//------------------------------//
// Shelter, Part 2 
// Story: The Iron Horse: Everything's Better With Robots! 
// by The Hat Man 
//------------------------------//

Twilight and Cobbler sat down together on the sofa back in Twilight’s ‘quarters.’ After telling the first part of his story, they both felt that they needed a break. Thus, even though it was getting late, they both settled in at the coffee table with some cups of tea.

Twilight gently lifted the teacup with her hooves, finding it a bit awkward to do so since she typically raised it with her magic. However, with the magic suppressor on her horn, that wasn’t an option.

She blew on the tea to cool it slightly before taking a sip. “I’m sorry, Cobbler,” she said quietly. “About your wife, I mean. It sounds like she was a wonderful pony.”

“That she was,” Cobbler replied, smiling as he also took a sip of his tea. “I suppose, though, that I should simply be grateful for the time we had together. Many wonderful years, and it was only an accident of nature that took her from me. I couldn’t be angry about that.

“After all,” he said, his expression darkening, “it isn’t as though that time was stolen from us.”

Twilight looked away. She was fairly certain that she knew who that jab was directed at, but she kept silent and set her teacup down.

“Maybe it would be best if you continued your story,” Twilight said, turning to face him. “After all, I still don’t quite see how this connects to Turing Test.”

“Yes, I suppose I should get on with it,” Cobbler said, nodding as he took a long drink of tea. He gave a satisfied sigh and set his cup down as well. “You don’t have any foals in your family at present, do you Twilight?”

Twilight shook her head. “No, not yet,” she said, then smiled, adding, “but my brother and sister-in-law are having a baby soon.”

“Ah yes,” he said, nodding and likewise giving her a warm smile. “Congratulations. Children can be quite a lot of work, but few things can enrich one’s life or give a sense of purpose quite like having a child of your own.

“Still, I was swiftly overwhelmed when I brought Georgia home. Fortunately, Auntie Bellum came to help. She never married or had foals, but she’d done her fair share of babysitting and helped care for me when I was born. She truly was a blessing and helped me keep my wits as I tried to balance being a single father, dealing with Clementine’s death, and managing my business. But fortunately, Georgia Peach was a very even-tempered baby. Sweet, not fussy at all, at least in Auntie’s estimation. But even though Auntie and the servants helped out with a lot of it, I personally made it my responsibility to hold her, give her a bottle, and rock her to sleep each night.”

He shut his eyes, remembering. “She was such a tiny thing,” he said quietly. “But she began to grow, and soon I had a toddler on my hooves. Auntie Bellum stayed for so long that she just decided to stay with us, and I had no objection either. That big house felt a little less lonely with the three of us living there. Just the same, I turned back to my other side projects once she was a bit older, and perhaps I relied on Auntie and the help too much…”


***




Twenty-five years ago...

Cobbler was at his desk in his private study. In front of him were pages upon pages of scrawled notes of the Yudacorns’ strange runes. He felt he was getting closer and closer to understanding the meaning of each one and that, he believed, would tell the whole story behind getting the golem to work again. Even though it had been well over ten years since his father had given him the strange stone automaton, he still pushed himself to unlock its secrets. Sweet Clementine’s death and Georgia Peach’s birth had interrupted his progress, but now that his daughter was five years old, she could get by without him constantly being around.

“This symbol,” he muttered, “it indicates something to do with change… or perhaps transference? Is that why it occurs so often between the different layers of the golem’s internal mechanism?”

He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. “But others occur in the intermediate layers too,” he said, shutting his eyes tightly. “How are they connected? And does it have to do with the order of the layers? I need to find more--”

“Daddy!”

He sat up with a start, jerking his head toward the door. Little Georgia Peach stood there with a straw hat adorned with a blue ribbon. She wore a broad, beaming smile on her face.

“Yes, sweetie, what is it?” he asked, hiding his irritation at being interrupted. She’d been told before not to disturb him while he was in his study.

“Daddy, I’m gonna have a tea party with the orchard workers!” she cried.

“Oh,” he said, blinking at her. “Well, that’s nice. They are doing that during their lunch break, aren’t they?”

“They surely are!” Georgia quipped. “They all promised we could have some tea and cookies! That nice Mr. Burning Bones says he’s gonna play his guitar for me!”

