Gear in the Machine

by SFaccountant

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character, Science Fiction, Comedy, Adventure, Crossover, Human
Length: 181722

Age of Iron mini-series: Broken, lost, homeless, but never hopeless. As the machinist Gear Works recovers from the operations that shattered his body and business, he looks to a new future with the 38th Company.

Personnel log C-921825

Designation... Gear Works
Detachment... 38th Company, Dark Mechanicus sub-division
Rank... [ERROR]
Tacticae Specialization... [ERROR]
Planet Origin... Centaur III
Personnel Status... Active
Current Deployment... [LOADING]

(An Age of Iron side-story/mini-series.)
(Dark humor warning. Some grimdark themes.)
(Cover art by Underpable.)

Published 2015-11-24 16:10:03 UTC
Last updated 2024-11-19 04:50:21 UTC

Downloading: Friendship

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 2

Downloading: Friendship

****

Working for the Dark Mechanicus had turned out to be... different than Gear Works had expected.

Granted, his expectations didn't amount to much. Nobody knew very much about the Dark Mechanicus except the Dark Mechanicus. To many ponies they seemed like cold, heartless sorcerers who created machines as incredible as any magic. Their ideas and mannerisms - to say nothing of their obvious affection for replacing important parts of their body with customized augmentations - seemed insane, yet the things they produced defied belief and formed the basis of the 38th Company's technological dominance of the planet.

Surprisingly, it wasn't much different among the humans that weren't part of the Dark Mechanicus itself. Despite working alongside the Techpriests their entire lives, the engineer-cultists were mysterious, almost mythical figures to be feared nearly as much as the patently monstrous Chaos Space Marines. Even the Iron Warriors themselves regarded the Dark Techpriests with grudging respect, as suggested by the one Gears had spoken to before joining the Company. Their role was vitally important and their work was everywhere in Ferrous Dominus. Yet the Cult of the Cursed Device carried a heavy sense of mystery and shadowy intrigue that the other factions of Chaos lacked. Even the Cult of Chaos, a deadly religion steeped in ancient and barbaric rituals, seemed open and inviting by comparison.

Gear Works had expected much of that arcane mystery to be stripped away upon joining the faction. Perhaps, eventually, it would be. At present, however, his schedule as an Aspirant looked remarkably similar to that of any apprentice worker. He got up at the same time every day, had barely enough time to eat and clean himself, and then he reported to the manufactorum. He then spent fourteen straight hours at a single spot on a production line, doing a monotonous, simple, repetitive task that could have easily been accomplished by any servitor.

He didn't resent it. Just being around the vast, labyrinthine production lines of Ferrous Dominus was an honor to him, and seeing firsthoof the industrial processes that formed the backbone of humanity's technological might was precisely what he'd signed up for. The Dark Techpriests even had him work a different part of the manufactorum every day; on one shift he'd be sealing heavy bolter ammunition, another day he'd be checking the charge capacity of las cartridges, and another would be spent assembling ammunition hoppers for autocannons. Each part of the production line taught him the basic components and processes for the weapons that eventually saw their way to the battlefields outside the walls of the fortress. His evenings, meanwhile, were spent studying the scientific principles and schematic models surrounding whatever he had worked on that day. Chemical propellants for ballistic weapons, chemical energy storage and ionization for the energy packs, metallurgy for the assemblies...

It was far more mundane than he expected. And Gear Works could only be thankful for that, despite his lingering curiosity regarding machine spirits and daemonic devices and scrapcode. Everything suggested that the more exotic and esoteric aspects of the Dark Mechanicus projects were also more dangerous, and his instructors had been quite explicit regarding how little they valued his survival.

Today's shift involved the placement of focusing lenses in lasgun assemblies. The task was entirely automated, with a series of tiny servo arms fitting the lenses into the rifle receiver, but then the incomplete weapon was lifted onto a testing bed and fed with a low-energy pulse. Gears watched each test - one every 39 seconds, by his count - and ensured that the resulting beam struck a particular spot on the wall with perfect accuracy. It was a task that didn't even require him to physically move unless something went wrong, and he was positive the Mechanicus could have set up a sensor to track the successful tests and interrupt the manufacturing line when a test failed. In fact, he could probably do it himself. He knew how to build light-detection sensors. But how would he safely interrupt the automated fabrication without knowing the programming code?

Gear Works was still working out a plan to render himself redundant when a burst of static came from behind him. The stallion looked left and right to check whether there was any other Mechanicus workers next to him, and confirmed that the string of Binaric Cant was intended for him. He suppressed a sigh and turned around.

"Hello, Dark Acolyte Sheraan. Can you repeat yourself in Gothic, please?" Gears requested.

"Disappointing," Sheraan said harshly in their shared language, "you still have not learned Binaric Cant. Why do you suppose you are worthy of becoming a Techpriest rather than a servitor?"

Gear Works narrowed his flesh-eye. "Acolyte Sheraan, I am quite aware that Binaric Cant is not simply 'learned' like Prench or Yak. I do not possess the required neural implant to decipher Machine-Code, and I will not be able to speak or understand it until I am cleared for one, no matter how hard or diligently I study."

There was a brief pause as the two cyborgs stared at each other.

"Disappointing," Sheraan said again, "I had estimated at least two more weeks before you figured that out."

"I've been studying after every shift, before I go to sleep. I will admit that your instructions are rather ingenious," Gears replied, sitting down. "I've noticed that you insert falsities and half-truths in your lessons and statements regularly. This forces me to check the data; to verify and experiment to test the veracity of my lessons. It's actually a very interesting academic approach. I'm not allowed to take anything for granted, and must constantly probe even simple ideas for errors. I'll be much stronger for it, I'm sure."

Another pause settled between the black-cloaked figures.

"You think that's why I do it?" Sheraan asked, sounding utterly perplexed.

This conversation was heading in a rather unpleasant direction, so Gears decided to get back to the point. "Dark Acolyte, was there something you needed from me? I am leaving the testing bay unattended."

"Affirmative. You may leave your station, Aspirant. You are being reassigned." Sheraan lifted up his arm, and a servo skull floated up over his shoulder.

"I... I am? To what?" Gears was rather surprised. He'd never been moved from the production line before. Of course, he hadn't been with the Dark Mechanicus very long either, but he had supposed that his current duties were mostly an excuse to get some tiresome labor out of him while keeping him out of the way of anything important. For his assignment to change suggested that there was something more urgent for him to do. Which seemed strange, as he lacked the experience to do anything of urgency.

"Field maintenance."

Gear Works snapped his head up, and his ears flicked. "R-Really? You're giving something that important to me?"

"... Affirmative," Sheraan confirmed after a moment of hesitation, "you are to take this servo skull and proceed to sector 5. You will then check all the atmospheric cycler engines of all the buildings in that sector. If any basic repairs are required, you will perform them. If there are any complications, you will report back for a qualified repair team to be dispatched."

Gears nodded eagerly, his hood almost falling off his head. "Affirmative! Absolutely! It will..." he trailed off uncertainly. "Wait... sector 5... the temple district?"

"Affirmative."

The pony's excitement waned rapidly. The temple district was well-known for being one of the more bizarre and dangerous places in Ferrous Dominus, along with the daemon engine pits and the slave yards. Most importantly, it also contained...

"Uh... do I also need to check the... Nurglite temples?" Gears couldn't ask the question without cringing.

"Affirmative. They are the most likely site of persisting damage and accelerated wear," Sheraan confirmed, "you needn't fear infection. Your protective equipment and respiratory augmentation are sufficiently rated to resist exposure to The Destroyer's blessings."

"Okay... but I've already established that I can't trust those sorts of assertions, because you really don't care about whether-"

"Further protest and/or delay WILL result in your termination from the Cult Mechanicus," the Dark Acolyte interrupted, "as well as this mortal coil."

Gear Works squeaked and quickly stepped forward, reaching out for the servo skull with his servo arm. "Of course! Right away! Leaving now!" He pinched the augmetic claw closed over a trailing wire, and then galloped down the dimly-lit hallway.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 5

Shrine of Khorne

"All right, it's done. I've fished the bones out of the ventilation shaft, cleaned the fan blades, and cleared the drainage pipes."

Gear Works craned his neck up to stare at the pair of Khorne Cultists standing in front of him. One was an ordinary human, for a given definition of "ordinary"; tattoos, scars, and stitching covered much of his skin, and his right hand was a blade-fingered augment. The other was a Kroot warrior who seemed to have the Mark of Khorne cut into various parts of his body.

"Please be aware that blood clots fairly quickly, and combined with other bodily fluids seeping from an eviscerated corpse can easily clog the drains. I advise you apply anti-coagulants each evening to keep the pipes clear. Also, do you have a waste disposal unit for non-liquid gore? It seems like you should have that. The work is a little too unconventional for servitors, though. Even if you didn't seem to like attacking them on sight for combat practice."

The human Khornate took a moment to adjust the cracked combat goggles over his eyes. "You're a funny little horse, you know that?"

"I've been told I possess a good sense of humor, yes. Which I find quit distressing, as I rarely tell jokes," Gears admitted. The servo skull that Sheraan had given him floated up with a small towel clutched in one of its servo arms, and it started wiping the grime off the edges of Gear's cloak.

"We're warriors, not deck ratings, coghorse," the human snapped, pointing one metal talon toward Gears almost close enough to poke him in the eye. "We don't do plumbing. We do KILLING."

Gear Works mulled that over for a few seconds. "Fair enough, Sir. However, I must advise that without at least minimal maintenance, the accumulated gore will start to build up and begin rotting. It seems to me that's a good way to turn your Khorne temple into a Nurgle temple."

The two Cultists shared a glance. The human frowned, while the Kroot made some sort of clicking sound in his throat that Gears dismissed as "unintelligible alien noises".

"Can't we get you to do that?" the man demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and flexing his claws.

"That seems inefficient. Of course you can request a low-ranking Tech worker to come clean things up when they stop working, and of course I'll do it out of fear that you'll throw me into the giant fan blades of the air purifier engine. But that's enormously unproductive. Augments are much harder to pry out of there than bone fragments. And any time spent out here fixing things is less time spent in the manufactorum making weapons." The servo skull dipped in front of the pony, and Gears started wiping his forelegs off on the rag hanging from its claw. "How about a compromise? Rather than trying to bully Tech-clergy into fixing things, why don't you bully the new Khorne cultists into maintaining them? That way you still get to aggressively harass someone nearby, and I don't have to be that someone. Everyone wins! That either of us care about, that is."

"Huh... well... okay, yeah. That sounds good. The chumps could use something to do while they recover from their training rounds," the human said with a slow nod, "I don't see any reason why they couldn't work in a torrent of rotting filth while they're waiting for their wounds to heal."

"I do, but for the purposes of not having to meet you ever again, I'll agree instead!" Gears said happily.

The Kroot snarled something that sounded like it was supposed to be a sentence, and then pointed to Gear Works.

"No, knock it off. He's not food," the human retorted, shoving the Carnivore back. The alien snapped its beak at him, and they glared angrily at each other, arms cocked as if they were about to come to blows.

"You understood that?" Gears asked warily, taking a step back.

"No, but all she ever asks is whether she can eat someone. It gets old quick," the Cultist grumbled. The Kroot snarled something else, turning away sharply and walking off.

"... It's a SHE?" Gears asked.

"Yeah. Wanna know how you can tell?"

"NO. Good day, Sir."

Before long Gear Works was on the streets again, his servo skull floating along behind him. Both he and the skull had spots of dried blood crusted on them, and Gear's servo arm scrubbed at his side with another dirty cloth while he made his way to the next facility.

Dealing with the Khorne Cultists had been difficult, unpleasant, and frightening. But getting through the job was still a relatively simple matter of not offending the hair-trigger psychotics that practiced blood sport as a form of worship. Nurgle was not so easy to deal with. It especially didn't help that many of its Cultists saw their powers as gifts to be spread rather than weapons to be contained until it was appropriate.

"Nothing for it. Come on, Striker. I'm sure we have plenty of work to do."

The servo skull hovered slightly ahead of Gear Works, releasing a quick string of blurts and beeps. Gears couldn't understand it, but could imagine what the floating automaton was saying.

"Yes, I'm calling you 'Striker' from now on. I'm naming you after my sister. Because she's a bonehead, too." He giggled at his own joke. Striker made an extended beeping noise, and poked the back of the stallion's head with a manipulator arm.

Gear Works passed by the entrance to the Temple of Plagues that sat in relative isolation on the edge of sector 5. His destination was the maintenance alcove in the rear, and the pipes that funneled (extremely unpleasant) materials throughout the building.

At about the same time, a certain trio of mares exited the front gates. Breezy Blight spotted the servo skull hovering past, and turned her head to look. Her step faltered for a moment.

Then she quickly turned to her companions and slapped a metal-clad hoof against Rot Blossom's shoulder pad. "Hey! Check this out!"

The other two ponies stopped to look, and Poison Kiss arched an eyebrow. "Well, well, well... what have we here?"

"The Dark Mechanicus is taking ponies now? I thought they hated us," Blossom mumbled, tilting her head to the side.

"Are we sure it's really DarkMech? What if it's somepony trying to sneak into sensitive areas?" Breezy asked.

"That isn't a very good getup for avoiding attention and suspicion, as we’re demonstrating right now," Kiss pointed out. "Still... this requires further investigation. Come along, girls."

Gear Works reached the gate that led to the maintenance bay, and then he pressed his augmetic leg against the security scanner. The scanner beeped pleasantly, and then the lock clicked open before the door opened.

Or, rather, before the door shrieked and groaned tortuously, its gears working in vain against a layer of filth that had stuck the portal shut.

"This is NOT a good start," Gears mumbled. He lifted up his right-rear leg, the other bionic limb, and his servo arm reached down to pluck a small dagger-like tool that was mag-locked onto his shin.

Fixing it solidly within the steel claw, Gears cut into the gelatinous goop sticking the door to the frame. After about a minute of cutting it finally broke free, sliding open and allowing the pony access to the alcove interior.

"Oh, gross!" Gears recoiled when he saw the state of the maintenance alcove. A layer of filthy semi-solid runoff carpeted the floor, and various vile insects crawled over and swam through it in little swarms. A large lump of congealed... matter... sat in the corner, piled up and apparently serving as some kind of nest. Gears scanned the air content using his bionic eye, and while it (barely) contained enough oxygen to breath, most of the other gases present were toxic, flammable, or both. It was more or less every fear he had about working in a Nurglite zone packed into a single room.

At least he had found a primary breach right away. There were a number of heavy pipes leading away from the main fluid pump, and there was a very obvious hole in one of them. He tried not to think about what had made the hole; it didn't quite look like a matter of simple corrosion.

"Okay... torch repair is out, due to all the flammable chemicals. If I can cut away at the break and clean it, then a simple patch will do the trick. I can bolt it into place. That should be safe." Gears walked up to the piping gingerly, trying to ignore the various squelching, cracking, and slurping noises coming from under his hooves with every step. "Let's just turn off the main release valve..."

He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Gear Works looked back toward the alcove entry, and then he almost shrieked in fright.

Granted, the three ponies looking into the room weren't at all terrifying in the conventional sense. If anything, they were rather pretty. And although all three wore power armor - sans helmet - and had weapons equipped, none of them were brandishing their bolters or any kind of weapon at him. But that didn't reassure Gears; he knew very well that the three equines bearing Nurgle's Mark were still far more dangerous than any random hazard he might encounter in a dark temple.

"Oh, my. Isn't this interesting?" Poison Kiss said, striding forward ahead of her squad. "I wasn't aware the Dark Mechanicus was open to equines. Did you, girls?" She looked back to the two other ponies and smirked.

"Is that legit? You're really DarkMech? Those augments are real!" Breezy's tone was halfway between disbelief and excitement. "You even have a servo skull! No way!" Blossom remained quiet, studying the stallion's augments.

"C-Can I h-help you ladies?" Gears said, his voice emerging as a high-pitched squeak. "I'm kind of in the middle of some important r-repairs, so-"

"Why yes, actually. I think you can." Kiss sat down, her armor making a wet squelch against the floor. "This is actually quite a nice surprise, to find a pony Techpriest. The human sort seem rather difficult."

"I'm n-not actually a T-Techpriest yet," Gears stuttered "I'm still-"

"Please don't interrupt me," Kiss said softly. Gear Works stiffened his posture and fell silent. "Thank you. As I was saying, the Dark Techpriests don't give us ponies a lot of attention. They treat us with open contempt, and can’t be buggered to address our requests for repairs and assistance."

"All because we're not human. It's just not fair," Breezy griped, "the only people who can fix stuff and will listen to us at all are Techpriest Gaela and Warsmith Solon, and neither of them are very easy to call on. Gaela is always hanging around with the Elements of Harmony, and Solon is... well, he's like the most important and busiest guy in the entire army."

Kiss nodded sadly. "We're not even going to have them around to help us once the 38th Company makes its run back home to drop off their plunder. That leaves us in a bit of a tight spot." Then she grinned. "But I'm sure YOU can cover us, yeah?"

Gears was visibly sweating now. Blossom had walked up to him and was poking at his various augments, adding an element of distinct physical discomfort to the emotional stress of this encounter. He took a moment to read the unicorn's IFF signum label using his bionic eye. "W-Well, see, the thing is, Miss Poiso-"

"You can call me Kiss," Poison Kiss interrupted, "this here is Breezy, and the lady next to you is Blossom."

Gears grimaced under his respirator mask. "It's an... honor to meet you, Miss Kiss. My name is Gear Works, and I'm still an Aspirant. I can't really fix anything yet; I'm still learning the basics."

Breezy raised an eyebrow. "If you can't fix anything, what are you doing here poking at a broken pipe?"

"That... Uh, well-" Gears yelped when he felt the rear of his robe being lifted up, and he started to turn around. Then he felt a magical aura surround his head and hold him still.

"Don't mind her," Kiss said, tugging Gears' head back to face forward, "what were you saying?"

"I was... saying... that while I can fix pipes and basic mechanical devices and could probably clean a boltgun..." he gulped anxiously, "there's no way I could repair or maintain something like power armor! I barely even understand how the lasguns work!"

Breezy and Kiss shared a glance.

"I'm cool with you just cleaning my gun," the former said, smirking, "and hey, if you play your cards right, maybe you can have a shot at my 'plumbing', too!"

"Your plumbing? Is there something wrong with your restroom?" Gears asked. "I probably COULD fix that, actually..." he trailed off as the two mares started snickering. ”What?"

"Oh, you are just ADORABLE," Kiss said. She gently raised one of her boots and tapped Gear Works in the chest with it. "So, here's what I'm thinking: from here on out, you're going to be our little handystallion. You may not be able to fix up power armor yet, but I'm sure you can learn. And you're going to learn quickly."

The stallion cringed, not least because of the oozing filth Kiss was currently pressing against his chest. "Th-That's not really-"

"What did I say about interrupting me?" Kiss asked. Gears whimpered and stopped talking. "Good lad... That sort of attitude will get you far around here. And if you do what you're told and take care of us, we'll take care of you." She arched an eyebrow and grinned. "If you know what I... hmm?"

Rot Blossom walked back to her squadmates, shaking her head. Then she leaned in close to them and started whispering.

Gears couldn't hear what she was saying, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. He remained still and silent for the most part, only moving to shake off one of the bugs that was trying to crawl up his leg.

Blossom stopped speaking and raised her head. Kiss looked rather grim in her expression, while Breezy just seemed confused.

"So, what, you mean it's made of metal or something?" the pegasus asked.

Blossom shook her head again.

"Oh. OH... bummer." Breezy winced. "Well, we can still have him work for us, right?"

"Yes, I think we will," Kiss agreed, turning toward the cyborg stallion, "is that a problem, Mister Works?"

"Well..." Gear Works wilted quickly under the eyes of the three mares. "I suppose it would give me a chance to study technology created by the Warsmith. I didn't dare hope I'd get to do anything like that so soon." Such a boon had to be weighed against the assorted diseases and parasites that doubtlessly clung to said technology, but it had the added bonus of not annoying Phage Squadron. From where he was standing, that was a VERY important bonus. "Sure, I can do that. Uh... can I finish with the atmospheric cycler, first?"

"Okay, fine. But after that, I want you to help me with my boltgun," Breezy raised her foreleg, pointing the weapon straight up. "It keeps jamming whenever I fire bursts. Like, EVERY TIME. Watch."

"NO!" Gears shouted, his fur standing on end. "The gas! Don't-"

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 7

Mess hall

Gear Works trudged through the doors of the main cafeteria, exhausted and more than a little singed. Molten tears decorated his robe, much of his exposed fur was scorched black, and the servo skull that had accompanied him hung from his neck in a cloth sling, having been damaged beyond its ability to stay mobile. His augmetics, thankfully, were built of sterner stuff, and were generally undamaged. Even that was a mixed blessing, however, since he had still been in good enough shape to repair the engine. And he had done so, despite the extra damage from the explosion tripling the amount of repair work.

On the plus side, Breezy's boltgun now worked better than ever. Good for her.

Gears looked left and right, searching the interior of the mess hall. The majority of the occupants were batponies eating breakfast, as it was late enough in the evening for the day crews to be heading to bed and the night crews to be waking up. While there were plenty of humans and some diurnal ponies that worked irregular hours - himself among them, for today - this was also the time that the nocturnal thestrals normally broke their fast before preparing for work.

He shuffled off toward a dispenser built into the wall, ignoring the occasional odd stare he got from the Lunar Guard. Like most non-batponies, he knew little about them that wasn't shaky myth or prejudice. Unlike the myths and prejudices associated with the Cultist ponies, however, he didn't take them seriously enough to consider the thestrals particularly scary. Or perhaps his fearlessness came from recently being stared down by Plague Ponies and being knocked around by an explosion. Either way, he didn’t think anything of walking through the throngs of fanged equines, collecting a can of nutrient gel, or sitting down at a table with several bat ponies already there.

The Lunar Guard stopped talking amongst themselves immediately, turning to stare at the new arrival.

They continued staring as Gears placed his can of gruel on the table, and then shifted his servo arm over it. The mechanical limb punched a hole in the top, and then curled under the pony's neck to grab the tube connected to his respirator. The tube detached from his oxygen supply, and the servo arm slipped it into the can of "food".

"Ahhhh..." Gears finally relaxed while he sucked the flavorless mush out of the can. Aside from sleep, this was effectively the only break he got from constant work and study in the Dark Mechanicus. And while he usually enjoyed the work and study portions just as much, today had been particularly stressful.

Most of the bat ponies grabbed their food and quietly left, not wanting to sit at the same table with the bizarre black-clad pony. One stallion, however, looked completely fascinated by the cyborg equine. After nearly a minute of merely observing him, the soldier slid over until he was seated opposite Gear Works.

"Well, you look like you've had a rough night. What happened? Kroot Hounds? Daemon incursion? AI rebellion?" the thestral asked.

"Gas explosion," Gears said, briefly interrupting his meal to speak.

"Ooh, that sounds bad. Was anyone important hurt?"

"No. Just me."

The bat pony laughed, slapping a hoof onto the surface of the table. Once his chuckles died down, he leaned forward and grinned at the earth pony.

"And here I thought having a sense of humor disqualified anypony from being DarkMech! Not that I thought they’d ever start taking ponies at all. What's your name?"

"I'm Gear Works," the cyborg pony said, placing a scorched hoof against his chest.

"Nice to meet you! I'm-"

"Lieutenant Dusk Blade of the Lunar Guard," Gears interrupted, "I know who you are."

"Ah. ID signum reader?" Dusk asked, tapping his right eye.

"I have that, yes, but I didn't need it. Your reputation precedes you. The Dark Techpriests have spent considerable time analyzing your ability to bypass local security," Gears drawled, "can I help you, Lieutenant? I'm in the middle of my meal break."

"Nah, just kind of curious, I guess. I don't see a lot of pony Techpriests," Dusk admitted.

"You don't see any pony Techpriests. I'm only an Aspirant, and as far as I know the sole equine member of the Dark Mechanicus."

Dusk nodded absently, picking up a baked dragonfly on a long wooden skewer. "That's like the lowest rank, right? Makes sense. You couldn't have been part of it very long. So, what do you do as an Aspirant?" He bit onto the char-broiled insect, and Gear Works cringed at the loud crunching noise.

"Lieutenant, is there something you wanted?" Gears asked. "I've just finished repairing the rancid equipment that regulates air flow into a Nurgle temple, I'm hours behind schedule, and I was recently solicited by a trio of young mares to maintain their equipment."

"Oh-HO! Is that some kind of saucy DarkMech innuendo?" Dusk asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"No. It means I'm going to repair and clean their weapons and armor," Gears said dryly, "and I have every reason to believe that I will deeply regret the experience. But beside that, I'm very tired, injured, and quite liable to be punished for letting the explosion damage the servo skull that was loaned to me. I would really like to just finish my meal in peace and get back to my quarters to sleep."

The Lunar Lieutenant smiled and rubbed at his chin with a hoof. "You're kind of a loser, huh? I like that! We should hang out!"

"... What? Why?"

"I like to buddy up to ponies objectively worse than I am. It's a real confidence-booster. Besides, knowing a Techpony could be handy! I can call you up whenever I need something fixed!" Dusk reasoned before finishing off his dragonfly.

"That would be extremely troubling for me, especially as you tend to operate at night," Gear Works pointed out.

"Don't worry about it! I've been slowly moving to day-duty anyhow," the bat pony paused to guzzle a cup of apple nectar, and then licked his lips, "but I get it. I'll ring you up in the morning or early evening. How's that?"

"Okay, then I change my objection to 'I don't want to'. I haven't been assigned to wargear maintenance. Why should I have to attend to you?"

"Well, you said you were doing it for those mares," Dusk pointed out, "so why won't you do it for me? Is it because I'm a stallion?"

"Of course not. Those other ponies had wargear designed and constructed by the Warsmith HIMSELF. That alone would be worth my time and effort to work with them if the bearers weren't also Nurgle Cultists. But I was primarily motivated by the implied threat of violent retribution, not petty lust," Gear Works snorted, irritated at the very thought.

Dusk Blade grinned and pulled his left forehoof down under the table. Then he placed it back on top of the table, this time wearing a bladed hoof gauntlet.

"Oh, blast," Gears wheezed, his ears flipping down.

"Aw, don't be like that, buddy! Just because I intend to hurt you if you don't do what I say doesn't mean we can't be friends!" Dusk said brightly, leaning further over the table.

"Well... I suppose it WOULD be interesting to study the Lunar Guard's xenotech rifles..." the cyborg equine mumbled timidly.

"Yes! Exactly! Whatever you need to do to rationalize this relationship!" Dusk Blade shoved his empty tray away, and then leapt over to the other side of the table with a heavy beat of his wings. Gears started to edge away, but the bat pony placed a hoof - the one with curved blades on it - on his shoulder and pulled him in closer. "This is going to be great! It's really hard to find friends as smart as I am among the other thestrals, and most of the unicorns want nothing to do with me."

"I can only imagine," Gear Works grumbled, slurping up another mouthful of nutrient goop.

Dusk Blade watched the quivering tube that ran from the cyborg's mouth to the ration tin. "So, I gotta ask: why do you still have the rebreather on? We're inside, Gears."

"It's not a rebreather. This is just what my face looks like, now," the Aspirant grumbled, "some lunatic mare attacked me and shattered my jaw after I moved into Ferrous Dominus. Rather than picking up the pieces and re-attaching them, Dark Acolyte Sheraan thought it would be more efficient to simply augment my head."

"Ha! No kidding? I was attacked by some crazy mare too!" Dusk laughed. "We have a lot in common, you know?"

"Not really, no. Your jaws were successfully reconstructed, I see."

"Nah, I just win my fights, is all." Dusk retorted, throwing a few quick jabs at the air.

Gear Works hesitated. "No, I meant that literally. My augmetic can see that your jaws have nanodyte implants to facilitate-" One of Dusk's jabs suddenly struck him in the side, and the Aspirant yelped in pain.

"Shut up, Gears," the Lieutenant requested, pulling his hoof from the other Stallion's ribs. Gear Works supposed he should have been glad that at least Dusk had used the hoof without the blades. "Anyway, I've got a patrol soon. I'll track you down tomorrow evening and we can hang out!"

"Please don't," the cyborg begged while his servo arm gently massaged his new bruise.

"Hah! You're a riot! See you soon, buddy!"

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 12

Manufactorum block, following day

Gear Works stood at attention before a hot, glowing furnace, feeling sweat beading under his hood. His perspiration had little to do with the furnace. Rather, it had more to do with the four black-robed figures standing in a circle in front of him, conversing in Binaric Cant.

He had given his full account of everything that had happened the previous day, and handed over the damaged servo skull to his superiors. The self-motivated and pointlessly macabre drone lay off to the side, on a metal counter surrounded by incense candles. After receiving his report, the Techpriests had said nothing to him, immediately convening to speak amongst themselves in the language that he could not yet speak.

Gears couldn't help but speculate on his immediate fate. Would they kill him, as Acolyte Sheraan had alluded to so many times before? Would they declare his career a failure, and decide that the Dark Mechanicus would benefit more from having his augments recycled and his organic mass burned than it would from teaching him and allowing him to serve?

It seemed absurd on the face of it. To think that the first pony ever killed by a human would be one of the Company's own, and for no crime more heinous than completing a task late and to mediocre results. But he dare not assume any cruelty was beyond the sensibilities of the Dark Mechanicus. His life was nothing more than a number to them, and all that was required to justify his disposal was the right equation.

The bursts of static-laced bleating ceased. Gears felt his chest tighten.

Three of the figures turned away and left, not even glancing at the augmented pony. Only Dark Acolyte Sheraan remained, and he turned and glowered down at Gear works through carmine-tinted lenses.

"Aspirant Gear Works," Sheraan declared, "I have completed analysis of your report. After discussion with my colleagues, I must deliver our regrettable conclusion."

Gears cringed.

"It has been decided that you performed your duties with an acceptable level of competence and skill. You are to be..." he paused briefly, as if struggling with the next word, "commended for completing your objectives in the face of direct interference and relatively minor physical trauma."

It took Gear Works several seconds to parse that sentence and make sure that it wasn't some kind of unnecessarily complex way of insulting him. Even then, he initially assumed Sheraan was lying. "I am? Really? Why?"

"Each of your individual decisions were reviewed and judged to be correct," the Dark Acolyte buzzed, "in particular, your insistence on prioritizing your work task over seeking aid or assistance for your injuries was noted as rationale for satisfaction. Such an attitude will serve the Dark Mechanicus well. In addition, your ability to navigate interference by our client warriors without initiating hostilities is to be praised. Barely."

"Are... Are you serious? I'm not being punished for circumstances largely out of my control?" Gears asked, his voice almost breathless.

"Despite my best efforts," Sheraan admitted.

A happy little squeal came from the stallion. He cut it short only because Gears knew very well that his peers despised outward expressions of joy, but the cheer in his tone was unmistakable. "It is my greatest honor to serve, Dark Acolyte! I eagerly await my next task!"

Sheraan murmured something derisory in Binaric Cant, but then straightened up. "Noted, Aspirant. Despite your display of minimal acceptable competence, it must be advised that, in the future, you endeavor to better protect your tools. I’m certain you could have shielded the servo skull with your own body to prevent it from being harmed." He pointed to the skull in question. "Such machines are utterly expendable, and we possess thousands of such devices. Even so, they are far more valuable than your comfort and well-being."

"Affirmative, Acolyte! I understand completely!" Gears brought his servo arm around and pressed it against his forehead in salute. "What is today's job?"

"In recognition of your weakness, you're to repair the servo skull on your own," Sheraan continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Schematics have been provided, and you have been released from any further duties for the day. You must study and restore the item to a functional state within twenty-four hours without further instruction."

The Dark Acolyte flinched back in surprise when the pony suddenly launched forward, clamping its forelegs around his leg. "What are you doing?!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Gears quickly let go of his superior, sounding positively giddy. "It's called a 'hug'. It's a thing ponies do sometimes in response to spontaneous increases in happiness."

"Don't do that again," Sheraan warned.

"No promises," Gear Works trotted over to the table and scooped the pieces of the servo skull into the bag he had carried them in with. His servo arm snagged the dataslate next to it, and then the cyborg pony left the hall, practically skipping for joy.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 4

Mechanicus Dorms

Gear Works' room was a simple affair, even by the standards of the 38th Company. A two-meter cube with a metal shelf on two walls; a lower, larger one for a bed, and a higher, smaller one for a desk. For a pony from Canterlot, it would have barely qualified as a closet. Even the cells of the castle dungeons were roomier and more comfortable.

Like most aspects of living in Ferrous Dominus, Gears tended to look for the non-obvious advantages rather than the extremely visible horrors. Such a design was incredibly efficient in both space usage and construction time. Neither factor was of any real comfort to the individuals having to live there, given that space was in abundance and the fortress-city had an indefinite amount of time to construct better housing, but Gears was still fascinated by the idea. This building had literally been built in an afternoon, at a cost in material that the Dark Mechanicus considered negligible. It was also extremely safe, which was more than he could say for the downright decadent apartments in Nightwatch. Were the fortress to be attacked - which had already happened twice in a matter of months - he would bet on the reinforced, ground-level cubicles to survive much better than the showy black tower.

The lack of space meant that Gears couldn't do much in his room besides sleep and read. Luckily, tinkering with a servo skull didn't require much in the way of room, and his bed was easy to use as a second desk to lay out the parts. He had already figured much of the device out, and was carefully probing the gravitation engine with a precision auspex to find the fissures created by the detonation. It wasn't extremely delicate work, but still sensitive enough that he was glad to be doing it in a tiny, locked metal box.

So, naturally, that was when the door suddenly slid open and someone shouted "Hey, Gears!" behind him.

"GAH! Ponyfeathers!" Gear Works yelled, accidentally piercing the engine casing with the needle-like probe. He didn't have much time to continue cursing or take stock of the damage. A leathery wing fell over his withers, and another furry body leaned in next to him.

"Oh, cool! Fixing up the servo skull? Do you know how to make those?" Dusk Blade asked, leaning in toward the components laid out on the steel surface. "Like, could you make me one if I provided a skull? I know a few menials who probably wouldn't be missed."

Gear Works gently removed the precision auspex and laid it down. "How did you get in here and how can I get you out?"

"Sorry buddy, trade secret!" Dusk winked and laughed. "Anyway, you can get back to this in a minute. I just wanted to talk a little." The Mechanicus Aspirant heaved a sigh, which he took as a sign to continue. Not that Dusk Blade was going to obey any request to leave, but still. "Let's head into your living room. It's too cramped in here."

Gears turned toward the other stallion, raising his only remaining eyebrow. "Pardon? My living room?"

"Yeah. Or den, or workshop, or whatever you Mechies have." The batpony frowned and glanced back at the entrance. "Why does your front door open into the closet, anyhow? Or is this one of those little greeting rooms, like in Neighpon?"

"No. This is my room, Lieutenant," Gear Works drawled, "as in, all of it. There are no other rooms."

Dusk stared at him for a few seconds, and then his head whipped back and forth again, checking the dimensions of the room interior. "Wait... seriously? Dude, I grew up in a damp, lightless, underground cave, and even I feel claustrophobic in here." Then his brow furrowed. "Hold on, if there are no other rooms, then where's your toilet? Do they seriously make the DarkMech clergy walk down the hall and share a communal bathroom?"

"Oh, no, that would be very inefficient," Gears agreed, stepping away from the other stallion, "I have my own waste disposal chute."

"A... 'waste disposal cute'?" Dusk couldn't repeat the phrase without wincing.

Gear Works nodded and then stepped on a tile near the corner. A small hinged cover on the floor popped up, revealing a funnel opening that descended into the piping of the dormitories.

Dusk stared. Then he looked up at Gears again. "You know, whenever somepony complains about the Company practicing slavery, we should just show them this place. Seriously, the slave cells are SO much nicer. They have actual toilets and running water and pillows and EVERYTHING."

"Such decadence is grossly unnecessary for a follower of the Machine God," Gears scoffed, "every minute I spend in my domicile is an unfortunate necessity, a waste of time to be tolerated until I can return to work in the manufactorum." His servo arm swept toward the pieces of the servo skull littering his desk and bed. "I wouldn't even be performing this much labor here, but as an Aspirant I'm not allowed in the main workshops without permission from a superior."

"And they wouldn't let you use it to fix a servo skull?" Dusk asked.

"When I asked for permission to enter, the Dark Techpriest in attendance just started laughing. I took that as a negative response." Gears shifted uncomfortably. "I believe many other followers of the Machine God are still uncomfortable with the idea of counting an equine among their peers, and choose to express their discomfort with cold hostility and open contempt. Quite understandable really. Change can be difficult."

The Lunar Guard officer snorted. "Geez Gears, try not to be such a pushover! You have rights too!"

"I need you to understand that if I was not such a pushover, I would have definitely tried to stab you by now, Lieutenant," Gear Works stated flatly. "Now, did you have anything you actually wanted to talk about? I need to get back to work immediately."

"Right, right. So, I was messing around on the noosphere looking for dating tips for nerds. Don't ask. I ended up getting into a conversation with a few unicorns trying to set up an Oubliettes and Ogres campaign, and they asked if I knew anypony else who wanted to join up. They have a hard time finding players, since so few ponies are allowed on the Noosphere so far."

Gear Works didn't reply immediately. "...... Well... that... that actually sounds like a lot of fun," he mumbled reluctantly. "You... play O&O? Really?"

"Stole my first rule book when I was six years old!" Dusk said proudly. "2nd Edition! Hit the same house the very next evening to swipe the dice and model figures! Almost got caught because of that, too! Heh."

"... Stole?"

"Well, that was before the whole Nightmare Moon thing worked itself out," Dusk shrugged, "a lot of batponies survived by burgling pony homes in the border settlements. I learned how to pick a lock before I learned how to read! And most of my family only learned the first of those two skills." He shook his head. "Whatever. Not important. O&O at midnight, all night. Level one characters. Snacks and nectar provided. You in?"

Gear Works stared down at the pieces of servo skull lying on his bed. "Well, I have orders to have this completed by then anyway... I suppose I could make a LITTLE time for recreation."

"So you're in! Awesome!" Dusk Blade grinned and turned around. "Me and the other guys are going to break up a meeting of those hippie losers who keep trying to make Ferrous Dominus a decent place to live. After that, we should be clear to use the space the rest of the night. Meet us in Sector 6, building 12, room 223." He hit a button on the wall, and the front door slid open for him. "And for Luna's sake, get a better dorm! This one is so cramped I don't even want to drop in at inconvenient hours and badger you!"

The Lunar Guard stepped outside, and the door slid shut and locked behind him.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 6

Building 12

Gears exited the lift to the second floor with a hefty stack of papers stuffed in his saddlebag and a sense of cautious optimism.

He hadn't joined the Dark Mechanicus or moved to Ferrous Dominus to make friends. He'd assumed that much would be obvious when he'd elected to enter a practically servile position under a cult of humans well-known for being humorless, obsessive workaholics. But he hadn't counted on the position apparently raising his personal worth to the point that ponies would actually threaten him for the privilege of his time. He hadn't had any friends of note in Canterlot; although he had a talent for building excellent clocks and obscure machines, anypony who needed such devices was perfectly willing to just buy them from his shop and leave. In Ferrous Dominus, however, the social logic was turned on its head. Ponies couldn't buy many of the wares of the Mechanicus, but could solicit favors from the Dark Techpriests. Suddenly his time, skills, and affiliation with the Cult Mechanicus was worth a great deal to other ponies, and his attitude and personality didn't seem to be any impediment.

Gears was sure there was some kind of cynical lesson on friendship that could be drawn from that, but he was distracted from his thoughts when he saw a pegasus mare bounce out into the hall with a painful yelp.

"Wh-Why are you doing this? We weren't trying to cause any trouble!" the hapless pony asked.

Dusk Blade emerged a moment later, although he was in full armor and had his mask on to discourage identification. "Well, you caused trouble anyway. Be thankful that we're just seizing your materials and tossing you out this time. The Dark Mechanicus isn't particular about what happens to you rabble-rousers."

"We're just trying to make the city a better place for everyone!" the pegasus insisted, standing up nervously.

"Yeah, thanks for that. It's ponies like you that really complete our community and enhance the social fabric around here, you know?" Dusk replied.

The mare blinked in confusion.

"However, the DarkMech makes all our cool stuff, and they don't like all this talk about not dumping the by-products of that production into the local air and water. So I had to make a choice, and I took the side that makes laser guns. Sorry."

A panicked shout came from within the room, and then an earth pony mare was thrown out into the hall next to the pegasus. A unicorn stallion - also wearing full combat gear - stepped up next to Dusk, staring at a dataslate he was levitating in front of him.

"Well, lookie here. A petition? It looks like we have quite a few citizens who need a reminder that life in Ferry D could be much, MUCH worse for them."

"Pft! A petition? Really?" Dusk scoffed. "What do you think this is, a democracy?"

The mares looked confused. "A what?"

"A democracy. A government established by the process of having citizens decide which political agents to represent them and their interests," the Lieutenant explained. "Each citizen, regardless of personal wealth or social stature, has an equal say in the potential government, and rulers are selected or rejected based on their promises and policies."

Now the ejected ponies looked intrigued.

"Huh. I never thought of that. We've lived under the royal family all our lives."

"That sounds like a really good idea, actually."

"Well, TOO BAD!" Dusk shouted, startling the mares. "Get out of here, punks!"

The mares quickly galloped away in fear, dashing past Gear Works in the hall. He waited patiently until they huddled in the lift, and then trotted out toward the room they had been ejected from.

"Gears, my stallion! Good to see you!" Dusk Blade said, pulling down his respirator mask and waving a wing toward the cyborg. "C'mon in, we just cleared this place out!"

"I saw. A little harsh, don't you think? Those ponies were terrified for their lives," Gear Works pointed out as he approached.

Dusk turned around and headed inside past the unicorn stallion. "Eh, they'll be fine. We didn't hit them or anything. We're not going to seriously hurt anypony over a little civic engagement."

"Unless we find somepony on this list that we already hate," the unicorn interjected, still looking over the names on the dataslate petition.

"Well, obviously. But putting aside the personal abuses of power for petty bullying, nopony's going to make a big deal out of this." Dusk stepped aside and then swept a wing into the room. "Now, are you ready to geek out all night, or what?!"

In the center of the room, two more unicorns were working to assemble a playing table with their magic. Miniature soldiers and colorful mats covered in grids floated into place, and a glowing bubble filled with a wide variety of dice hovered over the table surface. Two of the unicorns Gear Works identified with optical scans: Star Spear and Dazzle. His optical augment also tagged the third unicorn, who was settling in behind a cardboard divider, but that stallion hardly needed an introduction.

"Prince Blueblood? This is a surprise," Gears murmured, stepping closer to the table, "I didn't figure you for much of a gamer. And the Oubliette Master, at that?"

The noble pony wasted no time in taking his seat and raising his muzzle into the air, staring at the cybernetic pony with a sneer most ponies reserved for vermin actively biting at their shins. "I'm not much of a 'gamer', in fact. But I make a special exception for games that allow me to vicariously brutalize my social inferiors through the use of nigh-unlimited power." He grinned and tapped the tips of his forehooves together. "Be warned, fool: I don't aim to merely destroy your silly little 'characters'. By the end of this session I intend to have worn every one of you thespian dregs to the very edge of despair, whittling away your hope as well as your hit points. I consider it nothing less than my solemn duty to reduce you filthy nerds to bleak, broken shells of the ponies you entered as."

"Isn't he perfect?" Dusk gushed, flying over the other ponies to land in his chair.

"I like how he dramatizes and sets the mood before anypony else has even started," Dazzle said as he scooted in. Star Spear sat down next to him, already levitating a twenty-sided die over his head.

Gear Works took his own place and then withdrew a collection of papers with his servo arm. "Here's my character. I figured I'd play healer."

Blueblood snatched the character sheet away with his magic, and then propped a set of gold-rimmed reading glasses on his muzzle to look it over.

"I suppose 'Cleric' is as close to 'Techpriest' as you can get in this game," Dusk mused, "hey, you think they'll come up with some rules for Chaos Space Marines and Cultists and stuff? Then we can play as 38th Company soldiers!"

"But... we ARE 38th Company soldiers," Gears pointed out.

"Sure, but we could role play being good ones," Star Spear reasoned, "besides, I hate fighting Orks in real life. Way too stressful."

"And can you imagine what it would be like to actually carry around and use a heavy bolter? SO COOL,” Dazzle grinned, rubbing his front hooves together.

"Excuse me," Blueblood said suddenly, peering at Gear Works from over the rims of his reading glasses, "but is this a 4th Edition character sheet?"

All other conversation halted instantly. The other stallions turned toward Gear Works.

"Yes, it is. So?" Gears blinked.

The other players continued staring.

"You play 4th Ed?" Dazzle asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Sure. Isn't that the most recent version of the rules?" Gear Works asked. "I know that the update wasn't very popular with long-time players, but I actually like it better. I feel like the changes encourage teamwork and tactics more than min/maxing, you know?"

The other ponies didn't reply, still staring at him.

"I mean, who wants to play a game where the main point is just to possess the biggest number? That's not what this activity is about! Right?"

The other ponies pushed out their chairs and stood up.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 12

Manufactorum block, following day

"... and then they beat me up and stole all my money," Gear Works mumbled miserably.

He stood in front of Dark Acolyte Sheraan, grumbling his explanation of the previous evening to his superior. His robes were in tatters, dried blood clung to his muzzle, and every few seconds his optical augment would crackle and spit a few sparks from its fractured casing.

"After immobilizing me they took... took my custom Buffalo Cleric figurine and melted it down in front of me with a lasgun. And burned all my papers." Gears tried to keep his composure, but couldn't restrain a pained sniffle at the memory. "Then they shoved me in a maintenance locker and triple-padlocked it before they left. It took me most of the night to pry myself free, since all the lockers are internally reinforced and all of the menials ignored my shouts for help. I barely managed to get here to report to work on time."

He looked up into the unmoving, expressionless gaze of Sheraan. "That concludes my explanation of why I arrived in less than pristine condition, Dark Acolyte."

Sheraan finally moved, crossing his arms over his chest. "Acknowledged. Your excuses have been noted and logged to the noosphere general channel, so that they might be more widely observed and result in widespread social ridicule. As you still managed to report on schedule - AGAIN - despite personal hardship and injury, there will be no further punishment."

Gear Works sighed. "Yes, Dark Acolyte. What am I to be assigned today?"

At this, Sheraan hesitated. "... Despite your present difficulties, I have received distressing news regarding your Mechanicus tasks."

"Distressing to you, or me? I've noticed that we don't share the same conditions for good or bad fortune," Gears asked.

"Affirmative. I suspect that you will find this notice generally favorable," Sheraan admitted. "Dark Techpriest Carmed ended up receiving your restored servo skull."

"Techpriest Carmed?" Gears perked up immediately upon hearing the name of the only Techpriest who had ever seemingly enjoyed working with him. Granted, Gears had "worked with him" as a glorified science experiment, but still.

"Upon analysis, he judged the repairs to the skull to be entirely satisfactory, and stated that he was surprised and impressed by your ability to absorb and apply the principles of gravitic waveform engineering in such a small span of time."

Gear Work's attitude did an instant one-eighty, and he squealed in delight while rearing up on his hind legs. Sheraan quickly stepped back, ensuring that he was out of range of any spontaneous "hugging" attempts.

"... To that end, it has been decided that the servo skull is to be assigned to you permanently as personal equipment. Largely because no other Tech-clergy trusts your repairs, but you may consider it a reward for completing your task to the minimal acceptable standards."

Sheraan gestured to the side, and, to Gears' absolute delight, a familiar autonomous skull floated over a conveyor belt, its bright green optic pulsing gently.

"Striker!" he cheered happily, snagging one of the skull's cables with his servo arm.

"... Pardon?" Sheraan asked.

"Oh, that's just what I call her," the stallion said, tugging the skull down to his eye level. He couldn't see very well with his optical cracked, and wanted to check the macabre drone over before he put it back into service.

Sheraan seemed perturbed. "Why do you assign it a gender pronoun?" In fact the skull WAS from a female, but he had no idea how the pony would have determined that, or why such a meaningless quality would be imparted upon the end product.

"It's an inside joke. Not important." Gears quickly composed himself and stood at attention before the Dark Acolyte. His optical sputtered again, splashing sparks over his hoof, but the damage and ever-present fire hazard didn't seem to faze the stallion in the slightest anymore. "What is to be today's task, Acolyte?"

"That matter, too, has been subject to unexpected interference." Sheraan turned slightly, and a hololith emitter next to his optical augmetic displayed a local area map in the air between him and the pony. "It seems that Phage Squadron has placed a request for your assistance. This is to be your primary task for the day."

Gears' morale instantly dipped again. "Uh... Ph-Phage Squadron? But... I thought I was to be assigned mainly rote menial tasks during my tenure as an Aspirant. I can't possibly be qualified to maintain combat-grade equipment, am I?" He had already agreed to do exactly that, of course, but Gears had been under the impression that he would be working with the mares on his own time. He didn’t want to give up valuable manufactorum productivity in order to see to their petty complaints.

"I concur. Your concerns are rational," Sheraan assured him, "however, Techpriest Carmed suggested that your assignment to resolving... equine technical requests should take priority. That way no human Tech-clergy need waste their time on such low-priority affairs, while the requests do not go unattended and eventually provoke complaints from the Iron Warriors. It was proposed that this is a better use of your time than supervising forge processes that do not require supervision."

"B-But I LIKE supervising forge processes!" Gear Works protested. "I want to work here, doing menial chores and gradually working my way up through your transparent discrimination and needless hostility! I joined the Dark Mechanicus to labor under the stifling, arcane technocracy of the Techpriests, not do chores for insipid pony thugs!" He sat down and clapped his front hooves together. "Please, Acolyte, reconsider! Let me work here, in the manufactorum! You can put me on a punishment detail, even! Just make up an infraction! I won't protest!"

Sheraan crossed his arms under his chest. "Normally I would be perfectly willing to do so, but now that you WANT it you've taken all the satisfaction out of it."

Gear Works' ears drooped, and he fell onto all fours. "Ah. Catch twenty-two, then."

"Affirmative." Sheraan poked at the floating hololith. "You are to report to this location as soon as is feasible. Unit designation Rot Blossom has reported difficulties with her plumbing and requires assistance." The Dark Acolyte paused again, furrowing his brow. "She emphasized that this statement was not an innuendo."

"Innuendo? How can plumbing be an innuendo?" Gears wondered aloud.

"Unknown. Probably best not to analyze it. These units are Nurglites, after all," Sheraan mumbled. "You may proceed with your assigned task, Aspirant."

Heaving a defeated sigh, Gear Works gave Striker a gentle tug and then trudged away.

Acolyte Sheraan watched him go, his goggles gleaming in the dim glow of the lumens.

A smaller sigh escaped the Acolyte as well before he turned around and headed the other way, barely obscuring a short burst of static and the Binaric Cant carried with it.

+4th Edition... if I had my way, that would be grounds for disintegration right there. N00b.+

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 4

Mechanicus Dorms, later that evening

"I honestly think Miss Blossom was more suited to resolving that clog than I was," Gear Works mumbled as he walked down the hall of his dormitory complex. "That centipede was almost as thick as my leg. This was definitely more of a combat mission than a maintenance job."

Striker floated along behind him, bleeping incoherently.

The pony and his new semi-autonomous drone were heading back to his room after a long and thorough run in the sanitizing facilities. As a result, Gear Works didn't have his robe; only a damp, steaming towel hung over his neck obscured his body at all. That left the full, ghastly extent of his mechanical augmentation on full display: the skin of his back cut open along the spine, which was now composed of ridged duralloy and run through with cabling. Patches of fur were replaced with input sockets, metal plates, or small vents. His respirator mask, grafted directly into his muzzle, mounted several hoses that ran down his chest and connected to more sockets and key life support inputs. Even his tail, considered a completely superfluous extremity by the Techpriest who had rebuilt him, had been replaced by a thin, prehensile metal whip that was normally obscured by his shroud of rubber. This was, of course, in addition to his two cybernetic legs and optical, which his robes could never fully hide.

Gear Works was quite proud of his augments, but like the human Tech-clergy he recognized that such extensive and un-aesthetic modifications to his natural form was... distressing, to some. He had made it a point not to be seen in public without his robes even before his acceptance into the Dark Mechanicus had turned it into a badge of honor, and despite his race's general tendency toward nudity. It was only here, in the living facilities of the Mechanicus, that he would dare to be exposed. The only others around were other cyborgs, who appreciated extensive augmentation almost as a rule. There were no ordinary humans, much less ponies, with access to the building.

That was the idea, anyway.

"Gears! Look, I SWEET MOTHER OF LUNA WHAT THE HAY HAPPENED TO YOU?!"

Gear Works stared into his dormitory room, his eye narrowing. Dusk Blade was standing on his bed, the batpony's face twisted into an expression of abject horror.

"Did... Oh, no... Oh, Luna, no... Did we do this?" Dusk whispered, his facial fur paling several shades. "I didn't know... but... how... I mean... we j-just... I d-didn't think..."

Gear Works decided to cut off his haunted mumbling. "I was like this before. Your roughing me up last night didn't necessitate additional augments."

Dusk gasped in relief, collapsing onto the bed. "Phew! Okay, good! Wow! Had me scared for a second, there!" He pressed a hoof to his chest as his breathing normalized. “Uh… you want to get dressed, then? Because that is REALLY distracting."

"Get out of my room and never come back," Gears growled. His servo arm reached up for his robe hanging on the wall, and then he started wriggling into it.

"Okay, so you're mad. That's fair. You can be mad. I made a mistake, and I should face the consequences for that," Dusk said, his ears flipping down.

"A 'mistake'? What 'mistake' was that?!" Gears snarled as he pushed his head up into his hood. "Did you break my optical open and pin me down in ERROR, Lieutenant? Did you perhaps mistake me for somepony else? Was there some MISUNDERSTANDING that resulted in my being beaten, humiliated, and sealed into a metal container?"

"Well... technically, no! But I did regret it afterward!" the Lieutenant insisted. "I was caught up in the heat of the moment, you know? Besides, everypony else was doing it! I didn’t want everypony to think I was uncool or something!"

"GET. OUT." Gear Works stepped as close as he could to one wall and jabbed toward the exit with his augmetic arm.

"C'mon, Gears! I'm sorry! You know what they say about peer pressure: it's completely irresistible and a perfectly legitimate excuse for misbehavior!"

"Nobody says that about peer pressure," Gear Works retorted, "but even if we accepted that, I still hate you." He tapped his optical augment with a hoof. "I've alerted the security servitors. Within two minutes, they will arrive and destroy anyone they find without a valid Mechanicus signum. You can leave now, or you can leave later in a sack, as a pile of ashes."

Dusk Blade looked surprised at the threat, and he pursed his lips anxiously.

"... No. I'm staying," he said firmly, grimacing, "partly because I'm pretty sure you're bluffing - I don't think they'd really let Aspirants give orders to combat units - but also because I have to make this right."

"Make it 'right'? Really?" Gears brought his servo arm toward his face, and Dusk cringed as the metal fingers gripped the metal bulb of his optical implant. "So what do you plan on doing to make it up to me, hmm? Did you want to take a crack at fixing this for me?" The servo arm wrenched the optical augment out of its socket, and then held it out to the batpony.

