“Yeesh. I mean, Bourbon’s a stick-in-the-mud, but…” Kyra grimaced, stretching out on the edge of a stone planter box. “Just kicked you out like that, huh? Not surprised he didn’t give y’all a chance to explain, but ‘least he didn’t just kill y’all either.”

“Yep,” Grit answered. He was fidgeting in place, standing on all fours while I laid down on the broken asphalt, glancing between them.

Kyra glanced between us for a moment, before scratching the side of her neck. “Crap. Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry ‘bout my part in that. Though if they really were listenin’, seems like it wouldn’ta mattered if I took the job or not.” Her tail brushed the road below the planter box as it hung off the edge, swishing idly. “But hey, if we really need their help, I can still go back there an’ talk to ‘em.”

“That’s what I was hopin’, too. Bring 'em someplace t' meet, outside o' Sugarland.”

I nodded absently, but I was preoccupied with my own thoughts. Why hadn’t she taken the job in Sugarland? I’d had more than a thousand caps on me at the time, and going by her current rates, I couldn’t piece together the 750 caps she’d quoted me at first. Had tracking down a pony really been that much more of a dangerous job? Was it the fact that it would’ve needed three griffons? Maybe after Grit had gone to bed I could ask. Or would she brush the whole thing off as more ‘Talon bullshit’? I glanced up at her, to catch both her and Grit staring at me curiously.

Flicking one ear, I cleared my throat and refocused on the conversation at hoof: Grit’s idea to meet ponies from Sugarland at a neutral location. “That might work,” I began, “but where will we meet them? And how will we get them back here? Even if the negotiations go well, we’d all have to cross the Bridle river.” I glanced over at Grit, cutting him off before he could bring up the subject. “And the tunnels under the river won’t work. Not if we want them to make it here without radiation poisoning.”

Grit winced briefly, and paced a couple steps. “Well, couldn’t we jus’ clear th’ wreckage in th’ main tunnel?”

I let out a slow breath. It might be possible, but it was yet more manual labor, and with very little in the way of tools to cut metal.

“What’s blockin’ the tunnel?” Kyra piped in.

“Wrecked wagons, mostly,” I answered. “They must have been down there when the bombs went off, and got smashed together. It’s completely barricaded the tunnel.”

She ruffled her wings in place. “Don’t sound so bad to me, but you’ve seen it.”

Grit made a low grunting noise, scrunching his muzzle up slightly as Kyra and I turned our attention to him. “Well… what ‘bout that heat spell you’ve got, Alloy?”

I stepped back, giving Grit an incredulous stare. “There’s no way I could cut through all that! I almost passed out just melting a lock.” Admittedly, Grit had only ever seen me use that spell once, but still, he had to know it was more than I could handle.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to, though.” Kyra scratched the underside of her beak thoughtfully. Grit and I both stared at her expectantly before she finally continued. “I mean, I ain’t seen how bad it is under there, but if all we need is a path through, we could just weaken it, an’ then use a grenade or somethin’ to make a hole.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but closed it again shortly after. It wasn’t impossible to suggest, really. At the very least, it’d be worth taking Kyra out to see the damage. But more importantly, “Do you even have grenades?”

“Ehh, I can improvise somethin’ up!” Kyra bounced back cheerfully, flapping her wings once to hop over Grit and I, yawning noisily after she landed.

“Well, we can take y’ out t’ see it t’morrow. Figure out if this might even work.”

I stood up, raising a forehoof in the air in front of me. “We can’t both go. One of us has to stay to keep the Zebras calm.”

Grit gave a low grunt and a stamp of his hoof. “You’re right. So who stays?”

“It has to be you.” I nodded towards him, then glanced at Kyra, half-turned away from us and clearly ready to go to sleep already. “Kyra needs to see the wreckage, and I’ll give it a closer look to see if I really can manage to weaken it with my heat spell.”

He sighed again. “Alrigh’, fine. We’ll keep everyone here ‘s best we can. Not gonna try t’ keep diggin’ while we’re down two for guard duty.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kyra cut in before I could answer, yawning loudly again. “I’m gonna crash, though. Lemme know if ya change your mind in the mornin’.”

As she started towards our basecamp, I took one step towards her retreating form, about to stop her and ask to talk. Again, the subject of her price threshold was at the forefront of my mind. All this extra work, and she hadn’t once asked for more caps?

But I stopped myself. Maybe it was something personal. I glanced over to Grit, who’d seemed to notice my odd step, but didn’t say anything. “Good night, Grit,” I said, taking a few more steps after Kyra.

“Hang on a sec,” he said, stopping me midstride. “Somethin’s botherin’ you, I can tell.” He trotted up beside me, studying my face in profile. “Wha’s on your mind?”

I looked between him and Kyra, who may have still been close enough to earshot that I didn’t want to risk anything. “It’s probably nothing,” I said. Immediately, I saw the doubt in Grit’s eyes. “I mean,” I lowered my voice to a more private volume. “Isn’t it weird that Kyra’s working for so little now, when she asked for so much in Sugarland?”

Grit bobbed his head to one side. “Maybe a lil’ bit. But I’ve never met any other Talons ‘sides Kyra an’ th’ one that hired you a few weeks back, an’ she didn’ say much.”

“Me neither.” I looked towards Kyra, now vanishing into the ruined home we were camped in, “I want to ask her about it all the same.”

* * * * * * *

Despite what I’d said to Grit, I still had no idea how to even approach the subject. I had to ask casually, didn’t I? But she’d been cagey about it, deflecting whenever her and the Talons came up. Maybe I had to ask her bluntly? Or was I just reading into what wasn’t there?

Luckily, she gave me the perfect opening once we were well on our way to the bridge.

“So I gotta ask,” she said, leaping off a pair of stacked cars, making a quick spin in the air before padding back to ground-level. “How’d you figure on becomin’ a blacksmith?”

I gave a faint smile, glancing down a side-street as we passed before answering. “Hadn’t really planned on it. I wanted to be a trader, like my dad.” I snorted, continuing the story before Kyra could press me on that. “We found an old book once that talked about the basics, or close enough to let me try it out on my own. Got my cutie mark that way, and my dad encouraged me, since it meant more stuff he could sell. Something he could offer that other stores in New Appleloosa couldn’t.” I nickered softly, realized I had brought the topic back to my father again.

