//------------------------------// // 4 - Unmasked // Story: The Adventures of Flesh and Bone // by Meep the Changeling //------------------------------// Tractor Pull - 10th of Snowfall, 08 EoH Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria Frost covered timbers creaked as Trac wearily pushed the front door open. He stepped across the threshold, sighing in relief as the magical warmth washed over him. If the moon is anything to go by, they might all be asleep by now. Trac thought as he took off his coat and hung it by the door. “Guys? I’m home,” he called more quietly than he would have normally. “Welcome home,” an unfamiliar galvanic voice greeted quietly. “Retort is asleep. I am in my room if you wish to talk.” Trac frowned for a moment, nodding to himself as she placed the voice. Silly pony. You remember you have a new roommate but forget her voice… How the hay did I forget she uses a voice box? That’s pretty unique. Trac quickly removed his winter clothing and headed up the stairs to the bedrooms. Retort’s grandfather organized the home well when he built it those many years ago. All the bedrooms sat along the north wall in a fashion somewhat like a motel's rooms, with the hallway looping around the home to the living room via a staircase on each side of the house. The arrangement made the living room the central hub for the home but also ensured anypony could quickly and conveniently reach any part of the home without needing to walk very far. The unfortunate downside to the house’s design was sound carried through the home very easily. Trac had helped Retort install soundproofing inside each bedroom’s walls several years ago. If Ameili’s voice could be heard, her door was open. Good thing I can hear her. I have no idea which room we gave her. Trac stepped through the quiet house, his ears twitching as he strained them. A few quiet scratching and clicking sounds echoed softly down the stairs as he climbed them. Their source became clear as he reached the bedroom closest to the stairs. Ameili sat at an old desk writing desk which had been sequestered in the bedroom next door for storage, working on something Trac couldn’t see from the doorway. Retort had evidently elected to simply refurbish some old furniture for the newcomer. An older wooden chair for the desk, a more comfortable brown leather armchair and a bookcase for reading, a small dresser, and of course a bed. Trac recognized the old poster bed as Retort’s older sister’s from when she had lived here as a teenager. The red and gold curtains which it had been decorated with, as well as its matching bedding, were new. The red and gold theme extended to the floor which was mostly covered by a large red area rug featuring simple geometric gold designs along the edges. Ameili’s rug had matching curtains which hung over the window. Ameili’s decorations complemented the dark wood wall paneling and contrasted nicely with the birch floor to give the room a warm “Old World” feeling. Trac’s own room had much the opposite effect, with the darker colors he had used creating a generally gloomy air. Retort’s room was little better, being almost entirely undecorated, as one would expect of a single stallion who spent his time in other parts of his home. Huh… Maybe I should ask Ameili to help me redecorate when I can afford it. Trac thought as he stepped into her room. “Hey. What are you up too?” Trac asked as he walked up to Ameili. “A little tinkering,” the mare answered cheerfully. “I haven't had the convenience of a workbench in some time and I had a few bits and bobs in need of some tender love and care.” Ameili moved her forehooves out of the way, permitting Track to see the small clockwork device she was working on. The brass and nickel assembly of gears seemed to be some sort of transmission with an odd mechanism, which to Trac’s eye looked as if it would invert the gears. “What’s that for?” Trac asked leaning in to look more closely at the hoof-sized device. “Is it a transmission? Why would you want one that could switch between high torque and high speed?” “Many power tools use that feature,” Ameili said politely as she returned to her work, which Track could now see was replacing a gear which had warped. “In my case, this will go back into my rear-left leg. It’s the hoof-actuator’s transmission. The one I am using now is high speed only, which makes certain tasks difficult. Anything requiring a lot of hind leg strength is out of the question.” Trac’s ears drooped. “Oh, uh… Sorry. I didn't think you’d have prosthetic parts. I mean it’s obvious if you think about it, but—” Ameili chuckled. “In truth, I didn’t need them, but they make up for a lot of shortcomings.” “Yeah, I’ll bet they do,” Trac agreed with a nod. “I remember learning about the Princess’s clockworks in school. Her complete reversal of opinion on technology is proof of what limbs like yours can do.” A small tongue of flame blossomed in front of Ameili’s respirator, forming into a thoughtful frown for a moment before vanishing. “Oh yes, Celestia has clockworks now, doesn't she? Sorry, I don’t think of her very much. She’s not my ruler after all.” Trac nodded. “That’s fair,” he began only for his eyes to narrow mid-thought. “What do you mean “now”? She’s had them for a thousand years.” “Sure, but she’s older than that. She had all her original legs before she fought Sombra. Now she does not. They were lost rather than never existing,” Ameili replied with a shrug. “I’m sorry if that’s an awkward way to phrase things. Equish isn’t my first language.” I wish I knew more foreigners. It would help if I knew what language mistakes people are likely to make. Trac thought to himself. Especially if they can be that weird. “It’s a very weird way to say it. I would only say it that way if it had happened recently. Next time don’t say the word now. You don't have to imply she had normal flesh and bone ones before.” “Sorry. Still, I’ll bet her restoration helped solidify Equestria’s love of machines. Cog helping banish Sombra definitely made more ponies appreciate tinkering, but there’s only so much one hero’s influence can do. An immortal god-like being embracing his inventions had to be the real catalyst for lasting change.” Trac’s eyes widened at Ameili’s words. By the Sisters! She can help me with my term paper! Trac smiled, grinning nearly ear to ear. “I KNEW you were a history buff too! I uh, I can’t talk about why, but my job just got several times harder. Regulations more tightly enforced, lots more intense training, brand-new tank to learn… I’ve been worrying about school all weekend. “I’ve got a term paper I need to have finished by the end of the semester which