“Oh, I know! How ‘bout, ‘Alloy an’ Grit’s Arms an’ Armor!’”

I shook my head. “No. First off, we’ve got more than just weapons and armor to sell. Secondly, we have no guns, and that’s what most ponies think of when you tell them it’s an ‘arms’ dealer.”

Grit tilted his head and scrunched his muzzle. “What about… ‘Alloy’s Caravan Metalworking.’ ”

I let out a sigh. We’d been at this for what felt like an hour now as we walked the winding path to Shipper, just as littered with wreckage, debris, and canals of irradiated water as it had always been. Grit insisted that the name of our caravan business was “too boring” and had been proposing catchy names, while I repeatedly shot them down. “Look, ‘Alloy Shaper’s Travelling Smithy’ works. It ties back to the name of my shop so that if--when I get back and re-open, maybe some other ponies will have heard of it and stop by. It’s name recognition.”

He smirked at me. “Do I have t’ be the one t’ point out that you ain’t exactly running a ‘smithy’ while you’re on the road? Don’t that imply there’s a forge?”

“First off, like I said, it’s name recognition. Second, how do you even know what a ‘smithy’ is?”

Grit nickered. “Well, I take offense t’ that. Maybe I ain’t gonna tell you now how or why I know.”

I flicked my tail with another sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”

He looked away from me with an exaggerated harumph, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to point at the sky. I just rolled my eyes and kept walking forward, briefly stepping around a tire in the path. After a few moments, I glanced back over to him. “You’re going to trip if you keep that up.”

With a chuckle, he lowered his snout and turned back to face me. “I’m just givin’ you a hard time. Didn’t really bother me.” He paused to levitate his canteen to his face, take a sip, and then hang it back around his neck. “And I went an’ found out what a ‘smithy’ was a lil’ after you moved t’ town. Was curious ‘bout the name o' your shop.”

I tilted my head at him. “Curious enough to research it on your own?” I stopped our walk for a moment as we reached one of the landmarks delineating the trail to Shipper, an old school with the bell tower toppled. The bell itself was lodged in the wall of the house next door.

We veered left away from it, continuing on the path. “Well, a brand new salespony moves t’ th’ town I’ve been lookin’ after for years, I figure I should make an effort t’ understand her business.”

“Hmm.” I glanced away from the path and back to him with a small smirk. “So why not just ask me?”

He kept his eyes on the path ahead as tilted his head in a conciliatory gesture. “Felt like it’d be rude.”

Suddenly, Grit’s head snapped around to his left and he shot his foreleg out in front of me to stop me, drawing one of his pistols and pointing it at the ridge he was staring at. I felt my muscles tense. My eyes darted over the ridge, searching for any changes, any movement. I lit my horn, drawing my sword while looking between Grit, the ridge, and anything else around us.

A pair of bloodsprites flew into view over the ridge a moment later, and before I could even shout a warning, three shots rang out. I jumped, startled by the sudden noise, crouching low into the mud. When I looked up again, only a few seconds later, I saw the two corpses tumbling down the hill towards us.

I stood up again and tried to conceal my amazement as I sheathed my sword. How the hell had he managed to shoot those ugly things down so quickly? I mean, I knew he had a reputation, but seeing it for myself was something else entirely. He popped the magazine out of his pistol and examined it a moment before sliding it home again and holstering the gun, then turned to me and flashed a grin. “Nothin’ t’ worry about.” He gestured with glance at the path. “Should keep movin’ though.”

I nodded, resuming our walk along the trail as I composed myself. “Right.” I knew where we were; we’d be approaching the Ministry office soon. The previously-unremarkable wrecked skywagons now served as silent reminders. I had been thinking of treating myself to big meal with the caps I’d make from repairing Xekan’s battle saddle and rifle. Expanding my business. I quietly bit my lip, trying to force the memories from my head. What in Equestria had possessed me to to get so Luna-damned cocky?

I cleared my throat and took a sharp breath. “That was,” I paused, looking for the right words, “impressive shooting.” We rounded a corner and the half-collapsed office building came into view. I remembered pressing myself to the floor as I looked out the window on the far side, spotting the slavers for the first time. “I mean, I didn’t doubt you had skill, but it’s something else entirely to see you in action.”

He blinked at me, looking a bit surprised. “Thanks. Though t’ be fair,” he bobbed his head to the side and back, “I do cheat a lil’ bit with my PipBuck.”

I looked down at the device secured around his left foreleg. I’d never understood much about them. I’d heard they had a map and radio, and that they were damn near indestructible, but little else. “How does that thing help?”

“Oh, lotsa ways!” He sat down and raised his foreleg, stopping us in the lobby of the Ministry building while using his blue-tinted telekinesis to scroll through the various screens and show me. “S’got a spell called S.A.T.S. built-in. Complicated t’ explain, but it helps me aim. Sorta slows down time an’ gives me a chance t’ line up a better shot. I really couldn’t tell ya how it works.” He lowered his foreleg and met my eyes. “Puts this display in my sight, too, so I can keep track o’ ammo, which direction I’m goin', and it’ll even put lil’ bars on the compass for other ponies an’ critters. Tells me if they’re friendly or not, too.” He stood up and we kept walking. I just nodded quietly, focusing on his words and trying to pay attention while absolutely not looking at the splatters of week-old pony blood on the lobby floor. “Got a few other handy things too, like a sorting spell t’ help you get stuff outta your saddlebags faster. Weirdest thing is, though, it's got a labellin’ system attached t’ the map. Ain’t got the slightest clue how it works, but somehow it knows the names o’ places. They’ll pop up in my vision t’ tell me when I go someplace new.”

We strode to the opening in the building, and a question on the tip of my mouth about the spell that sorted saddlebags dried up as I saw the larger splatters of blood on the bridge. I knew that this was where Chainlink had hit after tumbling out of the window. After I’d slashed his throat open. Because he had been about to enslave me.

I ignored the smell of gunfire that I knew couldn’t be there, and forced the question about Grit’s PipBuck out of my mouth. “That,” I swallowed, wetting my dry throat, “that sorting spell, how’s it work? Does it actually rearrange stuff in your bags?”

Grit narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “Yea… makes it easier t’ grab what y’need faster. An’ I’m not really sure how any of it works past ‘magic.’ ” He glanced ahead to the path as we crossed the ravine and veered south, away from the Ministry building and the splatters of blood, then looked back at me with a note of concern. “Somethin’ botherin’ ya?”

“I’m fine. Fine,” I answered all too quickly. The office was behind us now, and I held fast against the urge to look back and make sure nothing was following us. My companion, thankfully, didn’t press the issue, though he looked like he didn’t believe me. We walked in silence for a moment before he began talking about PipBucks again, and I was grateful for the distraction.

* * * * * * *

Our arrival at Shipper was met with equal parts suspicion and confusion, the former of which was reserved mostly for Grit, and the latter for myself. To his credit, Grit took it in stride, standing to the side and being cheerfully disarming while I asked for Nikale and offered my services and wares. Nikale, I was informed, was out for the day, hunting with some of the other zebras including Xekan. While I spotted at least one of the others who had been captured by the slavers, I didn’t want to approach them and start asking about what they might have heard about Copper. At least, not without somepony to introduce me and broach the subject more gently than I could. The villagers repeatedly asked what I was doing here so early, whether I had completed the order early, and who my companion was. I deflected as best I could, explaining that I was visiting on other business to see Nikale, but nothing I said seemed to satisfy them until I presented my inventory for sale.