Kyra bobbed her head to the side once. “How come you left?”’

“Had an argument, went sour. Left afterward.” There. Brief and explanatory. I let out a short breath before asking, “How about you? Why’d you join the Talons?” Hopefully that’d stop her from prying into my past, and get her to answer questions about her own.

She waved a claw dismissively. “I was more born into it. My parents were Talons, so everyone just expected me to be one. Went with the flow, y’know?” She diverted her path to walk along a toppled streetlamp. “New Appleloosa’s a pretty safe place. Just left like that?”

My tail flicked at the air behind me. I knew I was trying to pick at her scabs, just like she was picking at mine. I had to keep things short, though. “It was a bad fight. And Railright would’ve taken my dad’s side.” I glanced over at her. “Mayor, of sorts. Doesn’t like to rock the boat.” I paused again, for longer this time. Gave her a reasonable opportunity to ask something else before I responded, “So… you didn’t want to be a Talon?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Her wings ruffled at her side. “I just never really thought about doing anything else, if that makes sense. Not like I don’t enjoy the fightin’,” She grinned at me, patting her shotgun for emphasis, “But it’s just been easier t’ go with the flow.”

“What would you do otherwise?” My question came blurted out, spurred by genuine curiosity now.

“What, if I couldn’t be a Talon?” I nodded, and she scratched under her beak idly, hovering alongside me now. “Never really thought about it. I guess… run a bar or somethin’? Maybe some gamblin’?” She flashed a wide smile. “Yeah, that sounds pretty damn good, to be honest. Get t’ have fun, rake in the caps, and bust up people that can’t pay.”

My eyes went a little wide at first, and I was about to press her on the idea, ask where she would even get supplies. She’d need drinks, food, and a supplier to replenish them quickly, just for starters--but I cut myself off before I could ask. It had been a hypothetical question, and she’d answered honestly. At least as honestly as I could tell. “Could you ever save up caps and leave?”

She hopped onto a pair of stacked cars and peered into the distance, craning her neck. Apparently satisfied, she leapt back down to ground level before answering. “Maybe. Don’t see why I couldn’t, but I never asked either.”

For a long stretch after, the air was filled only with the sounds of our steps on the cracked concrete.

The moment was slipping. “Kyra,” I began, stalling slightly while I composed my next sentence carefully. “Why did you want so much more money when we first met in Sugarland, compared to what you’re asking now?” I glanced over to see her cocking an eye at me suspiciously. I tried to cover myself. “Just curious, one businessmare to another.”

Looking towards and the small, beached boat that lay on the street ahead of us, she ruffled her wings again, but didn’t answer immediately. “Y’all just got lucky, really. Second time we met, situation was different back at HQ.” Before I could ask anything further, she held up a single talon. “Got trouble ahead. Find cover, I’ll deal with it.”

Nodding, I ducked behind one of the rusted-out skywagons, while Kyra drew her shotgun and charged at the husk of a boat. A quartet of ghouls galloped around its side and flung themselves at the griffon. Her shotgun roared, and a grin spread across her face.

Watching her fight with such a casual demeanor, I could believe that her prices were dictated more by her superiors than by herself, but at the same time, I couldn’t shake the insistent detail that she had explicitly sought me out for work. Talons never came looking for work. She’d said the situation had changed at HQ, but what did that mean? Were the Talons running out of cash? Or did some of the leadership die and the new bosses just wanted to charge less, and get more work done? And on top of all that, why had another Talon come looking for Kyra? It still didn’t sit right with me, and as Kyra killed the last of the ghouls, I started to formulate some follow-up questions, while the subject was still fresh on both our minds.

But before I could open my mouth to speak, she cut me off, holding her shotgun out for my inspection. “Hey, this look off to you?” she asked.

The sudden derailment caught me off guard. “Your gun?” Hesitantly, I lifted it in a field of magic, ejecting the magazine and emptying the chamber before examining the weapon more closely. “Off how?”

Too late I realized my mistake. Kyra immediately launched into a detailed list of minor issues she’d noticed over the last few days of using her gun, prompting me to check the various parts, all while trying to propose more ways I could customize it for her (“Wouldn’t be too hard to just make the barrel bigger, right?”).

And with her rambling, any hope of trying to satisfy the nagging questions in the back of my mind was lost.

* * * * * * *

After a few hours of walking, we finally arrived at the tunnel that crossed under the Bridle River. A thick fog clung to the trees that dominated the west side of the river, but the surface of the water itself was visible all the way to the far bank. Further to the south, the remains of the bridge that once crossed the waterway stood, towering concrete pillars with broken remnants of road still clinging to some of them like cobwebs. The whole shoreline stank of algae and dead fish, with the polluted current rushing out to sea. Occasionally, the surface was broken by a quick splash, something flailing in the river before diving back down into the dark water.

“The blockage is down in the tunnel itself,” I explained as we walked down the road, weaving between overturned wagons. Kyra shot a glance upward as we entered the tunnel, and the stench of mildew quickly became overwhelming.

After just a few minutes, we ran into the dead end Grit and I had encountered on our last journey. Just as before, a twisted mass of wagons, trucks, and other unidentifiable vehicles were smashed together into a wall of misshapen metal. I took a slow breath, focusing on the tip of my horn and producing a light bright enough to see most of the width of the tunnel. Then I looked over at Kyra expectantly.

She had started at the rightmost wall, carefully examining the wreckage, slowly pacing its length and running a single talon over the intertwined metal frames. As she moved, all I could do was watch, glancing between her and the barricade ;with a mixture of fascination and amazement. I’d never seen her so focused on something before. She waved her other talon at me rapidly, urging me closer. I trotted over, bringing the light closer to the spot on the wall she was examining, and as I did so, I realized she was quietly muttering something under her breath. I strained my ears a moment before picking out the tone.

The lyrical tone.

She was singing to herself.

I rolled my eyes slightly, but I couldn’t fault her for it. Evidently dissatisfied, she moved on from that spot and continued her slow pace of the wall, with me following alongside her.

