“You don't look like much of a fighter.”

“Is that Seaddle?”

Windfall's question caught me off guard. It was the note of awe that had done it, more so than the words themselves. A glance confirmed the filly's widened eyes as she regarded the scene ahead of us with clear amazement. I looked back towards our destination and was unable to suppress my derisive snort, “hardly.”

I suppose that wasn't fair of me. If the young pegasus had truly never left the ranch of her birth, then I supposed that, by comparison, the little crossroads trading post probably did in fact look like some sort of sprawling metropolis. All three shanties of it.

One of those shanties sported a piece of plywood mounted on its roof, announcing itself as the place to get 'the best grub this side of the Rodeo Grand'. A dubious claim, but given that up to now it had been the only place I'd yet seen to offer food, I supposed there was a measure of subjective truth to the assertion. I was certainly willing to put it to the test. Dried apple chips that were probably a month old may have been on a whole other tier than Sugar Apple Bombs; but after nearly two weeks of them, I was in the mood for a change of pace.

The pegasus looked a little crestfallen, “oh. So what is that place then?”

I nodded in the direction of another sigh, this one painted on a panel of rusty corrugated metal, “Southbound Trade Post,” I informed her, “pit stop for travelers and caravans making the trip between Seaddle and New Reino,” I cast my eyes towards the distant northern mountain range, “I'd say we got another...three days before we hit Seaddle.”

Windfall groaned, “I feel like I've been walking forever...”

My eyes rolled on their own initiative. I'd never been this whiny at her age. My father had seen to that. Any hint of an impending complaint was preemptively cut off by a swift strike to the side of the head. On occasion, he'd even taken measures to remind us of what would happen if we stepped out of line for real by issuing out the odd unprovoked beating every now and then. I learned early on not to speak in his presence unless I was specifically told to do so.

It'd taken a few months to get the message to really sink in though. I doubted I'd have enough time to teach that same lesson to the filly before we reached Seaddle. I'd leave that to her future owner.

“We're more than halfway there,” I assured her, my pace picking up slightly as I caught the whiff of the so-called 'grub' wafting in on the breeze. That was no bloat-sprite roast! In fact, it smelled like...

“Awe...not leek soup,” the filly grumbled, having caught the same scent, “I hate leek soup,” her voice trailed off on a petulant note.

Well, more accurately, it faded into the distance as I cantered on ahead. I heard her faint exclamation of dismay as she realized that I was no longer walking beside her. I had picked up my pace considerably, my eyes locked on the cafe's tin-sided shanty. The olive unicorn mare behind the counter saw me coming and put down the plate that she had been wiping down with her pink telekinetic aura. Either correctly anticipating my request, or simply only having the single dish available, the cafe's owner doled out a serving of the hot soup into a bowl and set it on the counter in front of an empty seat.

I plopped down and reached for the bowl, my mouth watering. However, before my hooves touched the bowl, the ladle still hovering nearby lashed out and struck my fetlocks. I recoiled with a hiss and glared at the mare accusingly.

“Five bits,” the unicorn said dryly, nodding towards a nearby chalkboard that displayed the day's menu. Sure enough, the only thing on it was “leek soup”, and the listed price was five bits. Below that was a notation that provided a price in caps: seven.

That was right, the Commonwealth had been big on trying to restore everything they could to how they were before the war; to include reintroducing the old currency. In fact, caps had been all but phased out when I'd left. It was actually rather fortunate that they seemed to be making a resurgence. I didn't even argue the inflated price as I fished out the little aluminum disks. Compared to what prices were in Hoofington, seven caps for freshly made soup—made with actual food—was a bargain anyway. The mare's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the caps, but the cook swept them into her dirty apron all the same, once she'd verified the amount.

The bowl was magically nudged closer to me and I gratefully gathered it into my hooves and plunged my muzzle into the warm fluid, drinking deeply. Oh, sweet, merciful goddesses; why did I ever leave?! Food! Fresh, honest-to-Celestia food that hadn't been produced before my great grandmare was born! I swallowed that first massive mouthful and sighed with near-orgasmic relief, drawing a odd stare from the old brown buck sitting next to me and an amused smirk from the server.

“Hey! Wait up!”

Oh, right. I hadn't been alone...

Knowing what was coming, and knowing that I'd do well to show up to the slave markets with a healthy, well fed, filly rather than the half-starved one that was currently scampering towards the stall, I produced another seven caps. The unicorn smiled at the filly and served her a bowl as well; one that was more full than mine had been, I noticed.

The filly looked at the bowl's contents and wrinkled her nose. She looked like she was about to turn it away, until I reached for it, muttering, “well, if you're not hungry...”

Windfall hunched protectively over the bowl and growled. Well, to be fair, only her stomach had actually growled. The rest of her simply looked embarrassed. Putting aside her distaste for the proffered meal in favor of sating her hunger, the little filly proceeded to follow my example.

“You must be from out east,” the unicorn commented conversationally as she returned to the dishes that she'd been wiping down before we'd arrived.

I wiped my mouth and swallowed, “that obvious, huh? Was it the caps or the appetite?”

“Little of both,” she nodded with an amused smile. She eyed me, her eyes seeming to notice something about my stiff leather barding, “going to do some trading?” her tone suggested that she was doubtful.

My first impulse was the lie. Feed the mare a story that sounded plausible, without leaving any lasting impression. However, my eyes darted to the filly drinking her soup next to me, and I quickly fought the impulse. Windfall couldn't be counted on to go along with anything I said to the unicorn that the little filly already knew to be untrue from our conversations over the last few days. The pegasus was a little naïve, and had shown little in the way of a dishonest streak during our travels thus far. Not that I knew an overwhelming amount about the filly's personality. Which was sort of the problem. She was simply too much of an unknown quantity at the moment to rely heavily on when it came to trying to sell a tale to somepony. Being caught in a lie would only cause trouble for me right now.

