We stood outside the hospital, not just Wind and I; a large portion of the patients and staff. The winds were bitter, but the tidings had been sweet. Head Wind and I stood in silence. It was companionable, and it was nice to have someone next to me at times like this. His presence was one that lent a bitter-sweet tinge.

Three days had passed since that moment of shock and awe. Our war, our chance for greatness, our chance for an unmarked grave had passed on like so many of us. That bomb had been the tip of a great spear. Before the next revolution of my well worn circle of thought, Head Wind spoke to me.

“So, after we get to that rail depot, where ya goin’?” He had a benighted shade to his voice. His face showed curiosity though, on the patches not obscured by his winter bardings’ hood.

“I believe I’ll spend the night in Nightinham, and take a train to Maidenpool the following morning. My siblings shouldn’t bear the burdens without me.” I said, staring at the unpaved road that our transport would arrive along, and depart from.

My bags were on my back, straps that had a tendency to dig into my coat were held at bay by my own winter barding. I turned my head to look at Wind. Our eyes met; his held concern.

“Where will you be marching off to?” I asked. We had both obtained honourable discharges from the service. At this point, we would be worth more to the empire as civilians. That was the idea, in any case.

“I reckon that I’ll head on to the Imperial City, look for a job there, blow through mosta my back pay, even I know that all those bits will be a lotta pints.” His tail waved lightly behind him, and his right forehoof was scraping the snow covered earth beneath him as he spoke.

We continued to speak, the ice between us having been cracked for that moment; none of it of consequence, all of it nourishing. To an outside observer I must have seemed the reticent one, my expressions and words cast an ashy pallor. But, before we knew it, the vehicle arrived. The vehicle was a large one. It reflected the light of the sun, its aluminium exterior having been completed before the war commenced. During the war, aluminum wasn’t squandered. Even now, the light it reflected was less than pure. Our skies were covered in an elemental imitation of a blackout tarp. The two of us stepped inside the vehicle. By some unstated agreement, our hooves carried us to the rear of the vehicle. As we passed by the fore section I heard the operator mention another being right on his dock. I imagined that this machine could convey two dozen. Then again, there were many fold that number waiting to be led back. And many others would heal in the coming months, or be transferred to a true hospital. I tried not to estimate the number that would perish of wounds that had transpired in a war nearly over, ready to be forgotten by those that had survived.

The upholstery covering my seat and Wind’s had seen better days- then again, what hadn’t? I thought as the machine made a slow circle. My body seeped into the cushions regardless, even as Wind retained a paucity of tenseness. I felt the acceleration as the thing achieved cruising speed. It was going the way it had come, only carrying people it would soon see off. I let out a sigh. The journey would be long, and I was feeling less than vigorous.

When I awoke, it was dark outside, but as I determined with a glance to my right, Head Wind was still awake. He was gazing languidly at the landscape passing by. I looked at my right hoof. His was covering mine. That brought a smile to my face, even as the interior of the vehicle was obscured by the underlit cabin. Most if not all others were asleep in their seats. We were alone in a place filled with dozens.

“Wind, have you slept?” I whispered to him after shifting my head and body so that the distance between us would be lessened.

“No, I reckoned that you’d be awake at some point,” He said simply before his head turned towards mine. “I wanted to talk. And lookin’ around, I see we’re pretty much alone.”

“What do you want our conversation to be centered upon?” His body turned to face mine, barrel and all. I placed a hoof on top of his. My hoof made minute circles on his fetlock.

“I don’t really know, but I haven’t really talked to you in days.” I hadn’t given, truly given him the time of day, in well, days. Whatever name you assign that feeling of replete numbness, it had passed through my hastily erected barriers. I could cast it out for moments, but when I was alone or around him it returned. For this moment, under the roof of a moving transport, connected physically, it relented, yet the spectre of it remained. My lips pursed at his words.

“Alright, question time. Have you kissed a stallion before me?” The idea of conversation in this vein, in this place, was exciting regardless.

“No, I’ve ‘kissed’ stallions before you, but yours had the most dramatic backdrop,” his voice was lowered. Still, it held that deep baritone that was very much his.

“And many mares, I presume?”

“I’ve got the pictures to prove it… somewhere.” He delivered his words with my laugh bisecting them. “My turn, what are you planning on doing after you get the arrangements arranged?” His question arrested my breathing for a brief moment.