Grit and I passed the afternoon doing odd jobs around town, and I sold a couple of tools, as well as the bracelet I had made with the marbled patterning. As the zebra buying it marvelled at the swirled patterns in the metal, I felt an inexplicable jab deep in my gut.

Watching that little bracelet being carried away, I had an intense desire to be back home. Back at my forge, back at my shop with its hoof-painted sign. Could I even pull this scheme off? What if I wasn’t asking for enough caps? I should re-evaluate my prices again. If I was on the move, I didn’t have the luxury of holding out for better prices. Or if I was moving around the Wasteland, did that mean my prices should go up? I was putting myself in danger to bring my wares to my customers, though I had no say in the matter. What about mercenary contacts? Should I be making requests as I go? I didn’t think anyone in Shipper would be able to help, but I should decide before getting to Stable 15. And for that matter, what would I do at 15? Should I come back here? Or stay there? Ask for other settlements?

I shook my head and breathed in a slow, deep breath. It calmed my anxiety-fueled thoughts, or at least stemmed the tide for now. My gut still felt like something was coiled around it, constricting just enough that I couldn’t forget about it entirely. As the customer left earshot, Grit stepped forward, leaving one foreleg hesitantly raised in mid step as he looked me over. “You okay? Never seen you this nervous runnin’ your store before.”

I sighed softly with a shake of my head. “It’s not nerves. Just getting used to the change of pace. Feels strange running my shop like this.” It was a partial truth, and that was enough.

Luckily, the return of Nikale, Xekan, and a hoofful of other zebras saved me from any further questions. They ascended the entry ramp to the town carrying a pair of radigator corpses, and it only took a moment for Nikale to notice me. It wasn’t as if Grit and I blended into the crowd very well with our multicolored coats and manes. He crossed the warehouse floor with an unhurried gait. As he stopped in front of us, I scuffed at the ground with a hoof. “Nikale. It’s good to see you.” I met his eyes, then glanced over to Grit, waving him forward. “This is my,” I hesitated for half a heartbeat, “business associate, Grit.”

Taking his cue, the sandy-coated unicorn took a step forward, wearing his beaming grin. “Pleasure t’ meetcha.” I’d thought he would launch into a telling of his achievements, maybe spiraling into one of the stories I’d heard him tell so often, but instead he just returned the nod Nikale gave him, then looked over to me expectantly. I’d been prepared to temper his enthusiasm, but instead I looked back to my trade partner.

“I understand that my visit is unusual,” I began, regaining my footing. “I’ve come to make a request, and conduct some business on the side.” The large zebra tilted his head quizzically at me. “I’d like to speak to the zebras that were held captive by the slavers, to ask them some questions. Xekan, in particular, but I need any information I can get.”

Now Nikale’s eyes narrowed a little, and I began to fear that I’d crossed a line. Had I abused my welcome to show up out of the blue like this, unannounced and unexpected? With a slow and measured pace, he asked, “Why would you need information from them? It is a strange thing to ask for.”

I winced slightly at the question. I’d been hoping to avoid answering a question about why I wanted to see Xekan, but in the short time I had considered excuses and lies, I’d been unable to think of anything innocuous or believable enough. And I had more to lose by lying and being caught.

Glancing around to ensure no one was in earshot aside from the three of us, and lowering my voice, I kept my response as concise as possible. “I’ve been… temporarily evicted from Four Shoes. I need to track down a specific pony in particular, or I’ll lose my shop. It’s somepony that the slavers would have known, so I need clues, and they’re my best shot.”

He stared at me for a long moment, meeting my eyes while I stared at his. With a glance behind himself, towards where Xekan was standing, he snorted. “You are not to speak to Jahaira about the slavers, for any reason. She is still recovering.” He paused, glancing to the side to contemplate. I almost spoke again before he looked back at me and continued. “They all are. Xekan is doing better. But you must not pressure him.”

I blinked, surprised at how stern he sounded. It was a side of Nikale I’d never seen before, and I nodded while trying to think again about the questions I was going to ask, wondering if any of them were too harsh. I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t the best judge. As Nikale turned to call out for Xekan, I remembered the last item I had to discuss with him. “Ah, one more thing.” Already in mid-turn, Nikale stopped and faced me again with an inquisitively cocked eye. “Grit and I need a place to sleep. We have bedrolls, but I don’t want to just roll them out and sleep on the floor without your permission. This is your town after all.”

Nikale smirked briefly and looked towards the entrance of Shipper, that centuries-collapsed doorway, and the cargo-container homes near it. “30 caps.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised. Nothing ever came free in the Wasteland, but somewhere in my mind I had assumed ‘empty space on the floor’ might be exempt. I scrunched my muzzle disapprovingly and nickered. “30 caps? For just a spot on the ground somewhere?”

The zebra shook his head. “It is not just any spot to you. Otherwise you would sleep outside, correct? You want safety.” He inclined his head. “Safety costs you 30 caps.”

“20. You can’t possibly get many chances to make a quick cap like this, and however it happened, I still saved those zebras. You should be able to cut me a little slack here.”

He chuckled, which irritated me. “But I already have. 30 caps. Were it anyone else, it would have been 50.”

I flicked my tail sharply in annoyance. He had my number, and that confidence in his eyes told me he knew it. I let out a sharp sigh. “Fine. 30 caps.” I opened my saddlebags and counted out the scratched-up bottlecaps for him, depositing them into his own saddlebag as he held it open with a foreleg. Though it wounded my pride a bit to have been outmaneuvered like that, 30 caps wasn’t an awfully expensive price. “Can I speak to Xekan now?”

Nikale turned to call out to the younger buck, waving a foreleg to get him to join the three of us. Grit leaned over with a smirk on his face, muttering to me, “Never thought I’d see th’ day y’got upstaged.” I shot him a sharp look as he chuckled at his own joke.

Before I could retort, Nikale answered him. “If it eases your mood, I would have asked for 55 from your friend.” He looked to Grit, then back at me. “He smells strange,” the zebra finished with a nod.

Grit’s smirk was immediately wiped clean from his muzzle and plastered onto my own, as I stifled a laugh and he craned his neck to smell himself at various angles. The older zebra cleared his throat to get our attention when Xekan stopped beside him. I immediately brought my attention around, meeting Nikale’s eyes. “Thank you.” I turned my head towards Xekan, who was more than a little confused. “I’d like to ask you some questions about the slavers.”

The young zebra instantly took a step back from me, tension writ plain on his face. His eyes shot to Nikale, who looked back with a slow nod. Xekan swallowed and then nodded at me, though he said nothing.

I decided I’d keep it short and cut straight to the point. “Did any of them mention a job that one of them was going to do? Specifically, the one with a green coat and grey mane?” I paused, seeking any kind of recognition on Xekan’s face. “Maybe something about a pony named Copper?” I added.

