7 - An 80's Montage Fixes Everything.
Heated Retort - 2nd of Midwinter, 08 EoH
West Bloomfield Sheriff's Office - Equestria
Ageing wooden floors creaked as Retort stepped into Sheriff Justice’s office. The dim light of a single lamp cast long shadows across the cluttered room. Retort’s eyes did their best to make out the office’s details and failed. To him, it was a dim mass of filing cabinets, framed photos, a desk, and two chairs.
The eyes of Sheriff Hard Justice had no trouble piercing the dim veil. This was his office, the light was turned to his personal level of comfort. The imposing and mysterious atmosphere it afforded him was a pleasant bonus.
Retort cleared his throat and knocked on the open office door. “Sir? I’ve finished the case report. Are you certain you wouldn’t rather have someone else do it? The suspect lives with me, there’s a conflict of interest.”
The sound of leathery wings sliding across a creaking chair filled the room as Hard Justice turned around. His bright orange eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, holding a fatherly warmth as they looked into Retort’s soul.
“I trust you, deputy. That trust has never once been abused. All other deputies have full caseloads this week. You and I both know everyone hates it when you make them trade a case with another.”
“I still believe someone else should have handled this, sir,” Retort set the file on the Sheriff's desk. “Do you want a verbal report?”
“I would appreciate of a quick summarization of your investigation. There is a lot of paperwork for me to read by the end of the day.” The Sheriff inclined his head towards a box of file folders behind him.
Retort nodded. “I proceeded to Silly Beetle’s hardware as instructed. Missing items equated to approximately one-eighth of all materials on display within the storefront. Excluding lumber which went untouched. The estimated value of the missing goods is seventeen thousand bits, which would have retailed for thirty-three thousand bits. Um, approximately. The full number is in the report.
“No property had been damaged during the theft which occurred during the first fifty minutes the store was open. The sole employee on duty at the time was the morning shift manager, Sweet Stuff. Her account is highly suspect due to her having been under the influence at the time of the robbery. Forensics show she was on a mixture of LSD, Ecstasy, and Alcohol.
“However, her description of the perpetrator as an “alien robot” brought to mind my roommate—”
Hard Justice raised an eyebrow. “Your roommate?”
“Yes, sir,” Retort chuckled and shook his head. “She’s a foreigner visiting Equestria on a travel and medical visa. Ameili has some sort of condition which necessitates she lives inside a bio-suit. Furthermore, her vocal cords have necrosed necessitating her speaking with the aid of a galvanic voice box. She keeps her face covered at all times to prevent you from having to look at her. She looks and sounds like something you might see in a science fiction film or play.
“I doubt there are any other people who look like an “alien robot” in town, and there were no other leads. I would have called it a cold case due to insufficient evidence, if I hadn’t remembered I told Ameili we had a hardware store in town. She was extremely excited about it, leaving the house to camp out overnight at the store.”
“Did you fine her for loitering?” Hard Justice folded his hooves in his lap.
Retort shook his head firmly. “No, sir. Statute Seven-Forty-One-B Section Two of the Civil Code allows citizens to wait in front of public offices and stores for as long as needed if they are there to perform business of some kind.”
The Sheriff smiled, his fangs glittering even in the low light. “That's why I trust you, Retort. Unlike most of my Deputies, you remember even the most obscure laws on the book. I trust you also know there’s no law against me assigning any given deputy to any given case. I know the conflict will not have impacted your judgment.”
Retort cleared his throat. “Uh, I wouldn’t say that, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Well, when I confronted Ameili she had assembled a large prefabricated shed on my property. She intends it to serve as a workshop, and it's storing everything she took. This made me more than a little angry. I was determined to book her for it.”
“Is she in custody?”
Retort sighed and looked down at the floor for a moment. “No, sir… I used a truth charm on her. As it turns out, Sweet Stuff told her she could, and I quote, “Come on in. Just take whatever you want. It’s on the house.” It is against company policy for Silly Beetle employees, managers or otherwise, to authorize discounts on merchandise. But Ameili committed no crime in taking what she wanted as she is protected under the court ruling resulting from Rarity Belle verses Flim-Flam Co. Wherein the courts ruled that if any customer is told they may take an item or items from a store as gifts, or otherwise are informed they do not need to pay, are protected from legal action. Any damages must be covered by the company or its insurers. This includes foreigners and other non-citizens. The ruling defines customers as quote, “anyone within the store who might make a purchase”.”
“In other words, no crime was committed other than public intoxication on the part of Sweet Stuff.” The Sheriff smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Is Sweet Stuff in custody?”
“No, sir. That offense is punishable only by a fine. I wrote up an appropriate fine for a first-time offense of seven hundred and twenty bits.”
“Retort, you just might be my best deputy. You've served ten years on the force without any major incidents. And yet you’re still worried about a conflict of interest even when you know the law better than everyone save me.”
Retort blushed lightly and scratched the back of his head. “Well, it’s not too hard. I’ve memorized thousands of recipes. Laws aren't that different. You just need to read the books slowly.”
“It’s more than that, Retort. You wanted to bring someone in who had angered you personally. You could have booked her for theft, but you didn’t. We both know some of your colleagues would have been unaware of that ruling, and several of them would have ignored it to make the arrest. Not you. Though you could force her to move if you’re still upset.”
Retort shook his head. “No, sir. I’m over it. I can simply tear the shed down in the spring and hope it didn’t ruin my garden’s soil over the winter. Ameili won’t be alive for much longer.”
The Sheriff nodded and took the case file from his desktop, tucking it away in one of his desks’ drawers. “A pity. I hear she’s an excellent Pyromancer.”
Retort frowned. “You know her?”
“Of course. You got her a job with the fire department. The Chief and I are friends by necessity. He would have told me about her even if I didn’t have to authorize her work papers and check her ID. At any rate, I believe you have a beat to walk. That will be all, Deputy.”
Retort paused, memories of Ameili’s twisting mask entering his mind. “She… She has an ID?”
The Sheriff nodded. “Yes. It’s foreign, not from a country I recognized, but did I find it in the reference manual. Why do you ask?”
