//------------------------------// // Tour of Duty // Story: I'm Afraid of Changeling (and other short stories) // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// The last light of day was fading behind the western mountains when I collapsed onto my cloud bed. Around me, a dozen other pegasi mumbled and groaned, joked and laughed, as our flight settled in for the evening. Long hours of training weighed on our wings, drooping them like old stallions, and all I could think about was the blissful slumber just moments from claiming— “Cirrus!” the lieutenant shouted from down the barracks hall. “In my office!” Celestia dammit. I let out a silent sigh and pushed myself back onto my hooves. Sleep was going to have to wait a few more minutes, it seemed. “Posting!” I shouted back, earning a few chuckles from the pegasi around me. It wasn’t necessary to respond so formally, but I got a kick out of pretending to care about the force’s customs and courtesies. Despite centuries of trying, the Equestrian Military Command hadn’t figured out how to prohibit sarcasm yet. Hopefully they never would, and future generations of soldiers would be able to bitch and moan in safety. “Hey,” Cloud Scatter snagged me with a wingtip as I passed her bunk. She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to whisper. “Don’t forget, you owe me.” Right, right. I paused long enough to give her wings a critical look; they were ruffled, but not unruly. Earlier in the day I’d promised to preen them for her – an exceptionally relaxing and enjoyable experience for pegasi – in exchange for her help with a troublesome patrol. It was a common trade among flightmates, regardless of gender, and something the higher-ups encouraged as a way to foster unit cohesion. Speaking of cohesion, sometimes preening led to other, more intimate encounters. I tried to gauge Scatter’s expression for any hint of her intentions, but she just smiled at me with that little smile she always wore. Time would have to tell. Sleep might be later in coming than I thought. “Sure,” I mumbled back, sneaking a careful glance around. If any of the other ponies heard – or cared – they weren’t showing it. “Lemme just see what the LT wants.” The lieutenant was waiting in his little office with the flight’s first sergeant. For a panicked moment I tried to mentally review the past few weeks for any indiscretions that might be worth punishing. Nothing came to mind, or at least, nothing that either of them should have been aware of. My confusion must’ve shown on my face. “Relax,” the lieutenant said. He passed a folded piece of paper across his desk toward me. “Got a tasking letter. Congratulations.” Ah. I stared at the paper. When neither of them spoke, I picked it up, unfolded it, and read. “Pretty popular,” the first sergeant rumbled. He was the largest pegasi I’d ever seen, nearly as large as an earth pony, and being around him when he spoke was like hovering beside a thundercloud. “Wish they’d let me head out there.” Do you? I scanned the letter, wondering if a trade were even possible. Alas, as always, there was that one treacherous line near the end: SPECIAL EXPERIENCE REQUIRED: WEATHER I let out a little breath. “Sorry sir. I’d share, but…” “Yeah, yeah.” He slapped my barrel with the flat of his wing. “Give ‘em hell for us.” Right. I nodded, slipped the tasking letter beneath my wing, and walked back into the barracks, where Cloud Scatter waited with her little smile. * * * “So why do you get to keep going?” I ignored the question. Or, more precisely, I postponed answering it until we’d finished flying our fifth lap around the training grounds. Two days had passed since I received the letter, and the entire flight knew I’d soon be leaving for a half a year. It was summer, and the hot, thin air provided little support beneath our wings. Hovering was difficult even for the strongest fliers, and although it was early, I suspected most of the flight would break off for less-strenuous activities after lunch. Map reading was always a fun task to practice on hot days. “Just lucky, I guess,” I finally said as we slowed to a stop. The ground was a mile or so beneath us, far enough away to turn into an abstract swell of hills and valleys, dotted with green trees and amber grass. “No, seriously, why?” Chinook asked. He hovered beside me, his thin falcon’s wings buzzing like a hummingbird’s to stay aloft. “You’re not the best flier. You can’t even carry much. Why the hell do they need you?” “Love you too, man.” “Ugh, come on!” He spun in place, trying to stay in front of me. “What’s the secret?” I shrugged. “There is none. I’m just good with weather.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” “I could do that! Anypony can kick a cloud.” He looked around, perhaps searching for such a cloud. Alas, the sky was blue and beautiful and completely, utterly empty around us. “It’s a little more complex than that,” I said. “How?” Now it was my turn to look around. Technically we were supposed to be practicing flight maneuvers, not chatting about the weather. But the lieutenant wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and honestly, the upcoming deployment was all the justification I needed for some practice. “Stuff like this,” I said. Chinook leaned forward, as though he hadn’t heard me, but by then I’d already begun. I held out my hooves and twisted the air between them. The ambient pressure in a sphere about the size of a beachball suddenly fell by several inches of mercury, and the space filled in an instant with a dense fog. I tapped the newborn cloud with my hoof, nodded, then kicked