“Simple. Find out who's doing it, and tell me. Or take 'em out. It makes no damn difference to me.”

The next morning brought with it a number of things. Foremost among them was a much recovered and energetic Windfall. The healing elixir had done the pegasus a world of good, that was for sure. She was bouncing around the warehouse with so much energy that she hardly ever touched the ground, she was so excited. Excited that I seemed to be perfectly fine, excited that her heroic effort to fly to New Reino and back in record time while evading—mostly—a hail of gunfire from a band of raiders had succeeded—we were apparently going to take a detour to deal with those ponies at some point; and, most of all, excited that the three of us were going out on an adventure to investigate an old Stable together.

Foxglove had seemed a little reserved about the notion of venturing deeper into the Wasteland to do a little prospecting, but she certainly couldn’t argue any points against it. We were lacking in food, ammunition and weapons, barding—in Windfall’s case, and pretty much anything of real value that we could use to get our hooves on the sorts of goods and services that could only be acquired in a town. Doctors weren’t free, or even cheap, and despite how Windfall was acting, I would feel a lot better about her recovery if we got a professional opinion. That Pegasus got shot up far more often than was healthy. So, Stable 137 was our next destination.

I did not reveal to either of the mares anything about what I knew regarding the old shelter’s recent fate. So long as I remained as surprised by what we found as they did, neither pony should be able to tell that I had any foreknowledge anyway.

One other thing that the dawn heralded was a new age of awkwardness between myself and the violet unicorn. Windfall was far too preoccupied with her harrowing tale of gallantry to notice, it seemed. I noticed though. It was hard not to. Foxglove continued to be very mindful of her hooves, and how she was oriented towards me. I was sure that part of that was because of my recent treatment of her, and she got a little more tense whenever Windfall asked about what happened after she got back to the warehouse and passed out.

Both of us were stingy with the details of that recounting. Foxglove gave me the anti-venom. I went out and found medicine to treat Windfall. I came back. Medicine worked. The end.

Then one of us would ask her about how she had—somewhat—managed to evade the ambush sprung by the raiders she’d encountered. To which we were treated to an aerobatic reenactment, complete with sound effects, of the engagement. With each telling, both the number of her attackers, and her confirmed kills, grew significantly. I was sure that by the time this story made it back to New Reino, some poor bar patron was going to have to hear about how Windfall had managed to wither down an entire army of bandits out on the Wastes using only her wits and a pebble.

Our return to that town was going to have to wait until we managed to complete our current detour though. We packed our things, checked our weapons—Foxglove was going to hold onto my knife until she found some way to replace the energy pack in her lance, and we made ready to head in the direction of Stable 137.

We made it approximately three steps before Windfall and I realized that the unicorn had become distracted by a nearby wall.

“What is it?” I asked, noting that there was nothing registering on my EFS. Though, I had recently learned that not everything that was deadly showed up on this device. Radscorpions that weren’t hatched yet, invisible zebras, and timberwolves among them.

“It’s just…” the mare frowned, “this whole place is basically fake, right?”

My crash through one of the wagons had confirmed that their construction was certainly lackluster, to say the least; and I had taken some time as well to look over the tools that Foxglove had pointed out, and they were indeed constructed of cheap wood and plastic. They looked real enough from a distance, but nothing on those benches could possibly have actually been used to conduct repairs of any sort. Everything pointed to this place never have been used to haul any amount of freight—other than the goods that Wind Rider and his team smuggled on behalf of the MoA, of course; which I took to have been smaller cargo.

“Yeah. So?” This was information that we knew, so I was at a loss as to why Foxglove felt a need to bring it up again. Windfall's expression suggested that she was having similar thoughts.

“So then why is there a four hundred amp feed line going into that breaker box over there?” she pointed at a small metal box mounted on the wall near one of the work benches.

I shrugged, “this place still has lights and computers.”

The unicorn shook her head, “those don’t take anywhere near that sort of power. You’d only need a quarter of that. Four hundred amps is the sort of power you'd need if you were running heavy machinery, and there isn’t any here. It’s all fake!”

“I doubt this place was built fake,” I suggested, “it probably used to be real, and they converted it later.”

“Oh, they certainly did,” the unicorn pointed out, walking over to the offending box that appeared to be the source of her consternation, “look at this,” she waved the two of us over. The chances were slim that I was going to understand what she was going to point out to us, but this was obviously something that Foxglove wasn’t going to be able to let go of until she’d found some sort of plausible explanation, “see here?” I didn’t, but I nodded anyway so that she’d get to her point. Windfall walked over to hear what the unicorn had to say as well, “these brackets used to hold hundred amp conduit. Two lines, it looks like. That’s what makes sense, given what I see here. Realistically, a warehouse wouldn't need much more than that in most cases.

“But then somepony came in, ripped out those lines, and ran bigger ones,” her hoof moved from the bent metal loops that she had been pointing at before, and now traced a thick length of cable that was coming out of the floor, “assuming that this place did used to be a real warehouse, why would somepony take out the conduit that used to be here, and then go through the trouble of reinforcing the power grid when they were just going to make this place a fake freight company?”

I frowned at the mare, “that’s rhetorical, right?”

Foxglove rolled her eyes and glared at the breaker box. Her horn glowed, and the door swung open. What was inside made her frown deepen further. I peered over her shoulder and saw that there was a large switch and a pair of buttons. Each button had an arrow on it, one pointing up and the other pointing down. A small blue light was glowing in a corner of the box.

The violet mare peered at the contents, studying them for a brief couple of seconds, and then she reached in and flipped the large switch which sparked briefly. The moment she did so, the lower button with the downward facing arrow began to glow green.

I glanced at the mare, “are you sure this is a good—”

She pushed the button.

The floor instantly heaved. Well, not the entire floor, and not a whole lot. I definitely felt the floor give a significantly large initial tremble before it settled into a constant vibration. The air filled with the sounds of muffled rumblings and the squealing of ancient machinery which had not been attended to in quite some time. It was behind us that most of the action happened. One of the many concrete slabs which were what comprised the expansive floor of the warehouse had started tilting downward, revealing a cavernous lower level. After nearly a minute of the atrophied gears struggling to move after all this time, the floor’s movement finally came to a stop and there was silence in the warehouse once again.

The three of us were now staring down a ramp. It wasn’t particularly foreboding though. The floor of the recently revealed lower level was comprised of smooth, if very dusty, white tile. Although dirty from a couple centuries of absent sweeping, there wasn’t any sign of actual garbage or debris anywhere within view. It seemed to be remarkably well lit as well, as row upon row of florescent lighting fixtures flickered to life.

“Awesome,” was all that the Pegasus had to say before she hopped up into the air and swooped down before either of us could stop her.

I was immediately concerned. Windfall had not seen the emails that suggested Wind Rider was involved with the Old Equestrian Ministries. If this was truly one of their facilities, then there was every chance that there existed some sort of defense system that could be active. The last thing that I wanted was for the flier to get herself vaporized just hours after I managed to save her life.

So I charged down after her. Not the most brilliant move, perhaps; but I was short on time to come up with any sort of truly brilliant plan of action. Foxglove wasn’t far behind us, though she would have been just as unaware of the nature of the potential dangers as the Pegasus was.

It turned out that my concerns were validated…after a fashion. Clearly, at one point, there had been security measures in place that were designed to deal with unauthorized guests such as ourselves. However, it looked like those measures had already been dealt with. I also found myself pondering just when it was that the robots in the Wasteland had started losing their minds and gunning down everypony they saw. Because the scene before me suggested that it had started happening long before I would have guessed.

The ramp dropped us off in the middle of a wide corridor that extended to either side. In each direction, the corridor turned, out of sight, back in the direction that we had come in such a way that it seemed the majority of this lower level was contained below the warehouse that hid this place from the world. To our lefts was a bare corridor. To our rights, was a war zone.

A quartet of half-blasted roboponies littered the floor. Mingled in with those twisted and charred remains were the withered corpses of at least six pegasi dressed in black and purple power armor. A few thick piles of ash suggested that there may have been even more combatants involved on either side of the fight. I had Full Stop out and at the ready in case there were other robots around, though my pipbuck had been rather reliable about picking those threats up, and my EFS still showed that the coast was clear.

Windfall was picking over the bodies already, very intently scrutinizing the armor that they were wearing, “power armor made for pegasi? I gotta get me some of that,” she purred, “and look at that wicked scorpion tail!”

I was struck by how much the barding of those ponies resembled what I’d seen Enclave soldiers wearing on the few occasions when I’d seen them back in Hoofington. I guess it did make sense though. There wouldn’t be a whole lot of reason or need for the pegasi nation to completely reinvent a working design that they already had on hoof. These fliers had clearly been part of the Old World’s Ministry of Awesome though. Their barding was emblazoned with the lightning bolt and Pegasus wings of the ancient organization.

The robots had been there’s too, it seemed; as they bore identical markings. Whatever had gone wrong, it had gone wrong in a big way. Cautiously, I stepped around the scene and peered down the hall where it turned. My eyes widened as I took in the massive array of computer terminals and large diameter displays. This was a computer station on a magnitude that I had never seen before. There were stations enough for a dozen ponies to be working simultaneously. Some of them were even still active. Those that weren’t looked like they had been caught by stray fire from the fight that had occurred just outside.

I glanced over at Foxglove, “can you take a look here and see if you can find out anything on these computers?”

The unicorn peered at the setup and whistled, “I bet I could find a lot,” she glanced at me, “anything specific I should be looking for?”

“What happened here would be nice,” I glanced back at the carnage nearby, and then added, “but I’d settle for cache locations, Stable locations, schematics, anything valuable that can be put on my pipbuck,” there was the chance that we could come into a lot of wealth if we managed to get the right information out of this place. The mare nodded and sat herself down in front of one of the undamaged terminals.

Meanwhile, I took Windfall to go and check out the other side of the complex. Not that it turned out to be all that much to this place after all. Though, what there was of it was certainly worth finding. The remaining wing of the facility was where the ponies that worked here must have actually stored their equipment. The bunk room upstairs had been notably bare, and now I knew why. Rows of lockers existed in this room, which ended in a pair of double doors at the far end.

The pair of us quickly began sifting through the contents of the lockers, which I was initially gratified to learn had been designed specifically not to house personal effects, but were intended for equipment like barding, battlesaddles, and ammunition. Unfortunately, it looked like everypony had been present and on deck during those final moments of the war. Out of two dozen searched lockers, all we managed to come up with were four half-depleted spark packs, an energy pistol, a green-banded grenade, and a power-hoof. Not a terrible haul in and of itself, but very disappointing when one considered what we’d seen when we first descended. I made a note to go back and strip what was useful from the corpses before we left.