Xekan opened his mouth slightly, then looked at the ground, then back at me. “I… think I do remember something. They asked the green one about a pony named Copper.” My ears immediately perked at that, an actual lead! “The green one said that… that Copper had escaped on an airboat, but they think he crashed it.”

“Where?!”

Nikale narrowed his gaze at me as I jumped at the chance for more information. Xekan, on the other hoof, stuttered nervously, teasing details from his memory. “I’m not sure, but… wait… n-no, he said that Copper… the pony’s boat was chased into a gator nest before it was lost.” He nodded, a little more confident. “Yes, they said it was a big gator nest.”

I deflated a little at this news. A radigator nest wasn’t exactly friendly to ponies visiting, especially by way of careening an airboat into them, if the story was even accurate. The pressure of my task began to loom over my mind again, and I forced it back, assuring myself that it wasn’t my problem. All I had to do was get enough caps, find a mercenary, and pass the information along. If Malice’s precious ‘pet’ had gotten himself killed in the Bayou, that was her problem. She didn’t have to push this on me if she wanted him back so badly. Didn’t have to make me enslave another pony.

At that moment, from a dark corner of my mind, I hoped that Copper was already dead.

With an abrupt shake of my head, I realized that Grit, Nikale, and Xekan were all staring at me silently, with expressions of concern, unreadable silence, and fear. I met Xekan’s eyes and nodded. “You don’t remember anything else?”

“No.” The younger buck’s ears drooped. “I am sorry.”

“No, I appreciate your help. Thank you.”

As the pair of zebras left, and I began rummaging through my saddlebags for my sales journal, Grit interjected. “Poor zebra was shaken up pretty bad. Only ever seen somepony like that after a nasty fight.” He paused and I heard him take a slow breath. I kept digging in my saddlebags and didn’t answer. “So… y’ever gonna tell me what happened?”

I glanced up at him for a moment, then back at my saddlebags. “I killed three slavers,” I answered flatly. A knot formed in my gut. I ignored it.

Grit nickered. “S’not what I meant. How’d it happen, why’d it happen, hell, how’d you end up fightin’ three-on-one? And winnin’?”

The aged journal was crushed towards the bottom of my bag. I’d definitely put it on the top, how did it end up down there? Pulling it out along with the old pencil I used to write in it, I flipped to the first blank space. Of course, I couldn’t remember any numbers with a certain unicorn stallion staring at me. “I know. But I don’t want to talk about it.” He kept staring at me until I dropped the pencil in my mounting irritation. “Look, another time, alright? Sometime when we have some more,” I paused, looking at the zebras milling around town, one of them walking a little closer past us, “when we have a little more privacy.”

Grit scrunched his muzzle up at this, but then sighed in acceptance. “Fine, fine. I’ll ask while we’re on th’ road t’ 15. Won’t be another soul ‘round for miles.”

My tail flicked at the air. I tried to focus on the journal, but now my frustration stopped my thoughts. I’d been hoping to stall him for longer than just until tomorrow. I snapped the journal closed and met his eyes. “Why does it matter anyway?”

He inclined his head. “Well, s’long as I’m out here with you, figure I should know th’ details. If only t’ get th’ story straight.”

I was about to retort something when we were interrupted by the growling of our stomachs. Neither of us had eaten since setting out from Four Shoes that morning, and the wafting smells of cooking food drifted all about the town. That knot in my stomach unwound at the prospect of dinner, and my annoyance along with it. Grit broke the silence with a chuckle. “How ‘bout we get some chow?” He looked around at the zebras milling about. “Y’know this place better than me. What’s good eatin’ in Shipper?”

I shook my head with a thin smile. “I’ve only eaten here once. It was good, though, a nice stew cooked up by their doctor.” I paused a moment to think of his name. “Maizan. That was it. But we have food in our packs, we don’t need to buy something.”

Grit sat down and held out a foreleg. “Nah, we need t’ save that. Gotta make sure we got somethin’ t’ eat on th’ road.”

He had a point. Pinching caps in this case was less important than preserving supplies for when we needed them, and it irked me that I hadn’t thought of that first. “Well, let’s go get some food then.” I glanced down at our saddlebags, lying on the floor and laden with inventory and scrap. I slid my sales journal into one pocket and began closing them up to hoist onto my back.

I was stopped by a tan hoof resting on the bag. “No need t’ carry this stuff ‘round. I’ll watch th’ bags, an’ you can get us somethin’ t’ eat.”

That idea made me freeze for a moment. My mind raced against the clock as my mouth formed the words on the spot. “No, I’ll… it makes more sense for me to stay. If one of us is staying, I’ll use the time to write down today’s sales. Just… take some of the caps and let me know how much dinner cost.” I turned and indicated across the empty space of the warehouse that formed the town plaza. “Maizan’s place is just over there. The yellow container with the Ministry of Peace emblem.”

Grit shrugged and stood up, levitating a small bag of caps with him as he walked off, following my directions. I let out a small sigh after he was a few paces away. Why had I just done that? I was trusting Grit with my life out in the Bayou, wasn’t I? But I couldn’t trust him to be alone with my inventory for five minutes? I sat down on my haunches, my tail curling around me as I slumped a little. I was screwed without his help, so I really had no choice but to start trusting him a little more. Hell, it was likely over the course of our trip we’d be sleeping out in the wasteland alone.

I pulled out my sales journal from my saddlebag and wrote down the day’s transactions, figuring I should at least maintain the poor excuse I’d given. Not long after, Grit returned with two servings of some sort of spicy soup. Our dinner conversation could hardly be called such, with mostly Grit talking at me as I nodded through mouthfuls of broth, and after we were both done, he happily scooped up the bowls and took them back to Maizan. It didn’t even occur to me until he was already walking back that I could have offered to take the bowls, to prove to myself that I could trust him. Some part of me was relieved I hadn’t thought of it until it was too late to decide.

In stark contrast to the previous night, when I laid down to sleep this time, I found myself lying awake for what seemed like hours. I would shift positions, lying on one side, flipping to the other, lying on my stomach, even briefly trying to lay on my back before rejecting the idea entirely. Ideas burned through my mind at such speeds that I couldn’t coax myself to rest for longer than a few short bursts, no matter how heavy my eyes felt. And once or twice I wondered if I could smell burning smoldering embers, the way my forge smelled after I had finished working.

Even worse was the knowledge that we’d have to get up early in the morning in order to get to Stable 15 before dark. Grit had warned me there was a considerable distance to cross, but after checking his PipBuck he was sure we could make it in one day.

Eventually I managed to drift off into some actual rest, but not before dreading how I would feel in the morning.

* * * * * * *

We woke begrudgingly early. Grit’s font of energy still appeared to be bottomless, and he woke me while the light outside was barely dim. After rolling up our beds, we both heaved our laden saddlebags onto our backs.

Lifting the whole pack, already stuffed with inventory and supplies was a strain, and I had to concentrate on the levitation spell to the point of gritting my teeth and grunting through the effort. Settled - gently - onto my back, the weight was far less strenuous. My pride was somewhat assuaged to see that Grit had almost as much difficulty with his own pack, at least judging by his visible relief as he settled the bag on his back. He lifted his PipBuck and pressed a few buttons with his nose and magic, and led us deeper into the Bayou.

