The cold was a living thing that clawed and slashed at Tarnish’s outerwear, trying to reach his fragile, vulnerable skin. Even with his heavy wool cloak, his boots, woollen leg warmers, his pea coat, a scarf, his goggles, his hood up over his head, and two chemical warmers activated in his pea coat’s pockets, Tarnish still felt the cold.

All around him, the snow fell in an eerie silence, and glittered like diamonds in the moonlight. He moved like a shadow, slipping from tree to tree, dark place to dark place, his head turning about in every direction as he watched for danger. The woods around him were still to the point of being spooky.

Before leaving, Daring Do had lectured him about cold weather survival, contact frostbite in particular, warning him that at these temperatures, he could not let metal touch his bare, exposed skin, and to be careful while scavenging. Right now, he was too bundled up for anything to touch his skin. Daring Do had been wrong though, it wasn’t fifty degrees below zero.

It was closer to minus seventy, with no telling how much colder it was because of the wind.

This ship was far more intact than the Endeavour. Tarnish wondered why, and reasoned that, perhaps, they had flown in at a lower altitude. This ship wasn’t nearly as nice as the Endeavour, and just from looking at it, Tarnish suspected that it did not have a sealed passenger compartment, which would make high altitude flying uncomfortable, if not impossible.

Ol’ Gertie. Squinting, Tarnish could just make out the Grittish Tribal Jack. Seeing it caused his blood to run cold, an uncomfortable sensation indeed when you were already freezing. The ship had split into two sections on impact and there was a wide gap in the hull.

Leaning into the shadows, he slipped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. It was far too dark. His horn was covered by both his ushanka and his cloak, as at these temperatures, it would freeze and fall off. Gritting his teeth, Tarnish remembered all of his magic lessons with Vinyl, and was able to summon a floating, bobbing ball of light that orbited around his head.

Right away, he wished that he hadn’t summoned a light source. There on the floor was the frozen corpse of a pony. A single hole had been bored through his head and his blood was in a frozen puddle all around him. One leg was twisted off at an odd angle, and Tarnish suspected that if he looked closer, he would see bones protruding.

This body seemed fresh, but Tarnish couldn’t tell, because everything was frozen.

Turning away, his gorge rising, Tarnish stepped over the corpse and made his way down the ruined hallway. Ol’ Gertie listed off to one side due to the angle of her hull, and Tarnish found the hallway disorienting. He didn’t go very far before he came to a door, a battered, busted door that hung on only one hinge. It looked as though it had been struck by a battering ram.

Gritting his teeth, Tarnish lifted the door out of the way and peered through the doorway.

In the pale light, he saw bodies. A pitched battle had been fought here and there were bodies everywhere. Ol’ Gertie had come down hard, but there had been survivors. This was the mess hall, Tarnish guessed. Chairs and tables were flipped over and scattered about. Corpses were strewn about the floor. No sign of mechanoids though, and Tarnish figured that they had hauled off any of their fallen for repair.

These ponies had not submitted for processing.

The Grittish were proud, noble-minded ponies, and Tarnish respected them a great deal. The Tribal Jack hung over a window, which Tarnish guessed had food served through it. These ponies, no doubt injured, battered, and busted up from the crash landing, they had not come along quietly.

A glint of blue caught Tarnish’s eye and upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a blue gemstone. Touching it with his magic made him tingle, and as he picked it up, as he stared at it, he realised that the snowflake gem had been copied. Stuffing it away in his pocket, he noticed lots of things on the floor, like brass casings.

He ignored the empty ones but began picking up any live rounds he could find. A quick search turned up quite a few bullets, and he found firearms among the corpses as well. There was a pony leg pistol, a gun that was mounted to a pony’s leg and fired by compressing a lever with your fetlock. The dead pony wearing it didn’t need it anymore and Tarnish stripped it off.

More bullets were scooped up, Tarnish didn’t know what type they were, nor did he care. He found a revolver made for creatures that had hands near a unicorn whose body and head were no longer connected. Automatons had a frightful propensity for taking a pony apart, disassembling them, if you will. Lifting the revolver up in his telekinesis, he began reloading it with the bullets he had collected.

When he was done reloading, he lifted the revolver up closer to his goggle covered eyes so he could have a better look. This was larger and heavier than the revolver he had stashed away at home, the gun that had shot him in the ass. On the grip, he found a stamped brass plaque with fine letters engraved upon it.

Webblewood Arms .455

And below that, in smaller letters: Property of Grittish East Windia Royal Fusiliers, Fighting Tigers Co.

Looking about, Tarnish shuddered when his eyes fell upon the corpse of a pegasus pony with a revolver grip buried into her skull. Her look of pain and surprise was now frozen on her face. As awful as it was, he wrenched the pistol free from her skull, gagging with every tug. It was really down deep in there and Tarnish had to work to yank it out.

Moving around the corpses, Tarnish collected every bit of live brass he could.

The kitchen was well stocked and Tarnish knew that he would have to return here. The dead had no need of compressed ration bars. Each bar was four thousand calories of grain, bean, and egg proteins. Tarnish had scooped up dozens and stuffed them into his saddlebags. There were hundreds, maybe thousands more in the pantry.