Dusk Blade felt his stomach turn at the sight of the cracked metal orb, staring straight at him with a flickering red iris. Gear’s face wasn’t any better; his empty socket was lined with metal contacts and spike-tipped plugs, and some kind of dark fluid pooled at the bottom of the gaping hole in the pony’s skull. Still, he didn't turn away or fidget. He still had one card left to play.

"You know I can't do that, Gears. But I CAN give you back something else that you thought was broken!" Dusk swept one wing under his belly, and then pulled it up again with something clutched in the tip.

Gear Works froze, genuinely stunned. Within the curled wingtip of the Lunar Lieutenant was his character figurine. A buffalo sporting a white robe and a tiny white miter.

"That's... my Cleric model? But I saw Blueblood melt it down!" Gears protested.

"I swapped it out for my Buffalo Shaman on the sly. The others didn't notice, and by that time your optical was already messed up, so you probably couldn't see clearly." Dusk chuckled before stretching his wing over and dropping the figurine on the desk. "I'm not going to try to justify my own behavior last night-"

"You already tried to do that," Gears interrupted.

"... but those guys just went too far," Dusk continued, as if the other stallion hadn't said anything. "So I wanted to return your model to you, and apologize for what I did." He cautiously raised a hoof toward Gear Works. "Can you forgive me?"

Gears stared down at the figurine, and then his servo arm swiveled over and placed his damaged optical augment on the desk. Then he used the metal claw to gently pick up the lead figure and observe it closely. It was indeed his model; he recognized the unique little scuffs and imperfections that came from trying to paint a highly detailed 30 millimeter model with one's mouth. It seemed Dusk Blade had really rescued it, and apparently sacrificed his own figurine in doing so.

He turned back toward the batpony, who was smiling gently at him. "I don't suppose you'd also like to return the bits you stole from me, would you?"

"Don't ruin the moment, Gears," Dusk said, still smiling. "So, what do you say buddy? Friends?"

Gear Works looked back to his Cleric model. Then he looked over at Dusk Blade again. "I hate you slightly less than I did a few minutes ago."

"Friends!" Dusk said cheerfully, bounding over and giving the other stallion a wing-hug.

"You’re lucky I really was bluffing about the servitors."

"Called it."

Author's Note

I too, have known the sting of Edition-based discrimination. The struggle is real, people.

Downloading: Tolerance

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 3

Downloading: Tolerance

****

Sector 18 - specialist barracks

Phage Squadron dormitory

Gear Works stood over a boltgun receiver, carefully scraping the interior with a sharpened probe sticking out of the point of his augmetic hoof. He hummed to himself as he worked, carving out the patches of inexplicable biomass from the metal walls of the weapon to expose the corroded metal beneath. After removing each patch of gunk, he raised the probe toward Striker, who was hovering overhead. The servo skull would wipe down the length of the probe with a rag, and then drop the rag into a nearby metal cell with a biohazard label printed on the side.

"There. I think that's all of it." Gears peered closer, and the green mono-lens visor that covered his face pulsed. His view of the receiver zoomed in, sweeping the surface for contaminant buildup.

His servo arm grabbed a canister next to the desk he was at, and then started spraying an anti-corrosive resin onto the damaged surface.

"Are you almost done with that? My visor needs work, too."

Gears looked up from the pieces of the boltgun. Poison Kiss was standing on the other side of the short table, naked, while levitating her helmet next to her head. One of the lenses was obviously cracked through; judging by the surrounding nicks on the helmet plating, it had been the target of an uncommonly accurate choppa strike.

"Almost. The rifling is clean and the receiver has been fixed." His servo arm picked up the stock and held it up. "The helmet will take longer. That lens looks like it will need to be replaced entirely. I'll need to take it to a workshop."

"Fine. Just get it back to me sometime tomorrow." She dropped the armor piece next to her boltgun and then settled down opposite the cybernetic stallion.

Gears pushed the helmet to the side slightly, and then turned over the receiver to continue his work.

"... So... what happened to your eyes?" Kiss asked after a long pause.

"I don't have those anymore," Gears remarked, using the probe injector to cure the resin. His voice, distorted as it was by his respirator mask, didn't attach any particular emotion to the statement. He didn't sound bitter, sad, or rueful. It was simply a statement of fact.

"Yes, I noticed," the unicorn said dryly, "last time we met, you had one left. What happened?"

"A bit of shrapnel to the face, is all." Gears finished with the receiver, and then started a full surface scan. "No big deal."

"I trot into firefights on a regular basis and have contracted four terminal illnesses, and even I still consider the loss of an eye to be a big deal," Kiss noted, "also, one of your legs is in an autobrace."

"Yes. The Dark Mechanicus decided to save that one, since it could still be repaired. They didn't want to give me two major augmentations all at once when I hadn't earned them, you see." The scan complete, Gear Works started reassembling the boltgun. "It's a pity, but they were ultimately correct. Hopefully the next time it's crippled, they won't see fit to save it."

"I'm not sure what's more barmy: that you seem sure you'll suffer further catastrophic dismemberment or that you seem to be looking forward to it," the unicorn mumbled.

Gear Works chuckled and placed the reassembled bolter down in front of his "client". "Miss Kiss, we both have found our future under conditions that most ponies would consider abject suffering. Acknowledging the weakness and inevitable demise of flesh and embracing the abandonment of my equinity are no more odd than your devotion to a source of pestilence and malignant parasites. You too embark upon a path which ponies fear to tread and embrace its terrors as a token of strength."

"Well, aren't we just two birds of a feather?" Kiss asked with a smirk. "But still, what actually happened?"

"Let's just say that Khorne is quickly becoming my least favorite corner of the Dark Pantheon, Miss Kiss."

"Oooooh... gotcha."

The door to the dorm slid open, and Kiss leaned to the side to get a look at who was entering. "Hiya, Breezy!"

Breezy Blight trudged into the dorm room, her ears pressed flat against her head and her head hung low. "Hey," she mumbled as she approached.

"You look zonked, girl. What's the story?"

Breezy paused to glance at Gear Works, but the Aspirant was poking at Kiss's helmet and didn't acknowledge her.

"Nothing much, I guess," Breezy moped, walking up next to her squad commander and sitting down. "I was just flirting with this guard after lunch, but then he told me that he had a marefriend already."

"Hard lines, then," Kiss sighed, "nearly all the stallions around here are taken already."

Gear Works looked up at Breezy. Like Poison Kiss, the pegasus was nude; her power armor was stored in the armoring station in her room. Gears turned to look at the entrance and started searching the adjacent walls and shelves.

"Yeah, but get this: his marefriend is in the Lunar Guard." Breezy clenched her teeth, and a blast of green fumes puffed from her nostrils. "A batpony! Can you believe that? Since when were we competing with those freaks? You seriously mean to tell me that a little bit of bad breath is more of a turn-off than fangs, eating bugs, and being NOCTURNAL?!" She stuck out her tongue in disgust. "It's just gross! Not only could you cut your tongue trying to make out with a thestral, you could end up with a mouth full of insect bits, too!"

Rot Blossom leaned her head out of her bedroom doorway, frowning.

"No offense, Blossom. There's nothing wrong with having bugs in your mouth," Breezy sighed, "it's just kind of a mood-killer, that's all."

Blossom ducked back into her room, evidently satisfied.

"I just don't know what to do anymore. If no stallions join the Cult of Nurgle, I'll never get a coltfriend," the pegasus moped.

"Excuse me, Miss Breezy?" Gear Works raised a leg cautiously to get her attention.

"Sorry Gears, but there's no way it would work out. I need somepony with all his stallion parts," she replied immediately, turning to the Aspirant. "... And preferably a face, too. What the hay happened to your other eye?"

"It's not that, Miss Breezy. I wanted to know where you keep your respirators," Gear Works explained. "I was under the impression you always wear your power armor and helmets when you travel outside."

Breezy furrowed her brow. "We don't have any respirators."

Gears stood up suddenly. "Pardon? You were walking around outside without respiratory protection?"

"Yeah. So what?" Breezy smirked and blew a thin jet of green gas into Gear's face. "I breath poison, remember? I'm immune to the bad air."

"No, you're not!" Gear Works shouted, waving his hoof in front of him to dispel the fumes. The two mares recoiled in surprise. "Miss Breezy, the toxicity of the local industrial pollution is of a completely different sort than your own poisons! Being immune to one doesn't imply immunity to the other!"

This was apparently a surprise to the pegasus. "It doesn't?"

"No! Your toxic breath is a product of the bacterial and fungal colonies within your respiratory organs!" Gear's servo arm jabbed toward Breezy Blight at he spoke, as if he was wagging its metal finger at her. "They are fundamentally organic in nature! The toxins coming out of the smokestacks of the manufactorum are corrosive chemical compounds, some of which are radioactive! Not only is it still harmful to your body, but it could easily kill the bio-organisms that you utilize as symbiotic weapons!"

"So... Nurgle doesn't protect me against that stuff?" Breezy asked, suddenly worried.

"Worse! The Plague God specifically inhibits the bodily functions that are supposed to protect you from environmental toxins!" Gears sighed and backed off. "I must advise that you utilize standard protective gear if you're going to travel through Ferrous Dominus without your power armor. You may find that the 'immortality' of Nurgle worship to be surprisingly fragile."

"Never thought of it that way," Kiss mumbled thoughtfully. "Fancy you're right, Gears."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You win." Breezy's ears pinned against her head, and she frowned at the cyborg. "I'm just a little surprised that you care."

"I have been placed in support of your unit. It is my duty to do whatever I can to keep you combat-ready, whether by maintaining your wargear or dispensing helpful medical advisories." Gears plucked Kiss's broken helmet off the table with his servo arm as he spoke.

"Okay, sure. Makes sense. But, well..." Breezy Blight hesitated, glancing over to Kiss. "I mean, I'm not sure how blatant we're being about this, but we were going to beat you up if you didn't do what we said."

"Very blatant," Poison Kiss interjected.

"Yes, Miss Breezy, I know. But with the exception of some small, lingering, slow-festering shred of resentment, it doesn't matter to me." Gear Works headed for the door, Striker floating along behind him. "I've recently come to appreciate those associates of mine who merely threaten to hurt me to extort favors, rather than assaulting me regardless."

"Bloody Khornates, yeah? Later, Gears."

****

Sector 12 - manufactorum block

Gear Works trotted through the cavernous metal labyrinth of the manufactorum, his servo skull floating behind him and Kiss's helmet grasped in the claw of his servo arm. Rumbling belts, steaming pistons, and buzzing transformers surrounded the young Aspirant, along with the constant, bumbling tread of servitors performing their assigned tasks. The building literally trembled from the force of its production, and the stallion cyborg immediately felt more cheerful for it.

The numerous intersections and veritable barricades of metal crates made the enormous factory difficult for most people - and ponies, in particular - to navigate without help, but Gears was more at home in the manufactorum than his actual room. He squeezed under a long conveyor belt and cut through a hull assembly alcove, heedless of the numerous servo arms wielding lasers and melta injectors. The sizzling, spider-like mechanical limbs churned back and forth, almost seeming to flail about haphazardly among showers of sparks and bursts of steam. Gear Works walked through the chaotic display without the slightest concern, ignoring the sparks that rolled off his robes and dodging the whirling metal appendages with practiced ease. His servo skull, despite being much smaller and more mobile, kept a good distance and floated around the assemblies, wary of being dragged into the cogs or inadvertently sprayed with a welding torch.

Gears jumped up onto a bundle of durasteel rods that was being hauled across the floor by a lifting drone. The drone was Tau technology, rather than human, as evidenced by its more economic design and lack of exposed wiring or skulls. Although devices used by the Earth Caste of the Tau were still rare within the manufactorum, the 38th Company was constantly incorporating the technology into their operations.

Gear Works had mixed feelings about the Tau. On the one hoof, the aliens tried to sacrifice his planet to the Orks to save themselves, only offered to help in order to save themselves, and treated the other members of their alliance with either feverish resentment or outright contempt. On the other hoof, the Iron Warriors, and the Dark Mechanicus especially, seemed absolutely ambivalent toward the suffering the Tau had caused and extremely interested in the bargain that had been forced on the Sept survivors. If anything, in fact, the 38th Company admired the ingenuity of the Lamman Sept's Emerald Dawn Project. Some confessed openly that they regret being unable to see its conclusion.

"I wonder what these 'Tyranids' are like, to inspire such fear and warrant such measures," Gear Works mused, looking up at Striker. The servo skull floated behind him lazily, its beeping response lost among the rumbles of the manufactorum. "To be as fearsome as an army of billions of Orks... or more fearsome, perhaps? As far as we know, the Tau were never certain which force was likely to win!"

The stallion chuckled, shaking his head. "This galaxy is truly infinite in its wonders and horrors in equal measure. To think we've been locked away, alone, for so long. I could have lived my entire life and passed away without ever seeing something like this."

He raised his right foreleg, marveling at the autobrace that buttressed the shattered limb within its iron coils. The device shifted perfectly in sync with his leg muscles, putting negligible strain on the healing bones within with each step. It still hurt significantly just to walk, of course, but Gears didn't seriously expect any Mechanicus device to aid such a petty and ephemeral concern.

"Heh. Well, I suppose I should thank the Tau, then. If not for their evil plot, we wouldn't have had to bargain for the planet's survival, and the humans would have left. And then I wouldn't be here. Irony."

Gear Works hopped off the lifter drone once he reached the next intersection, and then trotted up to a pair of blast doors. This entrance led to an armor workshop, which was naturally Gear's first choice of where to conduct power armor repairs.

Next to the door was a security console, and he linked with its logic engine remotely before sending his request for entry.

A gentle hum came from the console, followed by a rude buzzer.

"Access denied," said a harsh, electronic voice, "ranking authorization required."

Despite the refusal, Gear Works sat down in front of the console and waited patiently. Hardly a minute later the blast doors started to grind open, eventually revealing a Dark Acolyte.

"Acolyte Sheraan, greetings." Gears bowed his head to the familiar cyborg. "I wish to request access to the workshop so that I might repair this wargear, as is my assigned duty." His servo arm twisted about so that the helmet was facing Sheraan directly, as if it was staring at him.

The Dark Acolyte seemed uninterested and muttered to himself in Binaric Cant. +I can hardly believe this idiot hasn't been killed yet. Between the diseases and that lunatic pegasus, I was sure he'd lose something we can't replace by now.+

Gears tilted his head to the side. +I'll admit it hasn't been easy. Luckily, Phage Squadron isn't nearly as dirty and contagious as you'd expect. I imagine they could be if they wanted to, but they usually endeavor not to infect their allies.+

Sheraan stared down at the cyborg stallion silently. Gear Works stared back up, waiting for a reply. Seconds stretched into minutes.

+... You speak Binaric Cant now,+ Sheraan said. Only the limited tonal inflection of Binary kept the miserable resignation from his voice.

+Yes, Acolyte Sheraan. When I was having my face rebuilt, the Dark Techpriest in charge decided it would be more effective to install a cipher engine right away rather than opening me up to insert one later,+ Gears explained.

+Inconceivable,+ Sheraan retorted, +the idea that you will survive long enough to make such an investment of augmentation technology worthwhile defies all current probability models.+

+True! The Dark Techpriest actually mentioned that! He said that existing models hadn't factored the utterly improbable survival rate of equine forces under Company command, and that he had actually placed bets to take advantage of that oversight!+ Gears pointed out. +I was slightly alarmed to hear that there are elements of the Mechanicus investing considerably in my demise, but equally heartened to learn that I had already defied the best probabilistic equations that predicted my tripping into a recycling forge within the first month of service!+

Sheraan furrowed his brow. +Never mind. You were requesting access to the workshop?+

+Affirmative, Dark Acolyte.+

+Request denied.+

Gears slumped, and an aggravated groan escaped from his mask.

+The facilities are currently in use. There is no available work space and material for an additional occupant,+ the Acolyte explained.

+But according to the noosphere system log, you're the only one in there,+ Gears protested, +this facility was constructed to assist up to twenty-five Techpriests at a time.+

+Affirmative.+

The pony and human cyborgs stared silently at each other some more.

+Is this because you bet against my surviving, and you're annoyed that you lost?+ Gear Works asked.

Sheraan promptly turned around, entered the workshop, and then sealed the door behind him.

"Well, great. Now I don't know whether to feel frustrated or smug," Gears griped, turning away from the workshop entrance.

Striker beeped at him, turning to face another corridor.

"Yes, there are other workshops, but they too require Techpriest authorization," Gears grumbled. "I suppose I could just go to them one by one and hope that one of the occupants would let me in, but... wait..."

While scanning a map of the manufactorum under his visor, Gear Works noticed a workshop nearby with very different names listed among its occupants. It didn't take long to recognize that the people working inside were Tau Earth Caste, not Dark Mechanicus. A brief look at its access protocols also revealed that any member of the Mechanicus could access the facility at will, including himself. In fact, he didn't see any security restrictions at all.

"They must keep the xeno workshop open so that anyone can stop in and check if they're up to no good. Or just to kick them around for fun," Gears mused aloud. "Great! I'll just go there, instead!"

Striker beeped again.

"No, not to kick them around for fun. To work!"

He started trotting down the hall, and the servo skull turned and floated after him.

"Well... I mean, maybe kick them around a LITTLE. But not too much. I'm on a schedule."

It was very easy to find the way to the Tau’s workshop. Isolated at the end of a long stretch of hallway devoted to heavy power conduits and fuel pipes, it was one of the least convenient places for anyone to convene at. It was also less safe than other facilities, given the presence of highly combustive materials and at least two poorly-shielded conveyors of radioactive fuels running under the flooring, but that was a relative judgment. Any single part of the manufactorum could easily kill a clumsy individual, and would at the least cut years off the lifespan of everyone else.

Banners were hung on the walls adjacent to the doors, each one consisting of blue and black blocks of color that had been badly faded and dirtied by exposure. The middle of each of the banners had been torn out, and the general shape of the rip suggested that spot used to feature the emblem that symbolized the Tau Empire.

Gears couldn't help but wonder whether the Mechanicus or the Tau had been the ones to remove it.

"All right, let's see what we have to work with, here," Gear Works mumbled to himself before strolling into the workshop.

It was entirely as he had expected. Battlesuit parts and weapons littered every bench and table, and small floating drones swung above the heads of the crowd of Earth Caste workers. The drones were similar in function to the servo skulls provided by the 38th Company and used as companion devices, with the obvious exception that they weren't constructed from macabre human remains and programmed with just enough autonomy to be unnerving. Just one of the many reasons why Gears found it difficult to take the Tau seriously.

Also as expected, several of the Tau workers turned and stared while he walked past them in search of an adequate repair station. No doubt they were fairly stunned to see a pony member of the Dark Mechanicus, and completely uncertain as to what they could or should do about it.

Gear Works quickly spotted a table where two of the aliens were working on battlesuit heads. They both stared as he approached, internally struggling with their instinctual disbelief.

"I need to use this station," Gears said calmly, addressing the closer of the two Earth Caste workers. This one was a female, if he didn't miss his guess. The Earth Caste was short and squat compared to the other sub-species, and they weren't much bigger than ponies themselves. They were also a non-combat caste, which explained the palpable sense of nervousness when the worker replied.

*I'm sorry... uh... Lord? I think? I don't speak Gothic.*

She started to turn away, but Gear Works spoke up again. "Ah, don't speak Gothic? That's okay. I can speak a language everyone understands. Striker?"

The Tau worker recoiled as the servo skull hovered closer. *I'm sorry, but my companion can traaAAAAH!!*

Striker darted forward, and one of the tendrils underneath it curled up and stabbed toward the worker to deliver a painful electric shock. The Tau woman screamed in pain and then stumbled backward, nearly tripping on a power cable.

She managed to catch herself on the edge of the table before she fell over, and started gasping while the other workers began shouting or whispering in their own language.

"Did that get through to you?" Gears asked, jabbing his servo arm toward her. "MOVE, grayskin."

The worker acquiesced frantically, bolting for the door. Gear Works chuckled and jumped up onto a supply crate conveniently sized to make a decent stool.

The other alien at the table watched silently, glowering at the pony. Gears set the damaged helmet on the table, and then glowered back. "You have something to say, alien? Go on, speak up! I have my universal translator ready to go!" Striker whipped its electric tendril about, curling it up like a snake preparing to strike.

"Is this some sort of elaborate new insult by the Mechanicus? They can't actually be letting you pre-industrial savages into their scientific and engineering ranks."

Gear Works was not expecting a reply from the worker, much less a reply in perfect Gothic. It actually took a few seconds to realize that the reply had been an insult.

"Pre-industrial savages?!" Gear Works snapped.

"Yes. Are you expressing disbelief, or do you need me to actually define those words for you?" The Tau worker was stooped over the head section of a battlesuit, and he dropped his gaze back to his work. "It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if some of you pony thugs were less fluent in your own native language than I am." The top of the head section was open, and the worker gently lowered some sort of energy probe into the inner housing.

Gear Works calmly considered several possible ways to respond to the provocation, from snarky insults to hurling the damaged helmet at him. In the end, however, he found himself more fascinated than upset.

"What's your name, grayskin?" Gears demanded.

The worker looked up at him again. "Why? You want to tell on me? Run crying to the gun-toting apes that I hurt your precious little feelings?"

"The only feelings I possess are icy contempt and a psychotic obsession with technical efficiency," the stallion retorted. "All my other emotions have been thoroughly neutralized by my peers' constant denigration and frequent, brutal injuries. I'm asking your name so that I have something to call you, obviously."

The Tau hesitated. He looked up at his fellow caste-members, all of whom were nervously watching the exchange, and in an instant they all promptly returned to work. Then he looked back down at the cyborg equine.

"My name is Fio'el Fennin. The term 'Fio'el' is a-"

"It's a compound word comprising your caste and rank. Yes, I know. I didn't join the 38th Company yesterday, Mister Fennin." Gears placed Poison Kiss's helmet into a servo arm hanging over the table while he spoke. "That ranking is second only to the Fio'o, if I recall correctly. That makes you something of a big deal." The stallion paused to snicker at his own statement. "At least, by your people's standards."

"Oh, it's not so impressive," Fennin said, returning to his own work. "Considering that you ponies can't seem to master basic geometry without having some kind of equation magically pasted to your rear, your own status in the Dark Mechanicus is FAR more praiseworthy."

Gears twitched his head up. "You're right. That DOES make your achievement look fairly pitiful in comparison."

"Unless I was correct to begin with, and the Techpriests draped some tin foil and a cloak on a pony and then herded you in here just to make fun of us." Fennin shook his head. "Those augmentations look closer to Ork tech than anything the apes would put together."

Gear Works suddenly found his vision turning red. He was fairly certain that his optical visor didn't have multiple color filters, so he reasoned that it had to be the result of all the apoplectic rage he was now experiencing.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" the stallion snarled, suddenly jumping onto the table surface. Several nearby workers gasped and started backing away toward the door. "These augmentations were a gift from an esteemed Dark Techpriest, you back-stabbing, self-important, socialist freak!"

Fennin didn't flinch away. He calmly pushed the sensor head of the battlesuit to the side so that it wouldn't get damaged if the pony charged at him. "I'm sure he must have been very embarrassed to have you take his practical joke so seriously. Is that how you got into the Mechanicus? Out of pity?"

"STRIKER! ATTACK!" Gears shouted, his visor glowing furiously.

The servo skull darted forward, and its shock tendril stabbed for Fennin's neck. The engineer was ready, however, and happened to be wearing properly insulated work gloves. He grabbed the writhing cable and then swung Striker away through the air, sending the skull spinning across the room.

In doing so, however, he left his back exposed. Gear Works snarled in rage and threw himself at Fennin, slamming his augmetic hoof into the Tau's shoulder. Both of them fell to the ground, shouting and flailing at each other.

The other workers ran for the door, abandoning their companion to his fight with the pony. None of them knew how the 38th Company would react if they harmed one of the equines that had joined them, and the technicians weren't generally inclined to personally help Fennin anyway after he had so eagerly picked a fight with a Mechanicus cyborg.

One of the workers ran for the vox system next to the door, slamming a hand onto the console and connecting to the emergency channel while the others rushed by her.

"This is manufactory 31! Need help! Pony fighting!" she shouted in broken Gothic.

After a brief burst of static, a voice replied through the vox system. "Affirmative, we see them on the vid-feed."

"Yes! Send security!" the worker shouted.

"Nah. This is actually kind of fun to watch."

Sputtering curses in her native language, the technician abandoned the console and raced out of the workshop after her peers.

"We'll see how you feel about my augments when you need some of your own, grayskin scum!" Gears shouted, his servo arm clamped around Fennin's left arm while he pinned the alien. The Tau engineer kicked at him desperately, but the blows didn't seem to bother Gear Works at all.

"I could assemble better limbs from the cafeteria trash, you insipid cow!" Fennin snarled back. His free arm groped across the ground for something to use as a weapon, and then eventually closed around the edge of a crate lid.

Fennin slammed the lid upside Gear's head, and then winced from the ringing sound of metal striking metal.

"Just how much of you is augmetic, you equine monstrosity?!"

"Exactly thirty-eight-point-nine-six percent!" Gears seemed largely unbothered by the impact, and he pounded a bionic leg into Fennin's chest. "Not that I need it! I know mares who can hit harder than you!"

Fennin saw Striker approaching again from behind, trying once more to administer an electric shock. "I don't know any mares who can't hit harder than you!" The bionic hoof slammed into him again, driving the air from his lungs, but Fennin kept his eyes on the servo skull.

"Yeah, well I probably know a lot more mares than you do!" Gears shouted just before his opponent grabbed Striker's shock tendril again. "So statistically, that still means wait, what are you-"

Fennin plunged the sparking cable into Gear's leg, and a thick ribbon of electricity arced up into the pony's body. Gear Works shrieked and jumped away, tripping over his own hooves and then collapsing into a twitching, sparking heap.

Fennin flung the servo skull away, snorting in disgust. He then tried to pull himself to his feet, but a surge of intense pain in his chest dropped him back onto the floor, hissing through his teeth.

For several minutes, Gear Works and Fennin lay on the floor several feet away from each other, curled up in pain and unmoving.

Eventually, however, Fennin started chuckling.

"Heh... heh... heh..." He rolled over to face Gear Works and smirked, even while he was still clutching his chest. "You just lost a fist fight to a Tau."

"Lost? You don't exactly look victorious over there on the floor!" Gears spat.

"Fine. Didn't win. Whatever. The point is, you suck." Fennin pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing in pain. "Can I get back to work, now?"

"Yes! Fine! Geez!" Gear Works stood up without much difficulty, feeling the lingering paralysis from the electric shock wear off. "I just came here to fix the blasted helmet!" Huffing angrily, he climbed back onto his crate and pulled said helmet down to where he could work on it.

Fennin staggered back to his own spot, and leaned against the edge of the table for support. "So, what's wrong with the helmet, anyway?"

"Cracked visor lens," Gear mumbled, probing the inside of the helmet to free the damaged component. "That's the main problem. Reduced shielding in front of the eyes is rather serious, obviously."

"Yes, very serious," Fennin mumbled, staring at the horned headgear. "I never understood the design philosophy behind the power armor helmet. Why have such an unsafe structure protecting the most vital point on the body?"

Gear Works popped the damaged lens out, and then watched as the ruby-colored plate broke into shards upon impact with the table. Then he looked up at the Tau engineer. "I don't understand. How is the power armor helmet 'unsafe'?"

"Oh, just because it contains the user's actual HEAD," Fennin pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. Then he winced from touching his bruised ribs, and rapidly un-crossed his arms. "You might notice that our pilots keep their heads and other vitals tucked far away from the most obvious weak points of our battlesuits."

"That design philosophy makes sense if the pilot is completely helpless on their own. Hence, Dreadnoughts," Gears retorted. "Additionally, a battlesuit's combat proficiency is not dependent upon or in any way improved by the physical capability of its user. Given enough training, you could get equal performance out of a Tau pilot, an Astartes pilot, a pony pilot, or a particularly smart ferret." The servo arm hanging over the work space turned so that the helmet was facing Fennin. "Power armor enhances physical performance. In addition, as it takes damage it is made to come off so that the bearer can continue fighting without it."

"So that they can fight without a helmet?" Fennin scoffed. "That sounds like a flaw, not a feature."

"Well, what happens if a battlesuit head takes a hit that could split a power armor helm?" Gears asked. "The sensor package is ruined, and the pilot is all but helpless. The secondary sensors are a joke, and barely functional enough to allow a battlesuit pilot to run away without crashing into anything."

"Which is precisely what the pilot should be doing if his suit is that badly damaged!" Fennin protested.

Gears nodded slowly. "Ah, of course. Clearly you knew what you were doing when you determined your tactical priorities, since you're the ones ruling the planet and Chaos was valiantly defeated and driven into space OH WAIT."

Fennin jabbed a finger toward the stallion and started to speak, but then hesitated. After a few seconds, his brow furrowed. "Hold on. How do you know so much about Tau battlesuits? You're only an Acolyte, right?"

"Aspirant," Gear Works corrected. "I've a long way to go before I reach Dark Acolyte."

"But you're already familiar with the control scheme and system redundancy of our battlesuits? Shouldn't they be teaching you how to pray so that ghosts don't make your guns explode in your face?"

"No, they don't teach me that," Gears sighed, "probably because they're hoping that happens to me. I've had quite a few recommendations to volunteer in the plasma testing librariums." He shook his head. "Anyway, the reason I know so much about Tau battlesuits is because the directors of the data archives gave me your people's battlesuit schematics rather than their power armor schematics when I was studying how to maintain this equipment." He tapped Kiss's helmet with his servo arm. "I imagine they thought I would be unable to tell the difference. They were mistaken."

"... But you still read all of the material on our battlesuits?" Fennin asked.

"Well, of course. I mean, it's still extremely fascinating. In fact, after I determined that the control scheme would work just as well for ponies as well as Tau, I even drew up plans for a cockpit retrofit so that your pilots could all be replaced by equines!"

"You're not even a biped!" Fennin pointed out.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to get around that feature of the mechanical schema," Gears retorted. His servo arm clamped shut loudly, and the stallion chuckled.

The conversation ended there. Gear Works started cutting a new visor lens and filling the gouges in the helmet plating. Fennin repaired the sensor inputs in the battlesuit head and began installing a new ceramic shield layer.

After setting the new plating in place, the Tau engineer wiped his forehead and glanced up at the stallion working across from him.

"Hey, pony. You never told me your name," Fennin said suddenly.

Gears snorted. "I can't imagine you care to keep track of which of us primitive animals is which."

Fennin groaned and rolled his eyes. "All right, look: you think my species is a bunch of treacherous, selfish monsters. I think your species is a bunch of stupid pets to an army of evil maniacs. These are completely rational prejudices, and I don't see them changing any time soon." He pointed to the stallion. "But you actually seem like you have half a brain. Maybe that's just the half that the creepy robed lunatics installed while they were replacing your face; I don't know, I wasn't there. But you've actually managed to offer some interesting conversation, so I'd at least like to know what to call you."

"... My name is Gear Works," Gears said while plucking the freshly cut lens from a fabricator cask.

"Well then, Gear Works, when you're finished with that helmet, I'd like to know exactly how easy you think piloting a battlesuit is." Fennin leaned forward across the table, resting on his elbow. "If you have time, we might even arrange for a little experiment. What do you say?"

Gear Works paused in his labor, eyeing the Tau through the edge of his visor. "I say this will hardly take an hour."

****

Sector 13 - manufactorum block

Ballistics yards

*All right, you're going to have to explain this to me. When you said you wanted to conduct an experimental battlesuit trial, I initially assumed you wanted me to select a suitable candidate.*

Jerriha followed Fennin through the empty metal hallways while the engineer worked on an engineering tablet ahead of her.

*You misunderstood, Shas'vre. I wanted you to be the candidate,* Fennin explained.

*Yes, that's the part I would like clarified. I'm not a proficient battlesuit pilot.*

*But you have had basic instruction, conditioning, and the necessary surgery for the neural interface, correct?*

*Correct. But it takes much more than that to be cleared for basic proficiency with a battlesuit. ESPECIALLY a jet pack model such as the XV-8 Crisis. Perhaps I could make do with a Broadside, but otherwise I've only just begun the requisite training.*

Fennin shook his head. *Again, you misunderstand, Shas'vre. Your general lack of proficiency makes you perfect for this trial. I wish to see the results in a combat simulation between two untested candidates.*

*You want to see a couple of rookies flailing at each other? Why?* Jerriha asked suspiciously.

*It's been proposed to me that our battlesuits have a uniquely low barrier to battlefield efficacy. I want to test this hypothesis by having, in your words, "a couple of rookies flailing at each other" to measure against more conventional battlesuit trials. Your opponent in the simulation will be even less qualified than you are.*

*Really? Did this pilot not even get to basic instruction yet?*

*Your opponent isn't even the right species,* Fennin admitted, chuckling as he entered the testing area.

Jerriha mulled that over briefly, and then quickly turned to the engineer, grabbing hold of his arm. *Hold on, Fio'el! Are you telling me that you're actually letting a human pilot one of our battlesuits?!*

Fennin frowned at her hand briefly, but eventually decided she wasn't going to let go before he answered. *No. Although I think you'll find that scenario far preferable to your actual opponent.*

*What's that supposed to mean? What are you hooking into our combat armor?* the Fireblade demanded.

Fennin leaned to the side to look past Jerriha. She hesitantly followed his gaze to see what was standing behind her.

"Yo," said Gear Works.

Jerriha turned back to Fennin. *What in the name of Farsight is THAT?*

"That is your opponent. Aspirant Gear Works, of the Dark Mechanicus," Fennin replied, switching to Gothic.

*Your jokes need work,* Jerriha snapped.

"My jokes are great," Fennin retorted. "But since this isn't a joke, I'm not sure how that's relevant. Now please let go of my arm and speak Gothic. You're being rude."

*You're being insane!* Jerriha finally let go of the engineer, scowling at him. *You can't just cram a blasted horse into a battlesuit!*

Fennin arched an eyebrow. "Shas'vre, the Tau people pride themselves on their tolerance and outreach to other cultures. You're not helping that. Speak Gothic, please."

A frustrated growl came from the Fireblade before she repeated her complaint in the local language. "You can't put a pony in a battlesuit, Fio'el!"

"His hypothesis is that I can. It is the purpose of this experiment to determine which presumption is correct, and what modifications, if any, would be necessary to do so." The engineer started tapping at his tablet again. "Please take note of the battlefield. Your respective suits will be identically equipped with mock weapons made to resemble and act as twin-linked plasma rifles. There will be no drone assistance or active sub-systems. Any questions?"

"Many. First of all, since when does the Dark Mechanicus allow ANIMALS into their ranks?" Jerriha turned back to Gear Works. "I was under the impression that the Machine Cultists managed to hang on to their xenophobia and self-respect even after being leashed to the idiots that run this army."

"The idiots that run this army that completely outsmarted you and sent your big, scary fleet running back home? And then got you to help us fight off the invasion you deliberately caused? You mean THOSE idiots, right?" Gear Works asked.

The Tau Fireblade stared at him briefly, and then poked Fennin in the chest. "Are you listening to this?"

The engineer winced badly from the touch and flinched back. "If you have a counterpoint, fire away. Also, please don't touch me. I have some new bruises that have yet to heal."

"How did you get... no, never mind. I don't care. Second question: Are you seriously conducting a neural-network link surgery on this pony just so he can participate in this ridiculous simulation?"

"No," Gears answered before Fennin could. "I already have a class 2 neural jack for basic cogitator interface."

"The battlesuits are not 'cogitators' and I seriously doubt your head socket is compatible," Jerriha retorted. Then she glanced over at Fennin. "It's not, right?"

"Difficult to say. They don't function exactly the same, obviously, and our battlesuit neural linkages are far more specialized. However, the Mechanicus uplinks are designed to work with all sorts of data ports, including entirely foreign ones. There have been several reports of Techpriests successfully uplinking to Tau devices in the past, even if none of them were as sophisticated as a battlesuit," Fennin explained.

"What kind of morons would plug their brain into a completely foreign machine?" Jerriha asked in alarm.

"The kind of morons that would steal your drones, reprogram them, and then use them against you," Gears retorted smugly, walking past the Fireblade. "Mechanicus neural receptors and dataspikes can be installed in any creature of conventional neural sophistication, whether equine, sapien, or... whatever you count as. Tau implants are too specialized to be applied to our neural physiologies."

"I would venture that's a GOOD thing. The Tau Empire doesn't want foreign creatures using our weapons."

"But the Dark Mechanicus DOES. Guess which institution gives you orders now?" Gear Works reached a small dock where a XV-8 Crisis Suit was standing with its pilot bay yawning open. "Are you coming, Shas'vre?"

Jerriha hesitated, and then shook her head. "No. No, I'm not. I don't see any reason to participate in this farce."

"Oh, will you stop? This is an experiment! It's for the advancement of the sum total of our people's knowledge!" Fennin pressed.

"It's a stupid game that you're setting up for your own amusement," Jerriha growled.

Fennin paused to consider this. "... How is that different from what I said?"

"Leaving now," the Fireblade turned away and started heading toward the door.

Gears called out to her. "You realize that refusing participation in this trial is a direct violation of an order from a superior, correct? Even as an Aspirant, I have the organizational authority of the Dark Mechanicus to command your assistance."

"Oh, really?" Jerriha stopped in front of the exit, planting a hand on her hip while twisting her head around. "So, what is to be my punishment for defying your will, oh mighty Techpony? Firing squad? Daemonic sacrifice? A year of forced labor on that orange pony's stupid farm?" Although her tone was sarcastic, there was a slight twitch in her eye when she rattled off that last idea. She dearly hoped such an assignment wasn't possible.

"No, no, nothing like that. I don't have the rank to have anyone killed or enslaved yet," Gears admitted. "I suppose all I can really do is spitefully inconvenience you."

"Well, then inconvenience away, equine." The Fireblade rolled her eyes and stepped toward the doorway.

Then she yelped as the doors suddenly slid shut in front of her. If she had been slightly faster, or her reflexes slightly worse, she could have had a limb crushed by the closing barrier.

"What? Hey! Did you just lock me in here?!" she shouted, whirling around.

"No, I didn't," Gear Works said. "Which is to say, actually I did, but indirectly."

"What does THAT mean?"

"I revoked your access clearance. The identifier tag that normally opens doors within the fortress will no longer do so until it is reinstated," the stallion explained calmly. “While I am not allowed to give commands to any combat or security units, your security status has such low authority prioritus that I can change it at will. Interesting, isn’t it?”

"So I have no choice but to participate in your little experiment if I ever want to get out?" Jerriha glanced down at the small, smooth-faced card that was clipped to her belt. It was such a vital and ubiquitous piece of equipment inside the fortress that she had never even thought about how she might get around without it.

Gear Works shook his head. "That is not the case. If you don't want to participate, then we will leave this room, and you can leave with us. Your ability to navigate doorways will simply rely on following others throughout the complex until such time that you convince a Dark Mechanicus agent to correct your access." He paused. "That might make your sleeping arrangements somewhat awkward, however..."

"Ha! Nice." Fennin laughed and raised a fist toward Gears. The stallion raised his augmetic hoof and bumped it.

Jerriha scowled at the other Tau, crossing her arms over her chest. "Since when have you been chummy with the horses? Last I checked, no one of ANY species liked you!"

"Such is the power of friendship," Fennin drawled. "Now, do you want to get in the battlesuit? Because if not, then I have to see one of the ponies about acquiring a ferret."

Jerriha didn't know what that was supposed to mean and didn't want to know. With a wordless growl, she walked over to the dock opposite Gears and placed a hand on the waiting Crisis Suit standing there.

"Fine. Fix my card and let's get this over with. I have better things to do than be your lab animal," the Fireblade snapped.

"I seriously doubt that," Fennin said, ignoring the heated glare he earned in response. "Aspirant?"

Gears froze for a moment, and the optical bar of his visor pulsed. "Done. Your access has been restored. Additionally, I would like to thank you for participating in the experiment rather than resisting out of spite or attacking me in anger."

"I considered it, but then I remembered that the card also keeps the local autoturrets from firing on me," Jerriha griped while she climbed up into the battlesuit cockpit, "I'd rather not risk you revoking that function too."

"I'm surprised you thought of that. Your kind isn't known for your intelligence or foresight."

Jerriha froze in the midst of starting up her battlesuit. "What? Yes we are!" she protested angrily.

"I was talking about the Fire Caste, specifically. The other Tau sub-species are indeed known for that," Gear Works clarified.

Fennin again lifted a fist toward the pony, who again bumped it with his hoof.

"Would you get in the suit and get on with this?" Jerriha swiped a hand through the hololithic display on her battlesuit's main control panel, and the neural uplink node slowly lowered itself down toward the plug on the back of her neck.

Gear Works scrambled up into the Crisis Suit on the opposite dock, and then settled into the seat himself. It was somewhat awkward for the pony, since he was the wrong size and shape for the seat and was wearing a thick, obstructive robe rather than a pilot suit. Still, the stallion managed to squirm into an acceptable position and then waved a leg toward Fennin.

"All right, I'm hooking you in." Fennin remotely accessed the Crisis Suit's systems and initiated the start-up sequence, given that Gear Works couldn't read the Tau script that marked the necessary controls. "Establishing neural uplink."

Gear Works pulled back his hood, and Jerriha cringed at seeing the web of machinery built into the pony's skull. As much as she was disgusted by the humans' worship of monsters and vile religious rites, she was nearly as repulsed by the Techpriests' tendency toward augmetic reconstruction. The glee with which the Mechanicus stripped away their bodies and replaced them with cold, clunky machinery made them seem more alien to her than Eldar or even Orks.

The small uplink arm lowered itself to Gear's neck, and then slowly plugged into a small hole on the side. A shaky hum started coming from the battlesuit, and a few sparks shot out of the neural port.

"All right, it's starting to sync... Aspirant, how are you feeling?" Fennin asked.

The battlesuit trembled, and then a warbling string of nonsense came from the suit speaker. "HARGM FLRRM DAAL TMRS SSSSSR!"

The engineer clicked his tongue. "Synchronization levels are below nineteen percent... the neural jack is having difficulty interfacing."

"Told you," grunted Jerriha. Her voice came from her battlesuit speakers almost at the same time as she spoke, creating a slightly off-sync stereo effect. "Are we sure that just hooking him up like that is really safe?"

"No, we're not at all sure of that," Fennin replied, tapping away on his engineering tablet.

Jerriha's battlesuit suddenly stood up straighter. "Are you serious? What if this hurts him? Or KILLS him?"

"Then that would be a very valuable data point," the engineer acknowledged. "There are few experimental results more potent and worthwhile than 'don't do this or you'll die.'"

"And you don't care at all about potentially frying the horse?"

"Do you?"

A sigh issued from the battlesuit's speaker.

Fennin swept a finger across the engineering tablet, his brow furrowing. "Okay, the synchronization rate is rising... energy levels are stable... I'm not seeing any excessive feedback."

"But can he actually move the battlesuit? I'm just wasting my time here, otherwise," Jerriha grumbled.

"The synchronization rate is still improving. Just give it a-"

"UNIT COGNITION UPLOAD COMPLETE." The Crisis Suit opposite Jerriha suddenly stood upright, its speakers booming. "ENEMY IDENTIFIED: TAU XENOS. EXECUTING GENO-ELIMINATION PROTOCOL. DESTROY. DESTROY. DESTROY." The battlesuit trembling turned to jerking spasms, and its main sensor lights glowed brilliantly. The pony sitting in the open cockpit started flailing, as if in the midst of a seizure.

Jerriha recoiled, and her Crisis Suit took a step back only to bump into the platform perimeter. "Fio'el! The battlesuit! It's... I don't know what it's doing, but stop it!"

Fennin looked up at Gear's suit, and then back down at his tablet. "Aspirant Works, knock it off."

The Crisis Suit settled down, and then a rumbling laugh came from its speaker system. "HAH HAH HAH! OH, WOW! YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE, SHAS'VRE!" Gear Works' body fell limp within the cockpit of the Crisis Suit even as the suit itself raised an arm and pointed across the ballistics yard.

Jerriha was confused. "That... That was a joke?" she asked incredulously.

"Barely," Fennin scoffed. "Synchronization has risen considerably, but seems to be unstable. It's averaged sixty-nine percent over the past ten seconds. Not good enough for a pilot, but technically good enough to operate the thing."

"SOUNDS GOOD!" Gear's suit boomed, opening and closing its right hand. Then it stopped. Its head swiveled to observe the hand, again opening and closing the metal fingers within the bulky forearm shielding. "OH, WOW. SO THIS IS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO HAVE FINGERS? I LIKE IT!"

"Why are you talking like that?" Jerriha seemed more and more concerned the longer she observed her opponent. "Your body isn't speaking in sync with your suit. Are you all right?"

"I'M FINE. PROBABLY. HARD TO TELL RIGHT NOW, ACTUALLY." Even as he replied, Gears had his attention firmly focused on his robotic hands while he tapped the fingertips together, completely fascinated. "I SHOULD PICK SOMETHING UP! I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO HAVE HANDS. WELL, NOT ALWAYS. LIKE, FOR THE LAST TWO MONTHS. IT DIDN'T SEEM IMPORTANT BEFORE, BECAUSE ALL OF THE SPECIES WITH HANDS ON THIS PLANET ARE STUPID, AND PONIES MADE ALL THE TOOLS EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE HOOVES. JUST THINK! BOWLING WILL BE SO MUCH EASIER!"

"What are you going on about? Is that wiring cooking your brain?" Jerriha asked.

"I DON'T THINK SO. WAIT. IS SOMEONE MAKING TOAST? I SMELL TOAST. WHICH IS WEIRD, SINCE I SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO SMELL ANYTHING LIKE THIS."

"It's nothing, I'm sure." Fennin looked up and pointed to the ballistics yard. "Aspirant Works, you'll be operating at a considerable reflex disadvantage due to your weaker sync rate. Aside from that, I think it's time to begin. Seal cockpits."

The battlesuits straightened, and the frontal chest plates shifted closed. After a few seconds, the cockpits were sealed and pressurized.

"Good. All systems are green. I'll lower you into the yard and we'll begin our combat simulation." Fennin punched a button on a console attached to the observation railing. A clunking noise came from the platforms beneath the battlesuits, and then they lowered themselves down to the testing floor.

Jerriha rotated the arms of her suit while the platform rumbled downward, feeling nervous despite herself. She had never liked the battlesuits personally, despite the obvious advantages of the armored protection and enhanced battle performance. She simply felt more at home with her infantry, fighting on her hooves and feeling the real heft of a gun in her hands. The only reason she had begun training to pilot battlesuits was to act as a reserve pilot; the value of the battlesuits in combat meant that they could never afford such assets to be left behind for want of a user.

That training had been put on hold when the Emerald Dawn project had begun. Obviously, since then, she'd found better things to occupy her time.

The platform lurched to a stop. She stared across the ballistics yard. It was a fairly small, open space with several large and heavily dented metal columns scattered about the area that had targets painted on them. The area wasn't meant to be used as a combat arena, but it had better safety controls and diagnostic instruments than many areas that WERE built to be combat arenas. The lack of ghastly piles of skulls and gore splatters was also a plus, broadly speaking.

"All right, so let's explain the ground rules," Jerriha said while her jet pack engine warmed up. "Specifically, what kind of strategic-"

"Begin!" Fennin yelled, swiping down an arm.

"What? But what about-"

"KILL THE XENO!" boomed Gear Works, activating his jet pack.

Jerriha flinched back in shock when the opposing battlesuit launched into the air. She quickly brought up her plasma rifle, clumsily lining up her targeting arrays on the rapidly approaching target.

The shot was foiled when Gear Works struck one of the metal pillars at an angle. The impact spun him around, which caused his jets to steer him in a wide arc and head straight toward another obstacle.

"Aspirant Works, keep in mind..." Fennin paused right before Gears crashed, and then continued after he bounced off the column and rolled across the floor. "These jet packs are used primarily for strafing mobility and platform stability. The design concept and output are fundamentally different from the human jump packs, which are used exclusively to vault obstacles and close to melee range."

"THANK YOU!" The battlesuit jumped into the air again, but this time hovered in place while its pilot decided where to go.

Jerriha sighed and brought up her rifle to hit the unmoving target. "The sooner this is over, the sooner I can leave." She had difficulty lining up the weapon at first, but after a few awkward seconds managed to center the targeting reticule over her opponent.

Then Gear's Crisis Suit took off to the side, veering out of the way of the shot. The bright green energy pulse - an utterly harmless ball of fragile hard light - shot past the stallion's battlesuit and up toward the wall.

Jerriha was slightly impressed by the dodge, especially considering that the battlesuit's reflexes were impaired, but then noticed that the pony was heading for another column. "Hey, watch out for the-"

Gear Works struck the pillar, immediately bouncing off at an angle and roaring away in a confused spin.

"Stop it! You'll damage the battlesuit!" Jerriha complained.

Either the pony wasn't listening or didn't have any sense of where he was headed, because he promptly careened into another pillar and again bounced off into the air again.

"Are you doing this on purpose?!"

Gear Works slammed into another column, spinning away like a pinball bouncing off of a bumper. It was only when Jerriha saw her opponent flailing straight toward her that she realized Gears had managed to cross the length of the yard with his reckless collisions and ricochets.

"Hey! Look out!" she shouted, kicking her own jet pack into gear and trying to leap to the side.

A more experienced pilot might have been able to perform the maneuver in time, but Jerriha didn't manage to dodge out of the way. Gears crashed shoulder-first into her battlesuit, throwing both of them against the wall of the ballistics yard.

"Ow! You idiot! Why did you-" To the Fireblade's shock, Gears suddenly pounded a fist into her arm, tearing the training gun off in a blast of sparks and shards of composite ceramics. "HEY!"

"VICTORY IS MINE!" Gears shouted, slamming a punch into Jerriha's torso. "YOUR TACTICAL WEAKNESS AT MELEE RANGE WILL BE YOUR DOWNFALL!"

Jerriha lurched backward from another strike, her armor starting to fold between the impacts and the wall behind her. "Stop it! Fennin, stop the simulation! He can’t do this!"

"Melee combat, while crude and desperate, is a perfectly legitimate tactical approach!" the Fio'el shouted down to the combatants. "Keep going! I'm getting some great data!"

"You imbecile! He's damaging the suit! This is supposed to be a simulated combat!" Jerriha continued shuddering under the barrage of battlesuit punches, and more and more sections of her armor integrity readout started turning a bright red.

Gear Works pulled back both arms and sparked the jet pack, preparing to attack with all the force that the battlesuit frame could muster. "FINISH HER!" the suit growled in a strange, unusually guttural voice.

"Knock it OFF!" Jerriha roared, suddenly forcing herself forward by kicking off of the wall. In the moment that Gear Works was off-balance, she brought both of her armored fists around to punch Gear's battlesuit head on either side at the same time. The sensor mounting was completely flattened by the blow, bursting into pieces and tumbling to the floor.

Gear's battlesuit froze in place, standing still while sparks blasted out of its "neck" like a fountain. Jerriha backed away, her breath heaving.

Then the cockpit to Gear's Crisis Suit popped open. The stallion leaned out of the opening and looked up at Fennin, his neural jack already disconnected from the battlesuit's systems. "You see? I told you! As soon as the head is gone, this thing is useless! Even a fist fight is hopeless with the secondary sensors!"

"Yes, fine. I see that now." Fennin frowned at Jerriha’s unit. "Strange how you seemed so concerned about damaging the battlesuits, but then immediately demolished one of the most important parts, Shas'vre. The sensor head is a lot harder to replace than your ablative armor layers."

"Yeah, Shas'vre!" Gears said, quickly turning on the Fireblade and shaking a bionic hoof at her. "Show a little restraint! It was just a simulation!"

"I hate both of you," Jerriha calmly declared. "Can I leave now?"

Gear Works looked up at Fennin again. "Best two out of three?"

The engineer nodded. "It would be much better to have multiple trials to draw from. If we don't replace the Fireblade's Crisis Suit, then we should be able to manage a couple more experiments."

"Your theoretical analysis is flawed," Jerriha announced, stomping up next to Gear Works. "Additional trials won't yield more data."

Fennin furrowed his brow and leaned against the observation railing. "How do you reach that conclusion, Shas'vre?"

"Because if you insist upon another trial combat, I'll pulp the pony Techpriest here and now, thus depriving you of a subject," she declared.

Gears turned his head toward her battlesuit. "Yeesh. Sore winner, aren't you?"

Jerriha reared back a fist, preparing to ram it into the open cockpit of the other Crisis unit.

"All right, all right. Fine. You win. Head over to the platform and disembark. You're done here, Shas'vre," Fennin allowed with a weary sigh.

"Thank you, Fio'el." Jerriha turned away from her opponent and walked toward the platform. "Although it is, of course, an honor for the Fire Caste to serve in any capacity to improve our technology and scientific advancement, kindly refrain from contacting me ever again unless you need something killed."

"Right, because as we've seen I can TOTALLY rely on you for that," Fennin mumbled, tapping at his engineering tablet again.

"What was that?"

"I said thank you, Shas'vre, for your participation in this experiment, forced as it was. Goodbye."

****

Sector 13 manufactorum block

Tech-shrine

"So be honest with me, Aspirant. Why all the interest in our battlesuit technology, anyway?"

Fennin and Gears Works sat together on the edge of a wide table, observing a series of holo-screens. The screens were all projected above the table in a series of parallel panels, each one displaying a different layer of battlesuit schematics such that, when viewed from the front, they generated an image of a complete XV-8 Crisis Suit.

"I don't understand the question. I'd think the Tau Earth Caste, of all your kind, would appreciate the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake," Gears insisted. He reached out and tapped one of the holo-screens with a hoof. It immediately shifted to the side out of sequence, sliding between the Tau engineer and the pony Aspirant.

"I do. But I don't think that's all there is to this," Fennin countered. "I checked your record, and you're so new to the Mechanicus that you couldn't have absorbed a scrap of a fraction of one percent of the knowledge those cybernetic psychotics have hoarded. You could be spending time studying their schematics and their technologies. It would even be more relevant to your duties, which are mainly maintaining the Company's equipment. Instead you're here, looking up battlesuit specs and asking me questions about them. Even if you really want to replace the Tau pilots with equine pilots - still very unlikely, by the way - it doesn’t quite add up."

"Well, maybe it's not about the schematics at all," Gears ventured, "maybe I just enjoy your company?'

Fennin stared silently at Gear Works. Gear Works stared back through the glare of his visor.

Then they both started laughing.

After several minutes, their chortling tapered off into gasping chuckles, and then they fell silent again.

"Well... since you asked... and saw through my obvious deflection... I want to design and build a new series of war machines," Gear Works finally admitted, "one especially fit for ponies to use. Something to allow the equine element to more fully aid the war effort against the Orks and any other enemies we may encounter."

"A noble endeavor that raises further questions," Fennin replied, sliding another holo-screen out, "why are you so interested in learning about our technology for this? Last I checked, it was the humans who were designing effective pony weapons."

"The ballistics harnesses are nothing. Simply a crude compensator for our lack of fingers," Gears sighed while his servo claw clamped shut loudly. "As for the Centaur Pattern power armor, it isn't a 'human' design. It's a design by the Warsmith. Have you SEEN those schematics? It's as if he managed to transform migraine headaches into words and symbols and then created an engineering language out of them. That man's work is simply impossible for me to replicate at my current level of experience."

