Fallout Equestria: Homelands

By Somber

Chapter 23: Be Good.

The quarters for the maintenance staff always held the miasma of ozone, stale air, and gray water. They were the lowest in the stable, furthest from the atrium. All the maintenance staff were assigned down there; it made the trip to the maintenance levels and reactor shorter. Or so all the mares above rationalized. You didn’t need to see the barding to know if someone was maintenance. One whiff was all it took.

Scotch didn’t really understand why most of the other fillies shunned her. She tried to smile. Tried to share. Tried to listen to Textbook’s droning lectures and give the correct answer if she knew it. Those were the rules. That was what everyone expected. But no one wanted her to eat with them in the cafeteria, or sit next to her in the classroom. She tried to be nice. Tried to be good.

Wasn’t being good enough?

Then the Overmare came and spoke to her mother. She wasn’t much older than Scotch really, but talked like she was an adult, and hated anyone that mentioned her age. She spoke with her mom, and afterwards they’d moved to quarters higher up near the Atrium. The constant whirr of fans and hum of power cables disappeared, and she’d struggled to sleep the first night. Then she went to class and suddenly people were nice to her. Fillies seemed to want to know everything about her. Especially why the Overmare moved them.

But Scotch couldn’t say. It was hard to keep up her studies with new friends. A few friends that invited her back to their bedrooms for some lick and tickle. It was a sign, for the first time, that she belonged. But when she asked a filly named Lightbulb why, she’d giggled and replied, “Well you don’t smell like maintenance anymore.”

But there was also him. It was the first stallion she’d ever seen outside of sex ed. He was blue and quiet. Very quiet. She didn’t know where he got to while Mom worked on the terminals, but at the end of her shift he’d be there… looking resigned. They’d go to her mom’s room and do the things stallions were meant for. Something that he’d informed Scotch he would NOT be doing with her or any other filly. In fact, he scared her a little.

One day, she’d been studying alone, when from nowhere came, “What are you reading?” She’d nearly knocked over the table in alarm. She hadn’t heard him enter.

“Oh, it’s just terminal access protocols. Nothing exciting,” she replied nervously.

He moved up next to her and for the first time she shrank back from a male. “Tell me how it works.”

She’d been so nervous, she had. As did her mother when she came home. He was smart. Smarter than most of her classmates. He picked up accessing terminal backdoors while waiting for her mom to come home. He seemed determined to know as much about the stable as possible, particularly the main hatch and the air circulation systems. Her mom thought it cute, and gushed about the days when he could accompany her to work for ‘break times’.

He hadn’t laughed.

Her mom had gotten stranger after that. She kept on saying that they’d be living outside soon. That P-20 was going to live with them forever and be a dad, whatever that meant, and that she’d have a sister soon… she had to look up the word in the dictionary, but somepony had crossed it out in black marker ages ago. But her mom just needed to finish taking care of something. Just in case.

P-20 hadn’t said anything. He’d just stared straight ahead as if she and her mom weren’t there at all. She didn’t think he wanted to be a dad. She didn’t think he wanted to be there at all.

But she remembered her mother standing in the door to their quarters, thin from skipped meals, her dark green mane lying frazzled against her lighter green coat. Scotch just ate her Sugar Apple Bombs. “I love you,” her mother said from the doorway.

“Mhmmm,” Scotch replied, her mouth full of cereal.

“Be good.”

“I will.”

She left.

Ten minutes later P-20 did too.

Two hours later she was in class, reading over dry history, when her mom’s boss and the head of security trotted in. She remembered how the class got quiet, then every eye followed her to Scotch. “Scotch Tape?” her mom’s boss rasped.

She nodded.

“Pack your things. You’re reporting to C shift for crash training.”

Be good.

I will.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Scotch barely raised her hooves in time to prevent the zebra from crushing her skull as she backed away desperately from the mare she’d clobbered with the chair. She had only one eye, the other covered with a spiderweb of keloid. It was the only advantage she’d had to keep her back, because the mare’s hoofstomps and kicks often came up short. Often, but not always. Scotch’s jaw throbbed and one nostril poured blood down her chin.

The Storm Legion had almost instantly cleared out a spot for a scrap, with practiced familiarity for conflicts like this. A mob surrounded her, hooting and cheering and shouting out bets. She’d attacked one of their own, and that made Oorusha the Frenzy the crowd favorite. General Tempest arrived in her greatcoat, taking a seat on her throne. A look of cold indifference made Scotch wonder if she even had a chance. Legionnaires kept close eyes on her friends, but they at least seemed immune from the legion’s more energetic attentions.

Oorusha worked the crowd, darting in with a flurry of strikes only to pull short after making a few connections. Scotch kept trying to keep away, but she backed into the crowd, and hooves kicked her forward with a yelp. Oorusha darted ahead, foreleg hooking Scotch’s neck and flipping her in midair to crash on her back. As she lay gasping, Oorusha prowled the edge of the crowd, earning applause and feeding on its adulation.

How was she supposed to fight a killer? She wasn’t supposed to fight at all...

Mom wasn’t. Not dead. Not even gone, because no one mentioned her absence. It was as if she never existed. Scotch saw her mother’s name on a chalk board for a minute before Rivets wiped it away, and scribbled in Scotch’s name. Her mom’s utility barding disappeared from her locker, and one was found for Scotch that could be pulled snug on her frame with cord. Even her tools disappeared for other technicians to use. No one asked her how she was handling her mom’s job. It was her job now. As if she’d also died and that life in class had ended too.

“New girl gets recyclers,” was repeated over and over, drowning out any suggestions of ‘training time’ or ‘easing into it.’ She was tasked with fixing an overheating pump. She didn’t argue. After all, she was supposed to be good. It felt as if she were in a dream. Not a nightmare. That would make sense. This was more like wondering just when she’d open her eyes and get back to the version of her that had classes and ponies who liked her.

But machines were easy. They worked till they didn’t, and all she had to do was take out the worn manuals and track down why they didn’t. She made sure to lock it out like Mom always told her, making sure the circuit was open and marked with a red cord so someone didn’t accidentally power it up. That was always the first step.

She went through the process, carefully loosening nuts before cracking the case. A deluge of foul water poured out and she coughed and gagged, but it didn’t matter. This was her life now. Not the ‘family’ her mom had talked about. She hadn’t even seen P-20. She heard medical was looking for him.

She cleaned out the pump, checked the bearings, and found two that were overheated and at risk of seizing. Disassembling the housing, she extracted the ring and removed the two rough spheres. She trotted out to find replacements.

She heard words coming from a doorway. “I can’t believe Duct Tape is gone,” came a maintenance mare’s voice. She rushed down, glad to hear somepony, anypony, acknowledging her mother had been a person. Even missing her! There were tears in her eyes as something horrible wanted to break out, but she needed it out.

“She was such a fucking moron.” Scotch froze outside the door and the horrible words continued. “Working for the Overmare? What did she expect would happen? And now we got her dumbshit daughter on the roster,” continued the mare, relentlessly.

“Aw, Scotch is a good kid,” said the second voice. That’s right. She was good! “Just slow.”

Slow? Slow wasn’t good! Her smile slid off slowly like grease paint. She was smart. She was taking apart a pump right now! How was that slow? Did they expect her to be just like her mom? Her mom was brilliant!

“You say so. See how weepy she got? I couldn’t wait for my nag to die. Finally get some damned respect,” the first growled.

“Yeah, well, give her time,” the second said. There was a huff. “Huh. I expected Duct Tape to be heavier. In you go,” and there was a thump. Scotch leaned in, peeking around the door.

She shouldn’t have peeked.

Everyone knew when you died, you went into the recycler, but you never thought about it. Protein was needed, after all. It wasn’t cannibalism once it’d gone through the recycler. But Scotch stared at the sight of her mother’s head sticking out of the chute. One eye stared out at the ceiling, the other was a blackened socket, as if her mother had tripped into an unshielded spark transformer. Her mother’s glassy eye seemed to stare right at Scotch as she froze in the doorway.