To my companion’s credit, he did wait a good half an hour or so before asking about the slavers.

“Should be outta earshot from Shipper by now,” he began, with a glance behind us. “So this fight with th’ slavers then. How’d it happen?”

I shivered, but covered it up by exaggerating its effects, pretending it was just the cool morning air chilling me. The memories threatened to bubble to the forefront of my mind in detail, eager to have me relive the desperate fight for my life, but I cut them off by keeping my description as succinct as I could. “I was making a delivery out to Shipper, and saw the slavers taking some captive zebras to an airboat. I got ambushed. I managed to kill three of them, and the last one ran away on the boat.”

Grit arched his brow at me. “That’s all?”

“That’s it.” I looked around at our surroundings, trying to find something else to talk about before he pressed the issue further. Fortunately there was an easy distraction, as the Bridle River appeared off to our right, first only in glimpses between ruined buildings and underbrush, but just then our view cleared and we had an unobstructed view of the banks. I nodded in its direction. “I’ve never actually seen the river for myself.”

I’d never even seen pictures of it, truth be told. It was colossal, so wide that I wouldn’t have a hope of swimming its length. I’d never imagined a body of water so massive, and my pace slowed as I just stared in wonder. The ruined buildings along to the riverbank hadn’t withstood the ages as well as other ruins I’d seen, and given the state of ruins in the Wasteland, that was quite a feat. Most of the buildings along the river looked as though they’d been squashed underhoof, with a few exceptions in some of the larger, sturdier-looking structures. Even they were broken, partially-collapsed skeletons on the ground, twisted in Equestria’s death throes.

My eyes fell on a ship, too. It was capsized ahead of us, but easily a few hundred feet from the shore. I couldn’t tell what kind of ship it used to be, but it was easily five times the size of my house. A ferry maybe? The hull was snapped in two, violently dashed against one of the countless ruins and left capsized on dry land.

Grit nudged me, nodding towards the coastline. “Fastest route’s for us t’ follow th’ river for a bit.” He started walking and I followed, trudging over a broken wall of bare concrete, casting my gaze out towards the river again.

Just before I turned back to forget about my surroundings, a faint glow caught my eye. It was further downriver from where we were, maybe a few dozen feet from the close bank. It just… hung there above the water, bobbing and swaying gently, a little ball of yellow-green light that wanted to ease my worries. I felt a smile, a genuine smile of content, cross my muzzle. I wanted to reach out with a hoof and touch it, to bring it close to me and embrace it. The light could comfort me. I could go out to it, it wasn’t that far out… just a short swim and I could make i--NO!

I stopped dead in my tracks and snapped my head down to stare at my hooves. At some point I had veered from the path and started walking towards the river. No, no, no, Goddesses, no! I squeezed my eyes shut and just took a few slow breaths. When I opened them again, I looked up to see Grit staring at me with obvious concern. “You alright there?” he asked, looking around and drawing one of his pistols.

I nodded, taking another deep breath. “Fine. Just caught sight of a fisher, that’s all.”

Grit’s eyes widened, and he drew his other pistol, though he didn’t look around to try and spot the hypnotic predator. “Where?”

“Out on the river.” I gestured with towards the water, not daring to look in its direction and pointedly trying to ignore the splashing of a large creature in the distance. I stood up straight again and glanced at my saddlebags. I thought I heard another splash out on the water, but I couldn’t tell.

“Let’s just keep moving.”

* * * * * * *

We were able to follow the river for at least a few hours it seemed, snaking along the coastline, which had more open ground than I was used to seeing in the Bayou. Most of it was flattened buildings and old streets, but I’d take anything that wasn’t a jumbled maze of underbrush, rubble, and ravines. It even smelled different, the humid air mixed with a tangy reek that seemed to come from the river, solidifying my desire to never set hoof in that water. Since we had the privilege of such a broad field of view, Grit even turned on his radio for a bit. DJ-PON3 still had only the same few songs that always annoyed me whenever somepony threw on the radio at Four Shoes, but this time I found myself relaxing a little, and didn’t mind as Grit hummed along with the tune.

Eventually our path had to separate from the Bridle, and we once again trekked into the thick of the Bayou. The radio went off, and I kept my head on a swivel, listening and looking for anypony or anything trying to sneak up on us. This route was thicker with brush and skeletal trees than I was used to seeing on my trips to Shipper, and I initially jumped at every rustle of the wind until it began kicking up more powerful gusts later in the day. Along this route were still the usual scattered buildings and upended wagons in various states of ruin, some of them being forced apart by plants wedging into their foundation.

With sunset fast approaching, I kept apprehensively looking at the sky, while Grit started pointing out possible shelters for the night. I just wanted to press on and get to Stable 15. Even if we could find a decent shelter, I’d never camped out in the Bayou and I wasn’t eager to try. “That one looks like it’ll do.” Grit said, nodding towards a stout, grey building that looked like it was frozen in the middle of sinking into the ground.

“I know you’re trying to help, but I just want to get to someplace that’s a little more secure.” One of my ears flicked the air as I heard another rustle.

“S’why we keep watches, Alloy. I’m not sayin’ we just sleep on th’ ground, we find someplace with at least a couple walls an’ a roof, make ourselves a shelter.” He looked around, examining each building we passed.

“Look, you said that we could make it to Stable 15 by sundown, right? If we have a shot at it, we should take it.”

He paused, checking his PipBuck and making an indecisive groaning noise. “It was only a guess. But, looks like there’s a few places up ahead we can stop at, worst comes to worst.”

“Fine.” He had a reasonable point, to be sure. Even if we pressed on and hoped for the best, we had to make sure to plan for the worst. Still, I could see the highway in the distance, or what was left of it. Only the columns that had once supported the road leading towards the rest of Equestria remained, the road itself having mostly collapsed to ground level. But if we were close enough to see it, we were only a few miles away from it, and Grit had said that Stable 15 was just a little further south. I was sure we could make it as long as we kept a steady pace and conditions held.

* * * * * * *

Of course, conditions didn’t hold. I should have expected this, in hindsight. I shivered as rain water dripped off me onto the cracked floor. Not long after our conversation, a light drizzle began, picked up tempo, and became a full-force torrential thunderstorm. Grit pointed us towards the closest intact building, which was actually large enough that I couldn’t see the whole thing before we galloped in. I was first and foremost concerned with shedding my saddlebags and soaked barding. With that done, Grit and I both shook ourselves as dry as we could, making sure to be a good distance away from each other.

We looked out the doorway to the storm beyond. “Don’t look like it’ll let up anytime soon,” Grit mused.

I nodded. “We should look for a safe place to sleep in here.”

Grit turned to me in surprise. “Really? Not gonna insist we press on after th’ storm?”

With a roll of my eyes, I shook my head. “No. First of all, we don’t know how long this storm will last, but even if it dies down in an hour, we probably won’t make it to Stable 15 before dusk with the time we’ve lost.” Grit checked his PipBuck again, and nodded. “So if we already know we won’t make it, we should find a secure place to bed down.” I waved a hoof at our surroundings. “This is as good a place as any.”