“Very well,” he said, nodding to her as he turned back to his work. “You go enjoy yourself.”

But Georgia shook her head. “No, Daddy!” she laughed. “I want you to come too!”

He looked over at her, his smile slipping. “When is it?” he asked slowly.

“Why, right now!” she exclaimed.

But he shook his head. “I’m truly sorry, honey, but I must return to my work. I’m very far behind on it. Perhaps another day…”

Georgia’s ears drooped. “But… but you’ve been working on those silly old papers for weeks,” she said. “Auntie says she can’t remember the last time you came to dinner.”

He waved her off. “I’m sure it hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been more than twenty days,” she said. “And I certainly should know! I can count up to a hundred now, you know!”

“That’s nice,” he mumbled, picking up another paper.

“Daddy, come on,” she whined, sticking out her lower lip as she trotted over to him. “Won’t you please come? I miss you.”

“Not now, Georgia,” he replied, narrowing his eyes.

“Just for a while? I promise it’ll be just the funnest time!”

“Not now, Georgia!” he growled.

“Daddy, please!” she shouted, and burst into tears.

He finally raised his head again and saw the poor girl sitting on the floor as she cried. In an instant, his heart melted, and his anger dissolved. He went to her and embraced her.

“Oh, hush now, Georgia, Daddy’s sorry,” he said, holding her. “There there, my precious girl. I didn’t mean to be so hard on you.”

“I-I’m sorry too, Daddy,” she managed to say, wiping her eyes on her forelegs. Cobbler got her a handkerchief to blow her nose. “I know you’re ever so busy. We can have a tea party some other time.”

Cobbler sighed, standing up to get his jacket. “We can,” he said, “but it’s a beautiful day, and how could I possibly say no to such a request from a sweet young lady such as yourself?”

Her eyes lit up. “You mean…?”

“Let’s go to your tea party,” he said. “This work was going on when your granddaddy was still with us, so I think it’ll wait a little longer.”

“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” she cried, leaping up to embrace him again.

“You are quite welcome, my dear,” he said. “Now, let’s go. We shouldn’t keep your other guests waiting.”


***


After the tea party out in the orchard, Cobbler and Georgia took a walk around the countryside. On the way back, Georgia started to get tired, so Cobbler carried her on his head while she wore his hat.

“That Mr. Burning Bones was just wonderful with that guitar, Daddy!” Georgia said.

“So you’ve said, and I must say that I agree,” Cobbler said, glancing up at the filly. “Still, I say that you are mostly of that opinion because he wrote that song about you.”

She giggled. “Mayyyybeee…” she replied. “Sing it with me again, Daddy?”

Cobbler sighed. “Oh, Georgia, you know I’m not much of a singer. Besides, you get the easy parts…”

“Pleeeaase?” she whined, leaning over his muzzle to look at him upside-down.

“Oh you are getting a lot of mileage out of that word today, young lady,” he said. Still, he heaved a sigh and said, “Very well, but just one last time.”

“Hooray!” she cheered, nearly throwing Cobbler’s balance off as he trotted up the dirt road.

“Now let’s see… it starts… um…”

“‘No foal made…’”

“Oh, yes, yes, that’s it,” he said. He cleared his throat.

“No foal made has got a shade on--”

“Sweet Georgia Peach!” Georgia sang, completing the line.

“Four left hooves but how she grooves, that--”

“Sweet Georgia Peach!”

“They all sigh and wanna cry for--”

“Sweet Georgia Peach!”

“I’ll tell you just whyyy,” Cobbler sang, drawing out the syllable. “You know I don’t lie!”

“Not much!” Georgia sang, completing the line with a mischievous grin.

“It’s been said she knocks ‘em dead when she lands in town.
Since she came why it’s a shame how she’s cooled ‘em down.
Good friends that she can’t get, must be ponies she ain’t met.
Mustang named her, George Tech claimed her--”

“Sweet! Georgia Peach!”






They both laughed and were still humming the catchy little tune as they came round the bend and arrived at the path that led to their mansion.

But when they were nearly at the house, Cobbler slowed. He saw the pony sitting nearby, a glass of iced tea in his hoof as he chatted up one of the maids.

He made a face and set Georgia down. “Pardon me, Georgia, but it seems I have a guest today,” he said. “You go on inside and play, honey.”