Then, with the kick of a lever, her mother disappeared into the intake, motors whirring as faint pops filled the air. The pair trotted out the entrance right past her, chatting about getting lunch. Was she somehow invisible? A ghost? Was any of this real at all? She stepped into the recycler room, knowing that her mother was being transformed into an organic slurry of fats and proteins, which would then be compressed to remove water, stored until recipes that needed protein or fats were needed. Some of it would continue to be rendered into other products the stable needed. Even after her death, her mother would continue to serve 99.

Scotch shook, covered her muzzle, and suddenly hitched over as she vomited her last meal. Convulsion after convulsion shook her as she fell to her knees. The whirring stopped, now replaced by soft gurgling, then silence. As she coughed and struggled for breath, Scotch tried desperately to remember the sound of her mother’s voice just hours earlier, but it was lost to her. She stared into the mess of her life, her brain clamping on those final words. ‘Be good.’

She was a good girl. She cleaned up her mess, so that even that sign was gone as well.

“You have to stop this!” Majina pled as Scotch struggled to keep the zebra at bay. Tempest sat in her seat, impassively watching the battle with bored certainty as to its outcome. “That zebra cheated her!”

“Of course she did. Classic Oorusha,” Tempest said, as she watched the fight. The two teenaged dragons struggled to keep Precious restrained as other zebras had her, Charity, and Pythia closely watched. The latter wasn’t even watching the fight, but her star map, dangling her purple pendant and glaring as if trying to burn a hole through it with her gaze alone. Only Skylord stood passively by as the fight progressed, without any guns of course.

“I know she was should have told you about it but–”

“Why in Zebrinica would I care if she did?” Tempest asked crossly, then gestured to the fight ring with a hoof. “It was her problem.”

“And the moment she attacked one of your legion, it really became her problem,” Skylord said solemnly. Tempest gave a small nod.

“You’re responsible! You’re the general, damn it!” Charity shouted.

“She is being responsible,” Skylord stated grimly. “She’s giving Scotch a chance to fight for her life rather than throwing her into the sky.”

“Don’t defend her!” Majina snapped.

“Far worse would have happened to Scotch and all of you if you dared attack an Iron in our own headquarters,” Skylord retorted, jabbing a claw at her. “Scotch was trying to get something from a legion. Of course she cheated her. What’s better than an imperio, but a coin and keeping the jewel too?”

“But that’s not right!” Majina begged.

Scotch didn’t have time to follow as she kept defending herself. Oorusha was milking this. She had the Green Menace, celebrated not more than a few hours ago, fighting for her life, and after each attack she’d whirl and face the crowd, drawing out cheers. Now that Scotch fought one of their own, the crowd was firmly against her. It would take much for them to be against her friends too.

But she didn’t want to fight. A well of horror churned inside her. Be good, and things will work out. Be good, and someone will protect you. Be good, and you won’t have to be bad.

She stopped complaining once mom was gone. The raiders had left, and now everyone seemed mad with everyone else. Gin Rummy was mad at the Overmare. The Overmare was mad at Blackjack. Rivets was mad at both of them. Scotch didn’t care. She went into maintenance and did her job and was good. She didn’t come up to deal with things like lunch, or even to sleep. Her quarters belonged to another Scotch Tape. One who lived on the other side of those door closing and that crunching noise.

Watch the machine eat, nom nom nom!

A body was one thing, but she’d been on the duty as they’d loaded body after body. The crunch of bone. The pops. The smell. And while medical ponies were worried about contamination, Rivets assured them that the systems could take it. Rivets trusted the stable’s components like they were her own daughter. Any criticism or doubt about the stable was doubt in her.

“Good work,” Rivets told her as they finished cleaning up, hosing blood down the drains.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t whine. You didn’t argue. You just did what you had to. That’s a good job in my book,” the older mare went on. Scotch didn’t answer, having no idea what to say to that. Rivets furrowed her brow. “We have a little game down in ventilation during C shift. You should come down and join us. Mark it as your lunch.”

Scotch stared a moment and Rivets’s furrow turned into a frown. She started to ask something, but then one of the medical ponies shouted something about protein levels through the roof and bleed through and Rivets had turned away. Scotch put away the hoses, went down stairs to one of the dozens of storage lockers were they kept food from 200 years ago, and carefully extracted a can of pickled hay. There was enough down here for a lifetime, which was good, because Scotch never planned to eat in the cafeteria again. Her mom was in there.

“You’re not so tough, Menace,” Oorusha sneered as she came back around for another stomp. The area was pointedly devoid of useful weapons. The crowd wanted to watch them beat each other to death. Or to submission. When Scotch was unconscious, Tempest would have to act. She’d played up Scotch on arrival. Now she was losing.

But how was she supposed to fight? Somehow she knew six different ways to make a pump work, but the precise way you hurt another person deliberately had escaped her education. Scotch gave her best battle cry and charged, but the mare was ready. She jumped easily to the side, keeping Scotch in her field of vision, landing on Scotch’s left. Scotch turned just in time to have Oorusha’s rear kick strike her head. She immediately staggered and fell on her side.

Then Oorusha jumped on her, slamming her forehooves down on Scotch’s chest. Already censured, she felt something crack and burst inside her, and gave a decidedly unmenacing cry.

Damn it. She was supposed to be good. Be a good person. A good worker. A good friend.

Things only went from bad to worse as the days went on. The security mares that had been violated by the attackers had all been released from medical angry. That wasn’t a surprise. They’d been hurt bad by the raiders. But the Overmare had been released too, and a lot of the medical mares seemed like they’d also been beat up. Scotch tried to just stay below, reminding herself to eat.

But then there’d been yelling. Screaming. Shouting. Ponies from above yelled out that Gin Rummy had attacked the Overmare– No! That Daisy had attacked Gin Rummy. No, that the security mares had killed the Overmare! No, that security were going nuts killing everypony. Whatever the story, Rivets got her maintenance mares to grab their wrenches and chains.

When Marmalade stepped down into maintenance, the honey-yellow mare wore the strangest grin. She said everything was forgiven. That the Overmare wanted everyone to come back upstairs and everything would be fine. It might have even worked if she hadn’t been holding the decapitated head of a stallion, casually munching on the spongy gray substance within.

Scotch stayed below. Now storage was full of refugees, and ponies that could fight did. A few dared take the Overmare up on her offer. One returned, with stories of skulls split open and ponies torn to pieces, turned into raw food. That some who ate were sick, and were in turn eaten when they got too crazy or crippled. A medical mare said that the patients had gotten sick first, but then other infections popped up as well. People not touched by the raiders. Everyone ate the old food, unable to get to the cafeteria and its chips of recycled ‘grass’.

She silently sat by and let them eat her ‘good food.’ She saved some, hoping that it wouldn’t be discovered. She had to be good. If she was good, it would all work out.

And it did. Blackjack arrived. She came back with friends, and they fought off the ones who had gone mad. And maybe everything would go back to normal. But the normal was horrible and P-20… P-21 was with them and Rivets just wanted Blackjack to go but Blackjack wanted the stable to do things. She’d heard Blackjack say to burn the bodies outside, but Scotch knew Rivets wouldn’t set foot out there. She just wanted to set up new rules with a new Overmare, maybe herself.

As for the bodies. They went into the recycler. They always did.

Scotch knew it was too much. A seal broke. That meant opening it up. And Blackjack had just happened across and seen it. She’d seen the bodies and Scotch’s eyes met hers and it was in that moment that Scotch knew there wasn’t any hope here. 99 was bad. It was bad, and Blackjack gave her to her friends. And she’d stayed behind. She’d ended the bad.

Scotch couldn’t hate Blackjack for that. She’d done the good thing. Whatever had made them sick wasn’t from the raiders. It’d come from 99 itself. Her mother, the Overmare, the raiders, Rivets… just a long line of bad that came from that place. It was baked into the walls and the earth, and Blackjack had finally washed the poison away. A few survived down in the reactor, and Scotch was glad that they had, but the Stable itself wouldn’t ever be 99 again.

It was important to be good, because once you went bad, it was hard to stop.

Oorusha’s blow knocked Scotch off her hooves again. It didn’t help that she couldn’t draw a single deep breath. “Time out! Time out!” Majina begged, getting a sharp look from Tempest. “You’ll get a better show,” she added, the young mare’s voice thick with scorn as she glared up at her. Tempest gave a slight nod and smirk and shouted out for a minute reprieve. Scotch all but collapsed into the grip of her friends. Charity wordlessly dug out a potion, poured it into a cup, and passed it to Scotch. It abated the pain in her chest and side a bit, and she coughed up a sizable wad of blood.