First we needed to finish combing through the rest of this place though. We pocketed what little we’d found and headed for the doorway. Beyond, we found what must have been the real bunk room. The cots here looked well used, and the personal lockers were adorned with posters and slogans and personal effects. So, this was where everypony had actually lived.

There were a couple of tables and some chairs in the middle of the dormitory. It looked like they served multiple purposes, as there were the remnants of an unfinished poker game on one, and some plates with desiccated vegetables on the other. Curious, I examined the hands of the ponies that had been playing cards. The game had been Pegasus Hold’em. The river showed a three of hearts, princess of hearts, and a five of hearts. Of what looked to have been the last three players in the game, two had folded. Judging from the displayed cards in front of their seats, one of them had given up on his hope of a full house with his princess of spades and three of diamonds. The other must have just been out-bluffed, because he was showing a pair of fives. The remaining two cards for the third player were still face down, so I flipped them over. The first was a four of hearts. The second was a prince of clubs. Nothing; they'd had nothing. All of the bits had been gathered into their little corner of the table though.

Well played, whoever you were. You had everypony at the table suckered. The only clue as to the pony's identity was a polished silver flask sitting on the table near the massive pile of bits. Money was money, so I quickly swept the winnings into my saddlebags. The flask, which bore the initials, ‘FF’ went into one of the pockets sewn into my barding. Something was even still sloshing around in there.

Windfall’s search through the lockers was about just as fruitful. Alcohol, food, bits. Nothing that was going to get us a slew of weapons and ammunition; to say nothing of the need to get the alabaster flier some new barding. If I ever found the pony that cheated her out of her armor in exchange for a single dose of anti-venom, I would probably end up killing them. At the very least I was going to beat them senseless and taken back that armor.

There was one more little section for us to search left. A smaller room that was attached to this larger communal barracks. I cracked a smile when I noticed that there was a nameplate on the door that read, ‘Cmd. Wind Rider’. I guess the pony that ran this place was entitled to their own quarters. Rank did have its privileges, after all. Knowing what I had found in his office upstairs, there had to be something of value in here.

The door was locked, naturally, but a solid double-buck solved that problem. It wasn’t designed to be any sort of door that kept determined ponies out; just something to make sure his subordinates couldn’t just wander in whenever they felt like it. Inside was pretty much what I had expected. A large bed with ornately carved head and hoof boards. Thick quilted covers. Posters of himself on the walls wearing his uniform. This pony had sure had a very impressive image of himself. I wagered that he’d been nearly intolerable in life.

There were also a number of framed articles in here as well.

Windfall’s eyes moved from one article to the next, studying the headline and the image of the uniformed ponies that frequently accompanied it. She stepped closer to one in order to better read the narrative, mumbling aloud as she went, “Wonderbolts strike force foils zebra-dragon raid over Manehattan,” the flier read, “in the pre-dawn hours of last Tuesday, what could have been a terrible tragedy was averted when a flight of dragons and their striped masters were intercepted over the Cudson Bay by Equestria’s elite air defense force. Though they took heavy losses during the fight, the Wonderbolts managed to turn back the enemy before any damage could be done to the city,” the Pegasus leaned in closer and squinted at the faded words of the news clipping, “while Defeatist minorities are critical of the casualty rates suffered by our Heroic Pegasi Forces, more Loyal elements are quick to point out the climbing success rates of the Wonderbolts since Rainbow Dash formed the Ministry of Awesome and assumed direct leadership of the nation's premiere fliers…”

The Pegasus trailed off, glancing at several other nearby news reports that had been isolated and framed by the stallion that had once inhabited this room. Wind Rider had clearly been a rather staunch supporter of the exploits of the flying team that he had once been a part of. Windfall whistled, “now those were some awesome ponies,” she commented, “fighting monsters, protecting ponies; it’s too bad there isn’t a group like them out there today,” a slight frown creased her features, “maybe the Wasteland would actually be a nice place if there was.”

“Maybe,” I replied, a bit distracted; my mind was more focused on searching for useful salvage than news about ponies two centuries dead. Unless that news directly related to where the ponies that had worked here had stashed away any valuables.

The pegasus soon came to a vanity in one corner of the room, stacked with all manner of glass bottles and vials. Windfall wandered over and took a whiff of the contents of a few. A couple made her curl her nose instantly, but I noticed her inhale a little more deeply from a few of the others.

“Pack up all of those,” I told her, “there’ll be plenty of ponies in New Reino who’ll pay a lot of bits for them,” and there would be. The ponies that ran those casinos cared quite a bit about their image; and were known to shell out the bits for luxuries from the Old World like perfumes for their mares and colognes for themselves, “check the closet too,” I nodded at the small set of slatted doors. If he had any particularly nice clothing, that would fetch a decent price as well. Meanwhile, I went pawing through his dresser and nightstand. Compared to what the conditions were like for the other ponies that worked here, this Wind Rider guy sure liked his comforts.

Clothing, some of it nice enough that I stuffed it into my saddlebags. Mostly just the nicer looking scarves and accessories though, nothing too big and bulky. I’d want to make room for anything of value that we found in the Stable when we got there. Cigars, which I was pretty sure I knew a griffin who’d buy them. There was even a bottle of Wild Pegasus Special Reserve. Of course a pony like this would have a bottle of only the best whiskey those fliers could make. I very carefully hid the bottle away from Windfall, lest she steal it off me and drink the valuable contents herself.

When I’d collected everything of notable value, I looked up to check on Windfall’s progress, “find anything yet,” I didn’t need her to answer my question, as I could plainly see that she had. I’d thought she was being rather quiet.

The Pegasus was holding up a set of barding. Not just any barding though. I very clearly recognized the style from the literally dozens of pictures I’d seen around this place of the previous owner wearing it. The brilliant blue and gold pattern was unmistakable. Windfall had found a uniform worn by a member of the Wonderbolts; and her eyes were the size of bloatsprites as she gazed at it.

Upon a closer inspection, the barding wasn’t a complete match for what showed up in those older pictures. Those suits looked like they were little more than elastic one-pieces that were just meant to be flashy and distinctive while providing no real military functionality at all. No ceramic reinforcement, no Kevlar linings, no pockets, nothing that any sane pony heading into combat would find remotely useful in any way.

The barding that Windfall was looking at had seen some modification. While still possessed of a garish color scheme that offered little in the way of camouflage, and looked almost as though it were designed to draw the enemy's attention, this set did possess some of those desirable elements that I'd mentioned. Not to the degree that it should have, but it was still a marked improvement. The chest and back had been reinforced by sturdy material—thin steel bands from the looks of things. The leggings were composed of dyed leather, as was the collar. There were ever several clasps and d-rings sewn into the sides and flanks where battlesaddles and other equipment could be securely mounted.

“Wow,” Windfall remarked of the barding that she was holding in her hooves.

I was suitably less impressed with it, “we might be able to find a buyer.”

The flier protectively clutched the armor to her chest, “what?! We can’t sell this! This is a Wonderbolt uniform; they were the greatest pegasi in Equestria,” she held it lovingly in her hooves, “I’m’a wear it!”

“You’re going to fly into battle wearing bright blue barding?” I didn’t even try to veil my incredulous tone, “it’s bad enough you’re a white pony with green hair; you will absolutely not be wearing anything that’s going to draw as much attention as this thing does,” I reached over and snatched away the barding, “we are selling this and buying you something practical.”

“Awe, but, Jackboot…” the Pegasus began, her tone climbing into a genuine whine as she watched the armor vanish into my saddlebags.

“Over my dead body,” I said, favoring Windfall with a hard look until the flier finally relented and gave an exasperated sigh.

“Fine…”

I looked around the room one more time. We’d pretty much stripped it of anything useful to us, or valuable to anypony else. Hopefully Foxglove had come up with something worthwhile as well. The two of us headed over to meet with the unicorn mare, stripping the dead Ministry soldiers of what gear was salvageable in the process. Spark packs and magical energy rifles, and little else.

“Anything good?” I asked once the mare was in sight.

Foxglove glanced back over her shoulder at us and pushed herself away from the screen, “you’re not going to like it,” was how she started her answer. Immediately, I grimaced, “but pretty much everything here has been wiped clean.”

“You’re kidding,” I deadpanned.

The violet unicorn shook her head, “I couldn’t come up with any files that dated back more than two weeks before the end of the war. The stuff after that is mostly correspondence and some itineraries, but without the older stuff most of it doesn’t even make sense.

“I did manage to learn a few things though,” she went on, “but nothing ‘valuable’ to other ponies, I bet.”

“Let’s hear it anyway,” might as well. Maybe it could at least lead us to something more useful later down the line.

“So, as you probably guessed,” she pointed at the bodies in the corridor, “this is an MoA outpost. Not a real hub or anything like that. More of a staging ground for their operations in the valley. Mostly what they do—or did, anyway—was get agents from one place to another without anypony being the wiser. Or, anyzebra, I guess,” she corrected, “they did that by using those freight wagons upstairs.”

“I thought you said those were fakes?”

“They certainly wouldn’t carry any freight,” Foxglove corrected, “but they’ll transport a pony, or at least their equipment for some sort of secret mission. I’m pretty sure they dressed their agents up at freight haulers and had them fly to wherever they were supposed to do a mission. Nopony really looks twice at a delivery pony doing their thing, after all. This way, they could go anywhere, and no pony or zebra watching them would think anything was really going on. Certainly nothing MoA related.”

I thought this over and nodded. I was pretty sure there were other ways to do what this place did, but it did offer them some other options as well, “did you find out what happened, at least?” I nodded back at the dead pegasi.

She nodded, “I did, in fact. It was an inside job.”

A smirk found its way onto my face, “you mean the spies had a spy?”

“Sort of. It was an MoA spy.”

I frowned now, “okay, you lost me. They were spying on themselves?”

“Looks that way,” Foxglove confirmed, “I can’t find out the details, because all of the old messages are gone, but I did come by a few messages from the pony that I think was responsible for what happened here. They tried to delete those too, but something must have come up, or they were discovered, or whatever; because they didn’t do as good a job as they did the first time,” the unicorn turned back to the computer she was sitting at and tapped at the keyboard.

“These are partial messages from an ‘Agent Fleet Foot’ addressed directly to Rainbow Dash, the head of the MoA. From what I can tell, Fleet Foot is the one that deleted all the files in the system, on orders from Rainbow Dash.”

“Why would the Ministry Mare target her own ministry?” Windfall asked the question before I could.