So I opted for the truth. Or, at least, as much of the truth as I had already revealed to Windfall, “nope. Moving back home. Thought I'd be able to find my fortune out east, but I struck out. Now I'm back.”

The unicorn nodded, “So, you're a Seadle native?”

I nodded, “from way back. Born just outside of Riverton; back when this was Commonwealth territory,” I took another small sip, eying the mare, “I hear that a lot's changed. New name, and a new ruler?”

The unicorn's eyes seemed to brighten at the reference to the returned princess, “it's true,” she gushed, “Princess Luna has come back! Once those treacherous Steel Rangers are dealt with, she's going to rebuild Equestria. You and your daughter couldn't have picked a better time to return.”

Windfall sat up straight. My eyes widened and I mentally winced. I hadn't thought to talk to her about a cover story, and now I was really regretting that. Granted, it would have been difficult to convince her of why it was a good idea to tell others that we were related. I knew that a father-daughter pair traveling would raise fewer eyebrows than a strange buck/young filly duo. However, the pegasus foal wouldn't have understood that. From her point of view, I was being a decent pony; escorting a young foal to safety.

More cynical ponies would see something very different going on. Which meant that in three seconds, when she told them about how her home had been destroyed, her family enslaved, and how I, an armed and armored lone older buck was escorting her to a place of safety in Seaddle; things were going to get...awkward. Especially since it had only just now occurred to me that, with Luna's return, more might have changed in the NLR than just its name.

The Commonwealth had not exactly 'endorsed' slavery; but nothing had been actively done to stomp in out within their borders either. Even the government had adopted indentured servitude as a means to punish more tepid crimes. But, if Luna was truly restoring things to the way they had been before the war...

Factor in the White Hooves and their boldness on top of all that. They were certainly still using slaves. I bet bucks and mares like me—armed freelancers—were a common enough sight: ponies poaching for the White Hooves. I knew that back in the day, we had been amenable to outsiders bringing us slaves. In those times, the Commonwealth had kept us out of their inner territories; but smaller groups of slavers managed to slip through the patrols. Often using the guise of being a 'legitimate' bounty hunting party, looking for Commonwealth fugitives.

If the conclusion that these ponies came to was that I was taking this little filly to the White Hooves, and I had no way to convince them otherwise to their satisfaction...

If they insisted on seeing what lay between my shoulder-blades...

But, it was too late to do anything about it now. Time to get ready for a run.

Windfall's mouth opened...

...she hesitated for a brief moment. Then she asked me, “can I have seconds...Pa?”

I nearly spit my bit.

Before anypony noticed my wide-eyed gape, I quickly turned my surprised gag into a small coughing fit, “wrong pipe,” I wheezed, then cleared my throat and dug out another hooful of caps, “sure, sweetie,” I held the filly's gaze for a brief moment, wanting to ask her a whole slew of questions. They'd have to wait though.

The unicorn waved away the caps, ladling an additional portion in the filly's bowl with a warm smile on her face. The little pegasus thanked her and resumed her dining.

“That's a healthy appetite you got there, darlin',” the olive mare remarked in a kindly tone.

Windfall's eyes looked to me. When she didn't answer right away, I took the hint and spoke up “long trip,” I supplied, “didn't pack as much to eat as I should have. We had to leave on pretty short notice,” wasn't that the truth...

“Ran into some trouble, hm?” the cook concluded. I responded with a wan shrug. It seemed a satisfactory enough answer, “well, like I said: no better time than now to come back. The Princess has big plans in the works. In fact...” her voice trailed off and she turned her head towards a radio softly crackling in the back. Her horn glowed briefly, answered by a sibling glow around the volume nob on the small brown box.

The music that had been playing—an old Octavia piece, heavy on the cello—was cut off mid-note, and the speakers crackled for a bit. Then a prim older buck's voice spoke up through the static, “Greetings Republic citizens,” he began, “I am Prime Minister Ebony Song, and I am privileged to announce your regularly scheduled State-of-the-Republic address from our noble ruler, Princess Luna,” all nearby ears, including my own, were now intently focused on the little box. I felt my heart catch in my chest. Was I really about to hear...her?

There was a brief pause, and then a mare's voice came over the speaker. This one was far richer, and louder than even the buck's had been. It dripped with an authoritative air that left no doubt in the listener that the pony that was speaking knew exactly what courtesies she was due, “Greetings, Subjects. Your Princess desires your attention. It is with glee that we inform you that this morning, valiant Republic forces repelled an attack by the heretical Steel Rangers, slaying many of the aggressors. Though a number of Our brave defenders lost their lives in the fight, their sacrifice shall never be forgotten by Us.

“As long as you, our noble subjects, stand strong, and remember your duties to Us and the Republic, and the new Equestria that We are building here, we cannot fail. Your Princess will not allow us to fail. However, victory cannot be achieved without noble ponies like yourselves. If you feel moved to help your Princess build this shining future for all of ponykind, then seek out you local Republican Guard recruitment office, and join the fight against heresy! For your Princess. For Equestria!

“That is all.”

There was another burst of static, and the sound of a cello's somber notes could be heard once more.

“I can't believe it,” I murmured, my meal forgotten. My eyes didn't leave the radio, “she's really back, isn't she?”