“What are you doing?” Precious hissed in her ear.

“Getting killed,” Scotch wheezed.

“You’re not fighting back! You’re letting her beat the shit out of you!” Precious hissed.

“I am not letting her! She’s older and bigger than me!”

“She is not that much older than you, and she’s half blind! You keep playing defense! Wait for your chance and beat the shit out of her,” Precious said, jabbing a claw at Oorusha, who was basking in the praise of most of the crowd. Tempest, to Scotch’s consternation, was watching her and her friends like a hawk.

“I don’t know how to beat her. She’s a legionnaire,” Scotch wheezed. “I don’t know how to fight.”

“Huh,” Skylord muttered as Tempest called for another round. “Probably should have learned before you smashed a chair on her head, huh?” The Storm Legion roared as they shoved her back into the ring.

“So what happened?” Daddy asked as Scotch tried desperately to sniff the blood dripping from her left nostril out of sight. The rain hissed down on the old gazebo in Chapel, the cushions stacked up neatly in a pile. Her father gazed towards the Core like he always did when he was thinking about Blackjack.

“Axle Grease said that Blackjack was dead,” Scotch said, and he turned his deep blue eyes to her.

“Uh huh…” Daddy said with a small smile. “And then you hit her.”

“No, I said she was stupid,” Scotch retorted, but couldn’t keep the gaze with his. “Then I hit her.”

“And did hitting her make Blackjack appear?”

“No,” Scotch groaned.

“What happened?”

“She hit me. A lot.” Scotch admitted. “But when I’m older–”

“Will that make Blackjack appear?” her daddy repeated. She hung her head, letting the blood drip between her green hooves. Just a few drops, but they stood out all the clearer for it. “I understand what it’s like to want to hurt others when you’re mad. For the longest time, all I wanted was to hurt people.”

People like her mom. People like her. “Why didn’t you?”

“At first, because I couldn’t. That was the worst, because all I could do was be hurt and hate everyone who hurt me, including myself. I told myself that it wouldn’t work, or that it would only get me killed. Then, I was afraid to, because once I started when would I stop? Finally, because I realized that I don’t really want to hurt people. That’s not who I am. So instead of hurting others, I try to figure out how to do what I want to do.”

Scotch felt his hoof on her mane and reached up to see his smile. “And what’s that?” she asked.

“Well, I want to find Blackjack, or find some proof she’s actually gone for good. As long as Glory is working on that, I’ll keep hope. Then I’ll teach whatever I can to whatever mares or foals want to learn it, and maybe even learn new stuff to teach them,” he said as he rubbed her ear. “But most of all, I can’t wait to meet whatever wonderful mare you’ll grow up to be.”

“Gaaaag,” she said as she flopped over, blushing furiously. “Ugh, why do you gotta be so mushy, Daddy?” Getting kicked in the snout was easier! He actually chuckled and she sighed. “Do you really think I’ll be good when I grow up, like Blackjack?”

“No,” he replied as his gaze returned to the city through the veil of rain. “I think you’ll be even better than her.”

“You are no Menace,” Oorusha said as they circled each other again. “You are weak and pathetic. Send in the dragon or the bookmare to die in your place, pony,” she demanded, her accent low and thick.

“I am not weak,” Scotch rasped, her chest burning. “I’m censured. You’re the cheat who–” Was whirling and kicking out with her hind legs. Scotch jumped away, ducking below the kicks. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Because you are a coward,” Oorusha replied as she whirled and leapt, her forehooves coming down in a double stomp. Scotch jumped again, leaping aside moments before their impact. “Your friends fight for you. They should die for you too.”

“No!” Scotch yelled at her. “I’m the one that bashed you with the chair. Leave them out of it!”

“Don’t talk crazy, Scotch! Tag me in! I’ll finish her in ten seconds,” Precious yelled back.

“Not that I want to get in the middle of it, but I’d love to show these Storms what an Iron can do to them,” Skylord offered, casually inspecting his talons.

“I’ll pay whatever they want, just stop!” Charity yelled into the ring. “I’ll finance if I have to!”

“Your friends are willing to fight. To do what they must to win. But you jump. You run. You hope someone will stop this. Will save you,” Oorusha slurred as she stalked Scotch around the circle.

“I’m just trying to be good! Isn’t that enough?” Scotch screamed at her. The one eyed zebra reared up, Scotch’s retort the distraction she needed.

“Is it?” rasped a gravelly voice. The yelling and bellowing of the crowd cut off, the colors washing out into gray as everything slowed, then stopped. The periphery of the room went dark, then more and more of the crowd disappeared, till it was just her and a petrified Oorusha. Then, out of the edge of the darkness, stepped a bony figure draped in rags. “Is it ever?”

“Dealer?” Scotch murmured as the cards began to slide between bony hooves. “It’s been a while,” she said as she faced him. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s where I’m supposed to be,” he said as he tossed three cards down on the ground before her. “I’m here to see you break.”

“Break?” she looked at the frozen Oorusha.

“Fail. Falter. Decline. Die,” he spoke like sand blowing across old bones.

“I am not going to die,” Scotch muttered.

“Pretty sure someone’s gonna die soon.”

She turned around and looked at Oorusha, then back at him. “I’m not killing her either.”

“Well then it seems like you’re in a bit of a pickle. ‘Cause someone is going to break.”

“I am not breaking,” she growled.

“Saying don’t make it so,” he purred. “What are you afraid of? She wouldn’t be the first person you killed.”

“That was an accident.” Scotch dropped her eyes. At her feet, the body of an Atoli sailor lay carved in marble. She quickly turned away. “He jumped on me and the gun went off.”

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “It was hardly the first time, remember?”

But she couldn’t remember. That great yawning gulf in her memory mocked her. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can’t.” Dealer said nothing, and that ws the most oninous of all.

Blackhack had said she’d done it... but not the circumstances. Had she been attacked? Was it an accident? Somepony she knew? Or had she killed a person on purpose? Somepony that hadn’t deserved to die? Blackjack had said it was to save her life... but could Scotch really believe that? Was it impossible that Blackjack might have fudged details to spare her some pain then?

She sat down hard, clutching her head between her hooves, as if she could somehow squeeze the memory out. “I can’t remember...” she whimpered. “Blackjack said... she said...” But the counter died on her tongue.

“Blackjack took that memory from you. A mercy. A mistake. Maybe if you kept it, you’d do what you need to do now.” Dealer said as he stroked the cards. “Do the good thing. A righteous kill,” he practically purred.

“I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Scotch stammered, but did she? Blackjack had taken memory from her. It wasn’t impossible. “I’m not killing anyone!” Scotch shouted at him.

“Why not?” he asked, arching a bony eye socket. “She’s killing you.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want to be good.”

“Ah… good,” he rasped, clasping his hands together as he bowed his head, and then chuckled, a dry noise that made her cringe. “And what is ‘good’?”

She gaped at him. “Well… it’s good! It’s what you’re supposed to be!” He didn’t answer, but silently tapped a card. “This is a stupid question!” she sputtered.

“Ah yes. ‘What is good?’ ‘What is evil?’ Very stupid questions.” Scotch felt like she’d failed a test somehow. Dealer didn’t do things for stupid reasons. Ever.

“Good is… doing the right thing. It’s making other people happy!” she guessed. Wasn’t it?

“I see. Well it will be good when Oorusha splatters your brains all over her hooves,” he said as he gestured to the frozen zebra mare. “That will make her very happy, so it must be very good!”

“No!” she protested. “That’d be really bad for me.” She knit her brows in thought. “So are you saying good is what I want?”

From the shadows surrounding them stepped Riptide. The shadows behind her rolled like a angry sea. The mare glared right at Scotch, her eyes narrowed as she grinned from ear to ear. “That’s right! I need to kill you because I want to kill you. It’s what I want! That’s good!” Then she petrified into white porcelain as well, the darkness stilling.

“I’m not saying anything. Good and evil don’t concern me. They’re boring. But being good seems to be quite important to you, as you seem to be willing to die for it.”

“I don’t want to die,” Scotch growled at him. “I just want to do what’s right.”

