//------------------------------//
// Shelter, Part 1 
// Story: The Iron Horse: Everything's Better With Robots! 
// by The Hat Man 
//------------------------------//



50 years ago...

He held his breath, his ears stiff and twitching as he listened for the sound of hooves gently rustling through the tall grass between the rows of peach trees. He knew his prey was somewhere nearby, that she might even be watching him this instant, but he suspected that soon her impatience would cause her to peek out from her hiding place, and possibly choose another tree to hide behind. True, she could be up in the branches, but he knew that she preferred to stay mobile, and that she was not the best climber.

He gingerly peered around the tree and saw movement in the shadows a good twenty meters off. Her pinkish coat and orange mane flashed briefly through the trees, and he caught sight of her looking around nervously.

He smiled. Ever so slowly, he crept between the trees, flanking her. He narrowed his eyes and grinned as he edged closer. She was practically hugging the peach tree, but she was still peering around it, thinking he was in front of her. She was totally oblivious to him as he came close.

When he was close enough, he pounced! He seized her around the belly, causing her to squeal as he tickled her.

“I got you, Clementine!” he shouted, laughing even as she fought him off, protesting in spite of her laughter.

“Cobbler, stop!” she managed to say through her laughter. “You win, you win, you rascal! Now please stop!”

He released her and stood proudly, his chin raised high. “There may come a time when you can beat me, Clemie, but I’m still the best at hide and seek!”

“Oh, you can go soak your head!” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “And how dare you tickle me like that! I thought you were a gentlecolt, so why are you attacking a poor, unsuspecting lady like that?!”

“Because it’s hilarious,” he replied, grinning at her, and he knew she wasn’t really angry when she laughed along with him.

“Well, you may be the best at hiding and seeking,” she said, flashing a mischievous grin, “but when it comes to tickling…”

He began to back away. “N-now, Clemie, you know I can’t stand--”

But she had already leaped at him, tackling him to the ground as she tickled him right back.

“Hahahahah stop!” he yelped, laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. “C-Clemie, stop it, please! Hahahahaha!”

“Say ‘Uncle!’” she demanded, tickling him even harder.

“Uncle, Uncle!” he shouted, relenting.

She released him, and the two of them continued laughing as they collapsed backwards into the lush summer grass.

They were Cobbler Mustang and Sweet Clementine, both just ten years of age, both the best of friends, and both enjoying another game of Hide and Seek in Cobbler’s family’s orchard.

They might have found something else to do, but a shout came from the house nearby.

“Cobbler! Cobbler Mustang, where are ya, boy?”

Cobbler made a sour face. “I guess Daddy’s callin’ me,” he sighed. “I best see what he wants.” He looked to her sadly. “I sure hope we can play again tomorrow!”

She smiled. “I’ll be here,” she said. “And I will soundly whoop your sorry flank next time, Cobbler!”

He grinned at that. “All right. Until then, Clemie!” he said, turning to go, waving to her. “See you tomorrow!”

He dashed through the trees and arrived at the house. His father was standing out on the front porch, fanning himself in the summer heat as he called his name once again.

“Cobbler!” he bellowed. “Boy, if you don’t come here this instant--”

“I’m here, Daddy!” Cobbler said, bursting from the trees and galloping over to him.

“Hmph,” Fjord Mustang said, raising an eyebrow at him. “I would expect you to come the first time I called, Cobbler.”

“I had to say goodbye to Miss Clementine, Daddy,” Cobbler said, frowning. “You wouldn’t want me to be rude, would you, Daddy?”

“Oh, quit tryin’ to sweet talk me!” he growled, puffing out his cheeks.

Fjord Mustang was a thin stallion with a wavy mane and hard, severe eyes. His coat was a yellowish brown color, and his mane was a bright auburn. He wore his business suit and tie as always, and he looked down at his son.

“Cobbler,” he said, “I’m taking you to see the business tomorrow afternoon. I am goin’ to give you a job assistin’ the line workers, and I expect you to do it for the rest of the summer.”

“What?!” he cried. “Daddy, I was gonna spend the whole summer playin’ with Granddad or with Miss Clementine!”

“You can still find time for both of those things,” he said. “But now you’re a proud pony with a cutie mark, and you are a proud member of the Mustang family. It’s high time you learned how this business works. You will be in charge of it someday, after all.”

“I don’t wanna be a businesspony!” he shouted, stamping his hooves. “I wanna build automata like Granddad!”

Fjord’s expression darkened, the lines in his brow deepening. “Cobbler, you know what I’ve told you about your Granddad,” he said, his voice low as he pressed his muzzle closer to Cobbler’s. “Your Granddad has spent his whole life tryin’ to convince the whole world that those infernal machines were worth somethin’. But ever since Princess Celestia crushed his dreams of a farmin’ automaton on every farm--”

“I know, I know,” Cobbler groaned. “Daddy, you’ve told me that story a million times!”

“And yet you still spend all your spare time with him, buildin’ more of those useless contraptions!” Fjord yelled. “There ain’t no call for ‘em, no use for ‘em! You need to learn how to build some proper machines! You need to learn how to run a business, boy! Why, if it weren’t for my innovations and these new harvesters we’re developing, this whole family would be nothin’ more than a footnote in the history of Equestria!”

Cobbler pouted and looked away. “Granddad’s machines are gonna be somethin’ someday, Daddy,” he muttered. “Just you wait and see!”

“Well, when you’re the head of the family, you can do as you please,” Fjord said. “But for now, I am your father, and therefore I will decide what’s best for you. Now, you go to your Granddad’s workshop and tell him about all this. You can go on buildin’ those things on your own time, but you tell him that you’ve got responsibilities now.”

“Why can’t you tell him?” Cobbler grumbled.

Fjord smacked him on his hindquarters. “Don’t you sass me, boy!” he shouted. “I’ve already told that bag of bones about it, but he wants to hear it from you! Now you tell him, or I swear I will come down on you somethin’ fierce!”

Cobbler sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell him, Daddy.”