The mare behind the counter nodded, “they say that she appeared during a White Hoof raid. She swooped down from the clouds and blasted the tribals with her magic, driving them away,” the awe in her voice was clear. Honestly, I couldn't fault her. I very much wished that I could have been there to see it; for a few reasons, “President Ebony Song called the Senate together and they unanimously agreed to turn over control of the Commonwealth to the Princess that day. Luna appointed Ebony Song as her Prime Minister, and proclaimed us to now be the New Lunar Republic.

The unicorn's demeanor grew suddenly dark, “then those Celestia-damned Steel Ranger heretics showed up and demanded that we turn the Princess over to them. As if!”

“Yeah, what's up with that?” I asked, not bothering to hide my confusion, “I'd think they'd be the first ones to bend knee...”

“Steel Rangers have always had a stick up their ass,” the mare pointed out derisively, and I couldn't disagree with that assessment, “they think they have a claim on everything from the Old World. They probably hate that Luna chose us to usher in the new Equestria; entitled assholes.”

“What about—” my next question was interrupted by a sudden outburst from the nearby radio, which had ceased playing the Octavian symphony.

“Hello, children! DJ PON3 here with the news. Our top story of the day: the Manehattan Mare-do-Well is still at it, and she's out to set a new personal best for good deeds done in a single day.

“Our heroine started her morning yesterday just before sunrise with a surprise attack on a band of slavers heading to Fillydelphia, keen on selling Red-Eye a dozen innocent ponies. Ten minutes and five dead slavers later, she'd freed every one of them. Next, she cleared out a nest of manticores that had moved into an old supermarket, making it safe for scavenging once again. Then, to cap off the day, Miss Mare-do-Well ended the Talon siege of New Appaloosa. Our regular listeners will recall that the griffons had decided to begin interdicting all trade to and from the town in an effort to strong-hoof a new defense contract from the locals. Looks like there's at least one mare out there who thinks that extortion is a 'no-no', and is willing to voice her objections...with bullets.

“If anypony out there meets Mare-do-Well, feel free to give her a helping hoof. After all, she's giving one to you. That's all I have for now, children. This is DJ PON3, bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts. And now, Sapphire Shores...”

My eyes were on the radio, my previous question completely forgotten. The volume was turned down as a sultry mare began singing about the joys of a long trot on a summer's day. Beside me, a little white pegasus was practically bouncing in her seat with poorly contained excitement.

“Oh, wow! She is sooo awesome!”

It was then I recalled the brief radio broadcast I'd caught back in Stable 69. Could this have been the same mare that the Manehattan broadcaster was talking about? “The Mare-do-Well? What the hell is that?”

Windfall's eyes locked onto me with a look of incredulity, “you've never heard of the Manehattan Mare-do-Well?!” I frowned and shook my head, looking to the cafe owner for details. However, it was the filly who seemed insistent on giving them to me, “she's only the coolest mare who's ever lived! She was the daughter of this wealthy caravan family, only they got hit by bandits and her parents were killed. So she buys all these guns and finds the bandits and she totally annihilates them!” the pegasus pantomimed unloading an assault-rifle fitted battle saddle, her forward folded wings playing the part of the barrels. She added some rather unrealistic onomatopoeia to her display, “da-da-da-da-da! Blam!”

I blinked and looked to the olive unicorn mare for confirmation; but it seemed that Windfall had not finished regaling me with the Manehattan resident's accomplishments, “then, she found out that the bandits had been hired by this other caravan company, and so she tracked down the owner and blew her away—pow-pow! After that, she decided that she was sick and tired of ponies abusing other ponies to make a few caps and she vowed to stop it.

“She's my hero!”

“Stop it? How?” exploiting ponies to make a quick cap was just...the way things were. This 'Mare-do-Well', whoever she was, would have better chance of clearing the skies than ending slavery and banditry.

“By killing all the bad ponies until the bad ponies decide it's safer to be good ponies,” Windfall nodded defiantly, sounding very much like she wholeheartedly approved of the mare's chosen methods. Given what she'd recently been put through, I found it hard to fault her for that. Not that I thought for a moment this mare back in Manehattan had even the slightest chance of succeeding in her goal without resorting to outright genocide. Good ponies in the Wasteland were like a sunrise: they'd died with the war.

Even if this mare did opt for the wholesale slaughter of bandits and slavers, she'd be hard pressed to put a dent in their numbers. Killing all the “bad ponies” in Hoofington alone would have taken a lifetime. So, unless she was a ghoul, it just wasn't going to happen. One pony couldn't change the Wasteland.

All she was going to accomplish was to make a lot of enemies very quickly. Enemies with resources, and a vested interest in stopping her. All I did was knock over a single caravan and piss off the Finders and I had to contend with a veritable army of bounty hunters. I could only imagine what that mare would face after antagonizing the Talons, Red-Eye, and whoever elses' hooves she trod on.

“PON3 has a story about her every other day or so,” the cafe owner confirmed, “she'd been causing quite a stir out east. Wouldn't mind her coming out this way. Sounds like she could thump those Steel Rangers pretty good.”

“...and the White Hooves,” Windfall added quietly.

The unicorn nodded in agreement; not seeming to notice that there shouldn't have been any way a filly who was supposed to be recently arrived in the Seaddle area should feel such personal animosity towards the tribe. She seemed to just take it for granted that everypony knew about how bad the White Hooves were. A fact for which I was grateful, as I had no reasonable way to explain how Windfall could feel so passionately about them, and still be my daughter who'd only been here a week.

At about this time, I heard a commotion coming from the north and we all cast our gaze in that direction. The three of us were greeted to the sight of a caravan of three massive wagons being pulled by pony teams rolling into the trading post. Another half dozen ponies armed with battle saddles formed a protective perimeter around the wagons. A reasonable precaution when you were transporting that much stock.

