The rain had tappered off by late afternoon. The muddy streets shone with the wet puddles as the clouds swam among themselves, holes opening only to close quickly again. In the delicate dance above the light shone in the pools of water, reflecting in the city streets the blinking eyes of a clear sky with mirror quality.

The gate ahead was filling up again post-storm, the numerous travelers who sheltered in the ruins to the side and one of the settlement's several taverns were eager to press on their travels now it had dried up. To some, it seemed simply keeping dry was more important than being timely. And in all due probability, it would only rain again in several hours. After all as the locals chimed: if you didn't like the weather, just wait five minutes. Rusted was eager to leave this unpredictability.

The gate was a small affair, but where he was told to meet up with the good doctor and his assistant. Looking over the heads Rusted looked. It was quickly clear that they weren't in the enthusiastic out-bound crowd, mingled chaotically with the sporadic in-bound traveler. The gate was small, and the guards liked to handle visitors here on a one-by-one basis. Which for a settlement openly accepting everyone didn't mean it had a trifling, small number going through in either direction.

Caught in the corner of his eyes there was a shining glimmer. To the side, sat at a salvaged chair sat one of the pair. The lackey. The green unicorn. In his magic he waved a mirror, playing with the reflection of his own magic's light to catch Rusted's attention. Grumbling, he trotted to the side to where he sat reclined.

“Boss is inside with the package.” he said simply. Rusted, still not feeling like giving him the time of day kept on through.

“Yea, and I'll just watch your shit factory!” Morning called as Rusted breezed by.

The inside of the structure wasn't so much closed to the elements as the wasteland was closed to the sky above. The roof had long collapsed on itself, though also long swept away and reused when ponies had returned to inhabit the city. Was remained now was a bare concrete floor, puddled with rainwater and rippling streams that traced the lines of cracks until finding the holes underneath.

Standing on the far side of the room waited Alms. A closed umbrella leaned against his side. On the ground nearby a large metal box rested. Featureless, save for its lock.

“Of all the gates, it was this one?” Rusted protested.

“Of all the entrances to this damnable watering hole this seemed like the best.” Alms replied, “And I have no preference for whichever. They're all an exist and entrance as far I am concerned. Traffic is a whole other matter, I can't control the booze hounds and dash fiends who want in to get their next hit, or the merchants, or the other ponies.

“I was hoping the storm would keep up myself, keep them all inside.” Alms laughed.

“Yes, well even though I did a little shopping I would still like my guns.” Rusted protested, “And they're not at this checkpoint. They're at the northern post.”

“Right there are. So I had morning do a little asking around and got them recovered.” Alms smiled smartly, pulling out from behind him a small sack.

“I must say, I'm not thrilled with the caliber of weapon. Just a pistol? 9 millimeter?”

“What were you expecting?” grumbled Rusted.

“More something heavier gauge, not a mare weakly protected her marehood. Unless I sense something happened?”

“Maybe...” the caravaneer grumbled defensively.

“Do you gamble, Mr Bits?” Alms inquired. His stance moving far less casual. He held a sterner posture. His expression growing judgmental.

“From time to time!” shouted Alms, “I just didn't play a good game before I came in.”

“That too will destroy you as well as the drinking.” Alms lashed, “And I hope for the safety of my master's property that you have not racked up a significant debt!”

“You don't need to worry. I'm clean!” he replied, “Or what would you do if it turned out I wasn't and I was danger?”

“At this point I would have Morning kill you and your brahmin and everything on it and you would be mind.” Alms said, “But for the sake of the deal, I'll believe you don't. I trust you can handle yourself, and will find something stronger on the road.”

“I always do.”

Alms nodded, “So, package is here.” he said, stepping aside, “It's shielded by a containment field, and a lead-lined steel box. It should withstand the penetration of many small-arms rounds and the containment field shouldn't shatter except by the force of balefire, which would disrupt it. Though it keeps a lot of the radiation in, there's some leaking through, hence the lead.

“Do not break it. And do not open it. And certainly do not sell it.” Alms added with a stern scowl, “We clear?”

“Yes.” Rusted nodded.

“I'll hold this contract to your word. Wasteland rules, you know them.” he said, “Now, on your way to Neighegarra, I advise you take Route 27 over the more direct 29. Last we went through 29 was being picked over by feral Hellhounds and various raider groups. One or the other pushed the one out and is chasing the other, that much I will say.

“We got to 27 maybe a quarter of the way through 29. Apart from the usual, it was smooth sailing.”

“Thanks doctor.”

“You're welcome.” Alms grinned, “I'll have Morning help you with the package. We've ensured the guards won't bother you, so don't worry.”

“May I ask you a question?” Rusted asked.

“Yes.”

“How'd you get a bomb into the city?”

“It's not a bomb, it's a warhead. And it's very safe. And don't you worry about how it got in, and how it will get out.”