After a few more tense minutes of searching, Kyra let out a sharply loud, “Got it!” The noise was so sudden I jumped, nearly staggering backward over a tire.

Quickly, I recovered myself and returned to her side. “You found a weak spot?”

She flashed a grin at me, waving me over to the spot she was standing at, somewhere near the top of the huge mound of wagons. I was able to carefully pick my way up to where she was, joining her in front of the spot she’d indicated. “See these beams here?” I nodded. There were about half a dozen intersecting metal bars that didn’t seem to have anything behind them on the other side. “Pop those out here, here, and here, and we’ve got our hole.”

I blinked in shock, retracing the points she’d indicated, and opened my mouth to object. The hole would’ve been big enough for a filly to walk through comfortably, sure, but a full-grown pony would have to crawl and pull their way through and hope not to cut themselves apart on the wreckage around them. “There has to be a better spot,” I said at last.

Kyra just tilted her head to the side indifferently. “I didn’t see one. Couple other spots we might pop lower down, but what’s left couldn’t hold the weight for long. It’ll be a tight fit, but s’your best shot.” With her judgement rendered, she jumped off the mound of wagons and glided to a safe landing, leaving me to carefully pick my way back down. I didn’t even get halfway down the pile before I heard a pair of wings hovering above me. “Faster this way,” she said with another grin, and then hoisted me up before I could object, her taloned forelegs poking at my armor, but luckily not breaking through, all while I tried my best not to squirm.

Glad to be back on solid ground once more, I took a deep breath, and motioned towards the tunnel exit. “We should get back. Tell the others what we found.” I glanced back at the blocked tunnel. Somewhere along the wall was a hidden door, leading to tunnels that wound below the river, crossing to the far side. A wave of nausea passed over me as I remembered the stink of the wet dirt, and the radiation that had poisoned Grit and I during our time there. I shook off the memory, flicking my ears as a chill ran up my spine.

* * * * * * *

“Well? Find whatcha needed?” Grit had wasted no time in running up to Kyra and I the moment we came into view of the basecamp. Light was already starting to fade from the sky. Behind him, I could see some of the zebras poking their heads out of the house we’d set up in, watching and craning their ears to eavesdrop. Two of them seemed to talk excitedly for a moment before starting to head our way

Kyra answered the question first. “Yeah, think so. Found a few weak spots near the ceilin’. It won’t be an easy climb up and down, but at least there’s no chance the rest of the wreckage’ll collapse back on you after we blow out the hole.

He eyed her warily. “What about the roof of the tunnel?”

“Oh, hell, no way a little grenade’s gonna do anything to that. Roof’s still in fine shape there even if it could.” She waved a talon dismissively at the idea.

I looked between Grit and Kyra, slowly asking the most pressing question on my mind, “How are you going to get grenades, though?”

She flashed us a smirk. “Oh, I had an idea ‘bout that, actually. Thought I might swing by my Talon station up north a ways, the one I was living at before I flew over to Four Shoes. I’m pretty sure I can requisition a couple grenades. Long-term assignment and all, though I’ll need t’ take the written contract with me. It’ll be a piece of cake. I can stop at Sugarland on my way back, an’ still make it back here before dark.”

Slowly, I nodded, adding, “Make sure you tell them it’s me they’re going to meet with, and that we’re working to save a caved-in Stable, and we want to hire guards to help us.”

“Y’sure ‘bout that? Tellin’ ‘em it’s you an’ all, I mean.” I looked over to see Grit staring at me, concern in the lines under his eyes. I suddenly realized he was looking thinner than he had before all this started.

“If they do agree to meet, they’ll come with armed guards, and if they see me when they weren’t expecting me, that might sour things.” Or worse, I thought, before briefly shaking my head. “We should be upfront with this. I have to prove I’m not who Bourbon thinks I am.”

Grit scuffed a hoof at the ground and let out a slow breath. “Alrigh’, makes sense t’ me. Kyra, can y’ leave first thing t’morrow?”

She offered a nonchalant ruffle of her wings. “Sure, won’t be a problem. But if I’m gonna head out early, I think that means it’s time t’ hit the hay.” Without waiting for either of us to respond, she began walking towards the basecamp, waving with one of her claws. “G’night you two!”

With Kyra departing the conversation, I looked towards the two zebras that stood nearby, politely trying to remain out of earshot. “Is there something wrong?” I asked hesitantly.

One of them stepped forward, a stallion, though I didn’t recognize him. He reached into his saddlebags and fished out a hammer with a metal grip, though it was bent at an unusable angle. “We had a hammer we were using to repair some of the buildings, but it broke. Would you mind fixing it for us?”

I wrapped the tool in a soft field of magic, lifting it over to me. Honestly, the damage didn’t seem that bad, though if not properly done, the handle could be made weaker when put back into shape. Looking up at the two of them, I gave a short nod. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Their faces lit up in relief, and the second zebra nudged the one that had spoken. “Thank you!” he blurted out, before hurrying back off, presumably to sleep.

Grit watched them retreat, then glanced around the plaza before stepping closer to me and asking in a low voice, “Y’ find out whatcha wanted from Kyra?”

I flicked my ear at the air. “Not really. She told me the price was different because the situation at her headquarters was different now. But then she flew off to fight some ghouls, and when she came back, all we talked about was her shotgun.”

Grit’s lips tightened, as he looked back towards the basecamp, and Kyra’s distant form. “Well… y’think we can trust her with this?”

I blinked, a little surprised at his blunt question. “We don’t really have any other options,” I said hesitantly. “But I do think she’ll honor her contract at least.”

He met my eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “Alrigh’, I trust you. I’m gonna turn in, too. ‘Night, Alloy.”

“G’night, Grit.”

He and I both knew I hadn’t actually answered his question.

* * * * * * *

Three days later, waking up at first light, I rolled over on the floormat set aside for me and grabbed my sales journal in a faint green glow of magic, flipping to the back pages. I’d begun filling the end of my journal with rough sketches. Drawings of designs I wanted to make once I was finally back at my forge, for good this time. A lump formed in my throat, and an emptiness in my gut that hunger couldn’t explain on its own. Soon. I finished drawing the design, a short dagger with an engraved mouthguard, and put the journal back into my bags. Once we get the Stable excavated. Won’t be long, now.