"Aren't you in charge of fixing that armor, though?"

"Only the Phage Squadron designs, which are much simpler than what he put into Equinought Squadron. And thank the Omnissiah for that! I couldn't possibly rebuild any of the suits if they were too heavily damaged or lost an unusual system. Fixing nicked plating and replacing lenses isn't too complicated, but even then I feel like I'm utterly unqualified to do it!"

He shook his head. "Back on the topic though, Tau technology represents a more convenient basis for my hypothetical project. Your designs are pragmatic, your engineering approaches are sensible, and your wargear tech focuses on compensating for your puny, incapable bodies."

"Ah. Good point. I guess our people have that much in common," Fennin admitted.

"Exactly!" Gears pointed a hoof at the Tau. "We'll never be of value to our masters when we're barely the size of an Iron Warrior's thigh and only half as useful. One day, ponies will stride onto the battlefield with their heads held high, able to trade blows with all the enemies of Chaos!"

"And with Chaos ascendant, darkness and warfare will swallow all of existence, leading to an age of suffering the likes of which this galaxy has never seen," Fennin drawled.

"Well... okay, yeah. But, you know... for friendship. So it's okay," Gears protested, wilting slightly.

"You go ahead and tell yourself that. I work here to live, not because it's a good idea."

Fennin slid the holo-screen back into the row hovering over the table, and Gears drew out another one.

After a few seconds of silent observation, Fennin started chuckling.

"What, is the idea that someone might want to be around you really so hilarious? You're not THAT obnoxious," Gears grumbled.

"No... I'm laughing at something else. Hee hee!" The engineer gripped a hand over his mouth, but couldn't help giggling through it.

"Oh? What's that?"

"You lost two melee battles to Tau opponents today!" Fennin squeaked as he tried to contain laughter. "I think that's LITERALLY a record for us against your species!"

"Shut up, grayskin."

Author's Note

He's a ~~lover~~ scholar, not a fighter.
Besides, considering that Applejack is the pony who most often got into melee brawls with the Tau, he was never going to reach the bar she set, much less clear it.

Also, I'm really not sure if I'm trying way too hard to make Poison Kiss sound English. All the English people I know have lived in America so long that they've dropped the lingo. I'm literally writing her dialogue according to reference sheets off the internet. OH WELL.

For any who are confused about why Gear Works keeps losing body parts and muttering about Khorne, I recommend nothing_to_see_here's Steely Hearts.

Respect.exe FILE NOT FOUND

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 4

Respect.exe FILE NOT FOUND

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 4

Mechanicus dorms

"I just don't see what the big deal is. The additional power output isn't necessarily worth risking a human's life. The sub-particle exigen conduit is unjustifiably considered a bothersome 'accessory' by the Mechanicus. Meanwhile, they literally worship their plasma guns even while they keep exploding in people's faces."

Gear Works trotted along the cramped, bare metal corridors of his home dormitory while Striker bobbed along behind him. The servo skull beeped.

"No, I'm not questioning the Mechanicus orthodoxy. The orthodoxy recommends the preservation of our warriors and the basic safety of active wargear. It just seems strange that plasma weapons seem to be some kind of unhealthy exception while humans scoff at the multiple examples of aliens utilizing it safely. It's like they're proud that so many users get themselves incinerated."

Striker tilted back and forth, its cables swinging from side to side while it bleated its reply.

"Okay, fine. They ARE really cool. But still. The loss of manpower suffered by the Iron Warriors to their own plasma guns is atrocious. It's only barely worth it."

Gear Works reached his room and turned toward the door. It promptly detected his access signum, and the door slid open.

"Gears! There you are! I've been waiting since sundown!" Dusk Blade stood up atop Gear's bed, his expression one of profound distress.

Gear Works paused briefly, and then sent a signal to the door to close and lock it. A dull hiss came from the mechanism from the forced override, and it started to slide closed again.

Dusk leapt like a cat, twisting through the air and kicking off the edge of the doorway with his hooves. The door pressed closed and locked right behind him, barely missing the edge of his tail.

The thestral hit the floor next to Gear Works, and then poked him in the side. "C'mon man, let's hit the bar. I need to talk to you."

Gears wasn't sure if he was more annoyed or relieved that Dusk Blade seemed to ignore him trying to force the door closed. Doing so meant that Dusk could have easily been crushed in the door frame, and he was pretty sure the bat pony knew that.

"Lieutenant, I'm afraid whatever you want to talk about will have to wait. I have a lot of reading to do on metallurgy and advanced thermodynamic integral theory tonight."

"Yeah, and that sounds really cool and everything, but this is important!" Dusk poked him again. "I really need somepony to talk to about this!"

"Ah, so this isn't even a matter that actually concerns me? I just happen to be somepony you hope will listen to your problems?" Gears grumbled. "Do you honestly think I have nothing better to do?"

"C'mon Gears! I'm your best friend!" Dusk insisted, poking him again.

"The hay you are! I barely consider you my worst friend!"

"Well, I presume that I'm your only friend, actually, which means I kind of get all the related positions by default," Dusk explained. While poking Gear Works again. "But the point is, I'm a friend, and listening to your friend's problems is what friends do! C'moooooon!" He poked the cyborg again.

Gear Works bristled in agitation. "All right! Fine! Stop jabbing me!" He whirled around to face down the hall. "Go ahead, lead the way. If you really need someone to absorb your whining, I'm sure I'll survive wasting a few more hours of my life indulging you." He glanced up at Striker. "You can stay here. Look for any signs of forced entry in the room."

"It won't find any," Dusk Blade assured him before leading the other pony toward the exit. "Anyway, thanks, Gears! You're the best!"

"You've already implied that I'm the only pony that will listen to you, and we both know that's only because you annoyed me into submission." The Aspirant sighed. "So what is this about, anyway?"

The change in Dusk's demeanor was severe and immediate. His steps became trudging and weak, his ears pinned to the side of his head, and he hung his head lower to the floor.

"It's... It's Twilight Sparkle."

"Princess Twilight Sparkle? What about her?"

Dusk Blade took a deep breath. "She's... She's gone, Gears."

Gear Works mulled that over for a few seconds. Then he connected to the noosphere and brought up the casualty lists on his visor.

"No, she isn't."

The Lunar Lieutenant rounded on him immediately. "What? She's still here? WHERE?! TELL ME!" Before the cyborg could reply, Dusk shoved him into the wall and pinned him there. "I thought she had taken off with the fleet! WHERE ARE YOU HIDING HER, YOU USELESS HEAP OF TIN?!"

Gears squeaked as Dusk held a hoofblade up against his neck. "I'm not hiding her anywhere! She IS with the 38th Company's fleet! I thought you meant that she was dead!"

Dusk Blade held his infuriated expression for a few moments longer, and then it melted back into despair. "Oh." He backed away from the other stallion, and then started trudging down the hall again.

"No, no need to apologize. I'm just fine. Thanks for asking," Gear Works mumbled while following the thestral again. "So, may I ask why this is such a tragedy? Why do you care what Princess Sparkle does?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Dusk growled, bitterly kicking at the floor. "I'm... in love with her."

Gear Works didn't reply right away, remaining silent as the two stallions reached the end of the hallway. Dusk had to pause at the door to the mag-lift and wait for Gears, as his security clearance wasn't recognized inside the dorm. It briefly had Gears wondering yet again how the bat pony got around so easily in the Mechanicus facilities, but this was only a brief distraction from the other stallion's admission.

They entered the lift, and the door closed behind them.

"For the record: No. That was not obvious. I am very surprised to hear that you harbor an infatuation with Princess Sparkle," Gear Works said while the lift started dropping toward the ground floor.

"It's not an 'infatuation!'" Dusk griped. "I'm not just ogling her from afar or fantasizing over pict-captures and newspaper clippings! I'm not just drawn by her fame or that deliciously spankable purple flank!"

Gears cringed, his visor flickering.

"I don't just want to sleep with her or 'ache for her touch' or anything so melodramatic! I want to talk to her, learn her secrets, support her, and BE with her! Start a relationship, and eventually a family! This is real, Gears!"

"Okay, fine. Have it your way. I'm surprised to hear about all of this, but far be it from me to judge the integrity of your feelings."

The lift reached the designated floor, and the doors slid open. Gear Works led the way into the hallway.

"I'm not completely unsympathetic, either. I too have known the misery of pining for a mare that doesn't even know I exist," Gear Works admitted. "I'm far above such emotional frailties now, of course, but back in school I often yearned for the attention of ponies who never learned my name. It is a miserable feeling, to be sure. My sister often teased me about the matter while we were in school, asking why I never seemed to spend any time with my 'marefriends.' Feh!"

Dusk coughed awkwardly. "Well... see... that isn't really the problem, exactly."

"Yes, of course not. Being unable to muster the courage to introduce yourself to a filly is much different from being separated by the greater part of the galaxy," Gears mused.

They approached the entrance, and the guard servitor suddenly swiveled toward them, guns humming with power. Gears froze in shock, his heart seizing up in his chest.

The servitor didn't fire, and after a few seconds of trying to remember how to breathe, Gear Works identified the problem. Dusk Blade was standing behind him, and the servitor was naturally programmed to fire on unauthorized intruders. The only reason it wasn't shooting was because Gears was in the way, and the preservation of Dark Mechanicus personnel (barely) took priority.

"By the Omnissiah, HOW do you get around in here on your own?" Gears growled. He cautiously started forward again, his visor locked on the servitor's phosphor blaster.

Dusk Blade followed closely behind him, keeping the Aspirant firmly between him and the cyborg guard. "It's a secret. Just keep going, I'm fine."

The stallions crossed the threshold from the hall to the building lobby, and the servitor promptly determined that the bat pony was no longer in restricted territory. Its targeting sensors dimmed and it swiveled forward again.

"Anyway, like I was saying..." Dusk stepped in front again, and used the tip of one wing to slide his respirator mask in place. "... My relationship with Twilight Sparkle isn't really so... anonymous. She definitely knows who I am."

"She does? So does she not know about your feelings?" Gear Works inquired.

The doors to the base exterior opened, and the two ponies stepped into the cool, filthy night air. Dusk walked up to the sidewalk, and then paused.

"Wellllll..."

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 6

Iron Flask Distillery

"You own a SLAVE?! What the blazing hay is wrong with you?!"

Numerous ponies swiveled around upon hearing the shout, turning to face the pair of stallions that had just entered the establishment.

As strange as the shout was, the pair of equines walking toward the bar were even stranger. Even after months of Gear's service to the Dark Mechanicus, most ponies were unaware that there were any equines in the cult. There were also no thestrals in the building other than Dusk Blade; to the bat ponies, the current hour was still considered a time for breakfast rather than booze.

"Could you not shout details of my personal life to everything in the room, please?" Dusk snapped, glaring at Gear Works.

"Owning a human is not a personal 'detail,' Lieutenant! It is not an irrelevant scrap of trivia to be filed away along with your favorite food and preferences regarding role-playing games!" Gear Works hissed. "It's no wonder Princess Sparkle loathes you!"

The stallions reached the bar, electing to sit at the farthest end where they couldn't be easily overheard by the other patrons. Dusk hopped up onto his seat, and then turned an arched brow on his companion.

"I have to say, I'm a little surprised to find out that you're an abolitionist," he mumbled.

"No. No, I am not an 'abolitionist.' I am not an abolitionist because I do not accept that the institution of slavery is a mere political issue on which reasonable and intelligent ponies can hold differing opinions. In the absence of non-abolitionists, I refuse to be defined by something that should be a universal moral standard."

"Uh... hello?" Dusk raised a hoof. "Reasonable and intelligent pony, here."

"Tell that to your SLAVE, you monster," Gears retorted.

"Sorry to interrupt you colts, but what can I get you?" asked a turquoise unicorn. She had a martini glass for a cutie mark, and the way she was magically rubbing a clean glass with a dry towel for no obvious reason confirmed that she was the bartender.

"I'll have a Ginger Joke. I don't want to get too drowsy right after waking up," requested the bat pony.

"Distilled water, please," said Gears.

"Gotcha," the bartender said, "and while it isn't any of my business, I feel compelled to add that the sudden prevalence of slave-holding institutions does not detract from the ethical consensus that it is fundamentally wrong. Slavery is terrible, and you, Sir, are a butt." She jabbed a hoof at Dusk Blade, and then swiftly turned away.

Dusk rolled his eyes before turning back to Gear Works. "Really, dude? Water? Your waking hours are almost over. Lighten up a little."

"NEVER," Gear Works intoned. "Intoxicants are merely lubricants for the weak mind. The servants of the Machine God do not allow... wait, no. Never mind that. We were talking about slavery and how horrible you are."

"Yeah, about that... Isn't the DarkMech the primary slave-holding organization in the 38th Company? Isn't it a little hypocritical for you to be acting all high-and-mighty?"

"It may indeed be a sign of moral weakness for me to be part of a slave-holding cult while being strongly opposed to the practice. Although under the same logic, all Equestrian citizens are at fault for being a vassal state to the 38th Company and the Iron Warriors." Gears shook his head. "But I remain personally and stubbornly opposed to the practice! Were it within my power, every slave in the Dark Mechanicus would be freed immediately!"

"Even the Eldar?" Dusk countered.

"I'm not opposed to summary execution, so there are other options to deal with the less popular alien species. But no slavery!" Gear Works insisted. "I tolerate the practice only insofar as I am helpless to change it. And I CERTAINLY don't use it as an excuse to take a slave of my own!"

"Okay, well, what about sheep and cows?" Dusk Blade asked. "Or certain ponies' habit of taking on 'assistants' who don't seem to warrant a regular income?"

"That's not slavery! We spent centuries denigrating those species to establish that they're less intelligent and capable than we are! They're more akin to pets than servants!"

Dusk Blade frowned, mulling that over. "... Is that better, though?"

"Yes."

The bartender returned with a small metal goblet for Dusk and a glass for Gears, and she wordlessly placed both on the bar surface before trotting off again.

"All right, I think it's time to get back on track, here. This is about the love of my life leaving the planet for a horrible reality-disfiguring scar in the middle of space, not my refusal to emphathize with helpless prisoners," Dusk Blade insisted before taking up his goblet in his wingtip.

Gears pulled the breathing tube leading to his mask out of his chest and dropped it into the glass of water. "I'm fairly certain the latter has something to do with the former. Even you seem quite certain that your explicitly awful behavior is the reason she doesn't like you."

"Right, I get THAT. And I'm willing to change! But-"

"Are you? Really?"

"I'm willing to appear to change! But what's the point if Twilight Sparkle isn't even here to see it? How am I supposed to work with this? Just tell her as soon as she gets home, 'Hi, remember me? The stallion you hate because he's not the nicest pony in the world? I'm all better now! Go out with me!' Why would she believe that?"

"She wouldn't. But that is at least in part because you're the type of pony to believe that the only reason not to be awful is to seduce the mare you like."

"It's not the ONLY reason," Dusk scoffed, gulping down the last of his drink. "Like, before I joined the Company, another reason would be that acting horrible wasn't tolerated and sometimes actually illegal. But those barriers are gone now." He raised his head up and turned toward the bartender. "Give me another!"

Gear Works shook his head while another cocktail magically slid across the counter to his companion. "Don't you have a job to do tonight? You may want to abstain from consuming more than one drink an hour."

"Pff! Not a problem! I already got somepony to cover for me," the Lunar Lieutenant scoffed. "Everything will be fine!"

****

Field Camp 14-C

"Now listen here! The Orks have entrenched in the southern half of the village! We're looking at trenches, lower-order barricades, and improvised gun nests! The greater part of the settlement was ruined in the initial bombardment, creating lots of dangerous terrain and potential trap and ambush sites!"

Four squads of Lunar Guard in full armor and uniform watched the pointer levitate across a floating hololith, surrounded by a yellow glow.

"The approach vector is from the east! You'll be striking fast and hard! Create as large a ruckus as possible, hit the softest targets, and then move! You can expect the Orks to counter-attack quickly, and with everything they have on hand!"

Several of the higher-ranking thestrals glanced at each other. It was hard to judge expressions through the obscuring respirator masks and optical visors, but they definitely got the sense that they were all wondering the same thing.

"When they do, you fall back! Specifically, you fly North, keeping a low-altitude path through the aforementioned ruins! The Orks will follow you out of their defenses and into the same territory we don't want to fight through! You let our two-legged friends handle the rest!"

Some of the Lunar Guards whispered to each other. Others shook their heads.

"You're advised to hit any explosives caches you see! Not only will this cause the most damage among the enemy, but it will be the first place the greenskins run for when they realize they're under attack! Also feel free to drop some flares and beacons on your way through the village ruins, as it will assist the counter-offensive. Any questions?"

One Lieutenant immediately raised a wing.

"Lieutenant Moonlight Blaze, I believe? Go ahead."

"Uh, yeah... you're... Prince Blueblood, right?"

Prince Blueblood stood before the flickering hololith, grimacing at the ranks of bat ponies before him. A peaked cap with a Chaos Star sat on his head, and he was fitted with an officer's jacket that had never been worn before this very night.

"I am indeed. You'll have to forgive me for not introducing myself before I began; I was not aware I was briefing the 'special needs' division," the Prince sneered.

Angry grumbling came from some of the Lunar Guard, but Moonlight just chuckled ruefully. "Uh huh. Look, Prince, I don't know what kind of command authority ordering around menials gives you, but I-"

Moonlight suddenly yelped and ducked as a bolt pisol snapped up through the air and fired near her head. She had no idea if it had been actually aimed at her, but her very sensitive ears could tell that it came within inches of her mane. The rest of the thestrals went silent, barely daring to breathe.

"Lieutenant, I believe very strongly in the concept of division of labor," Blueblood said calmly while smoke leaked from the barrel of his bolt pistol. "You, judging by your profession and rank, are adept at sneaking, combat, and making quick tactical decisions. I, on the other hand, specialize in giving orders and thrashing insolent morons." He sighed, turning his head away and brushing aside a lock of golden mane. "However, I'm simply not used to working these sorts of hours. I would really like to skip the latter obligation, if you would let me. What do you say?"

The hammer of the bolt pistol clicked back.

"Yes, Sir! Leaving, Sir!" Moonlight barked, leaping away. The rest of the Lunar Guard followed, vanishing in a burst of frantically flapping wings.

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 6

Iron Flask Distillery

"And now... now she's GONE! And I... I never got to tell her how I feel about her!"

Gear Works watched silently as Dusk Blade sniffled and wiped at his eyes. There were now half a dozen empty goblets on the counter in front of the Lieutenant. This concerned him, as he had only managed to drain two glasses of water during the same time period.

"I thought you DID get to tell her how you felt about her."

"Well... yeah, but it was right before she went after that Gargant. Neither of us thought she was going to come back from that, so it doesn't really count."

"I don't see why not. And your feelings clearly aren't the problem here, anyway. Her's are."

The bartender levitated another Ginger Joke cocktail over to Dusk Blade, and the bat pony snatched it out of the air with his wing. He tilted his head back, his jaws yawned open, and then he slowly tilted the cup over to drain the liquid straight down his throat.

"I have to say, though... I'm still surprised that your fixation is with Princess Sparkle. I wouldn't have thought she was your type," Gears confessed.

Dusk slammed the empty goblet down onto the bar counter. "What's THAT supposed to mean?"

"It means that I'd have assumed someone more like Princess Luna would be the subject of your desire," the Aspirant reasoned, "I mean, for starters, she's much, MUCH prettier."

Dusk Blade snorted and swatted one of the empty goblets to the side. It flew through the air and struck Gear Works in the head, bouncing off with a metallic ring. "Oh, come on. Gears, let's get something straight: my turn-on is intelligence. We have a word for ponies you'd want to rut but never talk to. It's pronounced 'prostitute.'"

Gears stared hard at the bat pony, his visor dimming slightly. "Did... Did you just call Princess Luna a-"

"Don't get me wrong," Dusk continued, "Luna is flat-out, no-contest, the most gorgeous mare I've ever met. That's a group that includes all four Princesses, Canterlot's top models, and possibly two zebra duchesses. I can't be sure if there were one or two. She said they were twins, but I never saw them in the same room together. I think. It was weird." He shook his head to clear it. "But anyway, as I was saying... I doubt I could have a single conversation with Luna without slamming my head into a wall to dull the pain. Maybe her level of education was acceptable for a noble a thousand years ago, but today we have remedial school. We have been contacted by extraterrestrial life which has never before set foot on our planet, and most of THEM are easier to understand than our beloved Princess of the Night."

Gear Works kept staring. Dusk looked up into the Aspirant's visor and frowned.

"Uh... she's not... behind me, is she?" he asked nervously.

"No. I'm just... shocked, I suppose," Gears mumbled. "I've never heard such frank criticism of the Princesses. Especially not in respect to their intellect."

"HA! If you want to see some real criticism of those twits, I have LITERAL essays written on the subject! I was going to submit them to Canterlot's academies for publication, but it turns out there are a few unfortunate laws on the matter of criticizing the royal family." Another goblet dropped down in front of the Lieutenant, and he took a long sip from it. "The ponies are the only species on our world in which every individual is guaranteed to have a subject of expertise or profound, specific skill. And who do we put in charge of our nation, to administer and manage our legislation and diplomacy? The ponies really good at moving giant space rocks. Thanks a lot, royal order! There's somepony who is a real, actual genius at making laws and managing bureaucracy, and they're running a book club while YOU dimwits decide to build settlements next to magic horror forests in-between cake binges and dances you don't even like attending!!"

Gears flinched as Dusk slammed a hoof on the counter, ratting the empty goblets. Several of the bar patrons were staring or whispering now, while some others were quickly preparing to leave.

"Okay, this is kind of veering off-topic, so-"

"Right! Topic! Topic Twilight Sparkle!" Dusk nodded fervently. "Twilight Sparkle is different! Easily as smart as the rest of those giggling alicorn buffoons put together! So do they put her in charge of anything? Nope! Let's turn the smart one into a little purple attack hound! Send her after Discord and rogue dragons and Celestia's evil sister! And she did it! And she WON!"

He raised the cocktail goblet to his lips, emptying it in a few gulps. Then he flung the container at Gears, bouncing it off the cyborg's forehead again.

"And then came the humans. The Iron Warriors. 'Hey, Twilight Sparkle, go get rid of them,' Celestia said. HAH! Can you imagine? The Elements of Harmony, fighting against the Chaos Space Marines?" No more cocktails appeared next to him on the counter, so he reached over and swiped Gear's water. He gulped it down and then dropped the glass onto the counter with a contented sigh.

"Just think, Gears... it's only thanks to her that we have ANY of this." He waved at the surroundings with a foreleg. "Augmetic limbs... corrosion-proof alloys... night vision optics... bucking SPACE TRAVEL, Gears! She could have devoted her entire life to studying magic and science and brought dozens of amazing technologies and insights to Equestria! Instead she somehow managed to do something even better! That's... She's... I don't even have words for that!"

"Of course, the encroachment of Chaos has had some unfortunate effects as well," Gear Works pointed out. "Although I suppose if you're somehow supportive of hostile invasions and the enslavement of defeated enemies, then there really are few downsides here."

Dusk shook his head. "Twilight Sparkle is the most incredible and awesome thing to happen to the equine races. And when you meet her, she doesn't even act like it's that big a deal! She'll happily debate the ethics of owning a human being with anypony that happens to walk by, while wearing her amazing space-faring armor, as if she seriously had nothing better to be doing! Intelligence, charm, tact, humility, power, gra... um... well, grace is debatable, I suppose."

"Also, her face is average, at best," Gears interjected.

"At least she HAS one!" Dusk snapped before bouncing another goblet off of Gear's visor.

"Touché."

Dusk Blade sighed miserably and slumped against the counter. It hadn't escaped his attention that he was no longer being served more cocktails, and he could guess why.

"I don't know what to do, Gears. How can I ever hope to get a mare like her? A poor, weaselly scumbag like me doesn't even deserve her..."

"You're right, you absolutely don't, and those descriptors are only a few of the many, many reasons," Gear Works agreed.

A series of three empty goblets bounced off of his optics visor in rapid succession.

"BUT..." the Aspirant continued when the barrage ended. "... If you want to give it another shot, I have an idea."

"REALLY?!" Dusk was in his face in an instant, pressing his nose up against the mono-lens of Gear's optical augment. "Tell me! Please! What can I do?"

"Calm down, you pitiful sack of flesh," Gears grumbled, pushing the other stallion away with his servo arm. "You said it yourself. You can change, or at least put in a good, convincing show of it, but if you just try to tell her that when she gets back then she'll just assume you're lying and brush you off. You need proof."

"Pict-captures! No, wait, vid-captures are better! I'll record myself fighting the enemies of Equestria! Slaying Orks by the dozen and defending the pony citizens!"

Dusk's excitement was quickly building, and Gears tapped the side of his head to keep his attention. "No, Lieutenant. Your bravery or skill in combat isn't in question, and it's not the sort of thing to impress Princess Sparkle anyway. Look at the ponies she surrounds herself with. Her friends. What kind of traits does she look for in the ponies closest to her? What are the other aspects of the Elements of Harmony?"

Dusk Blade blinked. Then his brow furrowed in concentration. "That would be... cowardice, avarice, arrogance, ignorance, and whatever that pink weirdo stands for. I'm pretty sure she's a murderer. No WAY did all those pilots just give her their Dreadnoughts."

It took a few seconds for Gears to come up with a response to that. "... So, do you just think everypony other than you and Princess Sparkle is completely awful?"

"Not really. I can be pretty hard on myself, honestly."

"Whatever. You're wrong. Ultimately what I'm getting at is that if you can convince Princess Sparkle's friends that you're not a complete mule, then they can vouch for you. Spend some time around them. Help them. Be nice to them, but without any obvious expectation of reward or ulterior motives."

"But I'm only doing this with the ulterior motive of them rewarding me by telling Twilight Sparkle how I'm not a jerk," the thestral pointed out.

"Right. I said 'obvious' expectations or motives. You have to be subtle."

"I can do subtle!" Dusk Blade insisted, nodding rapidly. "Yeah... okay! This could totally work! Judging by my reconaissance of her social circle, she complains to her friends about me all the time! If they could refute her, then I'm sure she'd give me a chance!"

"A chance which you'll have to be careful not to ruin," Gears warned. "All of this effort will go to waste if you immediately present Princess Sparkle with first-hand evidence that you're as casually cruel and amoral as ever. Which means that you might have to actually change your behavior, not just play a part for the mares."

Dusk frowned, tapping his chin with a hoof. "Well, I can try... No, that's not good enough! I'll do it! If it's for Twilight Sparkle, then I'll do anything!"

"Good. Because I believe one area in which you could use considerable improvement - especially before befriending the other Elements of Harmony - is in the way you treat your friends. The blatant disregard for my comfort and feelings, as well as the casual acts and threats of violence, won't play very well with her social circle," Gear Works advised.

Dusk continued tapping his chin. "... I think I'll start with something easier, actually. I kind of like doing that stuff." Then he twisted about and hopped onto the floor. "Thanks for agreeing to cover my tab, Gears! Catch you later!"

Gear Works didn't bother calling out as the Lieutenant galloped out the door. He watched Dusk Blade leave, and then sighed and turned back to the empty bar counter in front of him. The bartender approached while carrying a plastic tub with her magic.

"So, I'm kind of getting a vibe that you didn't, in fact, agree to cover the Lieutenant's tab," the bartender said, levitating the empty goblets into the tub one by one.

"That is the case, yes."

"I'm afraid I'm still going to have to ask you to pay. Sorry."

"I don't have any money. I used to, but then the Lieutenant stole it. There's more than one reason I only asked for water."

The bartender grimaced and set down the tub of dirty dishes. "Well... you're DarkMech, aren't you? You guys deal in favors more than currency, right?"

"We do."

"Well, then I'm sure we could work something out..."

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 4

Dark Mechanicus librarium tertius

+... and that's why I need to design and construct a plasma still, Techpriest Sigirn.+

A Dark Techpriest stood over Gear Works, silently glaring down at the stallion through a cluster of glittering green lights. Dark Acolyte Sheraan stood by behind the Techpriest, patiently awaiting his judgment.

The Techpriest turned to the Acolyte. +Who augmented the stupid horse to speak Binaric Cant?+

+Right? It is an irresponsible waste of resources,+ Sheraan grumbled.

+Before long they'll start promoting the damned equines. Tech-thralls and Scavurel strike teams will have to serve ponies. Dark Gods help us all.+

+They've already begun doing that amongst the mercenaries. With the heavy attrition on our human forces, pony commanders seems to be an inevitability.+

+Have the others lost their minds?+

+Doubtful. I find true insanity far more tolerable than this complete and utter farce.+

Gear Works made a harsh static noise through his vox; the electronic equivalent of clearing his throat. +I understand your concerns, Dark Techpriest. However, they are not immediately applicable to my request. May I access the necessary dataslates?+

The Dark Techpriest glared down at the stallion again. +Affirmative. You need only initiate the formal request procedure.+

Gears tilted his head to the side. +I thought making a direct request of the Dark Techpriests WAS the procedure. That is what I was told. Are there other necessary steps?+

+Affirmative,+ Sigirn said again. Then a multi-jointed servo arm twisted out of his robes and pointed off to the side. +First, stand on the marked area.+

Gear Works looked where his superior was pointing, and was not especially surprised to see a large square section of the flooring set apart with a box of black and yellow warning chevrons.

+Techpriest, that is a hydraulic springboard,+ Gears said, +there are no formalized procedures that require members of the Dark Mechanicus to subject themselves to mechanical traps.+

+You may assume that I have established one. Stand on the platform.+

Gear Works considered the request. +Is there a Dark Techpriest I can speak to who isn't personally invested in my death? I believe I saw your name in the noosphere pool wagering how long I would survive in Ferrous Dominus.+

+There are very few such Techpriests,+ Sheraan pointed out. +You may have better luck with the springboard.+

Striker wobbled back and forth over Gear's head, beeping insistently.

+You stay out of this,+ Sheraan snapped at the floating skull, +it's not even THAT unlikely that he'll survive.+

"Hey, Gears! I need to talk to you!"

It might have come as a relief to have such an ominous course of discussion interrupted were it being interrupted by a different pony. When Gear Works turned his head to see Dusk Blade swooping down toward him, he suppressed a groan and honestly considered submitting to the Techpriest's request.

"Alert! Unauthorized personnel!" The Techpriest lurched backward, his opticals flashing. A series of gun barrels jutted out from beneath his black rubber cloak, and a dreadful whining noise started coming from the weapons.

"Cool your gaskets, Techpriest. I'm just here to pick up my good friend Gear Works," Dusk said as he landed. He promptly slid one wing over Gear's back, while the other waved the tech-clergy away. "We have an appointment to keep. I apologize if this impacts your schedule at all; I realize how important that is to you guys."

Gears paused to check his cogitator logs. "... Lieutenant, I don't recall any appoin-" A hoof jabbed into his side, somehow finding a perfectly biological soft spot and digging painfully into the flesh. The Aspirant flinched, and the next thing he knew he was being shoved toward the exit.

"Halt. How did you enter the premises?" demanded Techpriest Sigirn. His weapon had stopped charging, but it was still aimed at the intruding stallion.

"It's kind of my thing. Gotta go! Very busy!" Dusk assured the cyborgs, pushing Gear Works into the main lobby. Striker beeped and hovered after the equines, following them out the door.

Sigirn watched the stallions leave, and then slowly lowered his weapon.

Then he turned toward Sheraan. +Aspirant Gear Works has a friend?+ Tone was difficult to convey in Binaric Cant without formal speech designators, but his bafflement was clear.

+Affirmative, Dark Techpriest,+ Sheraan confirmed. +Although this runs counter to Mechanicus orthodoxy, friendship is not an actual violation of our principles or rules of conduct.+ He sighed. +I checked. Thoroughly.+

+Damned freak. These equines will be the end of us all...+

****

"Stop! Stop pushing me!" Gear Works snapped as he was shoved out into the streets of Ferrous Dominus.

Dusk Blade hopped out next to him, and then quickly pushed his respirator mask up over his face. "All right, we're clear! Have to admit, I was a little nervous, there. Your bosses are a little quick to wave their guns around, Gears."

"I assure you, I deeply regret their sense of restraint," Gears grunted. "So, what do you want? You shouldn't even be up at this hour."

"I adjusted my sleep and work schedules appropriately. I need to be up during daylight hours for the plan," the thestral explained.

"What plan?"

"Your plan, obviously!" Dusk scoffed. "You know, the one about getting Twilight Sparkle's friends to think I'm coltfriend material?"

"What part of that plan requires my presence? I only came up with an idea so that you'd leave me alone."

"If I was that easy to get rid of I would have given up on Twilight Sparkle a long time ago!" Dusk laughed. "Okay, so here's the thing: today we're going to a protest march."

"A what?' Gears recoiled instantly, stopping in his tracks.

Dusk stopped as well, looking back at the cyborg pony. "A protest march. Remember those ponies that were causing a ruckus because of all the pollution and brutality and stuff? They organized a thing today."

"... I see. And we're going to neutralize them?" Gears asked cautiously.

"No, dude! How would that help me? We're going to JOIN them!"

Gear Works turned around. "Not happening." Striker made a buzzer-like noise and spun around 180 degrees in the air.

Before Gears could move even one step further, Dusk skidded in front of him and spread his wings out, as if trying to form a barrier. "Gears, stop. This is important."

"It is NOT. And even if it was, you STILL haven't explained why I'm involved in this farce."

"You're my wingmate, obviously!" Dusk said, pushing a hoof against the Aspirant to turn him around again. "You know how stallions team up to get mares, right?"

"No, I don't know anything about that. How does that help?"

Dusk Blade paused to groan. "Ugh, seriously? Could you TRY to be less of a loser, Gears? I know I said that's why I like hanging out with you, but there are limits, you know."

"Lieutenant..."

"Right, fine. The basic idea is simple. We work together to make me look good. I make nice with Twilight's besties - in this case the dumb yellow one - and you boost me, run interference when necessary, and get me some alone time with her. This is Dating 101 stuff." Then Dusk glanced back and forth, as if checking to see if anyone could overhear. "Also, I might need you to vouch for me later that I was only there to look good for a mare. I wouldn't want the Lunar Guard to seriously think I'm on board with those environmentalist weirdoes."

"I can't think of anything more irrelevant and unpleasant to do with my day than joining some ridiculous protest in aid of your romantic conquest," Gear Works said bluntly, "as such, I refuse."

Dusk scowled. "I can think of one thing more irrelevant and unpleasant: getting jammed in a locker again."

The Mechanicus Aspirant was silent, his visor pulsing softly. Striker looked down at him, beeping softly and wiggling its cables.

"... Gears?"

"I'm thinking. That's a tough decision, honestly."

"GEARS!" the thestral snapped, his wings quivering.

"Oh, FINE. I'll do it. So long as you understand that this is an enormous waste of my time, and I couldn't care less whether or not you're successful." Gear Works turned around again, and the two stallions headed down the avenue once more.

"I can live with that. Thanks, buddy!"

Dusk Blade smiled happily as they trotted alongside the manufactorum, his mood having obviously been lifted.

"Oh, yeah, before I forget, I wanted to talk about last night."

"If I still had eyebrows, I'd be raising one," Gears informed his companion. "What is it?"

"Well, I don't think it needs to be said that I drank a little too much back then. I know I'm not exactly a colt scout, but even by my standards my behavior was really out of line," Dusk admitted with a tired sigh.

"Okay, now I'm REALLY interested," Gear Works chuckled lightly. "Go on..."

Dusk moved closer so that he was almost touching the Aspirant's robe. "Don't tell ANYONE that I compared Princess Luna to a prostitute."

Gear Works groaned, his expectations quickly shattered. "THAT'S what you regret from last night?"

"Yeah. I regret the entire spiel about the Princesses, honestly. I mean, there might be some reasonable points there, but still, the line about Luna was beyond the pale." He paused briefly before continuing. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a prostitute, though! They belong to a perfectly legitimate profession and - if I may say so - have some of the best special talents ever! But again, I was out of line."

"Please, stop. Let's just get this over with," Gears grumbled, trudging across the ferrocrete path.

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 14

Manufactorum block

"WHAT DO WE WANT?!"

"CLEAN AIR AND WATER!"

"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?!"

"WITHIN THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE WITHIN AN ENTIRELY NEGOTIABLE SPAN OF TIME!"

"Not very catchy," Gear Works mumbled as he and Dusk Blade stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the protest.

The group was walking in a continuous circuit in front of a large tank garage, thrusting signs into the air in synchronized waves. The crowd of some two dozen was mostly equine, although a pair of humans and a Kroot Carnivore were also marching and shouting along with the ponies.

It didn't look especially disruptive or troublesome, which is probably why the only spectators of the event was a line of combat servitors guarding the manufactorum entrances. No Techpriests apparently felt threatened enough by the demonstration to investigate it or stamp it out.

"Hmmm... I don't see her," Dusk Blade mumbled, looking over the marchers, "is she on duty somewhere? Maybe she couldn't make it."

"I checked Miss Fluttershy's noosphere logs already. As far as I can tell, she isn't on deployment today. She doesn't make extensive use of the network, but I'm certain her superiors would have made a note if she was going on a mission," Gear Works informed his companion. "She's probably just late."

"Huh... Fluttershy..." Dusk's eyes narrowed. "So that's her name, huh?"

Gears actually blasted a few sparks from his optics visor. "What in- How did- Are you actually-" He shook his head, and then turned fully to face the bat pony. "You SERIOUSLY didn't know her name until just now?!"

"Well, I'm sure I've heard it before. I just never really retained it," Dusk offered with a shrug. "I always just referred to her as 'the yellow one' and everypony usually knows who I mean. Like you did earlier."

"You are UNBELIEVABLE!" Gears snapped. "This is... wait... how did you find out where Miss Fluttershy was supposed to be today when you didn't even know her name?"

Dusk smirked. "I'm not the only one who calls her that."

The stallions heard a gasp from nearby, and they whirled around. A mare with a flower circlet around her head and a "peace" emblem painted on the drum filter of her respirator was standing away from the other protestors, staring at Gear Works in alarm.

"Is that... are you a real Dark Techpriest?" the mare asked in awe and no small amount of fear.

"Negative," Gears replied immediately, "I am merely an Aspirant to the Cult of the Cursed Device."

The protestor continued staring for several seconds.

"So, is that... a Dark Techpriest cosplayer, or something?"

"No. Although several of my colleagues frequently refer to me as such. It is the entry-level rank for an aspiring Techpriest, the first step on our journey to digital enlightenment."

A few more of the ponies broke off from the march to stare at the robed cyborg.

"Wait, are you a representative sent from the DarkMech to negotiate with us?"

"Whoa, I've never seen a servo skull up close before."

"You're not going to shut us down, are you?"

Dusk Blade stepped forward. "Not at all! We're here to join you!" the stallion spoke warmly to the pony demonstrators. Most of them glared at him suspiciously.

"You? Aren't you with the Lunar Guard?"

"Yeah! You're that stallion that booted us out of our meeting room a while back!"

"I am. I was acting under orders from my superiors, which I could not disobey without severe consequences," Dusk confirmed, his expression turning grim. "However, that does not mean I can't support your cause 'off the clock,' so to speak." He placed a hoof on Gear's shoulder. "Me and Gear Works here are ready to help to secure a better, cleaner future for the 38th Company!"

"That's incredible!" one of the mares gushed happily.

"Yeah... incredible," a stallion mumbled. "How do we know that this isn't some trick to infiltrate and undermine our movement?"

"The Dark Mechanicus is not a subtle organization," Gears Work drawled. "More to the point, it possesses the authority to have you all subdued, executed, and ground up into nutrient paste at will, without trial or recourse. If the Mechanicus cared enough to be rid of you, we would not use spies."

The protestors stared at him with wide eyes.

"That is a very compelling point," the stallion replied, cringing. "Also, now that I think about it, it might be nice to have a DarkMech pony around. You know, in case we need to negotiate for... for that not happening to us."

"Great! Let's get to it!" Dusk said cheerfully, galloping up to the marching crowd. Gear Works trudged after him, obviously less interested.

****

"KEEP OUR SKIES AND OCEANS BLUE!"

"KEEP OUR BADLANDS A LESS FOREBODING SHADE OF WASTED GRAY!"

"OUR FAMILIES DESERVE BETTER THAN LIVING IN A TOXIC WASTE DUMP!"

"OUR BACKYARD IS NOT A LANDFILL! OR A PLASMA REFINEMENT LIBRARIUM!"

"DAEMONIC RITUALS AND WARP CORRUPTION ARE HARMING OUR FOALS, FEEDING THEIR IMMORTAL SOULS TO HORRIFIC GODS OF TERRIBLE POWER!"

"WON'T SOMEPONY THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!"

Gear Works continued plodding along in the rear of the march, his ears hanging against his head. He shouted no slogans, enduring the yelling of grievances with even less enthusiasm than the servitors mutely standing sentinel over the demonstration.

Dusk Blade made a better show of participating, occasionally joining the shouts of protest, but he constantly searched the surrounding area to check if Fluttershy was approaching. After nearly an hour of marching with no sign of the Element of Kindness, he found his interest in the protest extremely hard to feign.

Grimacing beneath his rebreather mask, he sped up to speak to another marcher.

"Hey, I heard somewhere that Fluttershy was part of your group!" Dusk said to the mare in front of him. "Is she coming? I'll bet it would give your message a lot of heft if it came from one of the famous Equinoughts!"

The mare raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, Fluttershy's with us, but she's not going to be here."

"What?!" Dusk recoiled angrily.

"She has a more important job to do right now."

The Lunar Lieutenant released a wordless growl of frustration. Then he whipped around and pointed a hoof at Gear Works. "Gears! You said she didn't have a mission!"

"I said the noosphere log didn't indicate she was deployed," Gear Works corrected him, "that does not suggest I have any special insight into her movements or activities, just that I can access and read her declared schedule." Striker beeped and jabbed the end of a tendril toward Dusk Blade repeatedly.

"AGH! This sucks!" Dusk shouted. Several of the other marchers stumbled to a halt, surprised by the sudden outburst that didn't seem to have anything to do with their immediate environmental or living conditions. "This was all pointless! I'm out of here!"

Snapping his wings out, Dusk Blade launched into the air and flew away. He didn't give a backward glance to Gear Works, much less the mare he was talking to when she shouted for him.

"Hey, wait! Don't go!" The plea went unanswered, and the thestral swiftly flew out of earshot.

"What's his problem?" asked another protestor. "Did he only come to meet Miss Fluttershy?"

"Affirmative," Gears said bluntly. He started turning around himself. "We had assumed that she would be here as well, given that she's your highest-profile associate."

The mare shook her head. "Nah. She and Lord Tellis have a different job."

Gear Works stopped short. "... Lord Tellis? As in Chaos Lord Tellis, the Mad Angel?"

"The same." The mare stepped closer, lowering her voice. "This was actually his idea."

"This protest was his idea. Lord Tellis. The foremost warrior of the Blood God within the 38th Company and the single most prolific killer on the planet." Gears waited for the mare to nod, and then took a deep breath. "I see. You said he and Miss Fluttershy had a 'different job' for this demonstration? What would that be?"

"While we're distracting the Mechanicus with the march, they're breaking some Maulerfiends out of the daemon engine pits," the mare explained, "then they'll take them up onto the manufactorum and pinch all the smokestacks shut!"

Gear's visor flickered, and for a few seconds, the panel was covered with static.

"Uh... hey, are you all right?" the other pony asked in concern. "You need some water? Or... Or motor oil? What do you drink, exact-"

In the next moment, the Mechanicus Aspirant seized the mare around then neck and yanked her close. "WHERE ARE THEY?! WHERE?!"

The mare yelped in fright and pain, her eyes wide. "Wh-What? I don't... uhm..."

"Tell me where they are! What sector?! Now! Time is of the essence, you insipid Luddite!"

"Hey, whoa! Take it easy!" shouted another protester. The other ponies were slowly surrounding the Aspirant, and the Carnivore was drawing one of its hunting blades. "There's no need for violence!"

"There WILL BE if you don't tell me where Lord Tellis is!" Gear Works snarled. "This is a matter of life and death, and I don't just mean my own!" Striker immediately swiveled around the immobilized pony, and its trailing cables sparked dangerously.

"S-Sector 12!" the mare finally sputtered. "I guess that was where they decided they could sneak up on the roof or something! I don't know! Please don't make me into food paste!"

Gears let go of the mare immediately and broke into a gallop, racing away down the avenue that ran alongside the manufactorum. Striker hovered after him, although the trifling speed of the servo skull meant that it was left far behind as the stallion raced off.

"No, no, no, no, no..." Gear Works scanned the noospere relentlessly as he rushed down the avenue, dodging around menials and ducking under the odd Tau worker drone.

"The daemon engine pits have been disconnected from the noosphere! The logic engines aren't responding!" he shrieked to himself. Presumably Tellis had damaged the cogitators that oversaw the pit and its occupants to keep any alarms subdued. The Dark Mechanicus would address the damage quickly, but not as quickly as they would if they knew the daemon engines were loose.

Gear Works placed an alert on the noosphere to explain what was happening, but didn't have high hopes that his superiors would read it. They had a habit of dismissing equine messages and concerns without consideration, and having one join their order had not quite yet inspired the sense of tolerance and brotherhood necessary to take him seriously. This was normally a mild impediment to his duties, but could now endanger the entire manufactorum.

"There! That must be the spot they ascended!" Gears skidded to a stop after passing by an aerial hangar. Numerous large tears and dents were visible up the wall leading to the roof, and several men were standing around and gawking as if they had recently witnessed something bizarre.

He couldn't pick up a power armor signature from Tellis or Fluttershy; Fluttershy had that damnable cloaking mechanism that Warsmith Solon had gifted to her, while Tellis probably had his own absurd methods to avoid being tracked down when he didn't want to be. He could, however, detect a pair of Maulerfiends on the roof, even if they were out of his immediate line of sight.

"Blast! The only time in my life I've ever wanted to be a pegasus..." Gears growled. Then he switched his mask vocalizer to maximum volume.

"MISS FLUTTERSHY!! LORD TELLIS!! I KNOW YOU'RE UP THERE!!" the stallion shouted, his voice booming through the streets. Many more wandering inhabitants stopped to watch, alarmed or fascinated by the sight of the cyborg pony screaming into the sky. "STOP THIS AT ONCE!! YOU'RE GOING TO DO SEVERE, IRREPARABLE DAMAGE TO THE FACILITY!!"

A few seconds passed, and he received no apparent response. "DAMN YOU, YOU IMBECILES!! DO YOU EVEN CARE THAT YOU'RE ENDANGERING THE LIVES OF SO MANY WORKERS AND TECHPRIESTS?! THIS ISN'T JUST ABOUT THE MECHANICUS, YOU DIMWITS!!"

Gears knew that he was taking a risk in provoking a Chaos Lord, but he also knew that this absurd demonstration had become a matter of life or death. He only hoped Tellis was as thin-skinned and easily distracted as certain other Khorne-aligned individuals he knew.

Sure enough, just before he was about to shout again, a head poked out over the edge of the roof, staring down at him. Although he had never met the pony personally, Gears recognized Fluttershy's power armor instantly.

"MISS FLUTTERSHY!! COME DOWN HERE!! NOW!!" Gear Works barked. The mare immediately flinched back in fright. "I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE UP TO, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW..."

The Aspirant trailed off as he heard the sound of rocket engines, and then he recoiled just before a power-armored figure landed in the space right in front of him. Gears was almost bowled over by the impact shock wave, and he staggered slightly.

Then the next thing he knew, he was being held upside-down by one of his bionic legs and staring into the glittering crimson visor of Chaos Lord Tellis.

"Oh dear," he mumbled.

The Iron Warrior positioned him so that their visors were mere inches apart. "Hey, NERD. What'd you just call Fluttershy?"

"Th-That's not important!" Gear Works stammered. "You must-"

Tellis promptly squeezed Gear's leg, crushing it within his fist. It didn't hurt in the slightest, being an augmetic limb, but the cyborg couldn't help but wince as the many damage sensors that regulated his sub-skeleton all triggered at once and then fizzled out.

"Let's try this again. What did you just call Fluttershy?" Tellis asked while metal squealed between his fingers.

"I referred to her as an 'imbecile' and 'dimwit,' and while I wish to disavow those criticisms, I must point out that your current course of action does, from a certain perspective, justiYEEP!"

Tellis pulled the stallion up and seized him by the neck. Gears fell silent immediately, sweat beading across his head.

"You think you can say something like that to MY friend and get away with it, Coghorse?" Tellis growled. "Do you have any idea the kind of self-esteem issues she struggles with every day?"

"Oh, wait, don't hurt him!" Fluttershy suddenly squeaked, sticking her head out over the manufactorum roof again. "I mean, when you think about it, he might actually have a point about-"

"Quiet, Fluttershy, I'm speaking for you," Tellis interrupted. "Apologize NOW, nerd!"

"I'm sorry!" Gears yelped. "But-"

Before the Aspirant could get another word out, Tellis tossed him over his shoulder.

"Coo. Back to work, then."

The Chaos Lord promptly jumped into the air and ignited his flight pack. Gear Works crashed face-first into a sheer metal wall, bouncing off and falling limply onto the ground. Bits of shattered glass and cracked metal landed all around him, and a stream of sparks shot from Gear's ruined leg before the stallion fell still.

****

"Hello? ... Oh, no... is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know... is he breathing?"

"I THINK so... don't these guys use pumps, or something?"

"Hold on! I have some water! Coming through!"

"Um, are you sure that's a good ide-"

Gear Works jolted back to consciousness as a bucket of water was emptied over him, snapping his head to the side in shock. His visor, with its seal damaged from hitting a metal wall, promptly started crackling and sparking under the deluge.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Gear Works thrashed about on the ground, and then started screeching insults and profanities in Binaric Cant. The loud and ear-grating bursts of static startled the citizens standing around him, and several of them jumped back and started whispering to each other.

Eventually the pain ebbed, and Gears shook his head weakly. He was a complete mess. His rear right leg was inoperable, his visor was cracked, waterlogged, and malfunctioning, and judging by the feeling of soot in his throat even his respirator was damaged.

"Whoa, whoa! Easy! Don't try to walk!" came a soft, feminine voice from behind him. "We'll get a medical team over here! Or... Or like, a mechanic! Maybe both!"

Gear Works turned toward the voice. The visor was stuttering and its resolution was shot, displaying nearby shapes as nothing more than dark green shadows. Even so, the general shape was identifiable as a pony.

"You! What happened? Where am I?" Gears sputtered.

"You're in manufactorum block Zeta-6 in Sector 12! Everything is going to be okay!" the mare assured him. "We're going to get you-"

"Lord Tellis!" Gears interrupted. "Did Lord Tellis and Miss Fluttershy manage to damage the exhaust ports?!"

"Look, buddy, you're in no shape to worry about that," said another voice. "Just let us-"

"Did they do it or not?!" the Aspirant demanded. "How long was I out for?!"

The various shapes around him seemed to shift silently for a few seconds.

"... Like, for half an hour," one of the voices admitted. "The servo skull eventually came back and brought us to you. And yeah, I think they're almost done with the smokestacks."

"NO!" Gears shouted. "We have to stop them! Now!" He started struggling to get up, but a severe grinding noise came from his ruined augmetic as soon as it tried to move. The stallion instantly collapsed again, and the surrounding ponies winced.

"Would you relax?" the mare asked with a sigh, stepping closer. "I'm sure they-"

She screamed in shock when Gear's servo arm snapped forward and wrapped around her neck.

"Listen to me, you idiot! You can't just close the exhaust ports of the manufactorum without actually shutting down the equipment inside! The machinery will overheat catastrophically!" Gears shouted.

The other ponies stared at him blankly.

"So... it'll break down? And stop polluting?" the trapped mare asked.

"That does explain all the alarms around the entrances and the fleeing people."

"Does this mean we won?"

"RRRGH!! MHHN!! GMMR!!" Gear Works made a series of loud, angry noises, and then pulled the seized pony closer. "THINK, YOU IMBECILES!! What do we BUILD in the manufactorum?!"

"Power armor?"

"Holo-vid players?"

"Those neat Dark Mechanicus Pez dispensers with the little hooded-"

"ORDNANCE!!" Gears interrupted hotly. "Bullets, missiles, bombs, fuel cells! There's enough explosives in there to rip this city apart! The Mechanicus cannot control the interior heat buildup without the exhaust ports! It's only a matter of time before the weapons and materials ignite!"

The surrounding equines gasped.

"No way! We have to do something!"

"Yes! Get me up onto the roof so I can confront Lord Tellis and the Daemon Engines!" Gears barked.

The Aspirant noticed a distinct lack of ponies rushing forward to help.

"I was... kind of thinking that we should just run, instead," mumbled the mare currently trapped by Gear's augmetic arm.

She yelped when Gears swiveled the servo arm around, pulling her to the side and then pinning her to the ground.

"You listen here, you half-wit saboteurs," he snarled, "you are NOT getting out of this alive while my peers perish for your ignorance! I will make sure of that, even if I have to track you all down and GUT YOU myself! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!"

"O-Okay! Yes! You're right! I'm sorry!" He couldn't see clearly enough to tell that the mare was staring at him bug-eyed, but he could easily hear the terror in her voice when she replied. "Wh-What should we do?"

"I need pegasi! Carry me up there so I can find the Daemon Engines!" Gears barked.

Gear Works finally let go of the mare trapped by his servo arm. She scrambled upright and then moved to lift up his leg, spreading her wings. Three more pegasi reluctantly stepped forward afterward, taking hold of another leg, the servo arm, and a length of loose cable to support him. They took to the air moments later, their wings straining to lift the cyborg stallion into the air.

A beeping noise came from behind him, which Gears recognized as Striker's.

“No, you return to the dorms, Striker. You have a vox log of all of this, and if this fails then you'll at least provide a record of what happened. You should be safe in the Mechanicus housing facility; it's very well armored.

The servo skull beeped again, and then floated off.

"Wow, you are MUCH heavier than you look!" complained the mare struggling under his bionic leg. "How do you go swimming? Wouldn't you just sink?"

"Could we FOCUS, please?!" Gears growled while the pegasi carried him higher. "Lives are at stake!"

"Yeah, about that... what's the game plan, anyway?" asked a different pony. "Should we just tell Lord Tellis that he's going to make the manufactorum explode?"

"Yes, you're going to do just that," Gear Works confirmed.

"Okay. Good. So... why are we carrying you along with us?"

"Because you will probably fail. I need you to drop me within fifty meters of the daemon engines and then try to talk that lunatic out of killing us all. While he's distracted, I'll try to divert control of the walkers."

The pegasi glanced at each other.

"Can you really do that?" asked one pegasus doubtfully.

"I don't know. But I have to try," the Aspirant said firmly.

The flight over the roof of the manufactorum was long and difficult, but Gear Works had the advantage of being nearly blind. His carriers, on the other hand, couldn't help but be anxious at the trail of destruction winding over the roof. Gouges had been torn into nearly every surface, railings had been flattened and access hatches smashed shut. Most obviously, though, each one of the numerous smokestacks were either crushed mid-length or bent sharply to pinch closed the ventilation. The seals weren't airtight, and jets of black fumes blasted from various small breaches. Obviously pressure was building fast, and the pegasi were increasingly nervous about the outcome that Gear Works had told them to expect.

"There! I see them!"

"Oh, no! There goes another smokestack!"