He chuckled at something, still staring at his PipBuck. “Funny y’should mention we need some place ‘secure’...” He set his leg down on the floor after clicking the PipBuck’s light on. “Welcome t’the Equestrian Wartime Internment Facility. S’an awful fancy way o’ sayin’ ‘prison’ if y’ask me.”

I looked around at the room. We’d rushed in through what I’d guessed used to be a double-door entry, but there was no trace of any door. We stood in a wide room, with some kind of reception desk in the middle. I could still see the faded patches of pink wallpaper and decorative paintings of balloons on the walls. Definitely Ministry of Morale, then. A few doors in various conditions led to what I guessed were branching hallways, and one entrance stood in the middle, behind the reception desk. It was sturdier than the others, made of some kind of steel, and with no handle that I could see from a cursory examination.

The storm still hadn’t let up by the time it was dark outside, so we carried our supplies and inventory to the room we had scouted as a shelter. There was a short hallway leading from the entrance room that branched into about half a dozen offices that looked like they once had doors of their own. We chose the only one whose door was still standing as our refuge for the night. The lettering on the door was still intact enough to read: “Pincher.”

I had never seen so many books in such a small space before. The office was modestly sized, enough that Grit and I could have laid down end-to-end with our hooves outstretched and still be another pony’s length from reaching the opposite wall. However, a massive bookcase stood against one wall, all the shelves broken from age and the weight of its countless tomes. We shoved the desk aside to make room for our bedrolls, and closed the door. Grit volunteered to take the first watch, and while I was able to get some rest, if only because I realized how exhausted I was from the long walk, it seemed to take ages of turning over and over in my bed in an attempt to get comfortable. I passed my own watch flicking my ears at every creak and noise in the gloom while circling a few bits of scrap together by the light of my horn.

An idea came to me for something I wanted to make with these two particular pieces, a bevelled design of a cog on an armor plate. Ordinarily when these ideas would strike me, I would dash to my forge and simply make it a reality before it could fade from my mind. Instead, all I could do was watch the two pieces of metal float next to each other in the closest approximation of the cog in my mind, while I longed for the warm blanket of my forge’s fire to steal away the stresses of the days.

* * * * * * *

The next morning we packed up and split a can of Flam for breakfast. I wasn’t sure exactly what fresh, pre-war hay had tasted like, but if it was anything like this beige mush, I didn’t see the appeal. As we left the prison in the early light, I could see the two ruined guard towers that stood watch over the entrance. One of them was even mostly still standing. I glanced back at the building itself and slowed in my tracks. It was one of the largest pre-war buildings I’d ever seen, and though I could see rubble from some collapsed walls, more of it was intact than not. I turned away and kept pace with Grit as we set out for the Stable.

It was only maybe a two hour walk at most before we arrived. Our destination was a low, flat building that was mostly intact except for the large windows and wide doorways. A sign lay against the wall, lettered in embossed copper, though the metal was a bright teal from exposure to the rain. “NEW OREINS COMMUNITY CENTER” it read.

An earth pony mare came out from the main entrance, holstering a pistol. She had an icy coat with a light green mane and tail, wearing Stable 15 barding like Grit, except lacking the extra armor that reinforced his. Grit’s face immediately lit up, though she looked far more hesitant. “Hey!” he called out, waving a forehoof at her, “Meadow! S’good t’see you, been a while.”

The mare, meanwhile stopped just a few paces in front of us, glowering at Grit.

“Meadow…?” Grit repeated hesitantly, lowering his hoof to the ground. I didn’t like this one bit. My legs tensed up, ready to move, but I didn’t draw my sword. For the moment, the mare was at least unarmed and I didn’t want to provoke her.

Finally she answered in a low growl, staring right at Grit. “You got a lotta nerve comin’ back here, after what you pulled.”

His eyes darted to the building behind her, then back to her, “What…? I don’t kn-” He cut himself off as the mare reared up on her hind legs. Grit ducked low and backed away to avoid the blow. I lit my horn, but couldn’t react fast enough. Her forelegs sped downward.

“Boop.”

I blinked, dumbfounded. Meadow had brought her hooves down, but didn’t hit Grit. Insead she had just raised one of them to the flinching buck’s nose and had tapped it. From his expression, Grit was just as confused as I was.

Suddenly, Meadow broke out laughing. “How’re ya doin’, you jerk? It’s good to see you too!” I let out my held breath in a sigh, shaking my head. Another pony came out of the community center to greet us. This one was a buck, an older unicorn with a grey coat and a blue mane streaked with grey.

He trotted up to Grit with a warm smile and immediately wrapped a foreleg around his neck in a tender hug. “I’ve missed you, kid.”

Grit returned the gesture and mumbled back, “Missed you too, dad.”

The pair separated, and all three of the other ponies looked my way. “Don’t be rude now,” Meadow said to my companion, “Introduce your friend here!”

I glanced over to him and then spoke up for myself first. I’d given some thought to how I would introduce myself. “I’m Alloy Shaper, owner of Alloy Shaper’s Smithy, though I’m bringing my business on the road for some extra caps. I make the finest armor and blades for a hundred miles, along with hoof-crafted tools and jewelry. I can do inexpensive repair work, too.”

A few seconds of awkward silence passed where I wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. I couldn’t say what I was expecting, but the two of them just gave me a smile and a nod. I opened my mouth to say something else, to try and backpedal, maybe tell them how I knew Grit. Instead he spoke up, immediately grabbing their attention. “She’s one o’ th’ business ponies up north a ways, an’ I volunteered t’ help her get ‘round the Bayou.” He looked to me and gestured to the mare and older stallion respectively as he introduced them, “This here’s Meadow, an’ Spark, my father.”

Spark stepped forward and smiled at me. “Well, you’re certainly as welcome here as Grit is. Let’s all go inside, shall we? No sense standing around here.”

The four of us walked inside the community center, though Meadow stopped in the lobby. “I gotta finish my shift out here, but I’ll catch up with you later, promise!” She waved to Grit and drew her laser pistol again in her mouth, scanning the courtyard.

I looked around, but didn’t see anypony else. Grit and Spark were in the middle of catching up, saying something about PipBuck tags, so I just followed them as they walked down a flight of stairs and into the basement. At the end of a long hallway was the entrance to Stable 15. I’d never seen one for myself, and the massive cog-shaped door was imposing. I turned my head to stare as we passed through, but then my attention was grabbed by the clean metal of the entrance hallway. And then by the giant mechanism. And then by the bank of terminals sitting behind a glass window, overlooking the entrance.

I’d never seen so much pristine technology, let alone in one place. Everypony we passed wore a PipBuck, and even the most patchwork repairs I could pick out would have required tools I’d never dreamed of owning. And it all smelled so clean. I wasn’t aware of how accustomed I was to the smell of the humid air around me until it was replaced by Stable 15’s processed and clean air. As we descended a flight of stairs, I was suddenly acutely aware of my saddlebags laden with hoof-smelted and slapdash goods I was supposedly going to try and sell to these ponies.

