I didn't know what I had been expecting when I asked for combat training, but I was pretty sure it wasn't this.
Officially we had no army to speak of. The royal guards were the closest we had to a military presence, and they were mostly decorative, as they were called to dangerous duty so rarely. They, of course, were all changelings. As such, training with them would be useless. Learning to march in ranks would gain me nothing.
The major force was the police. Again, these were mostly decorative in their role, as the shared wealth, media and brainwashing had kept the populace mostly content. Ponies had full bellies, lovers and somewhere to sleep. The pony next door had the same thing, so there was no need to try to better him, or steal what was his. As such, the police training would not really be appropriate. At most they had to deal with the odd domestic disturbance. None of them were armed. The police had mostly ponies on the ground, and changelings higher up the command structure. Now that I had taken over, more ponies were getting promoted, and more changelings were taking the opportunity to go out on patrol.
The last force to be considered was Central's nasty little secret, and I had dealt with both regular soldiers and the death squads. That was our real military, and it was so small it would stand no chance against those clockwork-spider killing machines. What this did offer me, however, was somewhere to train.
The training ground was a circular area a few floors below the royal palace, not far from the barracks. It was two levels high, giving the headroom required for climbing, jumping and other athletic activities. It didn't compare to being able to leap between buildings and bridges up above ground level. I doubted, even when fully trained, that the soldiers would be capable of truly freerunning. The risk factor was too high.
And, of course, everyone who was down here used codes instead of names, as was standard practice for Central's more sensitive departments.
Entering reception, I found a glowing pony standing in front of me. He was wearing a cream jumpsuit, presumably as city camouflage. The way his eyes sought out mine suggested he was waiting for me. That made me wonder how it would be possible to read the eyes of a changeling in its natural form, as they were a uniform pale blue.
The glowing pony broke the silence. "1C3, I presume."
I nodded.
He continued. "I will be your instructor. I am 3G1. I must say that it is most unusual for a 1xx rank member to be sent to do combat training. Those that would need combat training have usually completed it before they were promoted. So, 1C3, I must ask why are you here?"
"Because I need training, obviously," I replied. "Last time I found myself in a bad situation, I think I panicked, and that is no good."
"You think, but you do not know?" 3G1 asked, raising his eyebrows.
"It is not something I remember clearly. Whatever the case was, I did not perform well enough. That is all you need to know."
"I see," he said. Slowly pacing, he walked around me, looking me up and down, paying particular attention to my HELaTS body. He came to a stop in front of me. "I'd suggest you change out of that black skin-suit, too, if you value it," he said. He had to be joking.
"I'm naked," I said.
"I suspected as much, but thought asking if you were Hellspawn would be rude."
That horrid name was still in use?
"HELaTS or Hellites, please," I said. "Calling us Hellspawn is indeed rude."
"As you wish. Training will be rough. Do you wish to put on a jumpsuit to protect your body?"
"No, thank you. I will train as I am." The HELaTS body was, after all, a lot tougher than a that of a regular pony, or a jumpsuit for that matter.
"All right. See that track?" He pointed at strip of rusty-red ground. "It follows the inner wall of the compound. It is quite some distance. I want you to run around it until you are completely exhausted. I will be watching, so I will know if you slack off. When you are done, we will call it a day. You are too late for any serious training today. However, tomorrow morning, I want you standing right there, fresh and ready to go, with the other cadets. Understood?" The changeling's voice had taken on a commanding tone, indicating that niceties were over.
"Understood, sir," I said. I took off at a gallop, surprising him. Even at that rate, I knew I would have to stop before I was exhausted, or I would still be running after everypony else had gone to bed. In fact, I would probably still running by the time we were expected to assemble the following morning.
The day had mostly been devoted to physical training. Endurance and coordination were the primary goals, along with a degree of teamwork. I couldn't say I really had any use for this sort of training. What I wanted was combat training. I wanted to be taught how to keep a cool head in the most dire of circumstances. Strategy would also be something of value. While I could work out strategies of my own, being equipped with successful military strategies would only help me.
Apparently, my thoughts on the irrelevance of the training was being broadcast by my actions, because I was called over to 3G1 while the other cadets continued to struggle through the obstacle course. To me it had been foal's play. 3G1 had called me over as soon as I had completed the course.
"It is apparent that you do not need any further physical development," the disguised changeling said. "I give you all of the exercises, and while the other cadets collapse of exhaustion, you are as fresh and energetic as when you started. Your muscles are quite visibly well developed, plus you have the HELaTS advantage. I send you through our most grueling obstacle course, and you ace it. You jump where others struggle to climb. You take alternative routes at full speed."