“Of course!” Haimon announced as the blood spattered zebra stepped into view. Heaps of bodies rotting in an endless pool lay behind him. “It doesn’t matter who gets hurt, so long as you’re doing the right thing. If some people get hurt along the way, that’s the price to be paid.” And he too crystalized into white before her eyes, the bodies fading from view.

“But that doesn’t make it good to kill people if you think it’s right. There might be another way!” Scotch protested, whirling to the bony figure.

“Of course,” a cool feminine voice said as she stepped into sight. She stared at Scotch with that calm detached smirk. It took Scotch a moment to identify Xara, the mare who had tried to take her and Skylord back to the north. The darkness behind her gleamed with charts and sheets that broke down zebra deaths into profits. “The smart play is always good. If you know more than your opponents, you can take the most effective, efficient steps. If you’re smarter, you’re better.” Her sneer petrified on her lips.

“Being smarter doesn’t mean you’re good though. It just gives you an excuse to do whatever you want!” she said as she realized she was rapidly being surrounded by the statues. “You might as well just be like that Aurum guy. Having the best things is good.”

“And why isn’t it?” he said as he emerged in his glittering armor. Weapons, tractors and the finest equipment glittered in the darkness of his wake. “What’s wrong with having the best? The best toys. The best food. The best friends. How is that not good?” He tapped his power armored chest and then froze like the other three.

Scotch closed her eyes, breathing fast and low. “Why are you doing this?”

“Me? This is your show,” the Dealer said, sweeping a bony hoof at the assembled statues. “This is all about you. It’s always about you, Scotch Tape. After all, you asked for this.”

“No, I didn’t,” Scotch panted, her chest aching. She didn’t want any of this! None of it! “I just wanted to be a good person! That’s all! Isn’t that enough!?” She begged him. “Doesn’t everyone just want to be good people?”

“Yes.”

It came from four mouths of four statues that were no longer her enemies. Blackjack looked down at her and gave her a gentle smile, as she stroked her cheek. “I always wanted to do the right thing, but I always had to make sure that what was right was good. I tried to protect others. I tried to stop bad things from happening. And I failed a lot… but I tried. I hope that was good.”

Scotch trembled as emotions clawed and battled within her at the sight of the tired white unicorn. “It was!” Scotch gushed. “You saved the world!”

“I saved you,” Blackjack replied with that quiet smile. “That was worth more than the world. But I also hurt a lot of people to do it, and that’s something I can never take back.”

Next she looked over at Rampage and she grinned and shrugged. “Look, you can do whatever you want. Nothing wrong with that. You want to do a thing? Do it. Just don’t be a jerk about it. Or do. It’s all up to you.”

“But you were strong and relentless. You never stopped,” Scotch replied. “I’m not like you…”

“Of course not. You’re better. If I’d been a lot more like you, maybe things would have turned out differently.” She gave that shrug again. “I don’t have any regrets though, save one. But hey, nopony’s perfect, eh?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Glory laughed opposite her. “It’s easy to think you are, though. Or that you're a better person because you know more. But that’s a trap. You can try to figure things out so you don’t mess up, and wind up making some of the worst mistakes you ever could.” She reached out a wing and put it around Blackjack, and Blackjack smiled and pushed her face against Glory’s neck.

“I try to do what’s good. I try to help people. Isn’t… isn’t that the same?” Scotch looked at the pair. “Isn’t that the smart thing to do?”

“You can very easily convince yourself that something is the smart thing to do. It takes humility to know that you’re ignorant. To accept that you can’t work out all the angles and have everything the way you want it. Being good can be extraordinarily frustrating.” Glory shot Blackjack a look, getting a sheepish grin in return.

Then she felt a pair of strong hooves embrace her from behind, holding her firmly before releasing her. Tears streaked Scotch’s face as she turned to see her father, his dark blue mane spilling over his fairer eyes. “Daddy…” she whimpered and pressed her face into his chest.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said as he gently brushed her mane. “I said I wanted you to be good. I was wrong. I wanted you, more than anything, to be happy. You don’t be good. You are good. But that’s not all you have to be.” He hugged her once again.

“I miss you so much,” she blubbered.

“I know. We didn’t have enough time together. But know that I treasure every moment we spent together. That there was so much more that I wanted to do with you. But we didn’t get that, and that’s too bad. What’s important is who you are now, and what you do from now till there’s no more time. Don’t spend it worrying every minute if you’re good,” P-21 said low and deep.

“Ultimately, that’s vanity,” Glory said.

“I don’t want you to be ashamed of me. I just want…” but I failed. What did she want? To be good? To be happy? Strong? Smart?

You do not know yourself, Pythia had said.

“You’ll work it out,” Glory said, patting her head. “You’re smarter than you know.”

“And tougher too,” Rampage echoed with a nod.

Scotch looked over her shoulder at Blackjack. “The pony I killed... back in the Hoof...” She tensed as she saw the sympathetic look on the unicorn’s face. She’d killed the Atoli in Mariana’s office back in Rice River, but that had been different. That had been desperation and panic. An accident really.

Blackjack didn’t answer, her brows knit together a moment. “You’ll just say it was something I had to do, won’t you?” Scotch predicted, her heart plummeting. Blackjack just answered with her sad smile.

“Sorry kid, not knowing sucks,” Rampage muttered off to her side.

“Yeah,” she said. She’d killed someone... and it’d bothered her enough that she’d had it removed. But the hole it left behind offered no solace, no support, and nothing she could build from. It was hard to believe that some ponies once thought that was a good thing. You didn’t get better by forgetting your mistakes.

Scotch closed her eyes again. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” she said, not sure if she was lying or not.

P-21 patted her mane. “Then are you ready?”

Scotch took a deep breath. “No, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Told you she was smart,” Glory said warmly.

Scotch pulled away as the four of them stepped back. “I miss you all. I love you all.”

“Hey, find yourself a zebra rocket and come and get me! I ain’t dead yet!” Rampage said with a lazy grin. “Though I think that dragonfilly will probably do ya.”

Scotch took them all in, her eyes lingering most on his smile. “Is this… real? A dream? A vision?” she asked as her eyes moved across them,

“Well, duh,” Rampage chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Unless I’m dreaming of all of you.”

“It’s what you need,” Glory said as she leaned her head on Blackjack’s shoulder. They all turned into white, then faded away into mist. Only Dealer remained, still holding his three cards.

She took a deep breath, her chest aching, eyes closed, then stared straight at him. “Okay. I’m ready.” Jabbing a hoof at the cards she asked, “What are those? Some kind of spooky future reading to mess with my head?”

“Of course. Three futures, in fact.” He turned the first, depicting Scotch with her head crushed under Oorusha’s hoof. She had to admit the detail on the brains was exceptional. The second showed Scotch standing atop Oorusha’s crushed throat. Then the third card started to turn.

She snatched it out of his hooves. “No.” He froze. She wondered if, maybe, she’d just done something very, very bad. Carefully she put it down. “I’m not going to let you tell me I have only three options. This could be anything right now. I know it’ll be the ‘right’ choice, since the other two are wrong. But I need it to be mine. I need it to be a good choice. I want to be a good person… and I think I realize what you’re trying to tell me. That it’s not ‘being good.’ Anyone can be good in their own eyes. I need to think about this more… way more… and not just accept what I’m told is good.” She passed the card back to him, face down. As it left her hooves, she saw a golden glow lingering, washing away the black stains that had lingered there for so long.

“So be it,” he said as he took his card back. She felt her body being pulled into position back when time stopped. Slowly he started to turn away.

“Dealer,” she called out, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Thanks. It was good to see him again. All of them.”

“The dead never really leave. Some stay in shadows of our minds. Others are kept in our hearts.” Scotch had to wonder how he had either, but that would have been quite rude. Besides, she had a fight to win. Her way.

The world unfroze, Scotch’s breath suddenly hot in her lungs as she barely brought her PipBuck up to block the zebra’s stomp. She should have retreated, but didn’t. She was an earth pony, after all, and she braced her back legs and instead of falling back, she pushed.

And now Oorusha’s eye widened in surprise. But Scotch had no illusions about overpowering her with brute force. Her cutie mark was engineering tools. Engineering was about solving problems involving forces. Force like the zebra now pulling all her weight forward on two hooves.