“Where is she from?”
“Why don’t you ask her? It’s not my place to give out private information.”
Retort frowned for a moment then sighed. “Sir, please. She avoids talking about her personal past. I have reason to suspect she’s not who she claims to be. Nothing critical yet, but… Parts of her story don’t add up.”
The Sheriff paused, resting his hooves on his desk while he stared into Retort’s eyes for several long moments. “Is it a similar hunch to the one which led you to that Changeling scouting party a few years back?”
Retort nodded. “It is.”
“In that case, strictly off the books, Miss Cyprianas is registered as an honorary citizen of Phoenix. I’m not at all familiar with it, but they are recognized by the Crown as a trade partner of Zebrica. There has been some preliminary diplomacy. I can’t tell you anything other than we have their ID’s validation protocols, because that’s all we have. Her ID was valid.”
Retort raised an eyebrow. “What’s an honorary citizen?”
“It means she wasn’t born there, nor holds residence there.”
“Then how can she be counted as a citizen?” Retort asked, his face twisting into a confused frown.
“I don’t know. As far as I know, only the diplomats involved with initiating contact would have an idea. Honorary Citizen is a valid class of citizen for a nation we recognize. We can confirm your friend has the legal protections of a nation we do not yet know.”
Retort bit his lip in thought then nodded once. “Sir? Would it be possible to get some documentation on her? Find out where she’s been over the last few years? Ameili claims she’s been traveling Equestria for the last few years. On hoof, not via train. But there must be a paper trail. You don’t walk around in a bio-suit and get overlooked.”
“Do you think she might be a spy?” The Sheriff asked, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s possible, sir, though that wasn’t what I was thinking. I want to know if she is actually ill. She doesn't appear impaired by her condition in the slightest, and I suspect she isn’t eating anything at home. I’ve also seen her mask move, and she claims to be missing most of her facial tissue... I’m thinking she might be some sort of con artist.”
The Sheriff nodded and sat up straight in his chair. “Your last hunch saved lives. I’ll put a file together for you. But remember, good police work is about evidence, not hunches. Don’t rock the boat at home unless you have that evidence, Retort. Especially since it may take a few months to get the papers together. I’ll need to make calls to every sheriff's office and police department in Equestria. You may not see any evidence in her history until the end of winter.”
Retort nodded. “I understand, sir. And I’m only suspicious, not certain. I— I don’t like suspicious people.”
“I’m not going to fault you for it. Not every deputy goes through what you did. Fewer still survive. But remember, if she is a con artist, keeping her in sight until you have your case is the best approach. You can’t arrest someone you can’t find. Furthermore, you are just a hair paranoid, Retort. You could be chasing ghosts.”
Retort snorted and shook his head. “I understand, sir.”
“Then why the snort?”
“Well, it’s the expression. ‘Chasing Ghosts’. We still use that one even though ghost hunting has been an actual profession for the last seventy years. I have an uncle who banishes ghosts for a living. It always makes me laugh when someone says “you’re chasing real things that are not real.”
Hard Justice smiled and shrugged. “Language is an elegantly clumsy tool. You understand what I meant, right?”
Retort nodded. “I do, sir. I won't treat Ameili any differently without evidence. All I want to do is confirm I can trust her without using a truth charm without authorization.”
I used one on her without authorization once already, but that was an emergency. I needed to be certain she wasn’t an axe murderer. This is a nagging feeling. Besides, they can always refuse to answer the question when you use one. There are many ways to fool lie detectors.
“Excellent. Now, attend to your duties.” The Sheriff turned his chair around, returning to the case file he had been reading when Retort walked in. “As I recall, there is a young mare in a bagel shop near the end of your route waiting for you.”
Retort blushed a bright red. “Uh, y— yes sir!”
Retort turned and walked out of the office, his thoughts turning away from his pending date with Dewdrop to how in the world his boss had found out about it.
Tractor Pull - 6th of Midwinter, 08 EoH
Falcon’s Hold, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Crusader rolled to a stop behind the barn. The tank was hardly concealed by the set-piece. Several shells had blasted holes through the thin plywood walls during the battle. That mattered little, for Crusader had not stopped by choice.
Trac swore as he saw a yellow light blinking on the dash. “Overheat! Boiler Overheat! The drive shaft locked up!”
Bunker slammed her clockwork leg into the side of the hull. “BUCK! Thunder, power down the autoloaders, switch to manual.”
“Roger!” Thunder went to work immediately.
Steam hissed as he pulled the manual disconnect lever. A hundred gears ground to a halt and pistons creaked as pressure released.
“Done!” Thunder growled. “We have one shell and fifty flack till reload.”
“How’s our heat, Trac?” Bunker asked as she began to switch off every non-essential device in the commander’s pod.
Crusader chuffed faintly as the arcane devices powered down. The boiler pinged and creaked, its fuel crystal sighing with relief.
“This is my fault,” Trac moaned as he watched the heat gauge drop. “If I didn’t push Crusader so hard we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“We wouldn’t be ranked third place either,” Bunker laughed. “These things are a piece of shit. It’s not you, Trac. It’s the machinery.”
“Incoming!” Thunder cried as he looked down the sights. “Two hostiles. They are dueling. We have a shot!”
Bunker stood up, gripping the Commander’s hatch with her hooves. “I’ll take one on with the bolter.”
The hatch creaked open, Bunker stepped into the hoof-holds as she mounted the heavy bolter. The two enemy tanks raced towards them, spiraling towards one another in a deadly duel. Crusader’s turret began to swivel as Thunder took aim at the tank currently towards their left.
Bunker reached past the gun’s ammo-box, over the belt of bodkin bolts, and pulled back the charging handle. The arcane weapon hummed as manna ran through its intricate systems, creating an immaterial bow near the muzzle.
Crusader jerked to the left as Thunder fired the main gun. A cloud of black smoke obscured Bunker’s vision. Her hooves tripped the bolter’s trigger. The cloud cleared. The enemy tank was in sight. She squeezed the trigger, and a burst of heavy crossbow bolts launched forth, propelled by the magical bow.