One pony, who appeared to have forgone armored barding and heavy weapons in favor of a business suit and pearl-handled revolver that was more fashionable than functional, strode out in front of the train of loaded wagons and began barking out orders for the harnesses to be detached. The ponies pulling the wagons were uncoupled from their burdens and all given some caps to purchase food and drink. None of them were wearing slave-collars, I noticed. They were paid laborers.

...paid in caps!

The caravan owner—I guessed that was why she wore a suit anyway—strode up to the cafe we were seated at and submitted her own order for “the best food you have!” Which was the leek soup, of course. Like me, she really didn't seem to notice that, relatively speaking, this was poor fair as far as cuisine went in the Seaddle area. Definitely a pony from out east; where only Society residents and Tenpony snobs could get their hooves on food this fresh.

I looked back at the carts to see what it was that these ponies were trading.

Deja vu: dried apple chips. Along with sacks of granola, and bales of fresh hay. Food. No weapons, scrap, or Old World electronics. Just...food. Fresh food, though. A load like this back in Hoofington would make these ponies very wealthy. Really, a no-brainer as far as trade routes were concerned: food from Seaddle, transported to Manhattan. It would be a month long trip; the the profits could set the team that made it for a year or more.

...so then why had I never heard of one coming through before?

Maybe the owner knew, “heading to Hoofington?” I inquired politely.

The suited mare sitting next to me, a maple earth pony with a golden mane, swallowed her current mouthful of soup and dabbed at her lips were a kerchief, “indeed,” her accent betrayed a well-to-do Manehattan upbringing. Made sense; she'd have needed some decent start-up capital to get this setup together before making the trip. A Tenpony resident would have had those resources. She continued, sounding proud of herself, “I'll make a killing in those markets with this haul. Then I can use some of the profits to buy up surplus weapons and sell them up here for a massive turnover. There's a war on, you know!”

I did...now. It made so much sense. Too much sense. Food here was cheap, and guns now at a premium. Meanwhile, back in Hoofington, you couldn't take two steps without tripping over an old rifle, and food was something ponies fought to the death over. A caravan route like this should have been obvious to any trader with enough sense to get out of the rain.

“And just wait until the ponies back east hear that Luna has returned!” the caravan owner continued, nearly crowing, “there'll be dancing in the streets!”

That was the other thing: according to the cafe owner, Luna had been back for years. Heck, she was making daily radio broadcasts! So how come nopony back out in Hoofington and Manehattan knew anything about it?!

I then recalled the destroyed caravan I'd encountered in the mountains on the way here.

There was the possibility of a really good reason why news hadn't made it that far. The question was: who stood to benefit from keeping this a secret?

Did Whiplash somehow catch wind of what the traders were planning to do, and decide that she didn't want the NLR to get their hooves on additional weapons to be used against her? Maybe, but...I shook my head a little, dismissing the notion privately. No. She'd have hit the caravans on their way back west, and taken the weapons for herself; give the White Hooves an edge...

The Steel Rangers maybe? But I could hardly see a reason why they'd do it. Those caravans weren't hauling advanced weapons or Old World tech. So what if word got out that Luna had returned; what did they care?

Nothing about that caravan's destruction made sense, even within the context of preventing word from reaching Hoofington.

“Good plan,” I commented, nodding, “good luck with it. Watch yourself in the mountains. They're pretty treacherous.”

The brown pony grinned, “thanks, friend; will do. Here, have a round on me,” she tossed a couple of caps onto the counter in front of me and then looked to the server, “there a place around her that has any mattresses?”

The green unicorn gestured in the direction of a nearby shanty, “Lofty has some beds she rents out,” her eyes wandered to the other dozen members of the caravan, “but we rarely get groups this big through here.”

She waved her hoof dismissively, “most of them will be watching the wagons anyway,” she cast a wary eye in Windfall's direction and cleared her throat, “I don't suppose there are any...'services' available?”

The olive green cafe owner offered a smirk, “'fraid not.”

Not to be swayed, she turned an appraising eye towards the mare, “are you doing anything tonight?” she offered a broad smile.

“Yup. Don't know what it is yet,” she admitted dismissively, “but I know it won't involve you.”

Ouch.

I stifled a snort, which drew a glare from the rejected caravan owner. I glanced up at her and chuckled, “don't look at me, honey,” I didn't have the time for a romp; even if I thought she was actually into bucks.

She looked like she was about about to offer up a rather unkind comment when the gray-coated older buck on the other side of her spoke up, “I ain't got any plans. How much ya' offrin'?”

I got a piece of leak lodged in my nose. Which set me into a coughing fit. The caravan owner apparently decided that she'd been put through enough and excused herself. Windfall, for her part, simply gaped in confusion. Ah, innocence...

We took our leave of the trading post not long after that, staying long enough only to buy a few pounds of granola to supplement our food rations for the remainder of our trip. With a dozen more hungry customers to tend to, the cafe owner had not been able to answer many more of my questions. So, we packed up and headed north.

Besides, most of the pertinent questions I had at the moment weren't for prying ears anyway.

I looked down at the little pegasus filly trotting at my side, “you want to explain what that was back there?”

Windfall glanced up at me in surprise, shifting her gaze back towards the vanishing shanties, “you said it was a trading post...”

“No,” I shook my head, fixing her with a stern gaze, “I mean the 'Pa' thing,” the filly winced and looked away, “I'm not saying you did wrong,” I added quickly, “but I am curious.”

“I didn't want you to get in trouble,” she admitted quietly, “if they knew you weren't my pa, they might think you were a bad pony; and I didn't want that, since I know you're a good pony. So when she thought I was your daughter...I just didn't correct her.

“I'm sorry.”