“To be completely candid, I haven’t thought about what I’ll do after.” He didn’t laugh at this; he moved his left hoof from between mine, before laying it onto my shoulder. “I imagine I’ll move onward with my studies, and after that device was detonated, I imagine obtaining my doctorate in physics is an intelligent move. Perhaps, I’ll join the faculty at the University of Crystalia. After that? I-I’ve had aspirations of joining the Royal Academy for ages…” my voice had broken as I confessed to him my failings and my dreams were laid bare. He projected this aura of security, I thought, his personal magic. Everyone had one. It was impossible to determine experimentally, and impossible to quantify. It had been left to quack physicians of the physical and metaphysical variety, but in that moment, I knew what my thesis would be. ‘Eureka’, a pegasus might have exclaimed, millennia ago.

“You’re probably gonna head to the city O’ crystal? Doesn’t surprise me one bit. Probably gonna help the ponies with big skulls build a bigger bomb.” His tone was wistful, yet there was an edge of hope to it. The imperial city he was heading to was very much the city of crystal. One term encompassed the surrounding nebula of urban development and industry, and the other implied the city that Sombra had built.

“Nothing has, as of this moment, been determined. Head Wind, where exactly does your interest come from?” I tried not to let my voice chill, but the implications contained within his words were unpleasant. I have never dealt with stains on character well.

“Perm, you know damn well, where my ‘interests lie’. All I want to know is that you’ll consider heading out with me for a pint sometime, us vets should stick together…”

He didn’t sound angry.

“If I move to the city, we should get in touch, if only because a pint sounds nice right about now. The company, on the other hoof...” He chuckled, it was a misdirection.

“Right, because you have room to talk, mister sense-itive and brooding, like a teenage filly, or that blue mare in the story.”

“When I’m talking to the rough and tumble stallion that wants to rut me and play psychotherapist.”

He gave me a focused look before clapping me on the shoulder and laughing.

“How exactly did we become friends again?”

“We were in close proximity, by chance, while we were simultaneously looking for some manner of stimulation,” I finished with a derisive snort. His jest had a definite, though hard to define, cunning to it; However, he never expected me to answer his rhetorical questions.

There was no division between the rear seats. Just a bench that was partitioned by the riders themselves. Knowing this, it wasn’t unexpected that he would let his bulky barrel and thick skull rest against my own. He yawned, a deep husky yawn, his muscles unwound. The mutual comfort reminded me of Trace and I; the chill that traveled down my spine was not unrelated.

“See ya when we pull into the station, or when sun wakes me up.” The oafish pony that I had befriended through convenience, at the beginning, fell asleep against me. I fell asleep again quickly. The last images to pass through my eyes were that of the northern steppe, viewed through chilled glass.

The night had been a cold one, despite it being spring, so the moment of transition from that air and the air inside the shop was of stark contrast. As my eyes took in the sights, vials, books, and myriad other things, I had that feeling of recollection, of familiarity with unfamiliar things. It had a musty smell, of decaying leather and books that had lasted longer than their makers had ever intended. At the front of the store, relative to the entrance, a counter and a register of recent make sat among the other objects, like the universe had let time shift in one forgotten corner of itself.

I had busied myself by reading the cover of a tome by candle and horn light when a feminine voice made itself heard. My ears angled to triangulate. I then carefully placed the book on its shelf and walked towards the counter I had seen minutes ago.

“Hello there!” I heard the mare say just before I could see her.

“Greetings,” I answered simply as I gave the mare a critical look over. She wasn’t yet elderly, but she was mature. I surmised that she was around fifty five years of age, her coat a leafy green. With consideration, the beige mane put up in a bun was a comely contrast. As was the rest of her, comely.

“And the customer enters just as I was closing,” She said with a dour expression. “But, you seem like you are looking for something, and what manner of shopkeep would I be if I didn’t assist?”

“To be truthful, I entered solely so that I wouldn’t seem too eager to see my friend. If my presence forces your shop to stay open, I can’t, in good conscience, stay,” I said as I grabbed my coat from the rack at the front of the store.

“And, to be truthful, I can’t let a young stallion like yourself leave without finding something.” She trotted over to me, her speech was elegant. “Truly, few enough unicorns enter my establishment, and fewer still have any character to them. Most interesting of all is your interest in the arcane, how it fits into yourself. Come sit, tell me a little about yourself, and I’ll do the same.” Her eyes focused on me. Well, why not humour her. Her eyes had a matronly steel in them. The glint of light as she turned her sign around with a tendril of telekinesis also had a bearing in my acceptance. On some level, dealing with another unicorn was always a pleasure.