I shrugged. "I am a freerunner," I said.
"I am, however, a little concerned with your attitude, at times. You do not always follow orders. You do not always address me as Sir. When I tell you to climb a wall, I expect you to climb, not jump. Although, I suspect the result would be no different. Nonetheless, you must learn to obey your superiors. I will be noting this in the report I supply to those who sent you here."
"3G1, you are forgetting my rank. It is you should be addressing me as Sir. I don't answer to anyone. I came here of my own volition."
"Really? You were not sent by your commanding officer?"
"I do not have a commanding officer," I said.
"Whatever the case, you must ultimately answer to the queen," 3G1 said.
"I guess you could say that." Ultimately, I did answer to myself, didn't I? More to the point, I answered to every pony in this habitat.
"All the same, whoever you do or don't answer to, please, could you not set a bad example for the other cadets?"
"If you put it that way," I agreed.
"What should I do with you?" 3G1 asked, as if I was still a problem cadet.
"What I need is to learn how to handle intense situations, how to maintain my cool while I am being stabbed at or shot at," I said. "I need to be able to fight when my friends are dying around me, when blood and gore are everywhere, when the enemy is stronger than I could have imagined. I need to be able to win."
"Situations like that aren't something that happen particularly often, are they?"
"You'd be surprised," I said. "I, personally, have been shot multiple times, stabbed, slashed, and had my legs cut off. My friend really was killed beside me in my last battle."
"You are joking, right?" His military tone had been replaced by one of surprise. "I have heard of no such conflicts within the habitat."
"It's no joke," I said, pointing to a couple of my scars. "Unfortunately, mine is a very hazardous line of work."
Again, 3G1 walked slowly around me, studying me, identifying my scars, suggesting what he believed to be the cause of each.
"Okay, ma'am," he said "It is plain that you do not need to be trained as a regular soldier. I will see if we can devise more adequate training for you."
Ma'am? He was acknowledging my rank now?
"Thank you."
"Do you have a weapon? Has one been issued to you?" he asked.
"I am a weapon," I muttered. "I have not been issued a weapon here, but I do own one."
"What sort?"
"It's an Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories boot pistol." Maybe they could start calling them Storm guns. It was a hell of a lot easier to say!
"I can't say I am familiar with the model. I will issue you with a regular service weapon. Being familiar with multiple types of weapons is highly recommended."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now, while I go organize things, I want you to go back into the training yard and climb that bloody wall. Keep doing it until I return."
"Yes, sir!" I said, being careful not to sound too cheeky. It was not as if I could not climb the wall. The alternatives had just been easier.
The week was wearing on. Cacha was on my mind when I wasn't in combat training. Fortunately, combat training had the ability to fill my mind, take all my concentration, and forget the world outside the immediate. Could I find any other way to say the same thing? At least the training was going well.
3G1 had given up trying to train me the regular way, after I excelled at pretty much everything he threw my way. I was surprised to find out I was quite accurate with the ancient, explosive powered guns, despite their lack of any integral targeting spells. Just sighting by eye, I was above average. If I had to guess, I would say the skill came from the judgements I had to make while freerunning. The only real difference between freerunning and shooting was that in the former case, I was the projectile.
As an experiment, I wrote my own targeting spells in such a way that I could apply them to any weapon. As a result, accuracy jumped to a whole new level. They let me expend ten of their rare bullets, both testing and marveling at my accurate shooting. The shell casings were recovered for reuse. The shells themselves were also salvaged for recycling. It reminded me just how limited our resources were, trapped in this sphere. I had no idea where they got their propellant from, but it would not surprise me if a variation of the food generator was in use.
The following stage of training was something 3G1 and I devised together. He managed to find the members of the death squad with which I had previously battled, and psyched them up by telling them I was the mare who had beaten them up. Actually it had been... Cacha... that had beaten them, but we wanted them after my blood. Legally, they had no recourse, but given the opportunity to return the pain, they were quite enthusiastic about their assignment. That was what I wanted. I wanted them to shoot to inflict pain, not take pity on the pretty mare.
I organized a shipment of training pistols from Brainstorm. They were just regular boot pistols, but were restricted to firing carrot. That way, being shot would be painful, and something a pony would try to avoid, giving training a new level of realism.
The squad and I were transported separately to preselected locations in the deserted sublevels, where we set about trying to eliminate each other. There were no silly one hit and you play dead rules, with both sides going at it until they were too tired or too sore to continue. The former death squad wore armor and helmets to protect themselves from the worst of the damage. Apart from deploying my integral head armor, I chose to use no protection. I wanted to feel the pain, and not out of any self pity or misguided attempt at penance. I simply wanted to learn how to keep fighting when I was wounded, instead of panicking or collapsing in a heap as per usual.