I occupied myself as we walked by just trying to take in as much information as I could from my surroundings, to see if there maybe was something I could offer them. In the first place, it was possible that there were maintenance issues unaddressed down here, and I could make a few caps repairing odds and ends, or personal items like a toy. Curiously, we passed only one pony that was wearing armored barding, on a catwalk above the atrium. In stark contrast to the simple Stable 15 barding everypony else wore, his was layered in black, protective material. Honestly if I hadn’t seen the faded yellow “15” on his shoulder, I would have thought him to be a visitor of some sort. He stopped in the middle of whatever he had been doing and stared at me for the entire time the three of us walked through the atrium, sizing me up I supposed.

Finally we passed through one last door into a home. The worn furnishings and personal touches set this aside as somepony’s personal quarters. My attention returned to Grit and his father as the latter turned to face me. “You can sleep here if you like, Alloy, though the Overmare’ll want to speak to both of you.” He gestured towards a couch that looked like it was once a bright red, but now it was stained and leaking fluff through a few small tears. Still, it would be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.

“Thank you,” I answered, looking around the room. “Should I be worried about meeting her?”

Spark shook his head. “Nah. Not much happens around here, so she’ll probably just wanna ask you some questions ‘bout yourself and your visit.” He paused to look at my and Grit’s laden saddlebags. “And if you’re wantin’ to set up a shop, you’ll have to talk to her anyway.”

I gave him a polite nod. “That seems reasonable.”

He turned back to Grit and gave his son another warm smile. “I’ve got to wrap some things up down in the tech lab. I better see you there for lunch. Half-past on the dot, got it?”

Grit chuckled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, dad. See you in a bit.”

With that, Spark tapped a hoof on the door panel and left to other parts of the stable, leaving Grit and me alone. Grit walked over to an empty corner and began unstrapping his saddlebags. I glanced at mine with a tense frown. On the one hoof, it would probably be awkward, not to mention tiring, to carry the bags all over the Stable. But at the same time, I had my concerns. “Is it really safe to leave the bags here?” I asked aloud, after Grit had already finished unloading his.

He tilted his head at me curiously. “ ‘Course it is. We’re deep in the heart of the Stable. What’s gonna get to ‘em down here?” He paused for a moment before realization dawned on him. “Ohh, I gotcha. Nah, nothin’ to worry about like that. Th’ lock on that door only lets me an’ my dad through. Well, us, Studio, an’ Pillar, but they need to. Studio’s th’ Overmare, you’ll meet her soon. An’ Pillar is our security pony. Th’ one givin’ you th’ stink eye when we walked in?”

“Ah. Well, alright then.” I walked to the corner, and unfastened my saddlebags as well, letting them slide off to the floor. I still wasn’t comfortable with the whole situation, but I couldn’t think of a better idea, nor a way to convince Grit to help me carry everything around with us. Then, something clicked in my mind, a pair of facts that didn’t line up. “Wait, Pillar is the security pony? Isn’t Meadow a guard or something?”

“Meadow?” Grit chuckled, “Nah, Meadow works in th’ orchard. Everypony takes shifts keepin’ watch outside, an’ when it’s not his shift, Pillar just keeps things organized inside.”

How the hell did every answer Grit gave me about the Stable just create more questions? “I thought Stables had more than one guard pony. And what’s an orchard?”

“They do normally, but Stable 15’s different. Well, they’re all a little different from each other, but that’s th’ bit I know. 15’s only got th’ one security pony. If y’wanna know why, you’ll have t’ ask th’ Overmare.” He walked over to the couch and poked at it with a hoof. “An’ th’ orchard is where we grow food. Got some apple trees an’ other stuff, but it’s th’ main food supply. Bit bland sometimes, but hey, it’s food that grows.” He glanced at his Pipbuck. “We’ve got some time before lunch with my dad, could see if Studio wants t’ meet with us first. But if s’all th’ same t’ you, I wanna have myself a shower.”

I lifted a foreleg to my muzzle, sniffing my coat gingerly. I probably should wash too, given that these were new ponies I was meeting. It’d be best to see them after I was clean, though I never looked forward to dousing myself in cold, irradiated water. “I should probably wash up, too,” I said with a groan. “Where’s the water for that?”

* * * * * * *

About an hour later, both of us had cleaned up and were headed for the Overmare’s office. The showers were about as far from my expectation as I could have imagined. The spray of soothing hot water on my coat and mane was so therapeutic I felt like I could stand there for hours. While I was rebraiding my mane, I had glanced at my barding, which was still as filthy as I had been. I was hesitant to put it back on until I got a chance to clean it, too. Grit said they had a place for washing their Stable 15 barding, and I could probably use that. In the meantime, however, I was walking around in just my coat. It had only been a little over a week since I started wearing my barding everywhere, but it already felt alien to go without.

I brought my attention back to the moment. While the luxuries of the Stable were a wonder to experience, I was here for business, after all. The security buck, the one Grit had identified as Pillar, escorted us to the Overmare’s office, and after a few minutes’ wait, the door opened. “Come in, come in, I’m so sorry for the wait,” a voice said through the doorway. The three of us entered, though Pillar stood by the entrance as the steel door slid closed.

The Overmare sat behind a rounded desk surfaced with polished wood. A window overlooked the atrium, and it was probably as good a view as one could hope for in an underground shelter. Behind her was a bank of terminals showing all sorts of data I couldn’t make heads or tails of, while another terminal sat in front of her. She was a middle-aged mare, with a light blue coat and pink mane. Decorating her flank was a picture of a chalkboard. She looked up from the terminal and gave us both a wide smile. “Well, hello there to both o’ you. I wish I could be the first to welcome you home, Grit, but welcome home all the same.” Her accent was similar to Grit’s, but far milder and her voice was soft and gentle. She turned to address me. “And I’ve heard some things about you as well, dear. Meadow tells me you’re some sorta salespony?”

I nodded. “A blacksmith, to be precise. I’m Alloy Shaper.” I stopped myself from going any further, thinking back on the awkward silence I received from Meadow and Spark.

“Well, it’s a pleasure t’ meet you, Alloy. Any friend Grit vouches for enough to bring here is welcome in my Stable.”

“Thank you.” I met her eyes as I continued. “I was hoping to offer some of my goods to the ponies here in Stable 15. Is there somewhere I could set up shop for a bit? I don’t need more than just a corner, preferably somewhere with a bit of traffic.”

“Well, I believe I can make some arrangements. We can get you set up in the atrium, as long as it’s temporary.”

I gave her another nod. “That’ll work just fine, thank you.”

“But, I’m afraid I’ve got some questions for you before then.” Studio walked back around to sit behind her desk, resting her forehooves on its surface.

“About me?”

“Well, in a way.” She waved a hoof idly in the air. “See, even though we opened our door years ago, we only have a rough picture of the New Oreins area. Oh sure, we get the news broadcasts from DJ-PON3 and hear the news of the Wasteland, but I’m interested in any local details. We have a few ponies qualified as scouts, but it’s a high-risk, volunteer job.” She paused a moment for a soft breath, reflecting on something private. “So if I can get any details from you, I would appreciate it.”