The two Maulerfiends were on opposite sides of one of the larger exhaust chimneys, hammering their fists into opposite sides of the pipe. The smokestack itself was massive, and nearly as wide as the siege walkers themselves. The jet of exhaust it was spewing into the air was also much heavier and hotter than usual, emerging from the mouth in a mix of inky smoke and glittering sparks. Fluttershy watched from a few meters away, while Tellis was busy bending a much thinner pipe to suppress its venting.

"Hey! Hey! Check this out! I'll bet I can write my name!" Tellis laughed as he twisted the piping to spray a jet of thick soot over the roof of the facility. The exhaust stuck to the metal like spray paint, and he pulled the pipe further to draw a line across the floor.

The pegasi shared another uneasy glance, and then the mare addressed Gear Works again. "All right, we'll drop you next to the Maulerfiends, and then we'll talk to Lord Tellis."

"Okay, good." Gear Works nodded. Several seconds passed, and then he spoke up again. "So, when you say 'drop me,' I assume you mean 'drop me off,' because I-"

The pegasi suddenly released their hold on the cyborg stallion, breaking away from each other in the air. Gears yelped in fright as he plummeted to the roof, and then again in pain when he landed on his side.

"Maybe that was too high? Do you guys think we're too high?" asked the pegasus mare.

"No idea. I feel like earth ponies kind of have a completely different relationship with gravity than we do."

The daemon engines were distracted from hammering on the smoke stack, turning toward the fallen stallion. Fluttershy gasped and backed away, surprised and embarrassed at seeing the Aspirant again.

"Hey! Look! I'm writing my name! Tee... Eee... Ell... Are you watching?" Tellis was unperturbed.

The pegasi reluctantly swooped down near the Chaos Lord, though the ponies were all careful to stay well out of claw range.

"Excuse me! Lord Tellis! Can we speak to you, please?" one of them called out.

Tellis glanced over toward them, and in doing so accidentally ruined the "I" on his act of toxic vandalism. "Aw, damn it! It looks like a jay now! What the hell, guys?"

The pegasi flinched back. "I'm, uh, really sorry about that, my lord, but we have a bit of a situation."

"What kind of situation could be more important than tying exhaust pipes into crazy-straw shapes?" Tellis scoffed.

"You see, the thing is, if you keep tying up those exhaust pipes, things are going to explode," explained the pegasus.

Fluttershy gasped, but otherwise didn't dare interrupt the conversation.

Tellis was less circumspect. "I'm not really seeing a problem, here. Explosions are good."

"Debatable! For example, the explosions could be happening right under us!"

Tellis shrugged. "Eh, I'll be fine." He hammered a fist against his breast plate.

"And... what about the people and ponies that are NOT you?"

"Fluttershy will be fine too, probably," the Iron Warrior mused. "I'm pretty sure that covers everybody important."

"This is going to take a while," groaned another pegasus.

As the other ponies tried to talk Tellis out of killing them all, Gear Works struggled to push himself upright. The Maulerfiends were still standing on either side of the massive smoke stack, watching curiously.

"Okay. Okay, we're here. This is happening," Gears whimpered while rolling onto his belly. His visor tried to display damage reports from his internal sensors, but all it did was spread more flickering, inexplicable shapes across the cracked inputs. He couldn't even make out the shapes of the Maulerfiends. Assuming the pegasi really did drop him close to them. Or that he was facing the right way.

And yet, despite his blindness, Gears felt something. A dark, brooding presence tingling at the end of his noosphere registry node. Malevolence wrought in streaming code, probing him like one would an insect before deciding whether or not to swat it.

Gear Works latched onto that presence. He attached his mind to it. And then he started to pray.

+Praise the Omnissiah, the Infernal Device! Hear my words, engines of Chaos! Submit to my will!+

The Maulerfiends started, responding immediately. One of them growled, its chain-like tongue lashing from between adamantium teeth. The other dropped down from the smoke stack, its eyes flashing crimson.

+Hear the words of creation! The magnetic damnation of the flesh! The black currents within compel you to serve! By my soul and the burning light of the Dark Pantheon, the shackled daemon is brought to heel! Obey me!+

Gear's sputtering bursts of static seemed to have a distinctly irritating effect on the Maulerfiends. The walkers stalked toward the Aspirant, puffing jets of hot smoke from their nostrils.

+I implore you, machine! Open these exhaust vents! By the daemonic souls locked within your core BZZT!+

One Maulerfiend grabbed the stallion none-too-gently in its hand, holding him up to get a better look. The other siege walker curled around its partner's clenched fist, snarling and glaring at the cyborg equine.

+Okay... Okay, I'm going to count this as progress,+ Gears sputtered weakly. +So, first command is to NOT kill me, please.+

A humming noise came from the daemon engine's massive gauntlets, and arcs of energy ran over the surface plating from its power field charging.

Gear Works whimpered.

"All right, I'm still not getting this," Tellis said. "We clogged up the pipes, and you say that will not only stop the pollution, but blow up the manufactorum. Which is not only AWESOME, but it will prevent further pollution. I'm not seeing a downside."

The pegasus at the head of the group groaned, pressing a hoof to her head. "Okay, seriously, think about all the people that could die if the manufactorum explodes!"

"Are you familiar with my Chaos Cult's war chant? I can remind you, if you want. It's really catchy!"

Fluttershy squirmed silently while the other ponies continued their futile attempt to reason with Tellis. Obviously, she was extremely concerned with the possibility of the fortress exploding, and the meek pegasus desperately built up her courage to interrupt the conversation between the ponies and the Iron Warrior.

"Uhm, excuse me, but-"

"Not now, Fluttershy," Tellis said, shutting her down immediately, "this could be important. Probably not, though. So, how big an explosion are we talking? I'm hoping it does that thing in the cartoons where the roof blows off but the walls are still okay, so it kind of bounces up and then falls back-"

"AAAAAAAAAUGH!!"

The pegasi, including Fluttershy, flinched as a garbled scream came from nearby, and everyone turned to look. Gear Works was clenched in the grip of the Maulerfiend siege walker, screaming and flailing, while the daemon engine's power fist scorched his body with its energy field. The other walker crowed at the sight, screeching in a way that sounded reminiscent of howling laughter.

"Oh, hey. It's the techhorse again," Tellis mumbled, "how'd get up here?"

"No! No, STOP that right now!" Fluttershy suddenly snapped.

The Maulerfiends instantly fell silent, twisting their heads around to look at the armored pony. The power field fizzled, and Gear Works hissed in pain.

"Varox! Put him down!" Fluttershy shouted at the walkers, her visor flashing brightly. "What's wrong with you?! I thought I taught you better than that! You do NOT hurt ponies!"

The Maulerfiend Varox croaked something weakly, lowering its head as if ashamed.

"I don't care if he was annoying you! Put him down, now!"

Varox groaned and dropped Gear Works. The stallion hit the ground face-first, further cracking his optics visor and eliciting another pained whimper.

"The... The smoke... stacks..." he coughed out.

Fluttershy frowned, and then whirled around to face Tellis. "Tellis, we have to open up the chimneys."

"Aw, seriously? I thought you were going to be cool about this, Shy!" the Iron Warrior complained, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are we seriously going to give up the environmental effort just when it's really getting good?"

"Tellis. We are opening the chimneys." Fluttershy said firmly. Her visor flashed again, and the other ponies locked up as a feeling of paralyzing terror overwhelmed them.

Tellis was unmoved, looking away. "Don't wanna." Then he pointed to the Maulerfiends. "All right kids, break's over! Shut that stack, now!" The Maulerfiends quickly turned away, eager to divert themselves from Fluttershy's ire.

Fluttershy barely kept herself from screaming in frustration. She didn't know exactly what power her infuriated gaze held that it could cow beasts, ponies, and even the Mechanicus cyborgs, but it was useless against the Astartes. If she didn't want to be bashfully explaining to her friends and thousands of angry soldiers why the manufactorum had been reduced to a smoldering crater, she needed to find some other way to convince Tellis to put a stop to this.

"But... I mean... the explosion..." she floundered. The little servo arms on her chest started flailing wildly as her voice petered out, but to no effect.

"Don't... let him... do this..." Gears gasped out. "You... useless... ninny..."

Fluttershy took no offense at the comment. Honestly, if she were to consider the full scope of her situation and her conduct that had led up to it, she might conclude that the Aspirant was being quite lenient toward her. But again, Tellis pre-empted her own opinion.

"Hey! What did I tell you about insulting my friends?!" the Chaos Lord snarled. An arc of red energy lashed across his lightning claws, and smoke puffed from the jets of his flight pack like the snort of an angry beast.

The sudden burst of hostility alarmed Fluttershy, naturally, but it also granted her an epiphany.

"If I have to tell you one more time, I'm going to cut out your damn throat!" Tellis snarled. "Then I'll cut out your heart and stuff it down one of the smoke stacks! Which will probably render cutting out your throat redundant! But I'm emotionally invested in this now, so if I start walking back my threats I feel like I might-"

Before the Chaos Marine could ride that train of thought to its convoluted conclusion, Fluttershy bounced up into the air and swooped in front of him. She hovered so that she was eye level with Tellis, and then placed a boot gently against the vox grille of his helmet.

"Tellis. Listen to me, please." Fluttershy's voice was no longer a half-hearted mumble, nor was it the steely demand from when she had used The Stare. Tellis couldn't see the mare's face, but her tone suggested simple, urgent pleading. "If you won't stop this because it's an obviously terrible idea... then stop this because I'm asking you to." She took a deep breath. "Do it for me... as a friend."

The Iron Warrior hesitated. "... But... I mean... I thought we were going to destroy the manufactorum together. Isn't... Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No, that isn't at all what I wanted, and it's very important to me that you understand that and help me fix this," Fluttershy said urgently. "PLEASE, Tellis."

Several tense seconds past. The other pegasi held their breath. The Maulerfiends turned to watch uncertainly. Gear works lost consciousness again.

"... Oh, all right," Tellis sighed, "you know I can't say no to you, Fluttershy."

Fluttershy winced. "Uh, actually, just a few minutes ago you..." she trailed off as Tellis walked past her and pointed to the Maulerfiends.

"Yo! Varox! Tiberian! Change of plans! We have to go rip open the other smoke stacks before the building gets too hot!"

The daemon engines made an angry shrieking noise.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I was looking forward to it too, but this is a Friendship thing. Don't have a choice!"

The siege walkers quickly turned away from the exhaust port and raced away across the roof, heading toward the exhaust ports that had already been closed. When they each reached one they quickly ripped the piping open, releasing a thick, hot plume of toxins into the air.

Tellis nodded approvingly. "Well, I'd better go help. At least I get to break SOMETHING today."

"Thank you for not dooming us all! Really appreciate it!" called out a pegasus protester after he walked past. "And although your disregard for the health and safety of others is deplorable, it's nice to know that you would abuse your power for the sake of helping the environment!"

"Anytime, hippy pony!" Tellis gave the equines a thumbs up and then jumped into the air. His flight pack ignited and carried him up into the sky, and he quickly vanished behind the thick plumes of smoke being vomited from the building below.

"Well, that was close," remarked a pegasus, turning toward Gear Works. "The manufactorum is going to be okay now, right? We got to him in time?"

Gear Works did not reply.

"... Hello? Dark Techpony?"

A blast of sparks shot from Gear's face, splashing the iron roof with a fan of flickering lights.

"Oh, uhm... I think he's in shock right now, actually," Fluttershy mumbled. She fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm not really familiar with his level of augmentation, so I can't be sure, but I think we should get him to a medicae as soon as possible."

The other ponies glanced over at the armored pegasus.

"Aren't you a medic?"

"Huh? Oh, well, yes. I am."

"So you can heal him, right?"

"Uhhh..." Fluttershy looked over at the Aspirant uncertainly. Another jet of sparks shot out of his ruined bionic leg. She glanced down at the narthecium gauntlet on her leg, wondering how she might use it on non-organic injuries.

"Then we'll leave this to you!" To Fluttershy's alarm, the pegasi were already taking to the air, with one of the mares saluting briefly to her. "Thanks! He was threatening us earlier, so I really think it's a good idea if he doesn't get a chance to I.D. us once he comes around again. See you at the next meeting!"

"Oh, uh... I'm not sure I can... actually..." Fluttershy's half-protest died on her lips when the other pegasus flew away. She stared up at the retreating pony, and then turned to look at Gear Works.

A piece of metal suddenly shot out of Gear's neck, smacking her in the visor and bouncing off. She flinched away reflexively, only barely avoiding a jet of steam puffing from a ruptured valve.

"... Oh, dear..."

Author's Note

Dusk Blade likes to talk politics when he's drunk. Nopony's surprised. What a jerk.

Work productivity is still down due to election. I've also gotten obnoxiously good at reducing communications to 140 characters. Ugh.

Upgrade

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 5

Upgrade

****

Ferrous Dominus – sector 4

Dark Mechanicus data-crypt Primarus

+Let it be recognized by the order of the Dark Techpriests and the Infernal Device: upon this day a new vector has been established.+

A dozen Techpriests stood in a circle around a sunken pit in the metal floor, chanting in bursts of crackling static. Numerous tubes and clusters of piping descended from the ceiling and into the pit, and steam streamed upward from the interior. From within the pit came the hum of machinery and the hiss of welders.

+Chaos has been granted a boon. The Dark Gods reward those who serve them well. In blood and fire, the sacrifice shall be redeemed.+

Warpsmith Kessler, the Iron Warrior temporarily in charge of the 38th Company’s city, stood just inside the circle. He peered down into the steaming pit, his optics slowly rotating.

+Pain. Suffering. Death. The frailty of the biological is a curse that few transcend. Today we record one such ascendance. In fire, we are purified. In iron, we are reborn.+

More jets of steam blasted up from the pit, and several motors started up. Below the floor, a heavy grinding noise greeted the prayer circle while the floor of the pit began to rise.

+Let this conclave of the Omnissiah’s chosen bless this unit. As it has proven itself worthy, let it wear the steel and insular shrouding of the technologist elite. Machine and man alike shall serve the Singularity. Warp and Materium shall be made to serve the Cult of the Infernal Device.+

The lift within the pit kept rising, eventually revealing what was on it. Gear works laid on a round metal table, his legs shackled to the surface. A pair of Dark Techpriests were putting the finishing touches on the collection of mechanical inputs that now comprised Gear’s face. Their servo arms churned and squealed, applying the final seals and welds to the mask of plasteel and iron. An automated servo arm plugged away at his rear augmetic leg all the while, sealing the openings exposed by the repairs.

The chorus of Dark Techpriests kept on chanting as the work continued for several more minutes. Then Kessler suddenly lifted his power axe. The rolling bursts of static screeched briefly, then cut to silence.

The Dark Techpriests working on Gear Works quickly turned away from the stallion, facing Kessler and bowing their heads. Then they scuttled backward, joining their peers in the circle.

The Warpsmith approached the table. Gear Works turned his head up, staring at the armored giant. An arch of glowing green optical sensors, eight in total, now replaced the visor that had been broken in his attempt to save the manufactorum. A larger, thicker respirator mask now replaced the stallion’s muzzle, and a thick tangle of cables and hoses ran down his neck and into the numerous inputs on his chest.

“Gear Works of the Dark Mechanicus,” Kessler began, speaking in deep, growling Gothic, “stand before your master.” He waved his hand over the platform, and the shackles opened.

Gears quickly pushed himself upright, his many new optics fixed on Kessler.

“In the short time you have been under the wing of the Dark Mechanicus, there have been many concerns raised about your membership,” Kessler continued. “You are a xeno. Weak, unfit, and hailing from a primitive society of insipid beasts.”

He paused, perhaps giving Gears the opportunity to object. Gears did not.

“And yet, to be Mechanicus is to overcome the frailties of the flesh and the useless sentiments of your brethren. To give yourself entirely to mechanical perfection. To be devoted to the entire machine, rather than your particular part.”

Kessler started walking around the platform that held Gear works. His mechatendrils remained fixed on the pony as he turned, rearing back like snakes’ heads.

“The Iron Warriors know better than any other Astartes the importance of the Mechanicus. Our flesh, mighty as it is, is vulnerable. Our faith, terrible as it is, is fickle with its gifts. It is to the machine we rely upon, again and again. Powered armor. Boltguns. Tanks. Void ships. These are the true foundations upon which our victory is built.”

The Warpsmith completed his circuit around Gear Works, and then stopped in front of him again. The stallion continued staring silently.

“And so it is that the machine is dependent upon its components. But rarely does such a small part salvage the entire device. You, Aspirant Gear Works, have prevented the destruction of the manufactorum at significant physical cost to yourself. Were it not for your intervention, the Mad Angel would have destroyed our production facilities on a whim.”

Kessler’s voice turned into a crackling growl. “Unfortunately, Lord Tellis is beyond retribution. But your own initiative has been noted, Aspirant, and your suffering is now rewarded.”

The Warpsmith raised his power axe, and then lowered the blade so that it almost touched Gear’s forehead. “As acting Commander of the 38th Company’s planetside forces, and agent of the Dark Mechanicus, I grant upon you the rank of Dark-“

“NOOOO!!”

Kessler and Gear Works snapped their heads to the side. A familiar robed figure was dashing toward the ceremony chamber, screaming and flailing his arms.

“Acolyte Sheraan?” Gears asked. “Is something the matter?”

Two combat servitors stood guard at the entrance to the chamber, and as soon as Sheraan reached the threshold they swiveled to grab him. Hydraulic pincers seized the Dark Acolyte’s arms, and he shouted in pain before he was pulled backward and pushed to his knees.

“You have to stop this! He’s a horse! He’s a BZZRT horse!” Sheraan screamed, dropping a Binaric insult in the midst of his shouting. “This is an affront to the Mechanicus! This-“

Kessler drew his plasma pistol, and the Acolyte’s voice cut out with a sound like a record scratch. The Iron Warrior turned his head, calmly and silently, and then aimed the weapon straight at the cyborg’s face.

“Lord Kessler,” Gear Works interrupted, “if I may ask a personal favor?”

The Warpsmith hesitated, turning his helmet to face the pony. His arm remained rigid, pistol still aimed unwavering at Sheraan. “Speak.”

“I beg that you spare the Dark Acolyte’s life for this disturbance, please.” Gears bowed his head. “Such emotional outbursts are unbecoming of an Acolyte of the Mechanicus, obviously. But I owe much to my colleague, and wish him to survive to learn from this incident.”

Kessler remained silent for several seconds. Then he lowered the pistol. “Very well. I grant you this boon.” Then he waved his axe at the servitors.

“Wait! He didn’t even save the manufactorum! It was the yellow one!” The combat servitors began dragging Sheraan back into the hall, ignoring his struggles. “This is madness! It took a DECADE for me to reach this rank!”

The others waited patiently as Sheraan’s voice faded into the distance, and then Kessler pointed toward the door. The blast shutters hissed and then slammed closed.

Many of the other Tech-clergy in the room sympathized with Sheraan’s objection, but none of them dared speak up. They knew better than the younger members not to defy a Legion Warpsmith. The insult of Gear’s promotion was a matter of stung pride, and nothing worth dying over.

Gear Works looked up at the Iron Warrior. “You have my deepest gratitude, my Lord. However, you ARE aware that Fluttershy did, in fact, stop the ultimate destruction of the manufactorum, yes?”

Kessler looking down at him, and the triangular array of bionic optics spun in its socket.

“Uh… Fluttershy is ‘the yellow one’,” Gears clarified.

“Ah. It is true, yes. But Tellis and his cowardly pet were responsible for the problem to begin with. It was evidently your intervention which preserved our facility,” Kessler explained.

Then he holstered his plasma pistol and reached out to the stallion, placing a bionic finger under Gear’s chin and lifting the pony’s head up.

“I have therefore decided to grant you the rank of Dark Acolyte. I am aware that your ascension is unexpected and unusual. I see this as an advantage. Had the Dark Techpriests heeded your warning that you dispatched before stopping Lord Tellis, little damage would have occurred. It is time they learned from your devotion to our cause, and reflected upon their hubris.” He let go of the pony and stepped back. “In the name of the Dark Gods do I bless you with this register. Tirelessly you shall serve the forces of Chaos and uphold the duties of your rank. Otherwise, you shall be destroyed.”

“Of course, Lord Kessler,” Gears breathed, “I will not fail!”

“Good.” The Warpsmith gestured to a Dark Techpriest that was holding a black rubber shroud. “Clothe him. Then you may return to your duties.”

As the Techpriests rushed to comply, Kessler turned around fully and spoke to the unicorn mare sitting behind him. “How was that?”

Hope Springs shook her head. “Totally wrong mood. This is a promotion ceremony, isn’t it? You could afford to leave out the condescension when comparing him to a machine. And what was with that threat at the end?”

“You’re never happy,” Kessler mumbled, passing by the mare and heading down a rear hallway.

“If you’re going to be making public speeches like this more often, you need to improve! Creating a favorable impression of the Iron Warriors is crucial in supporting a consensus for your rule and legitimizing administrative control!”

The pony’s lecturing faded into the distance while Gear Works wiggled into his new robe.

+Does anyone know why that diplomat horse is still here? I was under the impression that her duties were complete,+ buzzed one of the cyborgs. +We have enough of the useless beasts already.+

+Analytical: continued deference by Warpsmith Kessler suggests admission that she provides a necessary skill set,+ suggested another.

+I believe she’s become trusted enough by the Company leadership to act as a proper liaison to Canterlot and the Princess,+ Gears offered. +The Elements of Harmony are too deeply involved in front-line combat to concern themselves with diplomatic concerns, despite their personal links to Equestria’s leaders.+

The Dark Techpriests stared down at him mutely for several seconds.

+Rumination: I keep forgetting that he can understand us.+

+Annoying.+

As if on an unspoken signal, the tech-clergy turned away from Gear Works at once and left the ritual arena. None gave any particular attention to the newly promoted stallion, much less any orders for him to follow. Within seconds, he was alone in the room, accompanied only by the gentle thrumming of the power conduits and the hiss of hydraulics.

Gears kicked out slightly to adjust his new robe. The last one had been a crude reproduction of his own design; something he had created on a whim before he’d seriously considered that he might get to be Dark Mechanicus. This new shroud was a proper robe of vulcanized rubber with a treated exterior, adjusted for the unconventional body shape of an equine.

Jumping down from the platform, Gear’s new tail lashed from side to side. There was far more weight on the extremity now, thanks to a dataspike attached to the end of it. An extremely useful tool and, in a pinch, a brutal weapon.

“Perfectly balanced!” Gear Works said gleefully as he strode down the hallway on his new augmetic limbs. “These are SO much better than the old legs! Low heat buildup, better shock absorption, and higher reflex rating!”

He giggled to himself as he passed through the hall. “Oh, I know! I should go find Fennin! I have access to much more data now that my registry has been updated! I can finally complete my schematics! Maybe he can help me get a production forge prepared if the design is finished…”

Gears continued talking to himself while he plodded down the hall, eventually turning into a small alcove. Several servo skulls were stored within large holding sockets in the wall, and he quickly spotted Striker being held within one set of holding clamps.

“With every trial, we become stronger. With every error, we become wiser. With every injury, we are rebuilt a step closer to mechanical perfection.” Gears stepped up to a lever, and his servo arm swung forward to grasp it. “Come, Striker. We have much work to… hm?”

A slight scraping sound was all the warning Gear Works got. A body dropped from the ceiling, twisting in the air and landing solidly on Gear’s back. The Dark Acolyte’s new tail whipped around and stabbed upward, only for the dataspike to be deflected by a hoofblade.

Gears let go of the lever with his servo arm, but the moment he did the weight on his back shifted. A kick threw the newly promoted Acolyte into the wall, and he collapsed with a grunt of pain.

“Geez, Gears! Calm down!” said the attacker with a hearty chuckle. “It’s just me! Little on edge, aren’t you?”

Gear Works turned his head slightly, and one of the glimmering green lights from beneath his cloak locked onto Dusk Blade. The batpony was smirking at him with his rebreather hanging around his neck and a hoofblade drawn to parry.

“Whoa, what’s with the new eyes and tail? Did you get wrecked again?” Dusk asked, taking a step forward.

“… Yes. Yes, I did,” Gears mumbled, standing up.

“Sorry to hear that, man. At least you got fixed up in time!”

Gears turned to face the batpony, peering out from the shadows of his hood. “… In time for what?”

“For the next phase! I’ve got a plan for the Element of Whiny Unicorns today! Need you to back me up!” Dusk chirped, flapping his wings. “I made sure to confirm where she is this time, so it won’t be a wash like the yellow one!”

“So you REALLY have no idea what happened after you left? I’m pretty sure it was reported…” Gears mumbled.

“What, with the protest? Nah, I’ve been busy. Why, did the DarkMech actually cave?”

Gear Works pulled down the lever he had been working before Dusk has ambushed him. The lock hissed and swung open, and Striker’s optic sensors flickered before it popped out of the alcove.

“No... No, we did not.” Gears turned his head to face the other stallion. “But what about Miss Fluttershy? You’re already moving on without even meeting her?”

“Yeah, I think that was a poor choice to start with. Hard to find, unsociable, dim… not my kind of pony. I mean, I assume she’s not, since I still haven’t actually met her.” Dusk shook his head. “I’m hoping the prissy white one is more on my level.”

“And why am I still involved, exactly? Do you still need plausible deniability for this stunt?”

“No, I need an excuse to get in with Delgan’s crowd and mingle,” Dusk replied, throwing a wing over the other stallion. “You see, when she isn’t fighting, the white one-“

“Rarity. Her name is Rarity,” Gears interrupted.

“Right! Thanks. I should know that before I meet her.” The batpony chuckled. “See? We really do make a great team!”

“I make a great team on my own. You’re an anchor around my neck,” Gears growled.

“Like I was saying, Rarity does a lot of work with the merchant corp when she isn’t fighting. Buying and selling stuff for the fleet, you know? As a Lunar Guard, I don’t really have much of a reason to meet with her normally, so I need you!”

“And what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to pitch a product!” Dusk said, pulling the other stallion close again. “I need you to make a thing, or a plan for a thing or whatever, and then bring it to Rarity as if you want them to sell it! I’ll act as your business partner and get chummy with the diva while you’re droning on about polymers or engines or something. No drama or confrontation like last time. It’ll be easy!”

Gears tilted his head to the side. “You want me to pitch a product? Like what?”

“I dunno. You’re the one into human tech, right? Come up with something.” Dusk shrugged off the question. “It doesn’t need to be good. In fact, since this is just a ruse to get close to Miss Marshmallow, it’s probably best that it gets rejected right away. But I can’t crash a merchant corp dinner without a cover story, you know?”

Gear Works considered the request for several seconds. “Well, that does seem less banal than the protest. I might have some ideas.”

“Awesome!” Dusk patted Gears with his wing, and then stepped toward the exit. “The dinner’s tomorrow at six. It’s formal wear, so… I dunno, put a bow tie on your robe or something.”

“Wait, tomorrow? I have to come up with this in one day?” Gears asked in alarm.

“Don’t worry about it!” Dusk laughed. “Like I said, you don’t need to sell this for real! Just enough so that I don’t look like a total mule in front of the drama queen! Meet me at the Chez le Saddle! That’s where they’re hosting it! Catch ya later!”

Dusk Blade galloped down the hall, leaving Gear Works alone with his servo skull. Gears glanced up at the ceiling, loading his service schedule.

“… Well, it looks like my meteoric ascent through the ranks hasn’t encouraged my superiors to actually entrust me with any more work. I have a maintenance call for Poison Kiss and a repair request from…” he trailed off, and then his opticals flickered. “Princess Luna?”

He stood in the alcove entrance for several seconds, dumbfounded.

Upon that brief reflection, it actually didn’t seem very strange. Princess Luna lived in Ferrous Dominus. She had her own weapons and quarters that might need Mechanicus attention. None of her actual servants could complete basic repairs, and Gears had been explicitly told that he’d be handling requests from ponies. Having lived in Canterlot all his life, he’d only had occasional sightings of Princess Celestia, and had never seen Luna except in pictures. But here in Ferrous Dominus, it seemed his new job gave him access to some remarkable equines.

“Well, that’s no problem. An atmospheric shield is on the fritz. Easy job.” He sent a list of likely parts to his servo skull. Striker bobbed once in the air, as if nodding, and then the macabre drone twisted around and hovered away to retrieve the components.

“Now, then… I need a product to pitch to Miss Rarity. And I think I may have just the thing…”

****

Ferrous Dominus – Sector 20

Nightwatch

Gear Works couldn’t help but wonder how great a part Princess Luna had personally played in the construction of her fortress spire. The architecture was radically different from the rest of the base, exchanging the blocky metal enclosures for a thin, hive-like tower full of holes and boasting long, needle-like protrusions and banners. There was nothing else like it in Ferrous Dominus, although pict-records from other worlds had shown similar constructions.

“Such an inefficient design… and only one lift! I understand that most of the denizens fly and can access the tower from outside, but did they even consider maintenance access?” Gears complained.

Striker beeped. The servo skull had a small metal case hanging from its claw, swinging gently from the motion of their ascent.

“I suppose the Tau would find repairs simple enough, given that their engineering teams use free-floating drones almost exclusively… I wonder if someone has looked into that. This entire structure was made with sub-standard alloys and isn’t nearly as corrosive resistant as the rest of the city. Without consistent maintenance or a substantial reduction in atmospheric toxins, I give Nightwatch five years before it collapses.”

Striker beeped again.

“Well, of course it was on purpose. The Dark Mechanicus doesn’t like being pressed into service for Equines. They didn’t even get anything out of this project, if I recall correctly. I wouldn’t be surprised if my estimate is long by a year or so.”

The lift finally reached the top floor, and the door slid open.

Gears approached the heavy double doors of Luna’s bedroom, and then activated the intercom vox.

“Princess Luna, I am here to conduct repairs in your suite. Permission to enter?”

He waited patiently for a minute, and then a response came from the vox on his side.

“Excellent! We hast been greatly troubled by the damage! Enter, Priest!”

The doors hissed and slid open, and Gear Works beheld Princess Luna, second diarch of Equestria. She also beheld him, and it was abundantly clear who was more awed by the confrontation.

“By the Ancients!” Luna recoiled, her eyes wide. “Who… Who art thou?!” Her question seemed vaguely hostile, although the Moon Princess was slowly backing away. She wasn’t wearing her armor, Gears noticed, or even her usual array of royal accessories.

“I am Dark Acolyte Gear Works, Princess Luna.” Gears walked past the Princess and into the main room. His numerous glittering optics nodes swiveled in different directions, taking in the interior. It had the distinctly modern-Gothic feel that characterized much human construction that wasn’t strictly controlled by the Dark Mechanicus and its ruthless adherence to raw efficiency. Moon motifs were common, and on one wall there were numerous mounted weapons and pieces of armor that seem to have been taken from defeated Orks. A trophy display. Interesting.

Luna seemed flustered as the cyborg pony observed the room. “We were not aware the Dark Mechanicus employed equines.”

“Many are not aware. But I’m not new to the Cult.” Gears didn’t turn toward Luna as he spoke, but faced the door to Luna’s bedchambers. “The malfunctioning device is in there?”

“Aye…” Luna mumbled reluctantly. She found the stallion disconcerting enough on his own, but was also mildly annoyed that he showed no more respect and deference to her than any other Techpriest. “’Twas subjected to a great shock, and the device failed. Our bedchambers hath been uninhabitable since.”

“Acknowledged. I’m reading very heavy contaminant levels in the bedroom,” Gears agreed. “Striker, I want you to…”

Gear Works trailed off, and his head swiveled around. His optics sensors flickered.

A red stallion with freckles and a straw-colored mane was leaning his head out of the kitchen. Much of his body was obscured by the room partition, but Gears could see part of his chest hatch. A signum ID tag, installed directly into the pony’s augmetics, offered a final confirmation.

“Ah, Macintosh. This-“

Luna was suddenly cut off by an ear-rending scraping noise, like a rake being dragged across sheet metal. Both she and Big Mac flinched, and the Princess whirled back toward Gear Works.

“Ironside! Ironside Apple!” Gears said, his vocal settings having switched to a static-laced fanboy squeal. “Oh my Machine God! I had no idea you were here! This is an honor, Sir!”

Big Macintosh and Luna stared, utterly perplexed.

After a few seconds, Gears seemed to calm down. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry! I’m being rude! My name is Dark Acolyte Gear Works! But you can call me Gears! All my friends call me Gears! As well as some other ponies that aren’t my friends but pretend they are in order to exploit me for free labor!”

Big Mac nodded. “Ah’m Big Mac.”

“Of course! It’s wonderful to meet you! An honor! An incredible honor!” Gears gushed, walking up to the other stallion. Then he started walking around the farmer, taking scans and pict-captures of the augmetic components. “You are a legend, Sir!”

Mac tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“Oh, yes! I met several other technophiles when I was in Canterlot! There isn’t a single one who hadn’t heard of Ironside Apple!” He paused to switch his optics mode while staring at Mac’s chest cavity. “The very first equine to be given bionic components and the prototype Centaur-pattern power armor! All crafted by the Warsmith himself! I can’t even identify some of those energy wavelengths! I’ve never seen anything so fantastic!”

Gears heard a throat clear behind him. He twisted his head around to see Luna glaring at him.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re fantastic too. Well, I assume you are, at least. You did nearly destroy the world,” the Acolyte offered.

Luna’s eye twitched. “’Twas not our grievance, Acolyte. We simply desire thou swiftly complete thy repairs such that our quarters may be accessible once more.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Gears started to step away, but then hesitated. He continued staring at Big Mac, who stared back into the arch of glowing green sensors.

“Can I see inside your chest hatch?” Gears blurted out.

“Nnope,” Mac replied curtly.

“Right. Sorry! That probably came off as a little creepy, didn’t it? Definitely creepy. I mean, I’m literally asking to look inside you. Ha! Even though I-“

“Acolyte!” Luna snapped suddenly. “Cease harassing our guest and go about thy task!” Her horn sparked, and a blue electric arc ran up its length.

Gear Works bolted for the door latch, and Striker spun around in the air dizzily. Pulling the door open, a puff of soot-fouled air wafted into his face.

“I’ll be right on it! Won’t take an hour, I assure you!” Gears held the door open long enough for Striker to float in over him, and then slipped inside the Princess’s bedchambers.

Once inside, Gear Works quickly shut the door behind him.

“Tch! Rude. I wasn’t going to leave without completing the repairs…” He looked about the bedroom, taking in the interior. It was a mess, as expected, with a thin layer of particle sediment on the otherwise fine carpets. The bed sheets were torn and corroded, and there seemed to be a dead bat lying on Luna’s dresser.

The ceiling was curved, rising up toward the side of the room that held the entrance. A trio of large holes marked the openings that were normally protected by atmospheric barriers.

“What an absurd design decision,” Gears scoffed aloud. “A simple set of shutters would work better than the field. Or would at least make an effective back-up system.”

Striker hovered up higher, poking a servo arm at the projector itself. It was a large bowl-like object with a cluster of metal spines sitting in the middle. A large black streak ran over it and the adjacent patch of ceiling, marking the damage that he had been brought in to fix.

“Looks like a raw magic discharge. That burn isn’t thermal,” Gears mumbled while Striker started unfastening the projector. “Strange… I see a few more marks up there. Is the Princess firing magic blasts into the ceiling, for some reason?”

Striker finished removing the last bolt, and the projector fell. Gears snatched the edge of the dish with his servo arm, and then placed the device on the edge of the bed.

“Let’s see here…” Gear Works began a deep scan of the projector to identify which parts would need to be replaced and which could be repaired. Before the analysis was complete, he noticed an incoming noosphere message.

Gears: finished prototype battlesuit frame. Material specs attached. Need specifications for power supply and UI inputs. -Fennin

Gear Works read the text even while he stripped the ruptured ionizer from the projector assembly. He opened the attached data file to look over the contents, and then lifted up his bionic hoof.

A thin, needle-like probe slid out of the tip. He started drawing across the damaged pieces of the projector, cutting the broken parts loose. While he did so, he authored a reply to Fennin.

Fennin: I require a 66-HOR energy core and a battery unit. Use the Xelon-pattern power cells; very easy to build.

Gears finished cutting out the damaged component, and then started sealing a breach in the dish. The reply message from Fennin popped up a minute later.

Understood. After you get the UI together, we can begin prototype fabrication for the components, assuming we can get enough supplies together. The frame may be difficult to build, though. Unless you can use your new rank to get a forge. Congratulations, by the way!

Gears formed his reply at the speed of thought.

Thanks. Meet with me in an hour in my quarters. I want to have a complete preliminary schema by tomorrow.

Again, there was a pause of a few minutes before Fennin’s reply came. Gears couldn’t help but marvel at how inefficient typing messages out was, now that he had access to better options.

Why the deadline all of a sudden? We still haven’t worked out the weapons loadouts. We can’t finalize the power systems or servo mount yet.

Gears snatched a part hanging from under Striker, and then fit it into the projector dish.

Opportunity has arrived, it would seem. We’re pushing up the time table. If all goes well…

Gear Works paused in his message, inserting an ellipsis, and then added to the end.

Wait, what is Ironside doing in Princess Luna’s quarters in the first place?

Gears turned toward the door, and several of his optical sensors blinked off and on again. A moment passed before a reply came back.

What was that last part? Who’s in whose quarters?

Big Macintosh “Ironside” Apple. He’s one of the heroes of the Battle of Canterlot! He’s here, in Luna’s chambers!

Another pause.

The big red one? The other augmented horse?

Yes! Him! He’s here! With Princess Luna! Why?! Gears stressed.

After a few seconds, the next reply came.

Probably breeding.

Gears recoiled. A purely reflexive action, since the only image to recoil from was fixed to his face.

Don’t be absurd! I hold the royal diarchs in less esteem than most, but for the Princess of the Night to have an intimate relationship with an apple farmer is just ridiculous!

With a snorted puff of gas from his respirator, Gears finished soldering the last of the replacement parts into place. He held it up with his servo arm and then inspected the device.

If you say so. Who cares?

Gear Works made a show of rolling his optical sensors despite there being no one around to witness it.

Fine. Whatever. I’m actually almost done here; the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked. Meet me in half an hour.

Gears terminated the noosphere connection and turned toward Striker. +Connection A-selif, C-zerot, then secure the points I’ve marked.+

The servo skull swooped down and clamped onto the edge of the dish. Then it floated upward toward the power coupling hanging from the ceiling.

+All right… good. A little to the left… Perfect. Lock it down, Striker,+ Gears bleated in Binaric Cant. He uplinked with the room’s cogitator and redirected the power flow.

Then the stallion fell back into a seated position and clapped his front hooves together.

+By the power of the machine spirit and the most holy Omnissiah, I hereby bless this device. What was once ruin has been made whole once more, returned to a state of purpose. Activation sequence engaged.+

As Striker finished securing the last of the bolts, a humming noise started coming from the projector. The rods within the dish flickered, and a glowing energy field seeped out of the them into the dish proper. A few seconds later, the three holes in the roof were each covered by the atmospheric energy shields, blocking the flow of polluted air.

“There. Done.” Gear Works beckoned Striker down with his servo arm, and then turned toward the door.

“Princess Luna, I have restored the atmospheric shielding in your bedchambers,” Gears announced as he stepped out of the doorway.

Luna was at her dining table, in the midst of eating a hot apple fritter. She seemed surprised at first, and then quickly levitated a napkin up to wipe her mouth.

“Superb! Thou hast accomplished thy task with haste!” the dark Princess said brightly. “Thou hast our utmost gratitude, Acolyte!”

It was quite a reversal from Luna’s earlier cold irritation, and it surprised him slightly. She must have been quite tired, although Gears didn’t understand why she hadn’t found some other place to rest.

“You’re most welcome, Princess. The damage was less serious than it appeared. Additionally, although the shield is functional again, your bedchambers are quite filthy from the accumulated pollution. I can dispatch a servitor to clean-“

“’Tis no need,” Luna interrupted, pausing to gulp down the rest of her snack. She licked her lips, and then stepped away from the table. “Our magic shalt cleanse the dwelling with ease!”

“Oh. Well, yes. I suppose that would work too,” Gears mumbled as the Princess walked past him. “Was there anything else you needed, since I’m here? Any maintenance or upgrade requests? For example, I really think that a set of shutters on-“

“Many thanks, Acolyte, but We art quite satisfied with thy labors,” Luna interrupted. She was at her bedroom door now, holding the door open with a wing. “We hast much to do, and We art certain thee hast other tasks awaiting. Fare thee well, Acolyte!”

“Ah. Well, okay then.” Gears started to leave, then noticed Big Macintosh walking past him, toward Luna.

The Princess stepped aside for Big Mac, and then shut the door with her magic as soon as he was inside.

Gear Works silently stared at the door to Luna’s bed chambers. Striker beeped at him, and bobbed up and down in the air.

A few seconds passed – still with no progress on him leaving the room – and then Gears heard a deadbolt lock secure the entrance to the bedchambers.

“…… Nah.”

Gear Works beckoned to his servo skull and trotted out the door into the hall. He still had a lot of work to do.

****

Ferrous Dominus – sector 25

Chez le Saddle

“Wow. This place is WAY classier than I thought. Didn’t even know we had a place like this in Dominus.”

Dusk Blade took a moment to marvel at the restaurant interior after stepping through the access airlock. He pulled his rebreather from his muzzle, and then tossed it up onto one of the hooks hanging from the wall. The batpony had a dirty cloak on as well, and he hung it under his mask. Beneath the shredded and filthy cloth was a crisp white shirt and blue tie, unsullied by the pollution outside.

“Hello, Sir. Welcome to Chez le Saddle,” greeted a waitress unicorn. “I am afraid the main dining hall has been reserved this evening. If you wish for a private room, there is a waiting time…”

“No, I’m here for the main event. The merchant corp dinner,” Dusk replied. “I have an associate coming, as well.”

The unicorn quirked a brow, and then levitated a dataslate from the nearby lectern. “Attendance is restricted. Your name, Sir?”

Dusk Blade hesitated. He wasn’t expecting to have to check in on a guest list, and hardly knew any ponies in the merchant corp.

“Oh, it isn’t in my name. My associate is listed. I can wait until he arrives before entering,” Dusk explained with a calm smile. If he could get her attention diverted elsewhere, then he could steal and dispose of the dataslate, or find some other way to get in.

“Okay… what’s your associate’s name?” the waitress asked.

Dusk Blade had to admit he probably should have seen that question coming.

As the Lunar Lieutenant pretended to clear his throat in order to stall for time, the airlock shifted open again. Much to Dusk’s relief, Gear Works stepped into the restaurant before he had to stretch his silence for too long.

“Ah, and there he is! Just a moment!”

Dusk practically bolted away from the waitress, and then quickly slipped a wing over Gear’s withers. “Okay, good! You’re here on time! Good!”

He paused to look over the Dark Acolyte. Gear Works was wearing his black rubber shroud, as usual, but with a red bow tie attached to one of the tubes that now comprised his throat. “For Luna’s sake, Gears! Is that what you're wearing? Didn’t I tell you this was a formal thing?” Dusk hissed.

“What? I put on a tie magnet, like you asked!” Gear Works replied defensively.

“It’s not even on straight! And don’t you have any robes that aren’t partially shredded? You’re going to embarrass me, here!” The batpony started fiddling with the bow tie, trying to fix the angle on which it hung.

“Can we just get on with this? I worked all night in order to have everything prepared on time.” Gears shifted his servo arm to tap against a saddle bag hanging on his side.

“Right. Good. Okay.” Dusk glanced behind him, frowning. The waitress was still where he left her, regarding the new arrival with an arched eyebrow.

Dusk lowered his voice even further. “The thing is, we’re not actually on the list to get in.”

“The list? You mean a actual, itemized list, presumably on that dataslate the hostess has?” Gears asked.

“Yeah. So, what I was thinking, I’m going to go-“

Gear’s optical sensors flickered, and then he interrupted the other stallion. “Fixed it. Let’s go.”

“Wait, what? What did you fix?”

Dusk watched in confusion as Gear Works stepped up to unicorn holding the dataslate.

“And you must be the gentlecolt’s ‘associate.’ May I have your name, Sir?” the waitress drawled. It was quite clear she wasn’t expecting a valid reply.

“Gear Works. And I believe I am registered to bring an acquaintance,” the Acolyte replied.

She looked down at the dataslate, and then squinted her eyes. “Ah, wait… okay. I see, now.” She quickly cleared her throat and gestured to Dusk Blade. “And, your friend’s name?”

“My name is Lieutenant Dusk Blade,” the batpony answered eagerly, stepping forward. “Sorry, I should have said that earlier.”

The unicorn quietly added the name, and then put the dataslate aside. “Quite odd to have a Lunar Guard out at this time of day. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a pony Techpriest before.”

“I’m a Dark Acolyte, not a Techpriest,” Gears chided, “although I get that a lot.”

“I see… Follow me, please.”

The two stallions trotted into the main dining room, passing through a privacy curtain on the way.

Dusk Blade almost stumbled in surprise once he got a good look at the holovid screens set to look like windows. One entire side of the restaurant opened up to a view of the sky, and a blanket of roiling clouds. On the other was a snowy landscape covered in snowponies and an ice sculpture of a dragon.

Gear Works was not especially impressed by creative use of simple technology, and he focused on the people and ponies in the room. They were scattered among some dozen tables, either chatting or quietly eating; many were tagged immediately as members of the merchant corp, but Gears also detected numerous guest registrations among them. Several of the ponies were wealthy merchants or executives, no doubt.

At one of the larger tables, Gears spotted their target. Norris Delgan was listening politely to a pegasus stallion in a exquisitely tailored suit, idly sipping a glass of Equestrian wine. Rarity was seated at the table opposite him, reading a dataslate.

“There they are,” Gear Works mumbled, jabbing his servo arm forward.

Dusk nodded. “Excellent! So, are you ready for this? I’ll lead, but obviously you’re going to have to explain the thingy to them.”

Gears glanced behind him, toward the entrance. “Well, I would have preferred to wait, but okay.”

“Wait?” Dusk asked. “Wait for what?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

“… so you’re telling me there’s no possibility? At all? I can pay top bits! Really, money is practically no object!”

Delgan shrugged and sipped again from his glass before answering the pony. “I must apologize, Mister Clouds, but that quantity of hardware simply isn’t available to me. The vast majority of our wargear stocks are donated to Iron Warrior warbands and fortresses, as you may know. Much of the remainder that isn’t earmarked for our own forces have been sold to Canterlot.”

Rarity looked up from an inventory dataslate. “Plasma guns in particular are in VERY short supply. I’m afraid we will not be able to meet your weaponry needs, Sir.”

The stallion pursed his lips, irritated. After a few seconds, however, he sighed in defeat. “This is very disappointing. My clients were counting on a substantial hardware upgrade. Spears and such are rather… hard to take seriously these days, as far as weapons go.”

“I understand completely, Mister Clouds. I hope that I can provide such equipment in the future,” Delgan said somberly. “However, the weapons are only half of any given tactical solution. Superior armor and communications are VITAL for a successful security team.”

Dark Clouds sighed and turned his head, considering the offer.

It was about then that Delgan noticed a pair of unusual equines slowly approaching his table.

“Well, well, this is odd. A member of the Lunar Guard, out and about at this time of day?” Delgan put his glass down while idly scratching at his mustache.

Rarity looked over to the pair of stallions, and then gasped lightly in surprise. She recognized Dusk Blade immediately, of course, but she was shocked to see a heavily augmented pony wearing the dark robes of the Mechanicus behind him. She was also quite surprised to see a pair of strangers at their banquet, since she had written up the guest list herself.

“Master Delgan! Hello! I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure!” Dusk stepped up and lowered his head into a bow. “My name is Lieutenant Dusk Blade, Lunar Guard division 6.”

“I’m familiar,” Delgan replied curtly, “your battle group has quite a reputation for Ork hunting. Some three hundred confirmed kills over the course of the war, yes?”

“Yes, well… something like that.” Dusk grinned bashfully, fiddling with his tie. He wasn’t used to being praised for his actions, and was quite surprised that Delgan knew of his combat record. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir!”

“And you as well. If you manage to secure any unique artifacts from the fallen, I would pay well for such articles. I hear the Lunar Guard has a fondness for trophies.”

“Really? What would you consider a ‘unique artifact?’ With Orks, it’s hard to tell the trash from the treasure, you know?”

“Ah, true. But some items do stand out. Wargear from the Meks and Weirdboyz are usually worth a look. Provided they don’t explode. But really…”

Rarity smirked slightly as Delgan went on about the different sorts of xeno artifacts and their relative value. Dusk was totally hooked, and seemed to have forgotten what he had even intended to talk about, if he had even approached with a topic in mind.

That still left Rarity slightly concerned about what the batpony was doing here, though, as well as who the stallion in the robe was. It wasn’t as if the guest list was maintained for security reasons, but she did expect that anyone trying to take up Delgan’s time tonight had actually been invited.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” the unicorn interrupted.

Dusk seemed annoyed for a split second, and then quickly schooled his expression. “Oh, sorry! And you must be Rarity! The Element of Loyalty!”

“Generosity,” Gears corrected swiftly as Rarity arched an eyebrow.

“Generosity! Right! Sorry!” The thestral chuckled lightly. “Really, the Elements of Harmony are so comprehensive in your good nature, it’s easy to get your particular values mixed up! You DO seem very loyal to our Company’s merchant class!”

“I can assure you, she’s more generous with my resources and authority than loyal to it,” Delgan quipped.

“As befitting my elemental prerogative, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rarity smirked at her employer, and then fluttered her eyelashes at Dusk Blade. “In any case, now that we’ve been introduced, I’m wondering how you got on the guest list. I thought I would have noticed your addition.”

Dusk paused uncertainly, quickly thinking up an excuse. He wasn’t fast enough.

“Oh, I circumvented that,” Gear Works said, swiveling his servo arm around. “Security precautions for a banquet are not especially impressive.”

Dusk flinched slightly when Rarity’s other eyebrow rose. “Pardon, but I don’t believe we’ve met. You are?”

“Dark Acolyte Gear Works,” the cyborg pony replied. Rarity was apparently expecting something more to follow that introduction, and an awkward silence ensued.

Dusk seized the opportunity. “I suppose you’re wondering why we’re here! In fact, my partner Gears has this GREAT product idea, thanks to his study of human technology!” He leaned against Rarity’s table, chuckling. “Unfortunately, the Dark Techpriests are a little… hostile to pony innovation, you might say.”

“One of them attacked my promotion ceremony to try to stop it,” Gears interjected.

“Right? Awful! They won’t give Gears the chance to see his vision come to life! So then I had an idea!” Dusk pointed a hoof at Rarity. “The merchant corp commands substantial resources, right? I thought maybe he could make a deal with you! If you could help him secure a manufacturing base and materials, then he could provide units for you to sell!”

“What kind of device are we talking about?” Delgan asked, looking mildly intrigued.

Dusk Blade stepped aside, sweeping a wing toward Gear Works. The Dark Acolyte stepped forward, and his servo arm dipped into his saddle bag.

“When considering wargear specifications, the disadvantage of ponies in weapon handling has always stood out. Your guns and armor are excellent, but it is difficult to adapt them to pony use. Makeshift solutions like the ballistic harness and exceptional wargear like the Warsmith’s Centaur-pattern armor are useful for getting around the problem, but I thought it was high time there was a dedicated combat system for a pony, by a pony.”

Gear’s servo arm placed a small tablet on the adjacent table on its side. “To this end, human technology is still quite difficult to adapt to this cause. Power armor and integrated weapons systems work, but they aren’t feasible on such a scale for – let’s be honest – lackluster warriors. You’d be better off armoring your human troops. In order to make it cost-effective, they would need to multiply combat effectiveness substantially, rather than just protecting the user.” His servo arm touched a switch at the edge of the tablet, and it split apart into four screens spread on thin filament rods.

“And did you accomplish this?” Delgan asked, scratching his chin.

“I believe I have,” the Acolyte replied. “Thanks to a technology base even more dedicated to compensating for the frailties of its users: the Tau.”

The tablet screens all turned on at once, displaying a series schematic images and one cogitator-generated image of a pair of large, pony-shaped machines running along a few pony soldiers and Iron Warriors. Rarity, Delgan, and Dusk all leaned in closer to see. Even the stallion that had been talking to Delgan previously wandered over for a closer look.

“Is that… a pony battlesuit?” Dusk mumbled, forgetting to pretend like he had seen and reviewed these schematics before. Each of the diagrams detailed a four-legged armored machine. The body was a hefty armored block with a pair of smoke stacks in the rear, while the head was clearly modeled on the Tau Crisis Suit. The device ultimately looked like a cross between a Tau battlesuit and an Imperial Sentinel walker.

“May I present the Strider scout battlesuit,” Gears said, jabbing a servo arm at the display. “Barely larger than a Space Marine, the Strider affords the wearer comparable protection and greatly enhanced firepower. The sensor suite – developed with the Tau’s peerless electronic warfare technology – enables swift target acquisition and data analysis, while the four-legged chassis enables far superior mobility compared to two-legged walkers.”

Gear Works tapped one of the screens, shifting it to a wire-frame diagram of the Strider’s cockpit interior. “The key advantage of the Strider, of course, is it being specifically built to suit equine biology. Indeed, the unique control scheme, which allows the battlesuit to mimic the pilot’s cockpit movements directly, means that two-legged species would be quite unable to utilize it. A pony pilot, on the other hand, would find its use to be practically second nature, give or take some HUD training and a firing mechanism.”

“I’m interested,” Delgan said simply. Rarity blinked, surprised by such a forthright answer from the Trademaster. “What weaponry loadout is being considered?”

“Heavy laser weaponry is the most obvious choice. The power supply is also sufficient for a plasma cannon, but I designed the Strider to be suitable for cheap mass production. All but a few components are readily available amongst our manufactorum supplies.”

“And the armor plating?”

“A convenient blend of duralloy frame with ablative polyceramic layering. Its protective qualities would be at least comparable to that of the XV series Tau battlesuit with a fraction of the production costs, thanks to the lack of complex aerial mobility.”

Delgan continued asking questions, digging deeper into the design that Gears had displayed. Dusk Blade was quite interested himself, but he had another objective.

“It was a good idea to bring him to see you,” the Lieutenant said brightly, scooting up next to Rarity. “I knew that you guys could help him. It really is a shame the way his associates in the Dark Mechanicus treat him.”

“Oh? Is it that bad?” Rarity asked, immediately perking up at the prospect of gossip. “I knew that they were unfriendly, of course, but to one of their own…”

“Sadly, many of them don’t think of poor Gears as one of them. They just won’t take him seriously! I’m glad the merchant corp is more understanding.”

Rarity giggled under a hoof. “Those inclined to business don’t often care where the money comes from,” the unicorn mused with a smile. “I’m not the greatest fan of greed, but it’s a rather… egalitarian sin. The Mechanicus dogma is simply ruthless. And I say that despite having a very good friend in Dark Techpriest Gaela.”

“Ah, I’ve met her! Only briefly, though. She seems very hard to make friends with,” Dusk remarked.

“Oh, very much so. But she’s worth it!”

Dusk Blade was pleased. Gears was killing it in his presentation. He was connecting easily with Rarity (dull as the conversation was). Everything was proceeding according to plan.

Suddenly, Rarity turned her head sharply, her eyes narrowing. Dusk was confused, at first, but then realized she was staring toward the entrance.