3G1 tagged along with me, watching, instructing me when needed, but never partaking in the fighting.
I soon learned to think on my hooves, to dodge preemptively, to make good use of cover when appropriate, and movement when not. After the first day of this intense training, I retired with a mass of stinging lumps on my hide. It made sleeping a little uncomfortable. They had healed by the following morning, only to be replaced with a fresh set by the following day's activities.
By the time a week of this was over, I was beginning to gain the upper hoof. More training would follow, but this day was special. Cacha was being taken from the tank. Today we would see if her mind had truly survived, if her personality hadn't taken too much damage. It wasn't as if I was going to abandon her if things had changed. Mostly I was desperately hoping she wouldn't wake up a stranger.
The advantage of having two homes was that one could choose to live in the more convenient location, as required. It could also be a problem, especially when you left something at the other location. Technically, I had been living out of Habitat Ten for the last few weeks. Until Cacha was released from the hospital, that was the place closest to her.
Except for the minor detail that, during training, I had actually been staying in the barracks, up in the life support chamber. As such, my home in Habitat Ten was just too far to return to each night. Tonight, however, that would be exactly where I was sleeping. The commute was a long elevator ride, a couple miles of corridors and catwalks, and the final elevator within Habitat Ten itself.
My first destination, however, was not my home – that could wait until I picked up Cacha. I rapidly made my way to the hospital, musing that, with my frequent visits, the place was almost becoming a home away from home.
I approached the reception desk, waiting until the nurse acknowledged me. Finally, she looked up. I wondered if what she was doing was so important she could not spare the time, or if this always-present delay was merely a way of trying to put visitors at a disadvantage.
"Do you have any news for me? Where's Cacha?" I asked. "Has she been removed from the tank yet?"
"Please wait while I fetch the head doctor," the nurse answered, practically leaping from the desk and bolting out the door behind her.
Oh wonderful. I hated when ponies avoided questions, and ran for their superiors. It never meant anything good. Doubly so when that superior was a former mad scientist. I hadn't even had the chance to ask about Snow!
I paced back and forth, barely holding myself back from stomping. Who was I kidding? I had adjusted my hooves so they were soft, so as not to disturb any other patients, and was stomping for all I was worth. Damn it. More than a week without Cacha. More than a week without even communicating with her.
"Ah, Aneki. Good of you to drop in," Stormie said, appearing through the doorway.
"Was it?" I asked. "Where's my Cacha?"
"She left earlier."
"You're kidding. Didn't you tell her I was going to drop by?"
"Aneki, Cacha has changed. She didn't want to meet you here. I suggest you go home now. Cacha will contact you when she feels like doing so." Stormie's face was dead serious.
I deflated.
"You are kidding," I muttered, barely restraining myself from a most unladylike display. "And Snow?"
"She's fine. We'll let you know when she wants to see you," Stormie said.
"Doesn't anypony want to see me, anymore?" I asked, bitterly. What a let down. For a week of near-torture to end this way was just. too. much.
"Go home to your daughter, Aneki. You've been so busy with training that you've been neglecting her. She'd like to see her mother."
"Oh, okay," I grumbled, poking my tongue out at Stormie. As much as I was disappointed, I had to admit that seeing Allie would be good. I quietly stomped out of the hospital.
Of course, by now, I had completely overlooked the fact that I had left my daughter with her grandmother, Bittersweet. With my mind going in endless circles, I trudged home. I was trying to work out what the situation with Cacha was, and what I was going to do about it, but that required knowing what the situation with Cacha was... this was getting me nowhere. Now if only I could work out what the...
I don't know how many mental loops it took for me to get home, but eventually I head-butted the door, unlocked it, and headed in.
It was quite dark inside, which immediately clued me in to Allie's location. Cussing under my breath, I began to turn, with the idea of going to fetch her from Bittersweet, when I noticed I was not alone.
I could hear breathing.
Did I have an unwanted guest trying to hide? A burglar? That was unlikely. As everypony had easy access to the essentials, it wasn't as if stealing gained anypony much, other than eventual punishment. Allie? I guess that was possible. Perhaps she was asleep. Why she would be here alone was another matter altogether. Perhaps Bittersweet was here too?
"I know you are in here," I said, flicking on the light switch. "So please identify yourself." That had sounded harsher than I meant.
"It's me," a slightly husky voice said from the bedroom.
"Cacha?" I would recognize that voice anywhere. What was she doing here? Hell. She lived here. What I wanted to know was why Stormie had made me believe she would not be.
"Yes," Cacha said. "It's been a long time. Um... how are you?"
