I fly for a good half-hour, taking it easy so Beakbreaker can enjoy her ride through the crisp morning air, closing her eyes and letting the wind dance through her hair. I’d gladly fly all day if it would keep that smile going. But, alas, it’s not to be, for a familiar form flies towards us from Luna Bay.

Right on time, I muse.

Gusty’s shuttle comes to a stop over the cabin. I fly to the cockpit as Gusty pokes his head from the window like a gopher emerging from his burrow. “Well, good morning you two!” he calls out. “You want a ride? Or shall I just turn around, head back to the good ol’ mothership, and do nothing to justify my continued employment?”

“Of course we’ll ride with you!” Beakbreaker calls back. “Silverspeak here just needs to get our bags.” She leans over and looks me with the pouting face of a tired child. “After all, my poor, poor stomach is too woozy from all that flying to carry anything.”

“Oh, you enjoyed it,” I laugh.

She chuckles. “Yes I did. But it’s still faster for you to fly down, get our things, and fly back up.”

Once the side gate on the gondola slides open, I slide Beakbreaker off my back, fly down, gather our things, lock the door for another year, and fly back up. When I’m inside the ship’s cabin, the door shuts, the engines hum, and we fly off, soundlessly gliding over the snow-covered forests.

“The ship’s quieter than usual,” Beakbreaker says to Gusty as she plops into the copilot’s seat.

“Oh, you know me, lass,” Gusty says as he flips a switch. “Always adjusting and upgradin’ my bird.” He gives his control console a playful knock. “Have to so it can keep up with me creakin’ limbs.”

Beakbreaker chuckles. “Gusty, you’re not that old.”

“To you, maybe. But I can’t react like I did when I was young and dashing and saving damsels and all that jazz. Not to mention that I occasionally forget things out of the blue.”

“That’s a normal part of aging,” Beakbreaker assures him. “It’s only when things don’t come back that it’s a problem.”

“Like where I’m flying you two.”

“And where’s that?”

“I... I... uhh...”

“Gusty?”

Gusty’s blank quickly gives way to a grin. “Just kiddin’. I’m taking you two to the Eagle.”

The console beeps.

“Ah, speakin' of which, there she is... the pride of the Medicomp fleet.”

‘Pride’ is an understatement. Aside from advances in materials, engines, and safety, airship design hasn’t changed much over the decades, save in size. Twice as big as the Goliath-class zeppelins from long ago, The Eagle is a floating city capable of carrying a few thousand passengers (and company executives) in the lap of luxury within its multiple hulls.

The floor hums as Gusty’s shuttle flies towards the hanger perched beneath the Eagle’s fins. Two giant doors swing open to swallow us up, closing as Gusty guides us past transports, security craft, and other shuttles before carefully touching down into a giant mechanical cradle. The process is so smooth and gentle that I barely notice the slight bump as the craft comes to a stop.

“And what were you saying about slow reflexes?” Beakbreaker asks.

“Said it yourself, Lass,” Gusty says, flipping switches to power everything down. “I’m not that old. Yet.”

There’s a small reception waiting for us as I walk down the gantry onto the hanger’s walkways, led by Medicomp's leader himself.

“Beakbreaker, Silverspeak; glad to have you on board.” Coin Counter comes forward and shakes our hooves. “I trust you had an enjoyable time down there.”

“We always do,” Beakbreaker says. “You ever thought of joining us? Getting away from the hustle and bustle of running a company?”

Coin Counter chuckles. “I’m a creature of comfort. If I’m going to watch snow, it’ll be from inside a heated room. Now, I imagine the two of you would like to settle into your room, but could I bother for your a quick trip to–”

“The lab?” I say. “Of course not.”

“Wonderful!” With a clap of the hooves, Coin Counter gestures to his attendants. Their horns glow, and our luggage floats to their side as I follow Coin Counter, leaving Gusty to refuel and touch up the shuttle for its next mission. Beakbreaker trots after me; ever the medically-minded zebra, she always accompanies on these checkups, wanting to see for herself that nothing’s falling apart.

Ever eager to research some new project, Medicomp installed a state-of-the-art lab aboard the Eagle. It’s smaller than most, but still packed with advanced equipment and technicians, who are hard at work as the three of us enter. Spotting me, they gesture to an examination table. Having done this many times before, I lie down, sliding into the moulded grooves as the technicians pop open a small hatch on my right thigh and connect some cables into a diagnostics machine.

“So, how’s the new skin working out?” Coin Counter asks.

“The sensation of touch is about fifteen percent better than the last version.” Knowing that the scientists and technicians work in a world of numbers and percentages, I figure it’s best to speak their language. “It’s almost to the point where it feels like my original skin.”

Coin Counter nods, impressed. So are the techs, who quickly tap notes into their datapads. “And what about pain? Have you... umm...”

"I haven't gotten into any accidents, if that's what you mean."

The techs fidget a little. The pursuit of knowledge and science isn’t always an easy one, and at times some unpleasant tests need to be conducted. They’re probably trying to figure out if I’ll consent to being cut so they can record the results.

Sighing, I motion for one of the techs to bring me a nearby scalpel. He does so; taking hold with my magic, I... Oh, ow!

Beakbreaker rushes forward. “Silverspeak?”