I was silent for a time. Had to have been the first time that anypony had ever known me for more than five minutes and still concluded that I was a 'good pony'. I suppose it helped that she was a filly, and I didn't really get going on that sort of thing. I wondered how good she'd think I was the moment an explosive collar clicked closed around her neck.

“You don't need to be sorry,” I told her, “you did the right thing. You're right: they'd have been suspicious if they knew what happened at the ranch,” and those suspicions would have been confirmed if they'd seen the brand that lay between my shoulders.

“So that'll be our story from now on,” I continued, “you're my daughter, and we're from Hoofington.”

“Hoofington?”

“It's a place back east,” I informed her, “you don't need to know anything about it; nopony here does. Just let me do the talking.”

“Okay.”

…

“Jackboot?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For everything.”

“...Don't mention it, kid.”

“Why are we hiding?”

I flashed the source of the sound a sharp glare, and the little pegasus filly at my side cowered and bit her lip. Seeing that she was unlikely to issue a further outburst, I returned my gaze to the binoculars I was holding; and through them the little farm that lay a couple miles ahead of us. It was off of the main road, and would have been easily missed. I'd only noticed it because I'd caught sight of the faint haze of green out in the distance as we'd been walking.

The scrub-land had been getting thicker and greener as we neared the Rodeo Grand, but that sudden and drastic shift in plant coloration off in the distance had struck me as a little odd. I could see now that the source was a genuine farm. One that was using an impressive setup that incorporated both an irrigation system and an array of floodlights and heat lamps. I'd known already that the Common—NLR...capitalized heavily on the agrarian technology scavenged from local stables, and had heard of similar operations. But, I'd never personally seen one this extensive.

It took the Society an army of slaves to cultivate the kind of yield that I bet only a few ponies were tending to here. A small number of ponies who could not only afford to run this sort of high-end farm, but also the defenses that protected it. I'd already spied a couple of machine gun turrets and I was pretty sure that at least one of the outer fences was ringed with landmines. They weren't perfect defenses, but they were more than enough to convince groups like the White Hooves that this place wasn't worth the cost it would take to capture what few ponies lived here.

But, if somepony had a way to get past those defenses, I was pretty confident that the residents had a good stash of liquid wealth that an opportunistic buck like myself could really use. Since learning of Princess Luna's return, I'd become less certain that the slave trade was alive and well in Seaddle, and I had pretty much nothing left as far as money went. The few chems that I hadn't hocked in Flank, some food, ammunition, and my personal weapons. Nothing that I could afford to sell off and still be able to make a living. I certainly wasn't going to count that memory orb as anything worthwhile until I tracked down a reliable unicorn to tell me what was on it.

Windfall was supposed to have been my source of seed-caps for my new start.

With selling her off looking like a long shot, I needed to think about hedging my bets; and that meant filching the money from somepony else. And the turrets aside, I doubted that I was likely to find an easier target anytime soon. Certainly not one with the sorts of valuables that these ponies must be protecting. Besides, I was pretty sure that I had a way in with these ponies.

My eyes wandered back to Windfall.

“You hungry?”

“Now remember,” I whispered to the filly in hushed tones as we slowly approached the farm's front gate, “I'm your father. Your mom died giving birth to you. We're on our way to Seaddle, and want to know if they can spare a bed for the night. Understand?”

The little filly nodded, “uh-huh.”

“Other than that, try to say as little as possible. Let me do the talking.”

“Okay.”

We neared the gate and I stuck out my hoof to stop the foal beside me from going any further. She looked up at me in confusion, and I nodded towards the turret that had begun to track our progress. I felt her shrinking in closer to my side, hiding nearly completely under me.

Gamble number one: hoping that the ponies who lived here weren't as cynical as I was and hadn't set the turrets to shoot absolutely anypony who came anywhere near them. I figured that they wouldn't want to risk employing fully automated turrets, for their own safety if nothing else. I'd seen more than a few old defense systems in ruins that had gone completely whacked out over the centuries and just shot at anything that moved. Wasn't much of a security system if it killed the same ponies it was supposed to be protecting.

The question was: did they have some sort of identity talisman setup, or...

Cameras.

I spotted the little metal rectangular device mounted on one of the nearby light poles. It was pointed directly at the pair of us, and a little red light blinked in the corner, near the lens. I hoped that somepony was looking through those cameras now; and that they were wired for sound.

“Hello!” I waved at the device, “my daughter and I are on our way to Seaddle, and, well, we were kind of hoping you had a spare bed? We can pay you.”

The light continued to blink. The turret's barrel maintained its ominous stare in our direction. The gate remained closed.

I swallowed. Gamble number two: the ponies inside weren't the type to kill me, and sell Windfall off to the White Hooves as a means of appeasement to preemptively dissuade any attacks. It's what I would have done.

The thought that my own life depended on strangers being better ponies than I was made me inwardly grimace.

Then there was the sound of the turret's motors whirring to life and I saw the gun turn away from us and resume an orientation facing outward into the Wastes. Then the gate clicked and swung ajar. I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding and prodded the cowering filly forward as we passed through the gate. I looked to the camera and nodded, “thank you.”

The two of us walked in between two fields of tall barley stalks. They looked green and healthy; they'd brown in a month or so, and then be ready for harvesting. Unbelievable, when one considered what the plant life beyond the farm's fences looked like. I'd remembered what the brahmin on Windfall's family's ranch had been subsisting off of. Either the pegasus' parents had been uncharacteristically poor, or these farmers were particularly wealthy. I really hoped it was the latter for the sake of what I was intending.