That wasn’t at all what I was expecting to hear. “I can tell you what I know, but it’s not much beyond what’s common knowledge in my town.”

Studio gave me a dry smile. “Given that I don’t even know where you’re from, it’ll be more helpful than you think.”

Grit and I told her what we could, though mostly it was just about Four Shoes and its business, naming my own store in the process, and about Shipper, though that was mostly Grit blurting it out before I had a chance to mull over whether I would share that information. And as I forced my own memories of dealing with Malice aside, I told Studio of the raiders based out of the harbor.

“Actually,” I said when I finished recounting the information I had, “I do have another request, if you don’t mind.”

The Overmare nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m… looking for information myself. Specifically about a buck, an earth pony. Teal coat, blue mane, cutie mark of a rock.” The Overmare rubbed her chin with a foreleg thoughtfully. “He would have been alone, maybe on an airboat.”

“Hmm… well I can certainly put the word out, ask if anypony that had scout duty saw somepony like that, but it’s a bit of a long shot, y’know.”

I inclined my head in acceptance. “Of course. But I didn’t see any harm in asking anyway.”

“Then I’d be happy to help,” she answered with a smile before getting up and walking out from behind her desk. “Now I’m afraid I do have a busy schedule ahead of me. It has been wonderful talking to you both, and I’ll let you know if I find anything on that teal pony of yours.” She gestured us gently towards the door, and from there, Pillar ushered us out of the hallway leading to her office.

* * * * * * *

We had some time to kill before meeting Spark for lunch, with Grit insisting I go as well, but not quite enough to get my storefront set up in the atrium. It would have been a disorganized mess that I would’ve had to disassemble and lock up in the room again shortly after. So instead, though I knew I was indulging myself a little, I got directions to the laundry room so that I could wash my barding. Accumulated grime, blood, sweat, and mud washed away down the drain, and I focused on not thinking about where it came from.

Or I tried, anyway. I had managed to avoid thinking or talking about my fight with the slavers the previous morning when Grit asked about it, but as I saw the dirty water drain away from my barding, I couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that some of it was mine, and some of it belonged to three different ponies. I’d gotten myself into this mess. I could have avoided all this, and as much as I hated Malice and Gumbo and Red Bean for forcing this situation on me, I hated myself for letting it all happen. I stomped the metal floor hard with a foreleg, squeezing my eyes shut. When did I lose control of my life?

I stamped my forehoof on the floor again, harder this time. There wasn’t any point to doing this. What I needed to do was look forward. I was a visiting merchant to this Stable. They probably had never seen metalworking like mine before, even if their tools were higher quality. I had armor, knives, and jewelry, as well as repair skills. I could make caps in this place, I was sure of it. It would get me closer to my goal, and then I would finally be able to go home.

Even with the pep talk to myself, the lump in my throat lingered, long after I left the laundry.

With my barding hung to dry, I met Grit in his father’s room, and he showed me to the cafeteria. I was a little disappointed to see there was no meat on offer, even though I knew the meal of oatmeal and apples was healthier and more nutritious. It wasn’t bad, either, just a bit bland, except for the apples. I’d never tasted anything like them, and Sugar Apple Bombs didn’t do the fruit justice. I was relishing my bowl just for them, while Grit and his father started their conversation without me. I assumed it would be a repeat of our walk through the Stable that morning (which would have been perfectly fine with me), but Spark turned to me shortly after greeting the two of us.

“So Alloy, you’re a salespony of some sort?”

I nodded, taking another mouthful of oatmeal. From the way that he and Grit were staring at me expectantly, I quickly realized that Spark was waiting for details, so I hastily swallowed my food. “I’m a blacksmith to be exact. I forge weapons, tools, jewelry, and a little bit of armor, mostly using scavenged goods and scrap metal. But most of my customers just want me to fix something for them, usually their gun.”

Spark nodded with a polite smile. “Ahh, I see, I see. And you run a store in this trading town Grit was telling me about, right? Must be fascinating, being able to meet ponies from around the Wasteland.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose the Overmare told you we don’t get many visitors.”

I waved a hoof almost dismissively. “I never really talked much with visiting ponies.” Or anypony at all for that matter. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that my lack of practice was showing in this very conversation.

Spark grinned and shook his head. “I’m sure y’all have some stories to tell, though. Crazy customers, or just something strange and unusual.”

I glanced at Grit, hoping he would start something up, but he seemed just as eager as his father to hear a ‘story’ of mine. Truth be told, I barely remembered most of my customers, except for some of them that had commissioned something. I remembered most of those, simply because each time I created something unique. Maybe that would satisfy him. “I had a customer a couple weeks ago that paid me to forge him a pair of wing blades,” I began, “A griffon, actually.”

That made Spark sit up straighter. He looked absolutely thrilled to hear something like that, and immediately asked, “A griffon! Was he part of one of those mercenary companies we’ve heard about on the radio? What was he like? Oh, it must have been absolutely thrilling to work with somepony… well, someone like that!”

“It was…” What could I say about it, anyway? Almost all of our conversation had been business. He had been impressed to see a blacksmith, and asked if I had a forge nearby I used. I told him it was right next to my home, and he asked about the commission work I mentioned in the spiel I greeted all my customers with, before I had painted myself that sign. But something about the excited look in Spark’s eyes told me that wouldn’t satisfy the aging unicorn. “He… came in on one of the caravans,” I started, staying calm as I tried to think about how Grit told stories, embellishing small details or something. I was trying to make something up on the fly to make this encounter sound more interesting, and it was forcing me to speak slower, more deliberately. “I remember that he complained about the stores in Four Shoes, I think.”

My mind was scrambling to think of how to continue this story, when I was saved by the interruption of a foreleg stamping down on the table next to Grit, just hard enough to get his attention. It belonged to an earth pony mare with a peach coat and a light blue mane. Her cutie mark appeared to be a collection of bottles, of apparently random size, shape, and color. Grit looked up and her and then grinned sheepishly. “Oh! Hey there, High Spirits, how’s it goin’?”

Her face turned from annoyed to giddy and she ruffled Grit’s mane with a hoof. “Oh I’m the same as always, you little bastard! It’s great to see you, y’know, but how come you haven’t come down t’ the bar yet? Didn’t wanna say hi?” She hung her lip in an exaggerated pout.

Grit rolled his eyes and laughed. “It’s the middle of the day! Why would I be drinkin’ now?”

“Oh, it’s 6 o’clock somewhere in Equestria!” The mare returned his laugh and took up a seat next to Grit. “I’ll expect t’ see you down there tonight. Your stories always did liven up the place.”

“Sure thing, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“And speakin’ of stories,” she began, glancing over to me, “this must be the mare I heard you came back with.”

Grit nodded, waving a foreleg at me. “Alloy, this is High Spirits, the bartender in Stable 15. Spirits, this is Alloy Shaper.”

I swallowed a bite of my oatmeal and gave her a polite nod.