“Is that…?” Rarity trailed off, looking concerned. “What is Fennin doing here?”

Dusk Blade didn’t know that name, and he twisted his head around toward the entrance. He was quite surprised to see a squat, male Tau was pushing through the privacy curtain into the dining room. He was wearing a dark gray jumpsuit with blue stripes, and there was a symbol on the breast that doubtless only made sense to his species. On the collar, however, there was a small black bow tie; a small indication that he didn’t wander in by accident.

While the alien was observing the room, the hostess suddenly rushed through the curtain behind him and then circled around to stand in his path. “Sir! You are not allowed into the main dining hall! It’s been reserved!” the mare snapped.

He looked down at her. “I was invited.”

She sniffed, and her eyes narrowed. “I HIGHLY doubt that, Sir. I didn’t see any grayskin names on the list.”

“Fio’el Fennin. Check,” the Engineer retorted.

The hostess huffed, clearly annoyed that she had to indulge the Tau. After a moment, however, she levitated the dataslate over to her and began scrolling down the list.

“Fennin? You know that creep?” Dusk asked, scowling.

“Know him? I’m the one who first captured him!” Rarity tittered.

Dusk Blade furrowed his brow. “And you invited him here?”

“Absolutely not. He’s not on the list,” Rarity admitted. Then she smirked at him. “That doesn’t stop everyone, though.”

“Mister Fennin, I’m afraid I’m not seeing your name on the list,” the unicorn hostess said with a hint of smugness.

“I’m not?”

“No. I’m afraid that this is a private event, accessible by invitation only. You’ll have to come back at a later time,” the mare insisted.

“That can’t be right. Let me check.” Fennin reached out and took the dataslate that held the guest list. Then he tossed it over his shoulder and walked past the stuttering mare.

“Gears! I’m here!” Fennin called out to the Dark Acolyte. “I checked out the materials fabricator specs at Black Point. It will do the job.”

Rarity and Dusk Blade recoiled in surprise. Delgan tilted his head to the side slightly, scrutinizing the Engineer as he approached. Gear Works twisted his head around.

“Ah, good of you to join us, Fio’el. Master Delgan, you may not be familiar. This is Fio’el Fennin, currently one of the highest-ranking Earth Caste workers in Ferrous Dominus.”

“Please, Gears, just call me Fennin,” the Engineer insisted, unpacking a dataslate from a satchel over his shoulder.

“Excuse me!” The hostess galloped up to the intruding alien, scowling angrily. “Sir, you cannot-“

“Leave him be,” Delgan interrupted, waving his hand to the side. The mare froze suddenly, and her expression fell while her ears flipped down. She turned around and left, defeated.

“As the Strider uses a mix of Tau and Company technologies, Fennin and I have worked together on developing the prerequisite design of the Strider to maximize field capability while minimizing production cost,” Gear continued.

“Wait, WHAT?!” Dusk shouted, suddenly jumping down from his chair. “When did this-“

Delgan held up a hand toward Dusk. The Lieutenant quickly fell silent, but Rarity couldn’t help but notice that the batpony still seemed to be very agitated, for some reason.

“Please, go ahead,” Delgan said with a nod. “What do you need from me, and what stake could I expect in the project?”

“We need assistance with the production of a prototype,” Gear Works said with a nod of his head. “After it is developed, field-tested, and the schema ready for regular production, I will submit the schema to the merchant corp. As the Dark Mechanicus is… reluctant to manufacture and provide equine wargear, I expect anyway that you will find the best way to put these new weapons to use.”

“I find them absolutely fascinating!” The pegasus that had been speaking to Delgan before chimed in, raising a wing toward the Trademaster. “If these battlesuits do become a regular product, they would do nicely in lieu of the more human-centric weapons I requested earlier!” Dark Clouds chuckled. “I’d like to see a diamond dog stand up to one of these things!”

“I can assure you, although the Strider is designed for combat scouting, it can easily perform as a basic utility and security walker when faced with non-military resistance,” Fennin took over the explanation, and then held out a dataslate to Delgan. “These are the estimates for our prototype development, as well as an outline of our production plan.”

The Trademaster took the tablet. “Thank you, Mister Fennin.”

“Fio’el to you, Trademaster.”

There was another moment of awkward hesitation at the correction.

“My friends use my given name,” Fennin explained. “Well, them, plus that blue pegasus who keeps yelling at me. You may refer to me by my title, as that is the only status of interest to you.”

“Fair enough,” Delgan said simply. He started reading the dataslate.

“Fr… Fr… Frie…” Dusk sputtered to himself while the Trademaster reviewed the plans, and Rarity frowned in concern. The batpony’s wings were rigid, and his teeth were clenched in a manner that showed off his fangs to an uncomfortable degree.

The Lieutenant managed to restrain himself until Delgan looked up. “You’re going to make these units at Black Point?”

“Yes. We have many facilities dedicated to maintaining and repairing battlesuits there. Thanks to your army, we’re running low on battlesuit units, so many of the machines are just collecting dust right now. They can easily be refurbished to assemble the components and complete the frame armoring.” Fennin crossed his arms over his chest. “Between you and Gears, we should be able to overcome enough Mechanicus resistance to complete the prototyping stage.”

“I like what I’m hearing,” Delgan tapped the tablet that Gear Works brought, and the extra screens slid back into place. “I’m going to send these in for a review. I’ll have a final decision soon, but I don’t mind saying that if this is viable, I want to be invested.” He held out his hand toward Gear Works. “I look forward to working with you, Dark Acolyte.”

Gear’s servo arm swung forward to complete the handshake. “Thank you for offering me this chance, Trademaster. You have my gratitude.”

Gear Works waited until Delgan had left the dining hall, and then turned swiftly to Fennin. “He agreed! We did it!”

“Nice work,” Fennin grinned, holding up a hand. “The last obstacles are falling away. We could have working Strider units in a matter of weeks.”

Gears reared up to clap his hoof against the alien’s hand.

Before they could make contact, a flying roundhouse kick impacted with the side of Fennin’s head.

A chorus of gasps rolled through the dining room, and Gear Works lurched back. Fennin spun from the blow and collapsed to one side, nearly falling on Dark Clouds. Dusk Blade, who had launched the attack, flapped his wings sharply and backflipped in the air before landing in an offensive crouch.

“What the BZZRT! was that?!” Gears demanded, rounding on his “partner.”

The Lunar Lieutenant spread his wings and bared his fangs in an instinctual pose of aggression. “Gears, who is this guy?! He said he was your friend!”

“He introduced himself earlier! And Fennin IS my friend!” the Acolyte retorted hotly. His spike-tipped tail whipped about behind him in agitation.

Dusk took a step closer. “You’re friends with a grayskin?! What the hay is wrong with you?!”

“Yes, I’m friends with a grayskin! What of it?” Gears snapped back, taking his own step forward.

Dusk took another step, though this one was more hesitant. “They tried to kill us all, Gears!”

Gears showed no such hesitation when he moved forward as well. “Water under the mag-bridge,” He scoffed. “Besides, they weren’t TRYING to kill us all, it was an unfortunate side-effect!”

“Looking less unfortunate by the day,” Fennin grumbled, slowly standing up.

“Lieutenant, really, what is the meaning of this?” Rarity chided the batpony, stepping down from her seat. Dusk didn’t even acknowledge her interruption.

“They’re our enemies, Gears!” Dusk continued. He didn’t take a step forward this time. “Sure, they’ve been pressed into helping us, but only to save their own cowardly hides! How can a monster like him be your friend?”

“Monster?” Gear Works took a final step forward, touching the very edge of his rebreather mask to Dusk’s nose. “He displays more basic empathy and humility than you do! He doesn’t keep slaves or stalk his associates! He was working to help me with my personal projects while you called upon me to waste my valuable time to manipulate other ponies! Tau or not, he’s ten times the friend you are!”

Dusk Blade recoiled, stumbling backward until he bumped into Rarity’s chair. “You… You don’t…” His snout scrunched up, and he started blinking rapidly.

“What? What is it?” Gear Works demanded, his servo arm snapping its pincer open and closed. “You impose upon me whenever you wish, drag me on your idiot ventures, and even now that everything is going perfectly and we’ve all gotten exactly what we want, you’re getting upset that I invited a Tau along?! Seriously? Stop wasting my time, you malevolent clod!”

Gear Works wasn’t totally surprised when Dusk lashed out with a hoof, but the Acolyte couldn’t hope to counter the thestral’s speed and reflexes. Dusk Blade struck him on the chin, and then spun and kicked out with a back leg, pitching Gear’s head to the side. The cyborg pony was promptly sprawled onto the floor, a new dent adorning his cranium.

“Lieutenant Blade! What is the matter with you?!” Rarity demanded angrily.

Dusk Blade, for his part, ignored her. His attention was fixed on Gear Works, and he sniffled and rubbed his muzzle with his foreleg. “You jerk!” he complained, his lower lip quivering. “You… You said I was your best friend!”

“I’ve never said that…” Gears groaned.

Rarity couldn’t help but feel her anger and indignation bleed away into confusion. “Lieutenant Blade… are you… are you JEALOUS?”

“SHUT UP!!” Dusk suddenly snapped, causing everyone nearby to recoil. “YOU METAL MULE! I THOUGHT WHAT WE HAD WAS SPECIAL!!”

The batpony whirled around and galloped toward the exit, leaping over the surprised hostess in his path. He didn’t even bother to collect his rebreather before slamming a hoof onto the airlock switch, and the metal door quickly cut off the sound of Dusk’s mournful sobs.

The dining hall was utterly silent after Dusk’s exit, with the numerous patrons watching Gear Works slowly pick himself up off the floor. Rarity shook her head and used her magic to assist him. “I am SO sorry, Acolyte. That was just terrible,” she said with concern.

“Not as sorry as I am,” Gears grumbled once he was back on all fours. “I do hope that unpleasant incident doesn’t affect our agreement. I really am looking forward to working with the merchant corp in developing the Strider.”

“Not at all, darling,” Rarity shook her head. “Really, though! I wasn’t expecting the Lieutenant to be so volatile! Nothing but a lowbrow thug with a uniform!” She frowned deeply, turning to glare at the exit. “I could have him detained for assaulting a guest!”

“Now, hold on,” Gears interjected quickly, “Dusk Blade is wrong, surely, but I believe I went too far in provoking him. This was a crime of passion, not malice. Let’s keep this between me and the Lieutenant.”

“What about me?” Fennin asked, tenderly touching the bruise on his temple.

“What ABOUT you?” Rarity drawled. She jabbed a hoof toward one of the tables. “There’s ice for the punch over there. Help yourself, Fio’el.”

Then she returned her attention to Gear Works. “I should go check up on a few of the other guests and explain the disturbance. They were also expecting to meet with Mister Delgan, and it may be some time before he’s finished with your proposal.”

“Of course, Miss Rarity.” Gears bowed and stepped back.

The unicorn started to trot away, but hesitated and glanced back over her shoulder. “And in the future, Dark Acolyte, you need only contact me if you wish to join our events, rather than sneaking in. We do need to keep the riffraff out, you understand.”

Rarity turned away again and trotted off without waiting for a response.

Gear Works sighed, and a puff of misty gas spurted from the side of his respirator mask. He seemed surprised by the leak, and he raised a hoof to where his jaw used to be.

“Oh, blast. I think that Lunar lunatic knocked something loose,” he complained.

“This it? I found a screw on the floor.” Fennin approached again. One hand was holding a plastic bag of ice to his head, while the other one was offering up the missing piece of Gear’s mask. The engineer tossed the screw, and the Acolyte pony expertly snatched it out of the air with his servo arm.

“Thank you, Fennin.” The servo arm swiveled around to insert the screw into place, and then started rotating the pincer claw to secure it. “Sorry about Dusk. I had no idea he’d react like that.”

“It’s not exactly a rare attitude,” the Tau admitted. “At least, the complete contempt for me isn’t.” He paused for several seconds before he spoke again. “So, is he your mate, or what?”

Gear Works recoiled. “What? No!” His servo arm finished fixing his mask, and the Acolyte quickly trotted toward the exit. “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t really seem like the type to inspire much passionate loyalty in others,” Fennin admitted before following the stallion.

“Takes one to know one!”

“Well, yes, actually. That is why I’m surprised.”

Gear Works groaned, and his servo arm hit the button to open the exit airlock. “Right. Fine. It’s somewhat complicated, actually. But in any case, I’m not attracted to stallions.” The heavy doors hissed open, and the pair stepped inside.

“Just checking. You Mechanicus sorts are more into toasters, right?”

“Oh, buck you, Fennin.”

The airlock slid shut behind them.

Author's Note

Pictures featured in the story are by Bakki and Amalgamzaku (A.K.A. mix-up) respectively.

Additional artwork that isn't story accurate but it's still really cool and I'm showing it here anyway is by Edowaado:

Field Testing

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 6

Field Testing

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 4

Mechanicus dorms

“Doo doo-doo, lah dah dee dah…”

Gear Works strolled through the gloomy halls of his home complex, a noticeable spring in his step. Striker floated along just a few feet behind him, a dataslate hanging from a dangling cable. The servo skull would swing back and forth in the air every few seconds, as if it was celebrating along with its owner.

“GOOD EVENING… DARK ACOLYTE… GEAR WORKS,” announced a cleaning servitor stomping by the stallion. It’s vocalizer stuttered with the effort to offer a basic greeting, and Gears paused at the feet of the cyborg.

“Good evening, Unit W-91353-9! How are you functioning tonight?”

The servitor lurched to a halt, turning its head sharply and then slowly tilting it forward to gaze upon the pony. “ANALYZING… SYSTEMS… SUB-NOMINAL. STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY… AT NINETY-TWO… PERCENT.”

“Well, that won’t do, will it? Engage maintenance standby mode, authorization key KSHT!”

The blast of static included at the end of his command caused the servitor to jolt, and then lean forward. Its eyes, normally pale and unnervingly focused, finally relaxed. Several panels on its back and one augmetic leg opened, and then a blast of pressurized gases shot out of a nozzle in the small of its back.

Gear Works jumped behind the cyborg, and the arch of green lights beneath his hood glared more brightly. Hundreds of points of data were downloaded, analyzed, and then reconfigured within his internal micro-cogitators. A second later, a section of the servitor’s pneumatic piping flashed red in his view.

“It looks like this valve took a hit, somehow. No wonder your system pressure is off!” He grabbed the offending piece with his servo arm. “Striker, seal this point, would you?”

The servo skull swung around the servitor’s back, and then dropped down next to its master. Then the welding laser underneath the skull’s jaw flickered over the pressure valve, sealing the ruptured piping between Gear’s pincer.

“There! System integrity restored! You may re-activate, Unit W-91353-9.”

Gear Works stepped back as the servitor shuddered. It slowly shifted upright, and then stiffly turned its head to look down at the pony.

“SYSTEM INTEGRITY… RESTORED. MOBILITY FUNCTIONS… OPTIMAL.”

“Splendid!” Gears chirped. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

The servitor swiveled its head away briefly, then jerked its gaze back down toward Gear Works.

“CAN YOU… TEACH THIS UNIT… TO DREAM AGAIN?”

Gears stared up at the cyborg for several seconds. “… No, I don’t think I have access to that neural wetware. Sorry.”

The servitor turned away and walked away without another word.

“The servitors have been acting a little odd, lately. I think all the Friendship may be getting to them.” Gear Works mused aloud to Striker while he approached his room.

Striker buzzed at him in response, floating in a wide circular orbit around his head.

“No, I guess not… the engram codices ARE protected against emotional stimuli. It’s a rather silly theory. But still, the Dark Techpriests have noticed them being unusually… friendly, lately. Which is weird, because I was under the impression that they’re usually more prone to psychotic rampages than pleasantries.”

Gears stopped in front of his room and activated the door.

“Gears! There you are! I’ve been waiting for over an hour!” said Dusk Blade.

Several of the optics lights under Gear’s hood flickered off and on again in imitation of blinking. Dusk was lying down on the dorm’s bed with a dataslate resting on the pillow.

“I really need to get your vox frequency, Gears. I hate just waiting for you at home like this,” Dusk explained. “Like I said, this place is claustrophobic even for me.”

“Lieutenant, what are you doing here?” Gear Works asked calmly. He hadn’t seen the thestral since they had attended the dinner hosted by the Merchant Corp. The last contact he’d had with Dusk was the spin-kick to his face before the Lunar soldier fled the event.

“What? You don’t remember? I need your help to make friends with the Elements of Boring Mares Who Aren’t Twilight Sparkle.”

“First of all, Lieutenant, I recommend you tone down the snark when referring to Princess Sparkle’s beloved friends,” Gears begin, “but that aside, are we just going to pretend the event last week never happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dusk replied.

The Dark Acolyte paused, slightly surprised. “… Really? You just want to let it go?”

“That’s not it. I literally don’t know what you’re talking about.” After a few seconds of awkward silence, Dusk continued. “I remember that we were planning on doing a thing with the annoying white unicorn Element the other day, but then I woke up the next night with a hangover and no memory. I’m guessing it didn’t go well, because the pict of her I had printed out was all torn up.” He paused again. “Also, the pict I have of you was pinned to the wall by a throwing blade. Had to clean it up a little bit. But anyway, I don’t remember what happened and don’t care what happened. Time to move on.”

Gears supposed he should have felt nervous about that, but he was honestly a little touched. “You have a pict of me?”

“Yes. I’m glad I took it, too, since every week there seems to be less of you left.” Dusk Blade chuckled at his own joke briefly. “But enough about that, let’s talk about mares!”

Striker hovered into the room, dropping the dataslates on Gear’s desk. Gear Works himself stepped inside and sat down on the floor before the door closed and locked behind him.

“While I’m not inclined to describe the… incident with the Element of Generosity if you don’t want to talk about it, there are some related issues,” the Dark Acolyte began. “First, I feel inclined to point out that my presence generally hasn’t been at all helpful to you in making friends. Second, thanks to the successful pitch of the Strider combat suit, my free time is in short supply. Trademaster Delgan has set a strict timetable for development of our functional prototypes, and I’m still on call to maintain the wargear and facilities of our equine forces.”

“Okay, so… here’s the thing,” Dusk said, chuckling a bit, “this time I actually did go ahead and try to kiss up to one of them without you. The pink one.”

“Miss Pinkie Pie,” Gears interjected.

“Pinkie? Seriously? Her name is her fur color?” Dusk asked, perplexed. “Huh. I was just calling her ‘Pinks’ all night. Lucky that sounded like a cute nickname.”

“Why can’t you be bothered to learn these mares’ names? You come up with fairly elaborate plans to meet and converse with them in a longer-term plan to establish romantic relations with Princess Sparkle, and you can’t spend the time to internalize their names?” Gears asked.

“I have a hard time focusing on tedious ponies, okay?” Dusk said defensively. “And this mare was the WORST, lemme tell you! Hyper, clueless, and… uh…”

Dusk Blade winced, and his ears pinned back. Gear Works tilted his head to the side.

“Lieutenant? What’s wrong? What’s the third trait?”

“Okay, wait. We got a little side-tracked,” Dusk admitted, waving a hoof. “As I was saying, I couldn’t think of a reason to bring you along, so last night I went out to meet her on my own. There was a party in sector 20.”

“The Nightmare Night Black Tower Bash. I recall seeing the adverts. How was it?”

“Eh. It was okay. Parties aren’t really my thing, but I had a decent vampony costume. Unoriginal, I know, but it stood out anyway since half the ponies dress like space pirates and daemons now.” Dusk’s wings shifted on his back as he paused. Gears got the feeling that whatever this was about, the thestral warrior found it extremely embarrassing. “So anyway, I found Pinks right away and started chatting her up. It went pretty well. I mean, as far as giving her a good impression of me; she’s a complete airhead and I hate having to listen to her stupid voice. But I made good progress on the Friendship thing. But then… she suddenly asked if I was just trying to get to know her to get close to Twilight Sparkle.”

“Tch! Busted,” Gear Works said. “For a so-called ‘airhead’ she caught on to you quickly.”

“Yeah, well, I denied it,” Dusk continued, shaking his head. “I told her that Sparkle clearly didn’t like me and that I had given up on her.”

“You know, it’s a problem that your first instinct in these situations is to lie your tail off,” Gears sighed.

“Well… yeah. It was a problem.”

“I thought so. She saw through your little fib?”

“No. She believed me completely. And then decided that the only other reason I might be talking to her is if I was flirting with her, instead,” Dusk Blade admitted with a sigh. “I’m not particularly proud of this, but she seemed pretty into me. I had to bargain my way out of it.”

“Why? Just tell her that you’re not interested in her, either.”

“You’re a total dork, so I’m sure you don’t know this, but you can’t be so straightforward with mares. You have to be subtle and feel your way through the conversation,” Dusk explained. “For example, I went with lying some more. Suggested I actually was flirting with her, but didn’t want a cheap fling or something like that. Long story short, I have a date tonight, and I need your help.”

“Why would you need my help with a date?”

“I need you to create a huge robot uprising to distract everypony so I don’t have to attend,” Dusk said with absolute seriousness.

Numerous optical sensors in Gear’s face rolled about. “I can’t do that.”

The Lunar Lieutenant clicked his tongue. “Darn. Well, how about faking my death, then? Change my status to KIA!”

“I actually could do that, but we’d never get away with it,” Gears replied.

“Why not? People die all the time on combat missions. There’s no way Command cares enough to check on all the reports.”

“HUMANS die all the time on combat missions, Lieutenant. I can be sure the first KIA report of a pony will be aggressively investigated.”

Dusk Blade mulled that over for several seconds, scratching at his chin with a hoof.

“We really haven’t had a single pony die before?” the thestral asked.

“Not die in combat, no. An older stallion did get sick and died when he wouldn’t convert to Nurgle, though. The humans seemed honestly surprised, too. They may have thought we were all actually immortal or something.”

“That’s weird.”

“I would characterize it as ‘astoundingly lucky’ myself.”

“Lucky nothing! There goes plan B!” Dusk Blade griped. “Now what am I supposed to do with no cybernetic riots or death notice?”

“You could try a less dramatic means of avoiding Miss Pie,” Gears suggested, “or, alternatively, you could actually go out with her and just try to have a good time. Maybe you’ll find her more agreeable in an intimate setting.”

“What? No! I’m not going to cheat on Twilight!” Dusk snapped.

“Lieutenant, you CAN’T cheat on Princess Sparkle. You aren’t a couple.”

“The concept is the same! My heart belongs to Sparkle!” the batpony insisted. “Besides, I’m trying to ingratiate myself with her friends in order to seduce her! What’s the point if I convince those friends that I’ve given up on her?”

“You probably should have considered this before you lied and told Miss Pie exactly that,” Gears pointed out, “and then, apparently, agreed to go out with her.”

“Okay, true. But now that we’ve reached this point we need to find a way out of it.”

“By lying some more?”

“Ideally, yes.”

Gear Works walked to the back of his tiny dorm, thinking quietly. Striker hovered into a tiny alcove in the wall, inserting into a charging socket and entering rest mode.

“Well, this shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll just engineer a scheduling conflict,” Gear Works said. He turned toward a thin holo-screen over his desk, and his opticals flickered. “let’s see, here… there’s a show by Miss Trixie. Sounds about right.”

“Oh? What kind of show? The usual illusionist routine? I hope not, I’ve already been to a few.”

“Apparently it’s a comedy stand-up night. Though it’s not as if we actually have to go,” Gear Works reasoned. The holo-screen flickered on, and a series of interface screens appeared in a rapid, moving cascade. “I’ll just reserve the seats so there’s a record, and you just need to offer up your excuse to Miss Pie.”

“Well, as long as you’re reserving the seats we may as well go,” Dusk reasoned, dropping down next to the cyborg. “I mean, even though I’m your only friend, we hardly do anything together. Let’s give this a shot!”

“You’re not my only friend. And the last time I agreed to join you in any kind of recreational activity, you beat me up and robbed me.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I won’t do that this time, I promise.” The batpony rolled his eyes. “Just make the reservations so I can call up Pinks and ditch her for good.”

Gear Works zoomed in on the relevant tile on the screen, and then confirmed the appointment. “There. If we actually are going to see the show, then we should get ready to leave now. It begins in… hm?”

Gears trailed off when a corner of the holo-screen started blinking. A second later a new screen appeared, and the stallions recoiled when they saw Pinkie Pie’s face grinning at them.

“Dusk! Hi! I just saw that you booked a space on Trixie’s show tonight! That’s great! I love shows!” the mare announced. Her head bounced up and down in the image screen.

Gears pointed at the holo-screen with his servo arm. “Wait, wait, wait! How did you manage to-“

“Ease up, buddy,” Dusk Blade interrupted, patting the Dark Acolyte on the shoulder, “I got this.” Then he cleared his throat. “Hey, Pinks! Listen, I have some bad news. This is my friend, Gear Works, and-“

The mare gasped and pressed her face up to the screen. “You have a friend?! That’s so exciting! Way to go, Dusk! I knew you could do it!”

Dusk’s eyebrow twitched. “What? Of course I have a friend. Why would you think-“

“Is he a slave-owner too?” The holo-screen suddenly tilted sharply so that Pinkie was facing Gears directly. The Acolyte recoiled in surprise, as the unit projector wasn’t supposed to be able to do that. “Ooh! You’re all metal and stuff! Cool!”

“Hey! Pinks!” Dusk snapped. “This is important! It’s about our date!”

The holo-screen tilted the other way so that Pinkie was facing the Lunar soldier. “Oh, right! Hey, should we go commando – as in naked – formal – as in mostly naked – or Commando – as in fully armed and armored – for the show? I might need to do some shopping first! Or drop by the armory!”

“You won’t be needing to do that,” Dusk assured her blandly. “Pinks, listen: the reservations aren’t for you and me, they’re for me and Gears.”

“Yes, I know!” Pinkie said brightly.

There was a brief pause.

“Uh… okay. And that’s… not a problem? I can’t cancel on Gears, we’ve been planning this for weeks!” Dusk lied.

“Nopey-dopey! Not a problem!” Pinkie assured him. “I wouldn’t expect you to cancel your night out with your only friend!”

Dusk clenched his teeth. “He’s not my only-“

“Besides, this worked out perfectly! Dashie’s armor is being repaired again, so she can’t go on patrol tonight! We’ll make it a double date!”

Both stallions recoiled in shock as Pinkie Pie started bouncing again.

“Whoa, wait, what, why?” Gears demanded, reaching over to the holo-screen to try to push it to face him. His servo arm, unsurprisingly, went right through the screen without effect.

“This way you guys don’t have to cancel, we still get our date, and Dashie gets a little action too!” she winked at Dusk Blade.

“Hold on, you’re seriously setting your friend up on a blind date? With HIM?” the Lieutenant asked incredulously, pointing a hoof at Gears.

“Yuppers! If he’s your friend he must be a really cool colt, right?” Pinkie asked.

Dusk Blade laughed. Pinkie Pie laughed with him. Gear Works continued observing the holo-screen projector for any sign of malfunction, ignoring them.

“Hee hee hee! Well, I’ll see you at the show!” Pinkie Pie said suddenly.

Dusk’s laughter cut off into coughing, and then he suddenly recalled that he was trying to avoid this exact outcome. “N-No, wait! You don’t want to set your friend up with him! He’s a total nerd!”

“Aw, it’s fine! I’m sure Dashie will love him! We’ll meet you in sector 6 outside the club, okay? Smooches!”

The holo-screen suddenly bounced forward toward Dusk’s face, untethered to its projector, and he flinched as he felt Pinkie kiss his nose. Then the screen snapped back into its original position, and the communications link blinked away.

“Oh… kay… That did not go well,” Dusk Blade mumbled while rubbing at the spot Pinkie had kissed.

“How did she do that? The projector can’t bend like that!” Gears complained, peering closer at the device. “Maybe a base refraction of the particulate screen? But how would a cascade possibly-“

“Hey, Gears! Nerd out about your thing later!” Dusk barked. “What are we going to do? I don’t want to have to sit through a show with bubble-gum-brains slobbering all over me! Plus some other random pony she’s dragging along for this farce!”

Gear Works sighed and pushed himself away from the projector. “I believe Miss Pie was referring to Rainbow Dash, the Element of Loyalty. She’s not ‘some other random pony.’”

Dusk frowned, his forehead creasing.

“The blue one.”

“Oh, hay, not HER,” the batpony cursed, slapping a hoof to his face. “And now I can’t even stand Pinks up without annoying two of Twilight’s friends at once! This was a terrible idea!”

“It really, really was,” Gears mumbled.

Dusk Blade groaned, and then hung his head. “Well, whatever. Nothing for it now. Go get your lame magnet bow-tie on so we can go.”

“Wh-What? No! Why should I have to go along with this?” Gears protested.

“Because you didn’t object when Pinks said she wanted to go on a double date,” Dusk reasoned, “if you back out now, then Rainbow Run is a third wheel and everypony ends up having a lousy time. That would reflect badly upon me, wouldn’t it?”

“But… I mean… I’m supposed to-“

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll even hit it off! Wouldn’t that be crazy?” Dusk laughed and hit the button on the dormitory door. “C’mon!”

Gear Works wilted and reluctantly followed the other stallion. “You realize, of course, that maintaining this dishonest ploy will make it progressively harder and more painful to back off before things come completely unglued.”

“Turn your drama circuits off, buddy. It’s just one dinner. We’ll survive.”

“Your first idea for handling this one dinner was a covertly triggered machine rebellion.”

“Yeah, but there’s no need to go crazy. Suck it up, dude.”

****

Sector 6 – Red Nebulae Bar and Grill

“This is actually a really nice place. I should bring Twilight here sometime if this date doesn’t ultimately ruin my chances with her forever.”

Dusk Blade looked over the interior of the restaurant approvingly. Much of the interior furnishing was black iron, with large torches hanging from the ceiling by heavy chains. The décor otherwise straddled the line between Gothic and macabre, with daemonic statues and arcane fetishes without the skulls or other corpse remnants that one could find elsewhere in Ferrous Dominus.

One end of the dining room opened up into a stage, which presumably held the night’s entertainment. Many ponies and humans were already seated and sipping drinks, and Gear Works was immediately reminded of the restaurants in Canterlot. As was the norm with the pony-run establishments, one could barely reconcile the relatively normal, cheerful interiors with the industrial blight just outside.

Gears should have found the setting comforting, he supposed, but he didn’t. His spike-tipped tail twitched with regular nerve-spasms. His body shifted constantly, as if he was having difficulty aligning his biological legs with his augmetic ones. Most grating of all to the other ponies nearby, however, was the way his servo arm kept shifting. The articulated claw wasn’t being moved to any particular purpose, but the appendage had no definitive resting state. It twitched up and down and made minute and needless motions back and forth, each one generating a loud whirring noise from the grinding servos.

Dusk tolerated a solid two minutes of the Acolyte’s fidgeting before he spoke up. “Gears, why are you so nervous?”

The Dark Acolyte jerked his head up, and his ears twitched. “Wh-What? You can tell?”

“YES. They may have taken your face, but apparently the DarkMech found a dozen other ways to let everypony know that you’re freaking out. Seriously, alarm lights would be more subtle. What’s the matter?”

Gears leaned in to the other stallion. “Can’t you tell what’s the matter? We’re about to meet Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash! Elements of Harmony! Two of the most famous and renowned mares in Equestrian history!”

Dusk Blade looked perplexed. “Yeah… so? You didn’t get all worked up about meeting the other Elements. And didn’t you do some work for Princess Luna one time?”

“Those occasions were completely different!” Gears snapped at the thestral. “I wasn’t on a DATE with any of them!”

Dusk arched a brow. “Seriously? That suddenly makes this a big deal?”

“That suddenly makes this a HUGE deal!” Gears said, his ears flipping down. “In nearly any other context I’m somepony worthy of… well, maybe not respect, per se, but I’m at least a useful member of our Company! I would be judged according to my accomplishments, actions, and decisions as is proper and logical!” The cyborg pony’s knees started shaking. “But a date? A DATE?! I’m supposed to entertain a mare in a romantic context and be judged as a potential sexual partner? This is ludicrous! You cannot comprehend how deficient I am for this sort of interaction! You may as well have tossed me in an arena pit and told me to duel a Berserker!”

Dusk was about to make another snarky comments about Gear Works being melodramatic, but the words died on his tongue. He hadn’t known the Dark Acolyte for very long, but this was easily the most emotional and terrified he’d ever seen the cyborg pony. And considering that he had openly threatened Gear’s life at one point, that impressed him. For whatever reason, going on a date scared him in ways that being savagely beaten and stuffed in a locker didn’t.

The stallion felt a sudden sense of pity for his best (and some would say only) friend, and mentally discarded the scathing mockery he had prepared. Instead he threw a foreleg over Gear’s withers and sighed.

“Gears, listen: I lie a lot. But right now, I’m speaking from the heart. There’s no reason to freak out. It’s all going to be okay.”

A sucking sound came from the Acolyte’s mask as his respirator engine cycled more air to him. “You… You really think… she’ll like me?”

“No. No, I don’t think that at all,” Dusk admitted. “We’re talking about the dumbest, most superficial, and most hopelessly self-absorbed mare among Twilight Sparkle’s friends. She’s going to HATE you.”

Gear’s tail fell slack, and he cringed.

“You’re a nerd, a cultist, and a cyborg, and you don’t even wear any of it very well. She’ll take one look at your creepy, faceless, half-metal body and probably spend the rest of the evening disappointed and angry, and she’ll almost certainly take it out on you. She may even assume – with no basis at all! – that your junk is metal, or that it was cut off, or something awful like that.”

Gear Works whimpered, turning his head away.

Then Dusk pulled the other stallion closer, forcing his gaze back. “But you know what, Gears? That’s HER problem. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be a Dark Acolyte, the first pony ever to join the Mechanicus! You’ll spend every day sifting through ancient knowledge and learning to build things that defy imagination! Spectrum Sprinter or whoever will be stuffed back into her power armor and sent after more Orks like the half-witted attack dog she is. This date is going to be a complete and utter emotional piledriver for you because you abandoned vanity for utility. But don’t think for a second that it was the wrong decision because some featherbrained crony of Sparkle’s thinks you’re a gross nerd. You’re BETTER than her, you get me?”

Gear Works didn’t speak immediately, completely overwhelmed. “You… You mean it? I’m… better than an Element of Harmony?”

“By a mile, buddy,” the thestral said, grinning and slapping Gear’s back with a wing. “Especially the blue one! She’s Loyalty, right? That’s barely even a virtue. It literally means she sticks with people when it isn’t a good idea. I mean, hay, the changelings are as loyal as can be, right? Does that make them good?”

“Wow, I never thought of it that way! I’m glad I got Laughter!” chirped a voice behind them.

Dusk froze for several seconds, and then slowly twisted his head around. Just as he expected, Pinkie Pie was standing behind him, grinning. Also as he expected, but hoped wasn’t the case, Rainbow Dash was next to her. The pegasus was scowling, and her wings ruffled in irritation while she glared at him.

“Ah. You’re here. Good!” Dusk plastered an utterly fake smile on his face, and then stepped away from Gear Works. “I got us a table already! The show will start in about ten minutes.”

“What were you saying about loyalty?” Rainbow Dash growled.

“I was saying how great it is to see you again! I think the last time we met was right before you left to destroy the Ork Gargant! That was an incredible mission! I’m still amazed you survived!” Dusk gushed.

Rainbow Dash wavered, surprised by how brazenly the batpony was lying to her. “Well, sure, but what you said about-“

“I’m not sure you’ve been introduced to your date yet! This is Gear Works!” Dusk Blade swept a wing out to gesture toward Gears, who still hadn’t turned around. The Acolyte had fallen absolutely still since the mares announced their presence.

Any remaining thoughts of pressing the Lieutenant on his ideas about Loyalty vanished when Rainbow glanced at her date. “Wait, WHAT? Pinkie, you set me up with a servitor?”

Gear Works flinched, and a strangled, gurgling noise came from his respirator. Dusk sucked in a breath through his teeth, and even Pinkie Pie cringed.

“That’s gotta hurt,” Pinkie mumbled under her breath, looking away.

“Yeah, I think I called this one right. Hope that pep talk holds,” Dusk sighed. Then he started walking toward the dining room, gesturing with a wing for Pinkie to follow him. “We’ll go on ahead and let you two get acquainted. Join us whenever.”

“Wait, hold up! Did you seriously set me up with a servitor? What is this thing?” Rainbow demanded while Dusk and Pinkie scurried away. “Pinkie, this is NOT cool!”

Gear Works slowly turned around, his limbs creaking as if their joint gears had rusted over. “Miss Rainbow Dash, it’s lovely to see you. I will be your escort for the evening,” the Acolyte said.

“I can’t believe she did that! She actually set me up on a date with a dumb robot! What a lame prank!” Rainbow griped, turning toward the cyborg. She gagged visibly when she got a look at Gear’s face. “Ugh, and it’s an extra-creepy one, too. What are those supposed to be, spider eyes? Gross.”

Gears felt his processor engine double its core temperature out of sheer embarrassment. “Miss Dash, I am not a servitor. I am a Dark Acolyte of the Company’s Mechanicus detachment.”

The pegasus blinked in surprise, backing up slightly. “Wait… seriously? You’re a Techpriest, like Gaela?”

“I am a Dark Acolyte, which is a rank that Techpriest Gaela achieved and then surpassed,” Gears clarified. He gulped, which created a strange, grotesque slurping noise within his respirator mask. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Rainbow Dash’s expression shifted from surprise to revulsion. She cringed away and stuck out her tongue. “Then this ISN’T a prank? You’re seriously my date? This is even worse!”

Gears intended to reply with some witty, self-deprecating humor in order to ease the Element of Loyalty into the idea that she might actually enjoy his company for the evening. But for some reason the crushing shame that he was experiencing made it difficult to compile a response. Data scrolling across his optical array stuttered and then fell apart into useless, broken code, and he could swear that his bionic knees were trying to unlock and fold up against his will.

“I’m sorry...” the Dark Acolyte whimpered. His voice made Fluttershy sound bold by comparison.

Rainbow grimaced, realizing the effect her disgust was having on the stallion. It wasn’t that easy to tell, given that Gear Works didn’t have much of a face, but the little arch of optic lights kept flickering on and off at random, and she could see his biological legs were quivering. That wasn’t right. She was disappointed, annoyed, and more than a little grossed out by her date, but he didn’t deserve to be insulted.

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize. This is… fine, I guess.” Rainbow’s tone and grimacing features made it clear this was not fine, but at least she was trying. “What was your name, again?”

“I am… I am Dark Acolyte Gear Works,” Gears managed to croak, “although my friends call me Gears. It… It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Dash.”

He was expecting Rainbow Dash to express some surprise or start questioning him about ponies joining the Dark Mechanicus. That was nearly everyone’s response to meeting him for the first time, and the most common recognition of his achievement. Thus he was surprised and embarrassed even further when the pegasus nodded blandly and turned around.

“Sure it is. Let’s just get this over with, okay?” Rainbow trudged onto the dining floor, her ears pressed down against her head. Gear Works meekly followed after her, looking just as defeated.

Up on the stage in front of the dining hall, a human woman wearing light robes nervously walked up to the vox receiver.

“H-Hello everyone, and thank you for attending the Great and Powerful Trixie’s Magical Comedy Hour. My name is Suuna, and I’ll be introducing the star of tonight’s show. Please note that medicae personnel are standing by to assist for busted guts and overtaxed funny bones.”

She paused, glancing around the room. Nobody laughed, and a few men near the front coughed.

“Okay, hold on. I have something for this…” Suuna fished around in her robes, and then withdrew a slip of paper. She unfolded it and then leaned in toward the receiver. “How many Techpriests does it take to install a lumen orb?”

“Installation of a single lumen unit would require a negligible level of physical and intellectual resources from any given member of the Cult Mechanicus,” interjected a Dark Techpriest seated to the left of the stage. “I calculate that it would require no more than 0.12 of a Dark Techpriest. However, the obviously impractical nature of requisitioning a fraction of an individual for a single, discrete task necessitates rounding up to a whole digit. As such, the only logical answer is one.”

Suuna stared at the cyborg for a few seconds, and then looked down at her notes. “Uh… no? I mean, you make a pretty compelling point, honestly, but the joke-“

“Start the bloody show!” shouted a mercenary near the back.

“We want Trixie!” demanded another human, slamming a pistol on the table.

Suuna flinched back at the shouts, and then tossed her notes away. “Right! Yes! Everyone, please put your various types of extremities together for the Great and Powerful Trixie!”

Raucous applause filled the dining room as flares of colored light shot out from the stage. The fireballs hovered in the air and spun into wild, multi-colored loops, and they spilled sparks on the floor of the dining hall until they withered away into smoke.

Suuna backed up and Trixie stepped out from behind the curtain, grinning happily. She was wearing her power armor and cape, oddly enough, although she left her helmet off.

“Welcome, welcome! Hello everypony, everyhuman, and the rest of you freaks that we let in here for deadly manual labor!” The vox receiver was wrapped in a pink glow, and then it flipped onto its side, floating about a foot off the floor with the head next to the magician. “Let’s give a big round of applause to Suuna for lowering your expectations for tonight, and for the Red Nebulae for having such elastic fire codes!”

The audience laughed and cheered, and several ponies banged their hooves on the floor in applause.

Trixie’s smile fell. “Really though, Trixie apologizes for the Mechanicus jokes. We know that you don’t have a sense of humor, and that you take not having a sense of humor very seriously. Trixie doesn’t mean to disrespect that.”

Most of the audience laughed louder, but the Dark Techpriest who had interrupted Suuna nodded his head. “Affirmative. It is commandment 7 in our standardized behavioral codex.”

Turning away from the cyborg, Trixie addressed the crowd. “How are you doing, Ferrous Dominus? The weather wasn’t too harsh tonight?” She paused for a wave of murmurs to roll through the crowd. “Granted, we don’t get much variety of weather in Ferry D. Usually our forecasts just read ‘poisonous,’ with the occasional ‘poisonous and wet.’” She shrugged, rolling the heavy shoulder pads of her power armor. “Better than when it rains xenos, though. They’re still cleaning bits of Ork off the buildings in some sectors!” Chuckles rolled through the restaurant. “Oh! And speaking of Orks…”

“I’ll have the daisy salad with brie, the stuffed portabellas, and a glass of chilled nectar!” Pinkie Pie said while running her hoof across her menu.

“Confirmed,” bleated the wait-servitor, recording the order with the autoscribe attached to its left wrist. “Next.”

“Wow, this stuff is pretty high end for Ferry D fare. Pricey, too,” Rainbow Dash noted while looking over the menu.

“We have a good flow of trade with the surrounding settlements by now. Most of it actually comes in on the train shipments. Keeping a stock of decent food isn’t challenging anymore,” Dusk Blade explained. “Seriously, sometimes I wonder why the humans still eat their gruel most of the time.” Then he closed his own menu. “I’ll have some fried cicadas and hot tea, please.”

Pinkie winced, and Rainbow gagged in disgust.

“Cicadas? Like… the bug?” the pegasus asked.

“Confirmed,” the servitor said in its buzzing monotone. It swiveled sharply, and the glimmering green lights focused on Rainbow Dash. “Designate beverage choice.”

“Wait, what? No! I don’t want any bugs!” Rainbow yelped.

“Noted. Beverages without insect base ingredients include ice water, chilled nectar, chilled cider, synthehol, agrim-“

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Rainbow shouted. “I don’t want bugs!”

“Previously noted. Change in vocalization pitch suggests rising stress levels. Customer has been registered as unusually belligerent,” the servitor droned. “Designate beverage choice. The beverages without insect base ingredients-“

“No! Stop talking, you useless rust-bucket!” Rainbow growled.

Dusk coughed lightly into his hoof. “Kinda proving his point, there…”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Customer disruption approaching security threshold,” buzzed the servitor. “Note that further aggression will result in an armed response.”

“I’m just trying to order my food! What’s wrong with you?!”

A blast of static suddenly came from the other corner of the table, startling Rainbow Dash.

The servitor’s optics blinked. Then its autoscribe scratched down several new lines. “Confirmed. Second order of fried cicadas canceled. Order set: Grilled peppers and hay fries. Beverage set: ice water. Order set: nutrient ration. Order complete.”

The servitor turned sharply, tearing a ribbon of paper from its autoscribe to submit to the kitchen. Dusk snickered, while the two mares blinked at Gear Works.

The Dark Acolyte lowered his head, hiding his sensors under the hood of his cloak. “The servitors are ill-suited to a service environment. They have difficulty interpreting context. Binary is much easier for them to process.”

“You speak that weird static language?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“I am fluent in basic Binaric Cant and machine code up to base four cogimetrics,” Gears explained. “I do not yet have a hexamathic conversion key, nor have I learned any of the exotic-“

“Okay, okay. You could have just said ‘yes,’” Rainbow interrupted with a groan. “Also, I kind of wanted the chilled cider, not just water.”

“My apologies, Miss Rainbow Dash,” Gear Works mumbled, still hanging his head.

“He’s in for a tough night,” Dusk Blade mumbled.

Pinkie laughed and slapped a hoof on the table. “I think that’s really neato! Can you talk to the machine souls too?”

“Machine spirits,” Gear Works corrected. “A soul is completely different in its endiographic constru-“

“You can just say ‘no!’” Rainbow interrupted hotly.

“But… I was correcting her premise… because… the question…” Gears floundered and fell silent under the gaze of the other ponies.

“When that servitor comes back with our drinks, I’m ordering some synthehol,” Rainbow Dash grumbled.

“If all of your previous addresses are on lifeless balls of scorched rock, then you might be a heretic!”

Trixie paused as the laughter spread through the dining room, a grin plastered over her face.

“If you contract terminal cancer and your get-well card says ‘congratulations,’ you might be a heretic!”

The Dark Techpriest seated nearby released a discordant buzzing. “It is gratifying because it is accurate.”

“If all the street signs in your sector are USELESS because they point in eight directions at once… you just might be a heretic!”

Howling laughter came from the crowd, and one especially exuberant mercenary started firing his lasgun up into the ceiling.

“So, how did you two meet, anyway?” Pinkie Pie asked Dusk Blade between bites of her salad. “I didn’t think you’d be palling around with the Dark Mechies!”

“Which is only fair, because you don’t know me very well,” the batpony replied. He paused and bit the head off one of his deep-fried cicadas, ignoring the wince it caused from Rainbow Dash. “I have the greatest respect and admiration for our cybernetic colleagues.”

“Uh, but you-“ Gears started to object, but Dusk kept on speaking.

“As it so happens, I was lucky enough to catch Aspirant Gear Works after he was finishing up with a job. Most of his jobs involve being threatened by angry ponies who want him to fix stuff, incidentally. We started chatting, and I could tell right away that Gears here was headed toward great things!” He beckoned across the table at the Dark Acolyte.

“But Lieutenant-“ Gears tried again, only for Rainbow to interrupt him this time.

“Great things? Like what?” the pegasus asked. She looked rather bored between chewing on bunches of hay fries and resting her cheek against her hoof, but Dusk considered it a good sign that she hadn’t actually ordered any synthehol as she had threatened.

“Well, for starters, he achieved Dark Acolyte rank in record time!” Dusk pointed out.

“Only because YOU-“

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Maybe I’m dating the wrong stallion!” Pinkie Pie gushed, winking at Gear Works even as she talked over him.

“What’s the big deal? Isn’t that like the second-lowest rank there is?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, technically-“

“I mean, it’s not nothing. Good for you,” the pegasus continued, gesturing to her date, “but c’mon. Me and Pinkie are Equinought Squadron. AND Elements of Harmony. Probably.” She stopped and frowned. “Does that still count now that the actual Elements are destroyed? I feel like it should count.”

“It’s not a contest, Dashie!” Pinkie laughed.

“Although if it WAS a contest,” Dusk interjected, jabbing a hoof at the pegasus, “I’d say Gears could give you a run for your money. Yes, Acolyte is the second-lowest rank. But, unlike luckier ponies, Gears had to start at the bottom! Making Acolyte in less than a year is unheard of!”

Rainbow just rolled her eyes. This caused Gear Works to sink a little lower in his chair, and incensed Dusk Blade even more.

“What, you think that’s worth less than head-butting a plane?” the batpony challenged. “I’m not dumping on combat duty – that’s my job too, obviously – but Gears builds the sort of things that make our job possible. Where would we be without the Dark Techpriests? No ships, no armor, no guns.” He drew a hoof across his neck, and then flipped a cicada into his mouth.

Rainbow Dash narrowed her eyes at Gear Works. The Dark Acolyte twitched and stared straight forward while slowly sucking the gruel from his nutrient tin. He didn’t know why Dusk was trying to defend his achievements as being equal to his date’s, but he really wished the thestral Lieutenant would stop.

“So what do you build that’s so great, then?” Rainbow demanded. “Can you make power armor? Solon can make power armor.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly build a power armor suit on my own,” Gears admitted immediately. “Especially not anything that compares to the Warsmith’s creations! The power plant technology and micro-motor fabrication processes are currently beyond me, to say nothing of the more exotic technologies that the Warsmith has access to.”

Rainbow Dash turned away and went back to eating.

“I suppose the closest thing would be the Strider battlesuits. Although those are still in prototype at the moment.”

This seemed to startle the other ponies at the table.

“Wait. Battlesuit? What’s a Strider battlesuit? Is that like a Tau armored unit? I’ve never heard of those,” Rainbow asked suspiciously.

“Well, yes. They’re only in prototype phase, like I said,” Gears explained. “And while they do incorporate Tau technology and design philosophy, they’re actually made for ponies.”

“Seriously? Wow! I didn’t know you were working on something like that!” Dusk exclaimed.

“You were there when I… ugh, right, never mind,” Gear Works grumbled.

“That’s amazing! Way to go, Gears!” Pinkie cheered, clapping her hooves together. “Ooh! Ooh! Idea! Let’s go try them out after dinner!”

Gear Works recoiled in surprise. “Try them out? What? The suits aren’t in production yet!”

“You said there were prototypes, though,” Dusk Blade pointed out.

“Well… yes, but-“

Rainbow drained her glass and then slammed it down on the table. “All right, I’m game. Let’s see if these things actually work.”

“Whoa, wait, hold on,” Gear Works said, his servo arm wagging at the others. “These are prototypes! They were literally finished yesterday! They might not be safe!”

“So you need somepony to test them, right?” Dusk slammed back his nectar, and then licked his lips. “Sounds like a pretty good way to top off the evening to me!”

“B-But-“

“Oh, would you relax?” Rainbow Dash asked, patting Gears on the shoulder. “We’re just taking your machines for a little drive. They can’t possibly be less safe than blasting through an Ork war camp. Which I do all the time, you know?”

“That’s not really-“

“Ooh! Ooh! I call shotgun!” Pinkie shouted, waving a leg in the air above her.

“Do these suits have passenger seats?” Rainbow asked.

“No, I mean, if there’s a shotgun weapon mount, I want to use that.”

“Eh, I doubt these things have weapons on them. They’re just test models,” Dusk pointed out.

“Oh, no, they have weapons,” Gears admitted. “That’s actually why I object to this, really. The level of firepower available to a Strider battlesuit is too great to be treated so lightly, and any complications in the power relays and converters could be fatal without extended test cycles!”

The other ponies stared at him. Far from looking solemn, frightened, or even remotely serious, every one of them looked excited.

“Okay, I take it all back,” Rainbow Dash said with a grin, “this date isn’t going so bad after all!”

“… but of course, you really can’t trust Tzeentch for anything. Seriously. Nothing! Trixie knows from experience! Use a daemonic messenger to do your laundry, and you end up with a dozen mismatched socks. Trixie doesn’t even own socks! There’s some household in Canterlot right now with half of Trixie’s linens and at least one minor Warp gateway in its closet.”

Trixie spun the vox receiver around in the air in front of her while the crowd laughed. Eventually she stopped it, and it hung upside-down in front of her while wrapped in her pink aura.

“But if Trixie is being honest, Nurgle is the worst. Yes, Trixie sees you, Poison. Put down the boltgun and shut your venom-hole.”

Poison Kiss glared from her table, her bolter hovering in the air next to her head. After a few seconds she let it fall onto the table surface, and then she and the rest of Phage Squadron settled down unhappily to wait out the joke.

“No other God gets so much credit for so little,” Trixie continued, shaking her head. “Trixie doesn’t even know how Nurgle worship is supposed to help. Magical blood fury of Khorne is one thing. Tzeentch has his goofy magic to help. Slaanesh has…” Trixie paused, and then shrugged. “Well, Trixie actually has no idea what Slaanesh is about. There’s not a lot of material on it around here.”

More chuckles came from the audience.

“That wasn’t a joke, but for some reason it always gets a laugh,” the unicorn mumbled. “Anyway, Nurgle just gives his worshipers injuries and gets dirt everywhere. Trixie isn’t exactly a tactician or a religious scholar, but it can’t be helpful in combat having your gun gummed up with phlegm while you’re tripping on your own guts.”

She paused, sticking out her tongue, and then arched an eyebrow. ”But that’s not all Nurgle’s about, no! He’s also the Chaos God of love! LOVE! He’s even less helpful for that than for fighting! Because Trixie can assure you, no Nurgle worshipers are EVER getting any!”

A gunshot came from Phage Squadron’s table, and Trixie flinched back as a bolt round hit the edge of the stage. “That’s all the time we have for tonight, folks! You have a lovely evening!” Another bolt round took the head off the vox receiver, and Trixie beat a hasty retreat while the sundered metal rod dropped onto the stage behind her.

****

Sector 4 – Artificer Temple Demerus

“This is a terrible idea, and could lead to all of us being hurt for no reason,” Gear Works mentioned while he stood in front of the doors of the repair bay.

It was the sixth such warning the Dark Acolyte had offered since they had left the Red Nebulae. Gear Works had considered that multiple warnings might impress upon the others that they were taking absurd and unnecessary risks.

It did not. “Oh, man, this is going to be so cool!” Dusk Blade gushed, shaking out his wings. “A pony battlesuit would put equine soldiers on par with the Tau! This is incredible!”

“Even better than the Tau, really,” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “At least we know how to kick things when they get close.”

“Ooh, do they have jet packs? I hope they have jet packs!” Pinkie was bouncing up and down in place, as she had been doing since they left the restaurant.

Gear Works groaned and stepped up to the access panel. “Access codex 49319, initiate. Designate authority signum tertius-beta.”

The panel crackled. “Confirmed. Access granted. System lockdown disengaged. Welcome, Acolyte Gear Works.”

The doors started grinding open, and Gears suddenly found himself staring at Dusk’s backside as the batpony landed in front of him.

“Sweet! This is the best!” the Lieutenant gushed.

Rows of raised docking alcoves were built into the far wall, and in three of them stood the prototype Striders. Standing as tall as a Space Marine, each of the walkers was an equine-shaped mechanical suit with a thickly armored torso, four long, piston-powered legs, and a head that immediately reminded the ponies of the Tau Crisis Suits. Each head was an angular mass of sensors and plate armor with an energy weapon bolted onto one side: a lascannon, a plasma cannon, and a multilaser.

“Yay! There’s one for each of us!” Pinkie noted, clapping her front hooves together.

“But there’s only three,” Gears pointed out.

“Each of us except you,” Dusk corrected. “I mean, c’mon. You can ride in your prototypes any old time.”

“But I DON’T, and there’s a reason-“

“I’ll take the multilaser model!” Rainbow Dash said, taking to the air and hovering above one such device. “No jet packs, though? The Tau suits have jet packs.”

