeburn, at the range with the very same rifle they were talking about – the new and improved IR-15A3. I'd finally gotten around to opening this old issue of Guns & Bullets! I'd found ages back.

G&B: I hear rumours there might be a light machine gun variant in the future, then?

Braeburn: Ha! Well, you'll just ha-

“Autumn!”

I looked up from the magazine at the familiar voice. He stood at the other end of the bar: a familiar sandy griffon with steel grey feathers, golden eyes, and a warm, easy smile.

“Ren!” I was out of my chair in a second, across the floor in two, and in his wings by the third. It hadn't been that long since we'd been apart, maybe three days total at this point, but a lot had happened in three days. I'd nearly been killed – again – and had some close calls. I didn't even know what kind of troubles Ren and Peach Tea might have gotten into.

“Good to see you again,” he said softly.

“You too. Come on, grab a chair.” I let him go and made my way back to the table. “Hungry?”

“A little, yeah.” Ren settled in across from me. A waitress crossed the floor to take his order, then disappeared into the early morning crowd. Even this early The Grand it was busy. “How'd you make out?” he asked.

“Well, not too bad. At least I got Mamma Praline on our side. The rest of the Maisha krewe, I don't know. But that's something. And Red's going to at least try to get us an audience with the Old Krewe's council tomorrow. How about on your end?”

Ren shrugged. “Kortig – my boss – is kinda... rough around the edges. But I think I got him to come around,” he explained. “He wasn't real happy with being dragged into a conflict that wasn't his own. I think he's been a mercenary too long, y'know... kinda used to getting paid to do the right thing.”

“I mean, I'm sure we can get some caps together,” I pointed out.

“It's more than that. He believes we should wait it out, see what happens. Good for business, he says.” Ren shrugged a dismissive wing. “Something about how, win or lose, we'd still have contracts. But if we get involved then we have to pick sides and that's never good. But in the end he agreed to at least come to a meeting, so that's something.”

“Mhmm. Worth it if he at least comes to the table. Although I have a feeling that if the raiders won, they wouldn't been keen on an outsider group of mercenaries nearby.”

“Why not?” Ren asked, picking at his food a bit. “Think about it. Raiders or not, there's always going to be a need for folks who wanna do dirty work for caps. I think Kortig just doesn't wanna bet wrong, you know? Figures if we fight for the wrong side, we might lose out. Big time.”

“Fair enough.” I didn't agree with it but at least it made sense.

We ate in silence for a little while, just happy to be around each other again more than anything else. I'd been worried about him, but I probably shouldn't've been. Ren was pretty skilled despite being on the softer, quieter side. He was deadly with a machine gun, and I mean, he was part of a mercenary company. He was no slouch in a fight. I felt safer around him, and I'm sure he did just fine on his own.

We finished up our food and packed up. Ren and I stepped out into the middle courtyard around the pool. Very few ponies milled about, and though the thunderstorm had let up, it was still raining. Ren and I found a spot under a gazebo where we could be alone in the quiet morning.

“So, you got Mamma Praline, what else?” he asked, lighting up a cigarette. I took one of my own out and let the smoke idly rise to the sky.

“There's a krewe here, the Old Krewe, that kinda runs the whole place.” I waved a hoof in the general direction of the hotel around us. “I know somepony here who knows a lot of little someponies, and she assured me she can help us at least meet the Old Krewe's leadership, which is pretty rare. Tomorrow, sometime.”

Ren nodded, his expression one of impressed approval. “Nice.”

“Mhmm. She also said she can help get a message out to the other Krewes.”

“Even better~”

“Yep! I... think we might actually pull it off. But I'm worried.”

“About what?” Ren asked, wrapping a large wing around my shoulders. I cuddled in against him.

“What if we made the wrong choice?” I asked. “I mean... none of us are from Neigh Orleans. I dunno how these Krewes interact. We're asking a lot of them, hon. We're asking ponies from separate krewes to stand for ponies from other ones they'd never met. It's not like they play nice most of the time.”

“I know. But somepony has to do something, right?”

“I guess. I sometimes wonder if it wasn't a better idea to just... inform everypony and let them work it out themselves.”

“It'll be fine, Autumn.”

“I sure hope so.” I leaned up to kiss him under the chin. He scritched under mine with his talons and grinned.

“Y'know, you look a little rough?”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. Mane's all wild. Bags under your eyes. Peach Tea's not back yet... what say you and I go get cleaned up before she does?” he offered. “Get a trim, a bath, all that.”

I grinned mischievously up at him – he was taller than me, even sitting down – and gave him a wink. “Sounds like a perfect opportunity to get dirtied up first.”

“Fine by me~” he cooed playfully.

My time in Neigh Orleans might be rough, and might not end the way I wanted, but at least I had this griffon. I grinned, kissed his beak, and wrapped my wing around his arm to tug him from our gazebo bench and toward the doors to the inner hotel. A bath and a few hours with my boyfriend sounded amazing.

Chapter 30

View Online

Chapter 30

The sun rose slowly over the horizon. In deference to the clouds that covered most of the sky it made its presence known, cresting over the edge of the harbour with a warm flash of light. It silhouetted the skeletons of the ships in the harbour, their eerie faint green glow overridden by the swathes of orange light. For just a moment the sun was visible, only a few minutes, before it disappeared behind the first rank of clouds. For the rest of the day it would only peek through in short moments in the shotgun blast of holes in the clouds as they swept over Martingale territory, from Steedport to the north, over Corne Rouge, then down to Neigh Orleans to the south, then off over the ocean.

Where the clouds went from there I didn't know. I watched the sunrise through the window across the room. Red obviously had some pull in the hotel; when we'd gone to ask for a room, the mare at the front desk gave us keys to a top floor suite of our own. Ren and I had explored every inch of it together before finally ending up here.

My head was on his chest, which rose and fell softly with his breathing. I ran my wing along his, feeling the strong spine on his broad wings. No wonder griffons were so feared in the air. We ponies, Enclave especially, had agility. Small wings, rounded tips, and lighter frames. We could fly circles around anything and anyone. Griffons on the other hoof... Renfeld's wings were huge, came to a sharp point, peaked at the alula. They were designed for sustained speed, especially in a dive. If it came to a race between us, I could easily lose him in the buildings, but on a straightaway, Ren would leave me in the dust.

I kissed the leading edge of his wing. He grumbled and curled up against my back. “That tickles...” he mumbled.

“I don't recall you complaining too much last night~” I mumbled happily.

“Do you want me to bite your neck again? Cause that's how I bite you again.” Ren buried his beak against the crook of my neck, his beak nibbling against a red mark there that was annoyingly visible against my goldenrod coat. “What time is it?”

My PipBuck tablet sat on the nightstand. I reached out to check it. “Quarter to nine.”

“Fifteen more minutes.” His face buried against my neck.

“Get up, you lazy ass. We've got the meeting with the Old Krewe today.” Hopefully.

Ren groaned softly and rolled onto his back to let me up. I climbed out of bed, shaking the soreness and stiffness out from hoof to wingtip. I folded my wings at my side and turned to look at Ren, who was staring at me with a smile.

“You're beautiful,” he said softly.

“I know, now get up~” I teased, pulling on my shirt and leaving my armour behind. I did take my saddlebags and my PipBuck, though. Ren climbed out of bed, forgoing the entire clothing affair – shirts made for griffons weren't exactly common around here after all – and waited for me to get ready. He led the way out of the bedroom door to the main living room, where Peach Tea was sitting on the couch, reading from my issue of Guns & Bullets! lazily. She looked up at us when she heard the door open, then grinned our way.

“Good Goddesses, y'all gay.”

“I seem to recall a certain orange freeloading mare talk about her previous marefriends,” Ren said casually.

She burst into giggles and stuck her tongue out at us. “Ya got a little...” she motioned to her neck, looking my way.

I turned my collar up with a blush. “When did you get back?” I asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Last night. Got in late. Heard y'all havin' fun so Ah slept on the couch. Didn't wanna disturb ya.” I blushed even harder and Peach Tea giggled. “Ah asked at the front desk for y'all, and she gave me the key up here. Kinda surprised t'see ya walkin', Autumn.”

“Peach, I swear to the Goddesses...”

“Try me, bitch~” Peach Tea cooed playfully, blowing me a kiss.

Ren grinned and went to the suite's kitchen to get breakfast on the go. A box of preserved apples and some oatmeal. Not gourmet, but we weren't exactly the most stocked group around. I pulled a trio of coffee packets from my stash and made a cup of coffee for everypony.

“How'd it go?” the griffon asked Peach.

“Not bad. Queen's Krewe's nice. Ah might have t'go back an' visit sometime, instead of goin' on business. The Queen herself ain't too happy, but she agreed that it was a better idea to set aside differences at a time like this. An' she gave me this.” She floated out a small wooden case from a pocket on her Stable-suit.

“Oooh, got married?” I teased.

“Ah wish, but no.” She cracked open the box. Inside was a gemstone, round, smooth as a marble and about the same size. It glowed with faint pink light, the same deep pink, near crimson, of Peach's magic.

The two of us stared at it. I had no idea what it was. Judging by Ren's cocked eyebrow he didn't either.

“A memory orb. She said if'n Ah was to get others on board, Ah needed more'n just my word an' a few papers. She helped extract this one. Uh... Ah don't think either of y'all can view it, but it's my view from the whole thang down at the plantation.”

“That's going to be very useful if Red pulls through,” I said.

“Red?” Peach Tea asked.

“Contact here at the hotel who should help us get a meeting with the Krewe leaders. Should. We'll see in... about an hour.”

-=O=-

Almost precisely fifty-five minutes later a knock came to the suite door. When it opened, it wasn't Red standing there but rather Honeydew, Red's assistant. She was dressed not in a maid dress but instead some simple and functional leather armour. “Hey there!” she called happily. I had not quite gotten used to how... Type A this mare was.

“Red sent me to collect y'all. She apologizes for the inconvenience, but she's tied up at the moment and can't come herself.”

“So? Did we get the meeting?” I asked.

Honeydew nodded enthusiastically. “Ya did! If you're ready, we can go.”

My companions didn't protest – we'd all been ready for the last hour anyway – and so we all got up and followed Honeydew out the door. She took us not far down the hall to a section that looked a little off. The wall that covered the end of the hall had been hastily erected with a solid door placed in it. A fairly recent addition. Without breaking her stride the earth pony mare pulled a key from her barding, unlocked the door, and held it open for us. The space beyond the door was... well, the absolute exact same. Somepony had just put up the wall to partition the hallway off. It continued as normal around the corner to the left.

We followed her down the hall around that corner, and eventually to a large double door. A pair of unicorn stallions stood stock still on either side of the door. They were obviously guards, but they didn't wear the combination of dented old combat armour and vests that the ones outside wore. The pair wore dark suits of all things, complete with a tie. But if they were trying to be sneaky about their status as guards, well, good try. I recognized that stance from being a guard myself at times. Alert, ears moving, eyes following, still but with their legs spread and ready for action. And as we got closer I saw the distinct lines of a pistol printing underneath their jackets. Add to that the wide array of hexes and spells a unicorn could sling, these guards were going to be something else to face if you needed to.

Honeydew approached them with a confident stride. The two guards turned to look at us, cocking their eyebrows in surprise.

“They with me,” Honeydew assured them.

The nearest guard flared up his horn. “I'll have to pat them down.”

“We got our weapons taken at the door,” Ren pointed out.

“I mean, the Council wants to see 'em, I doubt they'd bring in some folks who wanna shoot em!” Honeydew pointed out.

“Rules are rules.” The guard's magic extended toward us, checking us for weapons. He was apparently satisfied with the whole affair, turning to his companion and nodding.

“One last thing. Keep still, please.” His companion floated a blindfold from her jacket and placed it over Peach's eyes. It was the last thing I saw before his buddy placed one over mine.

“Is all this really necessary?” Honeydew asked.

“Yes, ma'am. You know that.”

“Fine. Just be gentle with 'em, alright?”

“Ah, yeah, that's real nice, gal, jus' as Ah'm blindfolded, make me all nervous like that,” Peach Tea called out. I felt a press of some kind of tingling magic on the back of my neck drive me forward.

Back in basic training, every Enclave soldier was taught what to do if you were captured. The idea was that if you were to say, escape on your own, you could lead a team back to the location and capture your captors. Or if you could manage to get a message out, you could get a rescue team to you. To accomplish this we got loads of training in how to make mental maps of areas when you were blindfolded, how to recognize how hoofsteps sounded in different places. How to recognize landmarks at a distance and place them in your mind's eye.

I was awful at it. I had passed those courses by the skin of my teeth, a bit of luck, and help from a friend. Which meant that I hadn't the foggiest idea of what was beyond the door. I could tell the floor was an area rug, because I could hear the hoofsteps ahead of me turn from muffled to clopping loudly off of hardwood. That was about it. If I had to lead my own rescue I'd be hopelessly lost.

“Goddesses damn, Ah can't see a fuckin' thing,” Peach Tea complained somewhere behind me.

“I think that's the point.” I grinned a bit.

Peach snorted softly. “Smartass.”

We were led on a little while, down hallways into an elevator, then down. How many floors I wasn't sure – couldn't be more than three, unless somehow they had a basement. A few more steps, then a door ahead of us creaked open. We were nudged forward by the magic some more, then the door shut. There was silence for a long moment. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the blindfold was floated off my eyes.

The first thing to stand out was the long, dark wooden table that dominated the room. The room was dark, but thanks to the blindfold my eyes adjusted fairly easily until I was able to take in the dark walls and plush red carpet. Around the table sat eight ponies in high-backed chairs, each of them looking stern, serious, and composed. Of the eight, seven were absolutely unknown to me. But the eighth... sitting right between a grey-maned pegasus mare and a bright yellow unicorn stallion was a familiar zony. Red coat, red stripes, and glasses perched on the end of her nose.

Red.

Our eyes met and she gave me a little smirk. Clever little mare. I should have known. In hindsight it was so damn obvious. A opulent office on the top floor, a line to the ruling Council, coming and going without the guards knowing. She played me like a fiddle. Goddesses damned. How many more secrets did she hold?

Ren looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. Before any of us could say anything an elderly stallion near the head of the table spoke. He looked old. Some stallions took to age with grace and dignity. This one looked as if he'd shrunk on the inside but his coat didn't get the memo, wrinkling around his frame. “Autumn Breeze?” His voice was strong and steady, which caught me off guard.

“Uh, that's me, yeah.”

“That makes you Peach Tea then,” he said, addressing her. She nodded. “And the sole griffon. Renfeld, correct?” Ren seemed taken aback that his name was already known, so he simply nodded in surprise. “Excellent. Now, this meetin' will be rathah brief, as Councillah Mtazamaji -” he looked at Red while he said it. I didn't think Red was her real name, but for some reason I hadn't pegged her as having or going by a Zwahili name. “-has told us most of the story so fah. Ah would just like to fill in a few gaps, if'n ya wouldn't mind.” He had a smooth accent. I could definitely place it as being regional, but somehow less... incomprehensible than some I'd heard. Northern, perhaps. Either that or he clipped it on purpose.

“Ask away,” I said.

“Far as Ah understand, ya took a prisoner, is that correct?” another voice asked. A mare, younger unicorn, sitting across from Red. Very stern looking, looking at us over a pair of sharp glasses.

“Ayup,” Peach answered.

“An' where are they now?”

“I left them with a friend,” I answered. The mare looked at me as if expecting more information. I shuffled nervously from one set of hooves to the other. “...at Seatown. Krewe of-”

“The Sea, yes, thank you. We're aware.” The stern looking mare stared me down.

There was quiet in the room for a long moment before the older stallion, who I assumed was the leader, spoke again. “We'll send a runnah there latah to talk with them. In the meantime Ah'd like to ask if'n ya have any proof on-hoof for these claims.”

“Excuse me?” Ren asked. “You've heard the story, from one of your own councillors-”

“A councillor who in the past has shown quite the knack for... manipulation,” a quiet stallion said from one end of the table. A zony himself, a pale sky blue with white stripes. “I for one would like to hear it from the ones involved.”

“Oh, come now, Cloud Bank, when have Ah ever led ya astray~?” Red asked.

“That's enough, y'all. But... Councillah Cloud Bank is correct. Word of mouth is good an' all, but these claims bordah on the outrageous. Ah won't dismiss it out of hoof, but given the circumstances...”

“The circumstance of asking us to make use of the Fat Tuesday Agreements, somethin' which hasn't been done in six years-” the stern mare began.

“In defence of the city,” Ren pointed out.

“Mr. Renfeld, it may be common for griffons to interrupt each other, but ya not among ya kind here,” she snapped, glaring at him. I could see the feathers on the back of his head rise in annoyance, and my wing touched his arm. He glanced sideways at me, and deflated slightly. “In defence of the city, yes. But this is like throwin' a grenade into a delicately balanced glass shop.”

“If we agree to this, we put the entire Agreements into question,” Cloud Bank pointed out. “We'd be calling a Court in order to take command of the city. The other Krewes won't like this. Not without some heavy assurances that we won't try to make any moves.”

“Nothing will fundamentally change, Councillors,” I began.

The elderly stallion held up a hoof. “Intah-Krewe politics can wait. And not for nothing, Autumn, but ya've said enough so fah.” Chastised, I fell silent. “Councillor Cloud Bank is right, howevah. We'll be breakin' a long few yeahs of tradition an' accord. Ya best hope that we have moah than ya word on all of this.”

“We've got proof, don't worry. If I may?” I asked. The elderly stallion nodded and I dug a few documents out of my saddlebags. Peach did the same, and we passed them over to the stallion. A burst of magic floated them away, coming from a thus-far quiet unicorn with a soft green coat.

“Councillor Wintergreen?”

“Ah'll take a look.” They had a soft voice to go with the soft colour of their coat. “It'll take some time.”

“Ah can fill that,” Peach added. She pulled out the case containing the memory orb. Upon opening the wooden case the room went hushed.

“My word,” said a mare, her coat white and flecked with patches of brown here and there. Her horn flared up in bright blue-white, then hesitated. “Is that-?”

“A memory orb, ayup,” Peach confirmed.

Red looked at me with a pleased look as Peach set the case on the table. The seven remaining councillors leaned toward it. “Chairpony, if you're looking for proof, this would be it. If I may have a moment?” the white mare asked.

“Absolutely.”

In a sudden flash and burst of sparks the mare vanished. I barely had time to comprehend she was gone before she reappeared with a long wooden case on her back. “I haven't had to use this in a while,” she said to nopony in particular, sounding rather excited. Inside were seven headbands of deep blue, decorated elegantly with gemstones around the temple area. They were passed out one by one to the other councillors, all except Wintergreen, who was busy studying the notes at an impressive – almost alarming – pace.

“Councillah Moonlit Snow, when ya ready,” the elderly stallion – the Chairpony – said simply. Everypony had their headbands on. Moonlit lit her horn, telekinetically lifted the memory orb from its case, and closed her eyes. The orb flared, and seven councillors slumped in their chairs, their eyes shut.

My own eyes went wide. Peach Tea's jaw dropped. Beside me, Ren just blinked. “What.”

“Hmm?” Wintergreen looked up at us, then over at the slumped councillors. “Oh. They're in the memory. They'll be back in a bit.”

“Do they... normally just do stuff like that?” Ren asked.

“Sometimes. They tend to take things rather dramatically. It's an interesting process, memory diving.” Wintergreen turned over a sheet of paper. “These notes are fascinating. Have you had a chance to read them?”

“Admittedly, no,” I said.

“Mostly garbage. Prospective plans that have been scrapped for a reason or another. But there is some useful things. A ledger of equipment. Some possible contacts within the city. Let's see... the Knights of Celestia, interesting. It certainly would be their style. A few individual names too. Sawtooth, Whiskey Sour, Backblast. These names mean anything to you?”

One did, but instead I shook my head. “They do not.”

“Unfortunate. Even without the memory I would say these notes are proof. They corroborate some things we've heard as well.” With that they turned back to their notes, leaving the three of us in a very uncomfortable silence.

I looked over at the Chairpony. He looked for all the world like he was dead, were it not for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

“How long are they gonna be out?” I asked Peach, softly.

“...bout an hour.”

-=O=-

One hour and ten minutes later, the Chairpony woke with a gasp and a start, scaring the feathers clean off my wings. The other councillors woke at the same time and immediately turned to the eldest, who snapped around to look at Red.

“Mtazamaji, ya didn't say anything about an alicorn. Let alone two.”

“I wasn't informed either.” Red turned to look at me. “Autumn Breeze.” The last time I'd heard that tone it was my mother asking me why I'd been out to two in the morning.

“It must have slipped my mind,” I said nervously. I hadn't intended to deceive her, but it had been one of those details that seemed less important. Weird, winged unicorns were secondary in my mind to “raider army coming to subjugate the city”, and so I might have omitted it from the tale I told her. Not to mention I'd told it a dozen times before telling Red, and it was getting shorter each time.

“That is one large detail to leave out, Feathers.”

“I hadn't heard of any alicorns this far south,” the stern-looking mare said. “I'll have to double check my sources, but last I heard they were confined to the Capitol area and their surroundings. If they're headed this far south...”

“Personally, Ah would like to... ha... research those medallions more,” Moonlit Snow said softly, drained from her spell. “Before we jump to brash conclusions, anyway.”

The Chairpony held up a hoof. “Ah think we've seen enough heah for one day. Ah'd like some time to confeah with my fellows. To think on the veracity of ya claims. We'll be in touch.”

The two guards came to collect us, blindfolds and all. As we were just about to leave the room I heard an explosion of noise as eight ponies started talking all at once over each other. The noise was cut off by the door shutting.

Chapter 31

View Online

Chapter 31

“Hon, you're going to pace a hole through the floor.”

“I know, Ren. Sorry.” I stopped and settled onto the couch across from him. He was waiting patiently with a bottle of beer in his talons, a small ashtray of cigarettes – mostly filled with nervously half-smoked butts from me – on the table between us. Distantly I could hear the white noise rush of water from Peach Tea's shower. “It's just... it's been close to a whole day now. 24 hours.”

“You are asking them to possibly put their entire existence and power structure into the trash,” Ren pointed out.

“I know, thank you.”

“It's a big decision for them. I understand you're nervous, hon, but pacing won't do a thing. Just relax. And stop smoking, you've done enough for one day already.”

I pushed the cigarette back into the pack and sighed softly. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.”

“Ya still worked up?” Peach Tea asked, coming out of the bathroom. She was drying herself with a towel before seeming to remember she was a unicorn. She dropped it and surrounded herself in a glow of magic, appearing as dry and put together as ever. “Heard ya pacing from in there.”

“Oh hush, no you didn't. I'm going for a walk.”

“Awright.” Peach Tea went to the minibar, graciously stocked on Red's dime.

I got off the couch, intending on taking a walk somewhere to clear my head. Maybe go talk to Father Sunray at the Temple or something, seek some advice. I opened the door and immediately got struck on the nose. “Aw, sunova-”

“Oh, hey, Feathers, great timin'.” Red patted me on the head. “Y'alright?”

“Yeah. What the hell?”

“Ah was about to knock.” She looked up at Peach Tea, who was bent double over the counter in laughter. Even Ren was holding a talon over his beak. I rubbed my snout where I'd been hit. “Come with me.”

She led us down the hall, in the opposite direction as the day before. Clearly we weren't off to see the Council. We passed Red's door and kept going.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To see an' old friend.” She turned the corner at the end of the hall. There was another hastily erected door, this one with an angry “Keep Out” scrawled across that did absolutely nothing to stop our zony guide from pushing it open. She stopped just long enough to unlock the heavy door with a key and held it open for us. The way beyond was a collapsed corner of the hotel, spilling into the street below.

So that's how she did it. Sneaking in and out like that. If there was any security here she either paid them off or knew how to bypass it. I noticed wires attached to the doorframe, but no alarm seemed to sound.

With remarkable agility for somepony I'd never actually seen work, she hopped gracefully from piece to piece of the fallen wall until she hit the street. I spread my wings and landed next to her, followed swiftly by Ren, who also took to the air.

The three of us watched as Peach Tea gingerly picked her way through the rubble. “Show-offs,” she grumbled.

Red giggled a bit before leading us down the street. The sun was up today, peeking through the ragged holes in the clouds as they lazily rolled past. The storm the other day had broken the humidity just a little. It was still oppressive, but at least I could breathe today.

“So... what did the Council say?” Ren asked before I could.

“They've deliberated,” was all Red said with a mischievous smile. Her damned cryptic nature was a pain in the ass. “Don't worry, y'all'll know soon enough.”

In the distance I spotted a trio of figures alongside the road, seemingly unmoving. I instinctively went for a pistol that wasn't there. Red seemed absolutely unconcerned, even humming to herself as we went along. The figures got closer until I realized they were definitely unmoving: they were statues. Three of them in fact, each depicting a portly, cheerful pony – or zebra, hard to tell – playing an instrument in mid-stride. The statues were weather-beaten and worn, their bronze long turned to a patina of brown and green.

Red paused just a moment to clap the band leader on the back of the neck, where the patina had been worn away and revealed the shiny metal beneath. She wasn't the first to give the musician a friendly clap – and she wouldn't be the last. “For luck,” she said.

Peach Tea chuckled and imitated her. Ren did the same. “Didn't peg you for the superstitious type,” I said as I slapped the statue myself, my hoof thudding against the old brass. I sure wasn't, but if it was for luck, I'd take all the luck I could get.

“I ain't. But if it's real, then we're lucky. If it ain't, no harm done.” Red smiled at me and ducked under a metal gate next to the statues.

Beyond the gate was a small courtyard for a cafe. The tables were thrown here and there from the storms that had passed over the century, but the cafe still held a certain charm. More bronze statues – these more recognizable as individuals, despite their age – lined one wall. The plaques on their plinths revealed names of musicians long past: The King of Swing, Sapphire Shores, Satchel Mouth, and more. Ivy clung to the stones around the cafe courtyard, climbing up to the windows and balconies above. It was a peaceful little place, though I had precious little time to enjoy it before Red continued on. Up a set of stairs she went at the back, climbing through an open window.