Her shot went wide, streaking past the other tank’s turret. A turret from which their commander was also operating their bolter. A turret from which tier commander noticed Crusader firing on them.
“Thunder, get another shell in there!” Trac cried, watching through the driver’s periscope.
“The loader didn’t disengage properly, the whole gun is jammed!” Thunder punched the breach and yelped as the hot metal singed his foreleg. “Aaah!”
The enemy's turret continued rotating. Their barrel dipped down, getting ready to fire on Crusader’s position.
Bunker cursed and pulled the trigger again. Another five bolts flew silently towards their target. The volley connected, striking the side of the tank. Sparks flew, the bolts bounced off the hardened steel, leaving behind only scratches in the paint.
“The bolts aren't target-rounds?! HORSEAPPLES!” Bunker slammed her hooves against the turret.
Trac closed his eyes to hold in his anger.
The enemy tank fired. Crusader shook violently as the shell slammed into its hull. The fight was over. Crusader dropped to sixth place.
Tractor Pull - 7th of Midwinter, 08 EoH
Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Trac trudged through the snow towards his log home, each step causing his duffle bag to swing and smack him in the side.
“Stupid tank,” he growled through clenched teeth. “It can’t even run at top speed for five minutes before starting to overheat. How did the engineers not see this?!”
Bunker had made a few back-of-the-envelope calculations. Crusader needed one-thousand-one-hundred-and-twenty kilo-horns of power to run at full speed with all systems on for more than a few minutes. After four matches Trac had worked out exactly how much power the boiler’s crystal could produce before overheating. Nine-hundred-and-thirty kilo-horns.
“It’s like the stupid thing has asthma,” Track grumbled as he rounded the trail’s final bend.
A large prefabricated shed sat in the front yard some ways away from the log house. Trac blinked. The structure didn’t vanish. Trac groaned, resting his face against his hoof for a moment.
I’m so pissed I forgot she got that shed. He sighed and did his best to push his anger aside. Ameili must have some idea of what we can do about this.
Trac increased his pace, heading for the front door. As he drew near the shed he saw its door was open slightly, and the yellow-orange light of flames danced within. The pungent smell of burning wood and oil wafted faintly from the open door.
The fur on the back of his neck stood up. Trac broke out into a run, crossing the remaining yard in a heartbeat. He threw the door open, expecting to see the impromptu workshop in flames.
Fasteners, pipes, and raw materials occupied most of the space in the shed. A small workshop including a forge, an anvil, and a tool covered workbench had been set up in the corner near the door.
“Close the door please,” Ameili said, not looking up from the lit forge she was carefully tending.
Trac’s eyes fell upon the large brick forge and the burning wood, coal, and oil within it. The heat radiating off the forge hit Trac like a wall. The heat teamed up with his thick coat to make him immediately begin to sweat buckets.
“Oh thank Celestia! I thought your shop was on fire.” Trac smiled at Ameili and started to close the door.
Then he hesitated. Trac stepped into the workshop, closing the door behind him. He slipped out of his coat and set it atop one of the many piles of random hardware.
With his coat off the heat became almost bearable. Fortunately, almost bearable was enough for Trac to stay for a little while.
Trac crossed the short amount of bare floor to join Ameili at her forge. “What are you up too?”
Ameili turned slightly, glancing at Trac out of the corner of her eye. “Oh! Trac. Hello. This is precision work. I can’t talk yet.”
Trac nodded and took a step back to stand next to the shop’s workbench. His butt hit something, and that something fell, taking many more things with it. Ameili didn't even flinch as brass, wood, and electronics clattered to the floor in a mini-avalanche.
“Sorry!” Trac yelped, looking down to see what he had knocked over.
The floor was now covered with a small fortune in smoke detectors. Or rather, halves of smoke detectors.
Track looked back up at Ameili. “Uh… Why all the smoke detectors?”
“Palladium. Needed one point five grams,” Ameili murmured, continuing to stare into the heart of the forge. “Shh!”
Trac nodded and began to gather the fallen detectors up, arranging them back into a pile roughly where they had been before. By the time he had cleared most of the floor, Ameili nodded to herself.
“There we go,” she said calmly.
Ameili’s horn shimmered as she carefully levitated a small crucible out of the forge. That Crucible was her entire world as Ameili turned to her left, facing her workbench. A small blue crystal carved into the shape of a heart awaited her.
The heart had silver plates attached to it via a small frame. Each plate at first appeared to have been scratched up by a belt sander. In truth, they were carved with thousands upon thousands of tiny runes. Only a mage’s telekinesis could produce such fine detail.
Trac watched as Ameili slowly moved the crucible over the crystal and tipped it over. White-hot metal oozed from the stone vessel, dripping down into the dip between the heart’s two halves. The metal flowed into a channel carefully carved into the crystal itself. White hot-lines spread out through the crystal, creating a pattern much akin to blood vessels.
“What are you making?” Track asked as Ameili set the now empty crucible back into the forge.
“A heart. It’s been a millennium since I had one. They are crucial to spell casting. Fortunately, a golem's heart can perform the functions I need. This is my third attempt. I only know how to repair war golems. Creating them was considered a waste of a battle mage.”
Trac tilted his head. “Sure, they are critical, but... You’ve been managing just fine without a heart. Haven’t you?”
Ameili watched the hot metal as it began to cool, fading to orange. “The basics. A little fun with natural fire or Vulcan. Cheap tricks. That I can manage without a heart. You got me thinking. Not right away but over the last week. I need to have my full power at my disposal.”
Trac raised an eyebrow. “What did I make you think about.”
“Griffons. They hunt here. Your army failed to protect everyone. Your citizens failed to protect themselves. If it happens again, I need to be able to help. So I decided to make a heart.”
Trac nodded slowly. “That’s a good reason to make something. There’s one problem with it though.”
Ameili tilted her head. “What’s that?”
Trac nodded at the crystal. “Who's going to enchant it for you?”