Fjord nodded. “Good,” he said. And then he patted Cobbler on the head, giving him a small smile. “Now, you run along and have some fun today. Business starts tomorrow, my dear boy, but you might as well enjoy your leisure while you can.”

Cobbler smiled. “Okay, Daddy. I’m gonna go visit Granddad now. We’ve almost finished buildin’ another automaton!”

Fjord rolled his eyes. “Well, go on, then,” he said. “I still say it’s a waste of time, but do as you please.”

Cobbler gave a quick nod and dashed off in the direction of his grandfather’s workshop. As he went, his mother, Savannah Flower, came up behind Fjord, placing her hoof on his shoulder.

“Dear,” she said, resting her head on his, “don’t you think you are bein’ quite hard on the boy? Why, you only started working in the factory to learn the business when you were two years older!”

He sighed and patted her hoof. “I know,” he said, “but that only happened at my insistence. Daddy never was quite as passionate about his business as he was about his hobby, after all. I had to learn it all on my own, with practically no thanks to him at all! I want our son to have more support, to understand what our family has, and to help keep it going strong into future generations!”

Savannah Flower chuckled. “And speaking of which,” she said, “he seems rather taken with Miss Sweet Clementine. Why, I would not be surprised if those two--”

“Oh, don’t start pairin’ those two up yet,” Fjord sighed. “Besides, he’s got enough distractions without worryin’ about fillies.”

“I doubt there’s anything you or I can do about that, Fjord,” Savannah said, nuzzling him.

He blushed and cracked a smile. “Well… maybe so. But we’ll let nature handle such things. An’ I just hope that the mare he ends up with is at least half as wonderful as you, my dear.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Well, come on in the house and rest a while before you return to work,” she said. “I’ll get you some iced tea, and you will feel your worries just melt away.”


***


Dearborn Crumble wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at his grandson with a smile.

“I believe that’ll do it,” he said, passing his wrench to Cobbler, who took it and placed it back in the toolbox.

“Can I turn it on, Granddad?” Cobbler asked, his eyes lighting up as he practically danced on his hooves.

“You surely can!” Dearborn laughed, ruffling his mane.

The two of them were standing in Dearborn’s massive workshop surrounded by his creations, some finished, some half-finished, and some simply abandoned. But this automaton that they had just finished building was the result of half a year’s work, and it was the first automaton that Cobbler and his grandfather had built entirely together.

The thing was pony-shaped, like most of Dearborn’s creations, but small and svelte with a longer body and more articulate joints than usual. The goal had been to create something that could not only walk, but run as fast as a normal pony.

“Do you think it’ll fall over again?” Cobbler asked, worry lines crossing his face.

“It may,” Dearborn said. Then, with a smirk, he added, “But if it does, then we’ll just pick it up and try again. Whatever the case, we’ll learn from it.”

Cobbler nodded. “Okay, okay! Let’s do it!”

Dearborn laughed. “All right now, Cobbler,” he said, sliding over a stepladder so he could more easily reach the switches on the thing’s back, “go ahead and turn ‘er on.”

Cobbler climbed the ladder and hit the switch. According to its programming, it was supposed to run a hundred meters down the length of the workshop, turn around, and come back again, where it would come to a complete stop. Nothing complex for a pony, but to get an automaton to coordinate between accelerating, running at full gallop, stopping, turning, and doing it again was no easy task.

As the automaton hummed with electricity, it began to trot, wobbling slightly at first, but then it steadied out and broke into a run, its metallic hooves pounding on the hard stone floor.

“It’s doing it, Granddad!” Cobbler cried, jumping up and down with excitement. “It’s really doing it!”

“Hold on there, boy,” Dearborn said, though his eyes were also flashing with excitement. “Here comes the tricky part.”

As the automaton approached the end of the long aisle, it began to slow. It began to turn, wobbling all the while, and at first it looked as though it would topple over. But then it finished the turn and began to run back towards them.

“Here it comes!”

“Stand back, now!”

The automaton again managed to slow down, its metal body rattling as it finally came to a stop right where it had begun.

“It works!” Cobbler cheered.

Dearborn let out a sigh of relief as he went over to the automaton and switched it off. “Yes, it surely is a work of art, Cobbler,” he said. Then his expression changed, and his wrinkled, gray features seemed to sag, his ears drooping.

Cobbler frowned, putting his small hoof on his grandfather’s side. “What’s wrong, Granddaddy?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just…” He heaved another sigh. “I thought that by the time I reached my age, automata like this would be all over the place. I do so love creating these miraculous machines, but it seems even now that their time has yet to come.”

Cobbler bit his lip, hesitating a moment before he replied, saying, “Daddy says you’re mad at Princess Celestia.”

Dearborn raised an eyebrow.

“He says you’re still mad ‘cause she wouldn’t let you build that farming one a long time ago!”

Dearborn sighed. “I was,” he said. “Though it’s not that she wouldn’t let me build ‘em. It’s just that she wouldn’t endorse ‘em. Without her approval, nopony else would give ‘em a try. And such things weren’t easy or cheap to build. If she’d given it her approval, then maybe…”

He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Oh, never mind it all now,” he said, pulling in his grandson for a hug. “I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be. But as long as I’ve got a smart grandson like you to carry on the work, I’m sure that someday their time will come.”

Cobbler hugged him back, nuzzling him. “I love you, Granddad,” he said.

Dearborn smiled. “I love you too, my boy,” he said. “Now let’s get cleaned up, or your mama will give us an earful for getting oil all over her nice, clean house!”




***


“Granddaddy died that summer,” Cobbler said, heaving a sigh. “We did at least manage to build another automaton before he passed away. And even though Daddy wanted to sell off all the automata that he’d built, we still kept them. It helped that Granddaddy left the workshop and all that was inside to me, and not to my father. He couldn’t do a thing to them without my permission, so I started going there on my own to craft my own designs.”

Twilight nodded. “I see,” she said. “I’m kind of surprised that your father and grandfather didn’t get along very well.”

“Oh, they were just two very different ponies,” Cobbler said, waving a hoof. “But just the same, they respected each other in their own way. Even though Daddy didn’t understand the potential for the automata, he never forbade me from building them. And Daddy was perhaps even more incensed than Granddad himself that Celestia had blackballed his farming automaton.