“Where is she taking us?” Ren asked softly.

“I have no idea,” I admitted. And yet I followed her through the window anyway.

A few quick steps took us across the living room beyond to a staircase. Down and across a kitchen through a hole in the wall, past another kitchen to a second living room on the ground floor. This time Red stopped at a bookcase.

“Y'all lost 'n' confused yet?” she asked.

“Very,” Peach grumbled.

“Good, 'cause that path is supposed to stay secret.” She pulled on a book on the shelf. The case slowly started to scoot out of the way. Light filled the room, and my jaw dropped.

-=O=-

The bookcase opened onto a portal to the past, or so it seemed. The room beyond was immaculately kept, a wide open space with lines of low benches and a wooden stage. At the far end was a bar. A small group sat around it: an ancient-looking zebra with a ragged, torn coat, a plump earth pony, and two others I couldn't see clearly.

“What is this place?” Peach Tea asked breathlessly.

“An undisclosed little corner of the Wasteland,” Red said casually. I'd heard that somewhere but I couldn't quite place it. She motioned for us to follow her to the bar. As we approached the earth pony turned to us. He had a soft, forest green coat, and a khaki mane and tail. The mane was curly, cropped close to the head. A small pair of glasses were perched on his snout. “Peach, Ren, Autumn, this is Shortwave.”

“Welcome,” he said, shaking our hooves – and talon – in turn. “What brings you around here?”'

Red smiled. “These are the two I talked to ya about. I'll leave y'all to it.” She trotted away to a quiet corner of the bar, where a pale red mare sat nursing a drink.

“Ah yeah? Huh. Well, you all sure look the part.” Shortwave grinned at us. “Red tells me you fancy yourselves heroes.”

“Part time I'd say,” Ren piped in. “Y'know. Once in a while.”

“Speak your yourself, hon, I do it all the time.” I grinned at the griffon.

Shortwave laughed. “Interesting. This is all starting to sound like the beginning of a joke, yeah? A unicorn, a griffon, and a pegasus walk into a bar...”

Peach Tea laughed at that. “Aw, hell, sometimes Ah think we definitely livin' a joke.” She waved down the bartender, an older unicorn mare with a shocking lime-green coat. “Could Ah get a round a beers? Thanks.”

While she ordered the drinks I looked Shortwave over. Something about him was... familiar. I had never met him before in my life, of course, but I felt like I knew him. It was a nagging little thing at the back of my mind. It took a moment – and him engaging in a little small talk with Ren – for me to clue into what it was.

“You're that DJ!” I blurted out.

Shortwave looked up and tilted his head a bit. After a moment a wry grin split his face. “Just figuring that out now?” he teased.

I felt my cheeks go red. “I mean, yeah. Kinda.”

“I don't do autographs, if that's your next question,” he added with a grin.

“No, no, I just... huh. You're... well, pretty well hidden.”

“Sure am.” Shortwave – or rather, DJ Shorty, as I'd known him by – sipped his beer. “I ain't a fighter. Not by a long shot. I'm decent with a rifle, but I'm no crack shot Equestrian Marine. And besides, this place has one of the most important bits of tech in the entire city. See, pre-war, this place hosted 104.1 WWOJ, World of Jazz radio. Their equipment was left behind untouched. Perfect condition. And it's amazing. With this kinda shit, you can do so much to help the Wasteland and never leave. Give people hope with music, give them entertainment with stories, give them a fighting chance with some information. My predecessor, Iron Mic, wanted to keep the place a secret after he found it. He was afraid that if he let the secret out, then he'd have to defend it from... fuck. Anyone. Krewes trying to take it over to their own ends, raiders trying to silence him, just regular vandals, door to door salesponies, y'know, scum of Equestria types. I've decided to keep it secret as well.”

“Aren't there posters everywhere for it?” Ren asked.

“Sure, but none of 'em tell you where it is, exactly. That's why it's my little undisclosed corner of the Wasteland.” Shortwave sipped his beer and set the bottle down with a happy sigh. “I do what I can, how I can.”

“Seems too nice of a place to keep to yourself,” I pointed out. The whole place was in good shape and clearly well stocked, given the beers we had were somewhat cool and well preserved.

“Who says I keep it for myself? I've got a few trusted tenants. A couple that lived here when I met with Iron and became his apprentice. A few I've gathered over the years. They needed a safe place, and I gave it to them. Those that live here like the isolation.” He shrugged. “So yeah. It's a quiet little corner, but it's mine.”

“Ponies live here?” Ren asked.

“Mhmm. Bout ten of us. Like I said, trusted tenants. I'm not about to open this little treasure box up to the Wasteland at large, no sir. This place is far too valuable to be turned into a toy for whoever controls the city. I'm not here to get involved in Krewe politics or any of that bullshit. I keep an Old Krewe dubloon because I happen to be in their territory. Aside from that, I don't give a shit. They can do what they want. I'm here for the ponies in the city, the average folks, across Krewe lines. Get me?”

“I getcha.”

“He gets me, nice.” Shortwave grinned and looked over at me. “Red tells me you need to borrow the set upstairs for a little commercial, that about right?”

I blinked in confusion. “Commercial?”

“Commercial,” Red said simply. She come back to join us with a smile. “Ya got ya meeting, Feathers. Two days time. Hosted at the Temple, neutral territory.”

The ground suddenly got shaky and not just because of the beer Peach Tea had passed me. I felt dizzy. An entire day of waiting to see if the key to this whole plan, the Old Krewe, would come through and help. And they did.

Holy shit. I could barely believe it. Two days from now, forty-eight hours, and we'd get an army together. I just hoped the Prince wouldn't attack before then.

“Ya did it, Autumn,” Peach Tea said softly, smiling at me and squeezing the back of my neck with her hoof. “Ya did it.”

“I did.” I looked at Shortwave. “Yeah, I guess I do need to borrow that set.”

He nodded and glanced at an old mechanical clock chugging away behind the bar. To my absolute surprise it was accurate, based on the little clock number that glowed in the corner of my vision (Courtesy of the PipBuck in my saddlebags). It was just a little past eleven thirty AM. Shortwave looked back at me. “I usually do a news brief at noon. Care to see how this works?”

“Sure! Ren?” I asked.

“Why not?”

“Peach?”

“Naw, Ah'm good. Ah'm gonna stay down here an' finish off mah beer.” She settled in at the chair next to the zebra stallion. I got a closer look at him – and skies above, he was rough. His striped coat clung to his bones and his eyes were milky white. When he smiled at Peach Tea in greeting, his teeth were cracked and broken. A ghoul, poor bastard.

“Mornin',” he crowed. His voice was incredibly familiar, with the timbre of somepony who came out of the womb already a two-pack-a-day smoker.

“You comin', Autumn?” Shortwave was already at the stairs with Ren. I turned and hustled after them.

“Is... that?”

“Satchel Mouth? Of course, who else?”

“...he's alive?” I don't think I could have sounded more incredulous if I tried.

Shortwave laughed. “Course he's alive, why wouldn't he be? What, a little radiation and ghoulification's not gonna stop a legend like him. Goddesses, you out of towners. No, don't stare, that's impolite. Come on. Step into my lab.”

He nudged open a door at the end of the hallway. Beyond it was a wonderland of technology that looked like it had come out of the most advanced labs the Enclave ever had. Racks of arcanotech equipment meticulously cleaned and wired together to tape decks that spun slowly, zen-like, around and around. A huge plane of buttons and sliding switches that for all I knew could control the entire Equestrian arsenal of balefire missiles for how complicated it looked. And hooked up above it all was a gooseneck arm with a microphone hanging from it, looking suspiciously like the one that graced Shortwave's flank – though that one had a lightning bolt behind it.

“This is where it all goes down. Most of it anyway. I run the show from up here, and have my engineer, Tapkey, run the behind the scenes. She was talking to Red down there, I think. Or working on the generator. Takes a lot of juice to run this.” Shortwave looked as if he was showing off the accomplishments of their own child with how he beamed. “That big beast there is the console for controlling the actual sound. That rack there holds the record changers. And these, well... these are the tunes.”

He was standing in front of a rack of meticulously kept black vinyl disks, each in a paper sleeve marked with notes. I let out a low whistle as I approached the case they were held in. Each of these was absolutely priceless. Even in the Enclave getting a hold of proper records was nearly impossible unless you hit the black market, where ground stalkers sold all sorts of illicitly obtained goods. I couldn't imagine how hard it would be to track down replacements for a fragile vinyl disk in the ruins down here.

Ren was looking at a series of photographs tacked to the wall, several of them depicting ponies that were definitely not Shortwave. I guessed they were all pre-war photos. All of them were taken in the studio we were in. “Hey, I know some of these. That's Sapphire Shores there,” Ren said. “And that's Ink Spot. And King Jazz. I've... well, seen their posters before.”

“Yeah, previous owners of the studio before me and some of their more famous acquaintances,” Shortwave said. He settled in at the mixing console, a large pair of headphones around his neck. “I've found 'em throughout the years. It's kinda funny, I've run this place, ah, shit, ten years now? And I swear to the Goddesses above I've gone over every inch of this place. Iron Mic must have too. And yet still, occasionally, I'll find another photo somewhere. Another famous musician, another DJ who was here before me. Or I'll find another record buried somewhere in a box I've checked a dozen times.” He shrugged. “Not sure what to make of it. It's like somepony's watching over us, y'know? ”

“Kinda like how there always seems to be more food on shelves, even if the place must have been picked clean,” Ren mused.

“Something like that, yeah. I mean, I'm not like Father Sunray down there, I don't believe the Goddesses have their hooves in everything but... kinda makes you think.” He spun around in the chair once, twice, then came to a stop looking right at me. “Anyway. Ready for this?” he asked.

I blinked. “For what?”

“The message. Sending it's gonna change a lot around here. There hasn't been a Court called like this in years, ami. And that last one was because a lot of ponies were getting killed. Ask Red about it sometime, it's fucking crazy. So, you sure?”

It had to be done. Sure, things were going to change, but I had to believe they were for the better. If everypony could cooperate against a mutual enemy then maybe, just maybe, we'd all have a chance at this. “Yeah. Go for it.”

“Cool.” Shortwave turned to the console.

“Hey.” Ren was blushing a bit, but had a giddy smile on his face. “Can I count you in? Always wanted to do something like that. Saw it on an old holotape once.”

Shortwave laughed. I couldn't help but join in. Good Goddesses he was adorable sometimes. “Sure thing, Ren.”

He turned back to the console, going through a complicated startup sequence. I half expected the whole building to take flight afterwards with how much it looked like starting a Vertibuck. A red light lit up over top of the console. Next to him, a small robotic arm lifted a record off a spindle and swung it away, a second arm coming in to replace the first disk. Shortwave turned to Ren and nodded.

Ren grinned like a foal at Hearth's Warming and held up his talons. Four. Three. Two.

One.

Entracte 3

View Online

Entracte

“Hey there, my little ponies, it's me again. The one, the only, DJ Shorty, coming in live from an undisclosed location in the Martingale Wasteland. To the last fan who sent in a complaint letter, good try, but you got the wrong address. Better luck next time! You were so close, but close only counts in horseshoes, hoof grenades, and necromantic magical weapons.

Bit of news! Gotten several reports that travellers passing through, or near to, the territory of the Maisha Social Club have been getting harassed more often, and in some cases attacked. This seems to be a direct result of the inauguration of their new leader, Kaskazini. Rumour has it the big guy's got a bit of a stronger “Maisha for Zebras” stance than the previous leadership. If you haven't got stripes, I'd avoid the area for the time being.

Also, I have an exciting announcement, so listen up. Spread the word around and make sure everypony you know knows that the Old Krewe is officially calling for a Court of the Krewes to take place in two days time on neutral ground. Father Sunray has offered The Temple as meeting grounds and reminds all attendees that any hostile action upon Temple grounds is liable to be met with lethal force. A reminder that every Krewe is allowed a delegation of one representative and one assistant, no more. This is an official call to Council by the Old Krewe as outlined in the Fat Tuesday Agreements. So, be there or be square, really.

With that bit of important legal speak out of the way, we're on to some music now. I hoof-picked a proper, thematically appropriate song for this. Here's Orange Sky with Straighten Up and Fly Right here on Jazz Radio Neigh Orleans. Stay safe out there, my little ponies. I'll catch ya later.”

“A buzzard took a monkey for a ride in the air, the monkey thought that everything was on the square. The buzzard tried to throw the monkey off of his back, the monkey grabbed his neck and said “Now listen, Jack”...”

Act 4 - Chapter 32

View Online

Act 4

“O, it is excellent to have a giant's strength,
but it is tyrannous to use it as a giant.”

Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

Chapter 32

All the pieces were in place. Peach Tea had gone off to the Temple to help Father Sunray prepare the building for the arrival of the Krewe delegates. The Grand was abuzz with activity as folks moved through it on the way to the Court... or away from it. Plenty of people were afraid, and if they'd already been planning to skip town, the out of left field calling of a Court of the Krewes was the last straw.

But there was one piece missing. Leadership. Nopony had seemed to want to take control just yet of the situation. And if the Old Krewe was just expecting to have everypony come to the table and just come to a mutual agreement they were dead wrong. The whole defence of Neigh Orleans was held up by a single, minuscule thread. Without leadership there was nothing stopping somepony from throwing their hooves up and walking away. Without leadership, it'd be nothing but a group of bickering Krewes who would accuse each other of wanting to take control.

That wasn't going to work for me. But the answer to my problem was not something I wanted to deal with.

A few weeks ago I'd sent my last message back to base. My last full message, anyway. But back then I hadn't heard of the Prince, hadn't seen his army. Back then I'd just recommended to the Major that we take control of the city in order to bring order to the chaos. That had been a bad call then... but it might just be what we needed. The Enclave were outsiders after all. The Krewes might object to one of them getting inordinately more powerful, but an outsider group? Harder to trust, sure, but less politics involved.

Except...

I looked across the suite at Ren. My boyfriend was sitting on the floor, hindpaws crossed, as he meticulously laid out every piece of his machine gun. He was cleaning them, oiling the pieces and checking for signs of damage before carefully reassembling it. I thought my magical energy weapons were complicated? This gun was like a piece of clockwork, with miniature springs and pins galore. I would never complain about cleaning the CAER's focusing optics ever again.

But I wasn't worried about the gun. I was worried about the talons holding the pieces. The golden eyes that carefully examined them. He had no idea what I was thinking – he had no idea who I really was. Goddesses, I'd lied to him – yes, a lie of omission was still a lie – since day one. I had to tell him. But he would never look at me the same way again.

“Yes?” Ren asked at long last.

“Hmm?”

“What's up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just... staring.”

He smiled softly and set the bolt down on a towel. “I know. You're burning a hole through my feathers. What's on your mind, hon?”

“Just... stuff.” I sat down across from him, trying to put together the puzzle of his machine gun parts in my mind. “Thinking about the meeting. Day after tomorrow and all.”

“It's gonna be fine. Besides, you've done all you can so far.” He slipped a spring around the bolt and began reassembling the pieces methodically. “You got everypony to the table. If they want to work together they will. If not... then we did what we could, and nothing more. I'm proud of you for that.”

“What if I could do more?” I asked.

Ren glanced up at me. “No offence, but haven't we done enough messing with politics for... a lifetime now?”

“Sure. But... I've got a connection with one more group. They're not a Krewe, but they can help turn the tide.”

“Who's that?”

My heart didn't thud. It just didn't beat at all. And despite my mental anguish about the whole thing... I lied.

“They're... a bit of a secretive group. Kept to the fringes, east of the city.”

Fuck. I choked at the last second. Goddesses fucking dammit.

“Mmm.” Ren turned back to his work. “You're going out on your own again, aren't you.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

“...yes,” I said softly. “But I won't be long.”

“Last time you said that you were nearly shot to death by raiders.”

“This time's different.”

Ren checked the fitment of his rifle by slamming the bolt home with a resounding click. “How so?”

“I'm going to fly,” I explained. Ren tilted his head in confusion. “I know. I never fly. But I'll go tonight, after sundown. Fly up above the cloud cover and cross to where I need to be.”

“How far can it be that you need to fly?”

“Not far, but if I fly, I can get there much faster. And this time I know where I'm going, compared to... well, looking for krewe leaders in a whole territory. It'll be quick. Land there, talk to... my contact, and fly out. Easy.”

Ren clicked his beak in an action that I assumed was the griffon equivalent of a pony chewing his bottom lip. I felt bad lying – and dancing around his questions. But I couldn't seem to bring myself to admit to him that I was Enclave, and going to recruit the Enclave into our fight. We were meant to be enemies. And he probably wouldn't be able to forgive my lengthy lie about my origin.

“Tonight?” he asked softly.

“Tonight,” I confirmed. “I'll be gone overnight, and should be back by the evening tomorrow. Just in time for the meeting.”

He nodded and set his half-assembled rifle on the table. He crossed over to pull me into a tight hug, both wing and arms, and didn't let go. “You'd better come back safe or I'll kill you myself~” he cooed playfully.

“Very funny,” I said with a soft laugh, kissing his beak.

-=O=-

I spent the day preparing, mentally and with my equipment. It would be a long flight back, and I wanted to be prepared. It should be easy though. I checked my PipBuck map and it had definitely marked off the base – but it didn't mark it as the Enclave base. Rather it was just as it was known back then: Satchel Mouth International Airport.

I wouldn't get lost. Now I just had to be careful. I stripped down out of my armour and would leave the CAER behind. I wanted just my saddlebags – emptied of anything except some survival equipment, my logbook, and my PipBuck – and my pistol just in case. And just to ensure that I had some kind of proper appearance to the guards I even wore my stripped-down fatigues. No markings, sure, but it would hopefully give any guards pause.

As go time got closer, Ren got more nervous. Peach Tea came back about two hours before I was set to leave, and she was just as annoyed with my caginess as Ren was. I assured her the same way I assured him: I'd be on the wing, straight there and back. Easy peasy. I wouldn't be seen, so I'd be safe.

We'd all had one last meal together. The atmosphere was... strained, and not just because of my reluctance to say anything. In two days time we'd be going basically to war. The unspoken sentiment at the table was that there was a very real chance that one of us wouldn't be here in a week's time. Three of us against a small hoof-ful of raiders, that was easy. Three of us in a knock-down, drag-out fight for the city, against alicorns and heavy armament...

I tried not to think about it. It was there though, back of my mind, nagging like the ringing in your ears after a grenade goes off. Every now and again the sensation would catch my attention again and then it was all I could think of until it slowly faded back into obscurity. Who would it be? How would it go down? Would Renfeld go down fighting, knife in hand, tearing at raiders until he couldn't anymore? Would Peach Tea try to close distance with her shotgun only to take a sniper round to the head? Or would it be me, torn apart by the Prince's magic? A grenade that landed at just the right spot that all you could do was look at it and let out an exasperated sigh at your luck?

The hour neared. A few hours after sundown I quietly crept from my room. Peach Tea and Ren were in the living room, listening to the radio and playing cards.

“I don't quite get it,” Ren said with a sigh.

“This one done doubles th'last card played, so now it's up to 24...”

I wasn't sure what the game was, but Peach Tea had been trying to teach Ren for the last little bit. I watched them a moment, then ducked back into my room.

No use in bothering them.

I threw the window open onto the balcony outside and stepped out. The weather was perfect for the trip: cloudy, dark, and reasonably dry. I let out a little sigh and spread my wings, catching the faint breeze. It tickled across the leading edge and my feathers. One hoof onto the railing, then the other. I climbed up onto it and gave a powerful wingbeat.

For the first time in a little while I was able to properly take flight. I rose up, further and further, clearing the roof of the Grand Hotel and further still. I could see the faint outline of the Temple in the square, and then I was above even that, the second tallest building left in Neigh Orleans; and still I rose. The city started to spread out before me, shrinking gradually as I climbed. Off in the bay I could see the faint green glow of the ships rusting out in the waves.

I felt bad leaving Ren and Peach without a goodbye, but I wasn't in for another argument. They knew I was going, just not when exactly I'd taken flight. Either way was going to hurt, so at least this let me choose it on my own time.

The first wisps of cloud brushed past my snout. My coat started to dampen as I plunged into the obliterating, opaque darkness of the clouds. I had to keep going straight – it was incredibly easy to lose track of your direction and get hopelessly lost inside a cloud. My fatigues clung to my soaked coat, and my mane flapped in the breeze. A long minute went by.

I burst through the upper layer of clouds with a small poof of clouds around me. My breath was ripped away.

The sky above was an inky black, pockmarked with thousands of twinkling lights. A sliver of a crescent moon shone brightly overhead – waxing? Waning? As a pegasus I should really have known off the top of my head. It was necessary for navigation and weather control. Too bad I always forgot which one it was.

I flattened out my ascent, levelling a few metres above the cloud layer, then glided down and alighted gently on the cloud. It was like burying my hooves into the softest, plushest carpet. No, more than that. I hadn't stood on a cloudtop in years. This was like coming home and sinking your hooves into your favourite slippers. A deep shiver ran from hoof to ear, and I sighed softly.

First things first: save Neigh Orleans from itself. Second: Clear this damned cloud cover. It wasn't fair that only we pegasi got to see this.

I used my wingtip to turn the remote on my chest. My PipBuck's map floated in front of my eyes. Take a left, then straight on. Easy enough. I beat my wings and took off low along the cloudbanks, my hooves dragging lightly through the topmost wisps. With a simple change of wing angle I rose up higher, my shadow spreading out below me. I chuckled a bit and checked the compass at the top edge of my vision, then banked low and left. Once my compass was aligned properly I settled in for what would be a long gliding flight. After all, we'd taken a Vertibuck in here and that had been a bit of a ride. I would have to time my flight properly to make it without exhausting myself.

Easy enough. Give a powerful beat and rise a bit, then spread my wings wide and let myself glide on the breeze. Over and over until I finally got to where I needed to be.

I lost track of how long I was flying. My eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion after what only felt like a few minutes, but I knew had to be over half an hour. I turned on my radio and tried to sing along with the songs, whether I knew them or not, just to stay awake and airborne. I knew maybe... a third of the songs well enough to keep up, but it didn't matter. It was the act of singing along that kept me going.

A little hair rose on the back of my neck. I ignored it at first until my sleepy brain kicked properly into gear. I should be safe up here. There were no airborne threats around here... were there? I'd never really asked before, but nopony had mentioned anything that could fly except, well, the Skeeters. But could a mosquito – even a mutated one – get above the clouds? I slowed down, angling the wings backwards a little, and turned my head over my shoulder. Nothing.

My EFS flashed a light green light overhead. I turned my head in the direction but saw nothing. I looked forward again.

Something burst from the clouds next to me. A sleek black carapace, barely lit by the moonlight thanks to the matte finish on it. Segmented wings that angled toward me, trailing behind it a tail ending in an angry spike. Two green eyes were fixed on me.

First thought: Ah, fuck! Second thought: I knew what that was coming toward me. Third thought: I'd never been intercepted before.

A second figure arrived, this one from above. I had been tailed. The figure wasn't in power armour but rather in simple black combat armour, but his helmet still had glowing green eyes.

“Unidentified flyer, heave to and come to a stop. If you do not comply with these orders you may be fired upon.”

I knew they weren't joking. I came to a hard stop, hovering lightly in midair.

“Land on the clouds. Straight down.”

I let my wings stop and I came to a gentle rest atop the clouds. The two figures landed on either side of me.

“What have we here...” the combat armoured one on my right said softly, approaching. “Looks like an Enclave uniform. Got ourselves a deserter, I think.”

My brain finally kicked into gear. “No! Aviator Autumn Breeze, ID number 4619 dash 3. 9^th Dragoons!”

The two figures froze. “Excuse me?” the aviator on my right asked.

“My name's Autumn Breeze. Major Rain sent me out... I'll be super fuckin' honest, I lost track, but it's been a while ago now.”

The power armoured Enclave soldier trotted up to me, looking down at me. Goddesses. First time I'd really faced down power armour before. I could see the faint glow off two novasurge rifles strapped to his sides. They were pointed right at me.

“When should we get things done?” he rumbled. His voice came out in a robotic growl, grating on my ears. It was an odd question to ask – at least, that's what most ponies would think. Once the question properly set in I blinked and grinned.

“Hodie, non Cras.”

The power armoured aviator looked to his companion. “Come with us,” he growled.

-=O=-

“I have to say, this is a rather unexpected meeting.”

Despite the hour – nearly eleven PM by the clock on the desk, however accurate that was – Major Summer Rain was still dressed primly and properly, as befitting an officer of the Grand Pegasus Enclave. Her blue-grey fatigues were pressed, and her deep blue mane was curly and combed into place, despite the fact I had probably just woken her up.

“My apologies, Ma'am,” I said sincerely.

“Accepted. Now, if I understand correctly, you flew all the way back here without letting any of us know... just to come speak with me?”

“That's... about the long and short of it yeah.”

“Hmm.” She sipped from a glass of water on her desk. “Well, you certainly have my attention.” There was an unspoken addition: Because you woke me up.

“Ah, um... well... you've read my reports?”

“Yes, I have. The last one I got was rather interesting. You mentioned the... crews, correct? And you wanted somepony to lead them.”

Right. I hadn't actually submitted a report since I discovered The Prince's army. Shit. I hadn't thought about that. “Actually, about that... the situation's changed.”

“How so?”

I laid it out with far more detail than I gave anypony else. Army disposition, makeup, weapons I'd seen. I hadn't gotten the paperwork back from the Grand's council, so unfortunately I couldn't pass those on, but I showed her on my PipBuck map the location of the camp and everything. It took a lot longer than I expected. When I finished, Major Rain leaned back in her chair. She was silent for a moment.

“This militia hasn't organized yet, has it?” she asked.