will be forty percent of my grade. The topic is on the influence Sombra’s defeat had on Equestria as a whole. I know a good deal of the history, but I know I don’t know everything and putting what I know into the right words is always hard. More so when my Commander demanded I read six books on tank warfare tactics by next weekend…” Trac sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “I uh, I CAN read them by then, but that won't leave any time for working on my paper or reading books for my paper if I also do my other homework.” Ameili nodded and turned to Track, conjuring a flaming smile. “I’m something of an expert on Sombra’s defeat. I’d be happy to help.” Expert huh? Track thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. Always look for their credentials, Trac. That mistake will only be made once. “Can I ask a question to learn just how much you know?” Trac asked skeptically. Ameili nodded. “Of course.” “How did Princess Celestia and Luna’s failed attack on the Lich King hinder the Dashing Rouges?” Track asked, straightening the collar of his uniform casually. Let’s see if she can answer that trick question. Ameili answered Trac with a fiery smirk. “Please, if they had not wounded him badly enough to force him to spend several months repairing his corporeal form, and more critically leaving that open wound on his soul, six overly emotional ponies with attitude wouldn’t have been able to kill him.” Not bad, but she’s still wrong. Trac frowned and shook his head. “Five.” “Excuse me?” Ameili asked, flames forming a confused frown in front of her lips. “The Dashing Rogues had five members, not six. Whirling Cog, Marble Slab, Golden Lance, Redfern, and Shining Aura,” Trac corrected. Ameili conjured an eyebrow of flame and raised it. “There were six. Cog was a tinkerer. Marble was a sword master, Lance an expert flyer and jousting champion, Redfern was a farmer whose hooves could pummel anything and anyone that stood in her way, and Shining Aura was an Abjurer. “Sombra’s throne room was extensively burned and his armor still bears scorch marks to this very day. Cog could have built a gadget which would have consumed a target in a fiery death, but he found killing with fire to be grizzly and cruel. He used a repeating crossbow. “Liches do not burst into flames when slain. There have been others, you’ve certainly heard of them. When a lich dies it dissolves into ashes. Sombra’s magic, while unlimited in potential, was not applied universally. He focused on conjuration, transmutation, and of course, necromancy. While he could have easily dipped his hooves into evocation and rained fire down on his enemies, that was not his modus operandi. “You will never find a historical account of Sombra evoking fire. Not one. You may even find a few records of him suffering from pyrophobia. Personally, I believe those rumors to be true. Sombra did not explode, nor light his own throne room on fire as the popular theory states. There had to have been a sixth member of the Rogues, another unicorn or a pony with a fire creating weapon of some kind.” Ameili paused for a moment, looking up at Trac with a pair of understanding eyes burning in front of her goggles. “Before you object, recall Roam’s erasure from history. If a Romane had been a member of the Rogues, her part in the story would have been lost upon Sombra's death when his final curse took hold. Physical evidence would have remained of course, but all mention of them would have vanished, and with the Rouges all in such proximity to the epicenter of the curse, they forgot about their friend’s existence.” Trac stroked his chin thoughtfully. A good theory, but I can see a hole in it. “Wouldn’t they have wondered who the random pony standing with them was?” “If they had been in the throne room with them, yes. If they had been thrown through a window out of the tower headfirst into another tower shortly after screaming “By fire be purged!” while igniting Sombra’s regalia? No,” Ameili said, a twinge of pain entering her voice. “Imagine yourself in that situation. Forgotten completely. Spending weeks tracking your friends down to tell them you survived, only to learn they had completely forgotten you. The grief might kill you.” Trac’s ears drooped. “Uh… Well, yeah that would be terrible and is plausible. But unless it’s true, and there are texts I can cite, I can’t use that in a paper. But you do seem to know a lot about the event.” An unusually large amount about it, in fact… Take a note brain. She’s either a conspiracy theorist or as big a nerd as I used to be. Ameili nodded and turned back to her project, her suit rustling as she moved. “There are a few accounts which you will find that version of events in, but they are not mainstream. Scholarly, yes, popular, no. It’s hard to gain ground when the heroes everyone remembers insisted they were the entire crew. They just saved the world, trust in their word was at an all-time high.” At the very least listening to alternative interpretations of historical facts will help me write a better paper. Trac decided after a moment’s thought. “Can you make me a list of those books? It might be helpful to be able to present multiple views in my paper.” “Of course. I’ll have one for you when you wake up. I need to finish this transmission, and I want to get it installed tonight. Retort asked me if I knew any takedowns. I do, but I can’t perform them with my leg as it is now.” “Takedowns?” “Martial maneuvers for capturing your opponent or bringing them down to the ground. As a peacekeeper, Retort frequently employs such techniques. I offered to teach him ways of dealing with a stronger opponent.” “Cool,” he said as he trotted over to the armchair and took a seat in it. “Speaking of your leg, how much of you is clockwork or galvanic? I know your voice box is. It sounds very nice, by the way.” Ameili giggled. “Thank you. I spent a long time tuning my voice. As for my body, I’m more machine now than mare. Too bad they can’t replace a brain with a few whirling cogs and some sparking wires. I’d be immortal.” “You’ve lost that much?” Trac asked, his jaw dropping. “Yes,” she replied finally finishing her work on her micro-transmission. Trac shuddered, making the leather chair creak loudly. Poor mare. She’s definitely going to die soon. If most of her is clockwork constructs she’s probably just a brain, skeleton, heart, lungs and— Ugh I don’t want to think about it! Or how much her family paid for her medical care. “S— Um, new topic. How do you tune one of those voice boxes?” Trac asked with a nervous smile. Please don't go into more detail about your condition… Why did I ask about her mechanical parts? “You