A stern looking white unicorn was standing on the porch to meet us. A double-barreled shotgun wrapped in a cyan glow that matched the one emanating from his horn hovered at his side. A pair of crossed golden wheat stalks adorned his flanks. I noticed that the shotgun tracked our movements much like the turret had as we approached.

“That's far enough,” the buck announced in a firm baritone. We stopped in our tracks. His eyes locked onto the pistol holstered at my side, “drop your gun on the ground. The knife too,” he added after a moment's thought.

Oh, that was not good. I was pretty sure that he wasn't trying to take us hostage or anything, the unicorn just didn't want an armed stranger wandering his property. I could respect that. However, I wasn't about to turn over my weapons to somepony I planned on robbing. I also couldn't just tell him no deal and leave; he'd probably rightly assumed I'd had ill-intent and shoot me on principal. Didn't know what he'd do with Windfall after that. Didn't really care, since I'd be dead anyway.

My eyes darted to the trembling filly again and I realized that she might be my ticket to getting what I wanted once more.

I stepped forward, placing myself directly in between the shotgun toting buck and the little winged foal. Puffing out my chest and leveling a defiant look at the unicorn, I growled, “I'll thank you to point your gun away from my daughter. I don't know you from Celestia, mister; and I'll be damned if I'm going to give up the only means I got o'keeping her safe!”

The unicorn narrowed his own gaze at me and the shotgun rose in the air, hovering a little closer to us. The barrels were focused directly at my forehead. I felt my gut grow cold, “this is my property,” the older stallion hissed through gritted teeth, “you'll do as I say!”

Gamble number three: I could pull off the 'determined father' look.

“She's my daughter; like hell I will,” I glared at him. Beneath me, I could hear Windfall let out a terrified squeak as she withdrew into a trembling pinion-studded ball. In front of me, I saw the hammers behind both barrels click back.

Horseapples.

Dying while feigning protecting a filly I'd met just a week ago. Somewhere in the bowels of Tartarus, my father was laughing his ass off.

I glared at the buck behind the weapon. Fine, asshole; shoot. Do the filly a fucking favor. Any guilt you might feel at having put down a doting dad will vanish when you look under my barding...

Then I saw the shotgun dip and point at the ground. The unicorn's expression softened—barely—and he nodded his head, “I can respect that. Alright, you two can stay the night.”

Holy fuck. It worked!

Another breath I'd been unaware of holding escaped my lips in a relieved huff. I needed to work on that or I was going to wind up passing out during one of these stare-downs; and wouldn't that be embarrassing! I reached out and tapped Windfall gently on the shoulder. She tentatively glanced up at me, and then towards the unicorn. Seeing that we were no longer being held at the business end of a pellety death-dispenser, she managed to rise up onto trembling legs and walk shakily at my side.

Probably a good thing for the filly that I wouldn't be able to sell her in Seaddle. Poor thing wouldn't last an hour under the training whip.

We were ushered inside. I glanced around as we stepped slowly down the hallway. Something was...off. Nothing that represented a threat to either of us, I think. Just...little things. The house was big. Too big for just one pony. But, at the same time, it didn't feel like anypony else lived here. The air inside was thick with the unicorn buck's musky scent, and only his scent. If there had been other ponies living here, it'd be a mingling of different odors.

At the same time, I saw clear signs that others had lived here at some point. Three chairs at the dining table. A couch in the den that bore multiple indentations from consistent use by at least two concurrent occupants. I bet that we'd find several beds upstairs too.

The buck was alone now, but he hadn't always been. The fact that I latched onto was that he was alone now. One pony, who was still wary, but not overtly hostile. If he weren't a unicorn, I'd try to take him right here and now while his guard was dropped and I had a perfect excuse to be near him as I'd passed by to go through the doorway. But he was a unicorn, and I wasn't crouched in the shadows where he couldn't see me clearly. If I made a sudden move, his shotgun would be up and splattering my head into so much bony red mist before I could even lay a hoof on him.

It looked like I'd be leaning on Windfall for a third time tonight.

I glanced down at the filly and placed my hoof on her shoulder. Then looked to the buck, “I don't suppose you have any water? We ran out yesterday. She hasn't had a drink all day.”

Windfall was about to open her mouth and point out the falsehoods I'd included in those statements, but a slight and sudden application of pressure on her shoulder reminded her that I'd given concise instructions for her to say nothing beyond brief answers to direct questions. She closed her mouth on her intended protests and instead cast her gaze towards the unicorn, offering her own slight nod of corroboration.

The unicorn looked between us for a moment and then sighed, “this way,” he nodded towards the kitchen at the far end of the hall.

“I, uh, don't suppose there's a little colt's room around?” I offered a sheepish grin and shifted uncomfortably between my hind legs. The ivory buck frowned at me in annoyance, “I won't lie: you gave me a really good scare there a moment ago. Loosened things up a tick.”

He snorted and gestured up the stairs, “second door on the left,” I nodded and trotted gingerly up the stairs towards the bathroom. Meanwhile, the unicorn ushered the pegasus filly into the kitchen. I exchanged a knowing glance with Windfall before she left my sight. I just needed her to keep the buck distracted for a couple minutes. All that she had to do to accomplish that mission was say nothing and drink some water. I should be able to trust the filly with that much at least.

Once upstairs, I paused and listened intently to what was going on below me. I heard the clink of glasses, and the squeal of a steel water pump. Good. I probably didn't have long to search though. Hopefully the buck was the sort to keep his valuables close to where he slept.

Now I just needed to find out where that was. I scanned the upstairs hallway and grimaced. Five closed doors.

Horseapples.

Well, the second one on the left was the toilet, I knew that much. He probably didn't keep his bits in there. I pressed my hoof on the door just before it. The sturdy oaken surface didn't budge more than a hair before I heard a soft metal clack. Locked. Probably not the buck's bedroom then. He was unlikely to keep the door to his own room perpetually locked.