“No, Ma'am. Day after tomorrow is the first sit-down.”

“Hmm.” She got up out of her chair and walked over to the nearby window overlooking the rest of the airport. Her office had been one before the war, and therefore was far more comfortable – and complete – than most of the jury rigged rooms we'd built around the place. Outside the window the Enclave tricolour snapped lightly in the breeze, illuminated by its spotlights underneath. “Aviator, have you ever heard of Protocol 8?”

Was this a test? I racked my brain, going back through to my Enclave training. Protocol 8... was it something I'd forgotten, buried in the mental mire of old, half-remembered training? “N-no,” I admitted after a pause.

“I wouldn't think so.” I was relieved I hadn't somehow forgotten my training. “Protocol 8 is a continuity of governance protocol. In the event that the Sisters were incapacitated or otherwise unreachable, the governance of Equestria would fall through a line of succession. First was Princess Cadence of the Crystal Empire, then to Princess Twilight Sparkle of the Ministry of Arcane Science. Onward from there: the Ministry of Image, Morale, Peace, Awesome, and finally, Ministry of Wartime Technology.”

“And if they all died?”

“To be fair, I don't suspect anypony was expecting the level of devastation Equestria took, so there was little planning for that. It fell afterwards to a small chain of various ministers and confidants. But that's not important,” the Major said, turning from the window to look at me. “The Enclave was born from the ashes of the Ministry of Awesome. Many of our first leaders came from the Ministry - the ones who first gave the order to seal the clouds did so by Ministry decree. If there was going to be an end to life as we knew it, then it was safer to keep something of the old world alive, namely, some of its old ministry staff. A good call, I'd say. The Sisters died. Neither Princess Cadence nor Twilight has ever made their presence known. Ministers Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy have equally not taken command of the surface. That leaves the Ministry of Awesome next in line.”

“But Rainbow Dash is dead,” I pointed out. Not that I necessarily needed to. “We exiled her for treason.”

“Indeed, but her Ministry remains in the form of the Enclave. Protocol 8 is clear: it's the Ministry that takes over, and the Minister at the head – nowhere is it specified that the original Ministers must be in command. That makes us the rightful government of Equestria.”

“That's... wow.” I blinked, sitting back in my chair as I looked the Major in the eye. “So... if we get involved down there...”

“That makes us the heirs of Equestria, and therefore, the ones who'll take control of Neigh Orleans. You wrote in your report that it would take a strong, unifying government to keep the city's krewes from tearing themselves apart. Congratulations, Aviator Autumn, you've managed to stumble your way dead into the heart of Enclave politics, and hand us our first win down here on the surface. If you're lucky, they may even erect a statue of you.”

No thank you. I didn't need that kinda fame in my life. I reached for my packet of cigarettes and was halfway to lighting it when I realized I probably should ask permission. The Major nodded, so I finished up and snapped the lighter shut. The rush of nicotine helped me clear my head a little bit. “That's why you sent us down here,” I reasoned after a moment to gather my thoughts. “It was more than just scouting. You wanted to see about taking back the city.”

Major Summer Rain didn't respond. She just gave me a small smile. I snorted softly.

“I don't know how the krewes are going to react to this news,” I admitted.

“Likely not well. Which is why I'm going to come deliver it in person. After all, you said you wanted Enclave support in the coming battle. I may as well be at the table with the rest of the militia.” She went to sit down at her desk. “Go get some rest. My steward will show you to a private room.”

“Can't I go see my Flight?”

“Absolutely not. I know you'd like to, but this should be kept under wraps until we're truly ready to depart. I'll have a boat readied for us in the morning, and we'll slip out.”

“We?” It was just dawning on me that she was speaking in the plural.

“Yes, we.” She smiled at me. “You're dismissed, Aviator.”

I stood up and went for the door before quickly remembering to snap a salute on the way out.

Chapter 33

View Online

Chapter 33

In all my years in the Enclave I had never once seen a commanding officer in anything but an official uniform. I was aware, conceptually speaking, that the officers were ponies, just like I was. They went home, got out of uniform, and relaxed. They had friends, families, inside jokes, vices, likes, and dislikes. But I never much had an opportunity to see that in person before. That's why it took me the better part of a minute to realize the mare walking toward me was the Major.

There was nothing outwardly different about her appearance. The same dark blue, curly mane. The same blue-green coat and wings. She'd abandoned the crisp Enclave uniform in favour of a simple blue and white air stewardess' coat, opened onto a black plate carrier beneath. She came to join me in the roundabout in front of the airport's departure terminal, where I'd been waiting for the better part of a half hour. She trotted up to me and offered me a mischievous smile.

“You look surprised,” she said casually.

“Am I demoted if I say I am?”

She snorted in laughter and motioned for me to follow. We crossed the parking lot, then the highway, and through the underbrush beyond. A small boat was tied up to a tree nearby, floating in the bayou's dark waters. It was a small skiff, but it certainly would do the job. We could theoretically have HALO dropped in again, but it wasn't worth the effort or the attention it would gather. I let the Major climb in and untied the boat myself, then climbed in after her.

“Would you mind, Aviator?” she asked, nodding to the engine mounted aft.

“Not at all.” I brought up my map using my PipBuck's chest remote, selected The Temple's icon, and gave a tug on the engine's starter. The arcanotech outboard whined to life. The Major used a pole to push us away from the tree, and with a bit of a twist on the throttle we were off down the river. The map showed me that the river led away from the airport, dumping out near a causeway that would eventually lead into town not far from where I landed on the first day.

We drove along in relative silence for the first little bit. The Major was armed with novasurge pistol at her hip, a common officer's sidearm, and a magical energy rifle she kept nearby, leaned on the gunwale. Her rifle was boxier and far more modern than my Sunbeam 2000 had been, a properly durable military model – the Arcane Energy Rifle model 9, a very simple name for a very complicated weapon. She wasn't loaded for bear but she was ready for a fight. She must have been reading our reports then. Raiders weren't much trouble, but it wouldn't do to be out and about with just a pistol.

Looking back, I kinda wished I'd been given more than a pistol on my first day in the wasteland.

We left the little river, bursting through a row of reeds into a larger section of the Muddy River. The road we'd been running parallel to rose up atop several concrete pillars, forming a causeway across a small lake. I gently twisted the throttle, opening it up a little more. Our boat's nose lifted up out of the water. I aimed us under the causeway, shooting between two pillars and out the far side. The PipBuck directed me alongside the road, toward the shore.

“So, Aviator. Or... Autumn, I suppose. Tell me a little about the city. Your compatriots. I read the reports but I would like to hear it from the pony's mouth as it were.” Major Summer Rain settled in at the bow, her rifle across her haunches.

“Well... they're... mercenaries.”

“Your friends are mercenaries.”

“Yeah.”

She snorted in amusement. “If ya have to pay 'em, they're not friends.”

“What? No, not mercenaries like that.” I whinnied softly. “Ha. Anyway... The two of them work for a griffon mercenary company. Even if one's a unicorn.”

“The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, yes?”

I was impressed that she knew it. “...had I mentioned them before?”

“Actually, no. Corporal Barley Stalk encountered a pair of them, and mentioned them by name in one of his reports.”

“Huh. How's he doing?” I turned the boat away from the shoreline, following the curve of it past a few shacks. The wooden shacks teetered worryingly on their stilts, although they somehow hadn't collapsed quite yet.

“Well enough, in fact. He embedded with a small group of survivors in his AO, and has been working with them since.” Summer Rain draped a foreleg over the gunwale, brushing it through the water. “Aviator... apologies, Corporal Monsoon Lotus is presumed dead. I've no confirmation, but it's been over a month since we last heard from her and her reports were fairly frequent. I gave her her spurs posthumously. Not that it matters now, I suppose.”

“Wasn't there another one?”

“Mmm. She's still out there. We get occasional check-ins, but we haven't had a full report from her in awhile.”

“Huh.” We scooted our way past a small white house, crenellated like a castle. Despite the ravages of time its stucco white walls were still somewhat clean, though it too was sinking perilously toward the swamp. “Well, Major-”

“Summer Rain. Rank doesn't matter out here.”

“...That's... going to take getting used to.”

The Major – no, Summer Rain – chuckled a bit. “Yes, it will. So. Mercenaries, a griffon and a unicorn. Interesting. Anything else?”

“...Like I've reported, the city is fairly divided. If you want to take control, it shouldn't be through an iron hoof. They would absolutely resist that, hoof and tooth, to the bitter end. It's gonna take... well, some kind of governmental transparency. I don't think we're lookin' at bringing the monarchy back.”

“What, don't fancy being a princess?” Summer Rain teased. It felt very odd to have my commanding officer – a Major in the Goddessdamned Enclave Armed Forces – teasing me like this. Who knew a commanding officer could be so... normal?

“I don't think I'd look good with a horn. I could rock a tiara though.”

Summer burst into laughter at that. “You would get instantly promoted to Staff Sergeant if you wear a tiara to morning inspection. I need to see ol' Iron have that kind of fit. He will absolutely dress you down but Skies above it would be worth it.” I couldn't quite tell if she was serious or not. I snorted in laughter along with her, struggling to keep control of the boat throttle.

Our laughter settled down. I nudged the boat further out from the shore, dodging a half-sunk fishing boat that was sticking out of the murky water. We passed close enough for me to read the name on the prow: Buoy on Buoy. The red paint was flecked and worn, but still easily legible. It looked in pretty good shape... aside from the fact its stern was buried in the mud. I accelerated away from the boat, humming softly.

“Where are we going?” The Maj- Summer Rain asked.

“The Temple. I know I mentioned it in one of my reports.”

“You did. But I didn't quite understand it.”

“Well, it's... complicated. It's run by this stallion, Father Sunray. He's a little off, but not in a bad way. He's a zony who... well, took over an old shrine to the pre-war Princesses. Turned it into neutral ground for anypony who'd lost a home some way or another. He's a good sort. You get all sorts of belief systems out here. Guess after a century of apocalypse, folks need somethin' to hold to, y'know?” I asked, checking the map. It wasn't far to the Temple now. I was getting close to some familiar map markers – like a certain service stop where I'd gotten my first bit of Wasteland hospitality.

“So it would seem. As long as they're relatively harmless. You trust him?” Summer Rain asked, turning to look back at me.

“I do. Trust him enough anyhow.” I nosed the boat around a small copse of trees that stuck out on the shore. As we crossed around the trees, Summer got her first look at the city of Neigh Orleans.

I had seen the city from this angle only once before, and it gave a hell of a view on things. The old fashioned Equestrian architecture spread out ahead of us, squat and tight knit in a splash of colour I had never quite noticed before. Even non-Watu buildings had their own colour to them: reds, yellows, greens, browns, whites. They peppered the shoreline, sweeping in a wide arc around Crescent Bay. And dead centre of the city was our destination: Friendship Square and The Temple. I couldn't quite see the square itself from the water (the levees made sure of that), but I could see the spires of The Temple soaring overhead.

“My, my.” Summer leaned forward, letting out a low whistle. “It's just like the post cards. Only better. I can see why you're smitten with the place.”

I chuckled a little bit. “Just wait until you try the food.”

With a deft hoof I didn't realize I had, I pulled the boat alongside the levee outside Friendship Square. A few smooth concrete steps ran down from a walking path to the water's edge, and the railing along the stairs made for an easy tie-off point for the boat. Summer Rain climbed out, slinging the rifle over the back of her air stewardess' uniform as I climbed out to join her.

“Lead the way,” she said.

I nodded, trotting up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was a wide boardwalk, with chipped paving stones leading off on either side of the levee off into the distance. A cannon sat nearby, rusting from the salt spray off the bay. It was a strange looking thing, its large barrel slung low beneath a massive recoil control mechanism. It wasn't big – a stubby 47mm at best, judging by the bore – but it would easily do the job on any small ships that made it into the harbour.

Well, once upon a time anyway.

It was a quick hop, skip, and jump across some train tracks and a carriageway beyond, then up a second set of stairs that overlooked the square itself. I could see the Temple in all its glory, her three spires sticking up into the air. Higher still above the spires was the single rickety antenna strapped to its rightmost spire, which I reasoned was part of Shortwave's radio setup. It must be how he got such good range across the area: get the antenna up high enough and you could cover everything.

“The Temple, I presume?” Summer Rain asked, coming up alongside me. I could see her admiring the white stone facade. “Impressive.”

We stood atop the staircase. A few steps down would lead us to Decanter street, one of the main thoroughfares through the Old Quarter. Across the street was Friendship Square and the statue of Cornsilk Blues, the hometown hero mare for Neigh Orleans. Old stately buildings hemmed the square on either side – I realized I'd never explored them and had no idea what was in them. Well, one I could guess: the word “Hotel” was plastered over the entrance. The others? No clue.

“A commanding view. Set a sniper in a belfry-”

“And you own the area for blocks around.” I grinned at the Major, probably a bit more comfortable around her than I should be.

She beamed with pride. “Enclave training did you well.”

“I try.” We trotted down the stairs and across the street. The clouds parted slightly, the sun falling on the bronze statue of the mare in the middle of it all. Summer Rain looked up at her, her expression one of admiration.

“I like this place,” she announced as we trotted up to the Temple doors.

-=O=-

“Autumn Breeze. It's certainly been a while,” Father Sunray said with a warm smile. He looked much as he had the last time I'd met him: same warm orange and red striped coat, same dour black frock with its white square on the collar. The Temple was far more abuzz with activity than I'd ever seen it before, however. I was used to it being filled with a few itinerant ponies, plus a few of the more consistent residents. In preparation for the meeting, however, it was a flurry of movement and work. The long benches had been dragged out of the way in order to build small, temporary shelters for the delegations when they arrived. A few extra guards had been brought on, patrolling the upper balconies. I could hear hammering somewhere in the building.

“I'm sorry, Father. You know how it gets in the wasteland.”

“Busy, busy, busy.” He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder with a hoof. “And y'all are?” he asked, turning to the Major.

“Ah'm Summer Rain,” the Major drawled. I fought to stop my jaw from hitting the floor. She'd transitioned from her crisp, precise country accent to a long drawl that seemed too natural. “Pleasure's mine.”

“Any friend of Autumn's is a friend of mine. Welcome.” Sunray turned to me with an expectation that I'd direct the conversation. It took a moment for my brain to get into gear.

“Oh, uh... I was wondering if Summer could stay here for the next little bit. She's here for the meeting.”

“Ah, yes,” Sunray said softly. He was his usual cheerful self, but I could tell by his tone he was a little strained. “The famous Court.”

I winced slightly. “I'm sorry.”

He shrugged in a rather non-committal way. “When th'Old Krewe knocks on ya door an' asks ya to host a meeting, there's little ya say but “Yes”, particularly when ya within striking distance of them.” He sighed softly. “I was hoping to avoid becoming a refugee camp.”

“I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.”

Sunray's smile was soft and almost pitying. Patronizing. A smile that had years of experience behind it. I knew to shut up now. “Y'all free to stay as long as ya'd like, Ms. Rain. I just ask that ya help out around the Temple once in a while is all.”

She nodded. “Anytime.”

Father Sunray smiled. “I'm going t'check on the kitchen,” he announced. “Make yaselves at home. Autumn can show ya around.” He looked to me as he spoke. “And maybe explain some things he's learned.” He nodded to a stained glass windows and winked at me before walking away.

I turned to Summer Rain, who was grinning mischievously at me. “...What the hell was that?” I asked.

She burst into giggles. “Ah'm Neighvarro, born'n raised, Autumn~” she drawled. When she spoke again her usual clipped accent was back – and I realized for the first time that she'd been faking it. “And if you tell anypony what you've heard today, I will denounce it and have you publicly executed~” With that she turned and followed Sunray away, calling out to him in her drawl again and mentioning a desire to see the kitchen.

Well, that was that. Time to sneak back to The Grand with my tail between my legs and hope that neither Ren or Peach Tea were too cross with me for disappearing on them last night. Still – it had been quick. In and out, no trouble, no danger. All that remained now was to wait for the meeting of the minds... and pray.

I took a last look around the Temple. The off-and-on sun would pass by and light up some of the stained glass windows as it went along. At the far end of the building was the main round window, its image of two alicorns – one white, one blue, twirling around the globe – shone brightly whenever the sun peeked through. I stared up at them, wishing for some kind of guidance to come down from on high from either of them. If there was ever a time for Princess Luna to show up in a dream and point me on the way, this would be the perfect time for it.

A cloud passed by again, taking the twinkle out of the window. If that was the sign from on high, then we were all fucked.

I turned from the window and went for the door.

Level Up!

Level 13

Perks Gained: Tail Trick, Confirmed Bachelor, Like a Bullet, Hit the Deck!, Finesse, Buck Rodgers, Combat Veteran, Explorer, How We Do It on the Farm, Leader, Sniperpony, Bringer of Justice (Damage increased against raiders, slavers, and other degenerates)

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 34

View Online

Chapter 34

I adjusted myself one last time in front of the mirror, running the comb through my mane. I had finally gotten a chance to duck back to the spa and spend a few caps on getting tidied up. My previously tussled burnt orange mane was back up in its usual spot: a crisp undercut that parted to the right. Simple, within regs, and what I was used to. I'd gotten both my fatigues and my flannel shirt cleaned, and chose the latter for the day.

Ren nudged his way past me to grab a towel as he stepped out of the shower. “You look like you're getting ready for a date,” he said.

“Mmm. Just like being clean is all.” It was a lie. I was just nervously picking away at this point.

He chuckled a bit. Ren had been a little standoffish ever since I came back last night, but he was coming around to me again, which I was thankful for. If nothing else at least I had him, and that meant the world to me right now. I bumped up against his side and left the bathroom.

The clock on the wall thunked over to nine AM. Still an hour to go. Peach Tea was there already, having decided to take up work as a guard. Ren go to meet his boss, and I'd be joining up with Summer Rain once we got there. I left everything behind: saddlebags, PipBuck, all of it. The Temple was a short walk and with delegations from everymajor Krewe – and some minor ones – meeting there, these few blocks around Friendship Square would probably be the safest they'd ever be. I wouldn't need an armour or weapons... hopefully.

Renfeld stepped out, running his talons through the feathers on his head to sweep them back into place. He still had the towel draped around his neck, and his warm, sandy fur was standing up on end a little from the dampness. “How do I look?” he asked.

“Ridiculous, as always,” I teased, taking a few steps toward him. Our eyes met and I sighed softly, closing the distance a little quicker and burying my head against his chest feathers. He smelled of wet fur and faintly of soap, but I didn't care. “Ren?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry. For... everything. For disappearing like that. Making you worry.”

A talon came up to rest on the back of my head and hold me closer. “It's fine. I just... I want a day where we're not having to worry about each other, you know? Not getting shot at or beaten up.”

“I know, me too. Look... when this is done, Ren? No more. I'm hanging up my rifle for a bit. We'll go and... I dunno, clear out a mansion in the Garden district, or somewhere out of town. Peach can come too if she wants. But... just sit back for a bit. Forget all this... soldiering stuff for a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. Y'know. Provided there's still a city after all this.”

“We're going to win, don't you worry,” I assured him, pulling back a bit to smile up at him. “And if not, well, I think we'd both look good in spikes and raider leather.”

He snorted in laughter. “Speak for yourself, I prefer lace.”

-=O=-

The buzz in the air was palpable. When we opened the door it was like walking into a room full of angry mosquitoes. Folks who called the Temple home stood around, watching as folks came through the front doors, whispering to themselves and motioning to the gathered krewes. I got the impression that this kind of gathering was rare, and that it wasn't often that ponies got to see many of these krewes in person. I could see countless different dubloons in the crowd, and ponies occasionally sneered at each other, or called out to old friends. Things seemed reasonably cordial, though I could see that groups of ponies were eyeing each other with suspicion and keeping distinctly apart from one another.

Ahead of us were two mares dressed in razor sharp business suits; the one in the lead had her jet black mane tied in a bun, and glasses perched on the end of her red-coated snout. Her companion had almost the opposite in colour: charcoal black fur and bright crimson mane and tail, though her mane was a short, curly affair. They made their way toward the back of the Temple, where I could see Peach Tea waiting by a door. She let the two in, spotted us, and waved us down.

“Hey, y'all,” she said with a smile. “Just in time. Ton o' folks already here. S'tense as can get in there. Glad Ah'm out here.” She hugged us both around the neck. “Good luck, y'all.”

“Thanks, Peach,” I said sincerely. “Keep up the good work, keeping us safe from...” I looked around the room. Two foals ran past, one chasing the other with a bright yellow squirt gun held between their teeth, the other giggling and dodging spurts of water. “...dangerous bandits.”

The three of us burst into laughter, and I clapped Peach lightly on the side of her foreleg. She opened the door for us and let us through.

The room beyond was a kind of open-space meeting room in the back of the Temple. A few narrow windows provided some natural grey light from the cloudy day, illuminating a long table and dozens upon dozens of technicolour figures around it. The two mares in the business suit were settling in on a pair of chairs across from two zebras. Both mares wore golden crowns on their chests, strung from golden beads. The zebras across from them – some of the very few striped figures in the room – both wore purple top hats around their neck. Queen's Krewe and the Maisha Social Club. I swept the room, trying to identify the others.

At one end of the table was a pegasus and a unicorn, both stallions, wearing golden trident dubloons – Krewe of the Sea. Comet Spark had come through, thank the Goddesses. I spotted Red sitting with the one of the councillors from the meeting – a white unicorn mare, I think her name was Moonlit Snow. They both wore symbols I hadn't seen before: a silver three-pointed flower, its middle petal taller than the other two, which drooped down and almost met with their bottoms that curved up. That flower must be the Old Krewe's symbol, though I'd never seen it in use anywhere, even in the Grand. I guess when you got to their level of power, folks just knew the territory that belonged to you.

At one corner of the table was one of the few non-Maisha zebras I'd spotted: a chubby zebra mare, attended by a green earth pony mare. Their dubloon was an orange sun around their necks, though I didn't recognize that one. And they weren't the only ones I didn't know among the crowd either. I noticed smaller Krewes everywhere, bearing dubloons in dozens of different colours and shapes. Red cups, blue stars, gold coins. Some just wore coloured strands of beads with no symbol on them at all.

I spotted Summer Rain already there, holding down a seat for me. She caught me eye and smiled.

“Who's that?” Ren asked.

“...my secret weapon,” I mentioned. “I should go join her, if you don't mind.”

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're cheating on me,” Ren teased. “She's beautiful.”

“But she's not you.” I kissed his cheek. Before I could even move to my seat next to Summer, the door behind us opened. I automatically turned to see who it was, and in walked a griffon unlike any I'd ever seen.

He toweredover me. Griffons were naturally big to begin with – I wasn't that short, and Ren still had at least six inches over me – but this one was even taller. Over a foot taller than I was, broad shouldered and strong. His feathers were black with just a hint of deep blue on the tips and edges, and his coat was fiery red-orange, peppered with black spots throughout. Most of those in attendance wore either simple clothes or nothing at all: this griffon sported a set of combat armour that looked wildly different from Ren's own combat armour. It was angular, sleek, and had a single shoulder pad over the left arm. Painted on the right side of the breast was a griffon skull clutching a dagger in its beak.

I'd seen that icon before, painted on Ren's armour. The symbol of his mercenary band: the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.

I blinked. The griffon looked at me, then at Ren, and gave Ren an easy smile. “Renfeld.”

“Boss.” This must be Kortig, then. Ren had mentioned him a few times.

“Hmm. Impressive little shindig. Let's see if it pays off.” The griffon boss' voice wasn't nearly as gravelly as I expected, but it was still deep. Commanding. He reminded me a bit of The Prince in a fashion: this griffon exuded charisma in a dangerous way. No wonder he led a group of hardened mercenaries. “That makes you Autumn Breeze, 'cause I've never met you.”

“Yeah, that's... that's me.”

“Pleasure. I'm sure Ren's bitched about me, but in case he hasn't, I'm Kortig,” he said, offering a talon to me. I held out my hoof, and he shook it. “Hopefully this is worth my coming down here.”

The griffon went to take his seat. Ren chuckled at me, then went off to join his boss, which left me to go do the same. I could see Summer Rain looking over at Kortig with a look I couldn't quiteplace. Admiration? Caution? There was no trace of hate in her eyes, despite looking over at two members of a species that ours constantly butted heads with.

“That sand-coloured one... that's Renfeld, correct?” Summer asked me softly.

“Mhmm. And his boss, Kortig. From the mercenary company.”

“I see.” She gave me a sideways glance and a playful smile. “Renfeld is cute. You two make a good couple.”

I coughed, covering my blush as best I could with my foreleg.

More and more ponies shuffled in. I looked across the table at Red and caught her eye. The zony mare looked at me with a small smile, and I saw her eyes flick to Summer Rain at my side (who was still observing the griffons). There was confusion in Red's eyes, as well as a small twinkle of interest. It was strange to see Red, of all mares, confused. In my experience she knew everything.

I felt a little swell of pride that I got to pull one over on her for once.

The room finally filled up. Every spot at the table was full, and some of the smaller Krewes that had straggled found standing room only. The unicorn next to Red stood up. Her horn flared up with blue-white magic. The sound of a small bell rang out in the room, silencing everypony.

“I'm calling this Court to order,” she declared. “My name is Moonlit Snow, and I am acting as head representative for the Old Krewe. Any questions can be addressed to myself, or my companion here, Mtazamaji. Now. Everypony should have received folders from our messengers with details prior to the meeting. Maps, documents, and transcripts of both memory orbs and an interview with the prisoner. If there are any questions about those, now would be the time.”

No hooves went up.

“Perfect. I wouldn't like to spend the next three hours going over everything again. As you're all likely aware, this meeting is about the formation of a mutual defence militia for the city.” There was a murmur through the crowd. “As everypony here is aware, a raider leader who calls himself-” the mare paused a moment to double check her notes. “-Prince Greyhoof has decided to target our fair city. The Old Krewe cannot, and will not, let this stand.” The mare's horn glowed brighter.