“All right,” she said, nuzzling him. “Thanks for spending time with me. I love you, Daddy.”

Cobbler smiled down at her. “I love you too, Georgia Peach. Now go on. I’ll see you at dinner, if possible.”

The girl nodded and rushed toward the door. She smiled at their guest and gave a short curtsy before going on inside.

“Cute little filly!” the visitor said, walking over to him, sticking out his hoof. He had the same easy smile as before, the same snazzy suit, and also a pair of saddlebags laid across his back. “It’s been a long time, Professor!”

Cobbler managed a smile and shook his hoof, despite his uneasiness. “It certainly has, Cave Dweller,” he replied. “What brings you to my home?”

“Let me answer that question with a question,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “How’s the work on the golem going?”

Cobbler made a face. “Slowly,” he replied.

“Ah.” Cave Dweller nodded. “That’s what I figured. Maybe this will help.”

He reached into his saddlebag and removed a book, holding it open.

Cobbler gasped. It was a detailed listing of various Yudacorn runes, complete with pictures, instructions on proper stroke order, and notes on meanings laid out in plain Equestrian.

“Where did you get this?!” he demanded, reaching for the book.

But Cave Dweller snatched it back. “Ah ah ah, Cobbler Mustang,” he said, waving it tauntingly. “I just said it might help; I didn’t say you could have it.”

Cobbler frowned. “Trying to sell it to me?” he asked. “I see your old aspirations have dried up and you’re back to being a salespony.”

Cave Dweller shook his head. “Those days are long gone, my friend,” he said. “And my aspirations are stronger than ever!” He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. “You remember that ‘new nation’ I talked about? One based on science and innovation?”

Cobbler nodded.

“I built it.”

Cobbler gawked at him. “What?! Where?”

“Funny you ask that,” he said, chuckling. “Your old dad bought up an old salt mine a while back and turned it over to us. We started from there and just kept digging. We’re still in the process of turning it into something great, but more and more ponies who are sick of living under Equestria’s laws, and especially Celestia’s mistrust of technology, are coming in all the time. We’ve got some automaton builders among them, in fact.”

Cobbler had to admit that his interest was piqued. He hadn’t had as much time to devote to his old hobby as he would have liked, but his passion for those machines had never really gone away. The golem was part of that, of course.

“They idolized your grandfather,” Cave Dweller continued, “and they think you’ve got a bit of his old magic. I’m pretty sure it’s more than a bit.” He elbowed him, giving him a sly wink.

Cobbler heaved a sigh. “Cave Dweller, what do you want from me?” he asked, resignation in his voice.

“Three things,” he said. “One: I’d like you to collaborate with some of those automaton builders. Show ‘em what you know, maybe even learn from them. Form a little group. Just a club or something.”

“Done. Gladly.”

“Next, I want you to share your research on the golem and these darn runes,” he said. “I’ve got sources, including your dad’s old contacts overseas, so we can get more books like this one to help. But in exchange, some of my guys would like to help with the effort. Seventeen years is way too much time to spend on a single project without any payoff. You’re still in charge, and anything that gets published will have your name at the top, but maybe some extra hooves can speed things up.”

Cobbler rubbed his chin. He wasn’t necessarily keen on sharing his work with strangers, but he also had to admit that there was no end in sight if he kept working at this pace. Not to mention the fact that it was obviously taking him away from his other work… and especially his family.

“Very well,” Cobbler said. “And lastly?”

“And lastly,” Cave Dweller said, chuckling slightly. “I’d like you to come to Old Betsy with me.”

Cobbler tilted his head. “The old still? Daddy’s will said he wanted me to preserve it for some reason, so I suppose I can. But why--”

“Oh, you’ll see for yourself, Cobbler,” Cave Dweller said, holding out the book. “I think you’ll find we’ve been cooking up a lot more than brandy.”




***


“So that’s when he showed you TechQuestria,” Twilight surmised.

Cobbler nodded. “Yes, although it wasn’t called by that name back then,” he said. “Matter of fact, it didn’t even have a name yet. We just called ourselves ‘the Group,’ and that big hole in the ground ‘the Nation.’ I wasn’t all that impressed with the place just yet, but the ponies there were some of the most original free-thinkers and innovators I’d ever met. They even made the ponies at George Tech look like amateurs. I wasn’t too happy about the fact that they’d continued dwelling under my property for all that time, but I decided to let it go. If they could advance the work and free me up to spend more time with my daughter too, well, I figured it was worth the price.”