Kyra had come back as promised, with good news. She sported a new bandolier with half a dozen grenades hanging off it, strutting around as though she had bought a fancy new dress. According to her, the meeting with Sugarland had gone well, too. She’d been upfront with everything, like I’d asked, but skimmed over the details of the meeting with Bourbon. Still, apparently he had calmed down enough to meet with us on the far banks of the Bridle River. That only left the matter of actually crossing the river, and, more importantly, figuring out what I would say.

The spritebot would have to come. I had no idea what to even offer the ponies of Sugarland besides a few pre-war trinkets, or maybe the use of their library, but neither of those sat well with me. What if the Stable shared some of their crops? I let that idea stew in my mind for a moment, before nodding. That was a sound plan. I’d ask Studio about it on the way, but that made sense. Most of the ponies of Sugarland would jump at the chance to have some real fruits and vegetables, assuming they still valued luxury items in the way they had the last time I visited.

I climbed up out of bed and went outside to find Grit already awake and waiting, with the spritebot. He dropped a bag of something orange into his packs as I walked out. RadAway, maybe? Better safe than sorry, I guess. Hearing me exit, he turned around and flashed me a confident grin. “Ready for th’ big day?”

“Yeah. I have an idea of what to offer Sugarland for their help.” I nodded towards the waiting robot. “Is Studio there?”

The spritebot’s radio crackled and the deeper voice of Spark came through. “Naw, just me. I’ll go get ‘er.”

A few minutes passed in silence between Grit and I, staring into the thick fog. Nervously, I looked down to check my sword and pistol. The spritebot’s speaker let out a squeal of static, and then Studio’s voice came through. “Yes? Spark said you needed to speak with me, but I can’t stay here long.”

I turned back to the ‘bot and nodded. “I’ll be brief. Has Grit informed you of our need to hire additional guards for the dig?”

“He has, yes.”

“Good.” I spoke quickly and confidently, trying not to spend more time than was needed. “I believe we’ve found a group we can hire, but I’ll need something to offer them. These ponies favor pre-war luxuries, so I thought a share of fresh crops from the Stable might keep them happy.”

There was a long pause before Studio’s reply came back. “Our Stable may be underpopulated, but we can’t afford to give away too much. Maybe 10% of the crop at most.”

I glanced over to Grit. “Is that a lot?”

He cocked his head to one side a moment, considering. “Well, I didn’ really work ‘n th’ orchards, but I’d say that’d be a hefty crop for Sugarland.”

“Alright.” I turned back to the spritebot. “I can work with that. Thank you, Overmare.”

“Of course, Alloy. Grit. You two take care now.” With that, the radio clicked off again, but my mind was already spinning. With that much leeway, I’d start low. Offer them five percent at most, and negotiate up from there.

My head was still filled with numbers as Kyra flew over, followed closely by Star, Ginger Snap, and two of the zebras. One of them I didn’t know, but the other was the zebra that had vocalized their demands for extra protection in the first place - Selkan. Grit spoke up first as the seven of us, plus robot, formed a loose circle. “Alrigh’, listen, you two gotta be th’ ones t’ hold down th’ fort while we’re gone,” He nodded towards the other Stable ponies. “Should only be a few hours, an’ we’ll send Kyra back once th’ negotiatin’s done. I know ‘sa bit of a risk, but y’all wanted extra protection, so this’s how we gotta do things.”

Selkan scowled briefly, but nodded. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of all the different splits, either, but it was the only way that we could manage things without sending the zebras home or having me travel alone to the meeting site. We didn’t have time for the former anymore, and nobody had raised a voice to my insistence on having someone with me.

“We will stay inside until your return,” the second zebra chimed in, earning her a glance from Selkan.

“Well, we should get moving then,” I said. “Kyra, how fast can you fly across the river?”

She scoffed, waving one claw dismissively. “Ah, hell, flyin’ over takes no time at all.”

I nodded, turning back to the zebras, Ginger Snap, and Star. “She’ll probably be back sometime in the afternoon. Definitely before nightfall. Grit and I should get back closer to dusk.”

“Okay,” Star answered, an impressive confidence filling her voice. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this under control.”

* * * * * * *

The walk to the tunnel was thankfully uneventful, and we were only slightly delayed by the a group of bloodsprites bursting out of a ruined deli and charging at us. All half-dozen or so were cut down by Grit and Kyra before I could even aim a steady shot for myself.

Picking our way through the traffic tunnel, Grit and I lit our horns as the natural light vanished behind us, the blockage just a short distance ahead. I ate a stringy mouthful of of Flam, passing the can around for Grit and Kyra, though the latter eyed the canned hay suspiciously.

After she’d taken a begrudging bite of food, Kyra flew up to the corner in the upper-left of the blockage. “It’s up here!” she shouted, waving a claw for us to climb the twisted wreckage. Or at least, for me to. There wasn’t enough room for all three of us up there, and it was time to do my part.

“Hit this spot right here, here, and here,” she said, pointing with one talon to each of the three weakened points of metal. Bracing myself, I took a deep breath and lowered my head, nearly touching the tip of my horn to the first point and concentrating. After a few minutes, I could feel the heat washing over the top of my head, emanating from the glowing-hot metal bar. “That should do it,” Kyra said, and I released the spell, stepping away and catching my breath. After only one of these, I already felt like I’d galloped for miles.

After the third, my head was as light as a balloon, and I had trouble standing in one place, wobbling even though I stood on all fours firmly. Or I thought firmly.

“Woah, woah, easy there!” Kyra’s voice cut through the somewhat-familiar dizziness, and I felt a pair of claws grab me. They were sharp, and poked my gut even through the haze that clung to my mind. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the concrete floor of the tunnel next to Grit. I hadn’t fallen, though. Had Kyra carried me down? That made sense.

A canteen floated up in front of my muzzle, held aloft by a cushion of blue magic, and I gratefully drank a few gulps of the sour-tasting water. After a few breaths, I felt my mind stabilize, though I was still gasping for air. “I don’t mean t’ rush ya, but we gotta get t’ cover so Kyra can blow the hole open. Gotta work fast.”

Right. The grenades. I nodded, rasping out, “I’m fine. Where should we hide?”