Above the table stood an image of the The Prince himself, extrapolated from Peach Tea's memory orb. He looked exactly as I remember. An alicorn in an odd tweed suit, standing tall and proud. Even through hologram he seemed to drip in charisma. I heard a bark of laughter nearby. It was from the leader of the Maisha Social Club.

It took a moment for me to recognize him. It was Kaskazini. The last time I'd seen him was his coronation ceremony. This was the first time I saw him up close. His mohawk was trimmed with careful peaks and valleys: every black stripe was taller to a point, ever white one dove into a shallow valley. He had the same severe expression, sneering mockingly at the image that floated above the table. His smirk was lightly lopsided, thanks to a nasty scar on the bottom left of his chin.

“This? This is it?” he asked. He had a smooth voice, dark as a cup of coffee. “This is what everypony was panicking over? Tou té fèb!” He laughed mockingly again, waving a striped hoof at the image of the Prince. “Look at him. He looks like a school teacher. Like he would be bullied by the hoofball team. If you're afraid of that, you can count my Krewe out.”

“Spare us the false bravado,” a bright yellow unicorn said from across the table. A red cup doubloon was around their neck, but I didn't know the name of the krewe. “Nopony's intimidated by the big bad zebra act, Kaskazini. That's an alicornup there. Far more dangerous than you'd think.”

“Much as I dislike our Maisha friend, I have to agree,” the unicorn stallion next to the Krewe of the Sea's leader put in. “He's a bookworm. Alicorn or not, he's as intimidating as a single radroach.” Kaskazini chuckled in agreement.

“I wouldn't be so quick to judge on appearances, especially when alicorns are involved,” Moonlit Snow reminded them. “From what I can tell, that’s an Alicorn Amulet.” The image of the Prince vanished, focusing entirely on the silver amulet he'd worn. It was in the rough shape of a pony with wings and a horn, with a bright red gemstone in the middle. “Amulets like this are designed to supercharge magic. An Alicorn Amulet is said to be able to give the user power on par with those of the Princesses themselves.”

“Remember, it was alicorns that controlled th'sun and moon itself,” a stallion pointed out. He was a pegasus, one of the few I'd ever seen, with a seafoam green mane and tail and a forest green coat, and wore a silver star dubloon. “Ah for one would take this seriously. If that amulet gives 'em even halfthe power of real alicorns...”

“If I knew y'all pissed yerself that easy, Wind Rider, I'd've rolled yer krewe years ago,” somepony mumbled.

“Ah'd like to see ya try, jackass.”

The room erupted in noise. The heckler shouted at Wind Rider, who shouted back. More joined in, taking sides. Moonlit Snow, to her credit, gave them a moment before firing off another spell. This one was a shrill whistle throughout the room, piercing the ears. I covered mine with my wings.

“That's quite enough,” she said.

Nopony spoke.

“Good. Now. The Old Krewe spoke with the prisoner kept at the Krewe of the Sea-”

“As did we,” Kaskazini's companion explained. I didn't recognize the zony with her pink stripes.

“Then you of all of us should be taking this more seriously, Kaskazini. The prisoner was incredibly forthcoming, and our examination of the memory orbs – and his own memories – checked out. In the Old Krewe's opinion, the threat is real. And it's not a matter of ifwe need to stand, but who will stand with us.”

“Ya got us, Moonlit,” Wind Rider immediately said.

“Aye, us too,” the chubby zebra mare down the table added. “Three Sisters Krewe'll stand.”

“Ah'm in, but Ah'd like more details mahself,” the mare in the black bun and sharp suit said. “Ya askin' a lot for not havin' any plans.”

Kaskazini nodded. “Not often I find myself agreeing with the Queen's... but I do. Slate's got a great point. Who's going to lead all this?”

“Before we get to that, I'd like to see a show of hooves as to who will stand with the Old Krewe,” Moonlit Snow began.

“No, they're right, who's leading?” somepony asked.

“Yeah!”

More shouting erupted. Moonlit tried to control the crowds and get everypony to settle. She even got baited into the argument herself, turning to shout at Kaskazini, who was accusing her of orchestrating this in order to further lock zebras out of prime territory in the city. The accusations that flew had some solid backing: none of the krewes wanted to give the Old Krewe any more power, but as soon as somepony would speak up, one of their enemies would shout them down.

I watched the Krewe of the Sea's leader speak up, only to have the Three Sisters Krewe shout that he was muscling in on their territory. When the Maisha spoke up, severalkrewes told them to sit back down for trying to expand their zebra-only mandate. It went on for several minutes, precisely how long I couldn't tell, until somepony thunked a hoof loudly on the table. It quieted a few folks, though arguments still continued.

“Ah will.”

Summer Rain was out of her seat next to me. Any arguments that were still ongoing started to fizzle out at the sight of her standing. Maybe it was that the crowd heard an unfamiliar voice from an unfamiliar mare, or maybe it was because somepony was bold enough to stand up and say something, but whatever it was, the crowd started to shut up and sit down.

The Major kept on her hooves.

“And who are ya?” Red asked, looking over the rim of her glasses at Summer Rain.

“Ah represent a group with a vested in'nerest in keepin' this city safe 'n' sound.” I still wasn't used to her natural Neighvarran accent, no matter how natural it was with her appearance. “Ah ain't in a krewe, an' Ah don' represent 'em neither.”

“What makes ya think that qualifies ya for leadership?” Slate of the Queen's Krewe asked.

“It removes me from all this in'ner krewe bickerin', fer one.”

“Ah wouldn't call that qualification.”

“Ah would. 'Sides, Ah know a li'l somethin' 'bout leadership,” Summer continued, turning to face the Queen's Krewe leader. “Y'all gonna need t'be able t'trust ya leader in all'a this. Y'all don't trust the Maisha. Maisha don't trust y'all. Old Krewe don't trust anypony. Ain't gonna get yaself a leader that way, what with e'rypony thinkin' there's a gun to their head.” I could see Kortig lean in toward the table, observing Summer Rain with an odd look in his eyes. Almost the same interested look that Summer had shot him. “So, Ah volunteer.”

“I have t'say, I've never heard of any outside groupsthat could have an interest in us,” Red put in, adjusting her glasses a little. “It's a little suspect if you ask me. You're not with Bakersmill, that I know. And th' court at Corne Rouge is too far away to care about us.”

“Ah ain't with any of them, Ah can assure ya.”

“Then who are ya with?” Kaskazini growled.

Summer Rain glanced down at me, then at everypony at the table. Her pale emerald eyes swept the table. When she spoke again she'd gone back to her usual crisp, clipped accent. I realized what she was doing: the fake country bumpkin act to reel them in, make them think she was one of them, then the carefully controlled accent to show her true colours. “I represent the remaining governmental authority in Equestria, as laid out by the Princesses themselves in Protocol 8.”

“Bullshit,” somepony exclaimed.

“Ain't a one heard from th' “government” in forever,” another added. “They dead. Princesses too.”

“Oh, more than likely, yes they are. However...” Summer Rain opened her stewardess' jacket and pulled a small folded letter out. The envelope bore the prewar Royal family seal. She placed it on the table in front of her. “These documents predate the end of the War by several years. They were signed and sealed long before the Princesses died.”

Ponies around the table leaned in to examine the letter and the seal. Moonlit Snow grabbed it in her magic, turning it around slowly to examine every inch of it, while Summer Rain continued.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, my name is Major Summer Rain. I'm here to offer you support, leadership, and a way out of this mess. All courtesy of the Grand Pegasus Enclave.” There was a moment's silence.

Then the table exploded into shouting.

Chapter 35

View Online

Chapter 35

It was absolute chaos at the table. Ponies were shouting in alarm and in confusion. Accusations flew. Kortig turned to Ren and even through the din I could hear him chewing Ren out. My heart sank at the look on Ren's face – a look of pure pain and confusion. He mouthed a response to Kortig, then turned to look at me.

Our eyes met. His were burning with anger. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't. He raised his talons, flipped me off, and stormed out of the room. Kortig wheeled around to stare at the Major with hatred in his eyes.

Even Moonlit Snow had lost control of the situation. She was caught between shouting at Kaskazini and demanding explanations from the Major. Others were targeting their hate at anyone they could – their allies for dragging them in, Moonlit Snow for a possible Old Krewe coup through the Enclave, the Major for being Enclave. I lost track of everything. Then Major Summer Rain climbed up onto the table and slammed her hindleg down.

The sound resonated across the room, and quieted everypony down.

“That is quiteenough, thank you.”

“Fuck off, traitor!” somepony shouted. Summer continued unabated.

“Without proper leadership, you will all find yourselves arguing about who is a better fit, and this will all fall apart. You'll decide that such and such a krewe shouldn't have control. That such and such would be better. This is war, fillies and gentlecolts. And if you want to fight a war, you need a trained officer.” She turned to look at Moonlit, who was glaring up at her.

In fact, the only ponies not angrily glaring at Summer Rain were either those that had no idea who the Enclave was (they were identified by their confused stares), or Red, who was grinning mischievously at me.

“If you want to survive this battle,” Summer went on, “You'll have to have proper training and leadership. Now, I am prepared to offer forty of Equestria's premiere fighting force to help in this fight. Twenty flyers and twenty power armoured troops. I can't think of a better way to tip the odds in your favour than that.”

“Sounds like there's a price in all of this,” Red mused, looking up at Summer Rain.

“Correct.” She turned and climbed down from the table, back into her seat. “Protocol 8 is a continuity of governance protocol that gives the Enclave legal authority over Equestria in the event the Princesses are killed or incapacitated. I don't see Princesses Celestia or Luna coming through that door any time soon, so, here we are. In exchange for our troops, equipment, and training, I propose that the Enclave form a new government for Neigh Orleans, with support from the Krewes..

Several ponies cried out in alarm. “Typical!” Wind Rider grunted. “Typical fucking Enclave.”

“We formed our krewe to keep ourselves free, now ya askin' for us to surrender to some pegasi locked away in the sky? Va fé fout, troud chi,” Kaskazini spat – quite literally – in Summer Rain's direction.

“Leave it to the fucking Enclave to negotiate like that.” Kortig snorted in anger, arms crossed. “Smiles above the table, knife underneath it. I'm out.”

Summer seemed unfazed. “Before all y'all get your tails in a knot, let me finish. I'm looking to establish a proper, democratic form of government for the city. I'm not like those raiders out there, I'm not here to rule with an iron hoof. Within six to nine months, up to a year max, I hope to hold elections for the position of Mayor of the city, and based on the outcome, step down. Protocol 8 specifies that we're to take control and re-establish government. It does not specify how. I suggest a parliamentary system, with open elections among the krewesfor a leader, with one pony, or zebra, or whomever, taking the lead through the krewes' decisions. All this of course hinges on us winning this fight, which-”

“And how can we trust ya?” Slate asked, her chin resting on her hooves. “Ah've a lot of mares in mah Krewe Ah need to care for, an' Ah goin' to sacrifice them fer a tyrant outsider.”

“You have nothing but my word on that,” Summer admitted. “But I can assure you I have no desire to oppress this city or its citizens. If I did, I wouldn't be here, and y'all would have learned of us when I kicked in the front door. No, I want to help. We're here to form a new government and bring us back from the brink. And we will stand in this fight, and we will help you win – if you agree to the terms.”

Kortig snorted. “The word of the Enclave ain't worth shit. I wouldn't trust them. Stab you in the fucking back soon as they take control. No deal.”

“Duly noted, my mercenary friend. Good thing you're not a krewe. Anypony else?” The Major asked.

There was silence at the table for a long moment. The leader of the Krewe of the Sea was the first to break it. “I don't like it but... ya right. I've got maybe fifty, sixty good troops. But we're just a community militia. On our own, we're fucked. Put us up with others, sure, we can bring damage. But we ain't got the firepower. Or the training. We need professionals.”

There were murmurs of ascent around the table. They were often quiet, often begrudging, but little by little, the other Krewes spoke up in agreement. All except two: Kaskazini with the Maishas, and Kortig and his band.

“I refuse,” the zebra growled. “I'd rather my krewe take its chances with The Prince. Maisha is for zebras, and I don't trust any system where we end up with no say in our future. All the Krewes get a chance to vote, why would they vote for a zebra? Why would we vote for them?”

“Kaskazini, don't be an idiot,” Moonlit warned. “You know as well as I do that we're all in this together, and that nopony here wishes to see zebras as second class citizens. Every krewe counts numerous zonies and zebras within their numbers. You are not the only one.”

“I've no problem with zebras if that's your hangup,” Summer Rain assured him. “I've no intention to stamp out anypony's culture, least of all yours. In fact, from what I hear of it, the zoodoo religion is fascinating, and I wouldn't mind learning more.” It was an expert play on her part. Sweet talk and massage Kaskazini's ego. He was proud of his heritage and his krewe. Butting heads with him wouldn't work, but flattery might.

It did seem like it was working well enough. “I don't trust you. Not one bit. But if after this, you want to subjugate us? Y'all got forty of your best, against sixty of mine. Séyé lé. We won't go down without fighting.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. I hear zebras are quite fierce fighters.” Summer Rain turned to look at Kortig, who's arms were still crossed. “Kortig?”

“Get fucked.”

Summer chuckled a bit. “Rather rude of you.”

“Rather rude of you to waste my time like this. I'm not going to get mygriffons killed for this, and especially not for the Enclave of all fucking people. No way. You all want to try fighting it out, be my guest. You want to throw in with the Enclave? Go for it. But I'm not getting involved.”

“You could help turn the tide in this battle.”

“Of course I could!” Kortig snapped. “One griffon is worth fiveponies on the battlefield at least. You Enclave types should know that by now.”

If Summer Rain was off-put by that she didn't let it show. “How many are you?” she asked casually.

The question took the big griffon by surprise. It was almost as if he was expecting Summer to shout back, to accuse him of something. Instead he growled a bit. “Twelve.”

“Then by my calculations that makes your fighting force as good as sixty regular ponies. And I'd daresay that any one krewe militiapony is worth five raiders... so by my math that makes your force... what, worth a hundred and twenty raiders? That would tip the odds in our favour by quite a bit.”

Kortig remained quiet.

“If it's caps you're after, we can work out a payment system afterwards,” Summer assured him. She turned to address the crowd as a whole. “Barring our undecided mercenary friends, how many troops can be counted on?”

Numbers were shouted across the room. Summer Rain stopped here and there to point to somepony for clarification. I could see her tally them up in her head. Eventually she stopped, pulled a notebook from inside her jacket, and began jotting numbers down.

“Without the griffons, approximately... 240 troops. Not bad. Ms. Snow, could I get a paper map please?” she asked.

The mare nodded and closed her eyes. Her horn flashed bright, and a map appeared on the table in a pop of magic sparks.

“Excellent, thank you. Autumn, where was that camp?” she asked.

I leaned forward to check the map and orient myself – cursing myself the whole while for not bringing my PipBuck – and gave a rough location from memory. With her pencil, Summer marked the camp off.

“I'm not from here, somepony tell me how you'd enter the city from here,” she asked, tapping the marker with her wing.

The krewe leaders leaned forward, taking a look at the map of the city and its surroundings. It was quiet for a moment, save for some murmurs, until finally Slate spoke up.

“Here.” She tapped her hoof on a portion of the map. “Kingfisher Bridge, right near the old Nine Mile Point power station.” Summer leaned in to see where the mare was pointing. “If they take Old 90 or th'river road, they'd end up at Kingfisher Bridge eventually. An' she's sturdy enough an' wide enough t'accomodate all them troops.”

“The road splits here, though. What if they continue on south?”

“They'd continue on past, an' probably end up at th' Crescent City Bridge south'a th'Old Krewe.”

Moonlit Snow shook her head. “That dumps out near the Museum of War and the roundabout at the end of Celestia Ave. If they came that way we'd have to hold them at the bridge, or across it at Slaughterhouse Point.”

“Fitting,” Summer said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, for us. That area's too packed,” Moonlit explained. “Too narrow.”

Summer turned to look at Slate. “What about on your side? That bridge leads to your Krewe's territory, right?”

“Yes'm. Ah'd find a way t'funnel 'em along our section of St. Celestia Avenue t'Krewe headquarters at the twin schools. Loyalist University 'n' th'Neigh Orleans Medical School, here 'n' here.” She held her hoof out to take the pencil from Summer, then marked out two open areas of the map. “Th'university grounds is wide open, an' there's a zoo on th'other side. If'n they come down that avenue, we'll have all th'defence, they'd get nothin'. An' harder to flank us, too.”

“Impressive. Somepony speaks from experience, I take it?”

“Unfortunately.”

Summer chuckled softly. “Fillies and gentlecolts, we have our battlegrounds. Now for a battle plan. I'm thinking a very basic defence in depth. I'll have to work it out with better maps, but I'm thinking of having our main force here-” she drew a small line on the road between the universities and the zoo. “Dug in on the road.”

“Who's in the main force?” Wind Rider asked.

“A little over half the troops. We were at... what, 240 total? So a hundred and fifty or so.”

“Where are the others goin'?” Kaskazini asked.

“That is a very good question. Two elements: Skirmish and hammer. The hammer is going to be made up of about sixty troops – That's half of mine, all of your griffons, Kortig (“Fat chance,” he mumbled), and... you, Kaskazini, right? You said you had sixty troops to pledge?”

“In total. Maybe a few more.”

“I'll take thirty to round out our numbers. The hammer element will be placed... here.” She marked a spot on the map within the zoo.

“Doing what?” the zebra leader asked.

“In due time, Kas, patience. The last element is going to be the most dangerous one for us. Skirmish element. No more than thirty or forty troops at maximum... here.” She drew a small dotted line across the road at a point several blocks a head of the main battle lines, across the intersection of St. Celestia Avenue and Broadway.

“The battle plan is simple, for now. It may change, but I'll keep everypony in touch if it does. For now, the basics are this: our skirmish element will engage the troops here at Broadway and St. Celestia. The skirmish troops will need to put up a good fight, but not toogood. It's a delicate balance. They have to inflict some casualties, yes, but they also have to make the raiders believe that they can win the fight.”

“That sounds safe,” somepony grumbled.

“It's war, it's not meant to be safe. Now, once the raiders are stuck in on the fight, the skirmish leader will call a very loud retreat, and begin falling back. They need to make the retreat lookdisorganized while being as orderly as possible. They'll fall back to the main fighting line and join in for the long haul.” A hoof went up. “Yes?”

“Ah ain't a soldier, so ya gonna have to explain this one to me,” Wind Rider asked. “Why not have everypony up at the front immediately?”

“The raiders hold the advantage here,” Summer began. “They think they're coming in by surprise and taking on just a single Krewe at a time. If we put everything we have at the front-”

“They'll know they're fucked. That they lost the element of surprise. Same if we bring in heavy guns too early. They'll back off, pull back and come at us again later when we're not prepared, and with heavier firepower,” Kortig finished for her. Summer nodded, clearly impressed.

“It's like a trap,” she continued, looking to Wind Rider. “They'll think they won their first battle, and get nice and worked up, only for us to tie them up in our main line. When they get there, despite the heavier resistance, they'll think they're invincible after crushing the first fight... which is when the hammer element comes out and flanks from behind.” She drew an arrow that curved from the zoo to the main road.

“Hit 'em from behind,” Kaskazini growled.

“Precisely.”

“I like it. Simple. Effective.” The zebra looked up at Summer. “I underestimated you. Not bad... for a pegasus.”

She beamed at that. “It's a simple plan, don't get me wrong. But it's going to be our best bet. At last count they had three hundred odd troops out there, plus two alicorns, plus who knows what else arrived since we last saw them. We'll need to play it smart. Now, that's it, I believe...” she began to roll up the map.

“One last thing,” Red put in. “We've got a slight problem here. Namely, an associate o' mine has been sellin' heavy armaments to Th' Prince.” She looked at me, and I realized she meant Whiskey Sour. Goddesses, that had been ages ago. “We'll need more'n just assault rifles and some grit.”

“I know where we can get some heavy weapons,” I put in before anypony else could answer. For the first time since the Major had revealed herself, all eyes turned to look at me. Everypony's gaze burned right through me. Gah. I couldn't ever be a real leader, this feeling of being observed was too... bizarre. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “There's a ton in the Equestrian Museum of War.”

“Ah don't think ancient spears is gonna help, Feathers.”

“There's a modern weapons exhibit in the museum,” I assured Red – and the others. “Locked in their archives. Cannons, machine guns, grenade launchers. Lots of modern heavy artillery that's been sealed up. It's in good shape, Red, I promise.”

Slate looked over at Red. “Ya trust him?”

“Ah do. He's done good work.”

“Let me lead a few ponies there,” I offered. “We'll get some heavy weapons. It'll help us out at least, I think.”

“That settles it then,” Summer Rain said simply. “We've got our battlefield, our game plan, and some weapons. Tomorrow we'll meet here and dispatch some folks. Slate, I need you and the Queen's Krewe in particular, I need to talk to you tomorrow. Everypony else... good luck. Dismissed.”

-=O=-

The room filtered out over time, with plenty of ponies discussing the latest turn of events. Those in the know were explaining to those that didn't who the Enclave were. Eventually it filtered to three: myself, Summer Rain (who hadn't moved at all) and Kortig, who was still staring at her.

The tension in the room was powerful. I wanted to leave but I couldn't bring myself just yet. If I left that meant I'd need to confront Ren about what had happened... and I wasn't ready for that yet. It was going to hurt, like yanking a bandage off or having a bullet squeezed out from a healing potion, but it was necessary. I just... wanted to give him time to cool off first.

Which meant I was stuck in the room with these two.

“...that's a good plan,” Kortig said at long last, as Summer looked over the map.

“I'm glad you approve.”

“Bold of you to assume I'm going to helpwith it. But it's a nice plan.”

“If it's about caps-”

“It ain't about the fucking caps, Major. It's about you. And him, too, I guess. You fuckers killed my brother.”

“Which would be an impressive feat considering I never left Neighvarro until six months ago when we were deployed here, and I haven't left base since. And Autumn hasn't killed any griffons.”

Kortig glanced at me, then back at Summer Rain. “The Enclave, not you personally.”

“Well, I suggest you hang up your hang ups, mercenary, because this is how it's going to go from here on out. And to be entirely honest...” she looked up at him and met his eye. “I can't do this without your troops. Militia are fine in a pinch but I need trained warriors. Real warriors. Not somepony who shot a gun once and has maybe killed a bloatsprite. I've heard good things about griffon mercenaries. Now, are you going to prove me right, or prove me wrong?”

Kortig growled a little bit, leaning forward against the table. A talon rested on it, the tips digging into the wood. “Listen here, Enclave-”

“You will address me as Major, or as Summer Rain, preferably as both.” She leaned forward in return, an easy smile on her face. “If you think you're going to intimidate me, Kortig, you really need to try harder.”

The two stared each other down for a bit. I couldn't quitetell what was being passed in those looks between them. Eventually Kortig calmed down and backed off a little.

“Fine. We're going to have to work some things out however.”

“So it would seem.”

“They're my mercs, first and foremost. They answer to me first, and to you second, got it?” She smirked a bit, but nodded and let him continue. “I'm charged with keeping them safe as much as you are your own troops.”

“Understood, Kortig. You'll lead them, I'm just here to plan things out. But at the end of the day I need you, and I need your troops. So do not even think of flaking on us.” She tapped the map with a wingtip. “There's a reason I chose you and the zebras for the hammer element. I need the biggest and the baddest. The most intimidating fighters I can find. I'm going to find that in a group of proud zebra warriors, and a group of vicious griffon mercenaries. Combine that with some power armoured pegasi, and we will be unstoppable.”

I started to tune them out. I wasn't really here to listen to them anyway, I was mostly here to avoid being with Ren for the time being. Goddesses, I really fucked that one up. I should have told him earlier; I had plenty of chances to do it. Now he was beyond angry at me. I had betrayed him, betrayed his trust. I hadn't changedin any way, I was still me – so far as I knew anyway – but to him I was suddenly somepony else. If I was willing to lie about my background, well, what else would I lie to him about?

I chewed on my bottom lip a bit. Neither Summer nor Kortig were paying attention to me. They were arguing over this or that part of the battle plan, leaned on the table over the map just inches from each other. I lit up a cigarette quietly, letting the nicotine settle my thoughts. I tried to think of the words to say to Ren but they didn't exist. I would just have to show up to the room and throw myself at his talons and beg for forgiveness. There existed no easy platitudes, no simple dismissals of what had happened. All I could do was apologize and hope for the best.

At some point I looked up. I think it was a growl from Kortig that had dragged me from my reverie. The look that passed between the two of them was nothing short of smouldering, and I suddenly felt both very warm and very unwelcome. I quickly slipped out the door before they noticed I was still there – although to be honest I don't think they would have noticed even if I stayed.

Peach Tea was no longer guarding the door. I couldn't see her or Ren anywhere in the Temple. As I made for the door I spotted a guard nearby. A unicorn stallion I'd never met, with a silvery grey coat and blue mane.

“Hey, did you uh... see a griffon go by? Grey feathers, sandy coat?” I asked.

“Done took off like a shot a couple'a hours ago. Fucken ragin'mad. Ah wouldn't get in his way, no suh.”

“Thanks.” I stepped through the door and out into the evening. The sun had set long ago. I heaved a sigh, spread my wings, and took off for The Grand.

Chapter 36

View Online

Chapter 36

I woke next morning to an empty and quiet room. Wherever my companions had gone, they'd decided to not leave a note behind.

Honestly I couldn't blame them. I'd fucked up real bad by stringing them along the way I had. I should've said something the first time I'd had the chance. Like ripping a bandage off a wound, it would hurt initially, but by airing it out the wound healed faster – and cleaner.

Now my two best friends were gone. Probably not forever, at least I hoped.