Ameili conjured a fiery smile and winked at Trac. “I already did. Modern pyromancy is exclusively about controlling material fire. We focused on the spiritual aspects as well. Have you ever heard the phrase “the fire within”? I can influence that as well. Though I am limited in what I can do there. I lean towards the physical aspects of fire. But I can stoke the flames within my heart.”
As she finished talking, the molten Palladium solidified. The cherry red glow seemed to dim as the crystal began to shine with its own bright cyan light. The silver plates began to bleed white light from their runes. Within mere moments the shop was light by bright white light.
Ameili smiled behind her mask. “There we go! It didn't crack in two. That means it's good to go. I think.”
“Damn!” Trac whistled, squinting in the bright light. “How many horns is that putting off?”
“If my math is right…” Ameili paused and tapped a hoof to her chin. “About six thousand kilo-horns.”
Trac’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?! My tank doesn't even draw that much! There’s no way a unicorn needs that much power behind their spells! The frigging unit is named for how much power one average mage can produce—”
Ameili laughed and set a hoof on Trac’s shoulder. “Trust me, I need this much. A normal unicorn lives for around two hundred years. I have all eternity laying before me and I do not know when I will have the chance to replace it.”
Trac frowned, tilting his head to one side. “Wait, do you mean kilo-gallops? Horns are for measuring peek power. Gallops are for measuring power over time. The difference here is six thousand kilo-horns is roughly the amount of power Celestia uses to move the sun. Six thousand kilo-gallops would mean the heartcan produce a total of six thousand kilo-horns over the course of the adverage pony's lifespan, with uh... A few dozen horns of peek output per day. Maybe a couple hundred? I'd need to know the specs for that Heart to say for sure. So, which is it? Total power available, or power over time?"
Ameili paused for a moment as if she wanted to say something. That something never came. “Let's not get bogged down in the technical. Suffice to say, this heart could power my spells for fifty lifetimes… Or something big for a few hours.”
Trac’s ears perked. “Something big?”
Ameili conjured a fiery smile and a winking eye. “I have plans. Plans to protect my friends. My first step, now that my clockworks are upgraded and I have a heart, is to forge some proper armor. Yes, yes. I have my old Centurian equipment, but that is rather obsolete for modern warfare, wouldn’t you agree?”
Trac laughed and nodded. “Just a little bit, yeah. Though… I’m not certain how you’d make good armor to protect against bolters and spell rods. You’d need to be an especially strong earth pony to wear enough plating to be protected and still be fast enough to fight.”
Ameili winked. “Leave that to me. I was Whirling Cog’s student. I’ve got his old journals and blueprints. Let’s just say some of his inventions went un-built due to well, material science restrictions of the era.” Ameili’s smile vanished. “Retort is home… Can you keep watch? I need to install this heart.”
Trac nodded. “Sure.”
Trac stepped to the side and opened the shed’s door a hair to keep watch. Ameili unzipped her suit, pulled back her hood, and opened the suit down to her chest. With her suit open, Ameili took a strip of leather from her workbench, stuffed it into her mouth and bit down hard.
Trac did his best to ignore Ameili’s muffled screams as she cut into her chest. He couldn’t. Every few seconds Trac found himself looking at his friend, cringing at the sight of her knife cutting deep into the foam covering her rib cage.
Ameili’s self-surgery lasted for nearly ten minutes. Her muffled haunting cries as she wedged the heart into place and welded it to her metal-coated bones echoed in Trac’s mind while Ameili stitched herself back up. The heart’s light vanished stitch by stitch until it was hidden deep within her chest.
Ameili removed the leather from her mouth with a hoof as she pulled the last stitch taught with her magical grip. “Well, that was horrible,” she groaned, swaying slightly on her hooves.
“Is it even working?” Trac asked, his ears planted flat against his skull. “I’d hate to think you did all that for nothing.”
“I need to connect my mana to it still,” Ameili conjured a shaky flame smile for Trac despite her hood still hanging from her neck.
Trac smiled and shook his head at Ameili. “You could, you know, smile for real.”
Ameili blinked, the flames in front of her face went out. “So I could… I’m not used to being undressed. One minute, let me hook this up to myself, and we can chat. I imagine you came in here for more tank lessons.”
Trac nodded. “I did… Isn’t it already connected to you?”
“Physically, yes…” Ameili said closing her eyes tightly.
Her horn began to glow a dim orange. Then bright orange. Then blinding orange. The orange became more and more intense until her horn shone pure white. Trac closed his eyes as the light became painful.
Ameili made a soft happy sound. Trac opened his eyes in time to see a ripple of cyan light wash over her body, turning orange as it reached her extremities and vanished. Ameili’s star-sapphire eyes brightened, a soft warmth coming from within the gems, making them appear natural and alive despite remaining gemstones.
“It’s been so long!” Ameili smiled, pure joy held within her delighted expression.
“Congratula—” Trac yelped as the forge-fire flared up, brightening unnaturally.
The orange light became something more. Still, orange, still flickering, but more sharp, more focused, more… Alive.
“What in Tartarus is that?!” Track took a step back from the forge.
Ameili laughed. “It’s okay, Trac. The fire is just happy to see me.” Ameili reached out and gently patted the flames, holding her suit within them for several seconds.
When she pulled her hoof out of the fire, her suit was untouched. “Yes! I’m back.”
Ameili turned towards Trac and smiled as she put her hood back on in preparation to zip up her suit. “Now what was it you needed?”
Trac pursed his lips, debating whether he should ask what Ameili could do now that she couldn’t before. No. We’re so close to dropping out of the top ten. I need to focus on myself for now.
“Crusader can’t maintain full speed for more than a few minutes at a time. If we push him too hard, he overheats and for SOME REASON the first thing to fail is the primary and secondary drivetrains.”
“You become a sitting duck if you overheat?” Ameili conjured a fiery mouth, dropping its jaw.
“Yep! So the mobility game isn’t as good as it could be. That was working great for us for a while, but other teams have found counters—”
“Teams? They are still teaming up?”