The kitchen had a door on the other side and Tarnish found himself in another hallway, this one on the other side of the ship. It was almost intact, with only a few breaks. Wind and snow swirled in eddies up and down the hallway. At the far end, near the aft of the ship, steep stairs beckoned, and Tarnish climbed them.

At the top, he found himself in the wheelhouse, which was open to the elements, all of the glass had been shattered. An oilskin greatcoat lay rumpled on the floor, and Tarnish didn’t hesitate for even a second before he picked it up. It wasn’t heavy and thick like wool, but it was made to keep off the wet and keep out the wind. He threw it over his back and began lashing down the straps that would secure it into place.

How many pounds of clothing was he wearing?

The ship had many supplies, and Tarnish planned to return again under the cover of darkness. He didn’t want the others seeing this and he hoped to spare them. He had quite a bit secured in his saddlebags, which could hold far more than one might expect, but did nothing to reduce the weight. On his back, he had packages of supplies and rolled up woollen blankets. Hundreds of bullets were stashed away in various pockets, and shells as well. Tarnish had found a shotgun in the captain’s cabin, along with a box of sixty shells.

He peered around as he slipped out of the crack in the side of the hull, mindful of danger. Loaded down, he had to struggle in the snow, but that was fine. Tarnish had long since become accustomed to hardship and suffering. Scorching alkali flats, sweltering jungles, flying skunk infested swamps, black sand deserts filled with giant scorpions, an exploding volcano, an irradiated, ashen wasteland, and now, this frozen over Tartarus.

Getting away from the wreck of the Endeavour had been a good idea, a life saving idea. If Ol’ Gertie was any kind if indicator, the automatons would have come for them in force had they stayed near the downed wreck of the Endeavour. Staying in the cave gave them a chance, or so Tarnish hoped.

But they couldn’t stay in the cave forever, and Tarnish was already making plans as he moved through the deep snow. It stood to reason that the automatons were coming out of somewhere, and that somewhere was probably Skyreach. Somehow, he had to get inside, find out what was going on, and figure out some way out of this.

That was easier said than done though. A centaur vault full of automatons wasn’t an easy place to get into, and getting out again was no simple task. He was going to have to think this through and then figure out what to do next. Disappearing into the trees, Tarnish made plans to survive.

“How can you be so calm?” Rainbow Dash asked Daring Do in a low whine. “Our friend is out there, alone, in the freezing cold.”

“I’m not calm, I just look it,” Daring Do replied.

“I’m scared and I’m worried.”

“Miss Dash… Rainbow… do you know why I took on Tarnish as my protégé?”

Snuggling closer to Daring Do in the dim, pink light offered by Flamingo, Rainbow replied, “No, why?” As she snuggled, Vinyl Scratch wormed her way in just a little closer, sandwiching Rainbow against Daring.

“Because, he is average.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash, buried beneath blankets and surrounded on all sides by warm, fuzzy pony flesh, was comfortable and cosy.

“Tarnished Teapot is remarkably, thoroughly average.” Daring smiled in the faint light. “That’s his superpower, if you will.”

“I don’t get it.” As Rainbow spoke, Vinyl shook with mute laughter.

“Rainbow, you are fast. You are strong. You are exceptional in every way, and life has thrown success at you because of it. You live in a mansion made of clouds. You are the fastest pony alive, or so they say. You’ve made a tail-shaking number of bits as a racer and you are one of the highest paid Wonderbolts. You have nothing left to do in life but enjoy yourself and admire your many trophies.”

“Huh, I guess so.” Rainbow scratched her chin with her hoof. “But what does that have to do with Tarnish?”

“Mister Teapot has strong magic that he can’t use. His unicorn magic is weak. He’s not particularly strong, as far as stallions go, we’re both far, far stronger than he is. Tarnish isn’t the smartest pony around, not by a longshot. He is an exceptional runner though, because of those long legs of his.” Daring Do took a deep breath, held it, and let it all out in a huff after a moment.

“Tarnish wages war against his own mediocrity, fighting hoof and tooth to rise above it. He is a thoroughly average pony surrounded by the very best, the very brightest, the strongest, the fastest, the most magical... he’s found himself in the circles of ponies who are the most exceptional equines Equestria has to offer. Rainbow, you and I, we don’t struggle like common ponies. Not only does Tarnish struggle as a common pony, he struggles to hold his own among ponies like us. Every day, he fights just to remain in our shadows, and I admire that. I respect that. And that, that is why I took him on as my protégé.”

In the faint pink light, Rainbow blinked and did not know what to say.

“When we were in Windia, Mister Teapot took on an entire Thuggee army.” Daring Do smiled, and it was a smug, satisfied smile, a haughty, prideful grin. “Did he crush them with magic? No. Did he do battle with them? No, not right away. He ran from them, and those stupid sons of bitches were dumb enough to chase him through the jungle. Tarnish kept conjuring water and drinking, running the entire time just ahead of the entire army, shouting insults at them to keep them incensed with him, and one by one, they dropped over from heatstroke.”

Clinging to Rainbow Dash, Vinyl Scratch shook and trembled with wheezing, almost silent laughter.

“I am confident that Tarnish will return to us, but I will admit to being worried. It’s very, very cold out there…”

Author's Notes:

I can't help but wonder what people think of this...