Though, given that he lived alone out in the middle of nowhere, I was a little curious to learn exactly what he did keep locked up in his own house. No time for that though. I didn't have long before he'd get suspicious—er, more suspicious. I pushed on the next door I came to, on the right side of the hallway. This one swung open freely, it's well-maintained hinges issuing hardly any sound as they swung inward.

A bedroom alright, but...not the one I was after. The bed looked unused, and the air was stale. Whomever had used to live here with him. I glimpsed a picture on a dresser in the fading evening light shining in through the window. A buck and a mare. The mare bore a strong resemblance to the unicorn downstairs, though she was an earth pony. The buck was a young teal unicorn with blond hair. They looked happy.

Mystery solved. He'd once had a daughter of his own. I guessed that the teal buck was her husband; but he could have been a brother or cousin. Hard to know for certain. They weren't here now obviously, and hadn't been for some time. Whether it had been raiders, White Hooves, or just some sort of mundane sickness was impossible to know without asking our host. I wasn't inclined to do that though, as it would involve revealing that I'd been snooping about. I'd only just barely gotten in through the front door without getting my head blasted off.

If the mare in that photo was indeed his daughter, then it was probably only thanks to Windfall that I had made it in. The unicorn had likely empathized with a lone father trying to do right by his filly.

If he only knew.

I backed out of the room and checked the next door down. Linen closet. Last, but not least, then.

Jackpot. Another bedroom, but obviously lived in. I slipped inside and quickly checked all of the usual suspects: under the bed, in the bottom dresser drawer, nightstand; but this buck was old-fashioned. He kept his money in a small lock-box in the back of the closet. At least, I presumed that the jingling sounds I heard upon giving it a test shake were bits. Might have just been loose nuts and screws.

Only one way to find out.

I craned my neck down to my fetlock and drew my knife. The box was just a simple thin metal container, nothing too substantial. I should be able to pop the lock with a little force. I pried the edge of the steel blade into the seem just to the side of the lock as far as I could manage. I took a cautious look around my surroundings, listening for the sound of anypony coming up the stairs. Hearing nothing, I braced the box with one hoof, and with the other delivered a sharp strike to the hilt of my combat knife. The lock popped with a sharp crack and the lid flew open. I winced and once more looked behind me. Still no sign of movement.

With a relieved sigh, I collected my knife and surveyed the fruits of my labor. I was rewarded with the sight of what had to be over a thousand bits. I suppressed an urge to whistle in wonder at the sight of the shiny gold coins and began to quietly shuffle them into my bags. When I had cleaned out the box, I closed the lid and placed it back in the closet. It would be instantly obvious to the farmer the next time he picked it up that the lock had been broken, but by then the filly and I would be long gone.

Now, all I had to do was get back to the bathroom, flush, and head downstairs like nothing was—

CLICK. CLICK.

Horseapples.

I flipped my head to the side and whipped out my 9mm. My pistol didn't even make it all of the way out of my holster by the time the twin barrels of the unicorn buck's shotgun belched their loads of pea-sized lead pellets into me. What my reflexive draw had at least done was take my head out of the path of that lethal cone of destruction. Instead of my exposed skull, it was my barding covered shoulder that took the brunt of the blast. Not that the thick boiled leather swaths deflected much—or really any—of the shot that burrowed deep into my flesh.

At least I was still breathing.

It was pretty much all I was doing; well, that and bleeding. I was doing a lot of bleeding. Screaming too. My pistol had been thrown clear of my mouth when I cried out in pain. The buck had apparently been furious enough with my trespass to inflict both barrels on me, which proved to have been my saving grace. After a fashion. He had not thought to bring more shells with him, and thus lacked any additional ammunition to use to finish me off.

Not that he really needed any more rounds to do that. I was down on the floor, my right shoulder a mangled mess of flesh and exposed bone. The pain was so overwhelming that I couldn't hardly move at all. I just screamed and writhed on the floor.

The unicorn buck didn't seem to feel that just compensation had been exacted yet though. I felt fresh bolts of pain course through my body, and heard sickening cracks within my chest as the butt of the spent firearm was hammered into my side, over, and over again with the consistent delivery of force that only a unicorn's telekinetic magic could deliver. Through the haze of the pain, I could hear him roaring at me.

“You fuck! You come,” CRUNCH, “into my house,” CRACK, “and you dare,” WHUMP, “steal from me?!”

He was kicking me now, his forehooves joining the shotgun that was magically wailing at my ribs. I tried in vain to deflect his blows with my own legs, but the unicorn just batted them deftly aside with the levitating weapon and continued to pummel me with his broad hooves.

This was it. I was going to die. Brutally beaten to a bloody pulp by the pony I'd just robbed. If Whiplash ever got wind of this somehow, I was sure she'd feel cheated. After she laughed herself into a fit upon learning that some podunk farmer had done me in with his bear hooves.

...horseapples.

POP!

The beating stopped. I heard the clatter of metal on the wooden floor, coupled with the nearly simultaneous sound of something large and soft collapsing beside me. Then there was silence.

I'd recognized that sound though. That sharper pop of pistol fire. I knew it well. A 9mm. My 9mm. Of course, I was pretty sure that I hadn't been the one to fire it, seeing as how I'd lost track of the thing when it'd been thrown from my mouth. Somepony else, and my brain had a fair idea of who, had fired that shot.