“Is there a place that we may sit? You have, indeed, intrigued me,” My words issued from a muzzle that had broken into a sly grin. I had learned long ago that the strangest of circumstances could breed the greatest of experiences, if you grant it the chance. That belief renews itself as consistently as the sun rising on the morrow, or caesium-133 transitioning between its ground states.

“I have an office, for all the drearier parts of operating this place.” With that, she gestured with a hoof, and I followed.

The office in the back had a number of older leather backed chairs. I sat at one. By any standard, they were nicer than bar stools. She remained standing.

“Tea? would you partake if it was offered?” She asked simply before glancing over at a stove that had a kettle sitting on it. This place was heated by that stove, which gave credence to the old age of the shop.

“Seeing as this question is far from theoretical, yes, yes I would,” My words flowed softly. Her expression was pleased.

“That’s grand. Now, would you be a dear and fetch me a bag? They’re in that cabinet to your right.” I did as she asked from the chair, it only requiring a few telekinetic actions. The deep blue of the magic manifested and took hold around the box of tea bags, from there it moved swiftly through the air over to her. “Now, that is queer.” She stated simply, seemingly more for herself than to to me.

“What are you referring to?” I asked pointedly. I used mere telekinesis, the universal spell of our race. Her visage turned pensive, before turning to face mine.

“You have never spent much time around unicorns have you, Mr…?” She stood beside the stove, with the kettle just now beginning to emit steam.

“Permittivity, and yes, I hail from Maidenpool. It isn’t exactly known for its unicorn population.” I explained quickly, hoping for an explanation for her earlier exclamation. The kettle had begun screaming. She looked at it before pulling it from the stove, it floated in her green magic.

“To put it simply, nearly all unicorns have a magic that manifests in the colour of their coat. I have never in all of my years come across someone anomalous in this regard. And I presume you have never known the oddity in this?”

“You would be correct.” I said simply, her face became bemused.

“Well, in that case I must ask what your speciality is? Your talent, in other words.”

“I’ve studied physics and have learned a great deal about electrical engineering; those were my scholastic clusters. I know a supplemental spell from the appendix of a book I once owned.” I could for example know if a circuit had current flowing through it.

“A highly rationalistic field, but not necessarily exclusive to the arcane arts. Let me think for a moment, your case is unusual…”The ongoing conversation was baffling. The idea of being skilled at magic, or talented, or even acting in the manner of a ‘proper’ unicorn was deeply odd. It was laughable to me. Incidentally, I had to suppress a chuckle. “Answer me this: have you ever utilized some spell or a burst of magic before, perhaps under duress?”

“If I had I would have said so, but your words are intriguing.

I’m expected to meet friends in a short while, so if it suits you, what are the characteristics of these odd unicorns?” As far as I was concerned this was most likely farce, or a commercial ploy.

“In broadest strokes, he or she exhibits an array of related spells. This isn’t to be confused with those few unicorns that are learned in a bevy of spells, nearly all that they come across…”

“For argument’s sake, if I am of this subset, should I not have a fair chance at learning an electro-magnetic spell?”

“Yes, though I am the farthest thing from an expert in that arcane area, and as far as I’ve read, the magical academy tends to avoid spells of that nature.”

“I apologize for my ignorance, but that has to be some manner of oversight: why would the magical academy not research and experiment on electro-magnetism?” I was ever so slightly flabbergasted, and she realized this. By this point the tea bags were hidden beneath the darkening water; my previous engagements were similarly obscured.

“Your words are exactly the reason why. ‘Research and experimentation’ and other tools of… industrial rationalism aren’t utilized there. You would not be accepted in there, short of displaying some extraordinary talent or having a high birth. In my humblest opinion, they’re the last of the true guilds, and they act as they have for the last thousand years. If they didn’t have a value in terms of arcane enchantments and ceremonial grandeur, they would have been disbanded years ago.” She had spoken the words ‘industrial’ and ‘ceremonial’ with equal distaste; it was dripping from the fringes of her mouth.

“They have a monopoly on magic, on the instruction on anything more impressive than a pub trick?” My mouth was askew at this point.

“With few exceptions, that is an effective summary.” She had removed the tea bags and the steaming cups of liquid were at rest between us. At this, I remembered that I was supposed to meet ponies in a place that was a generous distance away. I lifted the cup carefully before sipping at it.

