"I guess you'll have to kill me then," the pony stated calmly.
Unit Seven-Three-Five lifted a steel hoof and pressed it to the pony's chest. The colt - it was a colt, by his thick muzzle and deep voice - shivered once and then crumpled to the ground, eyes distant and morbidly still.
The other ponies around him silently filled the gap his corpse had created. In the corners of my vision, units Seven-One-Two and Seven-Nine-Nine stepped up to flank Seven-Three-Five. The small screens on their chests and flanks flashed warning messages to the ponies, but they did not budge.
Last time this happened, it went on for days. Ponies making walls in the streets, refusing to allow units of the Tinkerer to continue on their patrols. There was little for them to protect; rot and dust overwhelmed any scent sensors, while the raging sandstorms carried by the dry wind often blinded those without lenses. They were starving, diseased, dying... and yet they still lined up to try and withstand the Tinkerer's units, as if somehow their tiny lives would make a difference to the units.
I am Seven-Two-Zero. They made a difference in me.
I and my other Seven-Two's had been doing regular scans on a small housing unit, sector H. It was one of the worst sectors; mares with starving foals lined the back walls of blown-out husks of buildings, musty and bloody from scavenging for food. I figured it was better than the Y or Z sectors, right on the edge of the Tinkerer's control and filled with the meat-eating cannibals that had gone blind and mad from the constant, glaring sun.
I had come across a book in a dirty hovel. It was filled with crude sketches drawn with dirt and blood; drawings of the dust storms in hasty, wide swipes, of the patrols in narrow, jagged lines, of the ponies in the hovel with a certain tenderness to the eyes and the faces.
Books were banned to the ponies. I was not sure if this book, having no words, would count, but there was something in the time it must have taken, in the detail of the drawings, that made me not want to have a chance of it being burned with the others.
[BOOKS ARE TO BE CONFISCATED.] I told the young pony.
There was something in her eyes that reflected those in her drawings; a deep hurt, but a deep hope as well. Terror flickering alongside defiance. Her body language matched up perfectly with that of rebels in my database, and I hoped I wouldn't have to kill her.
"Will you burn it with the others?" She asked quietly. Her body language changed instantly, gripping the sketchbook with a kind of parental protection.
I hesitated. [I. I ENJOY THIS BOOK OF PICTURES. DID YOU CREATE THEM YOURSELF.]
"I... I did." She loosened her grip on the book slightly, her hooves now just resting on the cardboard back cover. Her mane,dark red with a few lighter streaks, fell over her eyes. "You can have it if you keep it safe."
[I WILL NOT DESTROY IT.]
"Do you promise?"
[I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS COMMAND.]
"A promise," she repeated, setting the book down in front of her, "means you'll never do the thing you promise not to do. So, you would never destroy it, ever."
[DATABASE UPDATED. PROMISE CONFIRMED.]
She lifted her hoof, carefully placing on my chest. I could feel her hoof tremble from the cold metal as she tentatively traced an X over it. "Cross your heart," she said quietly. She drew her hoof outward in a wide sweep, "hope to fly..."
Very cautiously, she settled her hoof on my forehead. She must have seen the damage units like i could create, but she placed her hoof directly over the ALICORN outlet, hiding the white light under her mortal flesh. "No more bullets in your mind."
[I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.]
She smiled, weakly. "A sign of trust, between... friends."
[I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THE WORD 'FRIENDS' MEANS.]
"It's when you care about another pony."
[I DO NOT HAVE EMOTION SOFTWARE INSTALLED.]
She laughed, her hair falling back away from her face. I had never seen a pony smile. It took my database a while to recognize the language as a sign of joy or happiness. It was eerily similar to crying or screaming, which was strange. Unable to formulate a response, I waited until she calmed down.
"If you hadn't cared," she whispered, "you wouldn't have taken the chance that I could have damaged your eyes."
[I DO NOT HAVE EYES. YOU COULD NOT HAVE DAMAGED MY LENSES WITH YOUR BARE HOOF. THERE WAS NO DANGER.]
"You took the chance, though. That's what counts." She offered the book to me, and I noticed she had dirty bandages wrapped around her middle.
I opened the storage chamber on my left side, activating my ALICORN outlet to carry her book gently inside. [ARE YOU INJURED.]
She looked down at her belly, quickly dropping her hooves to cover the bandages again. "I'm fine. You should go."
[COMMAND UNDERSTOOD.] I turned, pausing mid-step on the way out of her small hovel. [I AM SEVEN-TWO-ZERO.]
"I'm Signal Flare," she said. "It's nice to meet you too, Sev."
[MY NAME IS NOT SEV.]
"Why couldn't it be?"
[UNITS DO NOT HAVE NAMES. I AM SEVEN-TWO-ZERO.]
"Seven-two-zero is a name, if it's what you're called. Anything can be a name, if you react to it," she mused. "So my name for you will be Sev."
[. . . UNDERSTOOD. I AM GLAD TO HAVE MADE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE, SIG.]
"My name's not Sig," she protested. Realization slowly dawned on her face, and she laughed. "I didn't know units had a sense of humor."
[I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THE WORD 'HUMOR' MEANS.]
A red light flashed outside, casting eerie pitch-dark shadows on the ruins. The patrol was returning to base.
[THE PATROL IS COMPLETE. GOODBYE, SIGNAL FLARE. . . SENSORS CANNOT DETECT PAPER AND PAPER PRODUCTS THROUGH CEMENT.]