“I’m not positive,” Foxglove admitted, “but it sounds like the pony overseeing this place was starting to ask a lot of questions about a recent operation,” I recalled the messages that I had come across in Wind Rider’s office. It had to be the one dealing with those toys. I was starting to think that ‘toys’ had to have been a metaphor or code word or something. Nopony went through this sort of trouble to cover up transporting a foal’s actual playthings, “when he kept asking about it even after Dash told him to drop it, she ordered Fleet Foot to purge all the records.

“It sounds like that wasn’t enough though,” the violet mare read on, skimming the screen, “when word reached Dash that the boss here, Wind Rider, was trying to go behind her back to get answers, she ordered the whole facility ‘muzzled’,” she looked once more to the dead bodies, “which I guess is a spy way of saying ‘killed’.

“Whatever that operation was, Dash didn’t want anypony to know about it,” she glanced back to the screen, “it sounds like she was already having ponies killed to keep things quiet before all of that happened,” she waved her hoof in the direction of the dead power armored agents, “one of the messages mentions something about a Ministry of Image pony,” My brow quirked as I recognized the event Foxglove must have been talking about. Wind Rider had been trying to arrange for that pony's effects to be passed on to her family, “at least Dash sounds like she felt bad about that one,” the unicorn went on, “but she was not a fan of this Wind Rider guy.”

I found myself snorting as I recalled the letter in which the Pegasus stallion who was in charge of this facility was frantically warning his boss about their probable discovery by zebra agents; whom he suspected of killing Sassy Saddles, the liaison he’d been working with while shipping the toys. Little had Wind Rider known he was conversing with the very mare that had ordered her killed. It hadn’t been zebras at all, but other MoA agents. It couldn’t have been toys, it just couldn’t have. That meant I needed to find out what had happened to that shipment. If it was worth killing so many ponies over, it had to be valuable.

“Does it say anything about a shipment anywhere in those messages you found,” I asked, bending low so I could see the screen more clearly, “or an ‘Operation Silent Echo’?”

“An operation what?” Windfall asked, confused by my sudden interest.

Foxglove, on the other hoof, narrowed her eyes at me, “…yeah, I did find something talking about that. Why?”

“Because that’s what all of this was about,” I explained, “I found some messages on Wind Rider’s terminal upstairs, and this all started when he was told to smuggle out a bunch of what he called ‘toys’. When he asked Rainbow Dash about them, he got the cold shoulder. Does it say where he delivered them to?”

“Toys?” Foxglove was understandably skeptical.

“It has to be a code word or something,” I said, “but whatever they really are, they have to be important. Do you know where they went?”

The unicorn paused for a moment, and then turned to the terminal and brought up a very distorted looking file, “this is one of the freight itineraries I found. Well, most of it,” some of it, more like, I thought as I looked at the jumbled nightmare of solid bars and odd characters, “but these two lines are legible,” she pointed her hoof at the portions she was talking about, “and they’re interesting because they have the same ‘To’ and ‘From’ locations, but very different timetables.

“See here, on the trip at the top, the earlier one? Reino to Seaddle, in nine hours. Then we go down to this one. Same locations, but this time it’s only five hours.”

“They didn’t go all the way to Seaddle,” I concluded.

Foxglove nodded, “nope. Nine hours honestly sounds about right for a pair of pegasi hauling a wagon all the way to Seaddle. I did a little rough math and—can I see your pipbuck?” I passed her my arm with the Old World device on it. She brought up the map and traced a line on it, “five hours puts them somewhere along this arc,” I was frowning again as I watched the mare draw out a line that must have been two hundred miles long. Seeing my expression, she clarified, “well, they obviously didn’t actually go to Seaddle, so I have no idea what direction they would actually have gone. But five hours would only get a Pegasus to about that far,” she hesitated again, “give or take fifty miles depending on wind conditions.”

Fucking. Horseapples.

None of that information helped me out in the slightest. There was no reasonable way to comb through more than twenty thousand square miles of Wasteland and expect to find a two hundred year old drop-off site when I didn’t even have a clue how that site had been marked. Never mind not knowing where anything that had been dropped off there might have been taken to afterward.

“…but,” there was a ‘but’ in here somewhere? I was listening, “I did find out where all of those holo-rigs went that the MoA bought off of that MWT facility we found a couple months back. It turns out that Fleet Foot mare was the pony Rainbow Dash tapped to oversee that job.”

“And she says where she went to?”

“No,” Foxglove answered, and my expression soured again. Before I could say anything more though, the unicorn held up her hoof and continued, “but I did find another itinerary. Fleet Foot’s name is on it, listed as taking three trips. Reino to Seaddle, then Seaddle to Wounded Flank, and then Wounded Flank back to Reino.

“The thing is, the times don’t add up,” she took hold of my pipbuck again and started tapping on the map, “Reino-Seaddle is nine hours; we know that. Wounded Flank—today known just as ‘Flak’, is over here,” she pointed to a blank area of the map on my pipbuck. I’d heard of the place, but had never been there. It was somewhere in the northern part of the Republic in the mountains. The White Hooves hadn’t yet made it that far when I was still a part of them, “but this is where the times get sketchy. The itinerary says it took four hours,” she shook her head, “it would take a Pegasus two, at the most,” she drew out another long arc on the map, “so four hours puts them somewhere along this line.”

“We can’t search through thousands of miles of mountains,” I pointed out, “that’d take years.”

“It would,” the unicorn conceded, “but that’s where the third leg of the trip comes in. Flak to Reino should just be eleven hours. It’s listed here as being ten. Somewhere in this arc,” she took her other hoof and moved it along a second path. Then her hooves came together. She glanced up, a smile on her face, “there. That’s where those rigs went.

“It might even be where the MoA stored a whole bunch of other things too.”

I let out a deep breath. She’d done very well, as it turned out. There was just one problem, “that’s in the middle of Republic territory,” I noticed, “I’m not very welcome there.”

“In the major settlements, no,” Foxglove acknowledged, “I’m sure they have pictures and bounty posters up all over the place,” the other night suggested that was at least the case, yes, “I’m not very high on their ‘friends’ list either anymore, remember? We could still make it if we’re careful,” she dropped my pipback and the arm it was attached to, “hey, you just asked me to find places of interest to the MoA. You never told me they weren’t allowed to be in the Republic.”

Fair enough.

The location of that Ministry of Awesome cache would be…problematic to get at, I had no doubt about that; but it wouldn’t be impossible. Given what I’d been through in the last couple of days, I guess it realistically wasn’t all that much safer for me outside of the Republic’s borders anyway. Perhaps, in a way, it might even be a little less likely for me to be accosted by bounty hunters up north. Only an idiot would hang around the Seaddle area when there was a five thousand bit bounty on his head, right? In any case, that was something that was going to have to wait.

“Did you find out anything else useful?”

The unicorn shook her head, “not really,” she said, “this Fleet Foot might not have done a good job of getting rid of the recent files; but there is almost nothing left of whatever was on these computers before that. Even the itineraries I found were only as intact as they were because they were uploaded from a back-up drive that the pony running this place had.”

“He’d thought zebras were behind it,” I recalled the messages from Wind Rider that I’d seen. I idly wondered where he’d been when all of this went down. There were a few piles of ash out there in the corridor. His own corpse might be among them. Did he even suspect that this had all been arranged by his boss? His letters suggested that he thought of his superior as being incompetent. It appeared as though he had been quite wrong in that regard.

Foxglove smirked, “nope. This was strictly an internal matter.”

Windfall approached us, “looks like it was a pretty brutal fight,” she nodded in the direction of the bodies, “not a whole lot left that was worth taking,” the Pegasus flipped out a wing and showed us a few spark packs and a magical energy rifle. A few hundred caps worth of equipment. Maybe as much as a full thousand if we took into account everything that we’d found in this warehouse, both on the main floor and this little underground facility. Enough for a set of barding for Windfall—and we were going to need to finally get a set for Foxglove too—and some additional weaponry.

“Alright, I guess we’re good here,” I looked around once more, confirming that no rooms had been missed. I looked at the map on my pipbuck, “Stable 137 looks like it’ll just be a couple days northwest.”

Windfall frowned and thought for a brief moment before finally shaking her head, “maybe some other time.”

Excuse me? I somehow managed not to simply blurt out my initial indignant reaction to the flier’s dismissal of my plan. When had the Pegasus ever countermanded my stated course of action for the three of us? I may have started to take a more passive approach to things since leaving the Seaddle area, but thus far Windfall had always bent to my commands whenever I did issue them.

I regarded the Pegasus evenly, “…you have a better idea?”

“We need to get back to New Reino,” Windfall told me, “we’re not equipped to be out in the Wasteland for a few days.”

"We weren't equipped for it an hour ago, but you seemed okay with the idea then," I pointed out.

"We also didn't have anything we could use to pay for supplies," the pegasus jostled her saddlebags, "and now we do. We can head back, sell this stuff off, buy what we need, and then go to the stable.

"It's not like it's going anywhere."

The winged mare was not necessarily wrong in her assessment. Foxglove’s lance was effectively just a metal stick at the moment, I was down to just Full Stop and the couple dozen remaining rounds I had for the revolver, and only one of us had any barding. Windfall was still effectively at her peak fighting strength in terms of weaponry; though it probably wouldn't be a good idea to push her too hard in a fight given that she had just recovered from some rather severe wounds.

So, in that respect, I couldn’t really argue the flier’s point. Still, I was confident that the three of us could get there and back without much trouble. Besides, a lot of time had passed since those two ponies had been evicted from their stable as it was. If I was going to learn anything about those mysterious ponies that had attacked them, the sooner I got there the better. Whatever information I found would be worthless if I wasn’t the first pony to get it. Nopony paid out to learn something they already knew.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite think of a way to explain why time was a factor here. All I’d told Foxglove was that I learned about the stable’s location from a computer in Old Reino. That information would be centuries old in her mind. What difference could a few days possibly make? I couldn’t just change my story and say I’d met a wandering stable-dweller or prospector or something. The unicorn mare was suspicious of me as it was. If she found out that I was already lying to the both of them…

I’d just have to hope that we made it to the stable and found out what happened before the ponies that attacked it made themselves known to anypony else, “alright, you have a point,” I conceded reluctantly.

Foxglove approved of the plan as well, and nodded her assent. There was one other issue that Windfall noted though, “but what are we going to do about you?” she said, looking at me, “there’s still a bounty out on you.”