“Yeah, it’s almost always to your advantage. Bunker refuses to team up because she thinks it will look better on our overall score if we perform alone. I disagree. Your squad is everything in tank warfare. Though Thunder did point out they are looking for the best individual tanker team…
“Uh, anyway, I need a new strategy. It’s like Crusader has asthma. What does a battlemage do when they need to take a breather?”
“We use shields,” Ameili sat down on a toolbox and rested her hoof on her chin for several long moments. “I think I have an idea. It might be difficult to do in such a large vehicle. But if— Oh, are you comfortable in this heat?”
Trac shook his head firmly. “Not even close…”
“Then let’s adjourn to my room for tonight’s lesson.” Ameili reached out with her magic and pulled the forge’s lid down, covering the naked flames. “I’m trusting you to stay put in there. I’ll need you in a little while.”
Trac raised an eyebrow. “Pyromancy can’t possibly be that easy,” he said as he put his coat back on.
“It can be,” Ameili chuckled. “Forget about magic for the moment. Let’s go fix your tank problem.”
Tractor Pull - 15th of Midwinter, 08 EoH
Falcon’s Hold, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Crusader’s engines roared as the tank shot over a hill. Its tracks left the ground, and for a moment, Crusader knew the joy planes felt. Then gravity smashed it against the bottom of the gravel pit Trac had driven it into, and Crusader’s suspension screeched in agony.
The gravel wall ahead of Crusader exploded as a shell connected with the earth. Shards of rock flew everywhere, pinging off the hull like the pellets of a claymore mine.
“This had better work, Trac!” Bunker grit her teeth and gripped her crash handles.
Thunder leaned hard against the turret controls. Crusader’s barrel swung around, nearly scraping the ground. “Ameili’s tricks always do!”
“Usually do,” Trac said as he took hold of his own crash handles. “Depress and fire!”
Thunder nodded and angled the barrel to aim at the ground just in front of the Bronco barreling down on their rear. The thick plate of steel the cheating crew had welded to the front of their tank gleamed in the afternoon sun. Marred only by scorch marks from prior hits which had dented the improvised shield.
Bunker raised her clockwork hoof. “Hold…”
Their enemy continued to advance…
“Almost…”
The Bronco began to depress its barrel, taking aim at poor “stuck” Crusader.
Bunker pointed her hoof forward. “Fire!”
Thunder squeezed the trigger. Crusader roared, spitting hot lead at twice the speed of sound. The shell lanced through the air, speeding for the hard-packed earth. Crusader’s shell hit the earth, twisted, and skipped off the packed dirt. The ricochet sliced through the air, flew under the Bronco’s shield, and smashed into the tank’s underside.
Pink sparks raged beneath the Bronco as it slid to a halt, disabled.
Crusader’s crew cheered. Trac pulled back on the control sticks backing Crusader up until it began to climb the side of the gravel pit.
“Thunder, one ramp, please,” Trac said cheerfully.
Thunder nodded and swiveled the turret around to face forwards once more. He took aim at the opposite side of the pit and fired, hitting near the top of the wall. The wall vanished in a spray of earth, becoming a ramp. Trac pushed the control levers forward and Crusader climbed out of the pit and into fourth place.
Ameiliana Tarquinius Cyprianas - 15th of Midwinter, 08 EoH
Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Ameili raised her hammer and struck the steel upon her anvil. She had to work during the day when Trac and Retort were not home. Not due to any need for secrecy, but to protect their hearing. When her hammer hit steel, sparks flew, metal shifted, and her anvil rank like a bell.
A very big bell. A bell designed to warn a small village of approaching danger.
It rang under the force of unnatural blows. Each of Ameili’s strikes hit as if the mare were an industrial power hammer. Her clockwork limbs hummed as she worked, their overdrive state triggered the moment she picked up her hammer. Yet the mechanical limbs were not the true source of her strength.
Her true strength was her own, restored to her by the unbeating heart within her chest.
Vulcan hovered around her forge, watching his lover work.
“Why are you starting with the plates? Isn’t the old armorer’s saying “Build the skeleton and the rest will follow”?” Vulcan asked with a smirk. “Aren't you doing this backward?”
Ameili turned to face her love and put on her most serious and professional face. “But darling, I am the skeleton.”
There was a long moment of silence during which Ameili’s face transformed into an expression of pure mirth.
Vulcan moaned and held his head in his hooves. “Sometimes I hate you…”
Ameili laughed and held the skull-shaped face-plate with her tongs, turning it to inspect the forged shape. “This will do. On to grinding.”
Tractor Pull - 1st of Lunardusk, 08 EoH
Falcon’s Hold, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Rain fell from the heavens, as if the gods themselves wished to flood Equestria. Every qualified Weather Pegasus on base had been called out to create the downpour for the day’s special arena condition. Including Thunder.
“We just had to be down our gunner,” Bunker growled from the gunner’s seat.
“Sarge… Stay focused,” Trac pleaded.
Crusader rested in a deep muddy gash in the ground at the bottom of a hill. It had slid there moments ago, nearly rolling over as the wet earth gave way under the tank’s weight.
“Then you forget this thing weighs five times what a Spitfire does!” Bunker clenched the trigger firmly in her hoof, her eye twitching as she kept the barrel trained firmly on their target.
Crusader’s sights were trained on another tank, this one almost a kilometer away. It too stuck deep within the muddy ground, its rear half held fast by a sinkhole.
Trac closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “I thought we could make it up the hill! I messed up. I’m sorry!”
“We’re going to lose this one. We’re second place and we’re going to lose!”
Crusader groaned as the gale force winds rocked its hull, pushing it even deeper into the mud.
“Not if you’d just shoot him already!”
“I can’t remember how to account for wind!”
“So what?!”
“This is the last shell!”
“BUCK!”
Bunker twisted the joystick, rotating Crusader’s turret fractions of a degree to the left. “Their turret is down. Let me take my time to get the shot.”
The enemy tank’s turret moved for the first time in five minutes. Thirty tons of steel slowly rotated to face Crusader.
Trac’s eyes widened. “They’re not disabled. FIRE! FOR THE LOVE OF CELESTIA FIRE!”