Scotch pivoted sharply and pulled her forelegs back and to the side. Suddenly unsupported, their forelegs entangled, Oorusha had no choice but to pivot as well. They were going down together, and the zebra’s shock at the reversal gave Scotch the opening she needed as they both fell on their sides. Scotch’s chest felt like there was an inferno in there, but she immediately slid one of her hind legs under Oorusha’s hoof and pushed herself up. The zebra mare froze.

Scotch didn’t blame her, as all of Scotch’s weight was now pushing down on the side of her knee. All she needed to do was drop her weight and bad things would start to happen to the joint. Things her father had described in detail. She felt a little dirty pulling such a trick, but it was more important right now to be alive and win than die being good. The yelling of the crowd faded to baffled mutters as everyone seemed to wonder why Oorusha was just lying there, trying to get a good view with her remaining eye. “Yield,” Scotch wheezed.

“Fuck you, Me-arrrgh!” Scotch shifted and put more of her weight on the knee.

“My daddy busted his knee. It pained him the rest of his life,” she said between gasps on air. “Yield. I won’t ask again,” she warned… mostly because there was darkness on the edge of her vision. She just couldn’t get a deep enough breath as she wheezed.

Oorusha grit her teeth, trying to pull her leg out from between Scotch’s hoof and body, but that just made her press down even more. “I yield!” Oorusha screamed out.

The crowd went wild… more than Scotch had expected. ‘Menace’ was being chanted as coins and other wagers were settled… the winners enthusiastically cheering their long odds. Scotch flopped to the side, just trying to pull enough air into her lungs to stay conscious. Oorusha pulled herself to her hooves, rubbing the leg and giving Scotch a sullen glare.

“Your winnings,” Tempest said as she passed Scotch the emerald with a wing. Then she tossed down the Imperio as well. “You earned it,” she said before turning with the dragons and stalking out again.

“No hard feelings?” Scotch asked as she sat up, wheezing and rubbing her chest. She just couldn’t get enough air in there.

The one eyed mare finally shrugged. “Thought I had you. Didn’t expect a joint lock.” She limped a little as she walked, but Scotch knew it could have been far worse. Scotch tossed the coin back to Precious.

Precious snatched up the coin. “Oh, the others will be so surprised when he returns to the abbey! The shock! The adventures!”

“I know, right? What is the Countess going to think? She was sure he was lost forever!” Majina chimed in.

“If they had a kid would that be compound interest?” Charity mused softly, getting stares from both of them, and she blushed. “What! Just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention!”

As the three of them gushed about Charity’s opinions of their economic soap opera, Skylord and Pythia approached. “That went pretty well,” Skylord conceded as Pythia passed her a purple healing brew. At least Scotch hoped it was healing, given how bitter it tasted, but it did alleviate the ache from the beating. “I didn’t know if she was going to kill you or you were going to kill her. Kinda surprised you got her to yield.” Scotch shot him a look, and he amended. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d have the guts to go after her knees. That’s pretty brutal for you.”

The brew mended most of her injuries, but her chest still pained her. “I need to figure some things out rather than just thinking things.” She glanced at Pythia and added, “I guess that’s what growing up is. Realizing things aren’t the way you always thought they are.” The young zebra mare gave a rare smile.

She heaved herself up on her hooves. Maybe it was the memory of her father and his friends so fresh in her mind, but she lunged and started giving each of them a hug. “Did she get concussed or something?” Precious asked with a smile.

“She’s a pony. You’re all concuss–ack!” Skylord started to say before Scotch hugged him hard in turn.

“I just… you’re all great. You know that? Really great,” Scotch said as Majina enthusiastically returned her hug. “You’re good people.”

She turned towards Charity and the unicorn muttered, her eyes flat, “That hug will cost you more personally than the gross domestic product of Equestria during the war.” Scotch froze mid-hug but couldn’t stop her stupid smile. Well, not everything had to change.

Now there was just one more thing to do. She snatched up her hard won emerald and looked around. She’d need some other things. Water and dirt. The right place to do it. Down… no. Up! “I need your help. Grab some water and a stick and follow me.” Scotch then started to ascend the structure. The stone building of military base became something older. Pillars that’d once held up roofs. The air up here was thick and hot. Periodically she heard the thud of a boulder hitting above.

“Where are we going?” Precious asked as they all filed in. An upside down statue of a zebra smiling serenely greeted them. They sat on their haunches, one hoof holding an spheroid object, the other an orange, with leaves still attached. A mathematical formula was written at the base of the statue. F_g= Gm₁m₂ over r². The whole room seemed to emit a cool white glow that was centered on the statue.

“It’s Izark Newti,” Majina breathed. “The Logos zebra who discovered gravity.”

“I thought that was Clover the Clever,” Scotch frowned, knitting her brows. “With the apple.”

“Izark Newti discovered the math behind it,” Majina insisted. “And it was an orange.”

“Thus the war between ponykind and zebrakind started anew. Over apples and oranges,” Skylord deadpanned.

They had a chuckle as she walked closer to the upside down statue. It looked as if it had been carved from a single block of stone, and though badly cracked, still clung to the ceiling. “How’d you know this was up… er… down here?” Pythia asked curiously as she stared up at it.

“And what’s that?” Charity added, jabbing a hoof at a small, hoof sized gem lodged in a crook of the statue’s foreleg. It appeared cracked through the middle.

Scotch peered up at it. “It’s a targeting talisman,” she replied and then turned towards Pythia. “I figured, if the Empire bulldozed spiritual temples for a mine or factory, it makes sense they’d build a base on top of a shrine as well. If it was destroyed in the war, the zebras could claim Equestria was targeting cultural sites.” And it might have worked too, if Celestia had been the only one in charge. “The talisman for the megaspell was probably planted here by a pony agent.”

“So why wasn’t everything blown to bits? You can’t tell me the megaspell was supposed to make a floating island,” Precious asked. “Though, not going to lie, that would be a cool use of a megaspell.”

“Yeah. Why didn’t ponies use megaspells for stuff like that?” Majina asked. “I mean, didn’t anypony think ‘it’d be super cool to make a spell that turns summer into winter’ or stuff?”

“We did,” Charity said. “I remember Priest going on about how Fluttershy used a megaspell to resurrect slain solders on the battlefield. Brought them back to life. Only the problem was that it brought the enemy back to life too.”

“So just transport the dead away from the dead enemy. Problem solved,” Skylord sniffed.

Charity suddenly rubbed her foreleg as she looked away. “Priest said they tried that. Only the ponies who came back were sometimes… wrong. The coming back did something to some one them. Sometimes they were crazy. Sometimes worse. After that, Fluttershy refused to use megaspells to bring people back, but someone figured them out. Weaponized them.”

“But do you think that they meant to make the whole base float?” Precious asked skeptically.

Scotch shook her head. “No. But this place was a shrine. I think there was a spirit here. Maybe not Izark Newti, but… gravity.” Could gravity even have a spirit? What would such a thing even look like? “I think the megaspell was probably intended to just toss the whole base into the sky. I mean, how do you defend against something like that?”

“Ehh,” Skylord rubbed his beak. “I could probably figure out a few ways.”

Scotch didn’t take her eyes off the statue. “I think that ponies didn’t believe in spirits, so when their megaspell mixed with a powerful spirit, something went wrong. The spell warped the spirit, and you get a floating mountain. A perversion of gravity.”

“Huh.” Precious muttered. “So why are we up here again?”

Scotch pulled out the emerald from her saddlebags. “I need to bring Rocky back.”

“Um… oh! There he is!” Majina blurted as she grabbed a fallen stone and held it up. “No, wait. Rocky was more oblong and this one is more potato shaped. Ummm…” she searched around again. “There he is!”

“He wouldn’t be in here!” Charity muttered, then sat down hard, holding her head. “Ugh, stupid is infecting my very soul. Rocks and spirits and megaspells! You think maybe that statue glows because some zebra thought ‘oooh, I’ll make an enchantment so the shrine is even more magicky than before’? Huh?”

“I promised Rocky that I’d take him somewhere new. I broke that promise,” Scotch said firmly, holding up her hooves where the gray flaking was spreading. “I’m censured. This is the price I’m paying for it.” Everyone watched her evenly with a variety of expressions, ranging from solemn resignation to indifference, bafflement, concern, and frustration.