“I thank you for your time, but I have a previous engagement.” I told her apologetically, before taking a large volume of tea into my mouth.

“Come again sometime. Perhaps you’ll make a breakthrough in the meantime. If nothing else, you are a pony entering this shop, and that very rarely harms.”

I said goodbye as I emptied the last of the tea down my throat, the sensation of warmth it created would be alien compared to the chill of the night time air.

I had learned about the pub from the native, even if the native had lived most of his life several miles away. That thought brought a twist to my mouth even as my fur began puff out from the cold, winter barding notwithstanding.

I walked with my head swiveling- even the outskirts of the imperial city were strange to me. They lacked the antiquated audacity of the crystal towers of the city proper, of which I had only ever seen pictures of. But still this place was centuries older than Maidenpool. Maidenpool, a town with an elevated train and a nitrogen fixation facility. It was nearly ten at night, and the streets were nearly dead, aside from a few adolescents doing as adolescents do, and constables employed in stopping them from doing such things. They carried clubs like they had when the cobblestones of the roads had been originally laid, and revolvers that had arrived by a train from a manufactory.

I swung open a set of reinforced wooden doors to find a pub that was lively, and abundantly warm by the work of body and hearth. I entered the place, and other than some of the nearby patrons, there was no recognition of my entrance. My eyes made a survey of the room- there being nothing of immediate, apparent danger- and didn’t see what they were trying to find. In any case, I endeavoured to ask the owner or some such individual for the whereabouts of-

“Took you long enough, at least you had the courtesy to be stabbed the first time.” Trace said from behind me, I let out a breath of air that I hadn’t been aware of holding. She didn’t sound displeased. I turned around just to have her wrap her forelegs around my shoulders her muzzle pleasantly close to mine.

“You should know that there hasn’t been a pony with courtesy in their name in twelve generations,” I told her in my low voice, reserved for secret whispers and messages of wit- this one was both. As soon as I saw her lips moving upward, I pushed forward and locked mine with hers. Elation overrode decorum, but any in the pub would understand; we had fought a war, we deserved this.

I could taste the slightly stale ale that she had drank, not that I could complain. We must of remained like that for at least half a minute. Eventually, I pulled back.

There was a slight turn in her body, I mirrored it as she pointed herself in the direction of one of the tables. I moved to walk with my barrel resting against hers, and I felt her press back. The simplest, most modest display, yet it carried all that we needed to know.

I followed her to a table, I moved to sit down, she didn’t.

“I’m going to get more of that ale,” She said to me.

“Good idea, the taste I got was in no way enough,” I responded. Her muzzle betrayed confusion for a moment, and when it evaporated, a soft frown took its place. I let my eyes drift from place to place in the expansive room. I was going to live in the

nearby vicinity, I thought abstractly. Though the place was lit up with electric bulbs, the light travelled through a haze of smoke. Tobacco and other such things were burned in here, and yet more had gone up in smoke. All the ponies here seemed to be earth ponies, though the differences between them and the crystal ponies were a subject for academic conjecture.

A felt an impact on my shoulder, Trace had struck me.

“Your eyes going all glassy is new; I simply won’t have it,” She told me with vigour. It brought a contented smile to my face.

“Trace, I promise not to let my mind slip into a torpid state,” I raised a hoof into the air.

“You better,” She said cordially, a flash of worry in her eyes. It was a mere flash, but I knew what she was thinking.

“So, how were the final days on the front?” I asked before imbibing the ale set in front of me. It wasn’t defensible.

“They were quiet. To be completely candid, we nearly promoted Permafrost; she would have been the first humour specialist in the service.”

“And the bomb?” I asked quietly. She leaned over the table, to the point that I could smell the perfume she had sprayed on herself.

“I didn’t see the flash, thankfully, but I saw the cloud grow and blow away,” She looked down. “We listened in on one of their comms channels. They sent pegasi in to clear the cloud…” My mind reeled, from what I had read- “The details are sparse, but from what we heard that night. It isn’t good Perm.” She looked up to see my eyes unfocused. “Perm?”

“Yes.” I snapped to attention, pointing my eyes on her face, her beautiful face.

“Where were you when the bomb... did what it was supposed to?”

“I saw the flash.” I told her simply. We lapsed into a wordless reverie, broken only by sips from our cups. On impulse I got out of the the chair and filled up the containers.