can’t tune a electrolarynx,” Ameili snorted, turning her head and conjuring a playful grin for Trac to see. “That’s the proper name of the common device used for unmuting someone. I had a very old and dear friend a long time ago who taught me how to create and alter machines. I built my own voice box instead, I can tune it to change how I sound should I wish to. “I built my voice box using a vocoder as the core. When I speak, my thoughts are transmitted through arcane circuits into the vocoder, which processes the mana signals into sound waves. I did that because as you may know, an electrolarynx makes someone sound like a male automaton. Their voice is very monotone, deep, and sounds like anyone else who uses such a device.” Trac nodded thoughtfully. “I see. You wanted to sound like you did before you lost your natural voice?” Ameili’s flame-mouth stretched out into a huge and dorky grin. “No. I wanted to sound better than I used to. Also, I wanted to be able to have fun with my voice.” “Fun?” Trac asked raising his eyebrow. Ameili nodded and pressed a hoof against her throat, moving it in a very precise way, clearly manipulating some sort of control through her suit. A moment later she spoke, her voice having changed completely. The galvanic undertones became overtones, giving her a much more robotic, deeper voice which had a strangely hypnotic music-like quality to it. “This is the default sound of the Bode Vocoder. It sounds relatively close to the Moog Vocoder, but with more harmonics and dynamic range.” Trac’s eyes widened. “Woah! What are those normally used for? Music?” Ameili smiled again. “No. They are used for non-magical communication. There’s one in every mundane radio. You get a set, the first makes the sound into this, the other makes it normal again. It makes the signal easier to send. But musicians use them too. Mostly those who play galvanic instruments. Because—” Ameili pressed down on her throat again, her voice deepening instantly to make a fully robotic sound. “— here’s how it sounds when I change the pitch from high to low. And—” a second quick manipulation of her voice box gave Ameili’s voice a much more melodious and electrified sound. “— here’s what it sounds like when you change the keys. Plug me into a keyboard and I’ll be in perfect tune with the melody!” Trac couldn’t help but laugh at the mare’s excited playfulness. “Okay! I get it. I want to play with one now too. Though I think if I went mute I would want to use a spell or enchanted item to restore my original voice.” Trac blinked as a thought popped into his head. “Hey, you’re a unicorn. You could have learned a spell for that. It would have saved you money. A machine like that has to be expensive.” Ameili pressed on her vocoder’s controls again, this time raising her pitch and adding a slight echo to her voice. “Analog vocoders are the best in sound. Compared to magic, they are number one, hooves down,” Ameili replied with a playful smile. Her grin proved infectious as Trac smiled back. “You’ve made your point.” “Imagine how I would sound with percussion and bass…” She reached up to her throat one last time and returned her voice to its normal feminine sound. “That’s why some musicians will use a vocoder.” “And also why you use one?” Trac asked as he stood up from the chair. “Yes and no. I also use one because I like machines. It's fascinating how much galvanic devices share with magic on the technical level. Especially in a vintage analog machine like this one. It’s also cool.” “It certainly is,” Trac agreed with a yawn. “Sorry… It’s late. I should get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” “Goodnight, Trac,” Ameili said, turning to face the stallion and offering him another smile. “Sleep well.” “You too, when you get there,” Trac said as he left the room. It took Trac a matter of seconds to step three doors down to his own bedroom. Within a minute his uniform was neatly folded in the top drawer of his dresser, and the stallion was lying snugly atop his bed beneath his warm quilt. He was asleep a heartbeat later, but not without one final waking thought... Maybe I can arrange a base tour for her sometime. Ameili would definitely love to see the tank museum. She’s a foreigner, but if her homeland is on good terms with Equestria I think I could arrange it since she’s dying. Ameiliana Tarquinius Cyprianas - 23rd of Snowfall, 08 EoH West Bloomfield - Equestria Two weeks had passed since Ameili moved in with Retort and Trac. The mare proved a welcome addition to their household. The stallions did their best to keep their house clean and take care of the chores, but with only Retort having days off there was only so much the two could do. Before Ameili moved in, Trac spent his mornings cleaning up, doing dishes, and chopping firewood for the house’s boiler. Now the house was spotless by the time he woke up. Ameili didn’t take all the housework from him, but she certainly did her fair share. Floors were swept, waxed, and polished. Bookshelves were dusted, and organized with permission. Small household repairs were completed expertly after months or even years of neglect. Sometimes Trac even woke to find breakfast waiting for him. Ameili cooked once each morning to ensure Trac ate something other than cereal, and once or twice a week for a family meal. While she lacked the skill to make anything fancy, she prepared simple meals her new friends enjoyed. Ameili wanted to cook more often, but she also didn’t want to butt heads with her new friends. Retort handled most of the home cooking, and seemed to enjoy it, making asking for more felt like cutting into his hobby. Trac enjoyed cooking as well, and had established preparing breakfast as part of his daily routine. Ameili had no desire to take that from him. Not after seeing just how ingrained the stallion’s routine was. Trac’s routine seemed to be all he lived for in Ameili’s eyes. She’d talked to Retort about their mutual friend, and while he didn’t completely agree with her assessment, he did admit that Trac had been very hollow since his boyfriend died. The topic had weighed heavily on Ameili’s mind for the last few days. Grief and depression were issues very close to her own heart. Even as she polished the kitchen counters she couldn’t help but think of possible ways she could help Trac move on. Trac wakes up, tends to the chores I haven’t done for him, eats something small for his breakfast, studies, cooks for Retort so he has something to eat when he wakes up later, goes to school, comes home, talks to us for half an hour, sleeps, and awakens to do it all over again. No day is different for him. If he didn’t work as a soldier on the