That was no trivial matter. While New Reino’s ruling elite didn’t care anything for the laws and policies of the New Lunar Republic, nor did they take any specific interest in keeping track of the criminals fleeing the nearby nation; they didn’t do anything to curb bounty hunting either. So I had to either constantly stay on my toes in order to keep from being taken again, or I needed to find somepony willing to protect me. Allies in New Reino, I had none of.

Old business partners, on the other hoof…

“I might be able to work something out with Scratch,” I received puzzled looks from the two mares. Damn, I hadn’t told them about the griffon either. I was still getting the hang of this whole, ‘working with a team’ thing, I guess, “he’s the griffin that gave us the McMaren job,” I informed them. Then I went on further to say, “he also happens to be someone I knew from Hoofington. We have a lot of history. Good history,” I added when I saw the briefly concerned expression on Foxglove’s face.

“How can he help?” Windfall asked, though her tone was optimistic.

“He has a lot of connections. He’ll know when hunters are in the area, and can pass on the word to me to lay low. At the same time, he’ll be able to spread rumors about me being other places to anypony who asks,” Scratch would get even better at the manipulation game once Homily started making his planted broadcasts. I briefly entertained the notion of letting these two in on that little scheme, but thought better of it. Both mares were exactly the type of pony who’d probably try to undermine the griffin’s plans because they weren’t as altruistic as they had first seemed.

“That might actually work,” Foxglove didn’t sound dismissive of the notion at least, if she wasn’t quite as hopeful as Windfall seemed to be.

“That’s great! You should have said you knew who he was earlier. We probably could have gotten a better deal on the pay…”

“You were the one that got us that job, remember?” I point out to the Pegasus, “I didn’t find out he was the one behind it until I went to collect. I would have told you later, but…” I let my voice trail off, trying not to look at Foxglove for too long, “…things happened.”

“Right,” Windfall nodded, “well, that still sounds like a good plan to me. We’ll head back to New Reino, work something out with Scritch-”

“Scratch,” I corrected.

“-Scratch, and then we’ll go hunt down those raiders that shot me up,” the young mare’s expression hardened visibly, “before they can hurt somepony else.”

Foxglove and I exchanged a look. Windfall was still recovering from her injuries. Going looking for a fight wasn’t the best idea. The unicorn approached the white flier, “we’ll figure something out,” she began, but the Pegasus flashed the violet mare a fierce glare.

“What’s to ‘figure out’?” she growled at the unicorn, “they’re raiders. They need to be killed before they can hurt anypony else.”

“And we’ll do something about them,” Foxglove acknowledged, keeping her own voice soft and level. Though, from my perspective, her tone might have sounded a little more condescending than it could have been; like a mother addressing her filly. I could even see Windfall starting to bristle a little, “but you’ve only just recovered from some pretty bad injuries. Potions aren’t a substitute for real rest and giving your body time to heal itself.”

“I can rest when they’re dead,” Windfall’s proclamation suggested that the discussion was over with, and she changed the subject, “are we done here?” she glanced between the two of us. The place had been thoroughly searched, Foxglove had learned all she could from the computers, and we had a plan of action for the future, so I nodded. The Pegasus turned around and marched towards the exit, “then let’s go.”

Foxglove and I both hung back a few paces. The unicorn leaned in close, “we’re not actually going to let her go through with this, are we?”

I frowned at the unicorn, “I don’t like it any more than you do,” mostly because I was simply averse to the whole ‘looking for armed threats just because’ concept as a general rule, “but I promised I’d always follow her lead, remember? The whole ‘Jackboot redemption’ scheme you cooked up with her?

“If anypony’s going to talk her down, it’s going to have to be you.”

The unicorn didn’t seem to care for that notion very much, “and how am I supposed to do that?”

I shrugged, “as I figure it, you have until tomorrow morning to figure that out. It’ll take us the better part of the day to get back to New Reino. It’ll be easy to talk her into waiting for morning; but after that…”

The violet mare’s frown deepened into a bitter scowl, “great, now I’ve got to find a way to advocate on behalf of a bunch of raiders.”

“You could always just drug her,” I pointed out, mostly joking, “you have any of the sleeping potion left?”

The scowl briefly converted into a smirk at my suggestion, but then came back, “I’ll try talking with her again,” she sighed, “get her to at least hold off for a couple days,” she looked me over, “you look like you could use some rest too, actually.”

No argument here. I’d barely had any chance to recover from our little McMaren expedition before being whisked away by those hunters; only to get poisoned nearly to the point of death by radscorpions before fighting twig monsters in that hospital. Between being drugged, poisoned, blown up, and irradiated—all in a single day, by the way!—I was very much of the mind that a few days of bed rest was a good idea when we returned to New Reino.

Maybe we’d get lucky and Windfall would be made to see the merit in that when she lay down tonight. The Pegasus couldn’t be feeling all that much better than I did, given what she’d been through recently as well.

We split up when the three of us returned to New Reino. It was only late afternoon, so most of the shops were still open. There was every indication that Scratch would still be in his office as well. Foxglove was given the task of selling off the salvage we’d collected. A lot of it was pretty technical in nature, and the merchants that dealt in those sorts of items that would give us the best prices would know what those things were worth, depending on their condition. Which meant that we needed a pony negotiating with them that could effectively evaluate what that condition was. She was also the least likely of the three of us to wind up getting scammed by somepony looking to sell broken or defective crap.

Meanwhile, Windfall and I would talk things over with Scratch. The griffin appreciated having talented ponies working for him; and despite the occasional impulsive action, the Pegasus was a very capable sort. Exactly the type of pony that Scratch would be able to find a use for. On the other side of things, Scratch was also sophisticated enough that Windfall wasn’t going to see him as just a thug that hired on gunhooves and goons. He’d make the Pegasus feel like he wanted her around for more than just because she was good at shooting things.

The Lucky Bit was as busy as always, with its usual throng of ponies trying their hooves at the various games. I never touched the things. Mostly because I never thought of myself as anywhere near lucky enough to win big and partially because I knew they were all slanted in the house’s favor to begin with. I tried to avoid taking on anything that required me to always be at a disadvantage.

Neither of us was here for the entertainment though. We were headed for the bar, and the secluded little booth where it was understood that anypony looking to do business with the Lucky Bit’s owner would meet their contact. At the moment, the suited unicorn looked to be busy talking things over with another hired gun. A gruff looking green unicorn mare with a pair of swords crossed across her back. Wasn’t she the flashy sort? Not much of a looker though. Her face looked like she’d fought a brick wall, and lost. Repeatedly.

Windfall and I took up a pair of stools at the bar while we waited for our chance at a few words with Scratch’s representative. Both of us ordered shots of Wild Pegasus, which we nursed rather slowly in silence. During the trek back here, she and Foxglove had engaged in a few conversations. While I had not gotten involved in any of them myself, I did catch a few of the flier’s more exasperated outbursts which clued me in to some of their topics.

For the most part, it had sounded like the unicorn was extoling all of the many good reasons why the three of us should linger in New Reino for at least a few days before charging out into the Wasteland in an effort to lower the local raider population. Windfall hadn’t been very receptive to these arguments though. After a few failed dialogues, the unicorn had shifted to the idea of at least asking around town to see if anypony had reported troubles with other groups as well. Then, at least, we could go out on a more prolonged campaign that swept up additional troublemakers. While I wasn’t fully on board with that plan, it was at least a way for Foxglove to argue the need to remain in the town for longer than a single evening.

She also offered to modify the flier’s weapons some more to make them marginally more effective, as well as alter whatever barding they obtained. Windfall hadn’t gone for that, either.

Perhaps Foxglove could think up some additional rationales when she got back from getting supplies.

The song currently playing on the bar’s radio ended, and there was a burst of brief static which announced the next broadcast of Manehattan’s distant DJ-PON3. This at least got Windfall’s full attention.

“Hello, Wasteland! It is I, DJ-PON3, with…the news,” my ear twitched slightly as I detected something…off about the announcer’s tone. He sounded…hesitant? Hard to think of anything that could fluster the radio personality, as happy and energetic as he normally sounded, “I’m going to start off this time by saying that, as of yet, nothing about this next story has been confirmed. I’m going to repeat that: right now, these are mostly just rumors.

“If anypony listening can shed any light, I’d like you to contact my assistant, Homage, with details,” the stallion took a deep breath, steeling himself, “now…there are reports,” he stressed the word with a tone that clearly suggested his doubt regarding their validity, “that a pony wearing Steel Ranger barding is targeting caravans and merchants.

“Some of the survivors have claimed that the pony that attacked them was the Lone Ranger,” I heard Windfall gasp from beside me. DJ-PON3 went on to hurriedly add, “again, these are just the stories that some very distressed, and understandably shaken ponies are telling. I’m not saying that anypony out there is deliberately lying, but we all know that an intense fight can leave details rather muddied. There are a lot of Steel Rangers out there, and they can go raider just like anypony else, I’m sure.

“Again,” he kept using that word. Not a good sign, honestly, “I’m asking for anypony with any evidence of who is really behind these attacks to please contact Homage, so that we can get to the bottom of this,” it was clear that the disc jockey didn’t believe for a moment that the newest hero of the Manehattan Wasteland could be responsible. In fairness, it wasn’t too far outside the realm of possibility that some other ranger had snapped and gone the raider route. Though, if that were the case, this new power-armored threat should be exactly the type that the Lone Ranger would be tracking down and taking out, right?

“And now, here’s Nat King Colt with, Buck Up and Fly Right,” there was another short burst of static, and then a piano started to play, with a young stallion’s voice singing over it.

“Do you think it's really him?”

The question caught me off guard, and it took a couple of seconds for me to realize that Windfall was asking whether or not I was of the mind that her hero would turn raider, “I’ve told you before: killing is killing,” I replied, “some folks…the line between needing to kill and wanting to kill can blur after a time.”

Windfall thought about this for a moment, “…it could be some other pony wearing power armor,” she reasoned, “it doesn’t have to be the Lone Ranger,” it didn’t sound like she was as convinced of that possibility as she would have liked to be.

All the same, “no, it doesn't,” I nodded.

“After all,” the Pegasus went on with her rationalizing, “he’s been protecting caravans all this time; why start attacking them? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not to you or me.”

Windfall didn’t seem to appreciate that qualification very much, and flashed me a sour look. Her eyes went to the booth with the unicorn stallion we were supposed to talk with. He was no longer occupied, and was actually now looking at the pair of us expectantly, “let’s go,” she tossed back the rest of her drink and wiped the few drops that didn’t quite make it in from her mouth. I took a final sip of the diluted alcohol and pushed the glass and it remaining contents away.