Grit eyed me somewhat suspiciously, but led me over to a mostly-intact cargo wagon, where the two of us laid down. I tried to shut out the vision of a muscular pony looming over me. Chains dangling.

I clenched my jaw and took another deep breath.

“Fire in the hole!” Kyra shouted, and she dashed into the cargo wagon only a second later, flying faster than I’d ever seen her move before. I clamped my fetlocks over my ears, and a moment later, there was a thunderous BOOM! accompanied by a crash of noise, metal clanking on metal, shrapnel ricocheting off bits of other wagons. A few pieces bounced and scraped off the wagon we were hiding in, but nothing pierced through.

My ears were ringing, a high-pitched squeal that muffled nearly all other sounds. Once things had settled down, though my hearing was still muffled, Kyra flew out again, presumably to check her handiwork. “Well, it ain’t pretty,” she called back, barely audible to me, “but we’ll fit through just fine!”

Standing up uncertainly, I found my balance and managed to walk out of the cargo container with a steady gait, Grit following just behind me. Sure enough, in the dim green and blue light of our magic, there was a pony-sized hole in the blockage, just big enough for us to crawl through. Some of the pieces looked a little sharp, but for now we could just step carefully through. If we used the path later, I might be able to use some tools to blunt the edges.

Once the three of us had squeezed through, Kyra proclaimed, “I’ll fly on ahead, meet up with the Sugarland ponies. Might be better if they see me first, y’know?”

I nodded, and with that, Kyra dashed through the air, flying towards the west exit of the tunnel.

After she’d been gone some time, Grit turned to me. “Y’need a moment t’ rest? Probably ain’t gonna be easy t’ talk t’ Bourbon again.”

“I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes at me questioningly. “No, really, I am. A little tired, but I’ll be over it by the time we get to the far side. I’ve prepared for this as best as I can. Just have to stick to my guns.”

If only I was as confident as I sounded.

* * * * * * *

As Grit and I emerged from the traffic tunnel, spritebot in tow, I was struck once again by the overwhelming size of the trees that formed a boundary of wilderness less than a city’s block away from the shoreline. I was still weary and light-headed from the use of my spell, and was about to open my mouth to ask for us to sit down a moment when a trio of ponies emerged from under the cagelike roots of one of the trees, with Kyra dropping down from above, gliding to a soft landing.

“What took y’all so long?” she said as she landed, grinning before pointing to the rust-colored earth pony leading the trio. “This here’s Captain Tangerine. Cap’, told ya they’d be here soon. The blue one’s Alloy Shaper, the grinning dope is Grit, and on the other end of the spritebot is Overmare Studio.”

My eyes went wide. “What about Bourbon?” I hissed, turning away from the trio of guards. Even if he had tossed us out, we needed to talk to him directly to make any kind of deal.

Kyra recoiled a little, arching her brow. “Bourbon? No, no, you don’t wanna talk to him. You need guards, you gotta talk to Tangerine.” She nodded towards the trio.

Clearing my throat, I turned back towards them and took a slow breath. All three were in simple, padded armors that were stained with a green and brown mixture. But Tangerine stood a full head taller than the others, his bulky frame looming over all of us. A scar ran from just above his left forehoof, painting a line up his leg until it disappeared under his armor. A bulky rifle sat in his battle saddle, but he just impassively watched. Waiting for me to speak. “I apologize, you three were just not who I had been expecting. I thought I’d be meeting with Bourbon.”

Tangerine snorted, and the grey-coated unicorn behind him rolled her eyes. “It’s us who’d be taking on this job,” he answered, his voice like a growl. “So it’s us you’ll talk to. And I remember who you are, Alloy. Don’t care what Bourbon thinks of you, but don’t try anything stupid with us.”

I shook my head. “No, Bourbon got the wrong idea. I’m not-”

“I. Don’t. Care.” The towering guard captain just stared at me blankly. “Kyra told us you’d want to hire us for some guard detail, and you’d make it worth our while.”

My eyes darted over to Kyra, but I supposed she had to entice them to come out somehow. “On the east side of the river, a group of zebras and us are trying to dig out a Stable. A bomb blew up the building above it, so we’re trying to free them.” I paused here, glancing at the other two guards for a moment, allowing them the chance for a question that I expected might come.

Sure enough, Tangerine obliged. “Who set off the bomb? Someone in the Stable?”

For the briefest moment, I considered concealing the truth, but it made too little sense to lie. Someone like him must know who would be the likely culprit, and all of the Zebras already knew, as well. “Malice. She wanted workers from the Stable, but Studio closed the door instead.” I kept the explanation succinct, hoping it would keep the guard captain in a good mood.

He gave a short grunt, then asked pointedly, “Has she come back since? That what you need us to guard against?”

Shaking my head, I relaxed slightly. He hadn’t shown any of the hesitation Nikale had on hearing Malice was involved. “No, she hasn’t been back in the two weeks since the dig started. However we’re under constant attack from the wildlife of the Bayou, and nobody wants to continue without extra protection.” I paused again, but no one else spoke up. “In exchange for your help, Overmare Studio would ensure Sugarland receives five percent of Stable 15’s crop of fruits and vegetables grown in their controlled climate.”

Tangerine’s expression was unchanged, and I braced myself for him to demand more. I had to start low, of course, but I hadn’t expected the guards to be quite as irritated as they seemed now. “We don’t want your crops. We all got family in Sugarland, and you’re asking me to thin my patrols, to make my home more vulnerable.” He snorted, glancing at Grit, then the spritebot, then back at me. “Five PipBucks. That’s what it’ll cost you.”

I managed to keep my expression mostly even, my eyes widening slightly, but Grit couldn’t contain himself. “Y’want what?!”

The guard captain slowly turned his head and locked eyes with Grit, boring into him with a stern glare. “Kid, you’ve got what, a hundred ponies down there? Two hundred?”

Grit shifted on his hooves. “Not really sure, but ‘s north o’ hundred or so.” I could see where Tangerine was going with this, but I didn’t want to interrupt him and sour his mood even further.

“Right. And how many of those ponies are trained to handle weapons?”

Grit paused. “Maybe ten.”