weekends you couldn’t blame him for not knowing the day of the week. Ameili felt her metaphorical heart sink even further at the thought of living such monotonous life again herself. No one should be able to understand what most of my life has been like. Wake, wander, sleep. It’s maddening. Consistency is good, but you need breaks in your routine too. The quiet moments at home that Ameili created for Trac were a godsend for the young stallion. Without the distraction of other train passengers or other students, Trac found himself able to focus clearly and the work went more easily, though sadly, not faster. The change in Trac’s routine released a portion of the stress he had been under for years, a fact Ameili picked up on after only three days. She felt proud of the results she had achieved, and yet… I owe him more. Ameili thought to herself as she scrubbed a soup stain from the granite countertop. The last two weeks are some of the nicest I have lived in decades. I can understand using the time I have given him for work, but he needs something other than work. He’s more of a robot than I am. Which is saying a lot given most of my body is mechanical. Ameili stopped polishing the countertop and took a seat on one of the breakfast bars stools to think. It’s worse for him than it was for me. My days looped from necessity. I did what I must to survive. He does it because he doesn't know how to do anything else. He lives only to study and work. That would be one thing if he was the kind of person who enjoys learning in the same way others enjoy play, but he is most certainly not. He studies so he can leave this place. He yearns for adventure and fame. That would be one thing if he wanted such things for the normal reasons. But it’s more than that. He feels as if he can not have an identity of his own here. He needs to be an archeologist to have an identity. Ameili’s thoughts hit the nail squarely on the head. She’d spoken with Retort several nights ago to ask if Trac had become depressed recently. The answer was no. He had been depressed years ago and never gotten over it. The mare sighed and turned to look out the window. It was a nice day. Snow was gently drifting down to rest upon the world. The sun shone brightly, making the ice and snow sparkle like a field of diamonds. The green of the pine trees brought to mind images of warmth and life, amid the deathly gray birch trees. I would be devastated if Vulcan died. I was devastated when Quirinus died. I can understand Trac’s pain. What I can’t understand is why it has festered in his heart for so long. Ameili watched as a small Arctic hare hopped out from the treeline and quickly crossed the yard. The small creature moved like a bolt of lightning across the open ground, vanishing almost as quickly as it had come. “That hare was very fortunate the hawk wasn’t looking,” Vulcan remarked. “Brave too,” Ameili said as she nodded in agreement. “Quite. It takes a great deal of courage to cross openly into dangerous territory.” Ameili chuckled. “I swear you can read my mind sometimes, darling.” “I wish I could. Perhaps then I would understand why you insist upon rubber for your skin instead of faux fur.” “If I ever buy any of that synthetic mess I will happily get grease and grime on it so you can try washing it. It’s not as if anyone would be admiring me in it either.” Ameili turned her head, looking once more at the countertop before her. It takes a great deal of courage to cross openly into dangerous territory. I’ve never been called a coward. Trac is my friend. He may be a new friend, but he gave me a place to stay out of the kindness of his heart and did not even think twice about it. He is a true friend to me. At the very least, he is a truly kind pony, and deserves kindness in return. If I can understand why he is as he is, I can repair the damage done to him. “Vulcan,” Ameili said, turning her head to look into the open oven where her special somepony was currently happily licking the caked on gunk off the oven’s walls to burn it down to vapor. “When Trac gets home tonight, remind me to ask him why he has not moved past his coltfriend dying.” Vulcan’s form shifted, becoming a shapeless mass of fire for several seconds. “Y-you’ll need more courage than a hare crossing the territory of a hawk.” “I know. But there must be a reason he feels as he does.” Vulcan reformed and poked its head out from the oven to look at Ameili. “Yes… But can you help him? I know you once struggled with depression yourself, but your situation is very different.” “Not really. I was dead inside because I lost my whole world when I was exiled. He is dead inside because he lost his entire world when Birch Bark died. If his reason for remaining depressed is even close to my reason, I can help him. If I can help, then I must.” “You’re only obligated to help Romanes, Ameili,” Vulcan reminded, its ears drooping back with worry. Ameili snorted and waved a hoof at her lover dismissively. “That’s the only part of the oath I never took seriously. Obligated to help… Vulcan, what do I do?” Vulcan sighed. “You help everyone you can.” “Because that’s the right thing to do,” Ameili said firmly. “I will remind you… But I fear we will be homeless again.” “I doubt he will get that angry.” Tractor Pull - 23rd of Snowfall, 08 EoH West Bloomfield - Equestria Frost covered timbers creaked as Track wearily pushed the front door open. He stepped across the threshold, sighing in relief as the magical warmth washed over him. The sky overhead still held the last flecks of the sun's glow as Trac took off his coat. He was home a little earlier than usual. A gift granted to him by a new train engineer who was still working out exactly how fast the train could go before management yelled at her for wasting fuel and throwing off the schedule. “Guys, I’m home,” Trac called. Here’s hoping Retort’s got coffee ready. “Hey, Trac,” Retort said, Trac’s eyes widening in surprise as Retort walked into the hallway from the kitchen with most of his winter gear already on. “Uh, hey. Did you just get home too?” Trac asked. “Nope,” the pegasus stallion said with a shake of his head. “I’m heading out. Remember that mare I said I liked? We’re going out. Also, Ameili said she wanted to talk to you about something personal, so uh, brace yourself. I don’t want to be here for that and there’s an early movie I can catch. So, um… Good luck!” Trac watched wordlessly as Retort pulled on his ski-mask and goggles then slipped past him and into the snow. Oh no… There is nothing about this that can be good. Does she mean personal for her? She has to. Please don’t be a last request. I don’t think I could handle that. Trac did