“For almost all of my childhood, I heard from him what Granddad had tried to do to help the ponies of Equestria,” Cobbler said, frowning. “But even I hadn’t realized how deep that resentment had run. Not until a few years later…”


***




45 years ago...

It was in the autumn when Cobbler awoke to the sound of pencils and paper falling to the floor. He sat up from where he sat at his desk, the light from the kerosene lantern on his desk dimly illuminating his room. He was fifteen years old and was putting all his effort into his advanced studies, intending to go off to a university by the start of next year. He’d long outpaced his classmates in school, showing aptitude in all sorts of areas, especially the sciences.

The cost of his success, of course, had been staying up many a long night. And that night, once again, he’d fallen asleep at his desk. An involuntary jerk of his foreleg had sent the pencils and paper flying.

“Consarn it!” he grumbled, gathering up his materials. He did his best to stay quiet, not wanting to wake his mother and father, but then he peered out his window and spotted something in the darkness, slipping off into the orchard.

He furrowed his brow. That figure looked familiar. He saw it nearly every day, after all, so he was almost certain that he’d seen his father sneaking out of the house.

At first, he considered ignoring it entirely, but the rebellious teenage curiosity in him caused him to put out his lamp and, with a mischievous grin on his face, follow his father out into the darkened countryside.

To his surprise, his father wasn’t going to some clandestine poker game or any other such meeting. Instead, he tailed his father as he made his way along bare earthen pathways and over small streams as he went deeper and deeper into the forest. At last he saw him arrive at a sizable wooden cabin in the woods.

Fjord Mustang knocked on the door, and it opened a small crack. Cobbler was hidden behind a tree as he watched his father salute the pony behind the door.

“The gears will turn,” said the pony inside.

“The nation will rise,” Fjord replied.

Cobbler was barely breathing as he watched his father enter the cabin only to be greeted by a group of other ponies, stallions and mares alike, took seats on benches in what looked to be a meeting hall of sorts. He moved around the cabin, peering in through the windows. There were lanterns, but they were all dimmed. As a result, he couldn’t make out the faces of any of the ponies inside. Their voices were likewise muffled.

He tensed up. He knew this was something secret. Something where they didn’t want anyone to know who they were or what they were up to. What could his father have been up to in a place like this with ponies like these?

He decided to try to creep closer in the hopes that he might hear them speaking. But as he stepped out, his hoof caught on a vine and he stumbled forward, tumbling out of the woods and into the pale moonlight.

The ponies inside all stood up and looked out the window, locking their eyes on him.

“Intruder!” one of them bellowed.

Cobbler scrambled to his hooves, intending to gallop away as fast as he could, but one of the larger, more athletic ponies inside was on him before he could even reach the trees. Soon several of them had pinned him to the ground as he struggled.

“What are you doin’ here, boy?!” shouted one.

“He’s some kid from town!” shouted another.

“The Royal Guard send you here? Are you spyin’ on us, boy?!”

Cobbler looked all around in a panic until a familiar voice shouted, “Stop!”

They all turned, and Cobbler saw his father come through the crowd as it parted.

“D-Daddy?” Cobbler whimpered.

“That’s my boy, Cobbler Mustang,” Fjord said, letting out a long sigh. “Let him up.”

They did as he asked, and Cobbler got up, going to stand before his father.

“Daddy, I--”

Fjord slapped him across the face. “Boy, you have got some nerve, sneaking around in the dark like this, tryin’ to spy on your own father!” he yelled. “I thought you were either asleep or tendin’ to your studies!”

Cobbler began to tear up. “Daddy?” he asked. “I… I’m sorry, but… but what’s going on here? Who are these ponies?”

There was a hearty laugh as a younger, impeccably dressed gray stallion with a neatly combed mane walked over to them. “Looks like you’ll have to come clean, Fjord!” he said, his boisterous laugh echoing throughout the trees. He clapped both Cobbler and Fjord on the back. “You always said you wanted to bring your boy into this, Fjord. Well, now’s your chance!”

“Into what?” Cobbler asked, still looking around nervously. “What is all this?”

Fjord sighed. “Come inside, boy, and then keep quiet while the adults talk.”

Cobbler bowed his head and followed Fjord inside with the others.

As he did, the boisterous pony from before came up and took him by the hoof. “Don’t sweat it, kid,” he said, flashing a broad grin. “You’ll fit in before you know it! The name’s Cave Dweller, by the way! Scientist and salespony extraordinaire! You know, I’ve heard all about you and your inventions from your father. Maybe one day you and I could--”

“Save it for later, Cave!” hissed one of the others. “And keep your voice down! What part of ‘clandestine secret meeting’ didn’t you get?”

“Ah hahaha, you got me there!” Cave said, slapping Cobbler on the back once again. “We’ll talk later, kid!”

Still, despite the strange pony’s mannerisms, one thing stuck out to Cobbler: Cave had heard about his work from his father. His father did talk about him! He was proud of him!

Cobbler smiled as he sat next to his father on a bench seat while the speaker took the podium at the head of the room.

“Quit smilin’ like that, you dunderhead,” Fjord grumbled, giving him a hard look. “Now pay attention.”

The speaker cleared her throat. “My friends, there is good news and bad news this week,” she began. “The good news is that another of our members is on the town council, and I’m sure we all know whom I’m referring to.”

The ponies gathered all laughed but lightly rapped their hooves on the benches in applause.

“The bad news is that our latest polls indicate a 5% decrease in the number of ponies dissatisfied with Celestia’s rule.”

This got a round of jeers from the others.

“Still, we know that we will prevail!” the speaker declared. “We will one day all celebrate as we witness the rebirth of a new independent Mustangia!”

The ponies cheered again, but Cobbler only sat there. He looked over to his father and saw the smile on his face. All at once, he figured it out.

“Daddy,” he whispered, “you’re a secessionist?”

Fjord grinned, practically snorting as he held in a laugh. “Well, it seems you’ve figured it out, son,” he said. “Welcome to the Mustangian Independence Movement.”