Skies above, what had I been thinking? I had brought the damned Enclave on board. Sure, it was probably the best option in order to win the fight, but the others at the meeting had been right to lose their minds with that reveal. Especially knowing that the Major wanted to take over. I trusted her to keep her word, to not hold the place down by the throat, but as far as they others were concerned, they were being held hostage. Either go up against a raider army and probably lose – or bet on the Enclave and fall under a military dictatorship. No matter how much I might believe in the Major, this wasn’t a good look.

It had to be done, though. The city wasn't going to survive without the kind of firepower we could bring to the table. They had to know that, right? So what if folks were angry with me, so what if I lost the trust of those I held dear? I was trying to save this city, by the damned goddesses!

I swept my wing across the counter, flinging a bottle of Sparkle-Cola across the room. It smashed against the wall, shattering into a flurry of sparkling shards that rained down onto the carpet.

Almost immediately the anger flooded out of me, replaced with shame. Stupid. Cathartic, sure, but now look at the mess I had to deal with. I sighed, grabbing a dustbin with my tail and a broom with my wings. The glass clung annoyingly well to the carpet, which made my efforts at sweeping it up rather difficult. Eventually I had it all in the dustbin and could carry it back to the kitchen.

Goddesses. I hoped I hadn't completely broken Ren's trust. Or Peach Tea's. I was the same stallion they'd both come to know after all this time. I figured they'd forgive me eventually, right? Even if it meant Ren and I would break up, I just wanted to know that things were smoothed over. And if it meant tearing off my uniform to gain their trust, shit, I'd burn it in front of them.

The clock on the wall gave a gentle chime as it ticked over to ten AM. Time to go. I had a caravan to join. I shook the thoughts out of my mind and left the suite on my own.

-=O=-

A motley collection of carts and equines milled about outside the Temple in the shadow of the statue of Cornsilk Blues. Every cart was already hitched up, with dozens of different dubloons on display. That was a good sign at least – folks were already working together. I knew a few of them: I spotted Comet Spark hitched up to one wagon, and he waved at me. I could only manage a half-hearted wing wave in return. The Major stood nearby, checking a watch on her hoof, standing next to a soft green stallion in Enclave uniform that I knew only as our quartermaster. Aside from them there was Peach Tea, her shotgun resting on her chest, and Ren.

I winced a bit at seeing them. Ren looked my way, then glanced away quickly, his face unreadable. Peach Tea gave me a small nod but said nothing. Before I could approach either of them I was intercepted by the Major.

“Aviator, good to see you.” The collar of the Major's air stewardess uniform was popped up uncharacteristically, especially given the heat of the day and how sunny it was. What the collar couldn't hide, however, were four deep red marks on her hooves.

They were of a particular characteristic style that I recognized. Intimately. Luckily I was a bit too annoyed to be embarrassed.

“Major,” I greeted, a little more curtly than normal. If she noticed a difference, she didn't say anything – either that or she had more tact and knew better.

“I'd like to you meet our quartermaster, Stratus Streak.”

“Pleasure t'meet ya,” Stratus said, offering a wing. I shook it with a nod. “Heard you got some toys for me, so you best not disappoint.”

“I won't,” I assured him. “There's some good stuff there.”

“From what I understand, there's some choice pieces in this armoury. Hopefully something to tip the balance in our favour.” Summer Rain smiled at me and gave me a crisp salute with her wing. “Well, Stratus, you've got the ball. Enjoy the game.”

“Thanks, Major. Alright, listen up!” Stratus climbed up onto the plinth of the statue, one wing hooked around a leg of the statue to help him stay up there. “My name's Captain Stratus Streak, an' I'll be leading this little expedition.” The wind tugged at his short, crisp white mane, doing its best to blow it back in an imitation of the statue but not quite getting there. “Y'all can refer to me as Cap, Cap'n, Stratus, That Asshole, whatever ya want.”

A few ponies chuckled nervously in the crowd, not quite sure what to make of him. Even if I couldn't help but grin a little. “Real simple! We're gonna head down to that museum and carefully liberate it of all the fun toys. You find something real interesting, you come to me, and me alone. And as a special thanks, every krewe in attendance gets to take home whatever I don't earmark for the fight. Enjoy!” Cheers went up in the crowd at that and Stratus grinned, climbing down from the statue to come and address me.

“Well, Aviator, I hear you know the way so, if you wouldn't mind?”

I nodded and set my eyes on Comet Spark. I motioned for him to follow me at the lead. He was the only one of the crowd that I knew and trusted who also seemed to not mind I was Enclave. I fell in alongside him, hearing the chatter from the others in our caravan as the group rattled slowly along the cobblestones.

“Comet.”

“Where y'at, Autumn?”

I shrugged. “Not bad, I guess.”

“That's good. What was all that about, back there?” he asked, nodding back toward the square we'd just left. “With th'two other winged ones?”

“Hadn't you heard what happened at the Court meeting?” I asked, glancing over at Comet.

He shrugged. “I mean, kinda. Didn't give much of a shit about what happens outside th'city though, so I ain't heard of these Enclave folks much before all this. Figure that makes y'all one of them though, yeah?”

“Ayup.” It was weird to admit it now. I'd been sent to the city under explicit orders to not tell anypony I was from the Enclave. While I never hid who I was as a person, I'd always worn that thin mask of my true identity. That was gone now, and it was just an odd feeling to open up like that. “Enclave Air Force, Aviator Autumn Breeze.”

“Neat. I guess that explains all that crazy shit we pulled together, like with them raiders.” He grinned my way and flared his horn up, a small ball of magic lightly batting me on the foreleg. “Mercenary my ass. You're too fuckin' clean to be a merc. Shoulda guessed soldier. Damn.”

I couldn't help but grin at him. “Kinda glad you didn't guess.”

“Ah yeah? Lemme guess, if I knew who ya were, you'd've had to kill me?”

“Something like that,” I teased.

“Ha, good luck! Love to see you try, Feathers.” He chuckled. Our cart rattled along over the streets. Behind us, somepony was singing a bawdy song to the amusement of some of the others who joined in. The atmosphere was so wildly different than it had been before. Gone was the odd tension in the streets and the need to watch every dark corner and open window. Now we could walk free, laugh, sing, and just be for a little bit. Just for a moment I finally felt like this bullshit was worth it, just to see different krewes coming together if even for an hour.

“Fuck. Look at ya, Feathers. When we met ya barely knew what a krewe was, let alone how to navigate this place safely. Now you're organizing krewes and running guns.” With his four hooves occupied he had to use his magic as an extra hoof, the electric blue glow pressed to his forehead like somepony swooning with their hoof. “A chip off the old block. I'm so proud~”

“Fuck off~” I teased, smacking him with a wing.

“Runnin' guns an' leadin' an army.” Peach Tea came up beside me. “Didn't peg ya for th'soldierin' type, Autumn.”

As if on cue, Comet Spark nodded to me and let his hooves lag a bit. He fell in behind Peach and I, letting us lead.

“Heh. Peach, I'm... I'm sorry. I should've said something earlier, and I just...”

“Ah get it,” she said sincerely. “Ah really do. It ain't an easy thing bein'... what ya is. Y'know. Military dictatorship'n all that.” I winced hearing it laid out like that. I wanted to protest that it was less of a dictatorship and more of a... military republic, but maybe it was best to play the part of penitent pegasus for the time being.

“Well, yeah. I had planned to, I just... let it get away from me. I hadn't meant to lie.”

She held up a hoof briefly to silence me, then kept walking. “Ah ain't got no skin in th'game, Autumn Breeze. It don't confront me none whether y'all is Enclave, 'r actually a merc, or jus'... anypony. Ah know ya th'same pony now as ya was a week ago. An' it t'weren't like y'all pegasi did anythin' to me an' mine. Shit, we're almost th'same, two of us. Ah'm a Stable-dweller. When y'all sealed yaselves up above th'clouds, we sealed ourselves underground. Left a lotta folk behind in th'middle caught with they tails up. Weren't right for neither side. But like Ah said, Ah ain't got skin in th'game. Ah ain't th'one ya need to apologize to.” Her head tilted back a touch.

Those words stung harder than any bullet I'd taken had. I snuck a glance back. Ren was at the far back of the caravan, marching alongside a cart pulled by a broad earth pony mare in a straw hat. He wasn't looking our way, but instead was watching the balconies.

“Goddesses, I really fucked that up, didn't I?” I asked, looking back forward.

“Ya did. He ain't happy, an' if'n Ah was in his place Ah sure as shit wouldn't be happy neither. Ya two are close, an' Ah know ya love each other... but ya did forget t'tell him that ya come from, an' work for, the nation that's declared griffons they mortal enemy.”

“I'm not like that, though! I mean, yeah, w-we trained for it, but...”

“That ain't the point, th'point's that ya didn't say anythin'. Ah'm sure y'all woulda still gotten together even if'n ya told him, but now... Ah mean, hell, y'all two been in th'same bed together plenty a times. It's natural for him t'be a li'l... weirded out right now.”

“I guess.”

Peach Tea leaned over and bumped against me. “Chin up, Autumn. Ya got an army t'lead. He'll come around. Jus' give him time.”

I nodded and tried to give her a small smile. “Yeah, I guess you're right.” She was absolutely. I did have an army to lead. No sense in moping about.

-=O=-

I hadn't been back to the museum since our disastrous fight here. It felt like ages ago when I'd been stuck lying on the tile floor, being choked out by the ill-designed, ill-conceived automatons of Equestria's greatest heroes. For the first time I could actually get a look at my attacker properly. A mangled pile of gears, wires, hydraulic fluid, and metal bracing, all done up to look like a pegasus. What colour had his coat been? I didn't even remember, and now the automaton that represented Thatch Roof – the pioneer for most of modern Equestrian combat flying – was so covered in hydraulic fluid as to be unrecognizable.

“What is this place?” somepony asked. I heard a gasp as more trotted past the main doors.

“Oh, for real?” Stratus asked. “Been livin' here how long, none of you ever came in here? Shit.” He trotted to the head of the column, a flashlight strapped to his chest. He looked up at the Vertibuck model overhead, hanging precariously from its wires. “Skies above, look at that. Pity that shit won't fly. Betcha all those parts work though. Alright, Autumn, I heard something about an armoury, let's see it.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “This way.”

Ponies unhooked from their carts and followed me through the narrow aisles of the Past section of the museum. It was like herding foals. Folks would wander off to read displays or stare at what few artifacts remained, which meant somepony – usually myself, Stratus, or the offender's companions – had to get them back on track. We passed through the Hall of Heroes, where two more of the automatons lay in heaps on the floor.

“The fuck happened here?” Stratus asked, nudging at the fallen mare in the red coat. “This carnage looks... fresh.”

“Best... not to ask. You'd never believe me, anyway,” I assured Stratus.

“Try me.”

I chuckled. “Trust me. I'll tell you later, over a few drinks. Here, just through the door. Probably gonna need a train of ponies to get this stuff out,” I explained as we went, almost single file, down the back hallway to the archives. Stratus and I led the way with our flashlights, while the others behind us followed using any number of different light sources.

Everything in the armoury was pretty much as we'd left it the last time we'd been in here – minus, of course, the rifles that Ren and I had taken for our personal uses. Which meant all the heavy weaponry was still there, and all the other hundreds of artifacts. And from the gasps and sounds behind me, nopony else had ever seen such an array of weaponry before.

“Goddesses,” somepony breathed.

“Is that a cannon?”

“Sweet motherfucking Celestia, look at all of this!”

“Aviator Autumn Breeze, I am fucking impressed,” Stratus said, slapping my side with his wings. Everypony was scattering around the room, hefting various weapons and trying them out. “Look at this. A Bulldog gatling gun... A couple good heavy MGs, too... and look at that. An old Ardennes Seventy-Five.” Stratus trotted over to the cannon that Ren and I had seen on our first trip in. “In good shape. Even has a case of dummy rounds.”

“Think we can make it work?” I asked.

“Well, with enough training and enough engineers we can get it working. Maybe build some proper shells out of these dummies. Won't be able to take on a tank with it, but it'll do for our purposes.” Stratus looked up. “Listen up, everypony! Priorities are going to be this darlin' dear right here, that Bulldog, that big ol' pom-pom there...”

I left him to his own devices. I'd already had everything I needed from the armoury, and I'd completed my mission of leading folks here. I couldn't seen Ren anywhere in the armoury, which meant he was somewhere in the museum. I left the din of noise behind as ponies started to gather everything they possibly could for the fight ahead. The first train of ponies was already on its way out, shuttling rifles and rocket launchers along to the various carts.

I passed them all on my way back toward the round room I'd found last time, the one with the mural. It was likely to be a fairly quiet area, somewhere I could gather my thoughts for a little bit. Whether he was there or not was a different story altogether.

A sandy brown griffon with grey feathers stood in front of the mural. He was lit by the soft lights above, which gave his griffon combat armour a soft white glow. For the first time I really took a moment to take it in: the hard plates that formed angles around his chest, the rounded shoulder pads, the griffon skull holding a knife on the back. Ren stood stock still, just kind of staring at the mural from where he stood.

In front of him were the images of victory, and the Equestrian homefront. Happy farmers smiling on their property as they grew apples, wheat, and other foodstuffs to feed the soldiers. An army of workers stitching uniforms, turning steel into gun barrels, building cannon shells by the hundreds. There was a famous photo from the first year's victory parade, with the mare getting dipped into a kiss by her Royal Equestrian Navy boyfriend. And at the end of it all, a prosperous, gorgeous sunrise over Canterlot Castle, representing the hope of a peaceful, positive end to the war.

They couldn't've been more wrong if they'd tried. A bright sun did shine over Equestria. It shone for just a few seconds and it sure did signal the end of the war... and of life as we knew it.

Ren didn't seem to notice me as I stepped inside, slowly making my way toward him. My ears were pinned back, and I barely had it in me to look into his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Ren. I should have said something earlier,” I began. “You've every right to be pissed off, and you've every right to want to never see me again. I can understand all of that. I just wanted to let you know that I never intended to decei-”

I shrank back as Ren turned on me quickly. His talons grabbed the collar of my fatigues and he pulled me in. Then he grabbed me behind the head and for the briefest of moments I was afraid. The last time I'd seen him in anger was in this very same museum, and he'd torn the mechanical guts out of an automaton with his beak. I didn't have the advantage of metal bones and skin! I was just a pegasus, small and fragile compared to him!

I didn't much have a chance to squirm before he suddenly dipped me low and kissed me on the lips, mirroring the mural. The sharp edges of his beak pressed in against my lips a bit, but I frankly couldn't care. I was stunned, thrown for a loop and unable to really realize what was going on.

Long moments went by. I heard hooves approaching, and the sound of others passing through on their exploration of the museum seemed to break the two of us out of our reverie. He pulled me back up from where he'd dipped me over. My fatigues were askew (so was my mane), and there was a bit of a painful feeling on my lips from the griffon's beak.

“Wha-?” I began, too stunned to even think.

“You really think you had me fooled?” Ren asked, letting me go. His talons reached up to try and get my mane tousled back into its usual undercut style. “You're a terrible liar, Autumn. I had you pegged from the start.”

That took me by surprise and it showed. My head tilted. “You... what?”

“Day one. A pegasus with a cutie mark – not a brand, but their own mark, disciplined, comfortable in combat, who claims to be ground born but doesn't know a thing about living in the Wasteland. Come on, hon. I knew you were Enclave from the moment we met. I was just waiting for you to come clean.”

I face-winged. “Goddesses. Was it really that obvious?”

“To me. Maybe not to Peach Tea but... I'm used to seeing the Enclave, Autumn. We fight constantly. And I'm a mercenary to boot, but I've never seen a merc fight like you. Even old vets like Kortig, or some of the other Scoundrels... I've seen them break, I've seen them do stupid things in a fight. I've done stupid things in a fight. No mercenary fights like you do, or leads like you do. You've got professional training. And it shows.”

I blushed brightly beneath my burnt orange wing. “Dammit.”

“Sorry, Autumn. You tried. You failed but... you tried.” He smiled softly at me, pressing a talon to my snout. “This doesn't mean you're out of the woods yet though. You did lie to me.”

“I didn't l-”

“A lie by omission still counts as a lie, hon. I will get you back for that. I'm not sure how, I'm not sure when, but you'll have to answer for that. I'm not happy with you one bit but... I do still love you.”

I smiled softly at him and hugged him around the middle. “I'm sorry.”

“I understand why you did it. Just... no more lying, alright?”

“I promise. No more lying.”

“If y'all two are done swappin' tongues-” Peach Tea called from the door, grinning at us. “Ah need a bit o' help gettin' th'big bastard gun taken apart an' pulled out.”

I laughed despite my embarrassment, then went off to go help Peach.

Level Up!

Level 14

Traits: Fast Shot

Chapter 37

View Online

Chapter 37

It had been about a day since we'd raided the museum and I was once again in a holding pattern.

Everypony's ears were glued to the radio, listening for the sign that things were going to start. DJ Shorty had found an old record that he'd never played before, and had told everypony to listen out for it. It was scratched up and noisy when it played, but it was a unique sound that nopony would confuse for anything but the signal. And it was subtle to boot: a city wide alarm that was far more subtle than using the actual hurricane alarms.

If all went well, the Prince would never know what was coming.

The three of us were waiting patiently in the suite, checking over our gear and making some last minute preparations. We'd liquidated our assets into caps to purchase some additional equipment and get our current stuff cleaned and prepared. My Neigh Orleans PD combat armour had been in rough shape. Plenty of dents and gouges where I'd taken glancing shots, plus a few nasty looking holes where larger calibre rounds had punched through. It had cost a fair number of caps at a local vendor at the Grand Hotel to get it fixed up but once it was done, it looked like new. It had served me well so far; might as well keep it a little longer.

Aside from armour repair, we'd stocked up on ammunition. Peach Tea was busy separating dozens of shell boxes into their different types, each shell recognizable by their plastic colour: red for classic buckshot, blue for slug, yellow for flechette, and a bright orange that she told me was for Dragon's Fire rounds... whatever that was. It sure sounded damned intimidating. She carefully loaded them into spare magazines, using coloured electrical tape to mark each magazine with the appropriate shell type.

Renfeld for his part had stocked up on as much .308 Equestrian as he could find, clearing two entire vendors out, and was busy painstakingly threading rounds one at a time into a cloth belt. The belt was then carefully being folded into an improvised ammo box that was fashioned out of a coffee tin.

For me, I'd grabbed a few extra rounds of 10mm just in case, then focused almost entirely on feeding The Stare. This sleek energy rifle was a great weapon and I'd come to be quite fond of it. Not to mention, firing bolts of lightning out of a rifle seemed a good a way as any to intimidate some raiders... and maybe cause a few to break and flee.

The more raiders that broke off the fight the easier it would be. If we had to grind down hundreds of raiders, we'd run out of ammunition. But if enough fled, well, a few scattered, leaderless raiders were far less dangerous than the entire group at once.

I carefully cleaned the arcanotech electronics under the head shield on the top, ensuring they were ready for the fight, and calibrated the angry red laser that gave The Stare its name. Confident that I could shoot it straight, I set it down on the table.

“The dew is hangin' diamonds on the clover... the moon is lis'enin' to the nightingale~ An' while we're lost in dreams, the world around us seems, like a Mar'ingale Fairytale...”

Still not the right song. Goddesses, the wait was going to kill me. I was practically begging the Prince to make his move; the longer he waited, the more of a chance that this whole alliance falls apart. You wanted this city, come and take it, I said to myself. Come have a go of it, if you think you can.

As the song on the radio next to us faded out, there came a knock at the door. Ren looked up from the belt he was feeding rounds into.

“Y'all expectin' somepony?” Peach Tea asked, examining the primer on one of her rounds with a careful eye.

“No,” Ren and I said together. I had no idea who it could be. There weren't many ponies that knew the three of us had been given this suite at The Grand, and those that did probably didn't need much from us at the moment. It could be Red, but unless the Old Krewe wanted to talk to me again there wasn't much of a chance that she'd be at the door.

I got up and crossed the suite and opened the door.

Major Summer Rain stood there, a small but heavy-looking wheeled trunk next to her. I blinked in surprise. She had ditched the air stewardess' uniform for her Enclave uniform again, the steely blue-and-grey uniform freshly pressed and cleaned. Despite us having travelled together as companions, I still had a few years of instinct beaten into my brain; upon seeing the rank and uniform of an Enclave Major, I immediately stood straight and saluted with a wing.

“Major.”

Summer smiled and saluted me back. “At ease, Aviator. May I?” she asked, motioning into the room.

I dropped the salute. “Absolutely.”

She trotted into the room, dragging the trunk behind her with her tail. She looked at my companions who were still seated at the living room table. Ren narrowed his eyes at her, and I could see the iron grey feathers on his head rise a bit. A military officer for the nation that was his sworn enemy had just walked in – and while he'd seemed to have come to grips with the fact that the Enclave wasn't all bad and that I was with them, he was still clearly not able to throw off years of his own instincts.

Peach Tea for her part seemed rather unconcerned, giving the Major a smile and a nod of greeting. Like she'd said to me, she had no real animosity toward the Enclave. She wasn't Wasteland-born in the way that Ren had been – and had no experience fighting the Enclave. She knew the stories she'd heard but was far quicker to come around to the idea of the Enclave knowing that folks like me were part of it.

I think that was part of why Ren had been so quick to trust me. The same way that I knew not all griffons were vicious warriors ready to rip the feathers off a pegasus one by one, he must have realized that not everypony in the Enclave was ready to kill a griffon so easily as look at them. It was tense, but at least he hadn't gone for his big autorevolver and taken a shot. He still kept a watchful eye on Summer Rain as she entered.

The Major kept a respectful distance away and smiled a greeting at the two of them. “Major,” I said, stepping up alongside her. “I'd like to introduce my travelling companions. Peach Tea and Renfeld, both of the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.”

“A pleasure to meet the two of you. I'd like to thank you both for helping keep my trooper here safe,” she said sincerely. “Enclave training is good, but it's always better to have backup.”

“Way he fights, Ah'd say he does alright,” Peach said with a chuckle. I couldn't help but blush a bit.

“Can we help you?” Ren asked curtly, glancing at Peach, then at the Major again.

“I wanted to speak with Autumn a bit before I left the hotel,” she explained, turning to look at me. “Don't worry, you're not discharged, and it's nothing private.”

I blinked, not quite sure what it was she wanted to tell me. “I'm all ears, Major.”

“Good. Ordinarily there'd be a lot more pomp and circumstance to all of this, but with current events and such...” she shrugged and reached a wing into a uniform pocket. “Aviator Autumn Breeze, Atten-TION.” I had never heard her bark an order on her own before. Usually she left it to the Lieutenant, or to Iron Band or any of the other sergeants. I was caught by surprise at just how loud she was able to bark – then again, she hadn't joined the Enclave a Major. She'd worked her way up the same way any officer did.

I immediately complied, snapping up into attention. I heard Peach Tea giggle off to the side. Oh, come on, it wasn't that funny. “He takes orders well~” I heard her whisper to Ren... but just loud enough to make the Major grin.

“In recognition of your service to the Nation-” I'd heard these words before and my heart fluttered. I fought to keep the smile off my face, and to not swell too much with pride. “-and to the armed forces of the Enclave, for your dedication to your mission in the face of immense danger and overwhelming odds, I would like to present to you the rank of Corporal.” She pulled out a small box from inside her pocket and opened it. Inside were two crisp patches: three chevrons pointing downwards, with a round cloud in the middle. The chevrons and clouds were white, while the backing on the patch were a deep navy blue – as was the E in the centre of the cloud. A silver pin of the same design sat there as well.

The Major pulled the pin out and passed me the box of patches, which I took with reverence. She pinned the Corporal pin on my fatigues. She stepped back to salute me, and I saluted her back, unable to contain myself anymore. I was beaming happy.

“Congratulations, Corporal Autumn Breeze. In addition, for going above and beyond the mission parameters and forming this militia in defence of the city, I would like to present to you an Enclave Achievement Medal with bronze V.” She pulled out a second box, cracking it open as well. The medal was there in all its glory. A silver cog-shaped medal with three lightning bolts in the middle forming a sort of six-pointed star. It was attached to a ribbon of vertical blue and white stripes. She smiled and passed me the box.

I held it in a wing that I was having trouble keeping steady. It wasn't a unique award by any measure – probably one of the easiest medals to earn – but I didn't care. It was mine – and my first medal. I had joined the Enclave, admittedly, to be a bit of a hero. And now I was... even just a little. A medal and a promotion.

“Thank you, Major.”

“Thank you, Corporal, for your service.” She saluted me, and I saluted back. The Major smiled and stepped back. “This trunk is for you. A gift from the base.”

I looked over at the trunk, but wasn't quite sure what she meant by that.

“By the way, Corporal, I'm assembling everypony tonight, just in case. Everypony has till midnight tonight to get their krewes to the mustering grounds. The Enclave will be there at twenty-hundred, sharp. Don't be late.”

She turned to my companions, who had gone quiet during the little ceremony. “I'd like to see the two of you there, as well. I've heard good things about you two from Kortig. You wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you~?” she asked casually, smiling at them. Summer Rain turned and went for the door.

“Kortig mentioned us?” Ren asked, looking rather surprised.

Summer Rain turned her head to look back at us. I noticed a rather deep bite mark the precise size and shape as a griffon beak on the back of her neck. “Often. Said he's proud of everyone in his company – and named a few, including you. And the Freebooter. I assume that's you?” she asked, looking at Peach

“Hey!” she said indignantly.

Major Summer Rain giggled as she left the room.

I was left stunned for a moment. Peach Tea looked at me and laughed. “Congratulations, Autumn!” she said happily, leaving her shotgun behind to come up and hug me. I hugged her tightly back. Ren came to join, ruffling my mane with his talon before hugging me tightly.

“Y'know...” he began, grinning mischievously at me. “I wonder if this works. Corporal, Atten-TION!” he barked.

I laughed and responded by slapping him with a wing. “Later.”

“Ah'd like t'see what's in here,” Peach said, nudging the trunk with her hindleg.