his best to not show any of the anxiety racing through his mind as he undressed and hung up his winter clothes. As soon as he finished he walked to Ameili’s room. The door was closed, one of the very few times Trac had ever seen it closed since the mare had moved in with them. Raising his hoof he knocked three times on the door. Hopefully you can hear the knock despite the soundproofing. We never tested that. Trac stared awkwardly at the door for several long moments before Ameili opened it with a conjured blush burning in front of her cheeks. “Heh heh… I yelled “come in” five times before I remembered the soundproofing. Thank goodness the stuff doesn't dampen impacts too much,” Ameili babbled, embarrassment making her voice crackle. The strong scent of orange and lilac incense wafted from the room through the now open door. Trac could see a very old looking spell book open on Ameili’s desk, along with a few magic circles drawn in ash. I wonder what spell she was practicing? I really want to get this over with… Maybe it will be quick and I can ask about her spell afterwards. “Retort said you wanted to talk to me about something personal,” Trac said, cutting to the chase. Ameili nodded and let go of the door, gesturing for Trac to come in and take a seat in her armchair. “I do, yes… I want to apologize in advance. But I do need to ask,” she said as she took a seat in her desk chair and turned it to face the armchair. Sisters… Please don’t need somepony to do something like look at you under the suit and tell you you’re beautiful before you die. I understand wanting to hear that but I’d throw up and that would make things so much more worse for your feelings... Trac gulped, hesitated for a moment, then took a seat in the armchair “It’s okay. This… This is a last request isn’t it?” Ameili shook her head. “No. I’m not dying soon. I want to know something about you, so I can try to help you. Is that okay?” Trac frowned. Something about me? There’s not that much to know that she doesn't already know… Unless, she wants to hook me up with someone. That doesn't feel like something she would do. Maybe she wants to know about my family? Why I avoid them? “Uhh, I guess so?” Trac said uncertainty as he grimaced slightly. Ameili nodded to herself and after a short pause asked, “Who would you say you are right now?” Trac tilted his head. “What is this, a changeling test?” Ameili snorted. “Not literally. Uh, not physically literally. I mean as a person. Who would you say you are? I am a traveling tinkerer and pyromancer who likes helping others with a long and storied history. What about you?” What’s she playing at? “That’s not really something I think about,” Trac said as he squirmed in his seat. “I’m a soldier, and a student. I guess.” “You guess? Why don’t you know?” Ameili asked, cocking her head to one side. “Because there’s not much too me really. I go to school and I drive tanks. There’s probably something more I could add to that but, well, I just don’t think about that. You know?” Ameili nodded. “I do. Do you have any hobbies?” “Not really. I don’t have the time. I used to like carving,” Track said with a shrug. Was that it? That can’t be it. It’s a very short and stupid question. “Do you have friends besides Retort and I?” “You know I don’t,” Retort sighed. “Why are you asking me?” “You don’t think of your tank crew as friends?” Ameili pressed. Okay, Trac. You know she’s got to be going somewhere with this, so let’s play along. “No. They are coworkers. They are also full time guard. I’m just reserve,” Trac said, pursing his lips for a moment. “It would be… Awkward.” Ameili conjured an eyebrow and raised it. “Your military pairs full and reserve troops in units? That can’t be efficient.” “It’s not,” Trac agreed with a shrug. “But sometimes there aren't enough full time soldiers to fill out a crew or squad. Then they put a reserve member in to fill the gap. If there’s ever a real emergency, I’ll get paged via a magical crystal. Five minute portal notice. Mages will summon me directly to my commander. I’m less trained than my crew, but I’ll be there when needed. “I’d also get bumped off the crew if a new full time guardsman enlists here as an Armored Crewmen. That’s why it would be awkward to be friends.” “Because you could be broken up at any time… I understand.” “Right,” Track agreed. “They live on base, they are fully a part of military culture. I’m not. It’s just a job to me. To them, being a soldier is their life. Theirs is a different… Culture. Kinda. Not really, but I can’t think of a better word. “I’ve always worried about making them mad. I’m not a ‘real soldier’, as a few ponies have told me before. I don’t know if they look down on me for being part-time. I do my job, I banter with them a little, but I keep things professional. We only interact on shift.” Trac sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Where are you going with this? Please tell me. You’re starting to make me nervous.” Ameili paused and looked up at the ceiling as if wondering something. “As you wish… Trac, I may have only been with you for two weeks but I can tell something is wrong. You live day to day, doing what you must do and little else. No changes in routine. No time spent on yourself. “You don’t read for fun despite having a love of history. You don’t play games. You do nothing for the enjoyment of it. You also do not enjoy your school work. I haven't seen you at the helm of a tank, but I doubt you enjoy that either. From where I stand it seems as if you can’t enjoy much at all, if anything. “I’ve been there before. For a very large part of my life. I know what depression is and what it looks like. It’s an old foe of mine. One I am relieved to have slain. I see it in you, Trac. I want to help.” Trac sat silent, staring into Ameili’s goggles. Neither words nor thoughts taking shape in his mind. He knew what was coming, what she was about to ask. There was nothing he could do to stop it. “Retort told me it’s nothing that happened recently,” Ameili said when it became clear Trac wouldn’t say anything. “You’ve been like this for years. I’m your friend. I want to help… I know what the problem is, but I do not know why it still plagues you. “Please, Trac… Why are you not over Birch’s death?” Trac’s left eye twitched as a heap of rage entered his heart. “You didn’t know him! You have no right to talk about—” “I’ve lost a coltfriend before too. He was killed before my eyes when a mugger decided taking our coins was not enough and ran him through. I am a soldier today because of that moment. I know loss. I know pain. I know how it can shape our future. Please, share your pain with me,” Ameili pleaded, her