Cobbler stared at his father in silence.

“Quit starin’ at me like that, Cobbler,” Fjord hissed. “Just keep quiet; you might learn somethin’.”




***


“So, your father really was a member of the secessionist movement, like you said,” Twilight surmised.

Cobbler nodded. “At first,” he said, “I was too shocked to say anything. To find out my father was a member of some clandestine organization was, well, surprising, to say the least.”

“But you told me that the group disbanded!” Twilight exclaimed.

“And it did,” Cobbler sighed. “For a time, I was proud to have something to share with my father. I began attending those meetings, feeling like quite the adult among so many other important and mature ponies.

“However, I was mostly expected to just sit quietly and observe, and I soon realized they were a bunch of squabbling old ponies with their heads on backwards. They treated inconsequential policy changes as though they were major battles in a war for independence and ignored the fact that the average mustang considered themselves part of Equestria and had no interest in secession. And then, I soon saw, the edges began to fray. I began to see that the group was falling apart. And at the center of it all was that proud, fast-talking pony, Cave Dweller…”


***




“I demand we re-draft our Declaration of Independence!” shouted one of the members at a late-night meeting.

“And I say we’ve already perfected it!” shouted another. “What we’ve proposed is the best way to declare our independence from the rest of Equestria! All you want to do is add to your own agenda!”

“What?! Why, sir, I never--”

“SHUT UP!”

They all turned to see Cave Dweller standing on top of the podium, his hooves raised to the heavens.

“That’s right, I said shut up!” he shouted. “You know, I joined this whole operation a few years back because all you ponies promised a new nation free from Celestia’s constant worrying about things like the role of technology or proper procedure or ethics boards. Little stuff like that! But now…” He chuckled, straightening his tie. “Look at you all: squabbling about a declaration you’ll probably never deliver.”

“Sir, you insult us!” said one of the older members.

“And why not?” Cave Dweller asked, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been going after this, celebrating every minor victory toward a cause practically nopony cares about or even knows about. For pony’s sake, Mustangia joined Equestria a hundred years ago.”

“It was two hundred years ago!” shouted another member indignantly.

“My point exactly!” Cave Dweller said, thumping the podium. “Practically nobody gives a good rotten peach if Mustangia is independent or not! By now, every single one of you was born into a Mustangia that was under Equestrian control. Not one of you remembers what the place was like before then! While you’re all fantasizing about the good ol’ days you can’t even remember, my group of scientists is the only group that’s bringing in new money!”

“You connivin’ carpetbagger!” shouted one of the mares. “Why, my family has given a bounty of bits to the cause!”

“I said new money,” Cave Dweller said. “A lot of you have farms and factories and stores, but you all know that you’re giving money that you’ll never get back. You want to see change around Equestria, then you might as well give up on all this make-believe nonsense about Mustangia seceding and put your bits someplace it will really count!”

The others all grumbled and began to squabble again until Fjord stood up, raising his hoof tentatively. The others all fell silent as he rose from his seat.

“What do you propose, Cave Dweller?” Fjord asked.

Cobbler saw that his father’s face was calm, but he could read the doubt in his eyes. Whether that was doubt in Cave Dweller or perhaps doubt in the cause itself, Cobbler couldn’t tell.

“Glad you asked!” Cave Dweller said, flashing his trademark grin. “We’re all spread apart. We’re too nebulous and too focused on different things! We need to come together into one place and put all our effort into something substantial. Spurned scientists and inventors for over a century have come to us, so why not take advantage of that? Let’s forget all this nonsense about a free Mustangia and start building our own nation! Instead of trying to recapture the past, let’s build a new nation! That’s right, we’ll make a new nation based on science! Science and technology, and all without worrying what Celestia or anypony else thinks!”

The older pony who’d spoken earlier got to his hooves, getting his hat and coat as he turned and stormed out of the building. A few more followed suit.

Cobbler’s father was not among them. And all the while, Cobbler Mustang simply sat in silence, mesmerized and dazzled at the thought of what Cave Dweller was proposing.

A new nation, Cobbler said to himself, feeling his pulse quicken. A nation based on science and technology. Why, I could build anything I liked! I could experiment all day, every day! No more worrying about Daddy’s business or anything else!

He heard Fjord clear his throat and turned to face him.

“Daddy?”

“Cobbler… go home.”

Cobbler gawked at him. “But Daddy, I--”

“You heard me, boy, now get!” Fjord snapped. “I’ve got some thinkin’ to do, an’ I don’t want you around while I do it!”

Cobbler grit his teeth, staring hard at his father before turning and dashing from the meeting hall, out into the night.




***


“That was the last meeting of the Mustangian Independence Movement that I ever attended,” Cobbler said, leaning back in his chair. “Shortly thereafter, I’m told, the group split apart. A few tried to keep it going and formed some tiny splinter cells, but they might as well have disappeared off the face of the planet. And in its place, Cave Dweller’s group began to take hold, though I wouldn’t find out until much later.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “So, that’s how TechQuestria was born?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It was little more than a think-tank,” he replied. “And it didn’t go by that name. Not yet, at least.”

“Just the same,” Twilight said, “you must have been happy about the change.”

“I barely thought about it,” Cobbler said, giving a shrug. “By that time, I had been accepted into the Sweet George Institute of Technology, or just George Tech, as we called it. All my efforts and studies had finally paid off, and I was out on my very own for the first time!” He puffed his chest out with pride.

Twilight nodded appreciatively. “It really is impressive,” she said, “being accepted to a university like that when you were so young.” Then she frowned. “But, please, what does this have to do with Turing? With… with your daughter?”

Cobbler’s smile faded. “I beg your pardon, Twilight,” he said, “but I feel I must tell this story my way. If you don’t know the whole truth, you can’t know how it was all connected. For you see, it was my rapid advancement in my studies of mechanical engineering that finally earned my father’s respect. He called me home one summer day, and at first I thought he wanted me to come help at one of the businesses again. But he had something else in mind.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“Daddy was never quite as focused on technology and innovation as Granddad and I, despite appreciating their uses,” he said, “but he had quite the passion for history and archeology. His study was adorned with artifacts from ancient civilizations: traditional zebra masks, buffalo peace pipes, scrimshaw from pegasus fishing tribes, and all manner of books on the subject. And that night, he showed me his latest and greatest acquisition…”


***




Forty-three years ago...