My head... it was like someone had thrust a blade under my horn.

“Silverspeak, what’s wrong?”

“I just had a headache,” I say, grateful that it left as quickly as it appeared.

“You need anything?” Coin Counter asks.

“An aspirin would probably help.”

Coin Counter’s back with a pill in moments. I gulp it down, hoping there won’t be any more unexpected headaches. Reaching out, I take the scalpel with my hoof and carefully make a small, fast cut. The resulting sensation is akin to an unpleasant ache, just uncomfortable enough that I can't ignore it."

“It’s not painful,” I say. “But I can tell something's wrong.”

The techs and their boss nod, glad for the information. This little scene has happened many times over the years, and will no doubt continue far into the future. As the oldest cyborg in Equestria – and the only full-bodied one – I’m a guinea pig for researchers eager to learn about the long-term effects of such a drastic transformation. I don’t mind, though. It’s an honor to know that I’m helping advance the field of cybernetics.

“So,” I ask Coin Counter as hooves tap away at screens. “Do you have any new implants or gizmos for me to try?”

“Actually, I do. It's an upgraded leg with a new attachment.” Coin Counter’s grin betrays his controlled voice; whatever this new implant is, he must be eager to see in action.

I extend my leg. Like a pit crew on a race track, the technicians carefully slice away the skin just below the shoulder, twist the metal, and pop the leg off. carrying it to a nearby table.

The diagnostic machine beeps and spits out a piece of paper. With the technicians busy, Coin Counter puts on his glasses and moves to take the readout, but Beakbreaker’s faster. She yanks it out and looks it over, searching for anything that would be cause for alarm. Relieved, she hands it to Coin Counter, who quickly reads it.

“Well, Silverspeak, looks like you’re fitter than the finest fiddle. Everything’s in top shape; crystals won’t need to be replaced for another fifty years, and all your systems are running at peak efficiency.” He chuckles. “I wish I were as healthy as you.”

“Have you ever thought of becoming a cyborg?”

A quick shake of the head. “Oh, it's not for me. Still can't see how you do it.”

“Do what?” I ask as a technician disconnects the cables and closes the panel on my thigh.

“Well, walk around as a... a...”

“A head on a machine?”

He nods.

I’ve gotten this question before on talk shows and interviews with newspapers and magazines: Just how can I live as a cyborg whose only organic part is my head? I’ve always said I didn’t have any choice in the matter. The hardest part was overcoming the feeling of floating around on top of a metallic body, but I got used to it as time went on. But while I may be used to being a cyborg, I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I did. Few have: full-body replacements are so dangerous and fraught with risk that only a few attempts have been tried over the years. For whatever reason, I’m the only one who has lived longer than a year. The only other pony who lasted that long eventually went mad, leaving a note that he couldn’t live as a freak before magically crushing his heart.

“You get used to it,” I say, flexing my wings.

“Becoming what you’ve always wanted played a part, too.”

I nod. No point in denying the truth.

“Well, it’ll be a long time before I become a cyborg like you,” Coin Counter says. He chuckles. “Strange, isn’t it? The head a company famous for turning ponies, griffons, changelings, and others into cyborgs doesn’t want to become one himself.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Beakbreaker says.

“Quite right.”

The technicians come back with my new leg. It doesn’t look any different than before, but I feel something new as it’s popped into place and connected. There’s a slight heaviness near the bottom of my hoof. Not uncomfortable, and it won’t affect my day to day activities, but it’s impossible not to notice.

“What’s this?” I ask. “A built-in knuckleduster?”

Coin Counter points to a table. “See that metal tray over there? Hold your leg up and contract your hoof muscles... Er, pistons.”

Raising my leg, I point my hoof, brace myself for whatever’s about to happen, and pull the synthetic muscle closest to the implant.

The tray flies across the room and slams into my hoof with a loud clang.

“Say hello to the localized magnetic implant,” Coin Counter says. “It’s something I thought up a year go: If someone doesn’t have magic and needs to get something just out of reach, they can pull it to them. Only works on metal right now, but R&D and figures it can eventually attract other things, too.”

It'll do so with incredible strength, if this tray is any indication. I'm waving it around to try and dislodge it, but this tray isn't going anywhere.

Chuckling, Beakbreaker takes hold and pulls, only to frown when it remains in place.

“So? What do you think?” Coin Counter asks. “You want to keep it? Maybe try it out for a while?”

I’m not sure; this could be useful for snatching my keys from across the room on my way out the door, but magic could do the same. Still, if this is one of Coin Counter’s pet projects, nothing would make him happier than to see it being used.

“Oh, why not?” I say. “And if you have three more, I'll be able to walk on metal walls.”

“Not before you learn how to let go,” Beakbreaker grunts, still yanking at the tray.

“Oh, sorry,” Coin Counter says. “Silverspeak, flex your musc–piston again.”

I do, and the tray pops loose.

“It may take some time getting used to it,” Coin Counter says, “but I think you’ll find it to be handy.” He motions for the two of us to follow him from the lab as he leaves, beaming at seeing his pet project working out.

“Just watch where you point that thing,” Beakbreaker says to me on the way out.