Twilight smiled. “You really did love her, didn’t you?” she said. “Georgia Peach, I mean.”

Cobbler returned the smile and puffed out his chest. “Of course!” he replied. “Why, she was the light of my life. And what father wouldn’t be proud of such a clever and well-mannered young lady? And perhaps the proudest day of all was when we celebrated her cutecañera, which we held the day after that film we watched was taken.”

He paused, his smile fading. “But,” he said, his voice quiet, “that was also the day when everything changed. Forever.”


***




Twenty years ago…

Cobbler stepped out his front door, dressed in his finest suit, and smiled brightly at the friends and neighbors. They were all likewise dressed in fancy clothes. Tables laden with snacks and bowls of punch had been set up, a piñata was hung from a branch of one of the great oak trees that lined the front path to the house, and the whole yard had been filled with decorations, including balloons and streamers and a banner that bore a picture of Georgia’s face. Several of the workers, Burning Bones included, had formed a band to play music for the event. He also had one of the servants holding his newly-purchased movie camera to capture the whole affair on film.

Truly, it was nothing but the best for the daughter of Mustangia’s most prominent citizen.

“My friends!” he shouted, raising his hoof. “Thank you all for coming! And now, without further ado, may I present a young filly who will no doubt one day become one of Equestria’s greatest horticulturalists… my daughter, Georgia Peach!”

Georgia emerged from the house, wearing an elegant white dress, her mane in ringlets and ribbons as she held her head high. The crowd erupted into applause.

Though she tried to keep her composure, Georgia couldn’t help herself and began to tear up at the sight of all the ponies gathered just for her.

“Oh… oh, everypony, I’m just ever so glad to see you all here!” she cried. “I simply don’t know what to say!”

“Ain’t nothin’ to say, Miss Georgia!” shouted one of the guests in the crowd. “Except maybe for ‘Let’s party!’”

This got a laugh from the crowd, Georgia included, and she wiped her eyes. “Yes, that’s right!” she said, rearing up and kicking her forelegs gleefully. “Let the party begin!”

At that, the band began playing a round of “Sweet Georgia Peach,” which by that time had become a fairly well-known tune around Mustangia, and the party went into full swing.

Well into the revelries, and after many a partygoer had come up to Cobbler to congratulate him on his daughter’s newfound special talent, Cave Dweller came up alongside Cobbler.

“Big day, my friend,” Cave Dweller said. He opened his suit a little and revealed a flask in his front pocket, raising an eyebrow mischievously.

“None for me, thank you,” Cobbler said, waving off the request. He turned to watch Georgia open her presents at the head of a long table. Her classmates and other children from around Mustang City were seated on either side, encouraging her to open their present next.

“I understand,” Cave Dweller said, closing his suit again. “I suppose I’d want to stay clearheaded at a time like this if I were in your horseshoes.” Then he chuckled and leaned in, his voice lowered to a whisper. “Still, seems everything is going great these days. Your daughter’s got her cutie mark, we’re finally getting some permanent residential buildings in the Nation, and next month is the first test of the newly-restored golem!”

“Right now, I’d rather not think of business or politics,” Cobbler whispered back. “I just want to watch my daughter open her presents.”

Cave Dweller nodded, and they both looked on as Georgia tore open another present, a box which contained a new straw hat.

“It’ll keep the sun out of ya eyes while ya workin’ in the garden, Miss Georgia!” said the colt who’d given it to her.

“Oh, I just love it, Dandy Fine!” Georgia exclaimed, placing it on her head. “And it’s a perfect fit!”

The little colt blushed. “W-well, it was just a lucky guess about ya hat size,” he stammered.

Cave Dweller snickered. “Looks like she might already have a gentlecolt admirer,” he whispered, elbowing Cobbler in the ribs.

Cobbler rolled his eyes. “Don’t even joke like that,” he said. “I hate to think of my little girl growing up so fast as it is, what with her new cutie mark and all.”

The next present was a set of gardening tools. After that came a watering can. Then a flower pot, a few packets of seeds, a guidebook of flowers, and so on.

With each present, Georgia’s excitement grew, her smile radiant and her eyes looking like they would practically pop right out.