“Hmm hmm…” she gave me a smirk and glanced over to Grit, then back to me. “She’s a cute one, Grit!” the mare said with a singing glee, sliding up to him. She ran her eyes up and down, appraising me while I hastily occupied myself with eating my oatmeal. “Not quite mah taste, but mmm-mm! Those freckles’re just adorable!”

It was at this moment that I learned a pony cannot process food by inhalation.

Once I had recovered from the fit of coughing, I could see High Spirits and Spark doubled over laughing, while Grit was also almost choking on his oatmeal. Spirits had tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself!” she said, patting Grit on the back. Part of me wanted to glare at her, part of me wanted to leave, but I settled on just staring into my oatmeal. Goddesses, why did my face feel so hot?

I absorbed myself into eating the rest of my food, and the burning in my face subsided quickly. Spark, Grit, and Spirits all got involved in a conversation of their own, and I was just fine being excluded.

* * * * * * *

Less than half an hour after leaving the cafeteria, I had set up my temporary shop in what I deemed to be the best corner of the Stable’s atrium. I had appropriated a bench and a small table for displaying some of my better merchandise, while other items were spread out before me. Wearing my clean leather barding, I sat on my haunches behind my impromptu shop and waited for customers.

Specifically customers. Because I certainly had no shortage of ponies gathered around my shop, admiring my wares. They were asking me questions about this or that item, what the difference between two knives was, how did I make all this myself, and so on, all before I had even finished setting up. I answered most of the questions flatly and with rudimentary details so as to speed along the conversation and make time for ponies who actually wanted to buy something.

But by the end of the day, and even after the Stable’s designated dinner time, nopony had bought anything. I hadn’t earned a single cap.

I had at least conducted a few trades. But with everypony it was the same story. The Stable only has so many caps. The Overmare has the Stable’s money. It needed to be tightly regulated so that Stable 15 could one day expand and establish homes outside the Stable. I grew numb to the excuses. Grit brought me dinner, which was another bowl of oatmeal, and I ate it for lack of anything else to do.

According to the clock on the wall of the atrium, it was a little after 9:00 at night, and I struggled to maintain my professional demeanor, while my hope that somepony would convince the Overmare to release a few caps for a purchase died away. That hope was rekindled when I saw Pillar approaching my store. I stood up and watched him as he examined the barding I had laid out on the bench. He picked up the heaviest set I had, one which was covered in armor plates, and bobbed it in one forehoof, judging its weight I guessed. “How much do you charge for your barding?” he asked, still examining the armor.

I felt my chest soar from that question. It was the closest I had been to a sale all day, and Celestia knew I needed to make a lot more caps to afford the mercenary I was planning to hire. “My lightest barding is 200 caps.” I pointed a foreleg at the heavier armor Pillar was holding. “That barding, however, is more expensive due to being the best armor I have. 400 caps for it.”

He gave a dismissive snort, and let it slide off his hoof unceremoniously. “I had ponies telling me for most of the day that you had armor to buy. But that,” he stabbed a hoof at my barding, “isn’t worth the expense.”

I fell to my haunches, as a boiling mix of anger, shame, and despair knotted up in my gut, twisting my emotions until I had no idea how I even felt. I ground my teeth together and tried to answer as calmly as I could, “What in the name of the Goddesses makes you think my barding isn’t ‘worth the expense?’ ” Despite my attempt to remain professional, I practically spat the last part of my question.

The buck shook his head. “I need weapons more than I need armor. If your armor was cheaper, or if you had real weapons to sell, I would consider buying it. But as it stands, from everything we know about the Bayou, we need to arm ourselves first.” He turned away from me and began to walk away. “Good night, Miss Shaper. I hope some of the items the ponies here have traded you will get you a good price elsewhere.”

And then I was alone in the atrium. But even if there was nopony else around, I still tucked my head into the corner so I could hide the few tears that escaped before I could stop myself.

* * * * * * *

He was right. Even through the haze clouding my thoughts, my teeth grinding and my face and ears burning from the confrontation, I knew he was right, and that made me all the more furious. I had packed up my inventory quickly and was returning to Spark’s room. There wasn’t any point to keeping the store open any longer. With a quick glance to make sure nopony was around, I snapped a kick at the metal wall, the dull clang tempering my anger. Everything I had seen today, everypony I had met, all of it reinforced the idea that I had nothing these ponies thought was worth spending their tightly-controlled caps on.

I forced myself to relive the conversation. To tease out Pillar’s words and find something, anything I could use. By my estimate, I’d need at least a thousand caps to pay for a mercenary. I wasn’t sure how much they cost, but I needed to save up that much, or as close to it as I could get, to make sure I had enough to pay for the job of capturing Copper while still having enough left over to run my shop. And last I checked, I didn’t even have half that.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tapped my head against the wall in a steady rhythm, forcing myself to focus. If only I could be at my forge. I could think in front of my forge. I shivered, although the hallway wasn’t cold.

Tap.

My jewelry, tools, and blades were all sub-par or not useful to these ponies.

Tap. Tap.

Weapons, guns, those were more important to Pillar than armor.

Tap.

There had to be an answer to this.

Tap.

I refused to believe that there was nothing I could do.

Tap.

Nothing I could even try.

With one last tap of my head against the cold wall, I rested it there, simply letting it support my weight as I slumped to my haunches. It felt like my mind was racing through thoughts at breakneck speeds, but at the same time getting nowhere. I dug through memories, through anything I could think of. Nothing gave me any ideas until…

My father’s words came to me. Teaching me the basics of business. Supply and demand, and responding to what the customer wanted. He was always more flexible about that sort of thing, dealing in the junk he did. “If you know what somepony needs, the rest is easy.” My thoughts drifted to the two of us scavenging ruins for odds and ends, anything valuable, always trying to anticipate that need.

I felt the prickle of an itch on my neck.

Shoving myself away from the wall and standing up, I refocused my thoughts. Fine, so they need guns. Where can I get guns? Guns would be tricky. There were only a few good starting places. Old military bases, factories, police stations…

Prisons.

I allowed myself a wide grin as I finished the walk to Spark’s quarters.

When the door slid open, I saw Grit sitting on the couch, reading an old comic book. I glanced around, but didn’t see any sign of Spark. Good. I wanted privacy to discuss business matters. He looked up at me when I walked in, beaming. “Evenin’, Alloy. How’d the sales go?”

I winced a little at the question, but shoved that feeling aside quickly. “No sales today,” I answered, sliding my saddlebags off of my back. I turned back to him, finishing my thought with a cocked smile of my own. “But I have a plan. Are you up for a bit of ruin-diving tomorrow?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: N/A
Quest Tracker - 11 days remaining

Alloy Shaper’s Travelling Smithy
Sales Journal

Author's Notes:

I am not sorry for the title of this chapter.

Editor’s Note: Hey all. This is Pipistrelle, one of the two editors for Wasteland Economics. I just wanted to offer you all a huge, huge apology--the reason this chapter took so long is because I was struggling with some deadlines for graduate school. Ham has been very dedicated about working away at WEcon, but was also very understanding about me sitting on this chapter for at least a solid month. Point being, the delay had nothing to do with Ham and there shouldn’t be another one like it anytime soon. Sorry to keep you all from enjoying more of this awesome story for so long! :)