“So you need a pedicure! Scotch, it was a rock! You sent him somewhere new. I bet whizzing a couple thousand feet in the air is pretty new! If he doesn’t like it, he can take you up in spirit court or something!” Charity yelled.

“Charity, if you break a deal, there’s a price to be paid,” Skylord stated as he sat back, forelimbs crossed. “What’s your problem with this?”

“Because she’s doing a thing for a rock and that’s crazy! You don’t believe your gun has a spirit, do you?” she asked, then turned to Precious. “Or that those coins are really people?” She turned back to Scotch. “All of this talk about spirits and pacts and all of it… it’s insane! Spirits aren’t real! It’s just freaky magic and people being dumb. Why are you doing this?” Charity asked, and Scotch’s brow knit at her tone.

Pythia was silent, her face a mask of misery as she stared off at the wall.

Scotch regarded her and then Charity. “Because I promised I would.” Charity breathed hard, and before she could respond, Scotch rose and faced her. “I’ve had a chance to think while I was fighting Oorusha. I promised I’d be a good girl, so I couldn’t fight her. If I hurt her, or killed her, I wouldn’t be good. But that was wrong. Not bad, but wrong. I made a promise, and if you do that, you should stick by it. So it doesn’t matter if Rocky was a rock or a spirit. I made the promise. I need to stick by it. Even if it is silly.”

Charity’s face screwed up a moment as if she was in agony. “You… I… It…” then she actually bit herself to suppress her scream. Finally she let the leg drop. “You are a complete and total idiot,” she summarized, but Scotch Tape was shocked to actually see her smile. “What do you need us to do?” Scotch opened her mouth and Charity raised a hoof. “I still think all this spirit shit is stupid! But if you promised… honoring a deal… ugh…” she deflated, dropping the hoof. “I can understand that. Even to a rock.”

Scotch whined in the back of her throat and Charity was unable to jump away before Scotch hugged her. “Arrrgh! GDP of Equestria! Of Zebrinica! Of Equus! Gettoff!”

“Don’t care. Worth it,” Scotch retorted, and Charity was helpless as Majina joined in with glee. While the other three were too cool for hugs, there were smiles all around.

Finally they released Charity, who exploded with wildly swinging hooves to ward them off. “Gah! Just tell me what we need to do for your stupid rock!” Scotch informed them of everything she needed.

Thankfully, the hardest part was the emerald. The rest was dirt, water, and a stick. Really, it wasn’t that different from what she did back in the train yard, only instead of sacrificing precious water, she lifted a stone and brought it right down on the emerald. Precious and Charity made matching choking sounds as she pulverized it with a lump of marble. It was a little more blockish than roundish, but would do. Once she mixed it with some dried dirt and water, she had what she needed. Not just for her face this time. Majina and Skylord painted upwards pointing triangles on her torso and flank.

“You’re quite the artist,” Majina commented as Skylord carefully smeared the green pigment.

Skylord flushed but scoffed, “It’d be easier if the canvas stopped moving.”

“I can’t help it. I’m ticklish,” Scotch muttered, trying hard not to scratch.

Pythia sat apart, consulting her star chart and dangling her pendant. More than once she glanced over at Scotch, her face nervous as she chewed her bottom lip. Finally Scotch approached her. “I know you’re not a shaman,” Scotch said as she posed before her. “But how do I look?”

“Ridiculous,” Charity opined. Scotch really couldn’t argue. She’d smeared her green coat with a paler greenish tan streak arranged in three interlocked triangles flanked by two more, and some angular lines that felt ‘rocky.’ Her face also had the angular motif with a triangle on her forehead, the majority of her face covered in rapidly drying greenish tan goop.

And they’d drawn an audience. Apparently the Green Menace was the number one source of interesting things happening in the Storm Legion. They’d filtered in, first a few pairs, then a dozen, and then the room was filled to watch ‘shaman pony shit.’ As they finished preparations, Tempest herself was borne into the room on an improvised palanquin, set down in the center of the mob. Her eyes were drawn to the upside down statue.

“Green Menace, I deeply, sincerely hope that whatever you’re about to do isn’t going to dump us all to Equus inside a billion ton mountain,” she asked archly.

“No, no! I’m not planning on doing anything to the statue,” Scotch insisted. “I’m summoning an earth spirit I lost. This is the spot with the most rock.”

Tempest closed her eyes with a tiny shudder that so closely mimicked Charity that Scotch wondered if it was genetic. But she waved a white wing. “Proceed. My zebras are curious to see what pony shamans look like.”

Hope they’re not expecting much. Scotch was making this up as she went. She knew being spirit touched would go a long way. Maybe all this other stuff was unnecessary. But she also had gathered that intent mattered a lot towards a spirit’s willingness to act. She’d sacrificed a precious emerald that she’d won in combat. That had to matter, right?

She set the marble block down and drew a pair of eyes and a slit mouth upon it, much to the snickers of the various non-zebras. The zebras, however, were silent as they watched her very closely. Scotch took a deep breath and shifted her eyesight over.

“Huh,” she muttered as she stared at the statue, or rather, the spirit superimposed over the statue. It looked like a cloth of woven numbers constantly shifting ever so slightly, like a sail in a weak wind. Pierced through it, twisting the whole thing in a knot, was an immense glittery crystalline barb, like a caltrop or burr, spherical but with dozens of hooks that caught on the golden glow.

‘Up’ whispered the barbed thing centered on the targeting talisman.

‘Down’ whispered the golden glow caught up in its hooks.

‘Up’ repeated the megaspell.

‘Down’ insisted the spirit.

Scotch remembered the pebble on the field. ‘Up is down is up is down,’ Rocky had thought that it was crazy, but she was seeing the very spiritual, magical weave that was levitating the entire base and mountain. It was something utterly unnatural, and something impossible by magic as far as she knew.

But that wasn’t why she was here. She stared down at the marble block. This close to the ‘eye’ of the magical effect, it sat silently. “Rocky?” Nothing. “Spirit of Rocky?” Still nothing.

Someone snickered. “Wave a dead chicken over it!” another called out. It wasn’t enough. Before, she’d been in contact with the ground. “Chant mambo-jumbo!” Someone yelled. What was she supposed to say? “Do a dance! Shake that rump!” yelled out another.

A dance? What kind of dance? But she remembered Rocky showing her what the ‘earth saw,’ How it was contact. Impact. Well, if she had to do more, at this point what did she have to lose? What kind of dance did the earth want?

She let out a bellow and started to do a sort of cha cha punctuated with a double stomp. One two three, boom. One two three, boom. And she started to move in a circle around the block. “Rocky! Boulder! Spirit of Stone! Come back to me! Rocky! Boulder! Spirit of Stone! The sky’s not for thee!” Scotch dug up her old Pony for the rhyme. It was simple, she could remember it, and she could repeat it as she danced around the stone.

The pegasi, griffons, and dragons collapsed laughing, but oddly, Tempest didn’t, watching her closely. Neither did her zebras, who after a moment began to stomp their hooves in rhythm to her dance. It made it easier to keep step as she went around the block again and again. The laughing died off as zebras stomped in unison.

Then the pony members of the legion, as if unable to contain themselves, started singing along with her. Even Charity, her face screwed up, emitted the words in an annoyed monotone while the rest chanted along with her. The dragons and griffons, now clearly outnumbered, just watched. Then the dragons, not to be left out, punctuated the ‘stomp’ portion of her dance with thudding hops. Scotch, caught up in inspiration, added a sweeping motion of her tail, catching dust off the floor and flinging it into the air. She had no idea what or why. It was something… anything!

And dancing and singing and dust in the air was the perfect thing to destroy her lungs utterly. Her chest felt as if a barbed megaspell was latched on inside her, slicing up her organs. She was glad the ponies had taken up her chant, because she just struggled to breathe as she coughed and hacked and stomped and kept to the rhythm the zebras beat upon the stones. Something was tearing inside, but she didn’t dare stop! She doubted she’d ever get this chance again. She’d been censured once, she wasn’t going to allow it to happen twice.

Then she noticed blood spattering the floor. Speckles around her hooves. Scotch coughed and hacked, and the chant and rhythm faltered as she her body failed her. There was a lurch that knocked her to her hooves, but she struggled to rise again.