The pair of us took up seats across the table from our liaison; myself nearer the wall. I started off the conversation, “I need a meeting with Scratch,” there wasn’t much point in being subtle about any of this. New Reino was a dangerous place for me without the sort of protection that my old griffin acquaintance could provide. I was in no position to waste time with conversational etiquette.

The unicorn cringed slightly at my blunt statement, and he glanced around at nearby ponies as though to gauge their reaction to my use of the griffin’s name out loud. Was Scratch’s existence really supposed to be some sort of secret or something? Griffin’s were hardly a common sight in this town, or even the valley as a whole. Somepony must have noticed him by now, even if nopony knew explicitly that he was also in charge of the Lucky Bit. Though, if Itchy was really supposed to be the ‘face’ of the casino, nopony that met the strung out stallion would ever believe that he was actually in charge of anything. Somepony was pulling his strings.

Finally, the suited stallion seemed satisfied that nopony had taken notice of our exchange and turned back to respond, “I’m afraid my employer’s time is valuable, and limited. I’ll be sure to pass on your request and see when you can be accommodated,” a pad of paper and a pencil floated into view, “if you’ll just tell me where you can be reached?”

I saw Windfall glance questioningly towards me. She knew how dangerous staying in the place was, and we hadn’t made any arrangements for rooms yet. Frankly, we couldn’t afford any at the moment until Foxglove was done selling what we’d collected in the warehouse. I tapped the table impatiently with my hoof, “his schedule was open enough for me last time,” I pointed out, “and what I have for him now can’t wait.”

Now I did lower my voice and lean in across the table, “I know where there’s a new gang moving into the area. Lot’s of weapons, lot’s of advanced tech. Pretty sure they’re Stable stock too,” maybe I was embellishing a bit and taking some liberties with information I didn’t have yet, but I could refine the details later. In any case, I had my contact’s attention, “now, way I figure it, the first pony in this town that knows about them gets the upper hoof. Either they can know how to avoid them, or get first crack at hiring them for merc contracts.

“Now, I’m bringing this to Scratch first out of respect for the history him and I got,” I put a wry smirk on my face and leaned back, “but if he’s too busy, I’m happy to shop around for anypony else that’d like this information…”

The unicorn stallion frowned, but he wasn’t quite as sure about his tactics as he had been a minute ago. His gaze darted for the stairway leading to the upper floors. He knew that if what I had was as valuable as I claimed, and that if I did go somewhere else and Scratch got wind that he could have been the one ahead of the curve instead of one of his competitors…it would reflect poorly on the unicorn that had turned me away. On the other hoof, if I was lying through my teeth; well, then it was hardly his fault, wasn’t it?

“Perhaps some things can be moved around,” he finally said.

“We’ll wait,” I assured him with a smile, “but not for long,” I put my hoof to my chin and feigned thinking for a short moment, “though, some drinks would keep us here a while longer…some good drinks” I amended.

The suit-wearing go-between rolled his eyes, but I saw him motion to the pony working the bar. In short order, a pair of glasses and a bottle of what I presumed was mostly pure Wild Pegasus appeared in front of Windfall and I. Our contact excused himself and vanished into the upper levels of the casino. Windfall was quick to pour herself a generous glass of the liquid and throw it down her throat. For my part, I was content to sip.

The pegasus looked over at me, “so how much of what you said was true?”

The flier sounded as though she was quite doubtful that any of it had been. I smiled into my drink, “most of it, probably,” I informed her. She still looked a little dubious. I held up my pipbuck, “I was going over some more of the logs that were left on this thing. The stable pony that this came from was from around here,” it was easiest to sell a lie when some of it was true. Not that lying to her was making me feel very good about myself right now. The dour frown from the orange earth pony mare in my head wasn't helping matters, “I compared those records with what I learned in Old Reino.

“Besides, something hit that caravan we found, right?”

That all seemed to satisfy Windfall, and she poured herself another drink from the bottle. I promptly stowed the rest of the whiskey away after that though. She’d been hitting the booze pretty hard recently, and I wanted her at least moderately sober for our meeting with Scratch. I needed the griffin to see how capable the flier was, and showing up with her drunk off her ass wasn’t how that was going to happen. The disappearance of the bottle didn’t stop her from throwing back her second helping just as quickly as she had the first.

I was actually about to comment on her style of drinking, letting her know that sipping was actually a viable option, when I caught sight of the unicorn stallion we’d been waiting on standing at the base of the stairs. He nodded towards us and waived his hoof. I nudged Windfall to get her attention and pointed out our contact. She hopped out of the booth and alit clumsily onto the floor. With a frown, I followed her out a bit more gracefully. Together we approached the stairway.

“He has a few minutes to hear you out,” his tone suggested that it would be in our best interests not to be wasting any of Scratch’s time. Which was fine, as I had no intention of doing so.

We headed up.

Itchy was standing near the door leading to what I knew to be Scratch’s office. Upon seeing us approach, the fidgety earth pony waved a hoof at us, “h-hey, Jackie!” he greeted nervously. I guess his boss must have yelled at him recently for something. Itchy wasn’t exactly the most capable sort; I often wondered why the griffin kept him around, “Scratch is i-i-inside, waitin’ for ya.”

“Thanks, Itch,” I nodded at the scrawny stallion. I noticed that the other earth pony’s eyes were focused intently on Windfall now, so I made introductions, “this is Windfall, my partner.”

“Oh, r-right!” recognition bloomed on his face, “the pony we gave the radio job to,” he stepped past me and extended his hoof towards the pegasus, “any friend of Jackie’s is a friend of mine!” Windfall judiciously took the offered hoof, smiling politely.

“Take care of yourself, Itch,” I nodded for Windfall to follow me, and we went through the door into the open air office beyond.

This time the griffin wasn’t going for theatrics. The two of us found him leaning back in the chair behind his desk, taking a drag of a cigar. He watched the two of us walk in and waited for the door to close behind us before speaking. He studied me for a brief moment, “I heard there was a fair bit of ruckus a couple days back,” he began, “at the casino you were staying at, if I’m remembering right.”

Given the complete lack of subtlety involved when the bounty hunters had assaulted my room, I doubted that there was anypony in this town that didn’t know something violent had happened there. Only a few would have known that it involved me though, “pissed off somepony with a lot of money. You know how it is.”

The griffin smiled, “old hat, for you, as I recall.”

I rolled my eyes at the reference to my Finder troubles back in Hoofington, “I just bring it out in ponies.”

“Here to announce your departure again?”

“Figure I’d change things up this time,” I shook my head, “I’m going to stick around, but I’ll need you're help to do it.”

It was immediately clear that the griffin was not liking my proposal, “Jackboot-“

“Hear me out,” I began. Scratch sat back and waited politely, “I just need you to stir up the rumor mill whenever I’m in town. Let it slip I’m in Shady Saddles, or heading back east; things like that. I’ll rarely be in New Reino anyway.

“Where I’ll actually be is helping you get the details on the new players moving into the valley before anypony else.”

This got the griffin’s attention, “it was mentioned that you had information for me,” now Scratch’s expression grew a little more severe, “though the implication was that you already had the details...”

“I know where to get them,” I assured the griffin quickly, “and I’m going to be on my way there in the morning," while sticking around for a few days would have been nice, I was treading a thin line with Scratch. He wasn't the type to let himself be played with, even by an 'old acquaintance' like me. The sooner her was satisfied, the better off I'd be, "what I can tell you now, for certain, is that they’re powerful, and they’re smart.”

The scowl on the griffin’s face deepened, “so they’re dangerous.”

“If they’re your enemy,” I acknowledged, “but if we can find some way to make them an ally…” I let the implication hang in the air for a few seconds so it could sink in. Scratch looked doubtful, if not a little hopeful regarding that prospect. Now was when I chose to make Windfall’s introduction, “and speaking of ally’s, this is Windfall.”

Scratch cast his gaze on the Pegasus standing next to me and nodded, “charmed,” the flier nodded. The griffin glanced at me, “your little helper?”

Before Windfall could say some brash, I chimed in, “more like I help her, these days,” I corrected. The pegasus mare calmed noticeably, “a skilled flier and an excellent shot,” Windfall stood a little straighter at my praise, while managing not to grin like a filly, “she’s the pony that rescued Homily and her team,” Scratch was obviously impressed by that, “and we’re a package deal,” I added, pleased to see Windfall nod her own agreement, “just want you to keep that in mind if you decide you can’t guarantee my safety in New Reino.”

The griffin smirked, taking a long puff of his cigar, “ain’t no pony or griffin I ever met who could guarantee safety in the Wasteland, Jackie-boy,” he chuckled to himself, “but I’ll put some words in the right ears and we’ll see what happens.

“In the meantime,” his clawed fingers tapped off the ashen tip of his cigar into a nearby ashtray, “if y’all need a place to stay the night, I think I can spare a room for two for the night.”

“A couple rooms, if it’s no extra trouble,” I ventured cautiously. I was getting off extremely well here, and I didn’t want to risk pissing off my benefactor, “we have a third member of our team out getting supplies.”

Scratch nodded, “no worries there,” he assured us, “I have a suite that’s not being used tonight. Should be enough for all of you. Just for the one night, you understand,” he regarded us with a hard stare. I issued a stiff nod. Message received.

He wasn’t convinced that I wasn’t just passing him a load of bullshit in a desperate effort to buy my way out of a bind. Truth be told, I sort of was. However, I was confident that I really did know where to get some valuable information on a group of ponies that both New Reino and the NLR didn’t know about yet. Getting some specific intel on them would be invaluable to the first enterprising being to get their hooves and/or claws on it. I was aiming to get that information, though with great caution. If Merrybell’s story was to be believed, this group had wiped out an entire stable, and nopony knew why they’d done it. That made them dangerous, that mysterious motivation of theirs.

It didn’t bother me so much that they were killers. I knew plenty of killers, and groups that exterminated populations. I also understood why they did it, and who their likely targets would be. This made them predictable, and it was possible to negotiate with them. These weird two-horned ponies that were described to me? They were an unknown quantity. That worried me.

“We’ll head out first thing in the morning,” I assured the griffin, “and be back in a few days with everything you need to know about these ponies and what they’re up to.”

“I know you, Jackboot,” the griffin nodded, “you’ve always gotten the job done for me. You won’t let me down,” he glanced at Windfall, “it was nice to have met you.

“Itchy!” the wiry stallion scrambled through the door, “show these two to the High Roller Suite; get them settled in.”

“Yes, s-s-sir,” the griffin’s aide nodded and made way for Windfall and I to leave. The door closed behind us and the smaller stallion slipped around in front of us, “th-this way.”