When I returned she just looked at me. I forced my muscles to shape a smile. I believe she saw through it, but all the same, she appreciated the thought.

“Perm, has it really been less than a season?” Her expression remained pursed, lips forced together, shoulders taught.

“Less than two months.”

“Perm, when they found you, we thought you were going to die. All of that blood flowing between the boards. That Celestian, I still don’t know how he was cooked. It was like he had been struck by lightning. The examiner said that it wasn’t the stab wound that killed them.” Her voice lowered. She whispered something: I asked for her to repeat. Somehow, I knew what she said. Somehow, I knew that I had lied to the unicorn mare.

“What can make a pony’s heart stop?” I sunk into the chair, uttering a low moan as I did. No-one said a thing.

“Current.”

She looked at me, before extending a hoof to put atop one that I had left on the table. “Everyone but me said it was lightning in a jar, even if we couldn’t find one.” Her eyes locked onto mine, they were steady, even as my hoof shook under hers. Wasn’t it fair that I shook just as they had? All I needed now was a clean cut through the arteries of my neck.

We left that night, we went to her flat, we made love in the dark. She held me in the night. I held her. It was somehow different, like reality had ensued, like all that happened between us before had been some manner of dream. Neither of us had any problems entering the trenches again. Perhaps being close brought our minds back there.

The following morning, I left her flat later than she did. In my bags were all of the possessions I had cared to bring. My morning consisted of trips across this unfamiliar city, calls to administrators and unrelenting evaluation. Evaluation of my credentials, my voice, my posture. A reasoned and politically defensible response to my service and its all too visible effects.

It bore fruit. By mid afternoon, I had a half a dozen suitable lab spaces awaiting approval. The equipment necessary was in large part mundane, and I could obtain it with no substantial issues. It didn’t hurt that the largest technical academy here aside from the royal academy itself had a colleague of mine within its faculty. Tenured, as well.

That left me with a few hours between a fore-planned engagement and a dinner at Trace Line’s flat.

It wasn’t as if the conversation I had had with the shop mare had left my mind. In some way, it had lingered in my mind like a drop of adhesive on your fetlock. It either drove you mad, or quite literally, forced your hoof.

Perhaps it was the possibility that she would critique my plan of action, or truly stand with it. The thought charged my nerves. Still, the fact remained…

“You require my help? That is surprising. I’ll need to think over this matter. Prima facie. the notion is certainly exciting,” Lotus told me over a cup of black. In the shop window, I knew the sun was falling behind the carved stone building, and would soon fall behind the carved stone of the Earth. “Now tell me, what brought this to your mind?”

As she asked that, my face darkened. I had entered quietly, but she had asked me if I was going to buy something on this occasion. I responded that that wouldn’t exactly be the case. The frenetic explanation had been a strange counterpoint to her quiet breathing and silent brewing. She was excited.

“To be truthful, I was reminded when I was speaking with a soldier I had served with. I could give you further detail, and I will no doubt record what I remember for myriad reasons, but listen…” I lost my words as I watched this matronly unicorn mare.

“Laid bare, I used my magic to charge a blade, it was sunk into the barrel of an enemy combatant. It stopped their heart and singed them. I must have forgotten. Do you understand why I desire secrecy, early on, at least?”

“On some level, I do. More to the point, I would be there as a kind of guide, correct? Leading you through the magics you are likely to have substantive control over.” She had a conspiratorial character to her. This was to be desired, as is the desire of those of in their middle age, and beyond, to make a greater mark on the world. She also had a knowledge base that I lacked, and a repository of books of which I could use.

“Yes, I imagine this could end poorly if I attempted it without some manner of guidelines.” I stated plainly.

“I once read of a mare that immolated herself trying to light a fire. She had a flint and metal striker cutie mark. I don’t want that to be your fate.” Somber with a glint of resolve; that was her disposition.

I let her sip at her tea, her chlorophyll tinted magic manipulating the cup deftly. I learned later on that she was a vigorous gardener. Meanwhile, I had pulled a lightbulb from my bag, and lifted it above her head. In short order, my muzzle was clenched, and she looked at me quizzically. The expression intensified.

The filament was alight, and the light fixture in the room was emitting more light than it had before.

There was work to be done, but the spark was there. Purpose was fuel, as it always is.

As the more material preparations came together, I knew I needed to make a proposition, and if not that, then an apology.