She sounded rather awkward. And muffled. She had to be hiding under the blankets for some reason or another. I walked into the bedroom, and sure enough, there was a giant, blanket-wrapped pill-bug on the bed. I wondered what she was playing at. What was so different about her that would cause this behavior? Had the events made her so scared she had to hide? Was she looking for security within the blankets? Or could it be the opposite? Was she afraid to be seen?
"Cacha, why are you hiding?" I asked, gently.
"Um, I'm a bit embarrassed," she said.
"A bit?" So, she didn't want to be seen. Was she badly scarred?
"Okay, a lot. They changed me in the tank. I've got a pokey bit now..."
"A what?" I almost exploded. "Damn it! I told those bastards not to mess with you. I told them I was happy with you being a mare!"
"Really? You really told them that?"
"Of course I told them that. Don't tell me you didn't know how I feel."
"Um... Yeah... You've told me often enough."
"Yet you continue to doubt me?"
"Umm... I'm still a mare," Cacha said.
"Huh? What?"
Now I was getting confused! How could Cacha have a pokey bit and still be a mare. Oh, don't tell me she had both. I shuddered. Now I was getting angry enough to go and remove any appendages the Storms had, pokey or otherwise.
The blankets were suddenly tossed aside, revealing Cacha in all of her usual feminine glory. She was grinning like an idiot. She had a pokey bit all right – and it was in the middle of her forehead – a bloody unicorn horn.
"Argh," I yelled in frustration. I had been well and truly trolled. "Is that horn real?"
Cacha nodded. "I woke a couple of days into treatment, so I was able to talk with Stormie. We discussed the inevitable problem of me coming up against one of those killing machines again."
"Say, what?"
"There is no doubt that you will go out to see if there are any more of those clockwork spiders. That is simply your nature. And where you go, I go. Conclusion: I will meet one again, and will need to be able to fight it. Stormie and I realized the best chance I would have would be if I had one of their unicorn weapons installed in me, and for that to work, I had to be a unicorn."
"So, you now have a weapon system like mine?"
Cacha nodded. I can't say the idea pleased me any, but her argument was solid. At least Cacha seemed to be herself. And now it was apparent that Brainstorm and Stormie could not only restore horns to suppressed unicorns; they could convert earth ponies to unicorns as well.
But what about Cacha herself? There had to be some sort of trauma. I was still traumatized by the events, and I had fared much better than she.
"Cacha. How are you? That had to be mighty stressful!" Admittedly, she had been well enough to pull this joke on me, so she couldn't be too bad. Thinking back, I survived my accident, Hellite conversion and subsequent adventures without becoming a nervous wreck, so maybe Cacha wasn't doing badly at all.
"Aneki, it really wasn't as bad as you might think. I don't have any memory of the incident. The last thing I recall, before waking up in the tank, is when we were still in that revolving tunnel."
"That is a mercy," I said. "Are you aware of what happened?"
"I was given a detailed description of the events."
"No flashbacks? No sudden recollections? You really are okay? No other problems? No new phobias, personality changes, or whatever?"
"Leave a space for me to answer, would you?" Cacha chuckled. "No, no problems. I figured if you were strong enough to survive vivisection, I would be strong enough to survive this."
"If only it was that simple. This encounter has left me rather messed up. I even turned into a zombie for a while."
"I've been a Hellite longer than you, Aneki. I've grown up with nutters who are sure we are nothing more than dead machines, so me being killed and revived isn't the end of the world. That I have no memories of the incident certainly helps, too."
"But suppressed memories..."
"They aren't suppressed, Aneki. They were never transferred from my short term memory to my long term memory. I simply don't have them."
"Okay..." I didn't sound particularly convinced, but I wasn't going to press the point. Time would reveal if any memories remained.
"Now get your dopey butt into bed with me," Cacha said. "We have some serious cuddling to do. We are over a week behind, and have a lot of snuggling to make up."
"You don't say."
"I just did say."
Cacha really seemed to be the same Cacha she was before this little disaster. Her sense of humor was certainly still there, as were the twinkle in her eyes, and all the little mannerisms that made her who she was. To say I was relieved would be an understatement – an extreme understatement. All the same, I wondered how long it would take me to get used to her having a horn.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Cacha asked.
"But Allie..."
"Is safe and happy with Bittersweet, and doesn't mind staying another night," Cacha said leaning forward to grasp me.
As she did, our horns touched, and a magical tingle ran through me. "Woo," I managed. "That was interesting."
"It was, wasn't it," Cacha agreed. "Let's do it again!"
Within moments, there was a tangled mess of blankets and breathlessly blissful ponies on our bed, and I was one of them.