“So keep up with me on the math here, but that sounds like you got a lot of those PipBucks that’d be better off in somepony else’s hooves.” Tangerine’s stare had, if anything, gotten harsher as he spoke. “Five PipBucks, and a key to open them.”

Hiding a cringe, I stepped in. “Give us just a moment to speak with the Overmare.”

Tangerine inclined his head, turning towards his two guards while Kyra, Grit, and I stepped up to the spritebot. “Did you hear all that, Studio?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Most of it. Alloy, we can’t give him PipBucks. Ours have the standard combat spells, certainly, but they’re the only way that our ponies will survive in the Wasteland, let alone giving him the key.” She lowered her voice, even though it was already a soft whisper. “What would stop him from just taking more later?”

I glanced back at Tangerine. I didn’t necessarily trust him, but his priority was focused on protecting Sugarland at least. “They do need a way to remove the PipBucks if someone dies,” I mused, half to myself. “We can offer them support for the PipBucks. Let Tangerine bring them to you if they need to be repaired or removed.”

Grit glanced over at me, keeping his voice low to match the rest of us. “These things don’t break easy, Alloy. I dunno if that’ll be enough for ‘em.”

“Well, we can’t trust them with the key,” Studio’s voice insisted. “Go ahead, Alloy.”

Nodding to the three of them, I turned back to Tangerine and took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, we can’t give out the key to the PipBucks. But Studio has agreed to let you bring them to Stable 15 whenever they need service or removal. We’ve made a passage through the traffic tunnel, so it should only be a day’s trot to Stable 15 from Sugarland.”

Tangerine barked out a laugh. “Sure, sure, and what happens if somepony dies on duty? Am I s’posed to drag his body all the way across the river? Or do you just want me to hack off a leg and bring that?”

I felt my blood start to run cold. Tangerine had excellent points, and I couldn’t deny that the support offered was a token gesture at best. “They could meet you halfway,” I offered weakly. “All the same, Overmare Studio won’t part with a key to their PipBucks.”

The bulky earth pony grunted. “Then I’ll need more of them. At least ten, to compensate for the fact that some might be lost in the field.”

“Ten PipBucks?!” The speaker on the spritebot popped, the audio degrading from the volume of Studio’s reaction. “We can’t do without so many!”

“Well then, looks like you gotta find someone else to guard your dig.” Tangerine waved a hoof in the air, and then turned away, barking orders at the trees, “Alright, pack it in! Mist Light, you’re on point.” And without another word to us, he and the two ponies beside him started to walk back into the Bayou.

“Captain, w-” I called after him, unable to stop myself in time. Immediately, I felt my gut clench. I wanted to slam my head against the nearest tree for making such a stupid mistake. But the damage was already done. I tried to force a polite smile, and caught the hint of a grin on Tangerine’s muzzle.

He knew he had us.

Saying nothing else to him, I turned to the spritebot, lowering my voice to a whisper again. “Studio, I don’t know where else we’re going to get guards for the Stable. I can’t finance more Talons, and we’re already asking as much as we could get out of Shipper. I don’t see how this gets done without help from Sugarland.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence. Tangerine, at least, stayed where he was and didn’t turn to leave again. But, of course, he didn’t have to. I’d completely destroyed our negotiating position.

Finally, the speaker crackled again, and a resigned-sounding Studio came over the speaker. “Ten PipBucks, then.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning back to Tangerine. “We can meet your price. Ten PipBucks, to be given once Stable 15 is dug out.”

The guard captain grinned, inclining his head towards me. “Pleasure doing business. You’ve been so helpful, I might even put in a good word with Bourbon. Who knows, maybe he won’t wanna crush your skull th’ next time he sees you.” I clenched my jaw tight, but said nothing, scuffing at the ground with one forehoof. “I’ll have two squads head across the tunnel tomorrow. Meet them on the east side in the morning.” And with that, he turned once again and left.

* * * * * * *

None of us spoke to each other until we got back to the traffic tunnel. On reaching the mouth, Grit turned to Kyra. “Hey, can ya fly back t’ base camp with th’ spritebot? I’m worried ‘bout leavin’ Star an’ Ginger Snap alone for so long t’ guard.”

Kyra ruffled her wings, hopping into the air. “Sure thing, boss.” With nothing else said, she took off into the air, and the spritebot paused only a moment before it followed after her, floating along the darkened waters of the Bridle River.

Once they were out of earshot, he turned to me, a guilty look in his eyes. “There’s… somethin’ I wanna see on th’ way back. Might take us a li’l extra time, and it won’t be safe. I’ll understand if y’ don’t wanna help.”

I glanced over him, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion playing through my mind. “What is it?” was all I said. And why could Kyra not be here for it?

My unspoken question was answered almost immediately. “I found somethin’ in one o’ the memory orbs, an’ the files on that terminal a while back, with th’ Caimon. It’s…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Y’know that tunnel we used t’ get ‘cross th’ River last time?”

I nodded slowly, wary of where the conversation was headed.

“That was… the top level o’ th’ New Oreins changelin’ hive. A secret tunnel tha’ was meant t’ get changelin’s ‘cross th’ River. But down below that is rest o’ th’ hive. I’m headed down there. Today.”

My jaw went slack as I stared, studying his face, and it was a long moment before he met my eyes, but when he did, I could see the determination there. He’d been thinking about this conversation for a while. He packed extra RadAway this morning. I took a breath, a dozen retorts crowding my throat and stopping me from saying anything at all, and after a moment I just closed my mouth again, looking towards the tunnel. I knew what would come next, and an icy chill sank through my veins. He wouldn’t ask me for help, and he might not even protest too much if I told him I couldn’t go with him.

But I would.

It was only then I realized how long we’d been standing there, utterly silent. I glanced up at him, and both of us spoke at once.

“Alloy, y’don-”

“I’m coming with you.”

Now it was his turn to recoil in surprise. I nodded at him, starting to walk towards the tunnel. “This is your last chance to go down there for a while, and so you’re going with or without me. It’s ultimately safer this way for everyone, and if you disappear, who knows what’ll happen with the Stable.” Grit’s shock faded slightly, and he nodded. I gave him a thin smile, satisfied I’d followed his train of thought correctly. “And you’re my friend.”