I rode a streetcar full of afternoon commuters. It led away from the older commercial districts toward the newer areas. Most of my fellow passengers were reasonably well dressed. There was little conversation in the car. The sounds of city life were obscured by the whirring of the electric engine. I knew that I would leaving at an early stop. I stood at the front of an exit, my body leaned against a pole. Something about an open air streetcar was spectacular, even as it had become mundane to all others. Whizzing by at kilometers per hour along with the feeling of the artificial wind was exciting. It was much better than riding a closed train with only fleeting visions of the interior plains.

And yet, it ended quickly, I stepped off into a part of the city that was past its prime, if it had ever had one. Tenements with clotheslines strung between them were packed together as if they were huddling together for warmth. The buildings were sparse of windows and seemingly crowded with families and individuals. I made my way to a message-laden concrete bench. The letter, smudged and folded, told me that I was in the right part of the city. It wasn’t as if there was a paucity of poverty in Maidenpool, just that poverty wasn’t concentrated. The well-off were neighbors to the not so well-off. The butcher lived beside the lawyer and the lawyer beside the manufactory laborer.

It disturbed me somewhat.

The building I was looking for was off of the main avenue. Grime and refuse coated the back alleys, and small foals played amongst the waste. I knew that it wasn’t healthy, and I knew that the foals were smaller than they should have been, coarser than they should have been. Dirty faces and scowled muzzles greeted me at every corner. I wasn’t alone in making my way in this direction, but I felt alien among them.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when I found the named building.

Destination Heights was the name of the housing unit. Someone had painted the sign a deep black. I had a hard time making the name out; the letters were effectively gone, only a light outline was left. I counted on the number of outlines matching the given number of letters more than the shapes themselves.

There was no greeter; only a small office with a mail slit in the door. Water damage from the last decade left stains and mold lingering in the corners of the ceiling. I wondered if the water closets functioned- musky scents mingled with that of worn clothing and less than kempt bodies. The journey to the the third floor was a rapid affair, with an unshakable suspicion that I was being watched. It was too similar to the trenches, and it was without the benefit of knowing what the watchers wanted; there had never been ambiguity with Celestians.

At last, I made it to room three ought nine. I knocked twice with a forehoof.

I heard a groan from the inside of the room. Backing away from the door, I realized that my excitable state came from the knowledge of this meeting more than from any other thing. There was an impulse to trot down the hall the way I came, nerves assuaged.

When the door began to open the impulse evaporated. A large head poked its way out, a metal chain restraining the door’s full range of motion. He got a single look at me before letting out a laugh.

“You look like shit! And I’m the one who’s been livin’ in it.” He said to me before closing the door and releasing the chain. It slid open, and he ushered me in. Before I had drew breath inside the place, he had encased me in an embrace. I softened as he did this. I drew back a step after that; he looked almost abashed.

“That was surprisingly affectionate,” I said simply before walking over to a chair and sitting my barding and bag beside it.

“If you didn’t look like you always needed it, then maybe I’d be a little more restrained.” He replied simply. It mattered little that I was in the presence of a stallion that lived in this place, among these people, I knew that the price of better dwellings weren’t outside the means of a service member.

“Then thank you,” I said simply. I smiled at him and he smiled back. He motioned me to a couch that had seen better… decades?

“Perm, why are ya here?”

“I have a proposition for you.” I said simply as I sat back in the chair.

“You could’ve just said that. I’ll get the rubbers and the…” He said with a laugh.

“Not of that nature.” My voice rang with a tinge of annoyance. I looked him in the eyes before resting a hoof on his shoulder. “Not that I haven’t desired, or missed you.”

My eyes fell to his chest. He was quiet as I spoke. “Wind, I have a project in the works and it has the potential to be a breakthrough, or at least give me some manner of reputation with the Royal Society and their ilk. Would you help me with this? I trust few ponies…”

“That I believe.” He interjected with a jeer and a snort. My face might have flushed at that.

“It would involve a large amount of data collection and analysis. Nothing you couldn’t do, that and having some muscle around would be good.”

“Would it just be the two of us working alone on some experiment?” He asked with neutrality.

“There would be an older mare as well, though she would be there less frequently and in a more advisory role.” I told him frankly.

“Final question: Permittivity, what in the nine hells would we be experimenting on?”

I made my way back to my bed later in the day, and as night sat in, after a long period of reading and writing out experiment guides and laying out the apparati I would use, I fell into the sort of rest that comes between two challenging days.