Cobbler shivered as an unseasonably chilly wind blew his mane back. He was seventeen and still taking summer classes at George Tech, but his father had ordered him home with the utmost urgency and no explanation. Whatever he’d wanted mattered little to him that night, however, as he stood by the receiving platform at his father’s factory.

Fjord was simply standing by, checking his watch as a sizable group of workers milled about, idly waiting for the train to arrive.

“I don’t see what this has to do with me, Daddy,” Cobbler grumbled. “And I don’t understand why you don’t just come out and tell me!”

“Mind your manners, boy,” Fjord said, rubbing his forelegs to stay warm.

“And don’t call me ‘boy!’” Cobbler snapped. “Why, I am a grown stallion on my own! I’m a university student and I’m making a name for myself!”

“I’ll remind you that I’m the one who pays for your schoolin’ there, boy,” Fjord said, turning to grin at him. “But I do agree that you will one day make a name for yourself. After all, you are a member of the Mustang Peaches, and one day you will be in charge of this business.”

“I don’t want any of that,” Cobbler said, shaking his head. “I’m going to be a great engineer. Why, all that tinkering in Granddad's workshop you said was a waste of time has left me one of the best in my class! My professors say they’ve never seen a brighter student!”

“That’s what I’m countin’ on, b-- Cobbler,” Fjord said, his mischievous grin becoming genuinely warm. He put his foreleg over his shoulder. “Whether you maintain this business yourself or appoint an overseer or just sell the whole enterprise, I am certain you will be a great stallion among others.”

Cobbler froze and gawked at his father. “Daddy,” he breathed. “I… why, you’ve never spoken like that to me before.”

Fjord bristled and looked away. “Don’t make a fuss, Cobbler,” he said, his cheeks reddening. Then his ears perked up and he looked up the railroad tracks.

A train whistle echoed out in the dark hills. Soon they spotted the bright headlight as the locomotive approached the factory, slowing down as it brought in its cargo. It screeched to a halt, releasing a cloud of steam as it did so.

Cobbler waved the steam away and saw that the train was not loaded with boxcars carrying fuel, hay, scrap metal, or any of the other usual cargo. Instead, the cars were flatbeds with massive wooden crates strapped tightly to them.

“Take ‘em to Warehouse 13,” Fjord said to the forepony.

“Understood, boss,” the worker said.

“And use the utmost care!” Fjord added. “This cargo is extremely valuable!”

Cobbler watched as they used a crane to load the crates onto dollies and then took them to Warehouse 13, which he knew to be empty.

Once the crates were unloaded, Fjord called for a crowbar and had one of the crates pried open. The tall crate was so large that a ladder was needed to reach the lid.

Fjord turned to Cobbler. “Well, go take a look,” he said, gesturing to the ladder.

Cobbler raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s inside?” he asked.

“Go and see,” Fjord laughed. “I think it’ll be right up your alley!”

Cobbler eyed his father suspiciously, still unsure what the big secret was, but climbed the ladder just the same. When he arrived at the top, he saw that it was stuffed full of straw to cushion whatever lay inside. He brushed some of it aside. He peered down. There was something there.

He pushed more straw aside, and suddenly he was staring into a giant pony’s face.





He yelped, nearly falling backwards, but one of the pegasus workers caught him.

“Wh-what in the world?!” Cobbler gasped. He took a closer look. The pony wasn’t real, he saw. It was made of baked clay and covered with a shiny, dark purple lacquer that was worn with age. It stared up at him lifelessly with eyes of polished yellow jewels.

“A… a statue?” he asked. Then he frowned and looked down the ladder at his father, who was still grinning. “You brought me here to look at your latest collection piece? A dang statue?!”

“That’s no statue, Cobbler,” Fjord said, calling for another ladder. He climbed it and stood next to his son. “This is a treasure that some thought lost to time, but after years of searching for it, my associates found it in the ruins of a stone temple in the middle of an endless desert in a far-off land. This is the ancient legend of the Yudacorns. This, Cobbler, is a golem.”

Cobbler’s mouth dropped open. Though he knew only a little of the legend, any automaton fanatic would be instantly fascinated by the prospect of an ancient automaton. Indeed, this was perhaps the world’s oldest automaton, and it was right here before him!

“Does… does it work?” Cobbler asked.

Fjord clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what I want you to find out,” he said. “For once, our interests seem to have converged. I’ll provide you with all the knowledge about the Yudacorns I can uncover, and you’ll see if you can figure out how it works.”

Cobbler bit his lip.

“Oh, don’t worry about your other studies, Cobbler,” Fjord said. “I wouldn’t dream of taking you from them. Consider this something to do when you have the spare time. After all, there is nopony in Mustangia who knows more about automata than you. I trust that you will eventually discover how to get it working once again.”

Cobbler at last broke into a smile. This was the chance of a lifetime. The legendary magical and technological construct was in his hooves, and he alone would be allowed to learn its secrets. With the knowledge he gained and the benefit of modern technology, he could build machines greater than even his grandfather could have imagined!

But still, he paused. “Daddy?” he asked. “I’ll be glad to do all this, but I just have to know… why do you want me to figure out how it works?”

Fjord was about to answer when they both heard chuckling behind them. They turned and saw who had strolled into the warehouse, his hooves lightly clicking on the hard concrete floor.

“Well, since you asked,” said Cave Dweller as he came into view, “let’s just say that science is its own reward.”

Cobbler gaped at the pony.

“Of course, we’re also counting on some actual rewards too, son,” Cave said, making a grand gesture as he stared off at some unseen, distant star. “Just you wait, kid! One day, we’re gonna change the world!”




***


Twilight stared at him, her mouth hanging open. “The golem,” she managed to say. “I remember when we saw an image of one on a tablet at the museum in Manehattan.”

“Another donation from my father’s collection,” Cobbler said, grinning slyly. “After all, why keep a picture of the golem when I had the real thing?”