“Scotch,” Pythia called out. “That’s enough.”

“No!” she rasped, sweating and spitting blood with every breath as she rose to her feet, trying to keep it up. The beating and chants and booms stopped as she frantically kept moving. “I have to! Even if it kills me! I promised!”

Then she collapsed on the marble block, coughing and hacking and struggling for breath. Her lines were smeared with sweat, her mouth a mask of blood. “I have to. I promised. I have to…” she whimpered softly.

“No,” Pythia said as she rushed to Scotch’s side, holding her tight. “That’s enough.”

The statue was moving. Though upside down, it leaned forward, studying them all closely. The walls glowed with a faint golden luminescence and tiny gold soul motes danced in the air. From the stunned expressions on the faces of the Storm Legion, they were seeing it too. They were also sprawled around, as if the lurch she felt had thrown them from her feet as well. “You called, Maiden, and I have come.” It wasn’t just the statue speaking. The very stone around them resonated the words. It was no language she’d ever heard before, yet instantly understood, as one might understand a rock smashed upside the head.

“Rocky?” Scotch wheezed.

The chuckle was the prelude of the friendliest earthquake imaginable. “Rocky?” the statue mused, stroking his chin with a grind of stone upon stone. “I suppose I am, as much as you are Hoofy or Fleshy.” It cocked it’s head. “I see you are in some distress.” And it stretched out a hoof. Suddenly Scotch’s eyes bulged as she felt… things… moving in her chest and out her throat. She choked, gagged and suddenly threw up a wad of bloody mud. She stared at it numbly. Had she really had a hoofful of dust in her lungs? The trial inhalation hurt, but she could at least take the breath.

“Thank you,” she croaked. Pythia immediately produced another healing potion. Though it didn’t abate the pain, it did stop the sensation that she was drowning in her own blood. “Thank you,” she repeated to Pythia.

“You are censured,” the statue stated, his smile fading to concern as he stared down at the pair of them. “I can do nothing for that, but I can at least remove myself from your lungs so we may speak.”

Scotch risked a deep breath, feeling her chest crackle. Better, but not by much. “I need Rocky back. I promised him I’d take him somewhere new.”

The statue cocked its head. “One could argue that seeing the sky is quite new.” Charity’s eyes bulged as she gestured to the statue, her face a mask of frustration.

“And if he tells me it’s new then fine. But I’m not going to assume!” Scotch retorted.

The statue rumbled softly, laughing. “Wise, Maiden. Many fools think the terms of a pact are settled when they say so, at their convenience or excuse.” Its pale eyes were bright with amusement as Charity’s face twisted with chagrin.

“Maiden?” Scotch whispered in bafflement.

“Is that not what you are?” the statue asked, arching a brow. Scotch hoped he meant young mare or this was going to become super awkward.

“Not for a while,” she muttered as she looked away from the upside down statue. “How can I bring Rocky back?” She stared at the statue staring patiently, smiling. It clicked. “Oh. Ohhhh… but you’re… Rock?”

“Mineral. Zebras called me the Stone King, deep underground in halls of gems uncountable, sitting on the throne of the world. Your kind generally called me shiny and pretty. I admit the former is more flattering, though some of your kind did show proper respect. Occasionally,” the Stone King stated wryly.

“I didn’t mean to call you. I just wanted Rocky back so I could take him somewhere new,” Scotch muttered lamely. She felt like she’d accidentally pulled a fire alarm or something in 99.

“And where is that?” he asked as he leaned forward on his inverted throne. “I am everywhere. I was the third, and all the places that are, that are not in sky or sea, I have been copiously, maiden.” His smile grew cunning. “You may find it hard to find a place that I have not been.”

Scotch swallowed hard and the statue rumbled again. “A conundrum of corundum to be sure. I look forward to seeing how you solve it.” His eyes glittered. “What an interesting phenomenon you are, maiden. I’ve felt your hoofsteps and heard the whispers of the hidden as you pass, but meeting you… you are far less than I anticipated. More talc than diamond. Yet pressure and time may yield a harder stone. We shall see. We shall see," he rumbled, stroking his chin again.

Aware she was being ribbed, she dodged. “The hidden?”

The Stone King’s smile ebbed a little. “The silent many. They who watch and do not speak. They are... apart. They do not deal. They watch. They wait. They endure. And they fear.” Now there was no smile on the statue’s face.

“You mean they’re spirits that won’t deal with shamans or the spirit touched?”

“Oh yes. Most spirits, honestly. They sleep the slumber of existence until interrupted by your kind. They are innocent for the most part, and many. Very many.”

“But they fear?” Scotch asked and he gave a very sober nod. “What?”

The Stone King cupped his hooves before his muzzle. “They do not know. Nor I. A thing has happened that has never happened before. A new thing. A thing that tears them apart and sweeps them away. Even I feel it like a worm chewing away inside with every second. We have no name for it, but it concerns us all.”

Scotch glanced at the others, met eyes with Pythia and asked. “Stone King, do you know if the Eye of the World is blind?”

He waved a hoof before his face and then smiled, a touch sadly. “Stone is always blind, but we are good listeners. It’s a pity. I’m told my gems are quite beautiful, but I’ve never seen them before myself.” He sat up. “The Eye is between their kind and the World, not I. If it was blinded or was not, or how it could be achieved, is beyond my knowledge.”

Damn. “Well, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” Scotch said, somewhat chagrined.

He chuckled. “I have had billions of years of time. I don’t begrudge a few minutes. I am rarely called. Rarely roused. How could I not come personally to see one summoning my part?” He paused and then his pale eyes turned in the direction of Tempest. The white pegasus was a statue herself. “I feel the sin of those who foreswore their oaths here. Are there any that would speak for you?”

Tempest glanced at Scotch, and then stepped forward. “I do.”

“You are not mine. You are sworn to the sky, and thus I make no onus upon you. I would merely ask that you send the maiden on her way, lest you be destroyed by forces greater than I. Wickedness chases her every step, and I cannot protect her from it.”

The white pegasus glared at Scotch a moment, as if pondering if this was some kind of trick. “And if I do?”

“I would be grateful,” the Stone King replied and gave her a shrewd smile. “How would you value the gratitude of one such as I?”

Oorusha limped out of the crowd and whispered in Tempest’s ear. “Very well. I… accept your gratitude…”

The walls of the building started to shake as if seized by an earthquake. Stone popped and creaked all around them, and the statue detached from the ceiling, reversing in the air. The Storm Legion cried out in alarm, but Tempest maintained a cool stare on the statue as the stone inexplicably rearranged itself so it was right side up. Portions of the walls gave way, admitting light, and the breaches suddenly narrowed into masterfully cut window slits. Wooden beams snapped like toothpicks, and steel reinforcement bent like putty under the unrelenting force. A minute later the rumbling passed.

Majina stared at the statue, now on the ‘floor’ and rushed to the nearby door, peeking out. “It’s right-side up! Everything is right side up and… wow…” she called out. Indeed, in the shrine, all the cracks were mended and smooth.

Giving Scotch another somewhat perturbed look, Tempest addressed the statue. “Thank you.”

“It is payment. Or repayment. But advice I give for free,” the Stone King rumbled. “Abandon these spectacles and return to as you were. Expunge the sin that plagues you, and remember your oaths. You were greater than you are now. You should be better.”

Tempest’s face betrayed her consternation for only an instant before she reassumed her cool mask. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps,” he said with a shrug, and then reached out and picked up the marble stone Scotch had been dancing around, holding it in his hoof. “Remember your promises, Maiden. They have more power than you know.”

Scotch felt the seriousness of his words tighten around her throat like a noose. “I will.”

With that he extended his hoof to her and she took the block from him. The eye depressions, more square and somewhat unimpressed, blinked up at her. Then the statue pulled back returning to its previous pose. The sensation of immense weight lifted and the whisper if ‘is up’ resumed.

“Well. That was interesting,” Rocky said in his usual minimalist quip. Scotch, to her relief, saw the gray scale disappear completely.

“Stone King?” Scotch asked.

“No. Rocky. I thought I was lost. I am back.” It studied her soberly. “That is good.”