The sun was brighter than it should be, I thought before any other thoughts struck me. I couldn’t remember waking up, and as I looked down at myself, I realized with a shudder: I hadn’t done that. I hadn’t thought to look at myself, to move the cords of muscle in my neck. I was in a body, yet it wasn’t mine. This alien body looked forward again, before stepping forward. They looked to their side and saw another standing a fair distance away, that other was standing beside a campsite of some kind. Strewn alongside the other pony was an assortment of equipment, of which I could recognize some. They had bedrolls lying about, some rifles, and what looked like mortar tubes and some zippered bags. The rest, I had little notion of: large metallic statues(?) had still more bags hanging off of them, even as they were painted in a camouflage that would suit the area they were in. In any case, I moved with the body of the pony I was inhabiting. I could feel a breeze moving under them- her. The genitals were definitely female, and with a little more thought I realized there was a slight dampness around the edges. I had awoken in this odd state just after she had urinated.

“You know that you’re supposed to do that in the armour right, especially on long patrols, Right?” I heard the other pony say in a decidedly male voice, I could make easier sense of that than I could the pony’s thick accent. The female continued her walk back to the site. She didn’t stop to speak to him at a reasonable distance. Instead, she walked parallel to his barrel before brushing her blonde tail against him before grinning at him softly.

“Sorry, Dish. I got up and didn’t want to get in the armour. We have water to spare. The two of us will be just fine.” Her voice wasn’t soft but it was feminine, and it had a slight tinge of throatiness. It was attractive, and to him being close to her, arousing. He looked at her apologetically, with a slight flush to his otherwise blue coat. He moved his hooves on the ground apologetically before looking back at the mare. I only noticed then that she was taller than this stallion. Whatever she was, she was larger than a fair number of males, and then by definition, nearly all females.

Assuming he was not simply a small male.

“I’ll remember next time. Alright, now we have to make our way to the next uplink station by... 0700?” The female said before moving back to the male, and giving him an understanding look and a nuzzle. A nuzzle which she had to bend her neck downward to give.

“You’re not wrong.” He said quickly as his frame softened at her touch. Out of his muzzle came a soft hum of satisfaction. In the next minute or so they broke their touch, and they proceeded to pack up the campsite whilst speaking of some manner of local gossip. As I understood it then, their main operation center was being renovated with new piping and new wiring, and the two were excited by it. New things were interesting to them, an exception to an unspoken rule. The two displayed signs of giddiness in the heat of the morning sun, and at the last bit of metallic refuse was picked up, they exchanged a wary look. The two then opened bags and pulled out a heavy fabric coat, or something that looked like one. The female put hers on, which in her case involved pushing her tail through a slit in the back, and at the last moment using a hoof to unzip a back panel. That gave me pause. The ultimate action action she took was the placement of a band around her left foreleg, it slipped around her forehoof unshorn as it was, before it was in the right place, with a single tap it tightened a part of its length.

Its make was solid. The band of steel had a few buttons, though the text was too small as to be seen from the distance. In the moment that followed, she tapped one of buttons with the side of her opposing foreleg. At that a solid steel set of ‘armour’ opened like the shell of a clam. All except the lowermost section of the legs and the helmet were opened.

The amount of machinery and miniaturization required for this was astounding.

With a practiced ease I- rather, the mare I was inhabiting in this dream- stepped into the suit. A single button press with the end of her snout on the inside of the helmet caused it to close around her. For a moment I feared that my horn would be pressed and crushed by the helmet as it swung up with her neck to a normal posture.

The inside of it was a dazzling display of analog dials and information presented to the mare in the form of a visual overlay. Her only sight came from a slit in the helmet. The thick glass, if it was glass, offered a view of the desert that was shielded from the glare of the sun.

She wriggled a little as the waste receptacle attached itself to her nether regions; judging from the alien sensations, a kind of suction hose had attached itself to her lower orifices.

Her head moved with little physical effort to watch as her companion finished adorning his similar armour. She stepped forward before depressing a bumper with the side of her head.

“So, have you made this route before?” She breathed into the helmet at a conversational volume, and after a moment of listening to the mare breathe I heard a crackling reply.

“N-no,” the stallion responded in a piteous manner. She levered her head once again.

“Then come on, I gotta tell you where all the mines are buried.” She said in a casual tone. “Well, full disclosure, no-one knows where all the mines are buried…”