Scratch knew how to treat his more important guests, that was for sure. The High Roller Suite came equipped with all the amenities that one could have hoped to find in a pre-war Equestira. Crystalline chandeliers had been pain-stakingly reformed from the intact gems of what had probably been several dozen other fixtures in order to make the three in this room look whole and new. They bathed the room is soft, white light.

The first room was a parlor, with a ring of couches and futons surrounding a polished wooden table that already contained a spread of diced fruits and a couple pitchers of clean water. Off to either side was a door leading to a pair of bedrooms. Within each of those rooms was a king-sized bed with some of the cleanest linens that I had ever seen.

The quality of this setup put the suite that I had splurged for in the Flash in the Pan to shame.

Windfall was equally impressed, as she let out a long, awed, whistle.

“If you n-n-need anything,” Itchy offered, “it’ll cost ya,” upon seeing my frown, he hastily added, “I’m j-just sayin’, th-th-this ain’t f-full service, ya know?”

“Right, got it,” I waved the stallion away, “not a free ride. See you in the morning, Itch,” I closed the door behind the brown earth pony and then turned my attention back to the room.

Windfall was flitting about, pocking her head into the bedrooms, “only two beds,” she noted, “Foxglove can take this room,” she darted to the other side of the longue and slipped through the doorway leading to the other bedroom, “and we’ll be over here.”

I glanced towards the empty doorway, “I wouldn’t settle on the sleeping arrangements just yet,” I was pretty sure that the unicorn mare was going to have a thing or two to say about Windfall and I sharing a bed.

“Why not?” the pegasus mare said, poking her head back out, “somepony’s going to be sharing. Might as well be us. We’ve been sleeping together for years,” I quirked a brow, and saw the flier’s face flush as she realized how that had sounded, “you know what I mean!”

“I think Foxglove would prefer I have my own room,” I took my saddlebags off my back and carried them over to the room that Windfall hadn’t claimed. I stepped inside and threw them on the bed. A second later, I saw that they were joined by another familiar pair of bags that landed beside them. Glancing behind me, I saw that Windfall was standing in the doorway, glaring at me defiantly. I sighed, “Windfall…”

“I know that you’ve been putting Foxglove up to all those ‘talks’ with me,” the pegasus began, sounding far more firm in her tone than I was used to her addressing me with. I didn’t get an immediate chance to correct her either as she quickly continued, “and I get why.

“Maybe it’s my fault. I was upset, and I said a lot of things that I regret now,” the pegasus winced and bowed her head as she recalled memories that were painful for her. When she looked back up at me, her eyes were starting to glisten with the portents of tears that she was holding back, “but I didn’t really mean them.

“You’re the pony that raised me. You kept me safe, and taught me how to take care of myself,” she cracked a sad smile, “you were there when I got my cutie mark.

Her expression darkened once more, “when I found out that you were a White Hoof…had been a White Hoof the whole time,” she corrected herself, “I just…reacted. You know that I hate them, and you know why,” she took in a deep ragged breath and let it out, “it took me a while, but I finally accepted that the pony you used to be doesn't matter. Whatever you were like back then, that's not the pony you are now. I still wish you had told me but…I don’t know if there was ever going to be a time when I’d be ready to hear something like that.

“But I want to put all of that behind us,” she asserted with a nod of her head, and a confidence in her voice that hardly sounded at all like she was trying to convince herself of it, “and pick things up where we left off.

“I want to be us again, like we used to be. Talking together, eating together, and sleeping in the same room together; like we did when I was a filly.”

It was my turn to crack a smile, now that Windfall had left enough of a pause for me to enter the conversation, “you want to sleep on a pillow in the corner of the room?”

The pegasus chuckled, “maybe not quite like when I was a filly,” then she sobered a bit and regarded me hopefully, “but what do you say? Can we go back to the way things were?”

That sounded nice, actually. There wasn’t a whole lot in my life that I remembered ‘fondly’. Most of my time with Windfall did fall into that category though. We’d had a rough spot or two, what group of ponies didn’t? At the end of it all though, the good time far outweighed the bad. Being able to slide back into the routine that the two of us had once enjoyed was very tempting.

Did that mean that it was a good idea, though? What did the peanut gallery have to say about all of this?

Whiplash was her same snide self, deriding me for just wanting to get the Pegasus into my bed ‘like I’d always wanted’. Steel Bit wasn’t much different. I chose to ignore the two of them and looked to the other figments of my imagination which had proven to have a slightly less antagonistic view up to this point.

Yellow Bitch seemed quite amenable to the idea, surprisingly; given how many of my thoughts with regards to the filly’s future with me while growing up had fallen well short of the ‘kind’ threshold. Orange Cunt seemed pleased that being honest with the filly about the sort of pony I’d once been was finally paying off; though she was still none too happy that I’d kept my lips tight on the revelation until Windfall had found out for herself.

A fifth contender had entered the debate as well. An additional shard of my ever further fracturing psyche, this white unicorn mare with the exquisitely styled mane and sapphire eyes was modeled suspiciously like that last statue I’d come across in Wind Rider’s office. I was going to officially settle on White Whore for her, since the only mares I’d ever known who put that much effort into their looks were trying to attract clients. She was casting a vote too: I needed to make up for my past, and helping Windfall was a start.

Three votes to two in favor of letting Windfall get close to me again. Who was I to argue with the majority of my delusions?

I smiled warmly at the hopeful pegasus, “yeah. We can give it another shot.”

Windfall’s face instantly lit up. The leaped across the distance between us and threw her hooves around my neck with such force that I found myself having to take a step back, lest I fall over, “oh, thank you!” her words came out a little muffled, as her face was mostly buried in my neck. I craned my head down to look at the smaller flier, and gave her a reassuring pat on the back.

I felt a tiny bead of dampness wet my coat around where the alabaster mare’s eyes were. In a much softer tone, she said, “I was so scared when I came back and saw that you’d been poisoned. Foxglove didn’t even know what to do, she was just standing there looking at you,” I felt myself tensing at the memory, dreading what would happen if Windfall ever found out exactly why the unicorn might not have been inclined to act to save my life right then. I wondered what Orange Cunt would have to say about being honest about that right now?

“I didn’t think I was going to make it in time,” she went on, pulling away slightly and looking up at me. I could see very obvious tears in her eyes now, and her words were starting to crack, “I thought you were going to die thinking I hated you,” she sniffed, and then her lips spread in a relieved smile that was marred by a sob that managed to escape, “that I’d never get to tell you I forgave you.”

I hugged the flier to my chest once more, “it all worked out,” I assured her, feeling the quivering in her body start to subside as the Pegasus began to regain control over her emotions. Or, at least, I thought she was regaining control. The sobbing had quickly subsided, but then I felt her doing something very different.

At first, I didn’t even recognize it for what it was, and she was doing it so subtly that I barely noticed it. Her head just seemed to be slowly rubbing against my chest and neck, but I soon discovered that this was not the case. Not entirely. By the time Windfall got to my jaw, I realized that she was kissing me. This realization spawned several competing thoughts and impulses, especially where those little ponies in my head were concerned.

Steel Bit was encouraging me to just go ahead and bend the pegasus over the bed right now and take her like I should have years ago. I pushed that thought aside as forcefully as I could. Whiplash was noting how cute it was to see Windfall’s first attempt at foreplay; and that she seemed good enough at it that I should seriously wonder if it was actually her first time. The other three…well, it was hard to tell what they were thinking, as none of them seemed to know what to make of this. Well, fat lot of help you’ve all been!

Just before Windfall could reach my lips, which was clearly her intended destination, I managed to push her back; though I was very careful about the amount of force that I used. The pegasus was clearly a little emotionally fragile right now, and I didn’t need her reacting to my rebuke in any sort of rash manner. As it was, even this subtle hint to stop brought a confused and pained look to her blue eyes.

“We shouldn’t,” was all I could think to say at this moment. It was all I could trust myself to say.

“Why not?”

Yeah, Jackboot, ‘why not’?

Oh, you are so not helping...

There was little need for Whiplash to point out that my list of objective reasons why I couldn’t let Windfall pursue this little meeting to its inevitable conclusion was generously described as ‘sparse’. Nor did she need to point out that there was a whole big section of my brain that was hopped up on a cocktail of hormones that was basically begging me to let this happen. Having had Foxglove so recently tease me with whatever the fuck had been going on with her in the warehouse wasn’t helping things. Keeping a lid on certain physiological reactions wasn’t going to be an option if things progressed any further either.

Physically? I wanted this. Oh, how I wanted this! A young, fresh, nubile, mare who wanted nothing more than to please me in the bedroom? If I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn that I’d died at some point and this was my wildest fantasy come true as part of my eternal reward in the afterlife. I did know better, of course; and while I did want this, and while it was clear that Windfall at least thought that she wanted it too, what Windfall needed was a lot more important.

And what the pegasus needed was for me to tell her, “because you're my daughter,” wow, didn’t that sound weird to say, and mean it?

Windfall drew back slightly, looking at me dubiously, “um…no? That’s just what we tell everypony,” she leaned back in close once more to resume her kissing, “we’re not related, so it’s okay…”

Again I had to deflect the pegasus, who was starting to look annoyed, “it’s not about blood,” I said, going so far as to take a full step back from the flier, “it’s about…feelings. You said it yourself: I’m the pony that raised you. Now maybe you don’t think of me as your father,” Whiplash had herself a nice little chuckle about Windfall’s probable ‘daddy issues’ at this point, but I ignored it, “but when I look at you, I see a daughter; and so I can't do what you’re asking.”

There was a still clearly hurt in the flier’s eyes. I softened my tone and stepped closer to her once more, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I do,” I cautiously wrapped an arm around the pegasus and leaned in to give her a chaste peck on the forehead, “and I always will.”

When I pulled back once more, I gauged how Windfall was going to react to all of this. It was obvious that this little meeting hadn’t gone the way that she had planned out in her head, but I didn’t see any indications that there were going to be waterfalls of tears or fits of screaming. She was heartbroken, after a fashion, but that was okay. She was young, and beautiful, and would have plenty of opportunities to get over this someday.

“We good?” I asked her, favoring the flier with a warm smile.

Windfall sighed heavily, but she offered up a little nod of her head and a sad smile, “we’re good,” then she rolled her eyes and her smile grew a little more playful and warm, “Pa.”

Well played, “perfect. Now how about you find Foxglove and let her know where we’ll be staying.”

“Will do,” the Pegasus turned to leave the room, but I tugged on her tail before she could exit. When she looked back for an explanation, I was holding up her saddlebags for her to take to the other bedroom. With a roll of her eyes, she collected the bags and left.