It’s a lengthy walk from the laboratory as Coin Counter guides us from one end of the Eagle to the other. As the flagship of Medicomp, no expense was spared in making it as luxurious as possible: thick carpets absorb our hoofsteps, while warm, golden-yellow lights illuminate the laminated, cream-colored wood. Elegant chandeliers give off even more light as we head closer to the bow of the ship, and come to a stop before an ornate set of double doors.

“Here we are.” Coin Counter turns a key in a lock. “Your room for the flight back to Canterlot.”

Beakbreaker’s puzzled. “Coin Counter? This is the–”

“Executive suite. Most luxurious room we have, and reserved for the princesses, royalty, and other VIP’s. And now it’s yours.”

My eyes go wide. “Coin Counter, you’re... you’re serious?”

With a smile and a push from his hoof, Coin Counter pushes the doors open to reveal the room beyond. No... chamber is a more accurate description. It reminds me of something from a palace: Elaborately crafted pillars line the marble walls, resting upon a carpet of the finest blue fabric. And as we head inside and through a small lobby, we’re greeted by an enormous chandelier three stories above our heads, and a massive glass wall that goes from floor to ceiling, giving us an unparalleled view of the sky beyond.

“Bulletproof, several inches thick, and magically reinforced as well as enchanted to allow one-way viewing for maximum privacy,” Coin Counter explains. “Anyone looking in would only see their own reflection. You also have a jacuzzi, massage suite, and room service available twenty-four seven at no charge to you.”

I can’t believe it... we get to stay here? In the very room the princesses themselves have slept in? If I had fingers, I’d pinch myself.

“Coin Counter...” Beakbreaker tries to find the words to describe her surprise, bafflement, and awe. “It’s... it’s...”

“Consider it my holiday gift to you both.”

Beakbreaker hurries to the windows. The glass is so clean and clear that it’s as if there isn’t a wall between us and the open sky, clouds lazily drifting over the waters of Luna Bay.

“Speaking of the holidays, will the two of you be joining us for our holiday dinner tonight?” Coin Counter asks.

“Of course we will!” Beakbreaker says. “Why wouldn’t we?” Every year, Medicomp holds a grand gala to commemorate the season, and to celebrate the ending of another productive year. This one has been especially profitable, so Medicomp will no doubt work hard to make this dinner extra special.

“What about you, Silverspeak?” Coin Counter asks. “Will you join us?”

“Of course,” I say.

“Splendid! And could I possibly persuade you to give a short speech at tonight's meeting, perhaps? A holiday message for all our guests?”

Ah, sneaky. Coin Counter's probably hoping that letting us stay here will make me feel obligated to indulge him. He need not fear, for I can come up with something quickly and easily.

“Of course,” I say.

Coin Counter beams. “Wonderful! I'll see you in the auditorium at five.”

Like the creature it was named after, the Eagle soars through the skies as it heads for Vanhoover. The lights of Vanhoover appear mid-afternoon, towers sparkling like a multifaceted diamond in the sunlight. Like many cities in Equestria, Vanhoover has grown substantially over the years, technology helping to create a skyline that towers over the landscape, glass, bright colors, and elegant marble ensuring that every structure is in tune with nature.

Unseen engines slow as the Eagle drifts down to Vanhoover’s airport. Cables and tethers are attached, and passengers disembark to stretch their legs, meet loved ones, or travel onwards to their final destinations.

“Want to get out and stretch your hooves?” I ask Beakbreaker as we reach the boarding room.

“I was planning to,” Beakbreaker says. “I'm meeting up with some coworkers at a lounge below. Catching up on how we've been doing.”

“Ladies only?”

She gives a sly smile. “Something like that.”

I wave her on. “Go, then. Enjoy catching up on the latest gossip.”

With a playful wag of the tongue, Beakbreaker trots off down the walkway.

Chuckling, I sit down in a thick waiting chair, drawing my coat tighter around myself. Not to protect against the cold air sneaking in through the walkway, but to disguise myself. While it’s an honor to be the unofficial spokespony for cyborgs, the position also brings a level of public recognition. Not on the same level as movie stars, or authors as famous as A.K. Yearling was, but when you’re the first and only full-body cyborg in history, you attract a lot of attention. And while I don’t mind giving autographs or listening to an admirer, sometimes I like to blend in and be like everyone else.

I watch as passengers come aboard for the next half-hour, none of them giving me a second glance. They're a mixed group: young, old, and from all walks of life. Some have soft faces from a lifetime of leisure, and others with hardened skin from daily labor, but they all jumble together, with no one face standing out. The exception comes from a large group of athletic earth ponies, each with artificial limbs. They're probably part of the show tonight, or here to give a talk.

The trickle of passengers slows, and then stops, leaving me alone in the boarding room. Beakbreaker had better hurry; while swooping down and flying her back to the departing Eagle would be an enjoyable dash of romantic daring, I'd rather not do so. Wouldn't look good for Beakbreaker if she's the only passenger who missed–

Someone comes up the walkway.

Sitting up in my chair, I watch as... Oh, it's not Beakbreaker. It's an earth pony about my age, perhaps slightly younger. Unlike those who came aboard earlier, this pony wouldn't be able to hide in a crowd, courtesy of a large scar over his right eye and a particularly nasty burn wound on his neck. Long-healed, but still noticeable. A younger pony would probably want to hide it from the public, but this fellow doesn’t seem to care.