hooves clasped in front of her. Trac clenched his teeth. There was nothing he wanted to talk about less, but Ameili’s words latched onto his heart. She knows… No one should know. His ears sagged downwards. The fight melting out of him. “Because… Because I know I’ll never be happy again without him,” Trac muttered, staring at something beyond the floorboards. “Why not?” Ameili asked as politely as she could, inclining her head. “He was everything to me,” Trac said flatly. “My parents don't see me as a pony, Ameili. They hate me because I left home. You turn five, you work the fields for life. They expect you to be a farmer till you die and never leave the family. They don’t offer anything. No pay, just food and shelter.” Trac looked down at himself and sighed. “See this body? I never wanted to look like this. I’m not… I’m not a guy’s guy. I’m not girly either. But I never wanted to be a brick. I wanted to be slim, lean, athletic. That’s more attractive. I’m like this because I spent every single day since I was five doing hard labor. “Did you know that a colt that young can pitch hay bales? Because they can. They feel every single muscle screaming in pain their entire childhoods, but they can.” Ameili’s ears fell. She reached out and laid a sympathetic hoof on Trac’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. That is an experience I can not relate too. But I wish I could understand.” Trac gave her a grateful look before continuing. “Celestia made homeschool illegal if both parents worked before I was old enough to go to school. It’s a good law. It means foals have to have a designated educator. Mom refused to stop farming. Dad refused to stop farming. They live to work. School was my only time for freedom. “Birch was the first pony to actually love me. I had friends before him. Friends might say ‘I love you, dude.’ but they don’t love you. Real love is different. Friends just like you. Learning that difference changed everything for me. “Birch supported me, helped me learn to think for myself. He told me that if I wanted to be an archeologist that I could be one and that I should go do it. He made me feel like a person instead of a piece of farming equipment. He even started saving up money to hire a wizard to get me a transformation spell so I could look how I wanted too. “If it weren't for him, I would be a mindless farming drone. I did everything for him. He could have easily abused me this way. I would have happily been his slave. But he made me his partner. “I knew my parents would hurt me for loving him. My older sister was beaten for dating a mare. Not because she was another mare, but because they couldn’t make kids. My parents only approve of things that will help the farm. There’s no room for love in relationships for them, only reproduction. They married because their farms were adjacent to one another and a single larger farm would make more money. That’s it. They almost never speak to each other if it’s not for business. “When you work for someone, being paid in food and shelter and not being allowed to leave… That’s slavery. We were all slaves in their eyes. They hated that we legally had to go to school. My older siblings were all home schooled. They were right to do that. For their goals I mean. Because if I hadn’t met Birch I wouldn’t be free.” Ameili’s facemask creased, what could be seen of it behind her goggles and respirator forming an enraged scowl. Trac yelped, his eyes shooting open wide and his mane standing up in terror. WHAT THE BUCK! HOW DID THAT MOVE LIKE SKIN?! “They DARED to procreate with not only no intention of loving their children, but seeing them solely as a source of labor?!” Ameili roared, jumping out of her chair forcefully enough to knock it over. “Blasphemy! Where are these monsters?! Vesta demands their heads!” Holy bucking shit what have I unleashed?! Trac screamed to himself. “I— Uh— J— I’m not going to tell you. I don’t care if they die but I don't want Retort to put you in jail!” Ameili took a deep breath, her voice box producing a rather terrifying static hiss as she did so. She let the breath go, a shaky, eerie sound which took most of her rage with it. “You’re right. I am sorry. I do not know if you are religious, but I am. Know that if my people were to have discovered a nation which did to their children as your parents did to you, we would declare a holy war with the intent to liberate their children, and bring Vesta’s wrath upon their parents. That monstrous behavior is beyond immoral and unjust in my eyes. “If you ever see your parents, and I am with you, do not point them out as I may not be able to prevent myself from obeying divine commands to ensure all children are loved and to put those who hurt them to the sword.” Trac gulped. That’s a pretty barbaric religion… Good thing it’s on the side of— Wait a minute! “Vesta? As in the Romane goddess of the home, heart, and family?” Trac asked, his jaw going slack. “There’s a nation out there still practicing ancient Romane religion?” Ameili shook her head. “No. Just one with a lot of believers in it… That’s not important right now. What’s important is that I understand—” Trac shook his head. “Like tartarus it’s not!” He declared, standing up. “There is NOTHING on that religion aside from the names of its gods and some of their basic roles. You PRACTICE it. You know it. HOW do you know it? How many people do? Where are you from? You’re the key to learning lost history!” Ameili’s face softened, her mask returning to its normal not-expressing-an-expression state. “And how the BUCK did your mask glower?!” Trac demanded, a fearful quaver creeping back into his voice. “Some of my suit is fused to parts of me. I never take it off. I rot. I heal. Sometimes bits grow into things. I’m sorry if that scared you,” Ameili apologized, giving Trac a polite nod. “Okay. Good to know. That made me almost pee myself,” he admitted. “So. Your religion. Where. Who? How many?” Ameili smiled, her conjured flames looking more shaky than they usually did. “How long has it been since you cared about something like this, Trac?” “Years. Roam is a place I promised Birch we would find together. I’m going to honor that promise and his memory. WHERE ARE YOU FROM!” Trac demanded almost angrily, his eyes narrowing. Ameili sighed. “I’m from the far north. It’s griffon country now, but it used to be its own kingdom. Roam’s religion survives in us because some Romanes lived there when the city fell. Most of their own memory of their culture were lost, but the holy texts remained intact. We do not share them for fear of never seeing them again. I disagree with our isolationist policy for many reasons. “I can’t