Twilight swallowed. “Is that how you created Turing and the others?” she asked. “You based them on the golem’s technology?”

“Well, in the simplest sense, Twilight,” he said, turning his hoof over in the air, “yes. The golem, I discovered, had a series of spheres within spheres made up of individual plates inside its head. On those plates were the ancient magical runes of the Yudacorns. They were carved into the stone pieces and then filled with orichalcum. The ancient mages enchanted them and thus gave the golem a mind of its own. Primitive compared to what we’ve achieved with 002 and her successors, but millennia ahead of anything else in their time!”

Twilight rubbed her chin. “I see,” she said. “Then Turing Test and the others also have… runes in their heads?”

“Yes, but the system they operate under is far more complex,” Cobbler replied. “And even then, the golem took years of study to begin to decode and understand. Indeed, it took around twenty years before I finally cracked the code in its entirety.

“But while that was all going on, I had other things happening in my life. Indeed, the best was yet to come…”


***




Forty years ago...

Cobbler was trotting across campus one warm spring day when he heard a voice call out “Cobbler Mustang!”

He turned to look at the speaker... and the world became still.

Standing under a magnolia tree, its branches in full bloom with bright pink blossoms, was the most beautiful mare he had ever seen. She had shocking green eyes, a light pink coat, and a vibrant orange mane that was done up in elegant ringlets. She wore a plain white blouse with a pleated blue skirt.

His heart pounded, and his mouth felt dry. He became aware that he was staring and shook his head to clear his mind as he walked over to her.

“Y-yes?” he asked, trying to smile in a way that would look merely calm instead of giddy.

“Why look at you, Cobbler!” the mare exclaimed, her beautiful smile growing wider. “You haven’t changed a bit, you rascal!”

He froze, and his grin became forced. “Ah, well… yes, I mean,” he stammered.

Her smile faded, and she pouted at him. “Well, imagine that!” she cried indignantly, stomping her hoof. “To think that you would ever forget about me!”

He began to sweat. “I… I apologize, I’ve just been so wrapped up in my studies,” he said, “that I truly cannot recall the last time I was able to socialize.”

She raised an eyebrow, and a mischievous grin appeared on her face. “Is that so?” she asked. “Then perhaps you’ll remember… this!”

To his surprise and embarrassment, the mare leapt at him and tackled him to the ground where she began to tickle him furiously.

“Hahahaha stop!” he shouted, noticing that other students walking across the quad were staring at him. “P-please -- hahaha -- please, Miss, everypony’s staring!”

“I shall not let you go until you remember!” she laughed. “Besides, you were the one who always used to start our tickle fights!”

He gasped in spite of how hard he was laughing and whipped his head around to stare at her.

“Sweet Clementine?!” he exclaimed.

She at last relented and clapped her hooves together. “Oh, Cobbler, you do remember!” she cried, squealing with delight.

Then she noticed that she was straddling him, her muzzle mere inches from his.

“O-oh!” she stammered, stepping back as he got to his hooves, brushing magnolia blossoms from his shirt. “I’m terribly sorry, Cobbler. I saw you and simply lost my mind. I do hope you are not cross with me?”

She put out her lip, looking at him like a misbehaving filly. He would have forgiven her for anything with a look like that.

“It’s quite all right,” he said, smiling at her. “But Clementine--”

“Clemie,” she said, holding up a hoof. “Call me by my old nickname.”

“Th-then, Clemie,” he said, starting again, “where have you been all these years?”

“Well, Cobbler, back when you and I were friends, my father was a clerk down at the Mustang City general store,” she said. “But it seems that Daddy was moonlighting as a bootlegger. He was running white lightning all over the region. Well, once the authorities caught wind, he just up and moved the two of us all over Equestria. Then one day he just took off and never came home.” She looked down at that. “I’ve been a ward of the State for the last few years.”

Cobbler frowned. “Why, Clemie, I had no idea!” he said, reaching over to her, placing a hoof gently on her shoulder.

She smiled. “Well, pay it no mind,” she said. “I have been studying hard to make something better of myself, and now I am here at this university, learning all about agriculture!”

Cobbler’s smile returned. “I see!” he said. “It certainly is fortunate that we would meet up here again after all these years.”

“So tell me,” she began, “are you a first year as well? And what are you studying?”

Cobbler blushed. “I… well, actually, I entered early, and it seems that I am about to graduate,” he explained. “And after that, I intend to pursue a doctorate. One day, I just might be the one teaching the classes instead of taking them!”

He thrust out his chest, and Clementine began to laugh.

“Oh my!” she cried, making a silly face. “Does that mean that I will someday have to call you Professor Cobbler Mustang?”

Rather than laughing, he only smiled serenely at her. “No,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “You, Clemie, can always just call me Cobbler.”

Her cheeks reddened. “A-all right then,” she said, looking away. Then she took a deep breath and met his eyes again. “But what’s this about you spending all your time studying and never socializing?”

“Well, I suppose that’s just how it’s been,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “After all, I intended to graduate at the end of two years, so I’ve been taking about 25 credit hours each semester.”

She gawked at him. “My my my!” she breathed. Then she stood up straight, almost like a soldier. “Well, even if that is the case, I’m afraid it simply will not do. Cobbler Mustang, it’s not good to be working all the time!”

“I--”

“And that is why,” she said, her expression still serious, “I will do you the favor letting you buy me coffee at the student center cafe.”

He blinked. “Letting me… what?”

“I… I want to have coffee,” she said, her blush returning. “With you. To catch up.”

And then his own cheeks began to burn. “Ah!” he cried, just a little louder than he would have liked. “Yes, of course! I would like some coffee too! To catch up with you!”

The two of them continued staring at each other until they both erupted into nervous chuckles.

“Well, when shall I meet you?” she asked.

He took out his pocket watch, but then paused and stuffed it back into his shirt without consulting it. “Right now,” he said, gesturing toward the student center building.

“What? But don’t you have a class?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I suppose, but I’ve devoted enough time to study in that class,” he said. “Right now, there’s something else I’d rather be doing, and this is just where I want to be.”