it over to Chinook. He caught it easily. “You can make clouds? I thought you needed water for that.” “The water’s already here.” I waved a leg. “The air is full of it. Besides, making a cloud is easy.” I concentrated, and the tiny cloud in Chinook’s grasp dissolved in a spray of snow, sparkling as it drifted away in the hot summer air, never melting. “Whoa.” He looked down at his hooves, where a thin layer of frost had accumulated. “How’d you do that? You didn’t even touch it.” “It’s not about touch.” I let my senses extend to the air around me, searching for the rising thermals and the cold air of downdrafts. They were all around us, invisible but no less real for it. A casual twitch of my wings tangled the currents and set them spinning around us in a weak vortex. “It’s about your will,” I continued. I reach out to tap Chinook’s forehead with my hoof, and at my silent command the winds sped faster and faster, forming a funnel around us. Droplets of mist stung my nose. “Whoa,” Chinook breathed. “How are you…” “Just something my father taught me.” The air shook, and my hollow bones trembled in sympathy. A chilling cold seeped out from the whirlwind speeding around us, and the world beyond was lost in a haze of snow and hail. I held the vortex for a few moments more, until the shrieking winds drowned out my thoughts, and released it. Suddenly unbound, a million balls of hail shot away from us and began the long fall to the earth far below. * * * “Do you know what size you need?” The armorer, a tan pegasus whose name I should have known but couldn’t remember for the life of me, asked. “Twelve long, medium wide,” I said. I probably could’ve used a larger wingblade, but I’d gotten used to that size, and it was comfortable. The next few minutes passed in silence as the armorer fitted my wings with the blades. They sat alongside the radial bones, hidden beneath the long primary feathers, until a careful twist extended them to their full length. The centuries had seen new designs come and go, new metals, better forges, but the basic premise of the wingblade hadn’t changed since pegasi first began writing down how to make them. “Okay, those look good,” the armorer – Cloud Fire, that was his name – said. “See if you can extend—” I was way ahead of him. Before he finished speaking I flicked my wings, snapping the blades out with the distinctive metal *ting* they were so known for. I flapped a few times, stretching the muscles, letting my body remember the odd weight they added. Just like old times. Another twist, and the blades retracted with a quiet *snick*. I folded my wings at my side, the blades within hidden perfectly beneath the feathers. “Huh, you’ve done this before,” Cloud Fire said. “Yeah, once or twice.” Already the blades’ weight seemed natural, like something long lost had finally returned to me. Reassuring. No longer missing. “Where do I sign?” * * * “Hey.” I looked up from my bags. Cloud Scatter stood at the foot of my bunk, smiling that little smile at me. “Hey,” I said. I made a show of rummaging inside the saddlebag in front of me again, but the contents were the same as five minutes ago. I didn’t have much to pack. “Tomorrow, huh? Be weird not having you around.” She hopped up on the bed next to the bags and gave me a polite nuzzle, the kind I gave to my little sister when I visited home. The other pegasi in our flight made themselves busy looking elsewhere. “It’s just for six months. I’ll be back before you know it.” “You said that last time. It felt pretty long to us.” She glanced down the row between the bunks, already dark as our flight prepared for bed. “To me.” “Yeah, well…” I couldn’t think of any way to finish the thought. “Yeah.” “Five times. Think this’ll be the last?” She worried at an errant feather with her lips, then looked up with ruby eyes. I shrugged. “Maybe. Ask the griffons.” “Fuck the griffons.” There wasn’t much to say to that, so I just sat beside her. Eventually, she sighed and spoke again. “How do you feel?” She looked away to ask the question. “Scared,” I whispered. Her head whipped back toward me, her feathers ruffling. “What?” “Excited,” I said, louder. I forced a smile on my face. “Ah.” Her wings settled back at her side. “Well, try not to forget us, huh?” That wouldn’t be hard. We spent the next few hours sitting together, in silent brooding, even as the barracks went dark around us. * * * I had my own booth on the train. Not many ponies were still heading north to support the war. Soon enough, we were told, the war would be over, and soldiers would only ride home. I thought about that as home sped away behind me. A middle-aged mare paused in the aisle by my booth. She reached out and patted my armored shoulder with her hoof. “Thank you for your service, sonny.” I smiled at her. It was genuine, or so well practiced that it might as well be. I couldn’t tell anymore. “It’s our pleasure, ma’am.” When she was gone, and the train rattled onward, and it was just me in the carriage, I leaned forward, my head low between my legs. I sucked in great breaths of air, my chest swelling like bellows. I felt like sobbing, or screaming, or laughing, or just doing something other than speed toward whatever awaited me in the north. My eyes squeezed shut, and for a long moment memories of my past, memories of my future, rushed like an endless river through my mind, sweeping me along with them, helpless to escape them. Just as quickly it was over, and I sat back up, my heart racing but my body and my expression calm. A pony passing by would not have noticed anything out of place. And still the train carried me on.