The pony walks to a map on the wall, studies it, and then sets off for the stairs. He glances around, eyes taking everything in, but not out of wonderment. This is a pony who wants to know where everything is at all times. Perhaps he was in the military, which would explain the scar and burns.

The pony notices me.

He stops.

I look away, pretending not to notice him. Then I look back. He’s still there.

He’s still staring.

I've learned to recognize the sight of a fan star-struck at meeting their idol. This isn't that look. I turn away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. When enough time has passed, I look back.

The pony’s gone.

In all my years of traveling and speaking, I’ve met my share of those who don’t like me, or object to what I do. Nowhere near as many as the Guardians of Tradition, but it’s public record that I was blackmailed by Queen Chrysalis, allowing her to murder so many during the Second Battle of Canterlot. Some of those who survived feel that I wasn’t punished for what I did; was that pony one of them?

The ship's horn blasts, a signal for passengers to either hurry onboard or rush to get off. A familiar form rushes on moments later.

"That was close,” Beakbreaker says, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She glances around, recognizes my disguise, and hurries over. “Well, you missed quite a party! We... Silverspeak? You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Oh, I'm... I'm fine,” I say, searching for the scarred pony. But he's nowhere in sight.

Why, then, do I feel so uneasy?

With all its passengers aboard, the Eagle departs Vanhoover, resuming its journey westward. It isn’t long before the hallways are lit up with colored lights and decorated with garland and tinsel while holiday music plays over the speakers. The staff are doing their best to make the festivities onboard match the mood of the season, and soon the worry and unease vanish as I gladly get caught up in the festivities with Beakbreaker.

We head to the Eagle’s massive auditorium at a quarter to five, where holiday decorations are still going up. Guests soon trickle in as five draws closer, ponies, griffons, changelings, and many other species taking their seats.

With Beakbreaker taking one of our reserved seats on a balcony above, I head backstage, where Coin Counter waits near the edge of the curtains, watching both the large group of earth ponies readies themselves for their upcoming performance.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“Who, me? Of course not.”

Even for a CEO, Coin Counter isn't a very good fibber. “Do you want a little boost?”

He thinks for a moment, and then gives an embarrassed nod.

“You’ll do fine,” I say, turning on the charm. “All you need to do is say hello, and then introduce me, and then your duties will be finished for the evening.”

That did the trick, if Coin’s sudden confidence is any indication. “Thank you, Silverspeak.” He chuckles. “Strange, isn’t it? You can give hundreds, even thousands of speeches throughout the years, and yet you can still get the jitters.” He shakes, psyching himself up. “And what about you? Is your speech ready to go?”

I nod. I don’t know how long Coin Counter is planning to speak, but my speech will only be a few minutes long, if even that.

The lights darken, and a microphone rises from the stage floor.

“Your audience awaits,” I say.

Not one to keep them waiting, Coin Counter brushes his mane back, takes a deep breath, and waltzes onstage, all smiles as he reaches the microphone. “Good evening, mares and gentlecolts. My name is Coin Counter, CEO of Medicomp, and thank you for joining us this evening.”

Polite applause fills the air.

“Once again, the holiday season is upon us, and the end of another successful year for us all. Normally I would talk about how I hope you and your families have a wonderful time and hope that none of you ever need our services, but you probably didn’t come here to hear me speak. You already know what our technology can do. You’ve seen it work wonders on so many, including our most famous patient, Silverspeak, who just so happens to be with us tonight.”

That’s my cue. I walk onstage, smiling to the audience and enjoying their surprised faces. Some recognized me when I was walking around with Beakbreaker, but most didn't, and applause from both sides fills the air like thunder, everyone excited to see Equestria’s most famous cyborg walking before them.

As Coin Counter steps aside, I stand before the microphone and focus my charm to its maximum strength. “Good evening, everyone. Like Coin Counter, I thank you for joining us here tonight. I also thank Coin Counter for inviting me, though he probably only did so I could give a speech instead of him.”

The audience chuckles. Beside me, Coin Counter playfully rolls his eyes.

“Still, you’re here to relax and enjoy a show, so I'll keep this brief. I’ve been around for a while and seen many things in my time. For all you youngsters in the audience, I remember when we used peg legs to replace limbs, changelings were our enemies, and computers were powered by magic instead of electricity. You could say some things have changed over the years, but many things remain the same. We work, we play, and we all desire to share and receive love. This season should remind us that for all our technology and advances, the greatest gifts in life aren’t created in a lab or a factory, and aren't wrapped and bunched together under a tree. They’re right here, sitting next to you. Our greatest gifts are each other.”

Scanning the audience, I find a family close to the stage, with a unicorn mother and father, and a young earth pony with a light blue coat.

“This year, enjoy your gifts.” I gesture to the family. “But remember that everything in a box eventually loses its luster. The warmth and love we share with each other never does.” I look back to the audience. “May all of you have a wonderful, safe, and happy Hearth’s Warming.”

The audience claps. Taking a bow, I walk offstage, taking some stairs back up to our booth, where Beakbreaker waits for me.

“So,” I ask. “How was it?”

“Short and sweet,” Beakbreaker says. “The speech of someone who knows not to waste words.”

Strange... My wife's smiling, but I sense she's trying to hide something. It's like when I asked her what was on her mind last night.

Before I can ask what's wrong, the auditorium fades into darkness as the stage lights up, and the curtains pull themselves back. Beakbreaker turns to the stage, focusing on what's about to happen. Should I ask her what's wrong? No... This isn't the right time. I'll ask her later tonight, when the show is over, and everything is quiet.

Medicomp may not be in the show buisness, but they know how to show off their wares: The earth pony performers I saw earlier are acrobats, masters of their craft as they hurl each other through the air and onto pyramids formed from their own bodies, their metallic limbs decorated with precious gems and stones. Their feats could easily be reproduced with magic, but that’s not the point: these ponies have never had magic, and yet, here they are, stronger, faster, and more flexible than they were before. And as I watch, it dawns on me that they’re almost like my children. Not through flesh and blood, but in that they’ve inherited the fruits of my labors.

I smile at the thought. If Glasseye were here, I think he’d be smiling, too.

When the performers take a bow, the curtains drop, and the applause dies down, the crowd trickles out of the auditorium, heading into the Eagle’s ballroom for dinner. Beakbreaker and I join them, my nose going into overdrive at the luxurious aromas of cinnamon, allspice, and all manner of gravy and succulent vegetables set out on platters among the tables, the finest food the Eagle’s chefs have to offer. It isn’t long before the tables are filled with attendees enjoying dinner, and with dinner comes socializing.

“Uhm... excuse me? Mr. Silverspeak?”

I turn to see one of the performers from the show. On stage she was confident and fearless, but now she’s shy, almost painfully so.

“I, uh... Can I have an...” She trusts out a piece of paper and a pen. “... an autograph?”

I do my best to put her at ease as I give her the autograph and listen to her story: she always wanted to be an acrobat since she was a filly, but losing her leg in an accident sent her into a depression that lasted for years. But when she learned about me and what I had done, she was inspired to get a new leg and work hard to learn how to use it. I never tire of hearing these stories, for there’s nothing as satisfying as knowing that you affected someone’s life for the better. No amount of bits or fame can ever match that feeling.

More autograph seekers come by, until I’m surrounded by at least twenty of them. It’s nothing I can’t handle, and it's worth signing so many autographs and inscribing messages on prosthetic limbs just to see their smiles.

As the evening goes on, the admirers drift away to the warmth of their rooms, and the other guests do the same. It isn’t long until only a few remain in the ballroom. Beakbreaker’s still talking with her friends and coworkers while I sit at a table next to the windows and a giant tree, nursing a glass of fruit punch as I look out to the falling snow.

“Your speeches never disappoint.”

I look over as Coin Counter walks up and eases himself into a chair, drowsy from a long day and having too much food and drink.

“Perhaps you should head to bed,” I say.

“It can wait,” Coin Counter says, taking another drink of his fruit punch.

“Hey, Boss. This a private party, or can I join in?”

I turn to see Gusty coming up, a drink in hoof. “Of course you can.” I pull out a chair with my magi – Ow!

“Silverspeak?” Coin Counter asks. “You okay?”

I rub my forehead, biting my lip as the pain fades. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just another headache.”

Strange; two headaches in one day...

“Age creeping up you, old-timer?” Gusty jokes as he takes a seat.

“Of course,” I say. “But I’m not over the hill yet.”

Sighing, Coin Counter swirls his drink. “Wish I could say the same.”

“You? Over the hill? Nah,” Gusty says. “You’re the respected CEO of the most famous, profitable, and charitable corporation in the world.”

“And feeling age creeping through his bones.” Coin Counter takes a sip of his drink. “It’s getting harder to do these parties and early board meetings. And I’ve got a bulge that’s been creeping up on me.” He pokes his belly, which is noticeably rounder than it was back when I first came to Medicomp. “You’re lucky, Silverspeak: you don’t have any fat to put on.”

I must admit, that’s one advantage of being a cyborg. My artificial stomach uses magic to send nutrients to my neck and head, while any waste products get vented or incinerated.

“I’ve been getting’ the bulge too,” Gusty says, jabbing his own belly. “Face it, gents: we’re getting old.”

It’s quiet around the table for a while.

What would Celestia do in this situation? She’d try to lighten the mood, or point out that things aren’t as bad as they seem.

“Getting older isn’t all that bad,” I say.

“Says the pony who can get new skin whenever too many wrinkles shows up,” Gusty jokes.

“I’ll take accomplishments over beauty and youth any day.” I look to Coin Counter. “Your company’s the most successful business in history, thanks to you.” Then, to Gusty, “You helped save my life, Beakbreaker’s life, and the lives of so many – ”

Gusty waves his hoof, blushing. “Now, don’t exaggerate-”

“If you hadn’t helped us during the Battle of Canterlot, who knows if any of us would be sitting here? Or if thousands of others would still be alive.” I sip my drink. “Beauty and youth fade, but accomplishments remain. And when we’re in our beds on our last day of life, we can be proud that we’ve helped so many.”

The bulge in Coin Counter’s belly is forgotten as he looks to his drink. “That’s a good way of looking at things.” He’s quiet for a long moment, contemplating the ripples and swirls in the liquid. “I suppose it’s for the best, then.”

“Best of what?” Gusty asks.

“That next year will be my last as CEO.”

I look over, surprised. “What?”

Saying the words seems to have put Coin Counter in a better mood, as if he’s finally revealing some long-held secret. “I’ve been thinking about retirement for a while now. My predecessor left when he felt he had done everything he could, and wanted to leave on a high note. At the time I thought there was so much more he could do, but now I see where he was coming from.” He swirls his drink again. “What about you, Gusty? Have you thought –”

“I’m not going to hang up my flight goggles any time soon,” Gusty says. “I’d rather meet my end in a cockpit instead of taking my last breath a hospital bed. Or worse, sittin’ in an old folk’s home.”

“As long as you aren’t taking others with you,” I say.

“That’s a given. Don’t want any deaths on my hooves. But I think you two all lookin’ at this all wrong.” A fast gulp, and half of Gusty’s drink vanishes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, accomplishments are great, but who cares what anyone else thinks? Way I look at it, it doesn’t matter if you’re famous or past your prime. If you love what you’re doing, keep doin’ it. And if you are too old to do it, find something that’s close to it.”

“Wise advice,” Coin Counter says.

“From a scruffy old pilot, no less.”

Coin Counter turns to me. “And what about you, Silverspeak? Any plans on calling it a day?”

“This is what I was born to do,” I say. “And I have no intention of stopping.” The thought of leaving this all behind is absurd; it’s almost enough to make me laugh.

“But you won’t be top-of-the-line forever,” Coin Counter says. “No matter how hard you try, there will always be someone stronger, faster, and newer than you.” He lowers his gaze. “Onyx learned that the hard way.”

“But he’s still around,” Gusty points out. “At least, I think he is.” He glances around. “Where is he?”

“In Las Pegasus. He insisted on spending the holidays with me, but I told him to enjoy himself for once.” Coin Counter sighs. “I hope he can. He still longs for when he could run, jump, and fight with the best of them. He doesn’t say it, but I see it in his eyes. Office work just isn’t for him. He wants to be on the field again.”

Perhaps more than any of us, Onyx Shield has undergone the greatest change. Once Coin Counter’s personal bodyguard, he eventually aged out of being able to fight as well as younger, stronger ponies, and took up a manager’s position. I thought he'd be satisfied as the head of Coin Counter’s security, but apparently that isn’t the case. In time, I'll probably face the same challenge; despite what Coin Counter thinks, I’m not blind to the reality of growth, progress, and the new eventually surpassing the old. And while I may joke about it, I do feel older. My body is fine, but there’s no hiding the beginnings of wrinkles in my cheeks, or that my neck has been starting to sag; won’t be long before it starts to look like a wizard’s sleeve.

Yet, I don’t feel gripped by sadness or grief, as someone would be whose livelihood or self-esteem is dependent on good looks. My mission, my sole purpose for existing, is unaffected by age and is only enriched by experience. The only way I could possibly become an old, depressed pony is if I were to suddenly be ignored or cast aside as an outdated, unwanted relic. And that is a thought that has sometimes crept into my mind in the darkest hours of the night, when nightmares and existential terrors rear their heads.

But that won’t happen. History shows that game-changers and those who shake society are remembered long after they’re gone. Starswirl the Bearded. Princess Twilight Sparkle. King Thorax... They’ve all done great things that have affected our world. I, the first cyborg, the one who ushered in the age of technology, will be like them. Granted, I will never be as great or important as the unicorn who expanded our understanding of magic, the Princess of Friendship, or a ruler who helped unite two former enemies, but my mark will remain in this world.

“Onyx will adapt,” I say. “And when the time comes, I’ll adapt too."

"Thinkin' of becoming a traveling museum piece?" Gusty jokes.

I shake my head. "I might take up teaching."

"You? A professor? Hate to say it, but I can't see you wearin' tweed and discussing the finer points of philosophy."

"No, no," I say. "Nothing like that. It's great to go to talks and show what can be done with all our tech, but I want to die knowing that I helped someone out there."

"You have," Coin Counter says.

"With the limbs, I know. But it's more... personal than that. I want to know that I helped someone avoid making the same mistakes I did." I nurse my drink. "Can't think of a better legacy than to save someone from the pain you went through."

Coin Counter's surprised at my admission. Touched, even.

Gusty, on the other hoof, takes a chug from his drink. “Now that’s the spirit! See what we have here, gents? A pony that knows exactly what he wants, and refuses to settle for anything less. That’s how you live a life without regrets.” He takes another chug. “What about you two? Any regrets? Because if we’re gonna be baring our souls for all to see, might as well let it all out.”

Coin Counter and I glance at each other.

“Come on, everyone has regrets,” Gusty says. “Me? I wish I had gotten to flyin' sooner. Shoulda soared through the skies as a lad instead of an adult. Could have gotten a few more years in the big old blue.”

Sighing, Coin Counter reaches up and rubs the artificial horn on his head. “I should have never employed Mangus Bluehorn."

Those are legitimate regrets, but mine are worse than all of those. I could say that I regret having hurt so many getting my body, or that I've taken lives in the process, but I'm not up for dredging those memories back up.

“I’ve never met Princess Celestia to say how much I admire her,” I say.

“Really?” Coin Counter asks, flabbergasted. “You, the emissary and representative of Princess Luna, have never met Celestia?”

I shake my head. It hasn’t been for a lack of trying. For the past twenty five years, Princess Celestia - shaken at the attack by both Chrysalis and the Arch-dragons - has hurried around the world, doing everything she can to ensure that we or anyone else will ever be attacked by the beasts again. None have been seen since the battle so long ago, but our princess didn’t dare let her guard down. She still comes to Canterlot, but I’m either dispatched on official business, an errand, or a trip. She remains a ghost: a powerful presence, but one I’ve never seen.

“Are you seriously telling me that in all this time, you have never even seen Celestia?” Coin Counter asks, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” I say. “But it just never works out.” I chuckle. “It’s almost as if the universe doesn’t want me to meet her.”

Coin Counter grins. “Perhaps not for much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I checked in with some of my sources earlier today. They informed me that Celestia is currently en-route to Canterlot. She’ll be there tomorrow for the Hearth’s Warming party in the Royal Palace.”

“You... You’re serious?”

He nods, beaming. “She arrived in Manehattan last night, and left earlier today. It looks like the universe is giving you a big present this year.”

Celestia in Canterlot? While I’m there? As an agent of the Princesses, I’m always invited to royal gatherings, and this one was no different. But Celestia herself is going to be there? That means I’m... I’m... I’m actually going to meet her!

I may no longer be a young, starstruck pony, but my heart races at the news. Coin Counter and Beakbreaker alike can see my excitement, but I don’t care. Let them see that I still adore the chance of meeting my idol, whose ideals have guided me through the years.

The last of the guests leave, with only Beakbreaker and her friends remaining. And then they, too, take their leave, with only my wife remaining, waiting for me to finish up.

“Well,” Coin Counter says. “I didn’t expect to talk about life, death, and old age tonight, but I feel much better. And if I may say so, it seems this coming year will be a big one for us all.” He raises his glass. “May it be the best one of our lives.”

I eagerly raise my glass, and Gusty does the same, both of us happy to share in the toast.

With dinner over, and the hour getting late, Beakbreaker and I head through the now-empty hallways of the Eagle, accompanied by the quiet holiday music coming from the speakers. We reach our suite in no time, and I’m in such a good mood that I could pick Beakbreaker up and carry her through the door like we just got married... oh, why the heck not?!

“What a day,” Beakbreaker says, sagging slightly as she unlocks and opens the door. “Isn’t it strange? You don’t do all that much, but you – Hey!”

Scooping Beakbreaker off her hooves, I rush through the door, shoving it closed behind us.

“Silverspeak!” Beakbreaker laughs. “What’s gotten into you?”

“The holiday spirit. What else? And learning that Celestia herself is going to be in Canterlot tomorrow!”

Beakbreaker’s as surprised as I was when I first heard the news. “Wait, really? But I thought she was in–”

“Coin Counter confirmed it: she’s heading to Canterot right now!” I beam, letting my smile brighten the room more than the chandelier above us.

“Why, Silverspeak, that’s... that’s wonderful.” Reaching out, Beakbreaker caresses my face. “You’ll finally be able to see her.”

“I know! I’ll...” Wait. Something isn’t right. Beakbreaker isn’t happy. She’s smiling, but there’s something wrong about it. It’s forced, the kind ponies put up when they want others to think they’re happy. “Beakbreaker? Is everything alright?”

The smile remains for a moment longer. It wavers, drops, and then vanishes.

“Beakbreaker?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but the words don’t come. She turns away, ashamed.

I hurry upstairs to the king-sized bed, where I lower Beakbreaker onto the edge, taking a seat beside her. “Beakbreaker, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer.

I slide a leg around Beakbreaker’s shoulders. “Please, tell me.”

She bites her lip. “Silverspeak, I’ve... I’ve...”

I draw her close. Gently, so as not to bruise her. “Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me,” I assure her, turning on the charm and keeping it at a low level. “I promise, I won’t mock or berate you for–”

“You’re using your charm, aren’t you?”

How does she do that? No matter how many times I try, she can always tell when I’m using my talent on her.

“Well... yes. But only a little.”

She gives a nervous laugh, and it breaks the tension that hangs heavy in the air. Taking a deep breath, Beakbreaker works up the courage to speak. “For a while now, I’ve been thinking about my life, and where it’s going. I’ve gotten everything someone like me could want: awards, honors, knowing I’ve helped change the world... but it felt like something was missing, like I wasn’t doing what I’m meant to do.”

“I don’t think there’s any other body parts you can grow in a lab,” I say.

Beakbreaker shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. It took me a while before I figured out what it was, and... well, Silverspeak, I...”

I see the conflict in her. The desire to reveal something, but knowing that there’s no turning back once it comes out. I squeeze her a little tighter. “Yes?”

Biting her lip, Beakbreaker wipes sweat from her brow. “Silverspeak... I want to retire.”

Wait... That’s it? That’s what’s been eating away at her? What she was thinking about last night, and talking to her friends about at dinner? I almost laugh; I feared she was getting sick, or having an existential crisis.

“I’ve done almost everything I’ve wanted to do,” Beakbreaker continues. “But I’ve passed my peak. I’m old now – ”

“Older. Not old,” I tell her.

She smiles. “You’re sweet. But medical innovations happen early on in careers, when the brain is still flexible and young. There are so many other, younger doctors and researchers coming in, full of ideas... and the fortitude to stay up all night.” She chuckles; Beakbreaker often comes home from work more tired than she was even ten years ago. Where we used to stay up almost all night if we wanted, she now is usually passed out in bed in under an hour.

“If I had to work the hours you do for decades on end, I’d want to retire, too,” I joke.

“So... you’re okay with this?”

I nod. “If this makes you happy, then yes, I am. We have more than enough bits stored up, and this means more time for us. We can do all the things you’ve wanted: Go on vacations. See the world.” I point my leg towards an invisible horizon of endless possibilities. “Just the two of us, together, as it should be.”

I look to Beakbreaker. No doubt she’ll be beaming at the idea.

She’s not.

“Beakbreaker?”

If Beakbreaker was nervous before, she’s clamping up.

“Beakbreaker? What’s wrong?”

“Silverspeak... I don’t want to retire because of the workload, or the hours. There’s something else I want to do, something just as important as the legs, the wings, and the horns... maybe even more so.” Beakbreaker breathes deeply, almost hyperventilating as she tries to build up her courage. “When I was little, Silverspeak, my mother devoted her life to me. She spent all her time with me, teaching me, instructing me, and encouraging me to follow my studies. I once asked her why she was so obsessed with me. And she said it was because I was her life’s work. Seeing me happy meant more to her than anything.”

Wait...

“I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought she was just being silly. But now that I’m older, I understand how she felt.”

My stomach twists itself into a knot. She can’t mean...

“Silverspeak...” Beakbreaker takes the deepest breath I’ve ever seen. “I want to have a child.”

Everything goes silent.

Neither of us speaks.

“It’s one thing to receive awards or be written into history books,” Beakbreaker says quietly, “but it’s more important to share your gifts with those who come after you. That’s what zebras believe. That we are all called to create and improve life.” She takes my hoof in hers. “I helped make life better for everyone, and now it’s my responsibility to do as my mother did, and her mother before her.”

I can’t think. My thoughts are swirling, waves of a turbulent sea battered by a storm.

A child... my wife wants to have a... a child...

“This is what kept me up last night,” Beakbreaker says. “That’s what’s been worrying me for months. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you.” She takes my hoof in hers. “While I want a child, it’s your decision, too. I don’t want you to make it right now, or even in a few months. I just want you to think about it. Can you do that?”

To be a parent to a child, to be there for him or her every day, raising him or her from birth to adulthood... I... I don’t know what to think.

“Like I said, I don’t want you to make a decision now,” Beakbreaker assures me.

“Beakbreaker...”

“Yes?”

“You know I don’t have the...” I glance down. “...‘equipment’ to have a child.”

“I know. But there are other ways.” She pokes my cheek. “We can use your cells. Do in vito fertilization.”

“Doesn’t sound very romantic, though.”

For a long moment Beakbreaker looks to me, and then the worry and tension of her face vanish as she laughs.

“Beakbreaker?”

Beakbreaker’s giggling. “I just had the silliest thought!” After a few deep breaths, she calms down enough to speak. “We were in an elegant bedroom, stripping down and getting on the sheets while romantic music played. You had a rose between your teeth, I got on top of you... and then I leaned in very close, looked deep into your eyes, and romantically scraped a few skin samples from your cheek and put them in a test tube.”

I try to stifle a giggle, and fail. That... that’s actually pretty funny.

Both of us giggle like naughty schoolchildren for several minutes. And when the giggling and guffaws finally settle, I feel much better. From the looks of things, so does Beakbreaker.

“Well...” Beakbreaker says. “What do you think?”

It’ll probably be several days, or maybe a month before I can come to any conclusions; as I told Beakbreaker, we have enough bits saved up to live off of, but if we're going to have a child, we’ll have to research if we’ll need a new home, where that child would go to school, and saving for his or her education, among other things... assuming I even want a child. No other decision in life is as important, and it’s not to be taken lightly. If I say yes, there’s no going back, and no changing my mind.

“I’ll need some time to think about it,” I say.

Beakbreaker nods. She was expecting that answer, but perhaps she was hoping I’d jump wholeheartedly into being a father. I can’t give her that, but I can give her something close.

There’s a music player embedded in the wall. I go over and turn it on, playing some relaxing classical tunes. The ache comes back, but it’s so small I barely notice it as I lean in close, looking deep into Beakbreaker's eyes.

“Want some practice scraping those samples?” I whisper.

Beakbreaker giggles. “That’s one of the worst pickup lines I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I only–”

Her hoof goes to my lips. “But I like it.”

A gentle push sends me onto the sheets. Grinning, I use my magic to dim the lights. There’s another headache, but it lasts only a moment, and is easy to ignore as I gaze into the face of my wife. She’s beaming, positively radiant, as she leans down and presses her lips to mine. She kisses me, and I kiss her in return, once more feeling so much younger than I am.

It’s amazing, really, how much things can change in a single day: Coin Counter’s retiring. Learning that I’ll meet Princess Celestia by this time tomorrow. Beakbreaker retiring and wanting to be a mother. Others would be afraid of changes so big and meaningful. But not me, for I’m with Beakbreaker.

Together, there’s nothing she and I can’t face.

Beakbreaker and I lie together in the dim twilight, safe in each other’s embrace as the Eagle carries us into the night.