Bunker closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. Crusader spat forth fiery death. The enemy's cannon thundered in unison.
Two shells hurtled through the air, smashing aside the curtain of water falling from the heavens. The wind continued to pulverize everything in its path. It blew Crusader’s shell off target. The very same wind blew the enemy’s shell on target.
Trac yelped as the shell hit Crusader’s hull right above his head. A metallic ring like a hammer on an anvil resonated through Crusader’s entire hull, marking their defeat.
Trac growled and slammed a hoof down on the console. “BUCK! I’ll do better next time, Sarge.”
Bunker sighed and leaned back in her seat. “It’s fine. You didn’t have your stallion here to motivate you.”
Trac’s cheeks flushed. “Uhhh… You’re not going to tell command about us, are you?”
“Nah. You’ve had, what, three dates? It’s not serious yet. Besides, the crew is supposed to act like family. Why not be family?”
Trac snorted and raised an eyebrow. “Because I don't really like mares?”
Bunker smirked. “I’m Thunder’s pseudo-sister. That could make me your, uh… Sorta-marefriend-in-law one day. We’re a family waiting to happen. Maybe.”
Trac leaned down into his hooves, wishing Crusader would get shot again. The metallic ring and crunch were at least better than Bunker’s stupid jokes.
If Bunker had only missed that one shot, everything would have been fine. Their rank would have stood where it had been. But Bunker hadn’t been a gunner in many years. Of all fifty shots, she only made three. Crusader’s ranking fell to sixth place.
Aemiliana Tarquinius Cyprianas - 1st of Lunerdusk, 08 EoH
Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Ameili stood in front of her workbench. An engine hoist had been added to the bench. A skeletal, half-built set of armor, hung from the hooks. Though few ponies would recognize it as armor. To most, the collection of steel, brass, copper, and acrylic parts would look more like a sculpture. Or perhaps a golem of some exotic design.
Ameili sighed and peeled the grease off her visor with her magic. “Vulcan, did you see what failed?”
The elemental nodded, its crackling body simply burning the oil which had splashed over him away. “Yes. You didn’t use a petroleum-based oil. That’s why your snack dispenser is full of poor tasting oil.”
Ameili stared blankly at Vulcan for several long moments.
Vulcan flashed Ameili a grin and leaned down, pointing at a small section of copper piping near the armor’s left rotator cuff. “This pipe fitting failed when you pressurized the system, the explosion knocked the oil-line loose.”
Ameili leaned in to inspect the part for herself. Her well-trained eyes inspected the scaled-up clockwork limb system. “Yes, that would appear the case. I soldered the pipe poorly. I can see it in how the shoulder broke free. Is it ironic that I find it easy to work on these systems when they are compact but find them difficult when scaled up?”
“Not at all. This pipe is under more pressure than your limbs will ever be. Besides, they lack your magical touch. Those clockworks are your legs as far as your soul cares. After all, your enhanced strength works through them.”
Ameili reached up and rubbed her chin. “You make a good point. This armor may not work properly unless it’s connected to me. We’ll have to cross that bridge later. For now, we need the hydraulics working. Then the clockworks. Then we worry about any potential linkages.”
Amili reached down and picked up a blowtorch Retort had purchased for her. She smiled. “Why don’t I try using this?”
“Because you can replicate its effects with your magic?” Vulcan smirked.
“True, but it’s always fun to try new tools. Besides, I did the joint which broke with my magic.” Ameili pressed the button and ignited the torch. “Pass me some more four-millimeter copper piping.”
Vulcan nodded and handed Ameili a fresh coil of copper refrigeration tubing. A small setback would not prevent her from achieving her goals.
Tractor Pull - 15th of Lunardusk, 08 EoH
Falcon’s Hold, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Crusader roared down the center of a rocky ravine sending twin plumes of dirt flying as its tracks cut through the dirt. Five other tanks raced along with Crusader, the echo if their guns almost like the braying of a pack of hounds.
Trac smirked as he listened to their lead flinging howls. If they were a team, this would be perfect.
Track jerked Crusader to the right to avoid one of the eight disabled tanks in the ravine and continue his random zigzag path.
“Tell me why you had us drive in here again?” Thunder called over the roar of Crusader's flak cannons.
The volley of bursting shells connected with one of the five remaining tanks. Pink sparks danced across its hull like flames.
“Because a possible ambush is well worth the cover of—”
“We drove right through a knife-fight-range, melee!” Thunder laughed, traversing Crusader’s turret to line up his next shot.
“How the buck do you two have time to talk?!” Track demanded as he focused on keeping Crusader out of everyone’s line of fire.
Bunker squinted through the commander’s periscope, keeping an eye on the pack of madness they had just driven through. “The melee is breaking up. Change heading to two-thirty-three!”
“The river?” Trac turned his head looking through the left driver's periscope, taking note of the terrain between them and the deep river cutting through the ravine.
“Damn straight. Ford it. Thunder, fire at will!”
Crusader’s main gun roared. One of the tanks fleeing the melee shuddered as the shell smashed squarely against its side. The enemy tank rolled to a halt, disabled. “Which one’s Will?”
“Go buck yourself, bro,” Bunker laughed. “No but seriously, we’re going to die.”
Trac growled and pulled the control sticks, forcing Crusader to spin in place, rotating them to face the enemies. “If we're done for, we’re going out in style. Screw the river.”
“That was an order, Trac!” Bunker narrowed her eyes and quickly adjusted the periscope. “We use the river to slow them and maybe take out one more before—”
“That’s a stupid plan! There’s no cover over there.” Thunder exclaimed, staring up at Bunker with a stupefied expression.
Bunker sighed. One of the enemy's cannon’s thundered. A shell whistled past Crusader’s hull, nearly slicing a line across the starboard armor.
Thunder grit his teeth and rotate the turret around. Trac cursed himself and threw Crusader back into motion, charging at the group of enemies before them.
“They are sitting ducks while they untangle themselves. We charge!” Trac narrowed his eyes as he pushed Crusader into top gear.
“Fair enough, we lose either way,” Bunker said, her gaze softening.