I opened up my bleary eyes, noting that one of them felt like it was starting to swell shut, and looked out at the scene before me in the master bedroom. The unicorn buck lay on his side. A small puddle of grayish-pink mush and blood protruded out the right side of his forehead. A little round hole just behind his left ear explained way his brain had developed a sudden and violent need to extricate itself through his skull. Behind his corpse, sitting up on her haunches, a blued pistol clattering in her teeth, a green haired pegasus filly with teary eyes the size of bloat-sprites, stared down at the destruction that she'd wrought with a single flick of the trigger.

She'd never fired a gun in her entire life, I'd bet. Probably never even held one before. Thank Celestia she'd proved to be a good shot. No telling what would have happened if she'd missed. I mean, I'd have been beaten to death, that was a given; but I doubted that the little filly could have mustered up the courage for a second shot. With the state of fury he'd been in, the farmer buck probably would have killed her too.

Damn lucky.

I tired to get myself up, but I don't think I even managed to move more than an inch before groaning.

The pistol fell from her slack jaw and Windfall bounded over to me, keeping well away from the ivory corpse, “I...I didn't...” she sputtered, snot starting to dribble from her nose as a full on cry began to manifest. Oh, fuck, I thought to myself. Don't fall apart now. I need you to hold together just a little bit longer or I'm toast anyway. Breathing was a chore, and I felt my coat growing wetter with every passing second. It wasn't the filly's tears that my rust colored hide was getting soaked with either.

A grunt was all I managed. One that became more pronounced when the pegasus placed her hooves on my chest, “I heard the shot, and I...I saw...” she sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks, “I just wanted to scare him! I didn't mean...I didn't...”

“Potion!” I managed to cough out, flecks of blood splattering the floor in front of me, “bags!”

“Huh? Oh!” the filly began to rummage none-too-gently through the saddlebag draped over my haunches. Eventually she just flipped it over and upended the contents onto the floor. Bits and food and loaded magazines spilled out. Along with a couple of purple fluid-filled vials. She grabbed up one of them, peeled back the wax stopper, and put it to my lips. At least she knew basic first aid. I guess there were plenty of ways that a pony could get hurt on a farm though.

Shotgun blasts to the shoulder among them, it seemed.

The potion helped. A little. I felt it get easier to breathe, and the pain in my shoulder lessened...barely. I could feel a second vial being pushed onto my lips after I'd finished the first. My initial impulse was to refuse it; tell Windfall to cork it back up and save it in case I got fucked up again later. Then I considered my current situation: I was laying half dead in the bedroom of a now vacant farmhouse surrounded by a perimeter of semi-automated turrets. Nopony was going to be along anytime soon to help me; and I was more fucked up now than I ever remembered being. Besides, a unicorn like this one would have a stash of healing potions somewhere in this house.

I drank down the second dose. The pain ebbed even more significantly this time. The magic of the elixir was no longer trying to pull me back from the brink of death, and so could mend my lesser wounds. It'd gotten to the point where the simple and necessary act of breathing no longer felt excruciatingly painful. Hurray.

Of course, with nothing left that Windfall could do to help me; the filly had fallen back into her semi-coherent babbling of apologies, “I didn't mean it, I really didn't! I didn't wanna' kill him! I just...you were yelling; and he was yelling...I'm sorry!”

I wasn't convinced that she was apologizing just to me. I struggled to move my left foreleg closer to the blubbering pegasus, and managed a pathetic little pat on her hoof, “s'alright,” I wheezed, “you did...good,” she'd killed the wrong pony. She would have been better off letting me die, and then relying on the unicorn take care of her.

The filly sniffled, “are...are you going to be all right?”

I was never 'all right,' was the first thought that crossed my mind, “yeah,” was what I said out loud. Followed almost immediately by a pained hiss as I found myself suddenly and desperately grasped by a hug from the distraught filly, “bones! Broken bones!” I wheezed. However, it seemed like she couldn't hear me over the sound of her own crying.

I tried to squirm out of her grasp, and that was when my eyes caught sight of something rather...surprising.

“Huh,” I said in bewilderment, “you got your cutie mark...”

It was something so antithetical to the current situation: I was laying half dead on the floor, she was crying over having killed another pony; yet I couldn't contain my observation. I was fairly positive I hadn't seen it there two minutes ago...

Hell of a way to find out what your talent is.

...hell of a talent. My eyes wandered back over to the body of the unicorn with half his brains transported to the outside of his head by the filly's application of a bullet to the back of his skull.

“Wha-?” Windfall wiped tears from her reddened eyes and looked around at her flank. A silver sword superimposed over a crimson heart, flanked by a pair of golden wings. Her eyes grew suddenly wider as she looked between her newly materialized mark and the dead body a few feet away. I watched as her body began to tremble. Then her head began to desperately shake from side to side, “no,” she whispered, drawing back from her mark; as though she might somehow be able to separate herself from that half of her body, “please, Celestia...no...” her voice cracked as a new wave of sobs wracked her little body.

“I don't want to be that...I don't want it!”

I didn't stop her from crying into my cracked ribs this time.

I looked at her cutie mark. I'd only known a certain kind of pony who acquired a weapon on their flank to showcase their certain 'special something'. I'd received my own mark, a black spiked horseshoe, the same day I'd beaten that first colt to death in the ring. I remember showing it off to my father as I trotted out, splattered in the dead foal's blood. He'd beamed at me, genuinely proud of me for perhaps the first—and only—time I could remember.

Getting that mark on my flank had been the proudest day of my own life. Of course, I'd been raised to want a mark like that. Trained in how to get it. I doubted very much that Windfall had.

Yet, here we were; a week out of her home, and a little filly who'd grown up milking brahmin had become the kind of pony who earned a weapon for a mark.

Welcome to the Wasteland, kid. Happy fucking Cuteseñera...

Footnote:...

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated

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