He offered her his hoof, and she smiled as she took it, letting him lead on.




***


“The next few years were like a dream,” Cobbler said, tilting his head back as he heaved a sigh. He closed his eyes, smiling at the memory. “I’d always considered my work to be the most important thing in my life, but courting Sweet Clementine fulfilled me in ways I’d never imagined. She was so kind and funny, and every day after our respective classes, we’d find each other and eat dinner together, or read a book, or debate over coffee, or simply fall asleep snuggled up next to each other while we played a record. It truly was like paradise.”

He opened his eyes and turned to face Twilight, who was smiling.

“She sounds lovely, Cobbler,” she said. Then, pausing, she asked, “So, what happened then?”

“Well,” he said, “we had plans to get engaged after we received our respective degrees. I even finally achieved my goal and was hired right out of school as an associate professor at George Tech. But right as things looked perfect, life reminded us both that fate can be cruel at times.”

“What happened?” Twilight asked.

He heaved a sigh. “My mother died,” he said quietly. “She… it was just a simple bee sting, but nopony ever knew she was allergic. She’d somehow gone her whole life without being stung, and then one day while she was tending her flowers… well, they rushed her to hospital, but it was too late.”

Twilight frowned. “I’m sorry, Cobbler,” she whispered. “I saw her grave behind your house. I’m sure she was a wonderful mare.”

“Indeed she was,” Cobbler said, nodding his head. “But as much as she meant to me, I realized she meant even more to my father. After her passing, Daddy seemed to just fade away. I tried my best to help with the business here and there between my new teaching duties, my studies, and tending to the mare who somehow forgave me for postponing our engagement, but Daddy never was the same.

“He just seemed to stop caring about his appearance and his health, and I later learned that his involvement with Cave Dweller fell by the wayside as well. Within a year, he also passed away.”

Twilight hung her head. “I… I can’t even imagine that, Cobbler,” she whispered. “If I ever lost my parents, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“It was the most awful feeling I’d ever experienced up to that point,” he said. “And that’s why Clemie found me in the graveyard that one evening 35 years ago…”


***




Thirty-five years ago...

Sweet Clementine woke up from her nap on the couch in the living room of the Mustang Peach family mansion. It had been a trying few days since Fjord Mustang’s funeral. Cobbler had kept his composure through the funeral and spoken finely of his father, impressing the whole countryside as they came to pay their respects to one of Mustangia’s greatest leaders.

The cards came pouring in, and that fell to Auntie Bellum and herself, while Cobbler did his best to deal with managing his father’s will and tending to the businesses. He’d been granted leave for bereavement from the university, so that was one less thing on his mind, but still Cobbler seemed to have grown numb to the world around him.

Clementine went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, but then she looked out the back window and saw somepony as they made their way down the path behind the house toward the family graveyard just around the corner. She knew in an instant that it was Cobbler, and so she set her glass down and galloped out the backdoor to follow him.

It had been gray and miserable the last three autumn days, but only now that she left the house did it finally start to rain.

It came on suddenly, not with a light drizzle, but a sudden burst from the heavens. There was little wind and no thunder, but she quickly became drenched in the downpour of fat, heavy raindrops. But she paid it no mind as she followed the path and at last found Cobbler.

The young stallion was sitting on the ground before his father’s freshly dug grave, the overturned earth becoming thick, dark mud.

“Cobbler!” she cried.

He slowly turned to face her. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was hanging open and the rain had plastered his black mane to his head and neck. In contrast to the stoic image he’d been projecting for the last few days, she could see that he was sniffling and sobbing like a foal, at last showing the grief that he’d been keeping inside.

“Clemie,” he whispered. “I… Daddy left me everything. He even left a final letter to me s-saying how proud of me he was, and… and these last few years I f-felt like I was trying to get away from this place and trying to be a different pony, but I c-can’t remember the last time I told Daddy that--” he choked back a sob “--that I loved him and now I… I…”

He lowered his head, pounding the ground in frustration. “Oh, Clemie, what am I going to do now?!” he screamed. “I’m not half the pony my daddy was! I can’t run a business like he did! I… I can’t carry on the family name like this! I’m just a no-count, useless tinkering--”

“Stop it!” she shrieked, silencing him in an instant. She went to him, sitting next to him as she embraced him tightly. “You never talk like that again, Cobbler Mustang!”

He felt her trembling, and so he slowly returned the embrace, the two of them sitting by the grave as the rain poured down, soaking them both to the bone.

“Clemie,” he whispered, holding her more tightly.

“You are a wonderful, kind, and brilliant pony, Cobbler,” she said as she also began to break down. “I know your daddy was a great pony, but you are not him, nor should you be! You’re going to be great in your own way, and that’s why I love you!”

Cobbler said nothing at first.

“Cobbler, dear?” she asked.

He slowly released her and drew back. “Clemie,” he began, looking her in her beautiful green eyes, “do you truly mean all that?”

She managed a smile. “Oh, Cobbler, you silly thing,” she said. “Of course I do. I love you with all my heart. I can’t stand to see you hurting like this, so please don’t say such terrible things.”

“Then,” he said, taking a deep breath, “perhaps I should say something else.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment until he took her hoof. Her eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth with her other hoof.

“Sweet Clementine, will you marry me?”

Even in the rain, he could see the happy tears in her eyes as she nodded. They held each other as their lips met, kissing each other as fiancés for the very first time.

“Well, it’s about dang time!” a mare’s voice shouted.

They both whirled around to see Auntie Bellum standing there under an umbrella.

“Auntie?!” Cobbler asked.

“I don’t suppose y’all could’ve waited to come in out of the rain, but at least you finally popped the question, nephew,” she said. Then she smiled. “Now come on, let’s get you both inside ‘fore you both catch your death o’ cold!”




***


“And, once again, life was like a dream,” Cobbler said, smiling broadly. “After our wedding, we moved into the house and worked as a team to keep it all going. I taught a few classes at George Tech while doing my research on various new innovations and delegating how to run the businesses - and secretly continuing to acquire more ancient tomes to try and discover the secrets of the magical runes that powered the golem whenever possible - while Clemie took to managing the orchard with her expertise in agriculture.