I nodded. Setting my medal and patches down, I trotted to the trunk and flicked the latches open.

I hadn't been one of the lucky ones in our Flight. Each Flight was composed of twenty flyers, with the four of us forming the combat Wing of our regiment. In each Flight there were 12 troops in power armour and 8 without. The eight of us without it were supposed to be there as screening elements and forward observers, able to outfly our power armoured companions, get into position, and either lock an enemy up until the slower troops could smash them apart, or keep them out of the power armoured troops' way.

As a result, the armour that sat inside the case – my armour - wasn't nearly as advanced as the powered stuff. It looked very similar to the heavier stuff in design, but it was lighter, far more flexible, and lacked some of the advanced features like enhanced strength and built in weaponry. But it would stop an intermediate rifle cartridge in its tracks. I wouldn't be invincible but I sure would be hard to take down.

I pulled the torso piece out first. It looked like a lighter version of the power armour torso piece, with its thick plating and swept-back appearance, split down the middle by a sharp peak. It even came with thick rounded shoulder pauldrons capped with three rounded bustles around the top. The shoulder pauldrons would help deflect rounds away as much as stop them. The pauldrons had already been pre-painted to boot: an Enclave winged E on the left shoulder, and a Corporal's chevrons freshly painted on the right shoulder with a little “II” underneath.

Next were the leg covers. This is where the armour differed greatly from powered armour. The leg and flank protection was far less bulky and protective compared to regular power armour, but as a result it gave us far better movement. They were just simple black plates, matching the matte black colour of the rest of the armour, with the hind-leg plates peaked slightly to give some flank protection. The wings weren't well armoured either: just a slat of black metal along the leading edge, with retractable sharpened blades for self-defence.

Underneath it all went a kevlar body suit to protect bits that were exposed – it wouldn't stop most bullets but it was cut resistant – and a helmet. It was a cut down Enclave power armour helmet, exposing the snout, lower jaw, and ears, but covering the rest of the head. It even had a built in headlamp and protective yellow lenses. Unlike the rest of my Flight in their power armour, though, my lenses wouldn't have that neat yellow glow.

I grinned as I laid it out. Peach Tea was practically giddy at the sight of such high-quality armour. She lifted every piece individually, examining them. Renfeld picked up the helmet, gazing into the yellow lenses with an inquisitive eye. I wondered if he'd ever had to face one of these down before, or if he'd only ever seen them in propaganda before.

Oh, Goddesses. What was griffon propaganda of us like? I remembered that old pamphlet I'd found, ages ago, in the Cornucopia grocery store, portraying zebras as having glowing red eyes that shined in the dark. Did griffon propaganda give our helmets angry, evil yellow eyes that stared out of the darkness?

In all fairness, that was the point of it all, I guess. Intimidation was important in warfare.

“Interesting,” he said at last, setting the helmet down on the table.

“Ah like it. Looks damn slick.” Peach Tea grinned at me. “Ain't got powered armour?”

“Nah, I was one of the lucky few to be in the screening division,” I said with a chuckle. I was a little annoyed at spending all that money on getting my old armour repaired just to have this given to me... but to be honest, I'd prefer something like this in the fight ahead. Far sturdier than that NOPD armour was, and more comfortable for me to boot. The Major had even thought to send me a proper uniform to go with it. They were my fatigues, exactly the same as what I was wearing, just with all my insignia attached – minus the corporal patches. That I'd have to do myself. “Anypony mind?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

I grinned at Ren and removed the old, battle-worn fatigues I'd been wearing and set them aside to instead put on the freshly pressed uniform I'd been handed. It was back to the way it should be, complete with a name tape on the left side for “Autumn Breeze”, and space for my new corporal chevrons. I'd have to put them on later. I placed the pin in place on the collar just as Ren stepped forward and placed the medal on the right side of my uniform.

“Well?” I asked.

“You look... good, honestly,” he said with a smile. “Wish it wasn't, y'know, Enclave. But it suits you.”

I chuckled softly. “Well, let's get ready to head out. I want to be there on time. Eight PM, sharp.”

-=O=-

I'd never seen anything like it before.

A fortress of sorts had been established on the crossroads where we were going to make our stand. Between the redbrick walls of the university grounds on our right (facing the battlefield) and the sandstone ones for the zoo on the left, the various krewes had gotten to work building up some incredible defences. Old carriages had been dragged forward to build a sturdy wall that came up almost flush with the stone walls on either side, where ponies could set their guns against the works and fire down. As we passed the wall through a small, dog-legged sallyport, I saw two more sets of defensive works.

In front of the wall were two more barricades built of old rusted out vehicles and other pieces of scap metal, stacked with sandbags atop it. These barricades came up halfway to the larger metal wall, but still provided cover for folks at ground level and on the walls, while allowing the larger wall to fire over their heads. The cannon was already set up between these middle barricades, with Stratus instructing a small team of new gunners. A third level of barricades, mostly just sandbags and concrete road blockers, spread out in front of the cannon.

Three levels of defence, all of which were built to provide cover and yet not block lines of fire. It was incredibly smart and, for the first time, I figured we might be able to do this. The barricades were solid, so if we could hold out long enough, we'd win. We had to.

“Alright, from the top. You, you're One. Your job is to grab that breech block lever like it's your worst enemy's dick, and you wrench that fucker to the side. Two – that's you – grab that round, shove in it. And I mean give it a fuckin' shove, it really needs to seat properly. One, you push that breech shut, Two, grab a second round. Three, check you're on target, then yank that lanyard.” Stratus was sitting on the barrel of the big seventy-five millimetre Ardennes gun, his hindlegs straddling the barrel, his forelegs resting together between them to keep him upright. “Y'all got twenty seconds. Positions and... go!”

I trotted up to him, watching the display. Peach Tea came with me while Ren wandered off to see what the griffons were up to. At the cannon, a stocky red earth pony grabbed hold of the breech lever, slamming it open. Behind her, a zebra stallion grabbed a bright blue dummy shell, fumbling with the heavy round. He shoved it into the breech gingerly, withdrawing his hoof as the breech was slammed shut, then grabbed a fresh dummy round from the box. At the gunnery seat, a pale yellow unicorn checked the sights and tugged a lanyard. Click.

“Twenty-eight seconds. Close but no cigar. Open the breech, let's do it again.”

“How goes the battle, Captain?” I asked.

“Not bad. These three are getting there. Not there yet but not totally fuckin' hopeless.” He chuckled and tapped his forelegs on the gun barrel. Somepony had painted the gun shield behind the barrel a vivid green, as well as giving it a wide alligator tooth grin and two lopsided purple eyes. The name “Gummy” was written on the barrel. “This is gonna be great though. Cannon's in great shape.”

“We got rounds for it yet?” Peach asked. She was leaning over the breech mechanism, taking a closer look at how it all worked.

Stratus shrugged his shoulders. “The Major assured me that she's got teams working on it day and night. Says to expect ten rounds of canister shot, and three explosive shot. Not sure when I'll get it, but... hey. Better than nothing. Okay, you three, again! Twenty seconds... go!”

We watched them go through the process again. “Ram that shell!” Stratus shouted to the zebra, who slammed it home with more vigour this time. The breech was slammed shut, the lanyard pulled, and Stratus stopped the clock. “Twenty-one. I'll take it. Short break, you three.” He turned to look at me and chuckled. “They'll get there. Eventually. Lookin' good, Autumn.”

I was already decked out in my armour, minus the helmet. It was clipped to a holder at my side, tucked under one of my wings. The CAER-400 was slung around my other side, under the other wing. I grinned at the quartermaster. “Thanks.”

“Can't wait to see what the others are bringin' in. Bit of a fuckin' mess out here. Weird mix of guns an' armour. But I think we've got a fighting chance.”

“Think so?” I asked. I could see more krewes wandering in, starting to assemble here and there on the lawns in front of the two universities. Queen's Krewe members were standing guarding, just in case, but there didn't seem to be problems just yet.

“Yeah. Got enough folks here. And if I understand this shit right, the raiders aren't gonna suspect a thing. It's going to be awesome.” Stratus grinned. “Especially if I can get these fuckers to get the gun right. Speaking of... Hey! Gunners! Get your asses back here! Sorry Aviator, duty calls.”

“Corporal, actually,” I said with a grin, showing off the shoulder pad on my armour.

“No shit? 'Grats, kiddo. Now go out there and make us proud. Gunners! Any fuckin' minute now!”

Peach and I left Stratus behind. Ren wasn't far away, seeming to be having a deep conversation with a tree nearby. I blinked in confusion, trotting up to him. The closer we got, the easier it was to pick up a second voice through the din of noise. There was somepony – or someone – up the tree.

As I approached I saw them clearer. A griffon with a pale grey coat and a blue-and-grey colour scheme to his feathers. A big green trench coat hung loosely about his frame, and he lazily rested in a tree branch with a long, old-school wooden rifle resting on his chest. The scope on it was fairly modern, but the rest of the gun looked ancient. One of the griffon's hindpaws swung beneath the limb, and he lazily turned a silver eye to look at us as we approached. “Who's your friend, brother?” he asked Ren.

I blinked in confusion, looking over at my boyfriend, who just kinda laughed. “Dieter, this is Autumn.” I noticed he hadn't introduced Peach but given the way she smiled and waved at Dieter – and got a wave of talons back – they knew each other already. “Autumn Breeze.”

“Looks like Enclave to me.”

“Yeah,” I admitted a little shyly. “That's me alright.”

“Well, shit, not something you see every day.” He grinned at me. “Got a smoke, brother?”

I nodded and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Peach Tea nabbed one in her magic and sent it up to Dieter, who lit it with a matchbook.

“Thanks.” He sighed out a plume of smoke. “Glad to see you on our side in this fight, brother. Gonna be a fight for the ages. Someone should write this shit down.” He chuckled a bit. “Just hope this ain't a trick. Not gonna be happy if it's a trick.”

“It ain't,” I assured him, surprising myself by using his own diction. Damn, it was infectious.

“I trust you, brother, if only 'cause these two trust you,” he said, lazily nodding to both Peach Tea and Ren. “They're good folk. They trust you? I trust you.”

“Ah'm glad ya hold us in such high regard, D,” Peach Tea said happily.

He grinned and drew on his cigarette. “You know it, Freebooter. Now go out there an' make us all proud, yeah, sis?”

She snapped him a mock salute and I burst into laughter.

-=O=-

Eight o'clock came and went. By the time the clock ticked up to – and past – 20:00, almost every major Krewe was already in attendance. We looked a lot like the Prince's gang, just smaller. They had all built up camps behind the large main wall, and behind the walls of the zoo and the university, and waited. There was a palpable tension in the air, having all these krewes together in one spot – however, it seemed the shared goal of “not dying” was bringing everypony together. As the krewes had come up, they'd started assembling new weapons. Comet Spark had wheeled his massive brass Rattlesnake machine cannon onto one of the middle barricades, and other krewes had brought in heavy machine guns, rocket launchers, and more to the fight. They all milled around their weapons, waiting for the Enclave – the de facto leaders – to arrive.

And yet the Enclave hadn't shown. I was standing in the street near the cannon just waiting for their arrival. A few ponies looked my way, but none said anything. At long last, the leader of the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels stepped toward me.

“Well, well. Looks like th'Enclave got cold hooves,” Kortig growled, fixing me with a stare. “Eight PM. What time is it now?”

I'd managed to work my PipBuck into one of the pouches on the armour. The remote was hooked onto the pouch, so I had to work it with a hoof to bring up my map and clock. Eight fifteen. “...quarter past, sir.”

“Quarter past.” He chuckled. “Shame. Roped us all into this for nothing. And here I thought...” he trailed off, cocking his head a little. I wasn't sure what he was listening to – I knew griffons had far better hearing than I did – but before long I heard it, oh so faintly, echoing through the buildings.

Music.

The sound got louder and louder until it was unmistakable as anything but music now. I could see some of the Krewes getting up, gathering weapons and looking around in confusion. Even I wasn't so sure what was going on.

“Is it the raiders?” somepony asked. I could hear others mumbling similarly, and some of the folks closest to the heavy weapons settled in behind the trigger.

The music got louder. Behind it was a distinct rumble. I peered through the growing darkness up the road, trying to figure out who it was. If it was the raiders, they were early – and had slipped past our scouts completely. Everywhere around the defensive lines, radios had been set up, but not a single one was playing the tune that said the raiders were coming.

If it was them, we were caught completely unprepared.

As the sound got louder and closer, I started to recognize it. It was a familiar tune, heavy on the pipes and the snares. I couldn't place it at first, words half-forming on the tip of my tongue before vanishing into the night. I tilted my head in confusion.

“What's going on?” a stallion shouted near the front.

The words that were on the tip of my tongue hit just as the sounds of music and rumbling were joined by a third sound: that of voices. A loud chorus of them, all singing in time.

“I'm lonesome since I crossed the hill, and o'er the moorland sedgy! Such lonely thoughts my heart do fill since parting with my la~ady!”

The first of the yellow lights opened up in the gloomy night. Then another, and another. Dozens of pairs of glowing yellow eyes marched onwards. The sounds of armoured hooves crashing against the pavement rang through the air.

“Hold your fire!” Stratus shouted. “Friendlies!”

“I seek for one as fair and gay, but find none to remind me! How sweet the hours I passed away, with the Mare I Left Behind Me!”

They marched in two neat columns. At the very front of the line was the Major herself, flanked on one side by Sergeant Major Iron Band, and the Major's lieutenant on the other. Behind them was a single mare in light armour carrying an honest to Goddesses pike, tipped with the Enclave tricolor flag. Alongside the two columns were two Spritebots, their tiny metal wings buzzing them along. Their little speakers provided a tinny, high-pitched, but functional tune – and every last soldier, save for the colour party, was belting out in time.

“O ne'er shall I forget the night, the stars were bright above me! And gently lent their silvery light when first she vowed to love me!”

Stratus jumped on top of his cannon, waving a wing. He joined in with the singing, and I grinned at Kortig.

“Right on schedule,” I assured him, then turned to face my fellow soldiers. I joined in with Stratus.

“-eavens then pray guide me! And send me safely back again to the Mare I Left Behind Me!”

“Regiment! Prepare to halt... HALT!”

The entire regiment stopped in one single movement. The Spritebot music trailed off the last snare roll and tin-whistle pipe. The entire mustering ground was dead silent.

“9^th Dragoons, column into line! Regiment, quick MARCH!” Sergeant Major Iron Band's voice reverberated off the stone walls around us, stunning many of the onlookers who hadn't been prepared for this. The troops wheeled around in crisp, controlled movements, swinging about into a line of three. First, Second, and Third flights. Fourth must have been left back to guard the base.

Before anypony could speak, the roar of engines filled the air. Flying just barely above the buildings and the dead treetops, four Vertibucks howled overhead from behind everypony, scaring the daylights out of the majority. With a roar the Vertibucks flew over the Enclave, then out toward some open landing spaces nearer to the universities. Supply vehicles, or for evacuation, more than likely.

“Major, the Regiment is yours, ma'am,” Iron Band said. Even speaking quietly, his voice boomed.

“Thank you, Sergeant Major.” Major Summer Rain trotted forward toward Kortig and I. She was decked out in the finest of Enclave power armour, minus the helmet. Her armour gleamed in the worklights around the field. She was trying to look stern and austere but I could see it in her eyes and in the way her mouth twitched: she was positively pleased with herself. She stopped just short of us and looked up at Kortig with a mischievous smile that only the two of us could see. “Apologies for the delay, Kortig, we were held up. The traffic out there is absurd.”

Kortig narrowed his eyes at her, then burst into laughter. “Scoundrels!” he called out. Behind him, every single griffon – and one orange unicorn mare – assembled. They stood at attention, waiting for their next command. “Feindliche Stürme durchtoben die Lüfte, drohende Wolken verdunkeln das Licht!” His singing voice was harsh, speaking in his native Gryph, and all the others joined – except Peach Tea, who didn't appear to know the tune. “Mag uns auch Schmerz und Tod nun erwarten,
gegen die Feinde ruft auf uns die Pflicht!”

I didn't know the song, but apparently Summer Rain did, who grinned even wider at the griffon merc as he led his troops in song. He was partway through the verse when I heard somepony else shout.

“Sé rien! Maisha!” Kaskazini barked out. He stood off to my left, nearest to the zoo wall. Zebras and zonies piled in behind him, stripes of black and white and every colour combination available. I knew he was speaking Zwahili, but he was too quick, and his voice too harsh, for me to understand the words. It wasn't a song, but rather a call and response chant: Kaskazini would call out in Zwahili, and every assembled zebra would make a barking noise in response – somewhat like a braying noise, but harsher. The barking was accompanied by a single clap of a hoof on the dirt, kicking up a spray of dust. Every response was louder than the last, until Kaskazini finally shouted out one last time, leading the barking himself as every zebra, every last member of the Maisha Social Club, stamped their hooves in unison – sounding all the world like a stampeding army.

“Seatown!” I heard the Krewe of the Sea's leader call out. His krewe responded with a wild, whooping yell. “Seatown!” Another yell, louder and louder, trying to drown out the stampeding zebras.

And so it went, with every krewe in attendance trying to shout over each other – not to gain dominance, but to show their newfound allies that they were just as strong and just as determined. Krewes that had once fought each other would have to fight side by side, and everypony wanted to make sure that they were the baddest of the bunch. No fear to be shown by anypony here.

Major Summer Rain climbed up onto the breech of the Ardennes Seventy-Five and gave a sharp whistle, calming the whooping crowd down. Everypony stopped to stare up at her.

“Beautiful. Brings a tear to my eye. Warriors, all of you!” A cheer went up, which she silenced with a wing. “Time to organize the order of battle. First thing's first, I need thirty volunteers for the skirmishers. Before, hey, settle down! Before everypony tries to go play hero, this is going to be dangerous. Chances are high that the skirmishers will take far more casualties than anypony else. So if you're going to volunteer, know that it may be your last time volunteering for anything.”

Almost nopony moved. I looked around at the assembled crowd and knew immediately what I had to do.

“Major,” I called out, striding forward. “I would like to volunteer to lead the skirmishers.”

The Major looked down at me (and, uncomfortably, so did everypony else). I could see her questioning it in her mind but seemed to reach the same conclusion I just had: this was my fight. I had brought everypony into this. It was only fair that I lead from the front. It wouldn't do to ask everypony to fight in my stead, then sit back in the safest part of the battle. I had to be in front.

“Granted, Corporal. Plan's the same as it was last time. You know the drill, I'm sure. Twenty-nine more volunteers, let's go, fillies and gentlecolts!”

“I'm in,” Renfeld said, striding forward.

“Twenty-eight!” The Major barely broke her stride.

“Ayup!” Peach Tea called out.

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-five,” came a familiar growl. I saw two zonies stride forward – one blue striped, the other red striped. Rosko grinned at me and respectfully inclined his head. I stared at him and realized that between my armour, my companions, and the others with me, that I didn't fear having him on the line with me. He was dangerous – but hopefully he was as dangerous to raiders as he was to me.

More ponies stepped forward until all thirty of us had been selected. The Major had us form up to the side while she worked on the hammer element of the battle.

It was the first time I'd ever been asked to lead a large group before. Twenty-nine figures stared back at me: zebras, ponies of all races, two griffons (one of Ren's friends from the Scoundrels had joined us). I looked at everypony and nodded to myself.

“Alright, everyone. My name is Corporal Autumn Breeze. Just Autumn is fine from here on out. The plan is simple. We'll be ahead of the main force by four blocks, settled in at Broadway and St. Celestia.” Peach Tea floated a piece of chalk out of her saddlebags and passed it to me, allowing me to sketch quickly on the asphalt in front of the group.

“Our job is simple: we engage the raiders and make them think they have the upper hoof. I want everypony here to fight like you've never fought before. Make them pay for every inch of ground they want to take. But the moment I call a retreat, we pull back.” I drew an arrow leading back down the street. “Keep it tight and controlled, but I want everypony to look like they're in a panic. They need to think they're winning so that they chase us deeper into the city. That's when we link up here-” I drew an X to represent the defensive line. “Understood?”

Everypony seemed to and there were no questions asked. I nodded. “It's not time yet. Once it is, I want everypony right here before we head out. Make sure you've got everything you'll need for a fight. I'll see you all soon. Let's get this done, alright?” Hodie non Cras, I told myself as everypony nodded before fading out into their respective camps for the night.

As I went to join Renfeld and Peach Tea at the Scoundrels' camp, I crossed paths with the Major. She stopped me with a wing.

“Proud of you for stepping up. Let's give this Prince fucker the what for,” she said softly. I nodded and gave her a salute, which she returned, and we went our separate ways.

I settled in with the griffons for the night, finding space with Ren under a threadbare blanket. We tucked in under the shelter of a bus stop and waited for the morning to come.

At four in the morning the weather turned for the worse. The clouds that had been blocking the moon and stars thickened. By four-thirty, the rain was pattering lightly on the ground. At five-fifteen the rain intensified into a proper downpour.

At six AM, I was sitting up by a camp stove with a griffon who spoke not a single word of Equestrian – and I didn't speak a word of Gryph. He offered me some fatty meat that was frying in a pan but I didn't quite feel like it at the moment, so I tore open one of my last ration packs. A simple breakfast of biscuits and peanut butter while the rain splattered hard against a tarp over our heads. In the distance I heard thunder rumble, and the clouds flashed slightly.

At six-twenty the song on the radio changed from a calm little love song about how it was easy to live with their lover, to a sound I'd never heard from the radio before. A crackling noise much like something from a broken old record.

“Now won't you listen, dearie, while I sa~ay?” It was extremely hard to make out the words through the crackling of the record.

My heart stopped. I looked at the griffon across from me.

“Go time!” somepony shouted. “Let's go, everypony up! They're coming!”

Just like that, it was on.

Chapter 38

View Online

Chapter 38

The rain had turned into one hell of a storm. The wind whipped and howled through the open window, splattering the side of my armour and soaking it with rain. I was glad that whatever they made this stuff out of was insulated against the cold, though I could imagine that most of everypony else was freezing. I wiped a hoof across my visor to clear away some of the droplets.

We'd reinforced an intersection with thirty ponies and a single heavy machine gun. All the big toys – the cannons and explosives and all that – were back at the main defensive line. All we had here was an old Vicar K heavy machine gun built for airship use and operated by a Queen's Krewe team, set up in an overturned bus overlooking the majority of the intersection. We weren’t meant to hold this spot all that long, just long enough to get the job done.

All in all it wasn't a bad defensive position; the side of the intersection the raiders would be coming from was wider than our side. Like a funnel out of a beer keg, there’d be a lot of them squeezed into a very narrow opening, making it harder for them to pass. All around that intersection were dug in fighters. There were ponies covered behind old carriages, behind fallen piles of masonry and brick, stashed in the darkness of a street car. Rosko and a few close range fighters had taken cover in an old store, hiding in the darkness and waiting to spring up on exposed raider flanks.

Still others - mostly those who could fly, or were confident in their climbing ability - had taken to the balconies nearby. Ren and I waited inside an old bedroom. Ren had his machine gun resting on its bipod near the window, and I was peering out from a half-open shutter up the street. Any minute now the raiders would be upon us.

Our ambush position was nice, but it wasn’t perfect. Once we opened fire, we’d get a devastating first volley into them, but the fight would be short. It was several hundred against a few dozen, but we weren’t here to win, just to tie them up. Once the raiders were good and dug into the fight, confident they would roll us, we’d fall back. I’d had some of my troops (it felt very strange to think of them as my troops) set up traps on the way up here. As we fell back, we’d arm the traps, hopefully taking out a few more raiders along the way and slowing them down a bit.

With any luck it would buy us the time we needed to get to safety.

As for how we knew the raiders would be here? Somewhere, far from here, Enclave scouts and Queen's Krewe members had been busy. Their job all day had been to cleverly set up and hide obstacles that would direct the raiders in only one direction: a path that would come straight past us. All that was left now was to wait in uncomfortable silence for the raiders to inevitably show up.

Last I'd seen of them, they were about three hundred strong... and that's if their numbers hadn't ballooned in the week or so since I'd last seen the army. Even now our odds weren't great. If, if, they still only had three hundred, everypony present in the battle would need to take out two raiders apiece just to break even. I was hoping that we’d at least come out the far side with someone alive to enjoy victory.

Off in the distance came a deep roll of thunder, and the wind howled through the apartment, flinging yellowed papers and moth-eaten sheets around. Ren shivered a bit, huddling closer around the machine gun as if it gave off a comforting warmth. It was about as miserable of a day for a fight as there could be, which was probably why the raiders chose today to move out. The rain meant less ponies in the streets to see them coming ahead of time.

A little chirp sounded in my ear.

“Anvil, come in Screendoor.” It was the Major's voice in my ear.

I had a radio built into my helmet, and we’d distributed other radios around the troops. Every leader was on one channel - I was Screendoor, the Major was Anvil, and Kaskazini was Hammer - and there were side channels for every element. About half the army had radios, including all of the Enclave troops. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Screendoor, Anvil. I'm here,” I said softly.

“Scouts are reporting that the target is on the bridge and coming in. You should see them in the next few minutes.”

“Copy, Anvil.”

“Remember, you're not there to be a hero. Just get 'em riled up, Autumn. Anvil out.”

Don't be a hero. Easy enough. I peered out the window down the street, waiting.

At 7:42am, I saw them for the first time.

The road ahead of us curved up and away gradually, so they came into view just as gradually. A few stragglers at first, barely more than shapes in the driving grey rain, then more, and more still. I keyed the radio.

“Screendoor, Anvil. I see them.”

“Anvil, Screendoor. How's it look?”

I let the question hang a bit as more of the raiders came into view. Goddesses... There were so many. “...about as good as you'd expect.”

“Copy that. It's on you now, Corporal. Good hunting. Anvil out.”

I nodded, even if she couldn't see me. I switched to our dedicated channel, then keyed the radio again. “Peach Tea, you hear me?”