When she finally left the suite entirely, I let out a very exasperated and quite frustrated scream. What was with these mares?! First Foxglove goes to town on herself while I’m inches away from her, and now Windfall was throwing herself at me! I couldn’t take this sort of treatment for very long. As it was, I could still smell the pegasus on me, and despite everything I had said to her, there was a part of me that very much wanted to recant what I’d just said and take her up on her offer.

That wasn’t to say that I’d been lying about anything I told her though. She did feel like a daughter to me. Or, rather, I felt about her the same way that I imagined a father would feel about his daughter. A father that wasn’t mine, at least. Which was a much bigger reason for my refusal: I didn’t want to have the sort of relationship with my ‘daughter’ that my father had had with his. Right now, that was a growing concern that I was having, especially in light of how I’d behaved in Old Reino. There was a much thinner line between me and my sire than I had thought.

It was a shame to waste the luxuries that came with a place like this, but right now, I was going to have to forgo the available heated water option and take a long, cold, shower…

There was a knock at the door as we were packing up to leave the next morning. All three of us looked at the door. I drew my revolver as I did, and Windfall quickly followed suit with her compact .45. The last time somepony had come to the door of our hotel room, things had gotten…exciting. None of us spoke or made any move to open it. After what seemed like a full minute, a familiar voice was heard.

“J-j-jackboot? You in th-th-there?”

I released the breath I didn’t notice that I was holding and slid Full Stop back into its holster, “hold on a sec, Itchy,” I walked over to the door and unlocked it. Windfall and Foxglove resumed packing our bags as I let the scraggly stallion into the room, “what brings you by…”

My attention was grabbed away from the smaller brown stallion by the larger earth pony standing next to him. The two ponies could not possibly have looked more different. Where Itchy was a mangy quivering wreck of a pony, his companion was very much the idyllic image of a Wasteland-weathered earth pony. His coat was darker than my own, but still held the barest crimson sheen in the right light. His steel-gray mane was braided down the back of his neck, decorated with rings of silver and copper.

What struck me most about him, and immediately put me on alert were his eyes though. Ruby rings around dark pupils that brought to mind a very specific pony from my past. Not that I hadn’t seen the occasional pony walking around the Wasteland that also had red eyes, but seeing them this close…
He wore barding, but you might have almost through it to just be clothing with how subdued and thin it was. Armor that was designed not to encumber somepony during long periods of travel, and offer protection only in those areas that were most vital. Over it he wore a brown tattered duster to protect him from the elements. I couldn’t immediately spot a weapon, but most anything could have been hidden beneath his long coat.

I just about drew Full Stop again, but Itchy spoke up before I did, “this is, Cestus,” the scraggly stallion said by way of introduction, “Scratch h-hired him on to h-h-help you.”

I blinked at the pair, and then comprehension dawned on me and I smiled wryly at the younger earth pony, “he’s here to make sure we come through on the job,” I concluded. Itchy shrugged and offered an apologetic smile of his own. So be it. I looked back at Cestus and gave the pony another appraising once over. He certainly looked like the type who could handle himself in a fight. Not a bad choice for a chaperone, I guess, “you’re bringing your own provisions, right?”

The larger stallion smiled, “you won’t find me to be a burden,” he responded.

I found myself refining a few of my initial assessments when I heard him speak that first time. By his size and appearance, I had judged him to be a world-weary pony not more than a decade younger than myself. However, that had not been the voice of an old stallion, but of a young one. He was probably not even quite half my age. Looking like that though, I’d be wrong to assume he was inexperienced. It might be possible that he was even as capable as I was at his age. Time would tell. I still wasn’t entirely comfortable about Scratch sending along a pair of eyes to keep tabs on us. I could hardly blame him, but it still limited some options that we might have needed to take if things didn’t go the way that I was hoping.

“Hey, Jackboot, who’s at the door-whoa.”

I turned to see that Windfall had come up behind me to get a better look at our visitors.

Cestus didn’t even seem to notice the pegasus mare though. His gaze remained fixed on me, “it’s nice being able to put a face to the name,” he said, “I’ve heard a lot a lot of stories about you.”

“Scratch talks about me?” that actually surprised me a good bit. The griffin and I had had a long a productive relationship back in Hoofington, sure, but I’d just been one of many ponies that he dealt with. I hadn’t thought that I’d really done anything that would leave that sort of impression on him.

The young stallion just smiled and finally peered around me to get a look at the others inside the room, “and it’s only these other two with you?”

I nodded, “yeah, this is…” I turned to introduce the flier next to me, and found myself faltering slightly as I noticed Windfall’s expression. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her wide blue eyes weren’t fixed on the new arrival’s face. I loudly cleared my throat, which seemed to get the mare’s attention and she composed herself, “…Windfall,” I continued, frowning. Then I motioned towards the violet unicorn who was just closing up the last of our saddlebags, “and that’s Foxglove,” the unicorn waved idly and levitated our bags over to us.

“So we’re ready to go then?” Cestus glanced around at the three of us, “Scratch wants this done quick, so we’ll need to cover as much ground as we can today.”

I took my saddlebags from Foxglove and slipped them over my back. Provisions, medicine, and a few grenades finally gave the packs some weight that they’d not had in a good while. It was nice having a new knife and an additional sidearm again too. The action of the 10mm that Foxglove had picked up for me was still a little stiff, and it was going to take several more cleanings before I was satisfied with it. Time would tell if the slightly larger caliber would grow on me. I’d initially been less than thrilled with the revelation that the unicorn hadn’t picked up another 9mm to replace the one that I’d ‘lost’ in Old Reino; but it was hard to fault her reasoning.

There was wisdom in having weapons that could share ammunition between them, as it meant that running out of bullets meant for one caliber didn’t diminish your volume of fire. It would be a bad day if we ran out of that common ammunition type, but 10mm was a genuinely more common size in Neighvada than the 9mm I’d been using. Plus, Foxglove was already manufacturing her ‘special’ rounds in that caliber for Windfall, which meant that I now had access to that same diversity of damage. While the unicorn had not made any of the sophisticated sorts of modifications to my weapon that she had made for Windfall, she had supplied me with a magazine each of her emerald tipped explosive rounds and the sapphire pulse rounds. I was advised to use them sparingly.

Windfall was tightening the last remaining straps of her new barding and adjusting the placement of her twin submachine guns. The flier’s armor had easily been the most expensive item that we’d bought with the funds made from the sale of our salvage. Foxglove had needed to put a little work into fitting it for the Pegasus, but it was otherwise serviceable. Not great barding, as it had obviously had a few prior owners and still retained clues to what might have caused their demise in the form of bullet-sized holes and a few mended tears that suggested prior deep rents in the leather. It would serve her for now until Foxglove came by the materials to improve upon it.

The unicorn had also acquired some gear of her own. Foremost on her list of priorities had been obtaining a replacement power source for her eldritch lance. The prolific cutting tool now glowed with a fierce intensity that encouraged anypony looking at its tip to have to shield their eyes slightly. New barding of her own had also been on her shopping list. Though, I suppose to file her attire under the heading of ‘armor’ might be stretching the definition to its limit. It contained hardly any reinforcements that would mitigate incoming rounds, settling instead for pockets and compartments to make her growing menagerie of tools more easily accessible.

At my urging, Foxglove had also bought herself a rifle. While her lance was decidedly very effective in a fight, even the unicorn’s telekinetic field had a limited range that fell well short of a firearm’s; and many was an encounter where volume of sustained fire would help to decide the outcome. I realized now that I should have been clearer on the specific style of weapon that I would have liked for her to get, as I had envisioned an automatic weapon to help supplement the firepower that Windfall could already bring to bear. The unicorn had instead opted for a bolt action. I couldn’t fault her choice of caliber in that regard at least, as few weapons fired rounds larger than the .308 she was going to be putting on her targets. However, I had to wonder at her choice to take lethality over rate of fire. She was not as experienced with firearms as either myself or Windfall, and so being able to send a lot of bullets towards her target would help to make up for her lack of skill with regards to consistent aim with a slow firing weapon.

When we got back from this trip, I’d discuss it with her. In the meantime, it was good that she at least had a rifle at all.

“We’re ready,” I assured the earth pony. To Itchy, I said, “you tell Scratch I’ll be wanting to use this room more often,” I flashed a grin at the gangly stallion, “it’s got some really comfortable beds.”

“Uhh…” the griffin’s aide looked a little worried and unsure of how to respond, and that was how I left him as our trio followed the stallion that Scratch had assigned to come with us on our expedition.

Cestus and I took up the lead as we headed out of the city, while Foxglove lagged behind. Windfall was circling overhead, as was her custom, in order to keep an eye out for any trouble coming our way. There were a few moments during the trip where I noticed that the Pegasus wasn’t paying quite as much attention to the Wasteland as she was to our guest. After the third time of having to prompt Windfall for a summary of what lay ahead, I dropped back to have a private word with Foxglove.

“I don’t suppose that you can talk to her?”

“Talk to who?” the unicorn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Windfall,” I nodded upwards towards the circling pegasus, “she’s letting herself get distracted,” even now it looked as though the young airborne mare was lingering in certain parts of her arc to get a better view of the dark stallion with us.

Foxglove looked between them for a moment, and then snorted as her face cracked a smile, “somepony’s jealous,” she glanced at me with a satisfied grin, “so she’s got her eye on somepony else. I don’t see the problem.”

“You’re not seriously okay with this? We don’t know anything about him.”

The unicorn retained her smile a bit longer, “yep, jealous,” and then let it fade away with a sigh as she ceased having her bit of fun at my expense and addressed my concern more seriously, “can’t blame her, he’s a good looking stallion,” upon seeing my shocked expression, she added, “well he is. If I didn’t favor the mares, I’d be ogling him too.”

“Great,” I said with a dour note.

“We do need her head in the game, though,” Foxglove admitted, “I’ll talk with her tonight.”

“I also want you to keep an eye on Cestus too,” I added, feeling a little better knowing that the Windfall situation was hopefully going to be sorted out.

“You mean the strange earth pony that was suddenly and mysteriously told to go with us, as we wandered out into the middle of nowhere, by the old friend from your past that I know nothing about?” the unicorn’s expression and tone suggested that she was intrigued by the notion, but they were both obviously being feigned for the sake of sarcasm, and her features quickly fell into a look that conveyed ‘duh’, “yeah, way ahead of you.

“At least it helps that he has a nice ass.”