take you there because I was exiled. They will kill me and anyone with me if I return home.” Trac winced. “Because of your disease?” “Yes. The disease is why you will be killed if you go there.” Trac raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “I thought you said you couldn’t pass it to others without fluid contact.” “There is absolutely no chance of you being infected by me, Trac,” Ameili said as she looked Trac directly in the eye. “But my countrymen do not care about such things and will kill you for being with me, and will kill me for returning. Nor will I tell you the way so you may go on your own, as there is a chance you might mention me to them, and they would fall upon you, tearing you from limb to limb. I do not speak in metaphor, Trac. My people would draw and quarter you, then burn your body.” Trac gulped and sat back down. “S— sounds like a bunch of nice people.” “They were once,” Ameili said as she used her arcane grip to stand her chair back upright. “What happened?” “The disease happened,” Ameili muttered. “I’m telling you something personal, you should return the favor,” Trac pressed, steepling his hooves. “You’ve told me half of what I asked for,” Ameili countered, her tail flicking worriedly. Aha! I’ve got her! If I say she’ll owe me a full answer in return then… Then… Then tell…. Trac’s eyes grew distant as he thought about that day so long ago. Can I tell anyone… I can’t. I just can’t. Or…. She’s dying. She lost a loved one to violence too... “I will finish if you promise me two things,” Trac said softly. “First, you don't tell anyone else what I tell you. You take it to your grave. Second, you tell me the truth about your disease. If there’s a magic plague in the griffon’s kingdom, Equestria needs to know. That could be why they are playing war games on our border. They could be getting ready to invade to secure medical supplies.” “You’re oddly worried about griffons attacking. I can hear it in your tone. It’s okay. Your princesses trade medicine freely to all, even those hostile to them,” Ameili said soothingly. “Not enough to treat… Whatever you have,” Trac countered. “They would need everything we have if you died in a city’s water supply. Do you promise me?” Ameili thought for a few long silent moments. “Only if you too take my secret to the grave. I swear to you it is of no harm to anypony. Know that my condition is very common back home, and while they are a threat to those who stumble upon them, I am different. I am sane. I am peaceful.” “Unless someone abuses foals,” Trac said reflexively. “Yes,” Ameili agreed. “Do you promise?” Trac nodded once and held a hoof over his heart to swear an oath. “I promise I will keep your secret. But I will tell my commanding officers any security threat your secret presents. I will inform them the source wished to remain anonymous and did not give me their name.” “Good enough,” Ameili said with a worried frown. “I trust you, Trac. You’re a kind and honest stallion. That’s why I want to help you slay your own depression. I promise I will tell no one.” Okay… I can do this. She’s hiding something about Roam. I can talk about Birch for his memory’s sake. Trac took a deep breath. “Birch came to the farm sometimes,” he began. “My parents let him come over because he would work while we talked. They didn’t know we were in love. My siblings were nice enough to not tell on me… They knew he and I would sneak off for uh… Fun. “At least I think they were nice. They could have been afraid if they snitched on me I would snitch back. We all knew everything the others did… T— twelve years ago… Our farm was attacked by griffons.” Trac stopped talking for a long moment. Ameili conjured a sympathetic frown. “I don’t remember any invasion a decade ago. Was it a bandit raid?” Trac shook his head. “They are not bandits. They are privateers. We all know it, but no one can prove it. Every border town is hit once a decade or so. Celestia won’t do more than send more troops to the local fort without proof… The High King insists they are bandits, and promises to move his own troops to ‘patrol more’. It’s an excuse to put more soldiers on the border. We all know that too. “But they have airships. Good armor. Guns… They came from the sky, silently. Ponies are used to shadows of large flying things. You see one and you think ‘A pegasus is flying over me.’. We had no idea… They just dove… “We tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. We ran anyway. But they had tranquilisers. That’s the sick thing. They don't kill you. They swoop down, put you to sleep and take you back home as a slave… Some have escaped to tell the tale. The griffons work you to death as livestock, then eat you. It’s their culture, their biology, their instinct. “Griffons are predators. They are carnivores. They can’t eat plants at all. They hunt. Some feel they need to hunt people… Enough for them to hold political power and keep what they do legal. “Their king insists they only hunt intelligent prey in their borders, and even then only condemned criminals. But that’s a lie. We can’t prove it’s a lie, but it is. They come here to hunt us and they are doing it legally!” Ameili nodded once. “I know. I’m sorry. I would stop them if I could.” “Birch… Birch and I were… We were… He was on me when they came,” Trac whispered. “He realized what was happening. Pushed me deep into a haystack. Surrendered. Made them think he was napping on the job. He saved my life…” Ameili stood up and wrapped her forelegs arround Track in a tight hug. Trac hesitated, then hugged her back. The two embraced for a minute before Ameili let go. “That’s horrible. I understand why you’re still depressed now. I also understand why you carry that gun in case of griffons. You want revenge, you need it, but it is also out of your reach.” “I don’t want revenge,” Trac said shaking his head. “I want it to stop. I can’t do more than protect myself and anyone around me when it happens again. That’s why I can’t… He died for nothing. They will come back for me again and again. “If I leave, they will come back for others. I want to find Roam not only because I promised Birch, but because if I did, the historic site would attract more attention to the northlands. The Princesses would send nobles here. Then the next time the griffons attack, someone who can actually talk to the Princesses directly will tell them how it really is. Then they will send the Elements. That will be the end of their monstrous sport!” Ameili’s ears fell as she hung her head. “That… That won’t work, Trac.” “Yes it will! The Elements stopped Lord Tirek, they can beat anything!” Trac insisted, crossing his forelegs over his barrel. “Maybe