But then everyone noticed that she seemed to be sweating an awful lot for such a temperate day, and she kept placing her hoof on her chest for some reason.

And then Cobbler watched as Georgia’s expression went from joyous to shocked and tense. She leaned forward over the table, gasping for air and clutching her chest, her eyes bulging.

“Georgia!” Cobbler screamed, dashing forward, plowing through the other partygoers as he ran to her side. He caught her just as she collapsed, gasping for air as she cried out in pain.

“D-daddy!” she managed to say. “My chest! It hurts! It-- augh!”

“Get a cart!” Cobbler bellowed, turning to the stunned onlookers, his eyes filled with panic. “We have to get her to a hospital now!”


***


Cobbler sat in the waiting room in Mustangia General Hospital once again. He was trembling, wondering what was happening to his daughter and filled with the memory of the last time he’d been there.

The day Georgia had been born. The day Sweet Clementine had died.

He’d been sitting in that very room.

He hated this place.

“Professor Cobbler Mustang?”

Cobbler stood to see a middle-aged unicorn stallion walking over to him. He was blue in color and had a straight, shiny black mane that was swept neatly over his forehead. He also had thick, round glasses and had just a hint of an accent that Cobbler couldn’t place.

“Yes, I’m Cobbler Mustang,” he said, getting to his hooves.

“I’m Dr. Dosanko Umahara,” he said, bowing to him slightly. “I’m a cardiologist, and I’m treating your daughter.”

“Is she all right?!” Cobbler demanded.

“She’s fine for now,” he replied.

He sighed with relief, but then paused. “What do you mean ‘for now?’”

Dr. Umahara shut his eyes. “Professor Cobbler… perhaps you should sit down.”

He felt lightheaded, and his throat went dry. Dutifully, he sat down.

“Doctor… what’s wrong with my baby girl?” he asked, his voice quiet and wavering.

Dr. Umahara sat down in front of him. “I pulled Georgia’s medical records. It seems she was born prematurely, correct?”

Cobbler nodded.

“That confirms our test results,” he said. He sighed heavily before continuing. “Professor, your daughter has a rare form of a degenerative heart condition called cardiomyopathy. The muscle walls of her heart are too thin and, as a result, her heart is pumping blood inefficiently. Over time, they will increasingly weaken to the point of heart failure.”

Cobbler gawked at him. “No,” he breathed. Then, urgently, he leaned forward and asked “What are the treatments?! Money is no object, I assure you!”

“There is some medication to slow the progression,” he said, “but she will eventually need a heart transplant.”

Cobbler managed to catch his breath. “I see,” he said. Then, drawing himself up, he said “Very well. Let’s find her a heart.”

“I’ve already added her to the waiting list for heart donation candidates,” Dr. Umahara said. Then he narrowed his eyes. “However, I should tell you that it is a long list, and your daughter’s blood type, Qa, is fairly uncommon, so finding a suitable donor will be difficult.”

Cobbler said nothing for a moment, but then he steepled his hooves, taking a deep breath. “How long does she… I mean, how long do we have to find one?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Dr. Umahara replied. “However, the most extreme case I have ever heard is a patient who lived to the age of thirty-one.”

“The ‘most extreme?’” Cobbler asked, sitting up. “How long do most patients live?”

“I… that is, most patients who fail to receive a new heart survive until anywhere between 15 and 25 years of age.”

Cobbler again began to feel dizzy. His eyes began to sting, but he held back his tears. “So, you’re saying that Georgia may only have a few more years to live?”

“We can slow her condition’s progress by keeping her calm,” he replied. “Lower her stress and excitement, reduce her physical strain, but… yes, unless we can find a donor, I’m afraid that there’s only so much we can do.”

“Reduce her physical strain?” he asked. “Dr. Umahara, she just got her cutie mark in horticulture yesterday. Today was her cutecañera! She loves digging in the dirt, planting trees and flowers… are you saying that she can’t do that any longer?”

Dr. Umahara shook his head. “She’ll have to limit it to very light work and get some help with the more strenuous things.”

Cobbler looked down. “I see. Tell me, Doctor, am I a match?” he asked. “Couldn’t you give her my heart?”

Dr. Umahara’s eyes widened. “Professor, you realize that would mean trading your life for hers,” he said.