“Ah'm here.” I couldn't see her from my position but I knew she was somewhere near the bus, wanting to get close enough to use her shotgun.

“Keep your heads down, and let them get in real close. I want them to think we're unprepared amateurs.”

“Aw, shit, with y'all leadin', that ain't hard to do.”

I heard somepony snort in laughter over the radio.

Even I chuckled a bit. “Everypony hold for my shot. Do not fire until I do... but when I do, raise Tartarus on them.”

I rested The Stare on the edge of the windowsill. A flash of lightning reflected off the orange barrel, and a few long seconds later, the rumble sounded. More raiders came around the corner on approach to the intersection. I could hear them laughing, shouting at one another, singing. I couldn’t hear what was being discussed but I could guess. They hadn’t had actual resistance up until now. They probably thought they were invincible.

“Come on...” I mumbled to myself. “Little closer...”

Ren tightened his talons around his MG. I heard a faint click as he dropped the safety.

“Closer...”

The technicolour crowd was carrying weapons as varied and clashing as their coat colours. I saw blades, baseball bats, rifles, pistols, shotguns, even some explosive weapons. And of course the ever-present spikes - so, so many spikes. Always with the Celestia-damned spikes. They adorned weapons, helmets, armour, shields. They gleamed even in the grey light, shimmering from rain splattering on them, as if to remind us all what awaited us if we failed.

I didn’t see the Prince just yet, but I did spot a nice, juicy target. At the head of the pack was a stallion, an earth pony. Tall, powerfully built, with a bandoleer full of grenades hanging from his neck and bouncing off his chest. Perfect. My tongue gently wrapped around my rifle's trigger-bit.

I was focused on the stallion in front. I sighted in and gave a gentle half-squeeze on the trigger. The red beam danced out, gently playing across the stallion's chest. He never even noticed.

I gave the trigger a full squeeze. In an instant the orange glass barrel filled with a bright burst of energy. The mechanism buzzed and hummed near my cheek for a brief moment before sending a bolt of lightning down to the target. It streaked down from the balcony, crackling and roaring the whole way down, until it struck the lead raider in the chest and detonated the grenades.Those raiders nearest to him, unlucky enough to be in the blast radius, were torn apart.

It was on. The Battle for Neigh Orleans had begun with a hell of a bang.

The others opened fire almost immediately. A dozen raiders went down before they could even react. The Vicar HMG rattled to life, spewing a stream of lead that cut down a few more raiders and sent more diving for cover. There was mass confusion as the raiders were caught by surprise, trying desperately to figure out who was shooting and from where.

I had to give them - grudgingly - credit for their recovery. They were quick to find cover and get reorganized from the initial chaos. Bright blasts of light emerged in the crowd as raider unicorns erected barricades and formed a wall of multicoloured shields to hide behind. They fired indiscriminately at us, not quite sure as to exact locations and instead just spraying and praying. Next to me, Ren let loose long bursts into the crowd, firing above the shields and raining death into their ranks. Most of our fire was being absorbed by the unicorns’ shields, and already the raiders were advancing, one careful step at a time, behind their arcane cover.

Objects were being flung here and there as unicorns on both sides tossed trash cans, paving slabs, bricks, and whatever else they could find, simultaneously breaking cover and scattering ponies. Grenades detonated on both sides, peppering shrapnel everywhere. I could hear screaming from every which way. Yet the raiders kept coming, undeterred by their losses - and from my vantage point, I could see we had begun to lose some of our own as well.

“Fucking shields,” I growled to myself before keying the radio. “Rosko, now!”

With a mighty roar Rosko's group of fighters charged up out of their hiding spots and into the crowd. They came out swinging, their blades and clubs and hammers cutting down raiders and crashing into their exposed flank.. They cut a deep swath through the front ranks of raiders, scattering enough of their unicorns to break holes in the shields that my troops quickly plugged with lead.

“Yes!” I shouted. It wasn't going to last.

I saw the raiders part for a moment, and a pony came sprinting up with a rocket launcher. I popped up to shoot at him, but heavy return fire forced me back down as rounds clattered off my armour. I peered through the cover of the window just in time to see the rocket take flight and slam into the bus.

The ancient vehicle rocked hard with the force of the blast, a gout of flame shooting up through the air and vaporizing the rain. The bus hung precariously on its edge for a moment before coming back down hard onto the pavement with an ear-splitting crash of metal.

The machine gun went silent. The raiders cheered.

“Fuck!” I shouted.

“You alright?” Ren shouted back.

“I'm fine! I'm going down to street level!”

The griffon sprinted toward me. “Not without me, let's go!”

We dove off to the balcony. Ren went first over the edge and I followed, my wings catching the startlingly cold wind. The sudden appearance of two flying targets drew a lot of attention from the raiders but luckily it was inaccurate; what shots did hit home just scratched my Enclave armour and nothing more.

I landed near the bus, desperately searching for survivors. Peach Tea had been around here, last I knew. I hoped with all my might that she wasn't in the bus when it got hit. The heat was intense, obliterating the cold from the rain and torching the old metal frame to a charred black. I desperately searched through the wreckage, but I knew there was no way anypony in there survived.

As I backed off, a raider came charging around the burning bus, flashing a wicked looking knife and coming right at me. Before I could get a weapon to bear on the raider, a shotgun blast tore his jaw off. I followed the source to find Peach Tea, her mane streaked with soot, covered behind a newspaper stand.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Ah’ll be fine. Got out in time.”

I took quick stock of the situation. The raiders had swarmed the intersection now, and were starting to get past the burning bus. The tracers and gunfire from our side was getting weaker, and I watched a stallion pop up from behind a staircase to fire at the raiders only to get plugged with a dozen shots at once.

“It's time to go,” I reasoned. Peach Tea nodded.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ren added. He raised his machine gun, forcing a raider to duck back into cover down the street.

“Fall back!” I shouted, as loudly as I could.

“Fall back!” Peach Tea echoed.

The call was repeated through our lines like a wave. Defenders gave up their spots and sprinted back up the street. I saw some get cut down as soon as they left their position, while others managed to get free.

I endeavoured to be the last. The three of us – Peach Tea, Ren, and myself – took cover behind a concrete road barrier, providing cover fire for what few defenders we had left. I only counted maybe a dozen, tops - far fewer than I’d hoped to see. Peach Tea peeled off the barrier first, then Ren. Just as I turned to leave, I saw him.

A red-striped zony was charging forward, limping on one leg. He turned and fired a shot back at some raiders with his revolver, then looked forward again. Our eyes met. Rosko.

There was a few dozen metres between him and me. He was limping bad, and he'd never make it without help. This zony who'd threatened my life twice now was the last of my troops to withdraw. And yet here he was. Alone, stuck, and needing help. He was a right bastard of a stallion - if I left him behind, nopony would know except me. He’d just be another casualty of a chaotic fight. I could get him back for all the threats he’d made.

Instead I rushed forward and grabbed him under a wing, helping him toward the barrier. He seemed confused at first, stumbling along with my support. We made it halfway to the concrete barrier when his leg gave out and Rosko fell to the concrete, his revolver clattering next to him.

His leg was mangled badly. Whatever had hit him had torn a chunk clean out of it, and it was bleeding badly. He’d need medical attention if he wanted to survive the day, but on that leg there was no way he’d make it back to the main barricades on his own. I had to help him there, and so I went to pick him up.

“Fuck off!” he shouted, batting my wings away. He grabbed his revolver. “Just go! Ah don’t need ya fuckin’ pity!”

A raider came running towards us, swinging a bat. Rosko shot them through the neck with his revolver.

“Go!” Rosko snarled around the gun. “Better make this shit count, pony!”

He chose his own fate. All I could do was leave him to that fate and go.

It was the last I’d ever hear of him.

I sprinted away, hearing the whoops and shouts of the raiders behind us who were confident in their first “victory”. I swapped frequencies back to the leadership channel, breathlessly calling back.

“All elements! Screendoor is falling back, repeat, falling back!”

-=O=-

“Fire!”

I had just cleared the arc of the Ardennes Seventy-Five. The very second I did – rolling behind a stack of sandbags and concrete road barriers – Stratus opened it up. It made an awful racket as the canister shell burst from the barrel, spraying hot shrapnel that sizzled through the rain and tore through the first ranks of the incoming raiders. I could just barely hear Stratus instructing the gunners on the reloading process over the heavy gunfire and thunderclaps from on high.

I landed on the far side of the sandbags next to the Major. Her power armour had taken a few glancing hits but nothing bad so far. I didn't recognize the two weapons attached to her battlesaddle, however. They looked almost like typical novasurge rifles, except the glass tube between the focusing prongs was blue, and wisps of blue-white mist rose from the barrels.

“Corporal,” she greeted rather casually. At some point she’d ditched her helmet. Her curly mane was splattered with mud, rain, and worse things.

“Major,” I replied breathlessly.

“Quite the fight you've gotten us in.” The big seventy-five fired again, scattering more raiders. The Major stood up over the sandbag, took aim, and yanked on the trigger-bit on the front of her armour. The twin arcane energy rifles howled eerily like ghosts, spitting out two streaks of bright blue-white energy that trailed the strange mists behind them. She fired twice more, then ducked back down.

“How's it going here?” I asked. I took advantage of the moment to reload. There were enough troops here firing that I could finally pause and breathe… at least until I heard the telltale snap of a round passing by my ear and I had to duck lower.

“As well as can be expected.” She brushed some mane out of her eyes. “No significant casualties yet, but it's still early. Are you hurt?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Good.”

“Get some, ya fuckers!” I heard a familiar voice cry. On the mid level barricades, Comet Spark stood behind the massive brass machine gun we'd dug up named the Rattlesnake. Whenever he pulled the trigger, it fired in a slow, methodical fashion with a distinct pom-pom-pom sound. Each round set off small explosions down the raider line.

I'd lost track of Peach Tea and Ren in the confusion. I hoped to the Goddesses that they were okay, wherever they were, as I was stuck huddling next to the Major behind sandbags. I popped up here and there to fire back at the raiders. The sheer volume of gunfire on either side was unimaginable; a constant rattle and snap of bullets going this way and that, explosions from grenades and rockets tearing up the concrete. I saw a line of glowing bricks lifted from the raider ranks and flung in a volley overhead, crashing against our barricades.

At least for now we’d managed to check their advance. The raiders huddled on the far end of the intersection, taking up defensive positions. They still had their unicorn shields at the front ranks, but they couldn’t advance through the withering fire - but we weren’t making much of a dent either, unfortunately.

Bodies piled the street, and not all of them raiders. I recognized a few folks from krewe meetings, and dubloons of various shapes and colours floated in blood-streaked puddles and ground into the mud on the sides of the road. I watched a griffon mercenary rise up from behind a barricade only to take a round directly to the forehead, dropping them immediately back behind it. The Ardennes roared again, sending an explosive shell into the midst of the raiders – but still they just kept coming. Every time one fell, it seemed two more were able to fill the gap.

A unicorn raider managed to burst out of the crowd and come sprinting towards us, a trio of lit firebombs floating around them. The Major calmly stood up and fired her howling rifles, nailing the unicorn in the midsection. They dropped to the pavement, their firebombs coming with them and shattering across the tarmac. Even under the driving rain they lit up the unicorn like a stack of dry brush, the raider's coat crackling and blackening beneath the flames. Burning wet fur smelled like nothing else in the world – unmistakable, and enough to make me sick.

“Fire!” Stratus shouted. The Ardennes rocked back, roaring as it sent another canister round downrange. The spray of shrapnel was stopped dead in its tracks by a truly massive shield of deep blue that flared into existence in front of the raiders. The shield halted the cannon shell... and everything else our militia threw its way. For a brief moment, there was quiet as both sides stopped firing.

I peered over the barricades just as the raiders began to cheer. Standing in the middle of the crowd was an alicorn, midnight blue all over, glaring through her shield at us. Her armour was simple, dark leather, adorned with a flowing cloak. Her horn was glowing brightly as it maintained the shield.

“Move!” Stratus suddenly shouted. I turned in time to see the huge gun get lifted into the air, glowing a vibrant pine green. The loader zebra held onto the breech, his foreleg stuck inside. He screamed to no avail.

The cannon slammed back down, crushing the zebra under it and managing to catch Stratus as well. I heard him scream for a medic, his hindlegs pinned beneath the cannon’s trail. The Ardennes was a mangled wreck of metal and splintered concrete. A few miltia ponies swarmed the gun to try and get Stratus extracted from underneath it.

I turned forward as somepony shouted in alarm. He was arriving on the scene.

He had ditched his professor's coat for something more appropriate: a suit of armour that was designed to look like a Canterlot Solar Guard's set, gleaming gold and everything, glimmering oh-so-faintly from the rain splattering it.

The Prince had made his appearance.

Shield or not, the militia opened fire again. I heard Comet's Rattlesnake pom-pom-pom'ing away over my head. Midnight – the Prince's alicorn friend – was clearly struggling to maintain the shield. I saw her shout something, and the shield exploded outwards in a burst of light. I covered my eyes with a wing, blinded by the sudden light. When I looked back the shield – and the alicorns – were gone. The raiders managed to recover from the flash and started firing again.

“Son of a bit-” There was a sound like a striking match. I turned back to see Comet Spark standing surprised, wavering on the spot. One eye had been turned to a bloody red pulp, and the side of his head was gouged out.

He fell backwards.

“Comet!” I screamed, scrambling up the barricade. Two bullets struck me in my armour, which shrugged off the hits easily. I barely noticed more than a dull thud against my side.

My oldest wasteland friend was still alive, but barely. I grabbed him behind the head, cradling it. “Hold tight, buddy! Medic!” I screamed. He was still breathing. It was shallow but it was still there. By the Goddesses... he didn't look good. The shot had taken him in the eye and out under his left ear, missing the important bits inside the skull, but destroying his eye in the process. “Medic! Somepony get me a medic!” I couldn't tell if the blurriness in my vision was from rain on the visor or my own tears. A pair of unicorns ran forward, a stretcher between them, and they took Comet to the back lines.

I realized I was standing exposed atop the middle barricades when somepony shot at me again, and the round smacked into my side. My Enclave armour stopped it, but I still ducked back into cover. The Rattlesnake was right next to me. I snarled and grabbed it, the brass trigger beneath my hooves, and shouted in anger as I let loose. The explosive rounds tore through the front rank of raiders until the gun jammed, the barrel smoking and sizzling from the rain.

“Autumn!” I heard Peach Tea's voice crackle over the radio. I ducked back down into cover.

“Talk to me, Peach!”

“The Prince is making a push for the university! They're going to tear down the walls! Get in here, bring help!”

I turned my head toward the university walls. I could just see over it. Several ponies stood at the end of a cul-de-sac near some buildings, pointing guns at the wall. Tracer fire from a machine gun in the main belfry rained down outside the walls. Ren, if I had to guess.

A cheer came up from the crowd, followed by a roar of charging ponies. I looked over the barricade to see a swarm of zebra, griffon, and Enclave troops charging over the walls of the zoo, slamming into the raider flank. Pairs of Enclave flyers strafed targets from above. Hammer element had finally been called in.

“Go, Autumn!” I heard the Major shout over the radio. “We got things here!”

I spread my wings and took off over the university walls.

-=O=-

Peach Tea was waiting for me behind a concrete planter near the wall. I could hear massive thumping on the other side of the brick. I hugged her as soon as I landed, then reloaded my rifle and got into position. There were a few others with us, maybe two dozen, waiting for the breach.

“Glad you're okay,” I told her.

“Yeah, same to ya. They gots a ram. Gonna be through any second.” Her magazine had bright orange tape on it: Dragon's Fire rounds. She slapped the magazine into her gun. “We gotta hold 'em here, or they gonna slip right past the main barricades and it's all over.”

I nodded and got into position.

Bang. At first I thought it was thunder, but the falling dust from the wall told me it came from the other side. Bang. Again.

“We hold ‘em here!” I shouted. Ponies cheered in agreement.

BANG.

I was showered in brick dust. Chunks of debris pinged off my armour. I brushed the debris off my visor, the wet dust clinging in streaks. I caught sight of what appeared to be a delivery truck soaring through the air. It crashed into a concrete planter and took two militia defenders with it as it rolled past.

A delivery truck sized hole had been punched through the university wall. On the other side: Midnight, the Prince, and a small contingent of well armoured and angry raiders.

“Fire!”

I fired indiscriminately into the breach, blasts of lightning cracking through the air as I let fly. The fire from the defenders had managed to check the raiders from coming through, but the alicorns were themselves unharmed. They had their shields up again, blocking incoming fire for themselves and letting their raiders take the brunt of the attack.

These must have been their elite fighters. I saw well kept armour, battle-saddles, and plenty more. I even saw what looked like scratch built junkyard power armour. Elites or not, the raiders didn’t get that far. Checked by our initial salvo, they were sitting ducks on the other side of the breach. A pair of Enclave flyers vectored in overhead, dropping two novasurge bombs onto the first wave of raiders. The blast cooked several of them to ash and spurred the others to action.

They plowed through the breach under fire from our militia. A few were dropped, but more made it through, cowering behind what cover they could. I heard a distinctive fwump as Peach Tea opened up with her shotgun, spitting gouts of flame that set one mare ablaze and running. For a moment it looked like we’d managed to completely halt their flanking advance.

Until the alicorns decided to stop playing.

The Prince lifted one defender, a zebra stallion, and simply flung him back behind him, up and over the rooftops of the nearby buildings. Midnight fired a blast of arcane energy at one of the buildings, shattering the corner and crushing another pony under a pile of cinderblocks.

“Back to the main hall!” It was Ren over the radio this time. “There's no cover there, you two!”

I nodded and opened fire, giving Peach Tea time to pull back. The two of us – and the three remaining defenders with us – pulled back in a bounding fashion, one at a time, while the others kept up suppressing fire.

It was no use. The Prince would intercept rounds with a shield while Midnight countered with blasts of energy, or a hail of dagger-like arcane splinters. And if the Prince wanted to throw some spells, it was Midnight blocking the incoming fire.

“Major!” I called out on the radio. “We’re falling back to the main square of the university! Got the Prince and Midnight here, but I need Enclave on that wall breach or we’re going to be overrun!”

“Copy, Corporal. Dragoons, you get your asses on that breach and you don't let anypony through!”

Peach Tea and I fell back from the university's annex buildings to the fountain by the main building. The three remaining defenders ran for all their might, but two didn’t make it. As one ran the Prince caught them with a nasty blast of arcane energy, while one of the raiders at the breach got a lucky long-range shot on the other. I sent the third one back to the main barricade… which just left Peach and I, joined by Ren as he flew down from the belfry.

We stood by the fountain, staring down the Prince and Midnight as they approached us.The Prince seemed more amused than anything. A small grin cocked the corner of his mouth up. “Impressive. I was thinking this would be a simple, boring affair, but you've all surpr-”

Halfway through speaking Peach Tea fired a slug from her shotgun at the Prince. The round was stopped dead by a shimmering blue shield.

“Ah... temper.” He flung a blast of green arcane energy at Peach Tea, sending her for cover.

“Oh, I am going to very much enjoy tearing all this down piece. By. Piece.” The Prince emphasized each word by flinging a spell at each of us, forcing us all to move and dance for him as we dodged from cover to cover.

As I rolled in behind the fountain I popped up to fire a quick blast at the Prince, only for Midnight to get her shield in the way. The Prince replied by ripping the wheel off the delivery truck and flinging it my way. It carved clean through the concrete fountain and sent me sprawling off to the side. Ren tried to use the moment of distraction to get a burst in against Midnight, but the Prince was faster. His shield went up, and Midnight forced Ren airborne to dodge a blast of energy sent his way. He landed next to me behind the fountain.

Goddesses dammit, they were fast. There was always a shield waiting for us when we fired. If we focused fire on one target, one would block it while the other fired back with magic or flung objects. If we spread the rounds out, they’d go back to back with their shields and prevent us from getting through. Even SATS wasn’t fast enough. I tried several times to slip a bolt or two in with help from Stable-Tec, and every time it wasn’t enough.

It was a nightmare.

We kept up the cat and mouse game for only a few minutes, but we were running out of time. Each spell Midnight or the Prince fired chunked more of our cover away. Soon we’d be left in the open and at their mercy.

I rolled to a stop behind the banister of the main staircase and popped a fresh magical fusion cell into The Stare. Think, Autumn. Shields and spells. They could only go for one at a time. Get them both with their shields up, they can’t fight. Get them both fighting…

I keyed my radio. “Ren, on my mark, let loose on the Prince. Peach, I’m getting you an opening.”

I stood up out of cover fully, firing a shot toward Midnight, but intending to miss. I heard Ren shout in alarm through the radio.

Both alicorns turned to me. Midnight glared my way. I gave her a rude gesture with my forelegs… and her horn started to glow brightly. The Prince put a foreleg on hers, turned to me, and let his horn start to charge up. “He’s mine, darling.”

Off to my left, Ren popped up from behind a planter, set the Prince in his sights, and pulled the trigger. I saw Midnight’s eyes flick in his direction, and up went the expected shield. It blocked the fire from Ren’s machine gun, but he wasn’t letting up.

That’s when Peach Tea popped up on my right with inequine speed thanks to SATS, and put four Dragon’s Fire rounds directly into the dark blue alicorn at the same time as the Prince fired a blast of energy my way and forced me to dodge. By the time he got his shield up around Midnight it was too late.

Midnight howled. I had never heard a sound like it before. I could almost feel her pain through the scream as her coat caught fire, the hairs curling away to expose the flesh beneath, and even that was melting away to reveal the bone. She thrashed in pain, clawing desperately at herself with her hooves, screaming herself hoarse. The Prince turned to look at her, dying brutally, painfully, and he snarled in anger.

Midnight’s shield was still holding, somehow. Ren’s gun sputtered and jammed, forcing him to pause. The Prince stood closer to Midnight as she collapsed, screaming, to the wet grass, and he threw a shield around the two of them. All three of us held them in our sights, waiting for an opening.

With one final howl, Midnight thrashed onto her hindlegs, dropped the shield, and went for broke. Her horn exploded outwards in a wild blast of energy that caught all three of us off guard. The Prince was protected by his shield. Ren cleverly let his wings catch the blast and take flight. I was taken by surprise and shoved backwards, but my own wings instinctively threw out to prevent me from falling, though I dropped my rifle in the process.

Peach Tea was less lucky. Being closer to Midnight, Peach was lifted off her hooves and thrown backwards. She careened into the statue of a prancing pony in the middle of the fountain, crashing into it with a sickening crunch before hitting the tile centre of the fountain.

She didn’t get back up.

“Peach!” I shouted.

The Prince was desperately checking over Midnight's charred, smoking corpse. My shout must have taken him back into the action because he turned to snarl at me. He flung blast after blast in my direction, forcing me to keep moving. He'd lost all composure at this point, madly flinging his spells to prevent me from being able to shoot.

A bullet smacked into the Prince’s armour, temporarily taking his attention off me. Ren was flying towards him with a snarl of anger, emptying his sidearm at the alicorn. A few hit home nicely, burying into less protective spots on the armour, but Ren’s attack was ultimately ineffective. He brandished a combat knife, streaking toward the Prince.

The alicorn’s horn flared up. This spell wasn’t a blast of energy or a shield. Instead he grabbed hold of Ren’s wing, yanking him off course. He dragged my griffon through the air like a ragdoll, high up over his head… and then back down hard into the dirt. Even from where I stood, I could see Ren’s wing was sitting at a poor angle.

I scrambled for my rifle. The Prince grabbed hold of Ren’s fallen machine gun and swung it like a club with his telekinesis, smashing it into the side of the griffon. Ren stopped squirming.

My rifle was in my hooves, though they were shaking. I couldn’t tell from what. Adrenaline? Rage? My friends, my boyfriend. They were all lying there, dead or unconscious. It was just me and the Prince. He seemed to be ignoring me, checking over Ren to ensure he didn’t try anything else.

I fired a blast of lightning at him. He casually turned it aside with his shield and followed up with an incredibly fast bolt of energy of his own. I didn’t move in time.

It struck me dead in the chest with the force of a runaway freight train. Every muscle in my body contracted at once, squeezing hard as if they could just keep contracting past their limit. I staggered backwards before taking a second blast of energy that sent me sprawling against the fountain. My helmet cracked off the edge of the concrete as I fell, cracking one of the eye lenses like a spiderweb. My rifle fell from my grasp.

The alicorn stood over me, glaring angrily down at me, his horn crackling madly with pine green energy. “Look at me,” he growled. His magic grabbed one of my forelegs and tugged me off the ground rather painfully.

“I want you to look at me!” He held me in front of his face. His eyes were wild with anger and pain. “Why? Why did you even bother? Did you think you had a chance? Did you think you could stop me?”

“...this isn't your city to take,” I slurred through the pain. He hesitated, just dangling me there by my leg.

For a moment, I swore I saw some recognition in his eyes. Maybe he knew me as the stallion that had caused so much trouble on his plantation. Maybe I was just some naive idealist standing in his way. If he even knew who I was, he gave no indication. He just twisted me around, pinning my foreleg behind my back and causing me to scream in pain.

“Look at what that got you!” the Prince snarled. “Your friends are dead. The city is falling. I win.”

Peach Tea was still not moving. Neither was Ren. I couldn’t tell from where I was what state they were in. Now in the sudden silence, I could hear the radio chatter I’d tuned out coming through as clear as day, punctuated by the still omni-present gunfire.

“Get a medic up here! She's lost a leg!”

“I'm hit! Fuck, I-I'm hit!”

“Left flank is falling, repeat, left flank is falling!”

“Help me! Help, they cornered m-”

Oh, Goddesses, no... What had I done?

The Prince jerked me back around to face him. “My name is Prince Greyhoof, and this city is my birthright!” he roared. He tossed me aside, dropping me near the fountain like a discarded toy.

I hit the ground hard, feeling a crack in my side as I hit a chunk of concrete. A rib – or several – snapped like twigs.