Crusader rolled forward. The tank which had fired at them before tracked Crusader with its turret, treading another shot.
Bunker saw it’s barrel spin in their direction out of the corner of her eye “Thunder! Second from the left. Fire!”
Thunder nodded, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. A burst of flak shells spattered the enemy tank’s side. He turned, spinning their turret to the right. The main gun roared, blasting the second tank squarely in the back of the engine compartment.
Two shells struck Crusader on the nose, ending its glorious charge in a shower of pink sparks. Crusader launched, nearly knocking everyone out of their seats as it came to a screeching halt.
Bunker reacted to their defeat immediately. “Five. That puts us at five kills in this match. I didn’t think we could do that many!”
Trac turned around to look up into the turret. “Is that good? I know it’s good for an individual match, but what about the tournament?”
“It’s probably extremely good! I need to check.”
Thunder hummed. “She started taking this super seriously three weeks ago. I found her notebook.”
“That’s because we’ve got a shot… Or we had. Our last match dropped us below the top ten. I didn’t think we'd score enough to make it since the finals are next week. But if no one else got more than five kills this match… I need to make a call!”
A notebook and pencil came out of Bunker’s pocket. A field radio came out of the commander’s glove box. “Command, this is Bunker Bunny. Crusader is down. We have five confirmed kills and three potential kills. What’s our status? Over.”
“This is Command, standby,” a stallion’s voice instructed.
The three paused, listening intently for their score. “Crusader? We’re reading five more active tanks. Neither of which has anything approaching your seven hits this match. You’re going to top the charts for confirmed kills unless one of those tanks takes out three others. Over.”
Bunker, Thunder, and Trac shared a silent moment of glee at the sound of seven.
Seven! We hit two of our three guess shots into those trees. Thank you, Lady Luck!
“Understood, Command. What is our ranking overall factoring in our kills for this match? Over.”
“Two of the remaining five went dark. Your kill count can no longer be outmatched for this round, Crusader,” Command informed. “In light of that, you’re ranking in at fifth place overall. Good luck in the finals next week. With your skill and assuming your luck holds, you’ve got a shot at the gold. Command over and out.”
Trac jumped with joy, a cry of “YES!” on his lips.
His head hit Crusader’s ceiling with a coconut-on-rock thunk. The stallion went out like a light.
Aemiliana Tarquinius Cyprianas - 15th of Lunar Dusk, 08 EoH
Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Ameili leaned against the left thigh plate, putting her full weight against her pneumatic riveter. The tool rumbled, hammering the second to last rivet into place.
She set the tool down and stretched her forelegs. Not our of any need, but out of habit. The moment her stretching was complete, Ameili reached down and inspected the rivet.
“Looks clean. Another rivet, Vulcan,” Ameili said with a smile.
Vulcan stepped over to the box of rivets and picked one out at random. “At this rate, you may finish by the day after tomorrow.”
Ameili took a step back from her project to look it over. The armor was taking shape. It was a little bulky for her tastes, but it did have to fit the armor’s steam and clockworks beneath its plates in addition to her body.
Despite the bulk Ameili felt proud of her design. The internals felt solid, and the plating was functional. But most importantly, the plates had been shaped to give her the appearance of a metal skeleton wearing Equestrian plate armor.
If I ever use this thing in battle, I hope I fight until it’s destroyed. That way I can rip off the helmet and be like “Beneath this skull is... Another skull! Cool, huh?” Hehe, that would be great!
“That would put us on track to test her out this weekend. I like your thinking, hon.” Ameili took the rivet from Vulcan and pushed it into the pre-drilled hole.
Her work was almost finished. Though Ameili didn’t know it, the day she would need the armor was approaching.
Heated Retort - 15th of Lunar Dusk, 08 EoH
West Bloomfield Sheriff's Office - Equestria
Retort sat at his desk. It was a small desk, in a small cubicle, next to Pine Grove, but he didn’t mind. Retort was rarely at his desk. Most of his time was spent on patrol.
Unfortunately, every deputy needed to do paperwork eventually and today was Retort’s paperwork day.
Retort’s ears perked as a hoof knocked quietly against the fabric wall of his cubicle.
“Knock, knock, deputy,” Sheriff Hard Justice smiled at Retort through the cubicle door.
Retort frowned. The Sheriff didn't like to walk into the well-lit parts of the office. Like many Thestrals, and other subterranean peoples, the Sheriff had adapted to the near-lightless conditions he had been raised in.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Retort looked down to the Sheriff's other hoof, fearing seeing a folder full of extra paperwork.
There wasn’t one.
“Nothing bad. I got off the radio with the Manehattan PD just now. That file you requested has been compiled and is being mailed to us. It should be here by the weekend.”
Retort blinked. “File?” His eyes narrowed as he tried to remember requesting any particular information. “Oh! Yes. I remember. Ameili’s file. I’d completely forgotten about that. Did it really take all winter to round up the paperwork?”
The Sheriff shook his head. “No. Apparently, the case interested a Private Eye on contract with the MPD. He took it on as a passion project… There must be something worth knowing, because the package weighs in at just over a kilogram, and it’s all paper.”
Retort blinked. “What?”
“That’s around two hundred sheets of paper, Retort. Keep me posted,” the Sheriff said as he turned around and walked down the hall.
Retort frowned and stared out the window at the snowy courtyard. I don’t understand. What could Ameili possibly have done to have an entire book worth of stuff written about her?
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All of the things, Retort. All of the things.
Good chapter overall, a bit choppy as all montages are wont to be. I'm really appreciating the different views which, while short, lend a fairly whole picture of what the characters are experiencing.
Other than this sentence being grammatically incorrect, I don't think I say any other errors, though I'm also not really sure how many of these grammatical errors are going to matter when it comes to you reworking this story into something that isn't going to be on Fimfiction.
Also, um, first?
He says to the Pyromancer.