Cobbler glanced up, meeting his gaze with stony eyes.

Dr. Umahara managed a smile. “You’re a very caring father, sir,” he said. “My wife and I recently had a foal ourselves, and I suppose I cannot blame you for that sentiment. But no, you are not a match, and even if you were, I could not go through with what you are suggesting.”

Cobbler heaved a sigh and got to his hooves once more. “I understand. Thank you for telling me, Doctor,” he said. “May I see my daughter now?”

Dr. Umahara stood as well and put his hoof on Cobbler’s shoulder. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “And I assure you that I will do everything in my power to care for your daughter.”

Cobbler’s lip quivered for a moment, and he suddenly embraced the doctor, crying on his shoulder in spite of himself.

“Please, Doctor… I’ve lost so much of my family already. Please don’t let my daughter die too,” he whispered.

Dr. Umahara patted him on the back. “I will do my best,” he said.




***


Twilight nodded solemnly. “I see,” she said. “I… I really can’t imagine what it must feel like to get news like that.”

Cobbler shook his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said. “If you’re fortunate, you never will.”

Twilight tapped her chin. “So, that Dr. Umahara,” she continued, “am I right in thinking that the foal he mentioned was the Umahara we met? The one sent to spy on us under the name ‘Fine Print?’”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Cobbler replied, nodding. “Our families became quite close, especially when I discovered that the Group had helped the Umaharas flee Neighpon. This was, of course, back before they began to open their borders. Equestria might not have wished to involve itself in smuggling ponies out of one country and into another, but the Group was keen on finding talented ponies who would then be sympathetic to what we were trying to achieve. We had quite a few scientists, but not many medical doctors in those days.”

“I see,” Twilight murmured. Then, frowning, she asked, “What did you tell Georgia when you found out about her condition?”

“I considered keeping it a secret for a moment or two,” he said, “but I decided she had a right to know about her own condition, and she had to know why she was going to have to restrict her physical activities. I remember…”

He paused, swallowing, but then he managed a smile.

“I remember seeing her in that hospital bed, looking so fragile, but then she looked up at me and smiled. And then how that smile faded when she saw my face. But she drew herself up and just asked, ‘What’s wrong with me, Daddy? You can tell me.’” He chuckled. “I could tell when I told her that she was afraid. And I could see the heartbreak in her eyes when I told her that she wouldn’t be able to dig around in the dirt like before, but just the same she never cried. She wanted to prove to me that she wasn’t a child any longer and that she could be brave.”

Twilight smiled. “It sounds like she was very brave, Cobbler,” she said.

“Yes… even though I knew she was afraid of what might happen to her if we couldn’t find a heart,” he said, “she still carried on, day after day, as though nothing had changed.”

Cobbler stood to pour a fresh cup of tea for himself and Twilight before resuming his seat.

“In spite of everything,” he said, resuming his story, “I tried to carry on my work. But I was dealt another blow when we attempted to reactivate the golem.”

Twilight frowned, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“It attacked the team,” he said, his gaze hard and stony, his voice quiet. “We had it in a massive, open room to accommodate its size. We’d learned that the symbol on its head once read ‘emet,’ the Yudacorn word for ‘truth,’ but by erasing the primary character and changing it to read ‘met,’ the word for ‘dead,’ the golem could be deactivated. We thought we could simply re-complete the word to reactivate it, but it was so ancient and in such disrepair that we had to restore many of its inner workings. We thought that we’d done everything right, and even supplied it with some modern wiring and power sources to replace the archaic alchemy and purely magical mechanisms.

“When we activated it, it stood to its full height, leaving us all in awe of its size and grandeur,” he said, raising his head at the memory. Then he frowned. “But once it spotted us, it immediately ran at us, attempting to crush or smash anything that got in its way. We had no choice but to remove the rune again. Luckily, I’d installed a remotely controlled device on its head that released a vial of liquid to smear it without any of us having to get close.”

Twilight swallowed. “Did it… I mean, was anypony…”

He shook his head. “Miraculously, no,” he said. “It injured a dozen of us, many of whom required medical treatment for months afterwards, but nopony was killed.”

Twilight sighed with relief. “I’m glad,” she said.