He just blinked a moment, then burst out laughing. I suddenly felt my face burn hot, regretting my addendum immediately. “What?” I demanded, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’, nothin’! Just weird t’ hear that outta ya, ‘s all.” A wide grin was plastered across his face, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as we started walking into the mouth of the tunnel. “Thanks, Alloy.”

* * * * * * *

Once we’d crawled through the gap near the top of the blockade, Grit quickly found the door he’d opened all those weeks ago in our first trip through. As before, his hoof seemed to pass through a portion of the wall that seemed exactly like the wall around it, and a thick section of the tunnel wall separated and slid away, grinding against the concrete floor. I stepped up to the wall myself as Grit drew his pistols and walked through, touching my hoof against the wall where I could swear his hoof had been. The material was smoother, and whatever it was made the hairs on my leg stand on end, but I couldn’t push through. “What is this?” I asked him, before turning and following him through the doorway.

“Dunno, th’ orb didn’ tell me anythin’ ‘bout it.” He glanced over his shoulder, the door grinding shut once again.

I studied the wall in the dim light casting off the tips of our horns, looking for the way to open the door again, though I didn’t have to search long. The door itself was clearly visible from this side of the wall, metal framework and heavy machinery set into the surrounding rock, with a sturdy-looking switch beside the frame.

Satisfied, I followed Grit down the tunnels leading away from the door, turning right at the first split, away from the path we’d taken before. My revolver floated in a haze of magic before me, barrel aimed downward for now. The tunnels still reeked of rotten eggs, and I could hear Grit’s PipBuck clicking every now and then, though not as consistently as it had the last time we were down here, thankfully.

After only a short walk, the tunnel opened up into a wide chamber dominated by the last sight I thought I’d see - an elevator shaft. I paused, but Grit didn’t break his stride walking towards it, so I followed him down to the platform, studying the machinery. It… looked sturdy enough, not as rusted as I’d have expected, but I still felt my guts tighten at the thought of riding it. “Is that the only way down?”

Grit paused, looking over the gears and pulley system to glance back at me with a grimace. “ ‘Fraid so. It ain’t too deep, but s’the only way into th’ hive.”

The depth of the elevator itself wasn’t what worried me. If the elevator collapsed, we’d be completely trapped down there. I met his eyes and saw the determination there, and stepped into the cart, clenching my jaw as the ancient metal groaned under my weight.

A moment later, Grit boarded as well, accompanied by his own chorus of creaks and groans, and he tapped the switch to take us down.

The elevator renewed its cacophonous protest as it descended slowly into the tunnels, the noise making me wince and squeeze my eyes shut. For some insane reason, the floor was a metal grate that you could see right through, into the dizzying void below, so I just resolved to close my eyes. That didn’t work. Every single lurch or stutter of the elevator’s mechanisms was magnified until I was even more certain it would collapse below us.

So I opened my eyes. I kept them locked on a fixed point. The railings around us that framed the shaft itself. Just watched them scroll by lazily, focused on the differently-textured blotches and rust stains, drowning out everything else until I finally felt the elevator lurch to a stop.

It jarred us so suddenly that I nearly fell to the floor, but Grit didn’t seem to notice, though I caught him jumping to steady himself, too. He wrapped the gate that held us prisoner in that elevator and slid it to one side, stepping out into the tunnel beyond, though his PipBuck began a steady, worrying clicking.

The rock walls here seemed far more stable, though the entire tunnel stank of rotting eggs and… something else I couldn’t place but made my stomach clench, nearly costing me my meager lunch. Wiping a streak of spit off my muzzle with my fetlock, I followed Grit around the corner, where the tunnel suddenly opened up.

Then I immediately vomited onto the cave floor.

The utterly grotesque scene before me was like nothing I’d ever seen before, illuminated by the faint, flickering lights left on the floor. The walls and ceiling of the massive cavern chamber were lined with hardened green sacs, each big enough for a pony. At least half of them were shattered open, the contents dumped onto the floor, either dropping from the ceiling or slumping out, half-emerged. The sheer force of the stench slammed against my muzzle like a sledgehammer, a pungent, muggy cocktail of rotten meat and fungus that grew near the water, laced with an acidic sting that made my eyes water up. Rotten bodies of ponies lay scattered across the ground, bodies broken and rotting where they lay, pools of hardened mucus or slime spread around them. Some of the giant egg-like sacs were intact, partially translucent so that the inhabitants were visible, all preserved somewhat-better than the bodies covering the floor, but only slightly. None moved, and all that was left of them was an emaciated husk lying on the bottom of their eggs.

Grit seemed as troubled by all this as I was, but before either of us could say a word, a familiar raspy snarl came from the other side of the cave. Our attention and guns snapped up in time to see four rotted forms shamble around the corner. At first glance, I thought they were a group of unicorn ghouls, but then I saw the twisted, half-chewed appearance of their horns, the holes that ran straight through their bodies and legs seemingly at random, and the bizarre insect-like wings that sprouted from their backs. Goddesses, what-

They spotted us in the same moment, and as I was about to shoot the disfigured ghouls, their horns glowed in unison, and a shimmering green ring swept across their bodies.

I knew that magic.

It was the same magic Grit had used to transform.

Once the wave of magic had passed over the ghouls, we were left staring at half-transformed rotted corpses of us. Two of them had transformed into an imitation of Grit, while the others had attempted to transform into me, though none of them could complete the transformation. Their fur was matted and clung to their rotten flesh, as though it were a suit of skin made out of our own hides, and it flickered back and forth between their true forms and their attempted transformations. Blackened holes ringed by glowing green magic would spread at random, then close again, only to reappear elsewhere. All the while, their eyes were solid green, baleful and fixated on us.

They charged.

Grit took the first shots, his shot dropping one ghoul to the cave floor and missing the second. I squeezed the trigger on my revolver. Once, twice, three times. A leg exploded out from under the galloping form of one of the ghouls that was imitating me. Its face--my face--smashed to the ground. I clenched my jaw and tried to shoot the second. I missed, missed, missed! It was charging straight for me. I heard Grit’s guns firing again. I drew my sword, jumping to one side. My hooves hit a pile of the mucus, and slipped out from under me.