Scotch smiled and hugged the rock to her chest. It was only then that the Storm Legion exploded into a babble of a hundred disagreeing voices. However, a hoof was placed firmly on her shoulder and Scotch turned to see Tempest not smiling as she stared down at her. “We need to talk. More.”

“That’s quite a sight,” Skylord said as he leaned out the window. Scotch didn’t need another view of the immense, almost perfectly cylindrical pillar rising up out of the plain below and locking to the base of the floating block. The Storm Legion was already working on trying to free it from the hundred foot wide spire of stone. Mobility was more important, after all.

But the Stone King had profoundly changed the entire structure of the base, from the ruins below to the base above, the stairs now aligned with the pull of gravity and the multitude of cracks had sealed. Apparently concrete counted as mineral for the Stone King, but a great deal of wiring and wood would have to be replaced. However, where there’d once been rickety wooden docks and piers there were now elegantly sculpted landings for the airships to tie up to. Beautiful and reinforced, the Stone King had given the Storm Legion a palace in the sky, all to send her on her way.

The cleanup helped distract the legion from the spiritual, scientific, and practical consequences of Scotch’s summoning. Was that really a spirit of stone, or some elaborate ‘come to life’ spell? An illusion, perhaps? Maybe some kind of mass hysteria? Perhaps Tempest herself had arranged all this? Cleaning out the debris, righting the furniture, and cleaning up the mess kept people from asking serious questions.

This time, however, the debrief was more about what Scotch Tape herself could do with ‘spirits.’ Could she drop a mountain on her enemies? Cause a tornado? Speak to lightning? The fact that Scotch herself had no clue clearly didn’t mollify her. “The military officer in me is saying to lock you up till I can figure out how to use you. That that wasn’t a spirit and that somehow all this transformation just happened.”

“That’s the pony in you,” Pythia said as she dug out her battered note cards. “You’re skeptical, then you jump straight to acceptance. You skip over the whole pondering ‘what if’ moment. Probably because of Celestia telling you just so for centuries.”

Majina stepped forward. “Using spirits for things like war is super dangerous, ma’am. If Scotch could drop mountains on her enemies, don’t you think the Caesar would have, too?”

“If it ended the war faster, why not?” Tempest countered with a frown.

“Because the things that do things like that don’t want money. They want you to do things. Things like help Scotch along. Things like sacrifice your newborn foal to it.” Pythia said, and then added, “Not talking just spirits. There’s other supernatural things out there with… needs.”

Tempest curled her lip. “Why?”

Pythia shrugged. “To see if you’re willing to do it. Things like that are prime fare to supernatural things. And if you’re willing to sacrifice one baby, why not ten? Why not ten thousand? Why not ten million? Pretty soon the help you’re getting isn’t worth the price they’re demanding. But if you stop, you broke the pact. Bam! Censure.”

“There’s lots of stories of exactly that happening.” Majina added. “Orion the hunter made a pact with a fallen star for immortality at the price of his happiness. He was miserable at the time, and thought it was no big deal. But every time he gained something he loved, it was lost. Eventually, he was the most miserable creature in the world.”

Tempest set her hat aside and rubbed her Temples hard. “Nrgh… I feel like I’m letting a balefire bomb go trotting out of my hooves…” Finally she thumped her hooves down on the top of the table. “Fine. I’ve got enough trouble on my hooves trying to break us free from this spire. We’re a sitting duck at the moment and I can’t spare a Raptor right now.”

“But, what about going back to Equestria?” Charity wailed.

“You want to wait for a few weeks, you can take a trip. Otherwise, the best we can do is fly you out to some field where the Flame Legion isn’t waiting. We’re only a few hundred kilometers from Roam.”

Skylord added, “Without the Whiskey Express.”

“It’s the best I can do. Unless you want to wait for us to blast through a solid chunk of stone?” Tempest offered.

Scotch considered it, but the thought of wasting more time sounded hazardous to her. “No. I think finding out what happened to the world is something we shouldn’t wait for. We’ll go soon as you can take us.”

“Then pack your things. You’re going now. The sooner you’re out of my mane, the better,” Tempest said grimly. Scotch agreed. It was time to get her hooves back on the ground again.

In the depths of the earth was a whimpering noise. A lone zebra drug himself along the floor, crawling slowly forward, trailing a streak of blood from where his legs disappeared. In the darkness behind him came a soft crunching noise, and the wet plap of hoofsteps in pools of blood.

Security turrets dropped from the ceiling and unleashed a torrent of energetic blasts down the tunnel. They flickered and flashed as they struck something, but something was not deterred. From the ceiling overhead, tendrils of black slime slithered overhead, oozed into the firing machines, and they sparked and fell silent. As the zebra crawled desperately, the steps continued causally. Streamers of ebony dangled like spears over the crawling form.

They passed by a doorway in the deeps, and a tendril punched through the metal door like an awl. Screams sounded from within, followed by wet, crunching noises. The screams abruptly fell silent. “Where is she?” a voice whispered behind the frantically crawling old zebra.

“I don’t know,” he screamed as he pulled himself towards a door.

“I thought Doctor Z knew everything in the wasteland,” the voice whispered, like silk.

Doctor Z started back at that shadow. At the form within it. He hooked his forelegs on the edge and pulled himself around into the main sanctum. Security spirits raised wards and force fields, interposing themselves between him and the monstrosity. He even dared smile as he saw it probing the field to no effect. He’d wrapped wire around the stubs to stop the bleeding, and took a moment to give a twist.

Which is why he missed the spirits getting eaten. With a pop and fizzle the magical fields collapsed, the security spirits he’d made pacts with screaming as they were ripped into the thing. “You are Doctor Z. She was here. Where is she?” it asked. His horror choked in his throat, and a tendril lanced out and wrapped around his neck, lifting him into the air.

He could only gag. With power wrecked throughout the bunker, the screens were dark, the tube silent. But then the equine shape stiffened. “Wait. Wait!” It turned its head to the east. “I can feel her again! She’s on the ground. That way!”

Doctor Z just whimpered at this. He was drawn closer, seeing the equine inside the darkness. “So very sorry about this. Dreadfully embarrassing. If I’d just been a little more patient, all of you would still be alive!” It tittered a little laugh that trailed off. For a second their eyes met.

Then a crunch cut the whimpers off, and Doctor Z was no more than a mote of light in tarry darkness’s stomach. “How embarrassing,” they murmured, looking east. “Well, I don’t know how you got all the way over there, dear Scotch, but rest assured, I’ll find you. I swear it.”

A tiny treacherous fan started to whirr, and the head snapped to the sheet covered vat in the middle of the chamber. Slowly it approached under the dark screen overhead, the few lingering candles the only illumination in the chamber. The black goo lanced out, striking the container from four sides, and in an instant it shattered, cloth tearing.

The mess of meat and metal tumbled out at its feet. Cables snaked out of missing limbs. Wires dangled from eye sockets. The only similarity between the two, however, was the black ichor that dripped from the metal infested pony’s tubes.

“Xiggy?!” the figure gasped as it knelt next to the squirming mass. “Oh, Xigfried, it is you! Oh, you poor silly fool! How long have you been in there?” The black slime pulled him close, and hooves embraced him.

The stallion vomited fluid and then took a shallow, rasping breath. “Tanit?” it rasped.

“That’s right. Oh, you poor boy. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you. I promise,” it said as it easily lifted the mass that had been contained. “I’ll make it all better,” she said as she carried him out past the pool that had been Doctor Z. “After all, I always keep my promises, like a good friend should.”

Author's Notes:

Sorry this took so long. 2020 is a terrible year. While I'm keeping myself together, I fear it's going to get worse before it gets better. I'll try to get more Homelands out sooner before everything blows up in November.

Anyway, thanks to everyone that's stuck with the story thus far. Thanks for Kkat for creating FoE in the first place. Thanks to everyone that's commented. Thanks to all my patreons who are wonderfully supportive people. If you'd like to help, you can donate there or do [email protected] via paypal. Every bit is appreciated.

I also want to give special thanks to my editors Icyshake, Heartshine, Bro, and Rachel. It's not every day you can ask some one four months later 'hey, wanna do some editing.' I really appreciate it. This wouldn't be possible without them.

Thanks again for reading so far. I hope I can get the next one out far sooner than months, or it's never going to end.