“You really do have a kind heart, Twilight,” Cobbler said, raising his teacup to her, as if in salute. “After so many years dealing with the project, to have it fail was a severe blow,” he said. Then he sneered. “We believe it was a result of the cognitive device in its head; the runes inscribed on those spherical layers formed a crude network of sorts, but it was too primitive, too brutish to be controlled. The Yudacorns must have been trying to create some sort of advanced, general-purpose automaton, but without a more organized foundation, the thing was like a wild animal. And so, ultimately, we had the cursed thing mothballed and put into storage deep within the caverns.”

Twilight frowned. “But that wasn’t the end of it, was it?” she asked. “You wouldn’t be telling me about all that if it wasn’t important. How does all this come together: the golem, your daughter, your grudge with Celestia, and Turing Test?”

Cobbler smirked. “Actually, Twilight, it wasn’t long after that failed experiment,” he said, “that the different parts of my story came together.

“You see, while the golem itself might have been flawed, the use of runes to create an independently-functioning ‘brain’ of sorts still fascinated many of us. And it was about that time that a new science began to emerge, courtesy of a certain griffon friend of yours.”

Twilight gasped. “Talon Turing?” She swallowed. “Please tell me he wasn’t involved--”

“No, no, nothing of the sort,” he said, shaking his head. “But the field of computer science that he was spearheading was catching on like wildfire. Many of the new recruits were fascinated with the possibility of thinking machines, and here we had this ancient construct that was just that! We simply began to apply the concepts of computer programming to the magical runes, and soon we had a new field unlike anything seen anywhere else in Equestria: runic computing.

“And since I was the foremost expert on the runes, I began to spearhead a project to create a new, more ordered system that would build the most incredible thinking machines the world had ever seen!”

He raised his head proudly, the excitement in his voice obvious as he recalled that age of discovery and innovation. But then his excitement began to die away.

“However,” he continued, “Georgia’s situation didn’t change at all. Every time I saw her move even close to a gallop, my heart felt like it would leap out of my chest. Every cough she gave sent shivers down my spine, and even when she was sleeping soundly, I would break into a cold sweat and place my hoof near her muzzle to make certain she was still breathing.

“And yet, after a few years, there was no sign that she was moving any closer to the top of the waiting list! And the more research I did on her condition, the more I realized how dire things really were: successful organ transplants are rare in ponies, Twilight, due to problems matching diverse blood types and the trouble with transporting donated organs in time.”

He swallowed. “I… I began to feel as though I was struggling against time itself,” he said, “and that I was being forced to watch my daughter slip away. No parent should ever have to go through that… I promised to protect her, always, but it seemed as though there was nothing I could do!

“Until, one night…”


***




17 years ago…

Cobbler and Cave Dweller were sitting in Cobbler’s office at the factory late one night. They had a decanter filled with peach brandy between them, and both had drunk more than their fair share of it that night.

“I’m telling ya, Cobbler,” Cave Dweller said, pounding his hoof on the meeting table for emphasis, “this runic computing stuff is gonna change the world!”

“So you’ve said,” Cobbler chuckled, taking another sip of brandy. “Quite a few times, I might add.”

“Well… it’s still true!” Cave Dweller said, jutting out his chin defiantly. “This machine we’re working on… we can encode a whole book’s worth of information on a runic disc the size of a vinyl record!” He held up his hooves very closely together to approximate what he meant with the exaggerated movement of a pony who’d obviously had a bit too much brandy.

Cobbler nodded. “Well, that’s the plan. I can’t imagine what those ancient ponies would think of how we’ve been utilizing this technology of theirs.”

“But still,” Cave Dweller said, “ya gotta give it to those Yudacorns. They came up with the idea for an artificial brain that actually worked 5000 years before anypony else came even close!”

“I don’t know if I’d say it ‘worked,’ exactly,” Cobbler scoffed. “The cursed thing was more trouble than it was worth.”

“Oh fine, so it didn’t work well, but at least it could move and react independently!” Cave Dweller shouted. “Makes you wonder what else they could’ve come up with.”

Cobbler smirked. “Perhaps a baldness cure?”

Cave made a sour face. “Sure, tease the pony with the thinning mane,” he said, rubbing the increasingly bare top of his head. “Hmm… still…”

Cobbler waited for him to continue, but the older pony just trailed off. “Still?” he asked, getting his attention.