Suddenly a set of snapping jaws filled my vision, my forelegs pressed against the ghoul, holding it back long enough for my sword to swing around. It sliced into the skull, piercing it through under the jaw, and then it fell limp.

Heaving, I shoved the corpse off of me and tried to ignore the slimy substance that coated my back and flank. With an effort, I yanked my sword out of the skull of the ghoul, its body having reverted to its original appearance. My breathing was heavy, lungs burning as gulped down stale, disgusting air. Didn’t matter. I wiped my sword off a few times on my armor before sliding it back into its sheath. Grit had finished off the ghoul that I had tripped, and was watching the tunnel they’d come from carefully. Once my revolver was reloaded, I did the same, staring at the entrance until we were sure no more were coming.

Cautiously, fighting back the wave of nausea, I stepped towards the corpses of the ghouls. They were a sight unlike anything I’d ever seen up close before, black chitin covering their emaciated bodies, warped and oozing green pus. What the fuck were they? Grit stepped up next to me, a visible shudder passing through his spine. He glanced at the ghouls, but only for a moment before he looked away. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

He winced a little at the question. “Not this ‘n particular.” He took a short breath. “Changelin’ ghouls.”

My eyes went wide, and I looked between the fresh corpses and Grit. Those were changelings? The ghoulification had certainly done monstrous things to their bodies, but I’d seen plenty of ghoul ponies. Radiation could only do so much. Again I looked between the ghouls and Grit.

Did he look like that in his real form?

Grit avoided my gaze for a long while. Eventually he walked past and then gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Told you y’wouldn’t wanna see.”

I bit my lip and stepped around the bodies with him. Had to change the subject. I glanced around at the walls, at the egg sacs and the remains of ponies inside them. No. Not now, anyway. Instead, I focused on the insistent clicking of Grit’s PipBuck. “Sounds like the radiation isn’t bad, but we can’t stay down here long, Grit.”

He took a deep breath, some vitality restored to his voice. “Ah know. Shouldn’t be too hard t’ find.” He started walking towards the other side of the cave, pistols drawn.

Following along and picking my way around the corpses, I asked in a low whisper, “What are we even looking for?”

Grit didn’t answer immediately. I followed his gaze and saw him following the power cables that led out from the egg-filled cavern, until we came to a split in the path, cables running in both directions. “S’posed t’ have some records. Hopin’ t’ find my family history, or somethin’. Anythin’, really.” With that, he turned to the right, following the direction that appeared to be a branch off the tunnel to the left. He stopped to scuff an “X” in the floor next to the direction we came from before moving forward.

I didn’t ask him anything further. Whatever he hoped to find down here, I’d probably see it as soon as he did, and I didn’t want to make any more noise than I had to. We kept our horns lit, even though there were electric lights spaced through the tunnel. Every now and then some of them were out, or others would flicker in a desperate attempt to stave off the darkness.

* * * * * * *

After several minutes, we came to another split. Another changeling ghoul stood there waiting for us, but this one was just staring at the wall, its head swaying. Grit drew his pistols, then took a hesitant step forward. “Hey, uh… y’okay?” It didn’t react. “Hello?”

This time, its head snapped around, and its grotesque nostrils flared, sniffing the air. Finally, it let out a raspy shriek, and Grit squeezed the triggers. Two shots embedded themselves in its skull, and the mangled corpse fell limp. I thought I caught a glimpse of something mournful in Grit’s eyes as he stepped away, and I avoided looking at the body altogether, turning my attention to the fork in the caves.

Ahead, the tunnel went three different ways, but right in front of all three was a metal desk, its appearance almost comical in the carved-out tunnels around us.

But sitting atop the desk, projecting a bright, green glow, was a sturdy, Stable-Tec terminal.

Grit lost his composure, bounding across the room and pushing aside the chair to start accessing the terminal. He checked his PipBuck and punched in a password as I rounded the corner after him, in time to see the terminal’s response.

WELCOME AGENT

My eyes wide, I could only watch as Grit scrolled through records, downloading them all onto his PipBuck. “This… this’s great!” I could hear the exhaustion and relief at odds in his voice. “Don’t have time t’ read all this now, but I c’n copy it all real quick.” I was about to ask what the hell he was even copying from this old terminal, when he tapped a button for the next file.

Speakers crackled on from the terminal, and a pair of voices, centuries dead, filtered through.

“-firm entry of….able 15! Can y…” The first voice sounded distant, marred by static.

“I have no idea! I think Moon Dust got into 36, but I only know what you guys can tell me! Now get the fuck down here! Over!” The second voice, meanwhile, was much clearer. A haggered-sounding mare shouting back at the first speaker

“...ough! Ha… r nothing! Over.”

“Fucking radio,” the mare hissed. “Repeat last, repeat last, over!”

There was a long pause, of nothing but static from the other line.

“Dew Drop! Come in!”

“...’m here. Sand, I th… 15 sealed, but… ound 36. Can’t come down yet. Have to…”

“There’s nothing you can do, just get down here, please!”

“...ta try.” There was a long, silent pause that didn’t seem to be caused by the radio interference at the time. “Goodbye, Sandy. Love you.”

“Dew? What the fuck are you doing?! Dew Dr-”

A sharp, burst of a squealing noise cut off the recording, and both Grit and I were left staring at the terminal. After a long, silent moment, I looked down under the desk, to the shape that just now caught my eye. There was a dried-out, grey husk, vaguely in the shape of a pony, curled up underneath. It had the same holes pockmarking its legs, the same gnarled horn, and skeletal frameworks of the same iridescent wings as the ghouls.

And sitting between its forelegs was a small radio transmitter, still connected to the desk above.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: N/A

Alloy Shaper’s Smithy
Sales Journal

Author's Notes:

Everyone knows the best computers are in caves.

OK, OK, serious time, I know this one took an age and a half. 9 months. Good lord, 9 months before this was ready. As I said in blogposts earlier, a lot of that is chocked up to my editor Pip not having the time to manage doing any editing for several months of her new job. But hey, there *is* a silver lining for this. In the time I was waiting, I was not idle, and Chapter 17 is fully drafted! Editing has begun on that, and you should only have to wait one month before that comes out. Hope the wait was worth it, and once again I do sincerely apologize.