Trac pls
I'm really curious as to who exactly is going to be fighting in that level of bad weather
Silly Bunker, it "sounds" like that thing is the equivalent to a co-ax HMG or CROW System. You shouldn't expect them to actually do anything to a tank
Uh-oh, seems Retort might be getting close to the truth
8940280 Yeah, there's no way to relay do a montage in text without it being a bit choppy. But I figured everyone would prefer this to 4 more chapters before the plot starts up, or a "Several months later..." line.
Oh yeah that should be two sentences. Well that's why third drafts exist :P
8940332
"Yes. It's as on fire as I want it to be. Isn't it lovely?"
She didn't. But ordinarily the flack rounds wouldn't do much at all to a tank either, yet getting hit with them counts for this tournament. It's not too much of a leap to assume all munitions are loaded with marker rounds. Especially since the engineering crews are loading your anti-personnel weapons too.
Since you'r eintrested in the tech...
1. I found out that most tanks built after 1955 use a turbine for their main powerplant. It's run on petrol fumes or other combustible liquids. You could do the same with steam power if you could make the steam more energetic. Since the water is irradiated with unstable manacrystals, we can basically assume that the steam generated for these systems is extremely volatile and more akin to jet fule than water.
2. The bolter is a recently developed arcane weapon. The one seen here is indeed equivalent to a co-ax HMG. Howeaver it's a basic technology. Bolters are crossbows minus a physical bow. You can't call them a crossbow with no bow, and calling them a cross dis dumb because there's no cross shape. So Ponies called them "bolters" as they fling a bolt.
Why use one over a gun? Firearms exist here, but if you can fit a magical power source into your weapon you can make a far more effective weapon by using a spell to create an immaterial "bow". In technical terms, bolters are miniaturized railguns powered by a magical batter isntead of electric current. All it is is a simple charm that creates a very specific telekinetic effect. "Fling the thing here that way at this speed." They make for great anti-armor options and heavy ones can easily stop light vehicles. Though a tank is out of their league. (Unless it was a WWI era type of tank).
3. Spoilers... The Bronco's design being terrible is plot related and will be addressed next chapter.
Wait... They're competing to see who's the best crew. With what's possibly the worst tank ever devised by equestria, technological capabilities considered. That's on purpose, ain't it? They are testing then under the worst possible conditions in order to take them to a crucial mission. Or to pilot a super prototype. Or drive Her Most Royal THICC Plot around. Or rewrite how tanks should fight. Or something
So the police officer suspects the terminally ill pony is more than she seems. Yeah, the millennia old litch does seem like more.
Getting home with thousands of bits in hardware certainly raises some eyebrows, doesn't it? Poor clerk though, she was only higher than a kite should be
Crystal heart with humongous magic capacity and a self crafted armor projected by genius gadgeteer from the past? Ain't that a little too much into Iron Man (mare?) territory? Still awesome, but might be a problem in original fiction. At least she doesn't NEED the heart to function.
Yeah Retort, how could an ancient undead do enough stuff to fill over a kilogram of paper?
8940485 Wait... They're...
Since you nearly worked it out... I'll PM you ;)
Unfortunately she was fired... Still if you're that high, call in sick.
Not if it's not central to her character. Or if say, her entire project fails because she simply isn't the engineer her mentor was. lampshading the trope of the genius inventor always makes it work si what I'm going for.
"845 am... picked nose. Notable only because her nose reconstituted to be picked."
Heehee, chasing ghosts. :P
BWAHAHAHAHHA!
8940720
To be fair, the identity of the VIP wasn't the most subtle. The bit I'm still waiting for is how the obvious mechanical failings play into the story. I'm suspecting that, as with most second gen tank designs, the first off the line tend to be rife with problems. No PMs, please. Let me be surprised.
I think it would work better if this one project failing became something of a running joke in the story. "This time it'll work for sure!" *boom* "Buck." The (obviously intentional) Ironman paralells would only really work for me if they are completely subverted, not just dropped as a throw-away gag (too much build-up, not enough payoff) or played straight (OC is OP, stolen idea, etc.).
All that said, the "skull under the skull" line made me laugh more than it probably should have.
8940903 Neece and I are RL friends, I often chat with my planned plot with them. I wouldn't PM spoilers to anyone else, unless they directly asked me for them for reasons of proving their guesses.
Good on Rarity for participating in setting legal precedent, hopefully in a way that kicked the Flim Flam Brothers to the curb.
Seems like that heart would be really painful to implant given how Ameili's condition has been described.
That's a pretty good rationale.
Hah!
Not bad.
A bit bad.
I like it, that's fun.
Well, when you live for a long time...
Ameili's days of flying under the radar are apparently coming to an end.
For some reason this song was in my head while Ameili was working:
And this one during the war games:
Soon, oh so very soon the conflict is incoming...
Also, would Ameili's new heart constitute as a compact reactor?
8948298 Technically yes? It's more of a piezoelectric power supply, but for mana instead of electrical current. IE the gemstone is under physical pressure, which causes it to release mana. It will be slowly consumed over time.
New chapter! Super late though so I guess I'll keep this short. (Been one of those crazy weeks this past 7 days. x.x)
Daaaaang, that is a hefty fine for being drunk! (And otherwise inebriated sure but wow! *not that I know what it is even in our world... just sounds like a lot...
Heh these battle scenes are so fun. ^.^ AM so loving this story and all its characters! That mare really knows her stuff, woo!
Awww so cute hehe. They would make a great family related by marriage. :3 Also LOVE the detail in this scene, you went all out and it shows.
OUCH! Poor Trac. Heh but they goin' to the finals so woooo!!!
Oooooo dun dun dun dramatic reverrrb!!! What could she have done indeed! So much fun stuff!
I look forward to the next chapter, even if I don't get to it right away. x.x
8949496
Bits are like Yen. They dont have decimal points. Which means 700 bits (assuming the bit equaled the Yen in value) is $6.40. Equestria slaps you on the hoof 3 times, then you get charges in the neighborhood of 131,290 Bits (arround 12k USD).
I'm glad you like them :3
It's all fanfiction...
Not
ourout of any need, but out of habit.Five other tanks raced along with Crusader, the echo
ifof their guns almost like the braying of a pack of hounds.