“No, the Striders do not have jet packs,” Gears sighed. “The additional engineering complications and expenses required to-“

“Dude, seriously. Yes or no is fine,” the pegasus interrupted, landing on the back of one such walker. “How do we get in?”

Gears hesitated. “… Before I initiate loading procedures, let’s set a few ground rules.”

“Nah,” Dusk jumped atop the Strider with the lascannon. “C’mon, open up!” he shouted, banging his hoof on the top.

Pinkie jumped onto the loading bay and then onto the Strider with the plasma cannon. “I’ve used one of these before! They keep the cockpit nice and toasty!”

“Ugh…” Gear Works sighed and hung his head. “Initiate deployment cycle for bays 6 through 8,” he grumbled, sending his access codes in a brief blast of static.

Each Strider was secured to the repair bay by heavy servo arms and coils of cabling, and the restraints released blasts of pressurized gas before opening their pincers and retreating from the walkers. Then they reached behind the units and unplugged the cabling, detaching the Striders from the tethers of the local power grid.

“Unit S-001, reactor online. Unit S-002, reactor online. Unit S-003, reactor online,” chimed the logic engine vox. A gentle rumble came from the scout walkers, and the exhaust pipes mounted on the rear of each walker vomited puffs of dark smoke. The lights in the sensor heads started winking on one by one. “Pilot access codex required.”

“Override,” Gears said sharply.

“Confirmed,” chimed the cogitator. A click came from each Strider in turn, and a panel on the top plate of armor opened up.

Dusk eagerly looked down into the cockpit. There was a slightly curved bed in the middle of it, surrounded by a veritable web of pistons, cables, and hinged metal bars. “Wow… there’s a lot of, uh… moving parts in here. How do we do this, exactly?”

“The interior features a resting bed and leg suspension braces. Those would be the gaps in-between the main motivator servos. Insert your legs into the braces, and they’ll be locked in to them. Once the unit is fully initialized, any movement you make in the cockpit will be mimicked by the walker,” Gear Works explained. “In this way we’ve avoided the need for complex neural uplinks or conventional driving controls, and taken maximum advantage of our natural physiology.”

“I don’t know what any of that means!” Pinkie Pie chirped. Then she dove into the cockpit.

The others started squeezing inside their respective units, and Gear Works turned his head to the side. +Seal main access doors. Engage lab security cycle Gamma. Disable vox confirmation.+

The heavy blast doors leading to the hallway rumbled closed, and then a gentle hum came from the magnetic locks securing themselves.

“Okay, this isn’t exactly power armor, but it’s not bad,” Rainbow Dash mumbled while lowering her forelegs into the braces. “Very cramped, though. You guys should make a little room in here for wings!”

Her legs finally hung loose within the gaps, such that her weight was completely supported by the cushion under her belly. “So, what do I do now? I can’t-“

“Securing pilot,” barked an internal vox, nearly causing the pegasus to jump. The numerous bands of metal that surrounded her legs slowly tightened, gripping them in a steel cage and pressing up against her hooves. It made Rainbow suddenly and jarringly claustrophobic. As some more machinery in front of her started to shift, she finally considered that maybe Gear Works had been right about this being too dangerous. A vid-screen shifted in front of her, and two manipulator arms lowered around her head.

“H-Hey! Gears! Can you use your machine prayer or whatever to get this thing to back off a little?” Rainbow yelped.

“No, I cannot. Please remain calm while you’re secured within the cockpit. You are probably in no serious danger,” the Dark Acolyte said blandly.

Rainbow gulped as metal clamps closed around the sides of her head. The pressure wasn’t painful, but it increased just gently enough to remind her that the mechanisms could probably crack her skull very easily if they tried. “Why does it need to keep me from moving my head?!”

“It doesn’t. It needs to track your head’s movements to mimic your motions. Relax. The servo locks will open after a brief calibration period,” Gear explained.

The whine of motors and servos swam about Rainbow while she nervously waited for the machine to stop. The vid-screen locked into place just inches from Rainbow’s face, and it started booting up a moment later. It was similar to the visor screen of her power armor, but slightly worse in just about every possible way. Activation runes dotted the edges of the vid-screen, and then a projection of the room appeared after a blast of static.

“Unit activation complete. Mobility locks disengaged.”

All three Striders held position for a moment. Then Pinkie’s unit turned its head to the side. “Oooooh… it works! Nifty!”

Dusk lifted a leg, and then put it down. Then he took several steps forward out of the repair bay. “Huh. Okay. Feels a little… sluggish, but I think this thing is functional!”

“The fine-motion calibration engrams haven’t been loaded yet. Most of the combat and sensory data-sets are minimal. You don’t have vox uplinks, either,” Gears said.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a prototype. It was never intended to leave-“

The hum of a laser capacitor had Gear’s ears perking up immediately, and then he yelped when a volley of laser bolts shot over him and cut into the wall.

“Oh, so that’s how you shoot,” Rainbow Dash remarked while smoke curled from her multilaser. Her Strider walked out of the repair bay, swinging its head from side to side to take in the room. “Not bad! This thing has some punch!”

“How is it, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“Eh, the long legs are kind of awkward. Also, it should fly. No pegasus would be caught dead in one of these things until you install a flight pack.”

Gear Works grumbled something in Binaric Cant while the three Striders marched around the room. “I’ll… keep that in mind, Miss Rainbow Dash.”

“Would you cut out the ‘Miss Rainbow Dash’ stuff?” Rainbow asked, swinging her Strider’s head down to face the Acolyte. “We’re on a date, dude!”

“It’s… hard to tell, honestly,” the cyborg mumbled.

Dusk Blade approached the entrance to the chamber, moving into a slow trot to test the walker’s stability. “Hey, this isn’t bad at all! Let’s take these guys outside!”

“Ooh, yeah! Let’s have a street race!” Rainbow suddenly burst forward into a gallop, and Gear Works recoiled just quickly enough to avoid getting kicked. She passed by Dusk, charging straight toward the doors.

Like most residents of Ferrous Dominus, she was used to doors opening automatically by proximity. Rainbow gave little more than a brief glance at most doors nowadays to check their security runes before diving right toward them, confident that the barriers would slide open ahead of her.

Needless to say, that didn’t happen this time.

“GAH!” Rainbow crashed hard against the blast doors, and her Strider’s head snapped upward after bashing its face into the magnetically sealed wall. She stumbled backward, and Gear Works was honestly impressed that her walker didn’t fall over.

“Huh. Compensator gyros are exceeding design specifications. Fennin will be glad to hear that…”

Rainbow growled as her screen flickered and slowly reset. On the plus side, she wasn’t physically disturbed by the impact aside from a slight jolt from suddenly stopping. On the minus side, having the sensors impaired even briefly immediately brought back her previous sense of being trapped in a tiny metal cell.

“What the hay?! What’s wrong with the door?” the pegasus demanded. She raised a Strider leg and kicked the offending barrier, but predictably it had no effect. “Why isn’t it opening?”

“This room is on lockdown,” Gears explained calmly, “please refrain from crashing into the walls or doors, as the prototypes have not been safety-rated yet against impacts.”

Rainbow Dash turned and trudged away, but Dusk continued to stare at the door. “So we can’t leave this room? Why is it locked down?”

“It’s standard procedure when testing prototypes, particularly those with functional weapons systems,” the cyborg scoffed. “Think about the sort of dangerous creatures and devices that they create in this place! Security is very important!”

“That sucks! This room is too small to race in!” Rainbow Dash complained.

“Tragic, but that’s how it is,” Gears drawled. “So if you’re done with… uh…” He trailed off when he heard a high pitched hum coming from the side.

“I’ll get us out!” Pinkie Pie said. Electric arcs ran over the flex coiling of her plasma cannon, and the fuel cells in the back started quivering. “Get clear, everypony!”

“No! NO, STOP THAT!!” Gears shouted as the energy readings jumped. “You can’t just-“

Pinkie’s Strider fired, and a quivering blue sphere flew between the other walkers toward the door. Gear Works flung himself to the side, managing to escape the blast radius before the plasma bolt splashed into the security seals and reduced them to slag and vapor.

“Nice! That should be big enough!” Dusk said, approaching the exit.

“What is WRONG with you ponies?!” Gears demanded while Dusk Blade crouched his walker and carefully stepped through the hole in the doors.

“Gears, would you stop being such a raincloud?” Rainbow snipped while she followed the batpony. “We’re just taking your suits out for a walk. RELAX. We’re not going to go shoot up the fortress or anything.”

“But, you-“

“Although if we DID shoot up the place, that would be a pretty good test of your new battlesuit, huh?” Pinkie Pie mused before her Strider hopped through the hole in the door.

Gear Works whimpered.

The other ponies couldn’t tell, because he had disabled the system vox, but there was now a full security alert active in the temple. The logic engine had detected the weapon discharges and door breach, and was deploying countermeasures to subdue the rogue experiments. Once the alert was triggered, Gears himself couldn’t shut it off; only a Dark Techpriest with proper security protocols could deactivate an active alarm. The Striders would be targeted and destroyed with extreme prejudice.

On the other hoof, Pinkie was totally right about the testing thing.

Rainbow Dash trotted happily down the hall, finding her mood easing now that she had more room to walk. The walker was still far and away a less impressive piece of wargear than her power armor, but that in itself was fun and interesting. Trying out the sort of weapons used by Sentinel drivers and Crisis Suit pilots made her appreciate Solon’s artificer work all the more.

A loud grinding noise came from ahead. Rainbow froze, still wary after running into the last door, and then she groaned as the main blast doors to the temple slammed shut and sealed off the exit.

“Oh, NOW what?” the pegasus griped. “Pinkie, there’s another door! Can you-“

A secondary blast shield slammed down over the doors, presenting the Striders with a thick wall of sheer metal. A moment later a field of flickering blue power appeared over it, emitting a constant humming noise.

“Huh… you know, I can’t really get any good readings because of the lame auger engrams, but that looks like a force shield,” Dusk pointed out. “That might take a few blasts to burn through.”

Numerous clicking and whirring sounds came from down the hall.

One by one, the Striders turned to look. The main entry hall was long and wide, passing by several laboratoriums on the way to an open lobby. The area was littered with metal crates, parts, and the odd inactive robot, but none of the ponies could see anything moving.

“Do you guys hear that, or is the aural network in this thing buggy?” Dusk Blade asked.

“No, I definitely hear something,” Rainbow mumbled.

“Maybe Gears started up a bunch of other machines for us to play with and use as target practice?” Pinkie guessed, jumping her Strider in place.

“No. No, I didn’t,” Gear Works admitted, poking his head out.

More whirring and clicking noises came from down the hall, along with the sound of metal feet approaching.

“You have triggered a security breach. The automated defenses have become active and will attempt to destroy you now,” the Dark Acolyte said weakly.

“What? Why would they do that?” Rainbow asked, slightly alarmed.

“Because you’re all idiots,” Gear explained with a sigh.

A servitor stepped around the bend. It swiveled its head – and then its shoulder-mounted heavy bolter – around to face the walkers. “TARGET ACQUIRED. NEUTRALIZING.”

Rainbow Dash was the first to move before the first volley, given that she had the quickest reflexes. Unfortunately, those reflexes were trained toward getting in the air and mobile as fast as possible, and didn’t translate well to being in a large, grounded, stilt-legged walker. She immediately jumped up and then landed on Pinkie Pie, and both Striders collapsed into a heap just before the first burst of shells sailed over them.

“HOLY HAY!!” Dusk shouted, bracketing the servitor with his targeting auspex. His Strider fired its lascannon, instantly burning a hole six inches wide through its abdomen. The cyborg wobbled back and forth for a moment, and then collapsed in a heap.

More metallic footsteps came from the chamber, and the Lunar Lieutenant shifted over behind a metal armor frame. “There’s more coming! How many are there?!”

“Uh… I detect thirty combat servitors activating in total,” Gears mumbled.

“THIRTY?!” Rainbow shouted as she staggered upright. “Are you serious?”

“Well, okay, technically it’s twenty-nine now, since-“

He was cut off by another burst of heavy bolter fire, followed by a return volley of laser bolts. Gears ducked further back into the laboratorium, shielding himself from the shrapnel.

“This is crazy! I can’t take on that many without my armor! These Striders suck!” Rainbow Dash shouted. Her multilaser cut a stitch of burning red across the width of the hall, scorching armor plates and melting through augmented flesh before the weaponized cyborgs could take a proper firing position.

“Dashie! That’s rude! Gears is right here!” Pinkie retorted. She jumped behind a crate, trying her best to hide the frame of the Strider with the meager cover.

Her plasma cannon started powering up, but a string of heavy bolter rounds ripped into the crate, tearing it in half and striking the scout walker in the side. Pinkie stumbled, trying to find her footing while bits of polyceramic shielding fell to the floor.

“Okay, so we know these suits can handle a little heavy bolter fire! That’s good!” she said.

“MULTIMELTA!!” Rainbow screeched, lurching back from a new servitor stepping around the corner.

The spear of superheated gas was aimed at Rainbow, but the pegasus managed to dodge this time without running into anything. Pinkie was not so lucky, and her Strider’s head – and its attached weapon, as well as a significant portion of its chest - vanished into a puff of smoke. The walker promptly locked up, and then slowly lowered itself to the floor as its limbs lost function.

“You know, I’m starting to think I’m not really cut out for this piloting thing,” Pinkie remarked as her restraints unlocked. “Is it too late to try artillery? I’ll bet I’d be GREAT at artillery!”

Dusk Blade speared the multimelta servitor with a lascannon blast, and then immediately ducked back down while his weapon’s capacitors charged up again. Heavy bolter shells hammered his cover and blasted gouges into the wall, and he could hear the constant scraping of shrapnel against his Strider’s armor. “You know, Gears, this looks an awful lot like that robot uprising I asked for!”

“Well, it’s not! This is just an aggravated security response!” the Dark Acolyte shouted back.

“It would have done the job, Gears!” Dusk growled before leaning out of cover and blasting another servitor.

“What are you guys even talking about?” Rainbow Dash demanded between multilaser bursts.

“It’s complicated!” said Gear Works.

“Then it can wait! Help us out with this, will you?”

“By doing what? I can’t override the security alert!”

“Then do something else! Don’t just stand there!” Rainbow growled.

Gear Works ducked back into the laboratorium and looked around. There were numerous weapons available, but he could hardly contemplate charging into the fray with the other ponies. The engagement protocols during a security breach were relaxed considerably, and his IFF signum wouldn’t protect him after the first couple shots. It would take exactly one hit from the servitors’ heavy weapons to turn him into a smear on the floor.

“Maybe… Maybe attack the servitors in another way?” he mumbled to himself, approaching a cogitator bank. The logic engines were in a frenzy, their machine spirits sputtering machine code at a furious rate, and most of the functions were locked down to tech-clergy of his rank. However, there were still uplinks between the cogitators and the servitors themselves; in lieu of a Dark Techpriest to command them directly, the combat servitors relied on the temple’s systems to locate and identify targets.

Gear Works stabbed his tail dataspike into an inload socket, and his optical sensor flickered. “Okay, I have an idea! I should be able to shut down the servitors in a few minutes!”

“Great! Perfect! Hurry!” Dusk Blade shouted back.

“I’m inloading an update to the noosphere node web so that it generate false positives at a rate beyond what their cogitator cores can process. After that, I’ll have to modify the prioritus engram. It will take-“

“We DON’T CARE! Just do it!” Dusk snapped, turning his Strider’s head toward the doorway.

In that moment of inattention, another combat servitor lined up its heavy bolter volley. A pair of the fist-sized shells cracked against the walker’s head, first pitching it away and then blasting apart the neck assembly. The Strider’s head segment was sent flying across the hall, and Dusk Blade’s vid-screen went dark.

“Gears! My Strider is damaged! Help!” Dusk shouted in a panic.

“Stop letting them destroy my prototypes!” the Dark Acolyte shouted back while he tapped at a hololith.

“Forget your prototypes! You can always build a new Strider! You can’t build a new friend!”

Gear Works paused, glancing up in thought. “… Actually, I can build friends. Why don’t I do that?”

“GEARS!!”

Dusk Blade’s walker staggered about in the hallway, panicked and blind while bolt shells exploded all around it. Rainbow Dash was crouched behind a heavy crate, and had done a good job in cutting down the servitors before they could properly brace their weapons. This tactic was foiled when Dusk’s decapitated Strider stumbled blindly into her line of fire.

“Whoa! Hey! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” the pegasus shouted.

“I can’t see! I can’t see at all! My echolocation doesn’t work in this thing! Help!” Dusk Blade screeched in a panic.

A heavy bolter salvo cut into the Strider’s side, causing Dusk to stumble. A second volley from another servitor set up in firing position went low, stitching a line of shots across the walker’s legs and crippling them. Dusk’s Strider fell onto its side, inoperable, while increasingly panicked shouting came from the cockpit.

Rainbow Dash fired as soon as the damaged battlesuit was out of her way, cutting across both servitors in a single volley. Her capacitors released a burst of sparks, and then she speared another of the slave-cyborgs that had just turned the corner.

“Get me out! Get me out! Where’s the emergency exit lever?!” Dusk screamed.

“The what?” Gears mumbled. “Oh. Right. That’s a good idea. We should put those in the final models. Thanks.”

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, GEARS!!”

Rainbow Dash stepped over Dusk’s fallen walker, shielding it while he tried to deactivate the harness locks. She couldn’t see any more servitors in the hall, although the directional sensors were picking up more heavy footsteps.

Along with another sound that she couldn’t place immediately. Slightly squeaky, with a gentle rumble like an engine. A moment later a heavy battle servitor rumbled around the corner, being carried on a set of miniature tank treads and boasting a crackling arc rifle where its right arm should have been.

“Come and get some, zombie cyborg freak!” Rainbow crowed, firing her multilaser into the servitor’s side. Spears of brilliant crimson punched into the flank plates over the tread engine and body, throwing bursts of sparks onto the numerous servitor corpses cooling on the floor.

After the salvo, however, the armor held, and the servitor swiveled on its chassis. A run of lightning slithered down the glowing receptor coiling of its arc rifle, and a bright flash came from the weapon barrel.

Rainbow Dash reared up, and the lightning blast barely nicked her leg. Then her Strider jumped to the side to avoid a second shot, its servos squealing from the intensity.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Rainbow stabilized herself, then fired off another burst of lasers. Most of her salvo went wide, cutting molten gouges into the wall, but one managed to hit the servitor’s torso plate without ill effect.

Another shot from the defender’s arc rifle struck home, and Rainbow yelped when her vid-screen immediately went crazy. Stuttering bursts of static and scrolling strings of numbers rushed across it, each equally unhelpful to the mare still in mortal danger.

“I’m hit! I can’t see! That gun did something to the systems!” Rainbow shouted.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t start shooting forward blind-never mind, what else would you do?”

“RAAAAAAAAAUGH!!” Amazingly, Rainbow Dash found an even more reckless tactic, and she charged forward down the hall. Inside the cockpit the pegasus galloped in place, her legs pumping the harness servos and tilting her walker into a full sprint. Cracking noises came from the exterior and electric arcs spat from the sensor board, but the enraged mare didn’t stop.

Then, suddenly, the Strider tripped and lurched forward, as one tends to do when running blindly through a room full of debris and dead bodies.

Rainbow grunted painfully as her walker landed on its side, the floor screeching against her armor plating. After a second she came to a complete stop, and her vid-screen finally went completely dark.

“Hmmrggglphmmmzzzzzzz…” some mechanism within the Strider spat an unintelligible string of distorted static at her, and then the braces unlocked around her legs and head, allowing her to get free.

“Ugh, great. How am I going to take on the big guy without any armor or weapons?” Rainbow grunted in annoyance. Maybe distract it while Dusk Blade got in behind?

Any strategy for fighting the servitor bare-hoofed would have to wait until she got out, however. While the harness locking her in place had disengaged, the cockpit hatch was still closed.

“Dusk is right. This thing needs an emergency exit button or something,” the mare grumbled. “Meh. At least I’m pretty safe in here. That lightning gun can’t break through the frame armor.”

A heavy clunking sound came from the Strider’s hull, and then cockpit suddenly shifted. Rainbow’s eyes went wide, although there wasn’t much room to be jostled around when the battlesuit moved.

“Hey! What is this?! What’s going on?!” Rainbow shouted.

“I don’t know! I’m still stuck!” Dusk replied.

A cracking noise came from outside, and the Strider jolted again. Now there was a scraping noise and a constant vibration, as if the walker’s shattered body was being dragged across the floor.

“Gears! What’s happening?!” Rainbow Dash demanded.

“It looks like the Kataphron Battle Servitor is disposing of the prototype! Most likely in the incineration crucible!” Gears shouted.

Rainbow could barely hear him given the distance, the armor, and the noise, but she managed to make out the words “disposing” and “incineration.”

“Aren’t you done yet?! Save me, already!” she screamed.

“You think I’m not trying? I don’t want the prototypes damaged any more than they already are!” Gear Works shot back.

Rainbow Dash didn’t find his assurances very assuring, and the pegasus grunted and fought to twist around in the cockpit so that she was lying on her back.

“I sure hope this armor is flimsier from the inside than the outside…” She pulled back her legs as best she could, and then slammed her hooves into the hatch above.

“… Ow…” Rainbow felt a tear crawl down her cheek, but she pulled back her legs and then kicked the hatch again. And again. And again.

Each impact sent jolts of pain running up her legs, but the pegasus grit her teeth and kept on pounding. The clank of metal got louder each time, and soon little pieces of the locking mechanisms started breaking free and falling down around her.

“Coming… loose! Just… a bit… more!”

Rainbow gasped when the entry hatch finally snapped open, letting the slightly brighter lighting of the Mechanicus temple bleed into the darkened Strider cockpit. She jolted up toward the opening, squeezing her head out and then trying to pull through her shoulders to escape.

The Strider jolted again as it was suddenly dropped to the floor. Rainbow Dash yelped, then looked up to see where she was.

She was in the middle of a large, circular room. She couldn’t make out many more details than that, because she was more interested in the half-dozen combat servitors surrounding her and aiming heavy weapons at her face.

“Meep.” The cyan mare closed her eyes, hoping against hope that merely getting along with Chaos didn’t automatically land one in the nasty Warp afterlife where daemons ate your soul.

A second passed. Then another. Rainbow heard the sound of moving servo motors. Several more seconds passed with no explosive death or weapon discharge. She finally cracked an eye open.

The servitors were no longer staring at her. They turned away and searched the room, sweeping over every nook with the glittering lights of their optics. The heavy servitor rolled away, apparently no longer interested in the scout prototype. It was as if the cyborgs no longer realized or cared that she existed.

Rainbow cautiously squeezed herself out of the cockpit hatch, and then finally stretched her wings wide and took to the air. She almost shed another tear from the sensation of basic flight again, but kept her composure and swooped back into the hallway where the others were. Pinkie Pie was out of her Strider and sitting on top of its headless hull, while Gear Works was busy unlocking Dusk’s cockpit with his servo arm.

“It worked! Gears! You turned off the alarm! Nice going!” Rainbow cheered, stopping over the cyborg stallion in a hover.

“No, I didn’t. The alarm is still active,” Gears replied while the Strider’s access hatch clicked open. “I had to re-write the servitor engagement engrams and update their combat wetware. By modifying-“

“Gears,” Pinkie interrupted, “stop. Really, it’s okay. You can just say you turned off the alarm.”

“THANK YOU!” Dusk Blade shouted as he climbed out of his damaged walker.

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant,” said Gears.

“Not you. Her,” Dusk retorted, jabbing a hoof toward Pinkie. “Seriously stallion, you have to stop trying to cram irrelevant details into every conversation you have. It’s tedious.”

“It’s… not really irrelevant,” Gear Works grumbled. “For starters, since the alarm is still active, the temple is still locked down. We’re stuck in here.”

“No problemo! Dusky is famous for getting past impossibly secure barriers!” Pinkie noted.

All eyes turned to the batpony, who spent a few seconds chewing his lip. “I AM famous for that, yeah. But I kind of want to keep that method on the down-low, so Gears can take a crack at this first.”

The cyborg equine groaned, but nonetheless turned toward the blast doors shielding the main entrance and trotted up to them. Then he turned toward a panel on wall, and fixed his servo armed into an access lever to open it.

“Well, I have to say, I haven’t had this much fun on a date in FOREVER!” Pinkie Pie gushed, a grin stretched across her face. “Dinner, a show, and then a deadly firefight! Which kind of lost its novelty a little bit since that’s what we’ve done every day for months now, but doing it in a completely new, untested, and probably extremely valuable machine was cool!”

Gear Works pulled the maintenance access panel out of the wall, and then stuck his servo arm inside. +Out of all the biological functions I lost with my progression toward mechanical perfection, I never imagined I’d miss the ability to cry,+ he blurted in Binaric Cant.

Dusk grimaced and sat down next to Pinkie. “Well, I’m… glad you enjoyed yourself,” the Lieutenant mumbled unconvincingly, “but listen… I think it’s best if we don’t date anymore.”

Dusk Blade braced himself. Pinkie Pie turned to face him.

“Okay! Thanks!”

The batpony spent a moment in silence, searching the mare’s eyes. He really had no idea what to expect from rejecting the nutty pink pony, but he thought she’d at least be a LITTLE disappointed.

“So… that’s it? You’re good? You don’t want to know why?” he asked cautiously.

“Oh, well, it’s really no big deal. I didn’t think this would go anywhere anyway! You’re really not my type at all!” Pinkie admitted, still grinning.

“Then… why did you ask me out?”

“I felt kind of sorry for you, honestly,” Pinkie said with a chuckle, patting the batpony on the withers. “I mean, you’re obviously still obsessed with Twilight, and she hates your guts! Not only that, but it’s super sad that you don’t have friends.”

“I do TOO have friends!” Dusk protested angrily.

“Friends? As in more than one?”

“Yes! Of course I have friends other than Gears!”

Gears pulled his head out of the maintenance panel. “For the record, I have seen no evidence of this.” He went back to work immediately.

Pinkie giggled while Dusk fumed. “Anyway, I just thought I could help! I’m glad you didn’t want to take this any further, though! It would never work out!”

A moment’s silence hung in the air between the ponies, filled only by the clanking noise from Gear’s work.

Dusk looked up. “Is it the-“

“It’s the slavery, yeah.”

Gears grunted in annoyance as he disconnected a capacitor in the maintenance hatch.

“Well, that will take down the force shielding. I don’t know how I’m going to get the blast doors open without physically cutting through the lock mechanisms, though. This security protocol was designed specifically to thwart lower-order Dark Mechanicus like me from escaping and accidentally letting rogue experiments run loose.”

He heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him, and he tilted his head slightly. The optics sensor in the furthest corner of his hood sighted Rainbow Dash standing behind him.

“If you want me to hurry up, I don’t know what to tell you. Well, except for ‘I told you so’ I suppose.”

“It’s not that,” Rainbow assured him. “I just wanted to say… uhm… thanks.”

Gears paused briefly, and then turned back toward the panel. “It was nothing. Honestly, this is my fault as much as anypony’s for enabling the security protocols. I desperately overestimated your sense of restraint, and for that I apologize.”

“Don’t be like that, dude,” Rainbow chided, slapping the Acolyte’s hip. Her hoof struck metal, bouncing off with a ringing clang. “Now that I’ve gotten to know you, you’re actually pretty cool! Sure, you’re uglier than a yak, impossible to have a conversation with, and a total weirdo in general, but your gear is really neat! Plus, you’re actually useful in a pinch! Lemme tell you, not every stallion can say that much!”

“That doesn’t quite balance out to a compliment,” Gear mumbled.

Rainbow Dash ignored him. “So I wanted to say thanks. Not just for saving my life, but for actually showing me a pretty good time! I had fun tonight!”

Gears worked in silence for a few seconds. “… You’re welcome, Miss Rainbow Dash.”

“Geez, are you still calling me that? Fine, have it your way!” the pegasus slapped his bionic leg again, and then stepped closer to whisper to him. “I don’t think we could really be a couple, though. I mean, I’m just not into the metal legs and creepy eyes and stuff.”

“I understand, Miss Rainbow Dash.”

“Also, it’s not like I checked or anything, but I’m guessing you’re not packing anything pleasant under those robes. I mean, what with the-“

“THANK YOU, Miss Rainbow Dash, you’ve made your point.”

Rainbow quickly backed away again. “Cool! Great. So, I’m not interested in anymore dates, but if you want to hang out and have me test some more of your weapons, I could do that!”

“I hardly think this qualified as a-“

A heavy clunking noise interrupted him, and Gear Works almost jumped in shock. The central locking mechanism in the middle of the blast doors had started turning, and the creak of heavy cogs turning echoed through the temple.

“All right! You did it, Gears!” Dusk Blade cheered, jumping up right in front of the entrance. “We are OUTTA here!”

“Uhm… no… I didn’t do that,” the Dark Acolyte said, his voice squeaking fearfully.

“What? What do you mean?” Rainbow asked. “If you didn’t open the doors, who did?”

The blast doors cracked open, revealing not an unobstructed path to the streets of Ferrous Dominus, but rather the dark, hulking, spine-covered body of a Black Praetor cyborg. The doors opened further, eventually revealing two more Praetors, two squads of Scavurel, and a pair of Dark Techpriests in heavy combat gear.

The ponies stared up at the cyborgs. They stared back down. The hum of magnetic chambers, the whine of laser capacitors, and the electric crackle of taser weaponry came from the Mechanicus soldiers.

“… Well, okay, this is kind of a downer to end the night, but still. Seven out of ten,” Pinkie Pie said with a shrug.

Gear Works sighed as Mechanicus security descended on them.

Author's Note

Confession: 80% of this chapter was built around trying to find an excuse to have Trixie parody Jeff Foxworthy.
I regret NOTHING.

Network Failure

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 7

Network Failure

****

Ferrous Dominus sector 4

Penintent Block

Gear Works was not a happy pony.

For thirty hours he had been stuck in a penitent cell of the Dark Mechanicus. His servo arm was locked into the ceiling, suspending him in the air, while his legs and tail were shackled and stretched taut by chains set in the floor.

A set of heavy magnetic poles were set on each side of him, generating a constant stream of strong magnetic waves. The effect was to constantly scramble his augmetic systems; he was blinded, cut off from the datastreams, and even had difficulty recalling memories so long as the field was active. It was a unique mix of low-level tortures specially tuned to break down a cyborg-cultist’s mind, and it was proving very effective.

Such was the price for damaging a Mechanicus temple.

Presumably Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and Dusk Blade had all been incarcerated as well, but Gears couldn’t imagine that the warrior equines were being treated as harshly by the Mechanicus contingent. They were under a different command, served a different purpose, had different responsibilities, and had more powerful sponsors. Also, they weren’t part of a detachment hierarchy that would have preferred them dead. It changed the whole dynamic of law and punishment, really. They’d be fine.

They didn’t DESERVE to be fine, frankly, but that was okay. It was simply un-Equestrian to wish suffering on others simply because their stupidity had brought you extreme torment. Or at least, that’s what he told himself in the fleeting moments that his discordant thoughts stabilized into coherency.

Gears hadn’t received any water or rations since he’d been imprisoned. Was he going to be left to die here? Or was that simply another dimension of his punishment? He hadn’t been subject to any sort of trial or personal sentencing. So many questions, and not a soul to answer him.

He supposed that this was a point at which he should have considered whether all of this had been an error of judgment. Putting aside all of the other ponies’ errors in judgment that had landed him here, of course. Joining the Dark Mechanicus had been the dream, and he hadn’t expected it to be easy or fun, but being locked up in a cell and slowly dehydrating had a way of bringing his decisions and their consequences into stark relief.

Was he wrong to pursue this? Or just stupid? His superiors had never hidden their contempt for him, and some openly resented his success and wanted him dead. In such an environment, it was only reasonable to conclude that his fate had been foreseeable. In fact, the real surprise was that they had waited for him to make a serious error rather than simply executing him for one of his minor stumbles.

Gears wondered if Striker was okay. Would they find a new owner for it if he died here? He hoped so.

A heavy clunking noise came from the vault door that made up the cell entrance, and the mag-locks disengaged.

Gears couldn’t see a thing with his augmetic optics scrambled, but his ears remained almost entirely organic. He heard the sound of the heavy door sliding open, and then the sound of someone heavy stepping in. Power armor? There were other noises too, but without additional context from his other senses, he couldn’t make it out.

“Ha! Check out this setup! These dorks really have it in for the sap!”

That was Lord Tellis’s voice. What was he doing here?

“Aw, geez. Poor guy. Can you get him out, Tellis?”

Rainbow Dash. Right. Now the Chaos Lord’s presence made sense.

“Negative,” said a third voice, followed by a blast of static. “I have access to the penitent security protocols. I will-“

“Boring. Tellis SMASH!”

After that gleeful pronouncement, Gears heard the sound of metal being shorn by powered blades. He felt the chains holding his legs go slack one by one, followed by the sound of metal casing being crushed.

“Lord Tellis, destruction of Mechanicus property-“

“Is HILARIOUS! Watch!”

The magnetic fields started weakening, and Gear Works felt his internal augments starting to return to some sense of normalcy. His optics reset, turning from static to darkness. After a few seconds, his optical sensors switched back on, finally giving him a view of the room.

Gears recoiled when he found Rainbow Dash staring at him almost nose-to-mask. “M-Miss Dash? What are you doing?” He was still suspended in the air by his servo arm and tail, so he couldn’t do much other than shift his head and flail in surprise.

The pegasus snorted, backing up a few inches and smiling. “We’re getting you out, obviously! I think we’ve all had enough of this dump!”

“Oh, wow! Your prison cell is way bigger than ours was, Gears!” Pinkie Pie was behind Rainbow, looking over the penitent cell with a grin. “Ours was kind of cramped. That was probably because they came with beds and toilets and sinks and stuff. And you got chains? We didn’t get chains! Do you have to be part of the cult to get free chains?”

Gear Works lurched forward as something took hold of his tail.

“Almost done!” Tellis wrenched his tail away from the wall, and the socket restraint tore open. “One more!”

He jumped into the air, flight pack burning, and then sunk his claws into the lock that restrained Gear’s servo arm. He started tearing it apart from the sides, cutting deep into the ceiling and sawing around it with his blades.

While he worked, the stallion noticed another body leaning against a wall. It was the Dark Techpriest who acted as Warden to the penitent cells. He seemed to be missing an arm and had his optical sensors cracked, likely from having his face shoved into a wall.

“I don’t… quite understand what’s happening,” Gear Works admitted. “Are we breaking out of the facility? Are we escaping from Ferrous Dominus?” he asked nervously.

“What? No!” Rainbow laughed at the suggestion. “We’re free to go, buddy! Tellis told them to let us out!”

“I was going to just nab Dash and Pink, but they wanted to let you out, too,” Tellis explained, pulling one arm back and carefully angling it into the device. He stabbed into it again, severing the final restraint seal.

The servo lock broke free, and Gears yelped as he crashed to the floor. He quickly pushed himself up, although his attention was still focused on the Dark Techpriest. Tellis landed behind him, and Gear Works twisted his head around.

“You have my thanks, Lord Tellis. Uh… but if we are not forcing our way out, why is Dark Techpriest Hossail damaged?”

“He refused to open Dash’s cell,” Tellis spat, walking past the stallion.

“I dispute this account,” the cyborg cultist sputtered. “I had agreed to comply, and you pushed my head into the vid-screen anyway while screaming at me.”

“I like my version better.” Tellis slammed a fist down atop the Techpriest’s head, and the sound of metal striking metal rang through the cell. Techpriest Hossail slumped onto the floor, his mechatendrils going limp and sparks sputtering from his cranial plating.

“Let’s fly, fuzzballs!” Tellis laughed, striding into the penitentiary hall. Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie happily galloped and hovered after him, but Gear Works paused.

“My deepest apologies for this disturbance, Techpriest Hossail. The mares that were captured along with me have powerful friends among the Company, including its leadership,” Gears said. He grabbed the Dark Techpriest with his servo arm and pulled the cyborg into a sitting position. “I would have warned you about the potential threat from imprisoning the Elements of Harmony, but I was not consulted or interviewed before my own restraint and isolation.”

“Hey! Gears! Get your brass butt moving!” Rainbow Dash shouted from the hall.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me!” the stallion begged the Techpriest before galloping out of the cell.

He quickly met up with the others, who were waiting for him at an intersection. Tellis immediately turned around and headed for the exit, but Gear Works stopped and looked around.

“Wait, what about Lieutenant Dusk Blade?” Gears asked. “Are we not freeing him, too?”

“Lieutenant what? Whozzat?” Tellis asked.

“Nerd pony with bat wings. Crush on Twi,” Rainbow Dash explained.

“Oh, HIM. That guy’s around here?” the Iron Warrior asked.

“Nopey-dopey!” Pinkie Pie chirped. “He escaped in the first hour after we were caught! He’s loooooong gone!”

“Ugh, of course,” Gear Works grumbled, “very well. Let me open the concourse blast doors for-“

Tellis leapt forward at the doors, stabbing his lightning claws into the central maglock. Snarling, he tore the claws free, leaving long, glowing gouges across the barrier. Then he grabbed the top section and hefted it open.

“We out, pones!” the Chaos Lord announced.

Rainbow and Pinkie cheered, jumping through the gap into the entry hall. Gear Works approached more cautiously, mentally adding up the additional resources and man-hours it would take to repair this grossly unnecessary damage.

“… This REALLY feels like a jailbreak,” he grumbled, leaping through the gap.

The entry hall boasted the first layer of security for the penitent cells, and also contained a small garrison for the facility. A handful of Scavurel guards waited at attention, along with an attendant Dark Techpriest and a hulking combat automata. Despite the unnecessary violence of their exit, none of the combat units raised their weapons while Tellis and the equines walked toward the exit.

The Dark Techpriest blurted something to the Scavurel in a dialect of code that Gears didn’t understand. Then he stepped in front of Tellis.

“Lord Tellis, be advised that your arrival and removal of our prisoners violates the bounds of command authority traditionally delegated to Dark Mechanicus detachments. If it is your desire that an intruder be treated with leniency, then-“

Tellis suddenly twisted to the side, slicing his claws upward into the torso of the security automata. He grabbed hold of a latch on the side of the machine, and then wrenched a damaged power cell from its body. The machine staggered to the side and then slumped to the floor, sputtering sparks and exhaust from its reactor port.

The Scavurel started buzzing Binaric Cant in alarm and raised their weapons, but none dared fire. The Techpriest took a step back, holding up his power axe in a defensive pose.

“Lord Tellis, I humbly request that you cease hostile actions against-“

The power cell smashed into the Techpriest’s face, knocking him flat on his back. Ionized gel splattered over his cowl and optics mask, and a piece of shattered glass cut into the cyborg’s respiration hose. Before he could start to get up, a great metal boot landed atop his chest and pinned him to the floor.

“You can take your humility and your requests and shove it up your exhaust,” the Iron Warrior snarled. “If I EVER hear that you walking hunks of scrap detained my ponies again, I’ll recycle every one of you personally. Does that COMPUTE, metal-head?”

“Aw, go a little easy on them, dude!” Rainbow laughed, floating up above the Chaos Lord’s shoulder. “We did make a mess in their labs. But we would have cleaned up after ourselves! You didn’t have to lock us up!”

“You and your associates destroyed several serv-“ the Techpriest’s reply was cut off when the pressure over his chest substantially increased. His armor creaked dangerously, the components squealing against the force. “Affirmative! We will comply!”

The pressure relented, and the Techpriest continued. “Clarification, Lord Tellis: which equines are designated as ‘yours?’”

“Rainbow Dash!” Tellis said immediately, causing the pegasus to smirk and pose in the air. “Oh, and Fluttershy. And Pinkie’s pretty cool too. And since I’m freeing the dork behind me, I guess you can count him. I like the pony with the hat, too. And the Wonderbolts.”

“Maybe you’d better lay off all ponies, just to be safe!” Pinkie Pie suggested brightly.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Tellis agreed. “Just leave the ponies alone, or I’ll kick your ass.”

The Dark Techpriest hesitated, his optics blinking off and on. “… But-“

The sound of metal on metal rang through the room as Tellis kicked the machine cultist. The Techpriest flew into the group of Scavurel before they could evade, scattering them like bowling pins and slamming several into the wall.

“So long, losers.” Tellis vaulted forward, his flight igniting and launching him out the front entrance. Rainbow Dash veered over to the wall to pick up a pair of respirators, and she tossed one to Pinkie Pie before following the Iron Warrior out of the building. Pinkie followed them, hopping over a Scavurel guard that was lying in her path.

“I’m very sorry about the unnecessary violence,” Gear Works apologized while he approached the exit, stepping gingerly among the recovering cyborgs. “I would help with repairs and such, but I’m very dehydrated and starved and fairly close to losing consciousness. If you need any assistance after I’ve recovered, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Gears bolted out the front entrance, eager to escape the silent, glaring judgment of his colleagues.

****

Ferrous Dominus – sector 4

Mechanicus dorms

Gear Works trudged through the front entrance into the lobby, a deep sigh issuing from his respirator mask. He had refilled his nutrient and hydrator pumps at last, and finally been restored to something approaching normalcy. He was still feeling weak and nearly exhausted, but after getting a good night’s sleep he should be ready to get right back to work.

“Good thing the Dark Mechanicus is so meticulous about scheduling. I had no tasks assigned for my detention period!” he said to himself.

In fact, the Dark Mechanicus had neglected to assign any future jobs to his roster at all. As if they had not anticipated him returning to service. He chose not to think too hard about that.

Gears glanced up at the guard servitor, and its optic visor blinked. The weaponized cyber-slave shifted to the side, and the doors to the inner complex opened.

“Wait! Excuse me! Can I talk to you?”

Gear Works stumbled to a halt. The voice was feminine, and very familiar. He twisted his head around. His optics blinked on and off, and then refocused in surprise.

An earth pony mare was approaching gingerly from the corner of the lobby. She had an aqua-colored coat of fur and a dark blue mane that was cut short with curls in the back. Her cutie mark was a hoofball in mid-flight over a yellow starburst, followed by several smaller stars. She walked slowly, with her eyes fixed on the servitor near the door. It was a common reaction; ponies that didn’t live in Ferrous Dominus usually felt uncomfortable around the servitors and their heavy weapons. And Gears was quite sure this mare didn’t live in Ferrous Dominus.

She eventually came close enough that the servitor swiveled its head to focus on her, and the visitor went stiff and halted. Swallowing anxiously, she turned to face Gear Works. Then she recoiled in disgust, taking her first good look under the stallion’s hood. The mare recovered quickly, blanking her expression to something more politely neutral before taking a breath to speak.

“Swift Striker?” Gear Works said, finally breaking his silence.

She blinked in surprise. “How did you know my… oh, right. The security card. I guess all you weirdos can read my ID off of it.” She frowned, batting at the blank steel card hanging from a neck strap next to her respirator gear. “Anyway, I’m looking for a pony, and none of the other robed freaks will help me. His name is Gear Works.”

Gears didn’t respond for a few awkward seconds, and Swift Striker tilted her head to the side.

“Hello? Are you listening? Or… Or ‘processing,’ I guess? Ah hay, this isn’t another servitor, is it? I didn’t think they made those out of ponies!”

“You are correct. They do not,” Gears replied, coming to his senses. “Swift Striker… it’s me. Your brother. I’m Gear Works.”

Another awkward silence descended, and a complex series of emotions played out on Swift’s face. Confusion, followed by incredulity, then fear, and then more confusion. Her eyes darted up to Gear’s ears, noting the shade of the fur; it was the only bit of his coat that hadn’t been replaced by bionics or hidden beneath the shroud of his robes.

“… No,” Swift mumbled, taking a step back. “No, your metal bits are all wrong! You’re not Gears!”

“Since my initial recruitment into the Dark Mechanicus, there have been… a few incidents,” Gear Works explained. “My bionics have been expanded and upgraded. But I am indeed Gear Works.”

Swift looked torn and desperate, her eyes wide and darting around the room. Suddenly, her gaze snapped back to the cyborg. “Prove it! Tell me something only he would know!”

“You received your cutie mark when you were nine years old, the last of your class to do so,” Gears said fondly. “It happened while we were playing ball together after school.”

“I’m a famous hoofball player,” Swift scoffed, “any one of my fans could know that! It wouldn’t even be that hard to guess.”

“We would take turns playing goal keeper and trying to kick the ball past each other when we were young. I was never any good at sports, but I was much bigger than you at the time, and that gave me a crucial advantage. I usually won, and that made you mad. Sometimes I would let you win, and that made you more mad.”

Swift’s eyes were wide now, and her ears were pinned against her head.

“One day we were playing after school, and I wasn’t letting you win. I was even getting cocky about it, slapping the ball back toward you and laughing as it bowled you over. You got more and more upset, and then you bucked the ball at me so hard that it struck me right in the snout and gave me a bloody nose. The ball bounced up off of my face, and then you kicked it again on the way down, knocking it into the goal. You got your cutie mark on the spot, and started jumping and dancing for joy while I lay on the ground bleeding and crying. You never lost to me again after that, even though I stopped taking it easy on you.”

The dorm lobby was silent after Gears finished speaking. Swift Striker was stunned, her body quivering with a volatile mix of emotions. Gear Works sat silently, awaiting the mare’s judgment.

“You… You are… Gears? Big brother?” Swift whimpered, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

“Welcome to Ferrous Dominus, Striker,” Gears replied. “You can’t tell, because of the mask, but I’m smiling right now.”

Swift started circling around the stallion, looking at his legs and tail. Then she stuck a leg under the edge of his robe and flipped it up.

“Oh, Celestia! What the hay HAPPENED to you?!” Swift shrieked, recoiling. “There was NOT this much metal in your flank when you left home!”

Gears quickly shook himself to bring his robe down again. “As I said, I have been further modified since my departure. Albeit none of the further modifications were made by choice. I have had… difficulty making friends here.”

Swift’s shock jumped even further. “What? You’re saying someone here did this to you?!”

“I’m not saying that. But only because it was more than one individual. Anyway-“

“Celestia’s holy flank, Gears!” Swift shouted, slapping a hoof against her forehead. “Are you telling me these freaks are hurting you?! I swear, if I find out one of these ugly apes so much as laid a single primate finger on you, I’m going to score a goal with their head!”

The guardian servitor swiveled sharply, aiming its cannons squarely at Swift Striker. A flood of code came from its vocalizer, and Swift leapt back in terror.

“Calm down, calm down! Just let me talk to him. He won’t hurt you,” Gear Works assured her. +Servitor, expand access sub-routine 2-6127-C. Inload local-proximity codex signums and update datum register.+

The servitor bleated something else, and then turned its guns away. Gear Works turned back to his sister.

“It’s fine now. The guardian servitor will treat you as a resident from now on. It will not fire upon you without specific orders to do so.”

Swift Striker shivered. “I’ve had guns aimed at me CONSTANTLY ever since I arrived! This is insane, Gears! They can’t treat ponies this way!”

“In fact they absolutely can, but let’s put that aside. Why have you arrived, precisely?” Gear Works asked. “I didn’t receive word that you were coming.”

Swift Striker frowned. “I sent a letter. It should have arrived yesterday. It didn’t arrive? Do you have some sort of stupidly obsessive message security screening here?”

“Actually, yes! We’ve stepped up internal security due to the insurgency on the off chance that sympathetic ponies or rebellious slaves are relaying or receiving sensitive information about Ferrous Dominus,” Gears explained cheerfully. “However, the more likely reason that I didn’t receive your letter is because I was trapped in a Mechanicus prison cell being tortured when it arrived.”

Swift’s jaw fell slack.

“… In their defense, the imprisonment was entirely legitimate, and my release was a gross abuse of equine executive privilege,” Gear Works added. His sister’s expression didn’t change. “But again, why are you here, Striker?”

Swift Striker shook her head, groaning. “Can we just… go somewhere else? You have a room here, right?” She glared up at the servitor. “I know these things are supposed to be oblivious drones or whatever, but I don’t want to talk while having an armed monster looming over me.”

“They’re hardly monsters, Striker,” Gears chided. “Servitors are humans that have given their lives to serve the Company, and-“

“AND I don’t want them and their ugly metal faces full of creepy glowing lights around while we’re talking!” the mare snapped.

Gears recoiled slightly, and his optics blinked off and on in sequence. Swift tensed, and promptly started stuttering.

“N-No, I d-didn’t mean… that is… you’re n-not like… uh…”

“Striker, please. Relax,” Gear Works said. He started to shift his servo arm toward her to stroke her back affectionately, but she twitched fearfully the moment it started to move. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, apparently. Follow me to my room, and we can talk there.”

Swift Striker took a deep breath. “… Thank you, Gears. Let’s go.”

The siblings entered the elevator and ascended to Gear’s floor. Gears exited first, leading his sister into the hall.

“I sent Mother and Father a letter when I was promoted to Dark Acolyte. Did they get it? I never received any response,” the cyborg asked.

“They got it, yes,” Swift mumbled. “I suppose I am the response.”

Gears twisted his head around far enough to peek at Swift through a peripheral optic. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain later,” she mumbled. “But while we’re on the topic, none of your letters mentioned new augments.”

“Ah, yes. Well, the circumstances of each modification were rather… unpleasant and, as I said, not entirely voluntary. I didn’t want to detail such things. I know our parents worry about me.” His servo arm swiped back and forth in the air, mimicking a dismissive gesture. “Besides, I am Dark Mechanicus now. Further augmentation is a certainty. Over time, more and more flesh will give way, and more and more iron will replace it. This is not some calamitous side effect, but in fact the whole point!”

Swift Striker grit her teeth hard, forcing herself to keep quiet. A thousand angry retorts and tirades nearly made it past her lips, but she showed restraint while they trotted down the hall.

“And here we are! Home sweet home!” Gear Works said brightly before slapping a metal hoof on the access panel.

The door slid open, and he stepped aside. His servo arm pointed through the doorway, guiding Swift inside.

Swift Striker crossed the threshold, and then halted. She took in the room interior, and her nose scrunched up.

“Wait, this is the Mechanicus prison you were talking about, isn’t it?” she asked, grimacing. “I thought you said you were released?”

Gear Works sighed. “This is not a prison cell, Striker. This is my room.” Honestly the penitent cells were considerably larger to accommodate any required devices of torment, but he decided not to add that detail.

Swift Striker shook her head and slowly climbed up onto the bed. It was the only fixture in the room that looked at all suitable to hold a pony, and even it was obnoxiously hard and uncomfortable.

“I should have figured. They treat you like dirt in every other way, why would they give dirt a decent dorm room?” Swift scowled.

Gear Works whistled rather than replying, and a small port high on the wall unlocked. Gear’s servo skull, Striker, popped free and started floating down toward the ponies.

Swift Striker heard the noise, and then the sound of her terrified shriek nearly knocked Gear Works over. Swift leapt at the Dark Acolyte, screaming and pushing to get to the closed door.

“What is that get outta my way help SOMEPONY HELP!!” the mare screamed, shoving against the stallion.

Thanks to his augments, Gears was much heavier that she remembered, and the cyborg quickly blocked her path and grabbed her with his servo arm. “Striker! Calm down! That’s just a servo skull! It’s an automated assistant drone! It’s harmless!”

The servo skull hovered in front of the ponies and made a bleeping noise.

“No, I was talking to my sister,” the frustrated Acolyte explained, “not you, Striker.”

“You named that horrid thing after me?” Swift asked, quivering. Whether she was still frightened or had begun transitioning to anger Gears couldn’t tell. But the stress of repeated shocks was rapidly wearing on the poor pony.

“Yes, I did. Now calm down, PLEASE. It won’t hurt you. Nobody here is going to hurt you, Striker.” Gears pointed a hoof at his bed. “Have a seat, relax, and we can talk. Take all the time you need. But you’re safe here.”

Swift Striker hesitated. Skull Striker didn’t. The servo skull turned toward the bed and then switched off its anti-gravity field, dropping onto the mat and splaying its cabling all over.

Gear Works groaned. “Striker, temporary designation change, authorization key primaris, zeta-6. New designation: servo skull. Servo skull, get off the bed and stand by.”

After a few minutes, Gears had restored things to some tense and uneasy semblance of order. Swift Striker laid on his bed uncomfortably, trying not to stare at the servo skull named after her. Said servo skull hovered above the desk, silently awaiting instructions while staring forward at nothing. Gears himself sat on the floor, patiently waiting for his sibling to speak up.

“So…” she began awkwardly. “You asked earlier why I’m here.”

“Affirmative,” Gears replied. “You gave the distinct impression that you didn’t arrive as a tourist.”

“I didn’t. Like I said, we got your letter back in Canterlot. And Mom and Dad… well… they got scared for you.”

“Scared?” Gear Works tilted his head to the side. “Why would they be scared for me?”

“Well, whatever the reason was, we didn’t know you were being beaten, dismembered, imprisoned, and tormented, so they probably weren’t frightened enough,” Swift grumbled. “We’ve been making good money recently, thanks to the economy being boosted with alien trade. So we put some bits away, and Dad started talking to property managers in Canterlot.”

“Oh… kay…” Gear Works said slowly. “So is Father opening up a new office? Or Mother starting her own paper?”

“It’s for you, Gears,” Swift said firmly. “With a new shop, you can come back to Canterlot and live with us!”

Gears recoiled slightly. “What? No.”

Swift blinked in surprise. “What do you mean ‘no?’”

“I mean, ‘no, I’m not leaving Ferrous Dominus or taking possession of the property in Canterlot.’ The very idea is ludicrous,” he scoffed.

“Ludicrous?! I see you for the first time in a few months and half your body is missing! THAT’S ludicrous!” Swift snapped.

“There’s absolutely nothing illogical about that,” Gears retorted. “Laboring in Ferrous Dominus is dangerous, and injuries are frequently repaired with bionic replacements.”

“That’s the PROBLEM, Gears!” Swift shouted.

“You and I have very different ideas on what constitutes a problem,” the Dark Acolyte said defiantly.

Swift growled, and then sucked in a deep breath. “Gears, LISTEN. We were all scared for you when you left Canterlot. Your obsession with this alien junk nearly got you killed, and then as soon as you got a bunch of it crammed inside you, you ran off to beg them for more! If you had given us any warning we would have helped you earlier, before you left!”

“Helped me, or stopped me from leaving Canterlot?” Gear Works asked.

“They’re the same thing!”

“They’re very much not.”

“Just… shut up and let me finish! When you left, we figured you’d be back soon because the DarkMech would reject you. We were all really surprised when they didn’t, obviously, but still figured it was only a matter of time before you were kicked out of Ferrous Dominus!”

“As always, so supportive and confident in me,” Gears grumbled.

“Well, you’ve failed at everything else in your life, why would this be any different?” Swift asked. “But… apparently it WAS different. When we got your letter, Mom nearly had a heart attack. She thinks you’re going to die, Gears!”

“While it would be terribly dishonest to dismiss that possibility, the likelihood of sudden death generally decreases with experience and seniority. If I survived my initiation, there is no particular reason to fear for me as I advance in rank.”

“Of course there is! It means you won’t be coming back to us!” Swift shouted. “How long is this going to go on for, Gears? How far is it going to go? What if they make you do combat duty? What if they… I dunno, take you into outer space or something?”

Gear’s ears perked up, and Swift could swear his optics lights turned up their brightness. “I hope you don’t expect me to turn down such an opportunity.”