I frowned, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“How could I not? I’m trudging through the Wasteland with my rapist and a stallion that looks like a younger version of my rapist. Oh, I know I’m going to sleep soundly tonight!” the unicorn said in a chipper sounding tone before reverting back into a more subdued one and sighing, “sorry. I’m just very stressed right now, because I don’t like anything about this.”

I suppose that I could understand that, given the context that Foxglove had already delivered to me; albeit in a less than straightforward manner. Though I did find my thoughts lingering on one point that she had made, “you think he looks like me?” I glanced at the other stallion.

She shrugged, “kind of. Though, a lot of you earth ponies look alike to me.”

“Thanks.”

“Glad to help.”

It made me feel a little better to know that I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely comfortable about our guest. Not that I could really put a hoof on the source of a very deep sense of nervousness that I was having about him. Something was just…off. It wasn’t anything that he’d said or done though. So far, I hadn’t noticed any glaring red flags there. It was something else. Something…that I couldn’t quite explain.
Jealousy, was Whiplash’s deduction.

So Windfall was staring at the guy; big deal. She was allowed to look at other stallions. My opinion differed greatly on the subject of her acting on anything she might start to feel with all of that looking, don’t misunderstand. That wasn’t about being possessive or jealous either. It was just sound judgment. The last thing I needed was for the Pegasus to get herself laid up carrying somepony’s foal.

I kept my eye on Cestus more than on the surrounding landscape. Something I bitterly realized I had in common with the Pegasus, though I was fairly certain the two of us had different motives for doing so. To the dark stallion’s credit, I didn’t catch anything suspicious about him; and in fact he was behaving like any experienced Wastelander should. He recognized hazards and tracks and didn’t ever once push for an early break or meal. If anything, he seemed more determined than we did to make our distance goal for the day.

The jury was still out on whether or not he was going to be an asset on this trip, but he certainly wasn’t a liability. That was about as much as I could hope to ask from an unwanted addition that my benefactor tacked on at the last minute.

He certainly wasn’t the talkative sort. Not that I tried to engage him in any conversations. Windfall made the occasional invitation to chat by asking him questions about his work and family—the first question, I noted, was whether or not he was seeing anypony. Cestus responded with curt replies and simple answers that left little room to delve further into the topic. After a couple of hours of listening to the flier’s painful attempts to draw the stallion out, she finally seemed to give up, and instead chose to banter with myself and Foxglove when she felt the need.
We made camp in a shallow gully just as daylight was beginning to fade from the overcast sky. A rocky overhang provided shelter from the wind, and afforded us the added concealment that made building a fire a safe endeavor. The light would only be visible from a very specific direction, and so it hopefully wouldn’t end up drawing unwanted attention while we bedded down.

I glanced at the map on my pipbuck, “we should be there by tomorrow night,” assuming that nothing went wrong or course, “look around, spend the night there, maybe head back in the morning depending on what we find.”

Cestus was barely even paying attention to what I was saying, far more interested in his jerked Brahmin and Sparkle Cola. An odd meal choice, to be sure. Not that there weren’t ponies who ate Brahmin or other meats; it just wasn’t all that common around most towns, I’d noticed. A few of the local tribes partook, since they often had limited agricultural infrastructure when compared to places like Seaddle and weren’t as involved in scouring ruins for pre-war foodstuffs. He certainly looked like he could have been a tribal though, so that made sense in that light.

Windfall and Foxglove were a bit more interested in planning out the rest of the trip at least. The unicorn chimed in first, “do we know what happened to this stable?”

I nodded, and supplied what parts of the truth I was comfortable revealing that made sense for me to have learned through means other than primary witnesses, “the pony that owned this pipbuck said their air purification talisman was failing, and his group was supposed to find replacements. Since everypony on that expedition died, I figure they never got their ventilation fixed.”

The unicorn cringed, “that’s not good. Even keeping the door open wouldn’t be enough. A stable’s ventilation system isn’t really designed to circulate air in from the outside; they’d have to rebuild the entire vent network.”

Windfall was frowning, “but what does that have to do with this new group of ponies you found out about? What makes you think they’re connected with this stable?”

Oh, horseapples. I hadn’t quite thought this story through, had I?

Orange Cunt was wearing a very satisfied grin on her face as she watched me try and tie off the strands that were unraveling in this little web of lies that I was trying to weave, “um, well,” think, Jackboot, think, “there was…another file on the pipbuck,” I amended, “not an audio file though. It was a message from their stable,” I wasn’t even sure this was how pipbucks worked, but Windfall wouldn’t know that either, so I went with it. I just hoped that Foxglove wasn’t keen to jump on my fabrications.

The unicorn was very covertly glaring at me, but she wasn’t saying anything yet. That was…good? Whatever, “it must have been sent after the owner died, because it was still…encrypted,” I found myself glancing briefly at Foxglove as I used the technical word very carefully, hoping I had it in the right context. I received the barest of reluctant nods from the violet mare, “and I don’t know anything about that stuff,” there’s that kernel of truth that helps make a lie believable, “but, fortunately, one of the computers in the hospital where I went to find the medicine was able to help me uncrypt-”

“Decrypt,” Foxglove corrected flatly.

“-decrypt it, right,” I nodded my thanks towards the mare and continued with the story, “and it turned out it was a warning to stay away, saying that they’d been attacked. The message described the attackers as being ‘unicorns with two horns’, and said they were using advanced technology.”

“A unicorn can’t have two horns,” Foxglove pointed out, “that’s why we’re called unicorns,” she tapped the horn protruding from her forehead.

I glared at the mare. At least, of all the flaws in my story that she could have pointed out, she chose the one that was indeed hearsay, and was sort of the point of this trip, “that’s just what I heard…from the message,” I hastily amended, “we’ll hopefully learn more when we get there.”

“That sounds…pretty incredible,” Windfall said. She looked to Cestus, “what do you think?”

The stallion shrugged, “ain’t ever heard of any ponies like that,” he admitted, “but I don’t spend a lot of time this far south.”

“Oh, you from the north part of the valley?” Windfall fluttered over a little closer to the stallion, “me too! What area? Seaddle?”

I found myself rolling my eyes as the Pegasus tried once more to chat up our new companion. It sounded like she was going to get about just as far as she had the previous times as well. Before I could comment on any of that though, I felt Foxglove leaning in closer to me.

“What’s really in that stable?” then she thought for another moment, “is there even a stable?”

Such a doubter, this one, Whiplash purred in the back of my mind, it’s almost like she doesn’t trust anything you say anymore…

I sighed, “yes, there is a stable. Yes, it’s the stable that this pipbuck is from,” I held the device out to her and tabbed over to the screen that showed the list of the audio logs stored on it, “it even still has the recordings that prove it,” Foxglove relaxed a little bit, and assured me that she didn’t need to listen to any of the files, so I withdrew the device.

“As for what’s there,” I hesitated and looked to make sure that Windfall was still trying to futilely draw out the other stallion. She was, “I met a couple of survivors in Old Reino. They told me what happened.”

I had Foxglove’s full attention now. The mare’s eyes went wide, “survivors? What happened?”

“Like I said: they were attacked. You were right about what they had to do with their vents,” I mentioned, recalling the story that Merrybell had related to me, “but it sounds like it drew the wrong kind of attention. They said some ponies arrived, and that those ponies had two horns.

“According to them, the ponies came twice: the first time was to trade. When they came back, they killed nearly everypony, and hauled the rest away.”

“That’s horrible,” the unicorn was genuinely shocked by the tale, “why would they do that? Slavers?”

I shrugged, “maybe,” if I didn’t sound convinced, it’s because I wasn’t, “but it sounded to me like they were killing a lot of the ponies that would have made good slaves, so I don’t know. I’m hoping to learn more when we see it for ourselves.”

Foxglove nodded. She thought for a moment, and then frowned, “so why make up that crap about the file? Why not just tell Windfall about the survivors?”

“I didn’t want to tell you about the survivors,” I pointed out, “and I still don’t want to tell Windfall about them. So not a word.”

“Why?”

“Because she’d ask me a question that you haven’t,” upon seeing the unicorn’s perplexed expression, I said, “and that is: why didn’t you bring them back to the warehouse with you?”

Comprehension dawned on the unicorn, and was quickly followed by a look of growing horror as she remembered what I’d been like that morning, “are they…still alive?”

Well, isn’t that a resounding endorsement of my character?

“They’re fine,” I assured her. Foxglove looked a little more relieved, but there was still a slightly dubious aspect to her expression. Well, they’d been mostly healthy when I’d left them. Hard to say if that filly was ever going to be ‘fine’ again in her life; and only Celestia knew if they’d taken my advice and were on their way to McMaren. They could very well be dead by now, but that wouldn’t be my fault if it were the case “but Windfall would want to know why I’d left them in Old Reino.

“So, unless you want to change your mind about revealing my recent state of mind to Windfall…” I let the point hang in the air between us.

Finally, Foxglove nodded her assent, “…don’t mention that you heard about this from other ponies. Got it,” she flashed me another pointed look, “and you swear you didn’t hurt them?”

“I swear that they were alive when I left them.”

The unicorn held my gaze for a long moment, catching the meaning behind the words that I’d chosen to use in my response. If she had reservations, she kept herself from voicing them out loud, and instead nodded.

Both of us had our attention drawn to a loudly yawning pegasus who was walking in our direction, “not so good with the pillow talk,” she sighed, casting her gaze back at the other stallion and tilting her head, “but that ass…damn!”

My gaze shot immediately to Foxglove, who flashed me an ‘I told you’ expression before looking back at the flier, “how about the mane? I like the braided look.”

Windfall studied the oblivious Cestus as he settled on for the night, taking no interest in our conversation. The Pegasus considered his mane and then scrunched up her nose slightly, “eh, it doesn’t do anything for me. I think he’d look better if he let it down, you know? Then it could blow all around his face in the wind…”

The unicorn toyed with the idea in her mind, look contemplative, “I can see that,” she conceded, “in my experience, a long mane just gets in the way when they’re going down on—”

“I’m going to bed,” I announced a little more loudly than was perhaps necessary. I stood up and stepped closer to the fire, and just out of what would hopefully be hushed whisper range for the two mares, “Windfall, you have first watch. Wake me in a few hours,” after the pegasus gave a cursory acknowledgment of the watch rotation, I made myself comfortable and closed my eyes.

That wasn’t the same thing as going right to sleep though. And while I couldn’t hear exactly what either of the two mares was specifically saying, they continued talking among themselves for a long while before I finally nodded off. I had little reason to suppose that they would have changed topics of discussion, and I even picked up the sporadic fit of giggling too.

What was wrong with these mares?!

Footnote:...

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