“My wife, Clementine, was truly one of a kind, Twilight,” he said, his eyes tearing up. “Oh, you would have loved her. She was just… just one of the most wonderful ponies you ever did see!”

Twilight frowned. Judging from his expression, she had a feeling that things hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned. Though she dreaded hearing what happened next, she placed her hoof on his shoulder and simply asked, “What happened to her?”

Cobbler took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s funny, Twilight,” he said, though his expression gave no hint of amusement. “We lived as a married couple, just the two of us for five years. It was only when we were both approaching thirty that we felt as though life had calmed down enough for us to have a child. Clementine talked endlessly about becoming a mother. She… she was so looking forward to it.

“But a month before her due date, while I was in my study, the maids suddenly screamed that Clemie had collapsed in the kitchen. She was…” he paused, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to continue speaking. “She’d fallen to the floor and was just screaming with pain. We rushed her to the hospital, and that was when the doctors told me that she was going into premature labor. I asked them, begged them to tell me what was wrong, but they ushered me out into the waiting room to take Clemie into surgery. They told me that my child was coming that day, due date or no.

“And so I sat out there in the waiting room, uncertain of what was going on with either my wife or our baby, until the doctor came out to speak with me at last…”


***




Thirty years ago...

Cobbler was sitting in the waiting room when the doctor came through the doors. He instantly got to his hooves.

“Dr. Stirrup!” Cobbler cried. “How’s my wife? Is she all right?”

“Professor Cobbler,” Dr. Stirrup said, heaving a long sigh. “Please, sit down.”

“I will do no such thing!” he shouted. “All this time I’ve spent sitting out here, nopony’s told me a thing! Why I’ve been worried sick, and I will have answers--”

“And I’ll give them to you now,” he said softly, gesturing to the couch where Cobbler had been sitting. “But please, I’d like you to sit down.”

Cobbler was about to protest again when he saw the somber, tired look in the doctor’s eyes. He sat down.

“Doctor?” he asked quietly, his voice almost a whimper. “What’s going on? How’s Clementine?”

Dr. Stirrup swallowed. “Sweet Clementine collapsed as the result of an amniotic fluid embolism,” he said. “It’s where amniotic fluid or skin cells or other material accidentally enters the mother’s bloodstream through the placental bed of the uterus. It’s extremely rare, but it causes a severe allergic reaction which causes heart and lung failure and severe hemorrhaging.”

Cobbler stared at him. He felt a tightness in his chest. “But… but you’re doing everything you can, right?” he asked. “You’re treating her?”

Dr. Stirrup bowed his head. “We tried, Cobbler,” he said, swallowing. “We really did do absolutely everything we could. But I’m afraid, in the end, her condition was too severe. There was nothing we could do.”

Cobbler’s head felt light. He was dizzy, and he had to steady himself by placing his forehooves on the arm of the sofa. His mouth felt dry. What the doctor had told him began to sink in.

Tears began to spill from his eyes. “Clementine’s… dead?”

Dr. Stirrup bowed his head. “I’m so sorry, Professor Cobbler.”

He vaguely remembered the sound he made: the awful, mournful sound of a pony who’d lost the most precious thing in the world. He could barely remember how he’d broken down and hugged the doctor, sobbing on his shoulder in spite of himself. He never thought he could feel something so awful as when his parents had died, but this feeling was truly the most awful thing he could imagine.

And yet, cutting through it all, he did finally hear one thing: “Would you like to see your baby?”

He swallowed, getting control of himself even as he stared at the doctor through tear-stained eyes. “I… what?”

“Cobbler, please, listen to me,” Dr. Stirrup said. “I’ve been trying to tell you that we saved the baby. She’s tiny, which isn’t unexpected for being born a month early, but - as near as we can tell - she’s in perfect health.”

“S-she?” he stammered.

Dr. Stirrup managed a smile. “You have a daughter, Cobbler Mustang,” he said. “Congratulations. You’re a father.”


***


Cobbler approached the crib in the neonatal ward. There were so many things running through his head that he didn’t know what to feel.

He was a widower. But he was a father. His family was gone. But there was a new baby here. His wife had died because of this child. But this child was his.

He stepped over to the crib and peered inside.

The tiny foal was wrapped up in a pink blanket. Her coat was a light brown, the color of coffee with milk, and her mane was dark brown. She was sleeping soundly, completely still as though she were merely a doll.

But as he rested his hooves on the edge of the crib, she opened her eyes and looked up at her father for the first time.

Her large glassy eyes were unfocused, but just the same they seemed to lock onto him, and she fidgeted, moving her little forehooves slightly.

Something in his chest swelled, and in spite of the grief that he felt, he couldn’t help but smile, his breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the tiny miracle before him.

He turned to face Dr. Stirrup. “May I hold her?” he asked.

Dr. Stirrup smiled. “Of course, Professor Cobbler,” he replied, “she’s your daughter.”

He gently picked her up, holding her in his forelegs. She murmured slightly, but then relaxed as he held her. The tiny filly shut her eyes contentedly as she went back to sleep.

Cobbler held back tears and laughed, holding his daughter close, rocking her back and forth. “Hello, little girl,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy. Welcome to the world.”

Dr. Stirrup came over. “What are you going to name her?” he asked.

Cobbler paused, pursing his lips. “We… Clementine and I, that is, had considered naming the baby George, after the university where we started courting, if it was a colt,” he replied. “But, since it’s a filly, I believe I’ll call her... Georgia.” He smiled, nodding at the sound of the name. “Yes, that’s it. I’ll name her Georgia Peach.”

The doctor nodded, then left to get the paperwork and the birth certificate.

With the two now alone, Cobbler whispered, “I certainly wish your mama was here to see you.” He took a deep breath. “But don’t you worry. I’m gonna love you and raise you the best that I can, even if it’s all on my own.

“The world is a wonderful place, but it can also be tough sometimes, Georgia. But don’t you fret,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll use everything at my disposal to shelter you and keep you safe.”




To be continued…