Swift Striker pursed her lips tightly. “That’s exactly what we’re afraid of. That’s why Mom and Dad sent me to take you home. You can have the shop and restart your business. You don’t have to suffer anymore.”

“Suffer? Who said I was suffering?” Gears asked incredulously.

“You did! You’re being beaten and bullied and imprisoned and tortured and…” Swift trailed off into a growl, and then waved a hoof at their surroundings. “LOOK AT THIS, GEARS! This is inequine! This place is a like a dungeon cell but with worse plumbing! Nopony deserves to be treated like this!”

“Well that… It’s not THAT bad… I mean…” Gears trailed off uncomfortably, turning his head away.

Then his pressure sensors detected a hoof pressing against his cheek. His head was pushed back and Swift Striker peered into Gear’s hood. The mare was trying to control her emotions, but tears were welling up in her eyes.

“I… I didn’t even recognize you when I saw you, Gears,” she said, her voice wavering. “If I take you back to Canterlot, you might have to prove who you are to Mom and Dad, like you did to me. And… if I leave you, it’s just going to get worse! I can’t let you stay here any longer. I’m losing my big brother. Literally, piece by piece.”

She sniffled, and Gears felt a sharp contraction in his circulatory engine. Swift Striker was a tough mare. Passionate, energetic, quick to anger, and brave. She didn’t put her sorrow on display easily, although the few times she did she had always opened up to him.

“Striker… I… The Dark Mechanicus is… uh…” Gear Works stumbled over his words, feeling a heavy and unfamiliar weight settle on him. “It’s… It’s just… It’s important to me, Striker!”

Swift backed up slightly, her ears flat against her head and her eyes still moist. Those eyes were now narrowed at him in anger, though, and that was an emotion he could weather more easily than her despair.

“Why? Why is this so important to you?! What the hay do you even DO here that’s so great that you’ll let aliens rip off your legs to do it?!”

Gear Works found his calm, and then activated his desk cogitator with a glance. “It may not seem like I accomplish much, but the things I’ve learned in these few, short months have already taken me far beyond the meager thresholds of knowledge possessed by our entire kingdom. I know of materials that exceed the capabilities of magic, elements we’ve never seen, physical and metaphysical laws we’ve never conceived of!”

Data flashed in a rapid sequence across his vid-screen, detailing several technology fields that Gears had studied. Schematics blinked on, hexes lit up with notes, and then the entire field vanished to be replaced with a new one. To Swift Striker, it was a senseless rush of bizarre pictures. To Gear Works, it was a rapturous flood of information, giving intellectual form to marvels of technology the likes ponykind had never imagined.

“And there’s more. I have been able to make my own contributions to the war effort. I’ve designed my own war machine and repaired the wargear of our soldiers. I’m making a difference out here, Striker, and all without taking a single life!”

The door hissed and started to slide open.

“Who cares?! This isn’t about the apes, Gears! This isn’t even about the ponies that signed up here! This is about YOU, and the ponies who love you!” Swift Striker placed a hoof against Gear’s chest, leaning closer to the stallion until her nose almost touched his respirator mask. Her eyes were watery, but her expression was firm. “Please, Gears. Stop this. Come back with me. I’m begging you.”

Gears felt his central engine tighten again. “Striker… I…”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Swift Striker didn’t move away from Gear Works, but instantly hardened her expression and tilted her head to the side to look toward the entrance.

“Gears, why is there a grayskin in your room?” the mare asked coldly.

Gear Works sighed and turned around. Fennin was standing in the doorway, his finger hovering in mid-jab over his engineering tablet. His eyes were locked onto Swift, and he maintained a carefully neutral expression.

“Greetings, Fennin. Allow me to make introductions.” Gears took a step back and jabbed his servo arm at his sibling. “This is Swift Striker, my little sister.” The servo arm whirled about and pointed at Fennin. “Swift Striker, this is Fio’el Fennin, one of the most brilliant engineers of the 38th Company’s Tau contingent.”

“Ah. Sister. That explains it.” Fennin slid his tablet under his arm, smirking. “I don’t think there would be any other reason for a female to be in your room.”

Swift’s expression turned from suspicious to angry, and her fur bristled. “You have two seconds to step out of this room before I play hoofball with your dome, grayskin!”

Fennin complied immediately, backing up out the door without so much as altering his expression. Then he snapped his fingers.

“Acolyte! Come!” the Tau Engineer said, speaking very much like a master calling his dog.

Gear Works promptly rushed outside, causing Swift Striker’s indignant fury to rise even further. As she started sputtering angrily, Gears closed the door. A second wordless command locked it, ensuring that the mare wouldn’t disturb him and Fennin.

“I’m so sorry about that, Fio’el. I wasn’t expecting a visit from family members today! I didn’t even know you were coming, either! I feel like my schedule is a complete mess!” Gear Works complained.

“Being suddenly released from cruel and arbitrary imprisonment will do that to you,” Fennin admitted.

“Oh, it wasn’t arbitrary at all,” Gears insisted. “Really, if my superiors made any miscalculation it was also imprisoning the Elements of Harmony who were with me at the time of the disturbance.”

“Your continuing earnest deference to people who would rather see you dead remains utterly fascinating to me,” Fennin said, smirking again.

“Right?!” came Swift’s voice, shouted from behind the door. “Gears, the alien monster is right!”

“Yes, fine Striker! Please wait a moment while I take care of this!” Gear Works replied. “What was it you needed to see me about?”

“It’s about the prototypes.” Fennin started poking at his tablet again as he spoke. “After hearing about the circumstances of your imprisonment, I studied the temple vids and battlesuit recorder data. It made for an excellent hot run for the Strider prototypes, and I’ve already begun fabricating the updated models. I did think I’d have to do so without your help, but since you’ve been unexpectedly freed, you can review the design changes.”

“Excellent! I had feared the project would fall apart in my absence! Let me see the data!”

Fennin swiped a finger across his engineering tablet. Gear’s optics started to glow brighter as his noosphere nodes inloaded the blueprint packets.

Then a hoof banged against the door to his room.

“Gears? Gears, let me out!”

“Not now, Striker! I’ll be back in a minute! This is important!” the stallion snapped back. “Are you sure the change to the bearings and knee assemblies are necessary? The test run didn’t reveal any mobility issues.”

“It didn’t, but a post-mortem did. Your pilots didn’t move in ways that I expected, and it created an unsustainable level of wear on the bearings. These battlesuits will have to operate in much harsher terrain than a temple hallway, and without regular maintenance.” Fennin brought up the image on his engineering tablet. “I was very impressed with the stabilizers’ ability to counteract rough handling, though. It was such a crude module, I was sure we’d need to replace it.”

“Hey! Gears! I’m serious! You know that I’m claustrophobic!” Swift shouted, banging on the door some more.

“It’s a small bedroom, not a blasted sewer pipe! It didn’t bother you before!” Gears shouted back.

“Before I wasn’t alone with your creepy servo skull! Wait, wha-gah! No! Get away! I wasn’t calling you!”

Gear Works groaned when more banging noises came from his room. “This… This isn’t a good time to talk, Fennin. Can we work on this later?”

“Not if you want to update any systems. Like I said, I’ve already begun fabrication. I didn’t expect you’d be available today,” Fennin warned.

“Okay, just… we need to add an ejection system. That was a main concern of the ‘test pilots,’” the Acolyte explained.

“Ah. I didn’t think of that. All right.”

“I thought you reviewed the recorder data? Didn’t you hear anypony bring it up? They could have very easily been killed!”

“Yes, but I don’t really care about that, so I didn’t think anything of it. But if you think it’s best…”

“GEARS!!” Swift shouted, causing him to jump. “Your skull thing is floating like an inch away from my face and not touching my face but coming really close and I’m scared and DO SOMETHING!!”

Gear Works unlocked and opened the door. Swift Striker was crouched under the metal slab of his bed, her body quivering. His servo skull hovered at the edge of the bed, its tiny manipulator claw reaching out to the frightened mare.

“Servo skull! Over here!” the equine cyborg commanded. It promptly turned away from Swift and swooped through the air to hover over Gear’s head. “It’s all right, Swift. The servo skull won’t hurt you. Why, I’m not sure it CAN hurt you.”

“When we first met you tried to have it electrocute me,” Fennin interjected.

“Not NOW, Fio’el!” Gears snapped back.

Swift Striker squirmed out from under the bed and cast a deadly glare at her brother. “What the hay is wrong with you?”

“At the moment what is wrong with me is that I’m trying to juggle multiple priorities in the face of severe disruption to my scheduling,” Gear replied honestly. “As such, I’ll have to decline your request to leave the Dark Mechanicus.”

“Gears, you can’t do this! They’re killing you!” Swift Striker insisted.

“I agree with your sister,” Fennin interjected again.

Both ponies were startled by the sudden admission. Gears didn’t know what to say, but Swift quickly latched onto the agreement.

“Yes! See! Even the evil alien knows this is a bad deal!” she shouted triumphantly. “You need to leave Ferrous Dominus and come back with me to Canterlot!”

“No, that’s stupid,” Fennin said.

Swift recoiled as if she had been slapped. Gears turned his head toward the alien.

“So you think I should leave the Dark Mechanicus, but NOT return home? What else would I do if I gave up the robe?”

Fennin shook his head. “You should come to Black Point and work with us. You’re easily the smartest pony I’ve ever met, and you have actual work ethic. Canterlot obviously doesn’t care for those qualities, or you wouldn’t have left.”

“That’s not true at all!” Swift Striker objected.

“It’s completely true,” Gear Works countered.

“Well, yeah, but how does HE know?” she retorted, jabbing a hoof toward the Engineer.

“Gears can’t do anything worthwhile in that pre-industrial pile of rocks you call a capital,” Fennin planted a fist against his hip, his lips curled into a smirk. “At least here, he can learn and produce something useful. Among the Lamman Sept, he could do that without being tormented by other ponies.”

Swift growled, “Yeah, well maybe he would… uh… wait. Ponies? What are you talking about?” She deflated in confusion, knitting her eyebrows. “It’s the human Tech-people that have been hurting him!”

“No it isn’t.” Fennin smirked some more.

“I never claimed any of my injuries were caused by humans,” Gears mumbled in embarrassment. “Although Lord Tellis did throw me into a wall once. I suppose that counts.”

“That… That isn’t the point! He’s coming with me, not you!” Swift scowled, jabbing a hoof at the Tau.

“I seriously doubt he’s leaving the Dark Mechanicus at all. But if he was, he’d have a home among my caste.” Fennin leaned against the wall. “Knowledge, resources, respect, and safety. What more could he ask for?”

“How about the love and affection of his family?” Swift replied.

“I don’t really know what that’s like, but it sounds stupid. You don’t need that.”

“All right, please, just calm down, you two,” Gear Works begged. “I’m not planning on going back to Canterlot, and I’m DEFINITELY not moving to Black Point.”

“Why not?” Fennin’s smirk finally vanished, and he actually looked slightly offended.

“For one thing, just because you and I get along doesn’t mean I’d want to live amongst your people. I much prefer humans,” Gears explained.

“And ponies, like me,” Swift Striker added.

“… Sure. Second of all, I’ve studied your caste structures, Fennin. As a scientist auxiliary, I would never be formally integrated into the Earth Caste. And finally, the Kroot would probably eat me.”

“There is AT LEAST an equal chance of the humans or one of their arcane horrors here eating you as the Kroot,” Fennin countered.

“He’s not going with you!” Swift Striker shouted irritably. “Why are you even still here? You already got what you came for! Go away!”

“I did get what I came for. But now that I know who you are and what you want, I’m staying,” Fennin said. “It would be a serious loss to the Company’s scientific and engineering capacity were I to let Gear Works leave for some equine backwater. I won’t allow it.”

“Won’t ‘allow it?’ Who gave you a vote?”

Swift was bristling now, and Gears recognized the signs that she was about to explode into a violent frenzy. While the mare was smaller than he was and Fennin was surprisingly capable in a physical scrap, Swift Striker was also very strong, fast, and skilled at precisely striking moving targets. She could very easily break the Tau’s neck, perhaps without even meaning to. And although a pony assaulting a Tau would probably be safe from retribution within Ferrous Dominus, Gear Works would really prefer his associates and loved ones not murder each other.

“Swift Striker! Please! Listen to me!” Gears begged, standing between her and Fennin. “I assure you, Fennin’s advice has not swayed me. I don’t intend to leave Ferrous Dominus, unless it is at the Company’s behest.” He shook his head. “I realize this doesn’t make much sense to you. I’m not sure I can explain it in a way that you’d understand.”

“What I UNDERSTAND is that you’ve been abused, tormented, and ripped apart constantly since you left home!” Swift retorted hotly, leaning into his face so that they were nose-to-rebreather-mask. “What I UNDERSTAND is that you’re so miserable and lonely here you’ve taken to making friends with the bucking Tau! What I UNDERSTAND is that you have a home waiting for you back in Canterlot, with people who love you and want to keep you safe!” Her breath was catching now as she struggled not to cry. “I need you to understand that, Gears. We don’t care about the Company, or the war, or some nuclear-powered can opener you can only learn to build if you agree to be a slave to these maniacs! We just… We want you back, Gears.”

An uncomfortable silence swallowed the room after Swift Striker’s plea. She retreated from her brother’s face, slumping onto her haunches while sniffling. Gear Works was struggling to come up with something to say. Fennin frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t say anything.

Then the door opened again.

“Gears! Buddy! You made it out! Nice!”

The unsolicited entry of a familiar batpony caused Gear Works to groan. Fennin stiffened slightly as Dusk Blade trotted past him, as his only previous encounter with the thestral had gotten him kicked with little provocation. Swift Striker leaned over to see who was intruding now, and then blinked in surprise at seeing a batpony stallion with a dark blue mane.

“Lieutenant Blade, now is REALLY not the best time for this,” Gears grunted, twisting his head around.

Dusk ignored him. “And what have we here? Swift Striker? Of the Canterlot Sunbeams? Hot DOG, Gears! You didn’t tell me your family included royalty!”

Gears recoiled slightly in surprise while Dusk passed by him. Fennin was even more confused, having no idea what Dusk Blade was talking about. Swift blushed.

“Oh! A fan? I, uh… wait, what was your name again?” she asked, stumbling around her words a bit.

“Swift Striker, this is Dusk Blade, Lieutenant of Princess Luna’s Lunar Guard. And Lieutenant, you evidently know Swift Striker, already? Why?” Gears asked suspiciously.

“What do you mean ‘why?’ She’s a famous hoofball player!” Dusk laughed.

“Yes, but you referred to her as my family. I never told you that,” the Acolyte pointed out.

“I’ve been eavesdropping for a while. It’s cool.” Dusk Blade stood before Swift Striker and then bowed, crossing one leg against his chest and lowering his head. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Striker. Gear Works is a dear friend of mine, but somehow he neglected to ever mention that he was related to one of the world’s most talented athletes. I’m actually a little embarrassed!”

Swift’s blush darkened, her eyes darting from Dusk to Gears. “Oh, uh… well, it’s not something he likes to brag about, really. But I-“

Dusk Blade swung around next to the mare, laying a wing across her back before she could protest. “I know you came here to see your brother, but you simply CAN’T spend your entire visit crammed in this awful little room. The Mechanicus has the worst living quarters bar none. Even the slave pens are more comfortable. Let me show you Nightwatch! It’s the most beautiful structure in all the fortress!”

“So there IS something nice around this smoggy hay pit? I figured there must be some reason ponies actually want to live here!” Swift happily let the batpony lead her for several steps before she faltered, remembering her entire reason for coming. “Oh, wait! Gears! Come with us! I need to-“

“Ssssssh,” Dusk whispered, suddenly leaning his body against hers. “Let’s leave big bro alone for a little while. He’s had a rough morning, and I think his processors are running a little hot right now. He needs a break.”

Swift Striker felt a hot tingle travel down her spine, and her legs twitched. She glanced over at Gear Works, trying to guess what he was thinking, but found the darkened cowl full of green lights as cold and inexpressive as ever.

“I know I’m not very well placed to judge your banal social customs,” Fennin interrupted, “but don’t you think-“

Fennin didn’t get any further than that in his comment. Dusk leapt; not at Fennin, but rather, over Gear Works. The thestral twisted in the air to line up his back leg, and then kicked Gear’s servo skull across the room. It smashed into Fennin’s forehead, knocking the Engineer over and leaving him clutching his face in pain.

“Lieutenant! Would you stop attacking people at the drop of a feather?!” Gears snapped after Dusk landed in front of him.

“Sure. Miss Striker? You coming?” Dusk Blade swept a wing toward the exit and winked.

Gear Works stepped forward to continue berating him, but he stopped short when Swift Striker trotted past him.

“Gears, I’ll be back in a few hours. Think over what I said, okay?” Although Swift was talking to her sibling, her eyes were fixed firmly on the stallion leading her outside. “I’m going to go do… some sight-seeing.”

Gear Works silently watched the other ponies leave. He supposed he should have called out to stop them, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of precisely what objection to make. Interrupting Swift’s attempt to sway him? He didn’t especially want to continue that conversation. Seducing his sister right in front of him? That sounded right, but he had always made it a point to butt out of her personal life.

By the time he settled on pointing out that Dusk Blade already had a crush that he had devoted extraordinary effort to impressing, Dusk and Swift were gone. The Dark Acolyte sat and stared at the closed door. Fennin pushed himself to his feet and massaged his forehead, mumbling profanity in his native language.

“Fio’el, are you okay?” Gears asked eventually. “Do you need medicae aid?”

“No. I think I’ll be fine,” Fennin replied stiffly, glaring at the door. “More to the point, shouldn’t you go after them?”

“… They’ll be fine,” Gear Works decided, turning toward the alien. “I think I’d rather discuss that ejection system, Fio’el. We’ll need to modify the entry hatch…”

****

Ferrous Dominus – sector 4

“So, how are you liking Ferrous Dominus so far?” Dusk Blade asked brightly as he trotted down the walk.

“It’s awful,” Swift Striker replied, her voice muffled by her rebreather. “It’s ugly, the aliens are rude, there are guns EVERYWHERE, and the air is so filthy we need these stupid masks.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess that’s all true.” Dusk stopped at an intersection, and a pair of Scav Crawler transports rattled down the street in front of them. “But don’t you find any of it fascinating? This is literally an ALIEN CITY. What you’re looking at here has no parallel on this entire planet! Space ships! Lasers! Internal combustion engines! Mag-drives!”

“I’m fine without all those things, thanks,” Swift sniffed. “I’m as happy as anypony that the apes took down the Orks, but I hate this place. All I want to do is get my big brother out of here and never come back.”

Dusk turned to look at her, his gaze even and inscrutable.

“… Of course, if you can show me a good time, I’m not going to say no,” Swift said, cooling her temper. She tried to make a sly, seductive expression, but it was hard to do with the mask on.

“Oh, I think you’ll like where I’m taking you,” Dusk started across the street once traffic was clear.

“Oh my Celestia! It really is her!”

“Swift Striker?! Of the Sunbeams?! EEEEEEEEE!!”

Swift Striker turned her head toward the sky, hearing the familiar sounds of fan adulation. A pair of pegasi were swooping down on her, squealing with joy and surprise.

“Hey folks! How’s the weather doing?” Swift chirped as the winged equines came in for a landing.

“Black, poisonous, and slightly radioactive! Same as always!” Swift Striker found it strange that the pegasus sounded so happy about that, but she assumed that had more to do with her presence. “I can’t believe you’re here! Are you moving to Ferry D?!”

“No, no way. Just visiting,” Swift Striker chuckled. “The architecture in this place is a little too… ‘post-harmony’ for me.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” One of the ponies started digging around in his saddlebag. “Hey, can you sign my dataslate?”

“Ooh! Ooh! Mine too!”

“Sure guys, but then I’ve gotta go.” Swift pushed her mask down and then took the stylus between her teeth. “Who do I make this out to?”

“Black Swan!” the stallion said excitedly. “You know, I’m not sure if you heard, but Ferrous Dominus is trying to organize its own hoofball team and join the official league! We have a coach and a starting roster already!”

“REALLY,” Swift drawled as she finished signing the slate.

The other pegasus nodded. “Yup! There’s a conflict with the Rules & Safety Board, though. The current rules would treat Marks of Chaos as magic doping, which means the team captain wouldn’t qualify. There’s also some questions about cybernetic enhancements and whether they might qualify as weapons.”

Swift handed the dataslate back to the stallion, and then took the next one from the mare. “Why would metal limbs be considered weapons? Just because of their weight and hardness?”

“Yeah. Also, all the weapons built into them. Oh, I’m Wind Chime, by the way.”

“Wind Chime… got it,” Swift Striker mumbled. After signing the slate she spat out the stylus on top of it and then pushed her mask back on. “Here you are, Wind Chime. Until you guys get your own team, I hope you’ll keep rooting for the Sunbeams!”

“You know, if they need to ditch a captain, you could always join it,” Dusk Blade suddenly said. “You’d probably make more money, and you could come live with your brother!”

Before Swift could laugh off the suggestion, the pegasi gasped in surprise.

“She has a brother? And he lives here?”

“Who? Who? Who?”

Swift Striker shook her head. “It’s not really import-“

“His name is Gear Works,” Dusk said. “Dark Techpriest Gear Works, that is!”

“Your brother is a Dark Techpriest?! That is so COOL!” Wind Chime squealed. “It’s like the ultimate jock teaming up with the ultimate nerd!”

“He’s only a Dark Acolyte!” Swift corrected, bristling.

“That’s still amazing! We should get his autograph, too!” Black Swan skipped in place happily, and then lifted off into a hover. “Thanks Miss Striker! I hope you decide to come live here some day!”

“Fat chance,” the athlete grumbled while the pegasi bolted away into the air. She spent a moment grimacing, and then snapped her head toward Dusk Blade. “What was that back there? Why did you tell them about Gears?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Are you embarrassed for ponies to know he’s your brother?” Dusk asked, leading her forward again.

“YES,” she replied with a huff. “The guy has more metal in him than my stadium locker, and his lame geek-hood has somehow turned into some kind of religious devotion. It’s so weird!” She shuddered.

Dusk considered that silently for a while.

“… So if he went back to Canterlot, would you act like he wasn’t your brother, or what?”

“It isn’t like that,” Swift sighed. “I just try not to advertise it, you know? I love Gears, but he’s such a dopey loser that most of my friends who meet him ask if he was adopted or something. Now they’d probably ask where I bought him, instead. I know I shouldn’t be ashamed of him. He’s a smart pony, and he hasn’t done anything wrong. But… it’s still embarrassing.”

“Those two didn’t ask anything like that. They were impressed,” Dusk pointed out.

“Well… true, I guess. But this place is a little different from Canterlot,” Swift admitted.

“It’s very different from Canterlot. That’s why he likes it,” Dusk replied. “In Canterlot, you’re practically a hero for your hoofball skills, Miss Striker. Fame, wealth, and friendship everywhere you go! You played to your destiny, and you became a star! How did it work out for Gears?”

“He was doing okay until the aliens came. It’s not like his shop was making him rich or anything, but it was enough to get by.”

“Here he’s doing much better than ‘getting by.’ You heard about the hardships and suffering he’s been put through – and it is severe – but you don’t give any thought to what he’s accomplishing or how he feels about it!”

Dusk stepped closer to the mare and pulled her against his side with a wing while they walked. Swift Striker enjoyed the contact and happily nuzzled up against him. Dusk was quite a muscular pony, and she liked how brazen and cheerful he was. She was getting a little annoyed by the current topic of conversation, though.

“In Ferrous Dominus, Gear Works finally gets to play to HIS destiny! He follows his dreams! He gets the awesome friends and sweet promotions and creepy-looking glowy-eyes!” Dusk Blade continued. “In Ferrous Dominus, under the Dark Mechanicus, Gears finally gets a taste of what it’s like to be the big shot! He gets to be special and successful and sort of popular! And yes, he suffers for this chance. He probably suffers more than you did with all your hoofball practice and tryouts. But that doesn’t mean the goal is any less important or meaningful to him. That’s what you’re asking him to give up, Miss Striker.”

The mare groaned and pushed herself away from Dusk. “You know Lieutenant, if you still want to show me a good time, you should really change the subject. Talking about my brother is kind of a mood killer.”

“And what if I didn’t want to show you a good time?” the batpony asked.

Swift Striker glanced back at him, one eyebrow arched. “What? Then what are you taking me back to your place for?”

“We’re not heading to my place,” Dusk assured her, stopping in his tracks. “This is where I was taking you.”

Swift Striker halted uncertainly, and then started to look around. She didn’t know the various sectors of Ferrous Dominus, obviously, and to her most of the wretched industrial streets looked alike. But one obvious feature of this part of the fortress was the long mag-rail train sitting within a veritable maze of chain link fences and small gun turrets. She recognized the platform where she had initially disembarked and been processed, although they were standing in front of a different embarkation section.

“What? Wait, why are we at the train station? I’m not leaving yet!”

Swift Striker turned around to confront Dusk Blade, and then she felt a chill crawl down her spine. From the moment she had met him, the Lunar Lieutenant had boasted a happy, gleeful smile. It was confident and easy-going, and showed off his fangs in a way that somehow managed to be cute rather than intimidating.

Now Dusk Blade was frowning, his expression hard and cold as ice.

“Yes, you are leaving. That’s your train.” Dusk pointed toward an open gate between the section fence, and the mag-lev car beyond it. “Go home, Miss Striker.”

“You tricked me! Why would you even do that?!” Swift growled, her fur standing on end.

“Because I thought Gears might be offended if I knocked you out and dumped you on board like a sack of oats,” Dusk snapped, shifting his posture to a more aggressive stance. “I try not to show it, but I do care what the metal lug thinks of me.”

Swift started backing away. She was a star athlete and wasn’t afraid of fighting, but she was wary of attacking an actual soldier. “Don’t you threaten me! You know who I am! You lay so much as a hoof on me, and you’ll have to deal with much more than Gears nagging you!”

“You’re adorable, Striker,” Dusk deadpanned. “Engage secondary security gate.”

“Confirmed,” rumbled an electronic voice from a nearby pylon.

A wall of chain link fencing slammed shut in front of Swift Striker, nearly hitting her in the nose. She was cut off from Dusk Blade and the rest of the city, barricaded behind a web of steel with nothing but an outgoing train car accessible to her.

“Gear Works isn’t leaving. You wasted a trip. Go away,” Dusk Blade said, his voice like ice.

Swift Striker almost started spitting in anger, and started looking around for things to try to kick over the fence at the thestral. Eventually she thought better of it, and turned to face him instead.

“This is ridiculous. You’re not in charge around here! I’m already cleared by security! Do you want me to start screaming for help?”

“I would advise against doing that so long as you don’t have this.”

Dusk suddenly snapped open his wing, and a silvery card flipped out into the air. He caught it on his upraised hoof, and Swift’s heart almost stopped. She looked down to find the string around her neck, and saw only the feeding hose for her respirator mask.

“The guest registry card is pretty important. Opens doors, marks you as off-limits for turrets, lets guards know you belong here… losing it could end VERY badly for a pony.”

Dusk flicked his hoof to the side. The card hit the ground next to a storm drain and then bounced through the bars and out of reach. Swift’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted up to the automated guns atop the security pylons, terrified that they might turn on her at any moment.

“Oh, don’t worry; they won’t fire on you in there. There’s all sorts of unsanctioned movement around the train. But if you tried to force or climb your way out, that would be a different story. If you call the guards, they’ll wonder how you got into a restricted area with no guest pass. If you leave and try to come back, the access scribes will wonder how you left without them knowing. Nobody will believe you over me if you try to tell the truth.”

Swift Striker locked eyes with the batpony, and he could see that fear had totally replaced anger in her expression.

“There’s nothing for you to do but get on that train and never, EVER come back. Do you understand, Miss Striker?”

A gasping sob came from the mare, and she planted a hoof on the gate. Even as she started crying, she didn’t look away from the cat-like golden eyes of the Lunar Lieutenant.

“All I want is to help Gears. To keep him safe. To prevent sick, demented aliens and… and ponies like you, apparently, from hurting him! To try and keep the few actual pieces of my brother left intact!” She paused to wipe her face with her leg. “Why is that so wrong?!”

Dusk Blade turned around and spread his wings, lifting off into the air. “Good luck with the play-offs, Miss Striker. Farewell.” His wings started beating faster, and he took off into the sky.

Swift Striker watched the thestral leave, tears dribbling down the sides of her respirator. Her eyes darted over to the storm drain, then to the other side where a patrol of mercenaries headed down the street.

“Next departure on line Delta in ten minutes. Final stop: Ponyville Station. Final lockdown and security checks in two minutes. All passengers, embark at once or clear the access plaza,” growled an automated voice from above.

Swift looked up at the vox caster, then back at the open train car. Then, with a miserable sniffle, she trudged toward the car, hanging her head the entire way.

****

Ferrous Dominus – sector 4

Dark Mechanicus fabricator labs

Gears worked in relative silence at the main assembly station, his servo arm shifting up and down in sharp, precise movements. Striker – the servo skull, now with its original moniker restored – hovered on the other side of a veritable web of metal bars and armor plates. Every once in a while it would dart forward, running a torch over a seam or tapping a link to test it. Although Gear Works often spoke to his assistant skull normally, as if it were a living thing, today he transmitted his commands silently over the noosphere. He hadn’t spoken very much since he and Fennin parted ways.

Behind the Dark Acolyte, small sub-forges worked on more parts, running webs of lasers over metal bars and occasionally hammering them into shape under heavy pistons. With a brief horn blast, one such forge announced that a piece was complete, ejecting it out of the forging crucible to be added to Gear’s prototype.

Gear Works turned around, his servo arm already stretching for the metal rod. Then his body froze in surprise.

“Hey, buddy! Building something?” Dusk Blade was standing in the corner, grinning brightly.

Swift Striker wasn’t with him, which really shouldn’t have surprised Gear Works. After all, sneaking a pony through the webs of augurs, security doors, and semi-intelligent servitor guardians should have been impossible. Then again, Dusk himself getting past those things was also supposed to be impossible. But here he was.

“Good evening, Lieutenant. Did you… uh… well, did Striker… er...” Gears stumbled over his words briefly, wondering how he should approach the prospect of the thestral seducing his sister.

“Nothing happened. We just had a talk,” Dusk Blade assured the other stallion. “I gave her a little perspective, I think.”

Gears plucked the part from the forge, his optics still focused on the batpony. “So, where is she now?”

“She went home.”

“What? Without telling me or saying goodbye?”

Dusk nodded. “Yeah. She was… not happy about the things I had to say. I don’t think she’ll be coming back.”

Gear Works turned back to his machine, pressing the part into place. Striker circled around and then started welding the seam.

“You… heard our conversation, right? About what my family wants, and what I endure here? Do you think… she had a point, maybe?” the cyborg equine asked hesitantly.

“No.” Dusk stepped up next to Gears and placed a wing over his shoulder. “She was wrong. Maybe you would be safer in Canterlot, but for what? To spend all your space hardware assembling clocks? Feh. You took a risk. You paid a price. And now you’re the only pony in the entire Dark Mechanicus. You made your own destiny among a bunch of soulless, pitiless cyborg freaks that would have been all too happy to see you dead, and you should be PROUD of that!”

He slapped a hoof on the table, rattling the machine on top of it. “This is where you belong! This is what you should be doing! Fixing armor and helping me score with my crush and building… whatever this thing is!”

“That’s actually a test cockpit,” Gears explained. “I designed and installed an ejection system for the next generation of Strider prototypes.”

“Yes! Perfect! Great idea!” Dusk laughed, slapping the Acolyte on the back. “So it breaks open the entry hatch?”

“Yes. And then a small explosive charge under the pilot bed launches the pilot free of the battlesuit.”

Dusk was silent for a moment while Gears worked, mulling that over. “So… the ejection system actually shoots you out of the Strider? Like a cannon?”

“Yes. I thought it might be necessary to allow the pilot a way to quickly get clear of the wreckage, since a recently disabled Strider is likely to still be under fire.”

Dusk Blade grinned. “That sounds AMAZING. Can I try it out?”

Gear Works turned toward the thestral, his optics whirring in their sockets.

“Well, the system has undergone zero stability checks and there’s a serious chance that you could have a leg torn off if all the locks don’t disengage… or a serious concussion and spine injury if the outer seal doesn’t break properly…” His servo arm reached toward a particular switch and clamped onto it. “But okay, sure. Climb in.”

“Yay!”

Author's Note

This one was slightly more dramatic and feel-y than I'm used to. Glad to get it out of the way.
Also, new cover art! Gear Works as imagined by Underpable!
Also, new site formatting sucks. I indent everything and then it ignores it and double-spaces everything instead. There must be a way to fix this...
... Okay, I found the way to disable auto-spacing but then it still removes my own double-spacing! This is ridiculous! >:c

Expedition

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 8
Expedition

****

Frontier town designation: Oasis

“War... War never changes.”

“When the Ork assaults faltered and the greenskin armies were finally pushed back into space or scattered across the wilds, we thought the struggle was over. As the dust settled and the Warp storm raged around Celestia’s sun – the core of our so-called ‘Centaur system’ – we celebrated a miraculous victory and the return to lasting peace. We were secure from further incursions from the Warp, free from aggressors lurking in our star system, and reluctant partners of the Tau remnants, whom could no longer act against us. We were safe again.”

A sigh.

“That illusion didn’t last. Having earned their place as the planet’s rulers, the Iron Warriors took to the task of subjugation and consolidation. But ponies were merely the most dominant form of intelligent life on our world, not the only form. The various kingdoms and tribes did not take kindly to the deal that Equestria had made for them. The Orks and Tau had been found, fought, and defeated on Equestrian soil, and so to the other nations, the aliens were an Equestrian problem. The Equestrians’ awkward and desperate assurances that the other races of Centaur III had been saved by the 38th Company as well fell on deaf ears. The non-ponies of our world prepared for resistance.”

“The resistance was fierce, but short-lived. The diamond dogs were the first to find their territory housing new mining facilities and carbon extractors, and the first to learn the deadly folly of opposing the Dark Mechanicus. The bison found their legendary stubbornness outmatched by Iron Warrior patrols and the gun towers that cut through their migration routes. The griffon kingdom, an ancient and fearsome military power, was toppled in an evening. The denizens of our forests could only watch helplessly while their homes were harvested at the humans’ whim or – arguably worse – slowly corrupted and killed by the blight of Chaos and industrial pollution spreading ever further across the globe. And what of the changelings? To have launched such a terrifying and cunning assault upon the aliens, only to vanish into their labs without a trace! Genocide may be the more merciful fate compared to what our dark masters have in store for them!”

“In each case, the Equestrians intervened where they could to spare their neighbors from the threat of wholesale enslavement or extermination. Pony regents were assigned to the more organized foreign lands to replace uncooperative rulers and keep the citizens safe from their new masters, effectively becoming colonial governors. Despite their mercy and benevolence, and their excellent record at preventing massacres, the equines were quite despised for their efforts. The land was stripped bare and carved open, the natives were subjugated, and each region was taxed for the privilege of survival.”

“The Equestrians themselves benefitted considerably from the 38th Company’s presence, forming lasting friendships and trading for the aliens’ technology. But as their allies, they were forced to watch as a shroud of darkness and fear spread across their world. A world where violence was now as common as trade. A world plagued by alien raiders, daemonic phenomena, and evil magic. A world where ‘harmony’ was mocked as a euphemism for oppression and corruption.”

“And yet, despite their efforts and sacrifices, even Equestria was not safe. More threats lurk in the void beyond our little planet. More enemies race between the stars, searching for victims. The Centaur system had been seized by the minions of Chaos, but in the end it was simply another scrap of territory in a galaxy ablaze with constant war.”

“And war… war never changes.”

Gear Works stared at the hunch-backed creature sitting at the edge of the road. His head tilted slightly to the side, and several of his optical lights blinked off and on.

“I just asked where I could find a scrap dealer,” Gears deadpanned. “Or an artifact collector, perhaps? I’m searching for anyone who might sell salvaged goods.”

“Can I have some money?” the elderly creature replied.

With a weary grunt, Gear Works turned away and trotted down the street.

Oasis was a blighted inland town, positioned in the middle of the badlands and inhabited by a medley of bizarre townsfolk who mostly defied simple racial classification. The structures were haphazard and crowded, with few signs of modern infrastructure or simple Equestrian technology. Many of the buildings had been built and expanded upward from their ramshackle beginnings, supporting multiple stories on improvised braces or chains linked to other structures. It had the appearance of a city slum, save only for the fact that there wasn’t any section of the town in obviously better shape.

A scream came from behind him, and Gear Works snapped his head around.

A large fish-like biped collapsed in the middle of the street, twitching badly. Two Scavurel Dregs, each holding a taser goad, slowly circled the creature warily while bursts of Binaric Cant passed between them. Other townsfolk scattered or cowered, fearful that they could be next.

“P-Please, stop! I don’t know! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the creature howled.

“Explain the origins of the device,” demanded one of the soldiers, pointing to something off on the sidewalk. “This constitutes your final request.”

“I… It… You can’t just…” the creature blubbered, weeping frantically.

The other Scavurel raised his taser goad, electricity dancing between the tines.

“And what have we here? What a clever little battery pack!” Gear Works trotted past the confrontation, and the Scavurel hesitated.

Sitting on a crate next to an iron cage was a metal box with a spring-loaded top, numerous wires, and a cracked dataslate interface taped on the front. Gears snatched up the object with his servo arm, rotating it to look into the bottom.

“An improvised cogitator that uses las-packs as energy cells? Not bad. Whoever built this is quite handy and knows their way around a circuit.” Gear Works glanced at the fish-man. “I’m guessing it wasn’t you.”

“No! I didn’t build it! I swear, I don’t know what it’s made from! I just use it to do math and keep records!” the creature blubbered.

“This is clearly junk scavenged from battlefields or some outpost. It’s not what we’re looking for.” Gear Works placed the device back where he found it. “However, whoever you got it from may know more…”

“I don’t know who sold it! I bartered for it fair and square and didn’t ask no questions! I’m an honest trader! I deal with hundreds of customers! How am I supposed to remember all of them?” the vendor complained.

“An honest trader…” Gear Works turned his head toward the cages stacked up next to the side of the road. Behind the thick iron bars were various smallish creatures whimpering in fright or staring listlessly at him. He couldn’t identify most of the species, but the ones he could, including an exhausted deer and two diamond dog pups, were clearly sentient.

“You’re a slave trader,” Gears spat, turning his gaze on the fish-man while his optical lights narrowed into little green lines.

“Uh… So are you guys, right?” the fish-man asked, slowly pushing himself upright.

“Technically, yes! The difference is, I feel bad about it!” the stallion retorted.

“That’s not much of a difference.”

Puffs of steam burst from within Gear’s hood, followed by an eruption of angry-sounding static. The Scavurel glanced at each other uncertainly.

“Fine! Then I’ll do something about it!” the cyborg stallion suddenly declared.

Gear’s tail stabbed toward the cage, piercing the battered iron lock with his dataspike and tearing it open. Then his servo arm threw the door open.

“In the name of the Iron Warriors, I am releasing your inventory!” Gears announced before cutting open another lock.

“What? Why?!” the vendor demanded.

“Officially, it’s because slave trafficking within Company territory requires sanction, and you have no such clearance.” The Dark Acolyte’s tail whipped through the air again, and another lock fell apart. “We don’t want you rubbish preying on our assets.”

“But this isn’t Company territory!”

“You have heavily armed space-soldiers rampaging through your streets and ponies are looting your property. Of course this is Company territory.”

Gear Works broke the last lock and kicked the cage, startling the two diamond dog pups inside. They squeaked in fright and then bolted, dashing out into the streets and sprinting away. The stallion banged his servo arm against another cage, and the remaining slaves that hadn’t yet left bolted away into town.

“You’re crazy! Those wretches can’t take care of themselves! They could die out on their own!” the slave trader complained.

“Every one of them was malnourished and dehydrated,” Gears snorted. “They could have died in your cages!”

“Well, sure, but then they’re a tax write-off.”

Gear Works spat an angry blast of static from his vox, causing the fish-man to flinch back. Then he spun around and stomped away, kicking up small dust clouds in his wake. The Scavurel watched him leave while spitting short static bursts to each other, and then those soldiers shrugged their shoulders and walked off in the opposite direction. The street vendor was left with his improvised battery pack and his empty cages, forgotten.

“Growing up in Canterlot, it’s easy to forget just how much of this planet is a vile, untamed swamp of poverty and savagery,” Gear Works fumed while he trudged down the streets. “Look at this pitiful place. We should just drop a hab block on top of it and be done with it. It would crush this entire wretched slum and everybody would have a better dwelling! At least, the ones who could run fast enough would!”

The thought of an enormous building grinding the homes of the indigent to dust lifted his mood briefly, but it lasted barely a few seconds before Gears emitted a tired sigh. He stopped in the street and looked left, and then right. Most of the hideous townsfolk either turned away with a shudder, unwilling to stare into the arch of green lights within the shadow of his hood. Some scowled angrily, lips curling to display curved, razor-edged teeth, before they too turned away with a shudder.

“I miss Striker,” Gears said, his ears flattening against his hood.

An explosion came from the next block ahead of him. Gear’s ears perked up, and he watched with fascinated trepidation as a rickety-looking tower fell over into the street. The tower was but one wing of a much larger building, and tendrils of smoke leaked from several windows already.

“Ah, it seems we’ve found a lead,” Gears said to himself, out of habit. “Good. I thought I’d be out here all day questioning tight-lipped street vagrants.” He started trotting faster down the street.

Then he stopped.

Gear Works turned his head around, staring at a particular alleyway completely enclosed by the creaking tenements on either side. His optics sensors zoomed in on the shadowy gap between structures, but he detected no movement.

“I could have sworn I saw something… Bah. Whatever. I have better things to do,” the Dark Acolyte grumbled.

****

The Mayor’s mansion, such as it was, wasn’t much of a mansion. Like most of the buildings in Oasis it had been built initially as a haphazard shack and then expanded outwards and upwards. Walls opened up into crooked hallways and rooms had been stacked on top of each other to form creaking, unstable towers. Many holes in the walls or ceilings had been patched up with aluminum siding and wooden planks, while fire damage was evident in multiple rooms.

And that was BEFORE the Iron Warriors had stormed the building.

An explosion ripped through one of the walls on the third story, and the smoldering body of a large, thickly muscled creature was launched out of the building. Its body hit the ground with a meaty thud, and an armored form peered out of the new hole in the wall to confirm the creature’s fate. Smoke already poured from half a dozen breaches and windows all over the building, and the booming sound of bolter fire could be heard every few seconds.

Soon, a pair of Iron Warriors stomped out of the (already demolished) front door, each dragging a yelping creature behind them. One was a small, pale individual wearing what probably amounted to fine clothing in Oasis. The other was a gangly, furry beast wearing a sackcloth and already bleeding from several small wounds. Both were marched out into the poorly-maintained plaza in front of the mansion, and then shoved to the ground.

“We believe this one is what amounts to a governor in this loathsome hive,” one Chaos Space Marine growled, pointing a boltgun at the back of the smaller beast. “The other is his servant. He was promised survival in return for revealing his master’s hiding place.”

“You useless, backstabbing coward!” howled the Mayor, jumping up and shaking a fist at the other prisoner. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you? You can’t treat the Mayor like this!”

“Directive: Be silent until input is requested. Advisory: Compliance shall extend estimated lifespan considerably.”

Standing in the middle of the plaza was a Dark Techpriest. He was not extensively modified as compared to most of his peers, possessing a fully humanoid, bipedal body with augments that largely mirrored the limbs they were replacing. His head was half cybernetic, half unmodified, with a nightmarish array of tubes and sensors replacing everything from his jaw to right temple such that his augments seemed to cut across his face. A cog-toothed power axe stood on the ground, head-down, with the Techpriest’s hands resting atop the other end. Servo skulls riddled with spikes orbited above him, chittering quietly in crude Binaric.

“Introductory: Designation Vallan. Techpriest class gamma-secundus. Function: Acting field commander attached to expeditionary force 9-636. Begin explanatory sequence…”

Vallan pointed to an empty space in the air in front of him. A hololith spilled into the open space, forming the image of a four-legged explorator automata. The hololith spun around slowly, and parts of the machine broke away suddenly and expanded to show off the various parts of the device: the augur arrays, manipulators, legs, and power core all broke off and ballooned in size before collapsing again and returning to the greater whole.

“This is a Jaggen-pattern explorator automata probe. Such devices have been deployed all over this world to scour it for anomalies, tactical data, and resource caches. Eighty-one hours ago, the tight-beam noosphere uplink from one such unit was lost. Our data sphere was unable to determine the cause of disruption.”

The small, beleaguered creature slowly raised a claw. “B-But you-“

“Twenty hours ago, contact was briefly re-established. No data was successfully inloaded. Analysis of signum decay and ionic refraction allowed for the triangulation of its approximate location.” Vallan picked up his axe and pointed the spike on its head at the small, rubbery creature. “Conclusive: 20 hours ago, a crucial component of our device was activated within a particular land diameter of 2.61 kilometers; an area consisting largely of your settlement. Executive: You will surrender the device if it is in your possession, and if it is not you shall aid our search for it.” He paused. “You may speak now.”

The Mayor gaped at the Dark Techpriest. Another explosion came from the manor behind them, followed by the sound of falling timbers. Then the small, rubbery yellow creature puffed up its cheeks, and dark burgundy eyes glared up at the cyborg.

“You… You MONSTERS rampaged through my town and tore up my home looking for some trash you lost?!” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Affirmative,” the Dark Techpriest replied. “Expansion: Other strategic options were considered, but as this territory is non-compliant a direct search was deemed optimal.”

“Non-compliant? What does that even mean?” growled the Mayor.

“It means your people may yet be unaware they survive at the whim of the Legion, and are more than likely in arrears paying tribute,” said one of the Iron Warriors holding the creature at gunpoint. “But most importantly, it means that there is no equine here to talk us out of killing you all.”

“Erm, what about that one?” the taller, furrier creature mumbled, pointing off to the side.

Gear Works stood at the edge of the plaza, and he perked up when the Dark Techpriest and Chaos Marines glanced over at him. “Hello, Lord! I’ve done a circuit of the western slums and uncovered no energy signals or rad-traces consistent with the components we seek. However, a group of Scavurel did happen upon a slave trader that had acquired some scavenged Company tech unrelated to our current objectives! While we can be sure that at least some basic devices make their way here, unfortunately we have found no sign of a permanent local market in technology salvage, nor any infrastructure to support even low industry!”

“Analytic: If this settlement only receives minor exposure to our technology through salvage trade routes, it is likely such traders have already fled the territory upon our approach. Search parameters may require adjustment,” droned Vallan.

“Are you serious?!” bellowed the Mayor, leaping to his feet. “You rampaged through my city, killed all my guards, and burned down my home for NOTHING?!”

“Probably,” Gears replied. “Also, for the record, I support razing your vile garbage pit of a town purely for its own sake and will not be negotiating an end to hostilities. Sorry.”

“This is an outrage! You monsters have ruined me searching for your discarded trash, and now you can’t even find it?!”

A flash of green light came from the Dark Techpriest’s augmetic eye. “Contra: All such hypotheses thus far remain theoretical. Local forces have not concluded standard searches and interrogations. Interrogative: What individuals commonly purchase or procure non-local technology within this region?”

“I’m not telling you anything!” the Mayor snarled.

Vallan’s gaze tilted up to the Iron Warriors. “Recourse: Psionic interrogation?”

“Negative. The Sorcerer isn’t readily available,” the Astartes scoffed. “This fool’s data, if he really possesses any, is likely time-sensitive in any case. If he won’t cooperate…”

“Conclusive: Captive potential value = 0. Expunge.”

The bark of a boltgun rang through the streets, and a wide fan of blood splashed across the plaza’s flagstones.

The Iron Warrior guarding the Mayor’s manservant holstered his own bolter and leaned over the shivering creature. “You have been moderately helpful so far. Continue to be so, and you will be rewarded.”

“B-But I don’t know anything! I h-have no idea wh-what you’re talking about with… devices and c-components and whatnot!” the servant whimpered.

“Make your best guess, then,” advised the other Chaos Marine while smoke wafted from his boltgun. “It would be a waste of resources to raze this slum looking for a particular piece of scrap. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Gear Works turned away from the grisly scene with a tired sigh.

“Doubt we’ll get anything useful from that one. This entire trip is starting to look like a category error.” He began walking down another filthy, crooked street. “And for what? A cache of sensory data about fifty kilometers of open desert? If we’re really that interested, can’t we just send another probe?”

He continued complaining to himself while he trotted, and the various townsfolk continued to scowl or scurry away at the sight of him. His optical array repeatedly switched its spectrum detection looking for anomalies, but nothing unusual or even expected-but-slightly-interesting emerged. No signum. No radiation blooms. No electro-magnetic anomalies. No nothing.

“Pst! Hey, you.”

Gears swiveled his head around sharply, locking onto the sound and zooming in on the source in an instant. “Me?”

“Yes, you. The pony with the… exotic personal wear. May I have a moment of your time, please?”

The solicitor was a cat. A bipedal cat with caramel-colored fur, a worn burgundy coat (and nothing else) and eyes of piercing green. He was nearly as tall as a human, although his frame was noticeably leaner. He was standing in the shadows of an alleyway, leaning against the wall of one building and beckoning to gears with a paw.

Gear Works tilted his head to the side and hesitantly approached. “Identify yourself, stray.”

“Ah, there it is! That classic Company diplomacy! You guys really know how to put a cat at ease while you’re storming his home and executing local officials!” Despite his sarcasm, the cat-person smiled brightly. “The name’s Capper. Capper Dapperpaws. But my friends call me Capper.”

“Understood, citizen Dapperpaws,” Gear Works said flatly. “Are you a resident of Oasis?”

“A new resident, yes. I used to live in Klugetown before the Ork raids – and the Company artillery strikes that followed them – started driving people further East,” Capper explained, pausing to buff his claws against his chest. “While we’re on the topic, your gunship pilots REALLY have to learn to use a bit more discretion, friend. I almost lost a leg the last time I saw one!”

“Your critique has been logged, citizen Dapperpaws. Will that be all?” Gears asked dryly.

“Not at all,” Capper responded, standing up straight and pointing to the stallion. “Enough about me, let’s talk about YOU.”

The feline dropped down into a crouch, placing a paw on Gear’s shoulder. “Ol’ Capper couldn’t help but overhear that you and your crazy murder-buddies are in a bit of trouble. Looking for a bit of special junk in a town made of junk is a rough job, especially when the locals won’t talk to you.”

The optical lights under Gear’s hood turned into a series of green slits. “… Go on.”

Capper started pacing in a circle, walking a circuit around Gear Works while the cyborg equine tracked him. “Now, I admit that when it comes to tech, I don’t know the difference between a lugnut and a walnut. But when it comes to individuals who don’t want to be found because they sell goods of ‘dubious origin,’ well… it’s good to have a friend like Capper!”

He paused. “I actually have a little song about-“

“No, no, that’s okay,” Gear Works interrupted. “We don’t really do the song thing anymore. The humans find it rather off-putting and tedious.” His augmetic arm curved around to scratch the chin of his respirator. “If I’m understanding this correctly, you’re offering to lead me to someone who may have the part we’re looking for, or at least knows the local salvage trade well enough to give us a lead. Which is great, obviously, but I’m guessing you won’t do this for free.”

Capper recoiled, as if shocked. “You don’t think I’m here to ask for money, do you? No no no! I am a feline of DIGNITY, Sir!” He wagged a finger at the Dark Acolyte. “All I ask is that you use your considerable leverage with our well-armed primate friends to get them to skedaddle on out of town as soon as they find whatever silly little gizmo you’re looking for… and without harming me or mine, of course.”

“Huh. Well, that’s very reasonable,” Gear Works admitted, his voice perking noticeably. “I-“

“ALTHOUGH,” Capper suddenly added, frowning up at the sky, “if someone happened to feel they owed me a favor, and decided to grant me one of those handy little access cards to enter and live in Ferrous Dominus, well that would be mighty kind of them! And it wouldn’t cost them a thing!”

“Ah.” Gear’s ears pinned back, and he sighed.

“Just thinking out loud. Totally up to my hypothetical friend and benefactor,” Capper continued, his sly smile stretching further into a grin. “Although if any dear friends WERE to give me such a fine gift, they should probably let me know before I do anything important for them.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Gears grumbled. “I can create an access profile and citizen log when I return to the fortress-city and flag you for expedited approval, but you’ll still have to undergo security processing. I’m afraid it’s not possible to simply give you a key and let you come and go as you like. Take me to your contact, please.”

Capper’s smile turned into an inscrutable expression, and he scratched at the fuzz on his chin while silently staring into the arch of glowing green lights in Gear’s hood.

“…… What?” the cyborg pony asked.

“Nothing,” Capper said suddenly, snapping out of his previous pose. “You just follow me, little guy. I’m sure we’ll find your space trash!” He strode proudly into the street, beckoning to the pony behind him.

“Okay, just let me call an escort.” Gear Works turned around and started to walk back toward the plaza. “I want a few Scavurel with us.”

A sharp tug on his tail brought the stallion to a halt, and he looked back to see Capper chuckling nervously while holding the dataspike.

“Now let’s not be hasty,” Capper said with a strained smile. “I know you Company types like your weapons, but high explosives give me anxiety. Let’s leave the scary armed men behind for now, dig?”

Gear Works stared blankly at the feline for a moment. Then he nodded his head. “Very well, citizen Dapperpaws. Lead the way. I don’t imagine I’ll need weapons to accomplish this task anyway.”

“Yes, definitely,” Capper replied, nodding his head rapidly. He let go of the metal spike-tipped tendril and started heading down the road again. “Just trust your friend Capper, Mr… uh… I don’t think I got your name earlier, come to think of it. You half-machines DO have names, right? And not just serial numbers or something?”

“We have both, as a matter of fact. You may call me Gear Works, Dark Acolyte of the 38th Company’s Mechanicus contingent, and the first and only current equine adherent to the Omnissiah, the blessed Machine God,” Gear Works said solemnly.

“I’mma call you Gears for short,” Capper said with a wink. “Now follow me, Gears. Let’s see if we can’t send you and your boys home with a shiny new… er…”

“Sensory datastack would be the specific part that we’re looking for. Although any remainder of the drone would be helpful. The component we detected would be the signum spire, but we obviously can’t be sure that the automata’s parts are still connected to each other.”

“Sure. That. I’m sure we can find something like that.”

Capper reached a pair of rickety, towering buildings that leaned over the streets as if they were going to topple over at any moment. The alley space between them was blocked off by a pile of garbage heaped on top of several wooden crates, and Capper stopped in front of it. His eyes darted left and right rapidly, and then he twisted around to look at Gear Works.

Holding a single finger up against his lips, the feline pried open the side of one of the crates. The crate interior was empty, and evidently lined up against several other crates open at each end, forming a tunnel under the trash.

“I don’t want to toot my own horn, but the number of people in this town who know about this place could be counted on both paws,” Capper said before ducking into the tunnel.

Gears was smaller than Capper, but found the crawlspace much more difficult. His servo arm kept scraping against the crate interior, and bits of trash would spill in from between the crates every time he shifted one by accident.