you don’t get news of them in griffon territory. Or maybe you think it’s propaganda, but it’s not.” Ameili laughed, a bitter hollow sound. “I’m not questioning the Element’s power, Trac. I’ve seen them. I have seen them in action. The discovery of Roam is the problem. It would not bring archeologists up here. Your battalion would be dispatched to wipe it from the face of the world.” Trac’s jaw dropped, the specific details of her words lost on him under the weight of one realization. “You know where it is!” He exclaimed. Ameili nodded. “I do… You promised, Trac. You’re very emotional right now. Do you remember your promise?” He nodded twice. “I do! But tell me, where is it? How do you know?” Ameili sighed and turned around, staring out her window at the snow, an air of fear surrounding her. “I wanted to drop hints through the winter. Have you come to understand slowly. Retort too. You would accept me if you knew who I am was before you learned what I am. Roam lies to the north by a week’s march. It is not in Equestria, it’s in griffon territory. I was born there.” “You’re Romane?” Trac asked, his eyes still wide. “There are modern living Romanes?! Sisters above! We forget you when you leave! The curse is still working. We think you’re all dead because no one can remember you after the fact!” Ameili laughed bitterly, her posture shifting from one of fear to readiness, though her back remained turned. “I wish that were true… May I unzip my suit’s hood? I promise I will not spit or do anything to endanger you. You will need to see… And unfortunately I expect you to attack me.” “I uh… I do not want to see your rotting flesh,” Trac said flatly, his stomach churning. “You won’t see any of that,” Ameili promised. What’s she playing at? I thought I understood her but now… She’s Romane! This changes everything I thought I knew. Mostly. She’s still nice, helpful, and a bit of a dork. But she’s so much more important than I ever thought! “Okay,” Trac said nervously as he squirmed in his seat. Ameili reached up to her throat and slowly unzipped her hood. Trac winced, bracing himself for the stench of rotting flesh, but none came. Instead the scent of machine oil and warm latex filled the air. Her suit’s hood slipped off with a rustle of fabric, hanging limply from the back of her neck, and revealing a second hood underneath. This one form fitting, like a second skin, with a high quality wig attached to it to form a mane. “You… Use a latex bodysuit and a wig to look more normal?” Trac asked as Ameili turned around and took off her respirator, letting it too hang from her neck. His question wasn't answered the moment her mouth was visible. The black laytex wasn’t skintight, it was her skin. It had molded lips, a proper nose, and beyond it Trac could see pale white craft foam serving to pad the skin out like fat would. A few glints of silver beneath the foam in her nostrils revealed metal present in what had to be a prosthetic face. A few small glowing amber lines trailed down her face from her temples, across her cheeks, and to her throat. The mana-circuits which interfaced with her voice box. A voice box Trac could not see despite knowing it was on her throat. Or maybe it’s IN her throat… She said she doesn't eat with her mouth anymore. Ameili spoke, her open mouth revealing her skin to move exactly as one would expect real flesh to, her teeth to have been replaced with silver, and the inside of her mouth and throat had been replaced with hot pink silicone which Trac was fairly certain had come from a sex toy of some kind given the rubbing inside her mouth and throat. “I made this… Skin in the vain hopes I would be accepted with it on. I identify as this now, but the real me is deeper in. On another layer. There are no zippers or seams for this part. I will have to cut it open. I will hurt myself doing it. Please do not stop me. This is necessary.” “I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Trac said immediately. “You don’t have to show me anything. If you say this is what you look like, then this is what you are… Honestly I can’t blame you for wanting to look whole again.” Ameili snorted. “I’ve been lying to you, Trac. My ‘condition’ is worse than I have told you. You need to see. I would like it if we remained friends after this. I have enjoyed having one again.” Trac winced and slid back further into his seat. No one says that if a real doozy isn’t on the way. “My greatest fantasy is for there to be living Romanes, Trac,” she said, her face moving like living tissue again, twisting into an expression of grief Trac knew well. My heart made that face when Birch died… Whatever it is, I won't hate her for it. We’re in the same boat. Trac decided. Then his heart skipped a beat. Wait… Living. But she’s living? Oh. OH! OH! She’s a Romane built construct! The theory! Trac’s eyes widened as a mixture of terror and wonder shot through his veins. Ameili’s horn glowed a pale orange as she reached out with her magic, took a small sewing kit from her backpack, removed the seam ripper, and stuck the tool into a seam in her latex skin. The moment the sharp tool pushed into the latex Ameili hissed in pain. She pushed the tool down the seam to open her ‘hood’, whimpering, hissing, and moaning the entire time the tool was at work. “Ow! Ow… Ow! Why did he make it… So we feel… Things… Like we had a— OW! Real body? Bastard deserved… More fi— BUCK! Fire! If he ever comes— OW! Back to life… And I don't get to set him on fire again… There will— Ahhh! Be hell to pay.” Trac jumped to his hooves and reared up, gesturing for Ameili to stop immediately. “I know what you are! You can stop! Don’t hurt yourself!” Trac begged. “The seam is open. You’re going to see,” Ameili growled. “I refuse to cut myself for nothing.” Ameili took a deep breath, reached up to her head, and took off her goggles, revealing a pair of star sapphires instead of eyes. She blinked. Trac waved a hoof. The star shapes within the gems tracked his movement. Yep. I expected something like this. Nice choice of gems. Her builders had good taste. Ameili set her goggles on her desk, gingerly grabbed her latex and foam skin, then pealed it away from her skull. Her hollow, organic, albeit silver-metal plated, skull. A part of her spine was visible as well, metal plated vertebre hiding behind clockwork augmentations. Stand ins for muscles long decayed. “There are no living Romanes. We are all dead,” Ameili said matter of factly, her jaw moving despite lacking any connecting tissue. Or linking servos. Or magical circuitry. The jawbone moved on its own. Her skull was held up because she willed it to be. Trac was looking into the face of an undead.