The Prince climbed onto the university stairs, then turned to look out at the battlefield. From that elevation, he must have been able to see over the walls, because he was grinning widely.

“Beautiful.”

I struggled to my hooves, shakily, breathing hard. As long as I was still breathing, he hadn't won yet. The rest of the city could be on fire behind me, but until he put me down, he hadn't won.

The Stare was just next to me. I pulled it closer with my wings and propped myself up against the fountain. It took all my energy and both my forelegs to steady it in the Prince’s direction. I half-pulled the trigger.

A red light danced across the Prince’s ornate, mud-splattered armour. It hovered in wide figure-eights across his chest as I fought to keep it steady.

The light caught his attention. He grinned down at me, then began to charge one final spell. One final coup de grace.

“You tried, my winged friend. You tried,” he cooed. “You failed.”

On his chest was that old medallion. A bright red ruby set in a silver alicorn design. The Stare’s red laser played across the ruby, lighting its facets with a deep red light. I pulled the trigger.

Just as my rifle fired his spell went off. For the third time I felt an arcane blast slam into me, driving me against the fountain. The searing heat melted the front plate of my armour. I could feel the ballistic fibres starting to cook against my coat on the other side. I screamed.

It lasted maybe a second. It felt like an eternity.

The Prince stumbled back, clutching at his chest in a mixture of agony and surprise. The amulet in the middle of his chest was glowing brightly through cracks in the ruby. Angry red sparks shot from the cracks, and lines of energy started making their way up his chest and neck. The gemstone glowed brighter and brighter with arcane light.

I'd seen this kind of effect once before, when magic met magic with explosive results.

I managed to get my wing up in front of my face just in time. The amulet detonated with a violent blast of arcane energy. My head was slammed back into the fountain, the helmet cracking against the concrete.

I blacked out.

Chapter 39

View Online

Chapter 39

A hoof gently rolled me over onto my back.

I groaned and opened an eye just slightly. Rain and mud had splattered against the cracked lenses on my helmet. Everything that I could see was blurry and tinted with yellow. Every single muscle, every single cell in my body hurt, like I’d been run over by a train and left on the tracks for the second one to come by and do it all over again.

A figure loomed over me. I couldn’t tell who it was. I tried to blink away the blurriness in my eyes only to realize the problem was the helmet lenses. I reached up to try and get the helmet off, but a hoof stopped mine.

“Komman ou ye?”

Even if I hadn't been dazed, I'd've been incredibly confused. “...Bezi?” I asked hoarsely. “Am I... dead?”

The figure of a tall, lanky zebra grinned down at me. “Non! But you gonna wish you is once you can feel again, yeah?”

I groaned softly and tried to sit up. “Easy now. Dousmen.” Bezi helped me to sit up against the fountain.

Gingerly I worked my helmet off and tossed it aside. My head was pounding from the damage it took. The sad-looking little Stable-Tec pony kept trying to get my attention, telling me my torso was crippled and my head concussed.

Thanks, Stable-Tec. I know.

I gingerly pulled out one of my last healing potions and downed it slowly. I was so numb from the pain that it didn’t seem to work, but at least it cleared the fuzziness in my head.

“Té bon?”

“What?”

“You good, Autumn?” it was one of the first times I’d ever heard Bezi use my real name. His voice was gentle with concern.

“Yeah. Help… help me up.”

Bezi tucked himself under a wing and helped me to my hooves. It took a moment for me to feel confident on my hooves again, but after a few steps I was able to walk without assistance.

The air smelled of burned flesh.

A crimson-coloured stallion lay on his back at the base of the university steps, splayed out spread-eagle on the ground. Judging by the trail of blood on the steps, he'd slid the last few feet to his final resting spot. Rain pattered across his blank eyes as they stared up at the sky, hissing slightly as raindrops landed on the open chest cavity that still steamed slightly with residual heat.

Prince Greyhoof’s once ornate armour was blown open and charred black, as were the ribs of his chest cavity below. The amulet’s explosion had torn through the front of the stallion like it was tissue paper. The armour hadn’t served to stop a damned thing.

He looked smaller now. It was hard to believe that I had been afraid of him before, had dueled him to the death not long prior. Now he was dead, a small unicorn stallion steaming under a grey, rainy sky.

Wait… unicorn?

I blinked to make sure it wasn’t my eyes playing tricks on me. No, the Prince was smaller now… and definitely a unicorn. No wings to be seen. Not that they’d been blown away; they just weren’t there.

I glanced at the twisted remains of the silver amulet laying on the ground next to him. One of the Councillors of the Old Krewe had called it the Alicorn Amulet. I had no idea what it was, but it sure as shit hadn’t served the Prince that well. Some powerful magic, sure, but some fake wings. I had to count myself lucky for that… if he or Midnight had been airborne, this battle would’ve gone far differently.

Just beyond the Prince was another charred corpse. Midnight. Same story there, too. Smaller than before. No wings. Fake royalty and fake alicorns… and yet they’d done a number on us.

But where was… “There was a griffon…” I mumbled to Bezi. “And an orange mare.”

“Over there.” Bezi motioned to a group of ponies nearby. I rushed over as quickly as my injured frame could take me.

The group was all Enclave, loading Ren onto a stretcher. He looked bad. That wing was at an awful angle for such a fragile limb, and there was blood all over his armour. A section of it had been stoved in where the Prince smashed him with the rifle. His face was screwed up in an expression of pain. He wasn’t moving… but thank Celestia, Ren was still breathing.

An Enclave vertibuck idled nearby. The medics were going to take him to it. I nudged my way through, gently caressing Ren’s cheek with my wing. You brave son of a bitch, I thought to myself. Faced down an alicorn and still charged with nothing but a knife and his pistol.

“Corporal, we have to go,” one of the medics said. “If we want to save that wing, we need to go, now.”

“Right.” I stole a kiss to Ren’s forehead. It killed me to let him go, but the medic was right. Wings were fragile, and minutes counted in their recovery. They had to get him to a doctor that specialized in flyers, and that would be with the Enclave. I wanted to go with him, but I knew he was in good hooves. I’d see him again. I knew it.

The blurriness came back to my eyes as I watched him get loaded onto the vertibuck, then watched it take off towards our base. I shook my head out slightly, looking around for Peach Tea.

“And the unicorn?” I asked Bezi. “Where’s she?”

“Already took her away, ami. The médsins. Taking care of her. I’ll take you there too.”

“I... “ I wanted to speak. I couldn’t. I just fell back onto my haunches onto the muddy ground, my words dying on my lips. It was all just so… overwhelming.

Mtembezi walked over to me with a sympathetic look. He placed a foreleg over my shoulder and tucked my head up onto his chest. “Don't worry, yeah? Trankil, ami. We won.”

“We did?” I asked. Goddesses. I wanted to feel good about it, but I’d seen so many folks get cut down already. Sure, we won, but what price did we pay for it?

“Mhmm. Big time. You friends in the armour stopped them gettin’ past the walls. Rest of us held ‘em off. When they realized the big ones was dead… bam. Snapped like a twig and took off.” He smiled and let me go as hoofsteps sounded nearby. “You featherbrains been chasin' 'em down with other Krewes. Fini lé travay. Gettin’ it done.”

Major Summer Rain walked towards me as Bezi left me. I twitched a wing to try and salute, but the Major just held out her hoof. “At ease, Corporal. You can stand down. We did it.”

I nodded. “I know.”

And then I broke down.

All the emotion, the adrenaline, and the fear, welled up and burst. I started crying, burying my face into my wing to keep the Major from seeing it. If she cared – and I figured she didn't – she said nothing. She just walked past me to go examine the bodies of the Prince and Midnight.

It was all my fault. Ren and Peach Tea were both severely injured because of me. Ponies gave their lives because of a fight I started. Because I couldn’t keep well enough alone, I might lose several friends, some close companions… Ren might never fly again.

All because I felt like I had to drag folks into this fight.

“Corporal.” The Major walked over to me. I looked up at her plaintively. “...You did well, Corporal.”

I scoffed. “I failed, Major. Goddesses, I was a fuck up.”

The Major grabbed my collar and yanked me to my hooves. “Corporal Autumn Breeze, stow that bullshit.”

“I-”

“Stow it, soldier. Listen to me. You do not blame yourself for this, or anypony else's death, do you hear me? All you did was ask for them to come along. You didn't force them at gunpoint. You didn't drag them kicking and screaming. Everypony who took a hit, everypony who died, did so of their own free will. You can not go and start beating yourself over the death of everypony under your command, do you understand me?” she asked sternly.

I didn't answer.

“You're a leader now. And when you lead folks in a fight, ponies are going to get hurt. Ponies are going to die. The sooner you accept this, the better it will be. It hurts. I know it does. So cry if you have to, rage if you have to. Go smash a fucking window or three. But don't you dare blame yourself for this, Autumn. Your actions saved far more folks than it killed.” She let my collar go. “Do you understand, soldier?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

“Louder!” she shouted.

“Yes, ma'am! I understand, ma'am!” I shouted back.

“Good.” She gave me a soft, sympathetic smile. I tried to return it. She looked back at the two corpses of the Prince and Midnight. “Some alicorns they turned out to be.”

“I... suspect their amulets were frauds, ma'am. Powerful, sure... but not as strong as they'd like.”

The Major chuckled softly, her eyes falling to the Prince's prone form. She glanced around, made sure none of the other troops were around to see, and spit at the Prince’s hooves.

“So it would seem. Come on, Corporal. Let’s get you to the medics.”

-=O=-

The carnage outside the walls was unimaginable.

There was already a huge pyre for the raider corpses, and yet somehow, countless more were strewn about. They were sprawled across road signs and benches, curled up under carriages and bus stops. One hung from a tree branch, evidently shot as she'd tried to climb it. Many were missing limbs, some missing their heads, others cleanly bisected. Here and there were just... parts. A leg, a haunch, a head. Their weapons lay in piles, collected and picked over by passer-bys, but more still lay with their previous owners – or abandoned when they fled the battle.

Smoke rose from small fires all over the intersection, adding to the acrid scent in the air. It smelled of blood, of cordite, and of death. It stung my nostrils, a nearly indescribable and unforgettable stench. All around me, the indiscriminate gunfire had damaged the nearby buildings beyond repair, pockmarked the walls around the zoo and the university, tearing up the concrete streets, and setting fire to nearby structures. Explosive attacks had left gaping wounds in the street that slowly filled with water from the rain. Our barricades were shredded and torn, though we’d managed to hold somehow.

And then there were the bodies of the militia. They weren't in any better shape than the raiders were, but mercifully less numerous. As they were collected, they were laid gently on the lawn just inside the zoo’s gates, identified by Krewe banners hastily erected nearby. Here lay the Maisha zebras, there lay the Queen's Krewe's mares, and there the Krewe of the Sea's fighters. A blank banner marked the unknown corpses likely to never be identified.

Those ponies that remained moved in a trance, helping to clear the street of defensive works, fallen guns, and bodies. Some just wandered, wide eyed but staring blankly, as the shock of the battle wore off.

I turned to Summer Rain. “How many did we lose?”

“Our firm count so far is eighty-three dead. With us still finding bodies in the rubble, and those that might not survive the day... It could be as many as a hundred, hundred and twenty, maybe more,” she said softly. “Worst case, of course.”

A hundred and twenty. Fifty percent. “Good fucking Goddesses.”

“Not pretty, is it?”

I shook my head. “And... what about from the Enclave?”

She gave me a small, pained smile. “Of the eighty that came to fight, nineteen are dead, a further thirty-three wounded. Don't give me that look, Autumn. Power armour is good, but not invincible. Hit it with enough high calibre rounds, explosives, or some arcane energy...” she shrugged her wings. I could see places where her power armour had taken hits of her own, the metal melted and warped. “And luckily not all wounded are critical wounds, either.”

I nodded, still in shock from the amount of ponies that had died. Up to half of our forces as a worst case scenario. It could have been worse… but I wished to the Goddesses it’d been better.

“You okay?” Summer asked.

I nodded. “I'll be fine, just... gotta get to the medical tent.”

“Follow me.”

She led me through the main barricades. The Ardennes Seventy-Five lay where it had been smashed into the asphalt, though somepony had managed to rock it over enough to get the body of the poor loader out. The green paint was shredded from debris, and the destroyed gun shield made the poorly drawn eyes look even more cock-eyed than usual. The name was still barely legible on the barrel.

“You did good, Gummy,” I mumbled, patting the gun breech. It had served us incredibly well for such an old piece.

We passed the griffon camp I'd spent the night at. Only a few of them sat around. The same griffon who didn't speak Equestrian was there, his arm in a sling. A griffonness with tan fur and golden brown feathers had a bandage wrapped tightly around her middle. They looked at me as I passed, and we exchanged silent nods. I didn't see Kortig... or any others. Goddesses, they'd been so small in number anyway, less than twenty. How many of them made it?

A massive tent had been erected at the far end of the street out of white canvas, spraypainted with rough pink butterflies. The medical tent. I stumbled toward it, my hooves slipping through puddles of mixed blood and rainwater.

The tent was a flurry of activity. Doctors and nurses ran everywhere, dealing with the massive number of wounded as best they could. Those with less severe wounds were being triaged and sent away to find their own healing supplies. The more critically injured were taken inside and dealt with. It smelled of iron, sweat, and urine, and the noise was overwhelming from the shouting doctors and the screaming patients.

The nurse at the front – a bubblegum pink unicorn mare – looked up as I approached. “What's the issue?”

“Uh… concussion, some cracked ribs… burns,” I explained.

Her horn flared up with a soft white glow and I felt it tingle around me. The glow surrounded me for a second. Then she gave me a small shrug “Can't take you, désole, but no room. Take a healing potion, or go'n find a Krewe healer. Y'all not gonna die, té bon. Just gon' hurt.” I realized she was using the same creole language that zebras like Bezi and Kas tended to favour.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“We've got a field hospital nearby,” the Major said softly.

“I'll be okay. I think I still have a potion or two. I just wanna sit down a bit. Alone, if you don't mind.” The Major nodded, patted me with a wing, and walked off. I looked at the unicorn at the tent flap, waiting for her to finish with her next patient. “Excuse me?”

“Ah said no room, ami, sorry.”

“No, it's not that. Um… there was a mare, a unicorn in a Stable suit, orange coat… is she here?”

The nurse checked her clipboard. “In surgery. She’ll be out in recovery soon.”

“And recovery is…?” I asked softly.

She fixed me with a sympathetic eye and motioned towards a quieter wing of the medical tent. The recovery area, so it would seem. “You can wait there. Next!”

“Thank you.”

I made my way through the recovery wing, gently stepping among the rows on rows of injured, resting patients. Ponies were just strewn about where they could, fighting off injuries of varying severity. Some had cots, others lay on discarded old mattresses and cushions. Still others were lying on the floor, nursing broken limbs and whatever else it may be.

I scanned the area, looking for Peach Tea in case she’d been released yet. She hadn’t… but I saw somepony else. A grey unicorn stallion with a shocking electric white mane lay on a cot, bundled in dirty blankets. A thick pad of white gauze covered his left eye. I trotted over to him.

Comet Spark gave me a small smile when he saw me approach, his one remaining eye unfocused from what I assumed was enough Med-X to kill a radigator.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice slurred. Definitely high as a pegasus right now. “Ya look like shit.”

I snorted in laughter, painful as it was through broken ribs, and sat next to his cot with a gentle grunt as I lowered myself down. I managed to find one last healing potion in my saddlebags and I downed it. I didn’t know what it fixed if anything… but I felt a little better afterwards.

Next out of my saddlebags was a pack of cigarettes. They’d been crumpled slightly from the impact of the fight, but still perfectly fine. I worked two of them out, offering one to Comet. He gladly took it and I lit them both.

We sat in silence for the first few draws. I looked at the empty pack of Bluebloods cigarettes in my hoof, at the white, smiling stallion on the front, and crushed the box in my hoof.

“How're you feeling?” I asked at long last. “I'm... sorry about the eye. Guessing they couldn't...?”

“Nah. Fixed the side of my head up real good but naw, it's gone. S'fine. Ah hear the ladies love a stallion with scars,” Comet slurred. He took a drag on his cigarette and let it out.

“Heh. So I hear.” I didn't know what else to say. I just leaned back and rested my head against the side of my friend's cot.

Just under the edge of the tent, I could see the top of the Neigh Orleans Medical Academy. Somepony was climbing it to the delight of nearby onlookers. Once at the top they ran the old Queen's Krewe flag down and set a new one on the flagpole. It was slowly run up the pole, unfurling in the breeze.

I'd seen this flag before, a couple times. In a museum once – and displayed proudly in the Temple Of The Celestial Sisters. It was a bright white cloud on a shimmering blue field, with two alicorns – one dark blue, one bright white – on either side of the cloud.

I smiled softly and let the smoke out the side of my mouth with a gentle sigh. I finally closed my eyes.

-= End =-

Chapter 40 - Epilogue

View Online

Epilogue

- Some Months Later -

“Go~od morning my little ponies! Looking like today is fit to be one gorgeous day. Clouds in the sky, sure, but there’s a few breaks for sun here and there and it’ll be nice and warm. Plus humidity but, hey, we all knew that wasn't ever going to go away any time soon.

I'm here today with the brand new Mayor of Neigh Orleans, Mrs. Brass Tack, formerly of the Krewe of the Sea. So, first thing's first, Mrs. Brass... how does it feel being the first elected Mayor of Neigh Orleans?”

“Well, it's... different. I honestly expected Mayor Summer Rain to hold onto her position, but I suppose the city of Neigh Orleans was looking for a little change. I promise to do my best to serve this city, and everypony that inhabits it...”

I turned off the PipBuck and set it aside in my saddlebags. Off in the distance, the rusting hulks that remained of the Battle of Crescent Harbour still sat, still looking as bizarre as ever. Even as I watched they seemed to shimmer and shift, splitting into two before merging back again. They were a strange sight. I'd watched them countless times now... and I doubt they would ever stop fascinating me.

“Good morning, Autumn.”

I turned to look behind me. Father Sunray made his way up the stairs to join me atop the levee near Friendship Square, with its rusted old cannon overlooking the harbour.

“Morning, Father. Everything alright?”

“Indeed. A fine day, if Ah say so myself.” He smiled softly. “May Ah join you?”

“By all means.”

He stood next to me, looking out over the water’s edge at the wreckage in the harbour. He was silent for a long moment before speaking.

“You surprised me, you know.” I cocked an eyebrow and said nothing. “When Ah heard a young stallion named Autumn Breeze was part of an Enclave-led militia to protect this city from raiders, Ah thought to myself: certainly not the same wide-eyed adventurer Ah’d met before. From what Ah hear of the Enclave, you certainly couldn’t have been part of them. And when Ah heard the Enclave was taking over the city, Ah admit… Ah had my doubts.” He turned to look at me. “But you came through.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“Nopony ever does. But now we have something to look forward to again. Tell me… now that the Enclave has a city of its own down here, what does the future look like?” Father Sunray asked. “It is, after all, the Grand Pegasus Enclave, and not all of us are pegasi.”

I chuckled softly. “That would be up to the Major.” The Dragoon’s new commanding officer, Major Brilliant Sky, was still playing things close to his chest. He had some rather large horseshoes to fill after stepping in for Summer Rain. As of yet, all I had were unconfirmed rumours to go off of. “From what I understand, they plan to move north towards Corne-Rouge and Steedport, clear out some of the slaver plantations along the way and see if they can’t make contact with other survivor groups in the Wasteland. So I heard, anyway.”

“They? You’re not going with them?”

I shook my head. “I’ve decided to stay.” I turned fully to look at Sunray. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two familiar figures approaching from the direction of the Temple. “I took a position as Sergeant in the Neigh Orleans Citizen’s Militia.”

“Well now, congratulations.” Sunray smiled warmly and clapped me on my shoulder. “All the best, Autumn. Good day.”

“Good day, Father.”

He smiled and left, and I turned to watch the two figures approach across the street.

“Been lookin’ for ya!” Peach Tea called out as her and Ren neared.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I teased.

“Day off!”

“They can’t all be days off, Peach, you said that yesterday.” I trotted down the stairs and grabbed her in a friendly hug.

She looked as if she’d never gone toe-to-toe with an alicorn before, save for a small scar on her left temple, just behind her eye. She’d ditched her usual Stable suit, replacing it with a red workpony’s jumpsuit bearing the logo of “Peach Tea’s Fine Armaments” on the back.

“And you, Corporal,” I said, turning to Ren. “I know for a fact you’ve got a patrol to do.”

“And if I recall correctly, Sergeant, I’m on patrol with you today.” Ren grabbed me in a tight hug and stole a quick kiss. “Besides, things are quiet in the Old Quarter.”

“I know.” His wing was still in its brace, but at least it worked. Give it a few more months, and I knew Ren would be flying freely again. “Alright, let’s go. I wanna grab some lunch at the Grand before heading out.”

Peach Tea nodded and hopped down the levee stairs two at a time, leaving Ren and I behind. I stole a quick cheek kiss from Ren, and took one last look over the waters of Crescent Bay. Then I hooked my wing in Ren’s good one and followed after Peach Tea.

Ahead of us, Peach had turned her PipBuck radio on.

“-ank you, Mrs. Brass. Your new Mayor, everypony! Now, time to get into some music. Before I sign off for today, some advice for my little ponies. Remember! Never look a radigator in the eye, always make sure to have a clean and loaded gun, stay off the pipe, and don't forget to wipe. Stay safe, everypony! DJ Shorty is signing off.

The dew is hangin' diamonds on the clover... the moon is lis'enin' to the nightingale~ And while we're lost in dreams, the world around us seems like a Mar'ingale fairytale~ The breeze is softly singin' through the willow, as hoof-and-hoof we stroll along the trail~! And love is at its height, enchantin' us tonight... like a Mar'ingale fairytale~”

Post-Script - Where are they now?

View Online

Where Are They Now?

Following a long recovery and learning to cope with a single eye, Comet Spark took back up a job as a merchant. Trade routes to various plantations and communities north of Neigh Orleans had been established, and Comet Spark was shortlisted to lead some of these caravans on the good word of Mayor Brass Tack... and some help from Red. Comet's Quick Hoof caravans are some of the most successful in the Martingale region.

Red continued her work as a mare in the know. She knew the right folks, pulled the right strings, and seemed to always find herself in some position of importance in the Mayor's cabinet in Neigh Orleans. She always claimed she could have become the Mayor herself... of course, she would have far less power as Mayor than she does on her own. She remains a fixture of The Grand Equestrian Hotel alongside her steadfast companion, Honeydew.

Father Sunray continued to run the Temple of the Celestial Sisters as it had always been: a refuge for the downtrodden and orphaned in the city. It remained as such even after his death a few years after the Battle of Neigh Orleans, passing into the hooves of a dedicated follower. The Temple of the Celestial Sisters became a nearly mythical pilgrimage for those truly devoted to the memories of Celestia and Luna, though few were able to make the deadly trek down the Muddy River to see it for themselves.

DJ Shortwave continues to run Jazz Radio Neigh Orleans, though the new unified Neigh Orleans means he's less secretive about the location. Several new DJs have been hired on to help out around the station, though he continues to be the main voice for news and entertainment on the airwaves. The bar that houses the station has become a lively gathering spot for the citizens of Neigh Orleans who gather for drinks and music on a regularly basis.

After losing both his legs in the Battle of Neigh Orleans, Captain Stratus Streak decided to quit his position as Quartermaster for the 8^th Dragoons and look for work elsewhere. His knowledge of firearms, and arcane weapons in particular, made him a natural fit for his position as head arcanotech gunsmith for Peach Tea's Fine Arms.

Mtembezi stayed in the employ of Mama Praline as a personal bodyguard (despite the city becoming less dangerous) and go-fer. He often works alongside NOCM members on investigations and raids against raider groups on the fringes of the city thanks to his keen sense for the area around the city and his remarkable skills in combat. One NOCM member on a mission to clear a raider camp noted that Bezi is quote, "the scariest stallion I've ever seen. He can crack jokes as easily as bayonet a raider from the shadows."

Mama Praline remains the spiritual leader of the zebras in Neigh Orleans. Though the Krewes no longer hold as much power as they once did, the Maisha Social Club krewe remains as a cultural centre for zebras and zonies in the city, and Praline has taken over a more prominent role as a result. Her role as spiritual leader has led to a strengthening and resurgence of zoodoo shamanism for zebras across Martingale territory as her followers spread out far and wide.

The Battle of Neigh Orleans saw Delta Blues appearing out of nowhere with a small army of swamp folk. They took up positions around the Temple to defend from any rogue raider groups while the building was full of refugees. Despite the strange appearance and mannerisms of the swamp folk, their presence was lauded by the refugees and by Father Sunray. Delta Blues returned to the bayou afterwards and continues to live a quiet, solitary life, though he does make semi-frequent trips to contribute to the musical programming at Jazz Radio NO, and helped pen the commemorative tune The Battle of Neigh Orleans alongside a musician known as Driftwood.

Following her electoral defeat against Brass Tack in the first Mayoral race, Summer Rain returned to Satchel Mouth International Airport. There she promoted several troops for their actions, including new command positions, promoted her second in command to the rank of Major, sent a final report on the situation to Neighvarro, and vanished. Nopony saw her leave that night, and nopony has heard from her since. Rumours continue to swirl of a pegasus and griffon duo fighting, wandering, and exploring the Wasteland... but they're simply rumours.

Kortig returned to the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels after the Battle of Neigh Orleans, running an incredibly lucrative mercenary business for several months as bodyguards, caravan escorts, and raider killers. At the height of their business, however, he suddenly abdicated to his second in command, Swen. After a retirement party described by other Scoundrels as “worthy of the history books”, Kortig disappeared into the Wasteland without a trace. Rumours persist of a griffon and pegasus duo that wander the Wasteland as mercenaries and explorers... but they're simply rumours.