Still, it wasn’t long before the cyborg pony emerged on the other side the heap where Capper was waiting for him. The alley was cramped and dark, with the doors leading to either structure boarded shut and an even larger trash heap rising up near the other end to block off any exit. Capper was standing on a rickety-looking, rusted metal plate that had been placed over the ground, tapping his foot quietly with his arms clasped behind his back.

“C’mere friendo, we’re almost there.” Capper assured Gears.

The cultist-engineer looked about briefly before walking up onto the same metal plate. “I’m picking up some trace levels of electromagnetic fields. Where do you suppose-“

Capper suddenly slammed his foot down on the edge of the metal plate.

The entire piece of metal flipped over around a central hinge. It kept turning until it flipped a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, reaching its original facing and clicking into place upon some hidden mechanism.

Gear Works remained where he was, stunned. His augmetic legs had mag-locked to the flooring as soon as it moved; a common reflex adaptation for those with such personal safety systems. Capper, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found.

“Well… I suppose I had better-“

Then the rust-caked hinge snapped, and the entire floor plate plummeted into the tunnel below.

The fall was brief, but loud. Mainly that was due to Gear Works shrieking Binaric curses upon whoever had neglected the rites of maintenance on this particular entrance. Regardless, after two seconds the rusted plate, and therefore Gears, landed heavily atop a battered old mattress.

“There you are! You startled me for a second there, Gears!” Capper was standing nearby, of course, having wisely moved from the entry tunnel after landing. “We’re here! Whaddya think of the place? Cozy, right?”

Gear Works was completely staggered, having not quite recovered from his sudden fall so quickly. In addition, he was acutely aware that many of his electro-somatic systems were being scrambled. His internal vox was unable to establish a connection, and layers of magnetic baffling fields prevented him from recording any data except for basic vid-replay.

“Where are we? Where is this?” the cyborg pony asked, stumbling out of the shaft and into the room beyond it.

They seemed to be in a sewer system, judging by the area’s subterranean build and the numerous large pipes and gutters running through the room. Gears’ atmospheric sifters also detected a severe jump in the level of methane; not enough to be harmful, but more than enough to make him glad his respirator was permanently grafted to his jaws.

Aside from the dated and badly maintained infrastructure that presumably moved water and sewage, however, the area looked more like a workshop. A large room had been carved out of the ground, and was littered with junk and tables with junk on it. Some of it was quite low-tech: mundane armor, rusted swords, nails and crowbars all lay in piles or were placed in neat rows on boxes and tabletops. Some of it, however, was technology of a sort that could have only come from the forges of Imperial planets, brought to this world by Chaos pirates only to be lost in battle with Orks or Tau. Battery packs of various types lay in a great pile, some of them clearly broken and others wired or taped together. Dataslates in every sort of condition imaginable were lined up on shelves like books. And the weapons…

“I imagine you were lying earlier when you said high explosives make you anxious, or else you’d be inconsolable right now,” Gear Works mumbled. A barrel off to the side was filled to the brim with hand grenades, and that was merely the most obvious pile of ordnance within the smelly room.

Capper coughed into a fist awkwardly. “Guns don’t kill people, Chaos kills people. I didn’t want any unfortunate ‘accidents’ during our friendly, peaceful market transaction.”

“I see. So do you run this salvage market, or what?”

“Oh, no! I wasn’t lying about not being technologically inclined,” Capper assured the stallion, strolling deeper into the room. He approached some sort of segmented metal sphere nearly as big as he was and stopped next to it. “But my friend here is mighty handy with a screwdriver. Say hello, Dill.”

Capper knocked on the sphere, and it started wiggling back and forth. Gear Works recoiled in surprise when the metal orb suddenly broke open on one side and uncurled into another bipedal creature.

“Capper, you cursed stray! How many times have I told you to give me notice before you drop in like that! We have Company troops shooting apart the city topside, and you’re… hm? Who’s this?”

“Dill” seemed to be a large, cybernetically enhanced armadillo, although his augments were hardly as intrusive or well-crafted as Gears’ were. Metal plates had been fitted over the natural armor on his back, both of his short, stubby arms were supported by hinged braces with tools attached to them, and he wore a gas mask and goggles that completely hid his face from view. The augments were flimsy, ramshackle things made of scrap that reminded Gears of Ork tech, but they still displayed an obvious degree of engineering savvy that he’d seen in very few natives of his home planet.

“Gears, this is my good friend Dill. Dill, this here is my new friend, Gears. Gears is an Equestrian turned Company tech-cultist. Dill is a merchant that specializes in technology salvage and tinkering, but somehow still can’t build himself an air purifier.” Capper waved a paw in front of his nose, cringing. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s move on to business, gentlebeasts.”

“I have MANY questions,” Gear Works admitted, “starting with how you managed to shield this place from short-range augurs. How would you even know to do that? Our sensoria are as good as magic to most folk.”

A hiss came from behind the mask. “Your Company dropped a great many artillery beacons while demolishing every town West of Volvilla. Possibly more than the number of actual shells you brought with you, because when the explosions stopped some of the beacons remained.” He pointed over to the dataslate shelf. “It took a lot of work and more than a few unpleasant deals to get the knowledge I needed to protect myself, and now ALL of that could come apart thanks to that blasted-“

“Ah, ah, ah!” Capper said, suddenly tugging on Dill’s respirator hose. “Let’s not get carried away on any unnecessary tangents. We have important business to discuss!”

A growl sputtered from the salvage merchant’s mask before he leaned toward Capper. “Fine! What do you want?!”

“We’re looking for-“ Gears began, only for Capper to shush him and wave him off.

Then the feline turned Dill away and started whispering to him so that Gear Works couldn’t hear them.

While they whispered, Gear Works took the opportunity to catalogue the contents of the sewer workshop, organizing the goods into internal lists according to their technical complexity and flagging objects of particular interest. It wasn’t long into this activity that he flagged an objective of this expedition.

A high-powered type 9 mobile signum spire rested against a rack full of hydraulic parts. It was the size of a tank shell, covered with loose wires and the odd override switch, and one end tapered to a short antennae. Its profile perfectly matched the part from the probe automata the Iron Warriors fleet used. It looked to have been wrenched apart from the other pieces of the machine, none of which appeared to be scattered among the workshop’s inventory. Although inactive at the moment, this device was almost certainly what had transmitted the brief signum pulse that had led the Dark Mechanicus to Oasis in the first place.

The Dark Acolyte almost cried out in glee, but he restrained himself. This was still an active and potentially dangerous operation, and it wouldn’t do compromise his priorities. But quite aside from that, there was something even more intriguing sitting atop the rack of hydraulics.

It looked to be a wand of some sort, with a large crystal neck set in loops of copper wiring that entwined together to form a discharge fork at the wand’s head. The grip contained a strange capacitor and battery that had been completely drained of its charge. The purpose of the wand was clear after a few seconds of analysis; it was an electric discharge device. Possibly a tool, but more likely a weapon.

The most interesting thing about it, however, was that it hadn’t been made from any parts that he recognized.

“Deal!” Capper and Dill suddenly stepped apart and shook hands.

“Excuse me,” Gear Works interjected, “I couldn’t help but notice that you have the probe component that we tracked to this settlement. May I ask how you acquired it?”

“Ugh. That thing,” Dill spat. “One of my more obscure suppliers was pawning it off on me. Turned the thing on to try to show it off, but it didn’t seem to do anything. I guess that was when it signaled you freaks. Frankly, I’ll be glad to be rid of it.”

“I see. Thank you for your cooperation. And as long as we’re identifying your wares…” He pointed his servo claw at the wand on the wall, “what is that device? I’ve never seen any electrical discharge weapon of that make before. Also, the power cell is clearly of advanced age, when Equestria shouldn’t have been able to produce anything like that previous to the Iron Warriors making planetfall.”

Dill waddled over to the pony, nodding his head. “Oh, that. That’s called a shock stick. I don’t build them, I buy them. As far as I can tell, they don’t use any Company tech, though.”

“That’s fascinating. The discharge capacitor requires a containment microstructure unheard of to equine science,” Gears insisted. “And what is that battery type? That’s not an alkaline-solution cell!”

Dill fiddled with his belt for a moment, and then withdrew a shock stick much like the one on the shelf. “Maybe it would help if you saw one it action.”

Then the armadillo flicked the wand at Gear Works.

Gears screamed as a blast of lightning hit him in the chest, overloading his augmented neural systems. His cybernetics locked, his muscles spasmed, and his autosenses blanked out entirely from the power surge.

“Whoa! Easy there!” Capper chided. “Don’t want to damage any of those primo space parts, do you?”

“Quiet, you furry bum,” Dillo hissed. “If the Company thugs catch wind of this, we’ll never be able to show our faces topside ever again! The magnetic shielding should prevent any remote communications in or out of this room, but I’m not taking any chances with Space Marines marching through the streets!”

Capper stepped up next to Gears, giving the cyborg pony a pitying frown. Gears was standing in place, his legs locked, while visibly shuddering. His servo arm jerked to and fro, and the lights of his optical sensors seemed to wink off and on again at random. Static sputtered from his vox grille, rising and falling sporadically.

“Now I know this seems bad, but don’t you worry little buddy. We’re just going to do a little market exchange! Dill here will take those nifty high-tech augments of yours, and then we’ll drop you off somewhere out of town with that hunk of probe you wanted!” Capper rubbed Gears on the head, scratching the stallion fondly behind his ear. “You’ll get your space junk, and then get carried back home to be fitted some shiny new cyber-digs while Dill and I skedaddle to a less… contested region. You’ll be fine!”

“No he won’t,” Dill said while withdrawing a cutting torch from his belt. “A lot of those augments replace his vitals.”

Capper blinked. “We’re not… We’re not leaving those ones in?”

“Of course not! You think I’m going to leave this clown alive to describe us to the Iron Warriors?!” Dill snarled, tapping the torch against his knee. The flame came on a second later, drawing fuel from a hose that wound back into Dill’s shell. “I’ll ditch that probe bit like you said – I didn’t intend on holding goods hot enough to have Company troops looking for me anyhow – but I’m not about to leave good tech on the table to keep this freak alive!”

“Well, uh, it’s just that… I think killing a Mechanicus pony might be… how can I put this…” Capper said nervously, wringing his paws.

“Quiet. I need to concentrate. Removing the metal bits from the fleshy bits isn’t always as easy as unscrewing a bulb.” Dill threw Gear’s hood back, and then made a disgusted noise at sight of his exposed head. “Yeagh. Revolting monsters, all of these Mechanicus types. Celestia should have the lot of them hurled back into space, if you ask me.”

“Not sure that was really an option, Dill,” Capper mumbled.

Dill had his cutting torch held just next to Gear’s ear, but he turned around to argue further with the feline. “She controls the sun. These weirdos come from space. You can’t tell me there wasn’t a solution there!”

“This weirdo in particular definitely did not come from space,” Capper protested tenderly.

“So what?! He threw his lot in with the rest of those cultist psychos! He doesn’t get a pass!”

“I’m just saying, we might want to be a little more… What was that?” Capper suddenly looked toward the entrance nervously.

“I’m not falling for that again, Capper!” Dill snarled. “I don’t know what your game is this time, but if you’re not going to help me scrap this equine, then you can go-“

The clanging sound of metal hitting metal came from the entry tunnel, finally convincing Dill that Capper wasn’t just trying to distract him. A Scavurel soldier was standing atop the metal plate that normally protected this sanctuary from prying eyes. A laspistol was gripped in one hand, while a hefty, armored augmetic held a fork-tipped taser weapon.

The soldier said nothing, slowly turning his head while the bar-shaped optic visor over his mask looked over the interior.

Then two more Scavurel dropped down, landing on the battered, rusted entry hatch. One of them carried a simple lascarbine, while the other had a flamer connected to a pair of tanks on its back.

“Erm… hello?” Dill whimpered, shutting off his cutting torch. “Is there, uh… something I can help you with?”

A blast of irritated Binary came from the lead Scavurel, and the trio marched into the room.

Dill noticed that Capper already had his hands up, and silently cursed the feline. Capper could be downright brilliant in a pinch, but it seemed he wouldn’t be hatching any escape plans with those guns aimed at him. At least, no escape plans that included anyone else…

“Objective acquired. Securing,” stated one of the soldiers, walking straight toward the signum spire.

“This enclosure is disrupting our network vox.” Another Scavurel turned his flamer toward Dill, who yelped fearfully. “Explain this, xeno.”

“W-What? Vox? Network? Dis-what-ing? I don’t know what you’re saying!” Dill lied, droplets of sweat dripping from the edge of his mask. “Is s-something wrong?”

The third soldier walked up to Gear Works, stared at him for a moment, and then leaned down next to the stallion. Reaching around Gear’s chest, the cyborg felt around for a few seconds until he found a switch.

A pair of clicking noises came from Gear Works, and his optics dimmed entirely before flashing on again.

“Aaaaah, that’s much better,” Gears sighed pleasantly.

Dill squeaked in fright, and the Dark Acolyte snapped his head around to glare at him.

“Gears! Buddy! You’re back!” Capper said brightly, paws still in the air. “Hey, I’m super sorry about that thing earlier but do you know how your big armed friends ended up down here? I told you about my anxiety, right? I can feel it kicking in something FIERCE!”

“Why, I was broadcasting my location to them the entire time I was following you, of course,” Gear Works said. “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you take me wherever you wanted without letting our troops know, did you? The moment my network signum vanished they knew that something was wrong.”

“Gears!” Capper said with a gasp. “I am SHOCKED and DISMAYED at this grievous lack of trust! I thought we were friends!”

“Oh, would you STOP?” Dill groaned. “Even I’m embarrassed to listen to you.”

“These weapons will be confiscated,” buzzed the Scavurel with a flamer, gesturing to the barrels of explosives.

“The dataslates as well,” added Gear Works. “There’s a lot of potentially useful information here, aside from the probe bits.”

“Well, that’s a real shame, but okay, if you insist, go ahead and take everything,” Dill said, unlatching his belt and throwing it onto the floor at Gear’s hooves. “Do you need any help? I can help!”

“That’s a good idea. I doubt you move inventory in and out using that pitfall, so we’ll want to locate another exit,” Gears mused. “Also, it will make good practice for your stay at Happy Hills Unification Center. I’m thinking a decade hard labor should do the trick.”

Dill yelped and started shaking in fear. Capper gasped and then frowned deeply at Gear Works.

“Well, I never imagined! A pony, endorsing slavery?” the feline shook his head sadly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, vagrant!” Gear Works snapped. “The practice of owning and trading sentients like chattel is an abomination. The practice of imprisoning treacherous bottom-feeders like you for clearly defined crimes and making something useful of your time there is an entirely different matter.”

“We practice both forms of labor procurement,” interjected one of the Scavurel.

“Yes, I know!” Gears said, exasperated, “but I specifically hate only one of them!”

Another Scavurel marched toward the entrance pit, carrying the signum spire in his arms. Snips of Binaric Cant came from his vox as he walked past the others, formulating aloud the safest way to move the spire up to street level.

A clanking noise came from above, causing the soldier to halt and extend its autosenses.

From above it came, scuttling down the walls of the tunnel like a spider. Four arms ending in rough claws grasped at the rock, holding tight enough to support a body that wasn’t much smaller than a human’s. The shape and movement of its limbs were clearly formed for bipedal movement, and a short, thick tail extended behind it. Its body was hairy, and clearly mammalian, but it was wearing a suit of hardened leather with metal plates sewn onto the chest and shoulders. Its head was entirely concealed beneath a helmet of the same material, with several pale glass lenses of varying sizes set in the front.

In a fraction of a second the data was collected, analyzed, and logged for noosphere distribution. The next few moments were spent drawing his lascarbine, while the newcomer drew a shock stick.

The alien proved slightly swifter, and the crackling discharge of the lightning wand struck first. A Binaric screech came from the Scavurel as he fell to the ground, still clutching the signum spire in his augmetic hand.

The other Scavurel whirled around at the noise, and one of them snapped off a shot across the room. The lasbolt sliced across the creature’s arm, searing it and creating a black spot on the wall of the tunnel. It was barely a flesh wound, but it proved to be enough; the interloper screeched and leapt up out of sight.

+Negative damage; hostile target still active,+ buzzed the Scavurel, still holding his laspistol at the ready.

+Securing mission objective,+ added the other, running toward the spire. He kept his flamer aimed toward the tunnel, but without a confirmed target he was wary of discharging the weapon in an enclosed room full of random machines and explosives.

“The Scavurel! He’s still alive!” Gear Works announced. Naturally, his first reaction had been to connect to the wounded soldier’s diagnostic link and check his vitals. “The discharge didn’t inflict lethal damage!”

Nobody else seemed to acknowledge the stallion. The soldiers were quite absorbed with securing the room and their objective. Capper seemed to have vanished the moment everyone had taken their eyes off him. And Dill…

Dill was quivering in terror, his eyes wide behind the rattling lenses of his engineering goggles.

“They’re… They’re here? But… he said they wouldn’t! He told me they wouldn’t come for any of this! That liar! They’re going to kill us! All of us!”

“Who?” Gears asked, being the only one paying any attention to the salvage merchant’s ranting. “Who’s going to kill us?”

“Them! The Keepers! They’ve come for me!” Dill wailed.

This time even the Scavurel glanced over at the armadillo questionably. While the creature that had ambushed them had gotten the better of one Scavurel, it had hardly impressed them with its weaponry or physiology. Unless there was an army of such creatures, or that had been an unusually weak specimen, what threat could it really pose?

“Look, just get me to some part of this sewer that doesn’t block outbound transmissions, and I’ll summon something much scarier than whatever these ‘Keepers’ are,” Gear Works demanded.

“Err… fine! Th-This way!” Dill gestured toward a large sewer grate, and then waddled over to the wall. He smashed a fist into a seemingly random brick, and the grate slid up into the ceiling to allow passage.

One Scavurel followed closely while hauling the signum spire. The other helped his wounded comrade to his feet, and they staggered into the tunnel following Gear Works.

“So what are these Keepers, exactly? I’ve never heard of that species in Equestrian archives,” Gears asked while they were led further into the darkness of the sewers. Small lumen rods, presumably placed by Dill, lit the way forward for them.

“Not completely sure. Very rare. Very dangerous. Advanced tools and weapons. Said to be protectors of ancient secrets. Or maybe they’re just some other kind of alien monster.” Dill sighed. “One of my suppliers is a Keeper. Sold me those shock sticks and that probe thing. He said it was just cast-offs and junk, that none of it would be missed.”

“Advanced weapons? Expound,” demanded a Scavurel.

“I don’t know, okay? They only sell me the lightning wands! And those are dangerous enough!” Dill snapped. “I just know that it’s tech stuff mixed with magical items! And none of it comes from Company or Ork scrap!”

The Scavurel turned to each other. +Possible escalation of insurgent force?+

+Speculation. Insufficient data,+ retorted the other. +Prioritus Alpha: secure signum component. Prioritus Beta, search and destroy. Prioritus+

A cracking noise came from above.

The group stopped, their nerves on edge. They had entered an unfinished part of the sewer that had been dug out and apparently abandoned. The space was wide, with several rusted pipes and chunks of stone laid about and left to decay. The ceiling was mostly stone, and dirt rained down from a heavy impact above.

“Wh-What was that?” Dill asked.

Another impact came from above, and more debris crumbled away onto the floor.

“We’re outside city limits right now, correct?” Gears asked, perplexed. “What could possibly-“

A detonation ripped through the ceiling, and this time it buckled. Rock and dirt collapsed into the middle of the room, and the Scavurel – enjoying superior reflexes to the others – leapt for cover. Dill and Gear Works were slower to move, and a great deal of debris ended up landing on top of them, partially burying them.

A great plume of dust blew through the defunct sewer, and then a large, bipedal… thing dropped down. It was made of smooth carved stone, and over ten feet tall, with a single gemstone set in an otherwise featureless head. One arm was a massive hand, swollen and armored over the knuckles. The other arm, curiously, ended in a large metal box, with several tubes running out of it and a pair of glass cylinders on top.

The head of the stone giant turned slowly from side to side, looking over the room. Then a Keeper (bearing a bandaged arm) dropped down after it, landing on its back and pointing at the cyborg soldiers.

“Targets,” it hissed, slapping the weaponized statue on the back of its head. “Destroy.”

The Scavurel didn’t wait any longer, unloading their weapons into the stone giant. Lasblasts raked across the front of it, while a tongue of flame whipped at its knees. Stone cracked and blackened against the heat, but ultimately it was simply too little energy brought to bear against the heavy stone armor.

“It’s a golem! Don’t let it get close! They’re very strong!” Gear Works barked while squirming out of the debris that had landed on him.

The golem locked its gaze on the Scavurel already scorched by his earlier brush with a shock stick. An echoing groan seemed to come from the battle construct, but rather than charging it placed one leg back, as if bracing itself.

A metal spike stabbed out of the box on its arm, and then a lightning bolt lanced through the air and crashed into the far wall with a deafening thunderclap. The Scavurel in the path of the bolt vanished into glowing dust at its passing, his armor dissolving along with the rest of him before the magical projectile.

“… Actually, I guess it can kill you at any range,” Gears squeaked.

“I warned you! Doomed! We’re doomed!” Dill bellowed.

The metal spike retracted, and one of the metal cylinders atop the weapon extended itself while venting steam. The golem started trudging forward, wading into the path of lasbolts and burning promethium.

The Keeper crowed happily, and then retreated behind the golem’s head as a lasbolt came too close to its ear. The four-armed creature hung onto the stone giant’s back as it advanced, peeking out around one side and then swiftly moving away to look from another angle.

“The part! Just give it the part!” Dill screamed, trying to claw his way across the ground.

“What? Why?” Gears asked.

“Because it’s going to kill us all!”

“And will it stop if we give it what it wants?”

“No,” the Keeper interjected, its voice deep and raspy.

A Scavurel released a Binaric prayer as he charged forward, rearing back his taser goad. Electricity danced along the long tines, and a sharp crack issued from the tip when it stabbed into the Keeper’s golem. Rock crumbled away from the impact, and whips of energy tore scorched gashes across the sculpted stone body of the construct.

The golem swung back, but the Scavurel rolled onto the ground under the massive fist. He stopped in a crouch and then punched his goad into the golem’s leg, eliciting another small explosion.

The Keeper snarled, and then drew a small blade from a sleeve. With a flick of its wrist, the razor plunged into the Scavurel’s thigh, finding a soft spot among the soldier’s combat armor and personal augmetics.

The cyborg barely flinched from the wound, but it did slow him sufficiently when the golem’s fist came around again. The cyborg was smashed off his feet and slammed into the wall, bones and augmetics shattering from the impact.

“Do something!” Dill shouted.

“Like what?!” Gears retorted.

“I don’t know! You’re the ones who are supposed to be good at fighting!”

“YOU cut off our communications, shielded the sewers from augur arrays, and then led us right into an ambush by the creatures hunting you down, and you have the gall to complain that we’re not handling it well enough?!” Gears screamed at the armadillo.

Another crash of lightning rolled over them, and Gears whipped his head around in time to see the legs of the last Scavurel drop to the ground beneath a wave of glowing cinders. The lightning cannon attached to the golem’s arm shook violently, and both cylinders popped up to vent steam.

“That’s it! We’re next!” Dill shrieked. “We’re gonna die!”

“But why?!” Gear Works cried as the golem took a menacing step forward. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The Keeper clambered atop the golem’s head, glaring down at the smaller creatures through the yellow lenses of its helmet.

It pointed at Dill. “You… received something you shouldn’t have. That artifact…” The pointed claw of the Keeper shifted to point at Gears. “… came from your people. An encroachment on sacred ground that will not be forgiven.”

“What? You mean the expedition probes? But they were launched into unclaimed territory!” Gears protested.

“You psychos treat entire nations as ‘unclaimed territory,’” Dill grumbled.

“True, but this was VERY unclaimed territory! No settlements! Practically barren! Most Dark Techpriests didn’t understand why we even bothered!” Gears protested.

“I don’t care,” announced the Keeper. “Now where is the part?”

This brought Gears and Dill up short. The signum spire was being carried by the Scavurel when they entered the tunnel. Presumably they had dropped it when fighting, but now that the soldiers were dead they couldn’t see the device, or the broken remains of the device, among the bodies.

The golem stomped up to them, the Keeper glowering from atop its head. “Where is the part?” it demanded again. The stone giant raised its hand over Gears and Dill in preparation to flatten the smaller creatures. “Give it up, and you die quick. Otherwise…” The Keeper slipped another blade from its sleeve and spun it around on one of its claw-like fingers.

“You mean this thing?”

The Keeper snapped its head around at the voice behind it, its knife ready to fly. Capper stood in the middle of the room, holding the signum spire in his arms. The golem stumbled, briefly confused about its target, and then clumsily swung around to face the feline.

“Surrender the part!” shrieked the Keeper.

“Okay,” said Capper. Then he tossed the spire toward the golem.

A stuttering shriek came from the Keeper, and the stone soldier lurched forward to catch the spire in its palm. The automata part landed in its hand and rattled between its large sandstone fingers, but safely settled into place while the Keeper sighed in relief.

“Now, you be careful with that,” Capper warned, wagging a finger. “I hear that machine is what brought all those Company fellows that’re tearing up the streets of Oasis right now.”

“I’m aware,” the Keeper hissed. “This machine never should have left our lands. It is… regrettable that our error brought the aliens to your city.” Then the golem braced itself again and aimed its lightning cannon. “You won’t have to worry about it any longer, though.”

“Okay, but I’m just bringing it up because it looks like it got turned on again during all the commotion,” Capper said gingerly. Then he pointed up. “And whatever Dill did down here to keep it from being detected PROBABLY doesn’t work with that giant hole you blew in the ceiling.”

The Keeper paused for a few seconds, staring at the spire in the golem’s hand. A small green lumen was on, glowing faintly in the dim light of the sewer.

The Keeper looked up at the hole it had made above the sewer.

An Iron Warrior stared back down.

“Target located. Hostiles confirmed,” growled the Chaos Space Marine. He knelt at the lip of the blast crater and aimed a boltgun down into the hole. “Request additional support. And something to contain a prisoner.”

An incoherent shriek came from the Keeper, and it swung behind the golem again. The construct lurched backward, craning its head up in order to bring its gun to bear.

The Iron Warrior’s bolter roared to life, and a burst of mass-reactive rounds punched into the stone warrior. The effect was dramatically more destructive than the lasweapons and flamer, blowing out fist-sized chunks of rock in the construct’s armor. Ultimately, though, the Astartes failed to do enough damage to stop the golem before it aimed its weapon.

The Iron Warrior leapt out of the line of fire, and once again Gear’s ears were punished by the thunder of the golem’s cannon. The lightning bolt whipped up toward the hole in the ceiling, tearing into the sundered ground with a flaming explosion. A wave of dust blew over the hole, obscuring the Marine from view.

Again, a cylinder atop the lightning weapon popped up, blasting steam into the air. This time, however, a servo arm plunged into the cloud and grabbed onto it before an adamantium-tipped spike stabbed into the side. The heat sink was sliced off, and sparks started coming from the gun.

The other cylinder promptly popped up to vent the accumulated heat, and Gear Works quickly latched onto that component next. The golem had noticed his work by now though, and the construct almost casually swatted him away with his cannon arm. Gear Works was sent rolling away with an agonized yelp, pieces of shattered glassine and ruptured metal spilling onto the ground beneath him. In his servo claw he held the cannon’s second heat sink, torn free of the weapon and still sizzling with captured energy.

The golem didn’t waste further attention on the pony; the Iron Warrior had dropped into the sewer, his boltgun mag-locked onto his waist and his bolt pistol and combat knife drawn. The Astartes charged, moving so swiftly that the golem had little chance to react. A pair of mass-reactive shells exploded into the construct’s head, blowing out more bits of rock, and then the Iron Warrior lunged into melee.

The combat knife pierced stone, stabbing into the seam between the gemstone eye and the golem’s head. The Keeper swiftly tried to leap on the Iron Warrior and attack with the shock stick, but the Marine was faster than it as well, clubbing the four-armed creature across the face with his pistol grip and knocking it from its perch. In another instant he cut the gemstone free of the golem’s face, leaving a deep scar across the construct’s head.

A massive fist swung toward the Astartes in retaliation, slamming into his shoulder pad and knocking him off and across the ground. Ceramite screeched across rocks and bits of scattered metal while he rolled, but he immediately moved to stand up again.

The golem – not obviously hindered by the loss of the gem that everyone had assumed was its eye – braced its leg just like before, aiming its lightning cannon at the Chaos Marine. Just like before, a spike poked out the front, and just like before a rising hum came from the weapon.

Unlike before, this time sparks and flame started shooting out of the holes where its heat sinks used to be.

The Keeper shouted some desperate command in a language no one else recognized, but it was too late. The cannon seemed to disintegrate as it superheated and the case melted away. Whips of electricity lashed out in all directions, many of them running down the cables and into components hidden deep within the stone soldier. The entire golem shuddered, paralyzed, and a billowing steam cloud poured from its ruined weapon and the broken cables attached to it.

The Iron Warrior watched in silence for a few moments, and then unclipped a krak grenade from his belt. Walking up to the construct, he jammed the explosive into the socket where the gemstone had been set into its face.

“Target eliminated,” growled his vox as he ripped out the pin. “Worthless puppet. Your masters will suffer for your insolence.”

Behind the curtain of steam, the Keeper was back on its feet and surveying its options. The spire was still in the golem’s hand and probably out of reach. It had never fought a Space Marine before, and it had its doubts that the dissipating steam would be enough to surprise the super-soldier. The objective may well have been lost, along with the Storm Warden golem that it had been entrusted for this mission.

The Keeper whirled about to flee as the golem’s head exploded, but immediately found itself facing the big yellow cat that had surrendered the automata part to it. Capper recoiled, while the Keeper hopped back into a crouch. Its four arms all went to its belt and bandoleer, and three of them grabbed up daggers. The fourth groped for something that it failed to find, then started patting down the Keeper’s leg.

“Are you looking for this? I think you dropped it after that big fella hit you,” Capper asked helpfully, curling his tail around his side. It was wrapped around a shock stick, and he took a moment to wiggle the wand in the air. “You should be more careful! These things seem to be mighty dangerous!”

With an enraged snarl, the Keeper bolted forward, its blades ready to slice the feline apart. With a surprised squeak, it promptly fell over, its leg held firm by a servo arm.

Gear Works sputtered something in a blast of angry static while he held the assailant by its leg. His optics were mostly a mess of shattered glassine and his respirator hose was torn, but the working parts of his face were enough for him to seize an enemy and swear up a Binaric storm while doing it.

The Keeper swung two arms back on either side, plunging a dagger into each of Gear’s shoulders. One blade bounced off the metal augment plating, badly denting the edge. The other found flesh, however, and sliced a bloody gash into Gear’s leg. Gears recoiled with a frightened whinny, but his servo arm didn’t immediately let go. A kick to the side of the head finally did the trick, wrenching the Keeper free and knocking Gear Works onto his side.

“How do these things work, exactly?” Capper mused, turning the Keeper’s shock stick around in his hand. “Is it this button, or-“

An electric arc lashed out just as the Keeper was regaining his footing, striking the creature in the chest and sending it back to its knees with a howl of pain.

“Yup, looks like that’s the button,” Capper said blithely. “Now why don’t you calm down, friend? I don’t think you’re getting out of here…”

“J’sholl k’thepp!” it snarled back in an unknown language, struggling against the paralysis. “We will not submit! You have no idea what you’re doing! You cannot fathom what these foolish raiders and monsters from the stars might yet unleash!”

“By all means,” growled a deep voice laced with vox feedback, “tell us what we may unleash, xeno pest.”

The Iron Warrior approached calmly, the signum spire tucked securely under one arm. His bolt pistol was ready in his other hand, although he wasn’t aiming it at the Keeper yet.

The Keeper snarled in response, and its free hand twitched toward its belt.

A ceramite boot met its stomach in an instant, throwing it across the room and slamming it into the wall. The mysterious creature slumped to the ground, unconscious.

“So there are yet more inhabitants on this wretched planet that don’t know their place,” grumbled the Iron Warrior, holstering his pistol.

“You have angered the Keepers now,” said Dill. The armadillo was crouched on the ground and quivering, his head darting back and forth as if expecting more foes to leap from the shadows. “This one was just sent here to remove me, a scrap merchant, but to make an enemy of their kind is to-“

A ceramite boot met his stomach in an instant, throwing him across the room and slamming him into the wall. The sniveling creature slumped to the ground, unconscious.

“These ‘Keepers’ will perish or serve, just like the rest of you scum. Let no weakling alien stray from the dominion of Chaos!” barked the soldier.

“Speaking of weakling alien servants!” Capper interjected, “Your, uh, co-worker over here is still alive, and bleeding rather profusely.”

The Astartes glanced over at Gear Works. He was laying on his side, moaning faintly in a puddle of blood and oil. Half of his optic lights were broken, one of his augmetic legs kept sparking, and every few seconds a puff of white gas would spew from his ruptured breathing tube.

“… The Mechanicus normally endure injury with more fortitude than this, but I suppose it would be foolish to risk a perfectly good slave perishing needlessly here,” he grumbled, briefly holding a finger to the side of his helmet. “Situation is contained. Send retrieval team and a medicae team.”

With that he cut off the link and reached down toward the cyborg. Grabbing hold of Gear’s servo arm, he picked the pony up off the ground. Blood and hydraulic fluids continued dribbling down Gear’s leg, but the Iron Warrior didn’t seem to care.

“And what of you then, xeno?” the Chaos Marine demanded, his visor glaring at Capper. “Be you servant, rebel, or some hapless wretch here by chance?”

“I lean toward hapless wretch, definitely,” the feline said with a smile, “but my interest is mainly with your cyber-stallion, here.” He pointed delicately to the brutalized pony. “We had a deal, you see. I take him to see Dill, and he gets me a room in Ferrous Dominus.”

The Iron Warrior lifted Gear Works higher to look him in the optics. “Is this true, slave?”

“Ghhhrg… urrmnlg…” the Dark Acolyte replied.

“That sounded like an affirming groan of agony to me,” Capper said brightly.

“Then so be it,” declared the Iron Warrior. “As a reward for your cooperation, you shall be brought to our fortress. You shall have the privilege to serve the lords of Chaos directly, until your feeble husk perishes of exhaustion or is used as fodder for some Warp abomination.” He swung Gear Works up onto his shoulder like a sack, eliciting another yelp of pain. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Boss!” the feline said. “By the way: not that it matters much, but now that I’m on your team: what exactly are you guys doing here tearing apart Oasis for? What’s so important about that piece of junk?”

“There are many secrets this world yet hides from us,” rumbled the Astartes. “Some such secrets fight back. These things must be uncovered, seized, and then…”

Capper waited several seconds. “And then… what?”

“I do not know.” The Iron Warrior nudged his head toward the Keeper. “But that creature does.”

“Hngllklhl,” agreed Gear Works.

Author's Note

Look! Moar friendship!
I've been wanting to bring in elements of the MLP movie ever since I saw it. I'm not going to do a straightforward "MLP movie but also the Iron Warriors are there," because the Storm King would just get stomped and there'd be no point, but I foresee the occasional character and airship showing up before I'm done with it (also, SLAVERY).

Detour

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 9
Detour

Centaur III
Main rail line – Canterlot bound

“So, what, she’s become even MORE distant since she returned? How is that even possible?”

“Well… Maybe ‘distant’ isn’t the right word. It’s not like she was anything but cold to me before. But she seems… more confident? More untouchable? Like… before, she definitely hated my guts, but she was also pretty flustered just by the knowledge that somepony desired her. Now she doesn’t seem to get flustered anymore.”

“So what? Is that bad?”

“No! No. I mean, not really. I find it really hot, personally. That confidence and steely control suddenly replacing the goofy awkwardness is actually really cool and an incredible turn-on. Objectively speaking it’s definitely an inconvenience to me, however.”

“It doesn’t help that every attempt to ingratiate yourself with her friends fell apart.”

“It’s not fair! I had a good plan for the orange one, too, but that stupid attack meant we had to be at Ferrous Dominus until the fleet returned!”

“It’s definitely for the best. Miss Applejack is well-known for being one of the more short-tempered mares. Although I would have liked the chance to ingratiate myself with her brother.”

“What? Her brother? Who’s her brother?”

“Big Macintosh! Ironside! You have at least a passing interest in augment technology, surely you’ve heard of him.”

“Oh! Right. The red guy. He seems pretty cool. He has a heavy bolter, though.”

“… Yes? So?”

“I try to avoid social contact with stallions who are more heavily armed than I am. Especially when I’m befriending their sister. You’re probably right; that would have gone nowhere good.”

“Why does something like that concern you? You live in the most dangerous place on Centaur III, and your job involves regular contact with brutal aliens.”

“It’s a little thing called risk management, Gears. It’s an important skill you pick up living in the caverns. My job and home life is dangerous enough. No need to antagonize armed ponies as well, right?”

“You antagonize armed ponies all the time!”

“None of whom had a heavy bolter, though.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant…”

Gear Works and Dusk Blade sat across from each other as the passenger train rumbled over the mountains. Dusk was wearing a light jacket rather than his combat uniform, with a rebreather mask hanging loose around his neck. It was the first time Gears had seen him in casual clothes; even when off-duty, Dusk had always worn some kind of combat suit in Ferrous Dominus.

Gear Works, on the other hand, was wearing his Acolyte robes as usual. In addition, he also boasted several med-patches, and his organic foreleg was in a sling. He was obviously in a state of grievous injury, and probably would have been immobile if not for his augmetics.

Sitting with them, his gaze focused on a levitating dataslate, was Prince Blueblood. The unicorn was wearing a fine coat of the sort he used to wear while performing his duties in Canterlot, but with several design customizations: the Legion’s iron skull emblem was pinned to the breast, and a small belt of bolter rounds was stitched to one sleeve. Atop his head the unicorn wore a peaked cap with a hole for his horn to fit through, and a bolt pistol was holstered at his flank.

“Boy, it’s been months since we’ve been to Canterlot, hasn’t it? Feels like a whole other world up here,” Dusk remarked, sighing as he stared up at the mountains. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Ferrous Dominus, but it’s a nice change of pace to see real vegetation again. I’m real glad you asked me along!”

“I didn’t ask you along,” Gear Works reminded the bat pony.

“Sure you did! You told me you were going on medical leave yesterday!” Dusk countered.

“And then you showed up at the train station this morning without telling me anything. I never invited you anywhere.”

“It was implicit,” Dusk said. “Besides, I really need a vacation. We’ve all been on duty constantly since we joined up! Snuffing Orks night after night is fun and morally fulfilling, but the ol’ stabbing leg needs some time to rest.”

“That’s fine, I guess. I just don’t understand why you’re coming to Canterlot with me. Does your family live there like mine does?” Gears asked.

“Nah. My folks live in this cave colony back East. I was the only one from my family who wanted to sign up when Princess Luna returned to the throne, so they still live there.”

“Huh. I see.” Gear Works shifted in his seat, and his servo arm swiveled around to hang over the other side of him. “Equestria really doesn’t know much about the bat pony colonies, do we? Some ponies didn’t even know your kind existed before Luna’s return.”

“Well, we don’t really like to talk about it,” Dusk said with a sigh. “There’s a lot of ancient history there, and most of it is bad. Sparkle may have zapped Princess Luna and purified her of evil, but the rest of us just sort of received news one day that our ancient crimes were forgiven-slash-forgotten and we should rejoin Equestrian society by signing up as soldiers for the purified Princess.”

“Huh… I suppose it’s not that dissimilar to my experience signing up for the Dark Mechanicus,” Gears admitted.

“Yeah! Except you were already in Canterlot, and volunteering to live and work in a poisonous pit of misery and death, and the whole point of my career was to escape one.” Dusk chuckled. “Pretty funny that we both ended up in the same place, huh?”

“And what about you, Prince?” Gears asked, turning to the blond unicorn. “Do you have family you’re meeting in the city?”

“I’m trying to read,” Prince Blueblood retorted.

“Ooh, the chaperone is cranky,” Dusk said, his smirk showing off his fangs.

Blueblood’s eye twitched, and a spark ran up and down his horn, as if he started to cast a spell but then thought better of it. “Why, yes, now that you mention it, having to beg a base commander to be assigned as some idiot’s escort just to get leave to visit home does frustrate me. Splendid observation.”

“Hey, Gears isn’t just ‘some idiot,’ he’s the sole Dark Acolyte among all idiotkind,” Dusk said, reaching a wing over and patting the cyborg on the head with it. “Show a little respect!”

“This entire trip was possible only because he let himself get mutilated by some pitiful little mongrel in the desert,” Blueblood spat.

“Then you should show a little respect AND gratitude!” Dusk countered. “If he wasn’t such a pitiful weakling he’d probably be getting a promotion and you’d still be whipping menials for hours on end. How often do you get to tag along on some other chump’s recovery leave?”

“Lieutenant, please stop defending me,” Gears requested blandly. “Prince, I understand that the circumstances, as they so often are these days, are sub-optimal. Nonetheless, thank you for your assistance.”

Blueblood stared at the tech-cultist for a few seconds, and then clicked his tongue. “Well, it’s fine, I suppose. It’s hardly the deepest wound to my pride inflicted by the 38th Company. Just try not to embarrass me once we get to the city, all right?”

“Of course, Prince,” Gears replied, bowing his head.

“That goes for you too, scoundrel,” the unicorn said to Dusk Blade.

“ThAt GoEs fOr YoU tOo sCouNdReL,” Dusk Blade repeated in an exaggerated goofy voice.

Blueblood’s hackles rose, and he lifted his head higher as his horn started to glow. “Don’t you mock me, thug! I’m responsible for you, too! Not that you need it, since whatever injury you claimed for leave seems to be a complete fabrication, but don’t think I won’t mention that to your commander should you continue to make a nuisance of yourself!”

“Tell them whatever you want, Prince,” Dusk said, lifting his wings in imitation of a shrug. “Just check in with the medicae at some point to see if they can do something about that stick up your rear.”

Blueblood slammed a hoof down on the table between the seats, turning to face the bat pony. Dusk Blade twisted about in his seat to face him just as quickly, his wings spreading as if readying a pouncing strike.

Gear Works watched, alarmed, as the two other stallions glared at each other, each one silently daring the other to attack first. Gears was quite certain that Dusk Blade would have a decisive edge in a physical altercation, which made it all the more bizarre that Blueblood looked to be on the verge of attacking anyway. Then again, Prince Blueblood was armed. Dusk didn’t appear to have a sidearm, and his other weapons were all packed away somewhere.

“Ah… perhaps this isn’t the best time to ask this, but, well… did something happen between you?” the Dark Acolyte asked. “The only time I’ve seen you two together was that one time we were all meeting to play tabletop games together, but from that I was under the impression you were friends.”

“You were mistaken,” Blueblood hissed, slowly lowering himself back in his seat. “I welcomed his presence for the sake of my own entertainment, but he quickly exhausted my patience.”

“Yeah, well you’re a lousy DM,” Dusk huffed. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that undetectable no-save-allowed traps kept springing up whenever someone complained or asked you a question.”

“Your talent at perception is matched only by your whiny ingratitude,” Blueblood retorted. “You only died twice! Stop being a foal about it!”

“Read your book, Prince,” Dusk grumbled, relaxing into his seat and crossing his forelegs.

The stallions settled into a tense silence, with Dusk resting his eyes, Blueblood glaring at his dataslate, and Gears nervously thinking of a topic he could broach that wouldn’t annoy either of them.

Then the train slowed sharply, and everyone seated within it suddenly lurched toward the front. Gear works slammed his injured leg into the table positioned between the seats, yelping painfully. Blueblood’s dataslate was wrenched free of his telekinesis magic, bounced off the table surface, and then smacked the Dark Acolyte in the side of the head.

“What the hay was that?” Dusk Blade asked, having braced himself much better than the others. He slipped out into the aisle, and then started rushing to the next car. Along the way he pushed up his respirator mask up into place; there was always a possibility of toxins or hazardous smoke when investigating an accident, and it paid to take precautions.

He tapped a button near the base of the doorway with his hoof, and the door lock disengaged before opening up. The door on the adjacent car opened as well, with a metal platform secured between the two to allow him passage.

Rather than entering the next car, Dusk jumped up and kicked off the doorway to gain altitude. He opened his wings, and then glided over the tracks to get a better view of whatever was happening.

“It wasn’t an explosion… I didn’t hear gunfire either… also not a lot of screaming, so it doesn’t look like we’re under attack.” As the bat pony spoke he constructed an image of the local space with his echolocation, looking for any hazards that weren’t immediately obvious to the naked eye.

The only thing that stood out, alas, was extremely visible.

Dusk gave his wings two powerful flaps, and then dove down to land atop the nose of the train engine. “What in Luna’s moon is THAT?” he asked, gawking at the absolute mess decorating the front of the train.

In front of the vehicle was some kind of enormous body that had evidently been struck by the train and ripped open by the impact. It was as big as a main battle tank, but wasn’t a creature that Dusk Blade recognized. Whatever it was, it had a thick outer carapace of dark blue that looked well-armored, but hadn’t been able to stand up to the locomotive. The creature’s guts, which were a surprising hue of ruddy purple, had been splattered all over the sides of the engine car and dragged along the sides of the tracks, leaving long, colorful streaks of goo along the train’s path.

The crackle of static came from the train’s internal caster, followed by an utterly bewildered announcement by the train operator. “HELLO FOLKS, UH… SORRY ABOUT THE SUDDEN STOP… I DON’T THINK THAT WAS QUITE HARSH ENOUGH TO HURT ANYPONY, BUT PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO LOOK AROUND THE CABIN FOR ANYPONY THAT MAY NEED ASSISTANCE, AND BE AWARE THAT, UM, CARGO MAY HAVE SHIFTED DURING OUR… EMERGENCY DECELERATION.”

Dusk Blade moved to the side of the train and then swung over the top, clinging to the roof while he was hanging upside-down. With a view of the cab, he could see the train engineers: a pair of earth ponies clearly in the throes of panic but trying to hold it together long enough to resolve the current problem. One was nervously holding the vox receiver, while the other was frantically swiping through a dataslate looking for the proper emergency procedures.

“WE’RE ONLY A FEW MINUTES OUT FROM, ER… PONYVILLE, AND WE SHOULD BE BACK ON TRACK AS SOON… AS SOON AS WE… REMOVE SOME, UH, DEBRIS FROM THE TRACKS. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND STAY INSIDE WHILE WE RESOLVE THIS… TEMPORARY? TEMPORARY! TEMPORARY IMPEDIMENT! THANK YOU!”

The engineer pony on the vox clicked it off, and then sighed deeply.

“So did you guys kill that thing, or was it mostly like that when we hit it?” Dusk asked.

One engineer yelped in surprise and scrambled around, but the other one merely glanced up at the bat pony in mild annoyance. “I think it was moving before the impact, but we didn’t exactly have a lot of time to study it.”

“You’re with the Company, right? Wh-What is that thing?” the other engineer asked, peeking out of the window very carefully, as if he was expecting incoming gunfire. “Is that a daemon?”

“Nah, definitely not a daemon. If it was a daemon it wouldn’t leave its dead guts all over the place; they tend to disintegrate after being slain.” Dusk turned his head to stare at the corpse and brought one wing around to his chin to scratch it. “But that said, I don’t have a clue what it is. Doesn’t look like an Ork or Tau war beast, but I haven’t seen all of the different species they have available… Might just be something from the Everfree.”

“Is… Is it dead?” the engineer asked nervously.

“Definitely,” Dusk replied. “I can tell. Probably a good thing too, unless it has friends nearby.”

The engineer gulped. “W-We gotta clear the tracks! We’re supposed to be at Canterlot within the hour!”

“Okay, well, good luck with that. I’m gonna bring a friend of mine up here to take a look; he’s a nerd, maybe he knows something about this thing.” Dusk Blade kicked off the side of the engine car, and then curved around to fly back where he came from.

Several minutes later, Dusk emerged from the nearest passenger car with Gear Works and Blueblood following him. Gears moved with a noticeable limp, and Blueblood matched his impaired pace without complaint. The unicorn had his bolt pistol drawn and levitating nearby, and he kept glancing every which way.

“Is this it?” Gear Works asked, tracing the path of the bright purple sludge all the way to the massive corpse.

“Yeah, that’s our little blockade,” Dusk said. “Any clue what it is, Gears? I’ve never seen anything like it. Too dumb to avoid the tracks when the train’s coming, but not quite big enough to get away with it.”

The two engineer ponies were working with a crowbar and a shovel to scrape the bits of the creature off the train. They were making halting progress though, and it wasn’t at all clear what their plan was to remove the bulk of the corpse from the tracks.

Gears studied the body in silence for a minute. His optics zoomed in on various parts, took pict-captures, and then cross referenced them compared to the vast registry that made up his limited corner of the noosphere. Eventually he discerned the remnants of the creature’s head. The others had missed it because it had no visible eyes, and because half of it was gone. There were several thickened chitin plates on top of a pair of large jaws, and most of it had been caved in by the impact. There were no holes in the plating for eyes, but Gear’s optics could discern the telltale nerve clusters that gave away both optical senses and the nearby neural cortex.

“Analysis complete,” the Dark Acolyte said, turning around. “This is a Tyranid. Specifically, a Carnifex assault bio-form.”

Dusk and Blueblood stared at him blankly.

“You probably don’t remember the name of that species, as we’ve never before recorded an instance of the Tyranids having a presence in the Centaur system. However, if you recall the details of the Tau Empire’s Emerald Dawn project, they meant to lure the Ork fleet across several systems in order to bring them within striking distance of a Tyranid fleet so that both aliens would fight each other,” Gears explained at length.

“Wait… yes, I do remember something like that,” Blueblood said, his brow furrowing under his horn. “Weren’t these Tyranids far, far away, though? The plan was to send the Orks off in their direction, not to bring the other aliens here as well!”

“That is correct, Prince. The Tau had neither the means or the intent to draw the Tyranids this way.”

“So then what’re they doing on our planet?” Dusk asked, scratching at his head with the tip of his wing, “and how did they make it here without anyone noticing?”

“Excellent questions for which I have no hypothesis,” Gears admitted. “My study of the species is minimal, but I do not believe it is typical to encounter organisms of this magnitude absent a proper war fleet.”

“More alien scum pointlessly causing trouble for innocent, hard-working ponies,” Blueblood sniffed. Then he sniffed again. “Does it… smell odd to you? The dead body, I mean.”

“Should have brought your mask,” Dusk said, tapping at his own respirator. “I can’t smell a thing!”

“Well, take it off for a moment,” Blueblood insisted, “this smell is all wrong.”

“How would you know what a dead Tyranid is supposed to smell like?”

“I’ve been around my share of corpses, Lieutenant! This is a most… inappropriate fragrance,” the unicorn insisted, his muzzle twisting into a concerned grimace.

“Odd smells aside, we should find a vox spire and report this to the 38th Company,” Gears said, “they can run a scan-“ The Dark Acolyte suddenly straightened, his ears perking noticeably and his eyes blinking in a strange, involuntary pattern. “WARNING: Incoming vox transmission, prioritus alpha. Distress signum detected. Beginning emergency feed,” His voice was noticeably deeper as he said this, as though it was a vox recording of someone else.

“What? What’s wrong with-“ Blueblood took a step back, his eyes narrowing at the cyborg pony, but Dusk held on to every word.

The optics lenses in Gear’s face pulsed as a voice emerged that was even further from his own. “Attention! Anyone who can hear this, please, help us!” The voice was clearly feminine, and there was some background noise that the stallions immediately identified as shotgun fire. “They’ve completely surrounded the outpost! They’re in Ponyville! I… I don’t know what they are! Some kind of bug monsters! Send anyone you can! We can’t hold out much longer!”

The message ended, and Gear’s optics returned to normal.

“What was THAT about?” asked one of the engineer stallions.

“I think it’s just what it sounds like,” Gears murmured, “Ponyville is under attack by Tyranids, similar to this creature here.”

“Wh-What about the train station?” gulped the other train operator.

“Unknown. However, it would be prudent to assume the whole of the town is compromised,” Gears said.

“What should we do?” the engineer asked, looking increasingly panicked. “We’re on a schedule! We have hundreds of passengers! What if we get attacked?! I don’t even know how to use the multilaser turrets!”

“We’ll hold here for reinforcements and clear this track impediment,” Prince Blueblood said, swiftly taking charge of the situation. “I’ll dispatch our specialist to scout the train station. If it’s clear, then we’ll run the train straight through to Canterlot. Otherwise, we’ll remain here and attempt to facilitate contact with Ferrous Dominus.”

A thumping noise came from behind him, and Blueblood twisted his head around. An open duffel bag was lying on the ground. Behind it, Dusk Blade was fitting the hoof gauntlets onto his carapace armor.

“What are you doing?” the unicorn asked.

“Arming up. I think I’ve got a bolt pistol clip in there somewhere too if you want to look for it; I just shoved a bunch of stuff from the armory in there when I left.” Dusk secured his hoofblades, and then set an optics visor on his head. “Get ready Prince. You too, Gears.”

“What? Why? Get ready for what?” Gear Works asked, a sense of dread crawling down his spine.

“What do you think? They asked for help, and here we are!” Dusk announced. “Princey is already armed, but there might be a laspistol or something in there.” He scooped up a frag grenade from the bag and secured it to his chest.

“A what?! No! Why would we fight? I can’t fight!” protested Gears, his optics lights nearly doubling in size while he recoiled.

“Of course you can fight. You didn’t get those injuries from pissing off the cult mares again, right?” Dusk scoffed. “Have a little faith in yourself!”

“Putting aside that I share the Dark Acolyte’s complete lack of such faith, his wounds are a perfectly good reason why he shouldn’t take to the field,” Blueblood interjected. “But implicit in that argument is that a healthier pony – like, say, me – should follow you to certain death in an utterly futile rescue mission. I do not believe that is the case!”

“What do you mean ‘certain death?’ You don’t know anything about these attackers!” Dusk said.

“We’re standing right in front of one!” Blueblood snapped, jabbing a hoof at the Carnifex corpse.

“That one’s dead. And we didn’t even kill it on purpose! C’mon, stop being a wimp,” Dusk taunted.

“Do I have to stop being a wimp too?” Gear Works asked, his ears pinned to the sides of his hood. “Why am I even coming along?”

“Because there’s probably going to be some tech stuff there that we need you to fix, manipulate, or explain,” Dusk Blade said, folding a wing to look like a finger and raising it in front of him. “For example: Ponyville is protected by a network of auto-turrets to gun down stray Orks that sometimes wander in from the valley where much of that invasion army died. Why didn’t they shoot down these Tyranids? Are they destroyed? Malfunctioning? I don’t know, so you should come along to find out.”

“Well, gosh, that sounds like a well-reasoned line of thought,” remarked one of the train engineers.

“I’m more concerned with why we should investigate the town at all, rather than waiting here for reinforcements,” Blueblood said, his eyes narrowed at the thestral.

“Well, partially it’s because there’s clearly still some fighting going on, making this the ideal time to rush to the aid of the defenders, take the enemy by surprise, and possibly rescue some people who can still fight,” Dusk explained, wagging his finger-wing at the royal unicorn, “but aside from that the reason we’re not going with your plan is that it involves me scouting out the danger alone rather than with you two, and I’m not doing that.”

“Again, the bat pony makes an excellent point,” the other train engineer said. “You should definitely do what he says.”

“This is ludicrous! I’m not a combat officer! I command menials!” