Rescue Process (5) (Patreon)

They stuck them together that night.

Thomas wasn’t exactly upset about the decision—if he was going to room together with anyone in the awful slave camp, he’d rather it be someone he actually knew. Maybe it would be a little nicer if Lincoln didn’t fill the cramped space with a distinctly feminine scent.

He shifted uneasily on the makeshift bedding, searching in vain for a comfortable position. “Hard to imagine... woke up in my own bed this morning,” he whispered. “As a person, not a farm animal.”

A farm animal with an apparently magical horn stuck to his head—but that hadn’t done him much good on his work shift.

Their slavers neither cared about his powers nor even wanted him to use them. The more passive and helpless he was, the better. Let him be a pair of strong legs to drag a cart, and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Lincoln whispered back. Her voice had very little in common with the acquaintance he knew. How long until Thomas started thinking of her as Lin instead? At least it would help with the cognitive dissonance.

She kept squirming in bed, rolling to either side in the dense straw and cloth. She opened her wings at every conceivable angle, apparently searching just as he had for a place comfortable enough to sleep. Without success.

 “Getting transformed would suck,” she continued. “Going to another world—that could go either way. But the slave camp makes it so much worse.”

There was barely enough space for both of them to lay here without touching her by mistake. Even so, Thomas shifted in bed, keeping his distance. “I’m looking for a way out. Trying to... remember the tunnels they take me through. Maybe one of them goes to the surface.”

The pony beside him rolled over in bed, much closer than he would’ve liked. Close enough to whisper directly into his oversized ears. They twitched, folding away from Lincoln’s hot breath. “What if there’s another way out? Some others are getting ready to fight.”

He opened one eye, fully alert. “When?”

“Soon. They need people who can use... magic? That floaty stuff with your horn. They’re doing bow practice. Have to get an opening in their armor.”

He closed his eyes again, settling back into a resting position. “I like the idea, but—isn’t that more effort than we need? If I can move stuff with my mind, why not just shoot the arrow with it? Anything sharp could be a bullet.”

The other pony squirmed again, extending her wings in a few more awkward positions. She almost settled down, until one touched his shoulder. Lincoln pulled it back quickly, folding it away. “Either way, you need to learn. Can you... do it yet?”

“Can you fly yet?”

She shoved him. Maybe she meant it to be hard, but her hoof only jostled his side. “Flying won’t help us get out if we’re in a cave. Otherwise, I’d make it a priority.”

He said nothing to that, adjusting his position against his makeshift pillow. In a strange way, his hard day of work was a kind of mercy. He’d never get any sleep on such an uncomfortable bed otherwise.

“Next time you ask me to come caving with you, answer’s no.”

He braced for another strike—but felt only a twitch this time. Lincoln recoiled from him, pressing into the farthest corner of the shelter. When she spoke, it was even quieter than before, voice shaking. “I know. Once we’re out of this—I’d blame me too. My fault we left the group. It’s all my fault.”

At least she could admit it. If they got out of this, maybe he’d forgive her. It would depend on whether he got to keep any cool magic powers.

He slept—he must’ve, there was no other way to explain the missing time. Still, it barely felt like seconds had passed before something heavy and metallic banged through the camp.

“Ten minutes!” Shauna said, her voice distant and echoing. “Ten minutes until role call!”

For a few awful seconds his mind was utterly lost, confused by the torn cloth and the strange feeling of every limb. Why couldn’t he feel his fingers? Where was his bedroom, why was he naked?

Thomas groaned, shifting in the awful bed. He brushed against something soft, only inches away—Lincoln? How had she gotten there? 

The pony didn’t seem to notice him pulling away from her, stumbling awkwardly to his feet in the dim light.

She was up by the time he got back from the bathroom, looking half-awake and delirious. From what he remembered of going to high school together, Lincoln really wasn’t a morning person. “It wasn’t a nightmare?”

“Unfortunately not.” Thomas touched her shoulder with one hoof, in a way he hoped might feel reassuring. This would all be so much easier if she had stayed a dude. “Guess you want it more than me.”

She looked down at herself, then flushed. He couldn’t see the color on her face—but her wings poked open, and her ears folded backward. He had to assume that meant the same thing. “Yeah.”

There was little free time to burn. A few other prisoners milled about the camp, talking in subdued voices. But he barely heard them. Thomas’s stomach twisted into painful, aching knots. If that wasn’t bad enough, the soreness to his legs pulsed to regular rhythm, as steady as his heartbeat.

From the way Lincoln stumbled and rubbed at her forelegs, he could assume she felt something similar.

“Should’ve eaten that grass...” Lincoln muttered, brushing her side against the cavern wall. “How much do horses eat in a day?”

“A lot,” he answered. “More than what they fed us yesterday. They want everyone to be hungry.” Not starving, just miserable enough that they wouldn’t be thinking of a way to escape.

It wasn’t working, not if what Lincoln said was true. They were already preparing to find a way out.

“Did you talk to your friend about helping us?” A pony appeared from the shadowy tunnel, beside Lincoln. Thomas’s tail flicked sharply in annoyance, and his ears both angled in her direction—then he realized how stupid he was acting, and stopped short. He had nothing to be upset about.

“Yeah. I think he’s in.” Her wings shifted nervously, and she looked back at him. “You in on the escape plan, Thomas?”

“Completely. Just tell me how. This bone spur didn’t come with instructions.”

Winston chuckled, squeezing in past Lincoln so he was only a few feet from him. “I’m not the best—everything I know I learned from the locals. If you ask, Umber Flare knows a ton. Just don’t mention anything about trying to escape, or he’ll get quiet and not tell you anything useful.”

Heavy footfalls echoed from down the hall, along with the sound of something metal dragging in the dirt. The dogs were coming. Soon they would be back to work.

“Can you give me anything to get started? I want out of here as bad as Linc—as bad as she does.”

The winged horse twitched as he spoke, but otherwise didn’t react. He was trying to do what she said, that counted for something! 

“It’s about focus. What works for me is trying to imagine my hands are still there, and touch something. Focus until you can feel it. You’ll know it’s working when there’s pressure in your forehead. If you’re gonna practice while you work, do it when they aren’t watching.”

A nearby rock lifted up off the ground, surrounded by a faint shimmer of silver. It remained in the air just beside Thomas, before dropping straight back. “They can’t see the glow—none of them can. So, focus on something on the ground, and don’t lift it too much.”

That kind of persistent focus sounded about as great as going back to college. “Exhausting physical labor and mental work at the same time? How much fun can I have?”

“Line up!” called a familiar voice, sharp and cruel. Same one as the day before, in fact. “Get out here if you want to eat, ponies! Fast!”

They didn’t move fast, but they moved. Thomas didn’t bother trying to stay close to Lincoln this time, just got into line with the other guys in back. She could’ve had the horn, then she could practice while standing in one place all day.

Except it wasn’t just wings Lincoln had lost. Losing his humanity was bad enough—if Thomas lost his sex at the same time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope.

Maybe he should’ve been a little easier on Lincoln. There would be plenty of time for blame when they made it back to Earth.

That day’s work went about the same as the one before. Thomas didn’t stumble as often on his hooves—but he made up for it with aching muscles and a steady pulse of pain in his gut. 

It was already bad enough when they harnessed him to an empty minecart. Once they filled it with ore, every step forward became a struggle.

Lucky for Thomas, the route they chose was far away from the sorting room. He had to hike almost an hour down to the dusty pit to receive the load of ore. That first trip gave him plenty of time to think and practice his focus on whatever bits of debris were laying on the floor of the mineshaft.

Nothing happened during that first walk. If he was supposed to be feeling anything supernatural, it never came.

He lacked the strength to think of anything but the walk on the way to sorting. Hooves were tougher than feet—but rough stone tunnels still scratched and grated at them, making him wish for magical horse boots. Not horseshoes—sticking nails into his hands was going a little far.

One path blurred into another, with little to tell them apart. What was one dirty tunnel echoing with distant pickaxes and the squeak of minecart wheels?

He had no watch, no view of the sky—nothing to tell one minute of labor from the next. At least he got to drink his fill after dropping each load at the sorting room, or he might’ve just collapsed.

It might’ve been the third or fourth loop before he finally felt something. Not with a rock, but a piece of broken wood lying near a support. 

His mind was drifting, imagining everything he would do when he got back to Earth. He saw a piece of broken wood lying beside a structural support, startling him to momentary alertness. How much did evil slaver-dogs really care about workplace safety? Someone should really put that back.

He felt it move before he realized what he was doing. It lifted into place, shoving back into the gap between two supports.

Thomas was so startled he stopped walking completely, mouth hanging open. Did I just...

Something smacked his side, a heavy impact from the spear. “Keep moving, horse. No rest yet. Keep going.”

He stumbled forward, dragging the empty cart along behind him. Did I really do that?

He wanted to stop right there and find that state of mind a second time, and a third—but he didn’t get the chance.

Slowing for even a second would only earn him another smack from his jailers.

But there were other opportunities. While waiting in line behind some other carts for the sorting room, for example. Plenty of stray chunks of rock to practice on then. Nothing happened then, but he could almost feel it that time.

His transformation hadn’t given Thomas wings, but it had given him another sense. 

By the end of his shift, he could feel it even when he wasn’t trying to—as though the cavern and everything in it were surrounded by clouds of dense, hot air. It clustered around him and other ponies, while passing through rock with little resistance. Only a little lingered around their captors, as though the unfeeling energy of the cosmos were somehow punishing them for their evil.

That didn’t translate into a weapon, of course. He still had to struggle forward along his trail, still had to pull the cart. 

But it was a start. Thomas wasn’t going to die a helpless victim. One way or another, he would get them out of this mine.