Cave Dweller blinked, as though he’d momentarily forgotten what he was talking about. “Hm? Oh!” he said, regaining his focus. “I was just thinking that it’s kind of funny… that giant stone pony lasted 5000 years out there being buried in the desert and it still works; meanwhile, us flesh and blood ponies start falling apart in practically no time at all! We start losing our eyesight, our hair, bad ears, bad legs, bad ticker--”

He winced as soon as he said it, and Cobbler took on a sober look.

“Ah… h-hey, sorry about that, Cobbler,” Cave said, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No, no,” Cobbler sighed, taking another big gulp of brandy. “You’re absolutely right. One might be justified in thinking that Mother Nature was a pretty shoddy craftsmare with all the things that can go wrong with a pony.” His eyes became glassy and he inhaled sharply.

Cave Dweller sat in silence, unsure what to do in the wake of Cobbler’s sudden somber mood.

“Ah… forgive me, my old friend,” Cobbler said, waving his hoof. “I see the brandy’s made me emotional. It’s late, and I really should return home, where Auntie will no doubt give me an earful.”

He stood and began to wobble, his head swimming, and he actually lost his footing and fell to the floor.

Cave Dweller almost went to his side, but then Cobbler began to laugh in the ridiculous, blissful way that only a drunk can, and Cave quickly joined in. The two stallions stayed that way for a while until Cave noticed that Cobbler had stopped laughing and was now muttering and appeared to be staring at something.

“My cutie mark,” Cobbler whispered.

“What, did you forget what it looked like?” Cave Dweller laughed.

“Shhh!” Cobbler hissed. He stared at the image on his own flank, suddenly transfixed.

A heart with a gear. A gear within a heart. A gear… a heart… a heart!

“That’s it!” he screamed, jumping to his hooves, his eyes wide but suddenly focused.

Cave Dweller watched him as he grabbed a piece of paper and, taking a pencil in his mouth, began to make a crude sketch with some notes.

“Uh, care to fill me in on this?” Cave asked.

“Look!” Cobbler shouted, shoving the sketch in his face.

Cave cocked his head to the side. “Um… not seeing it here,” he said. “Looks like… a pump? In the shape of a heart?”

“Exactly!” Cobbler laughed. “I just realized it… if the Yudacorns could create an artificial, mechanical brain for the golem, then why not create a mechanical heart?!”

Cave blinked. “Wait… an artificial heart?” he asked, rubbing his forehead. “You’re saying you want to build one?”

“We’ve discovered that the runes hold startling amounts of information,” he said, “enough to represent sections of the brain for the golem. It should be a simple enough task to use runes that contain the information necessary to make an artificial heart beat! With an outside power source, why, a creation of metal or rubber or plastic could beat for decades! Georgia would have no need to wait for an organ donation!”

He began to laugh deliriously and swept up Cave in an embrace.

“I can do it!” he shouted. “I can build her a new heart! I can save her, Cave, I can save her!”

“Ha! Cobbler, you’re crazier than almost anypony else I know,” Cave Dweller said, prying himself loose. But then he clapped Cobbler on the back. “Still, that’s why I like you. You remind me of myself when I was young! All right, I’ll support you, but you’ll need to do a whole mess of research to make this work.”

Cobbler smirked. “Then there’s no time to waste,” he said. “Call Dr. Umahara and tell him he’s about to help me make history!”




***


“A mechanical heart,” Twilight breathed. “That’s…”

Cobbler watched her carefully.

“...brilliant!” she cried, her eyes growing wide. “That kind of invention could save so many lives all across Equestria!”

“And yet,” Cobbler said, raising an eyebrow, “you’ve never heard of such an invention, have you? Now, why do you suppose that is?”

Twilight scrunched her face up, tapping her chin. “I can’t imagine why,” she said. “Unless it didn’t work or somepony stopped… it…”

She froze, the realization coming swiftly.

“Nearly two whole years of study,” Cobbler said, “of collaboration between Dr. Umahara and myself, combining the fields of medical science and mechanical engineering in a way never thought possible! Soon we had our prototype: Equestria’s first artificial heart! This was an idea that we couldn’t keep to the Group, however; we needed to put it through official medical trials to test it and share our discovery with all ponykind everywhere. And so, we sent our schematics and our proposal to the Royal Ministry of Science and Technology and also the Ministry of Public Health. After a few months, we got our response…”


To be continued…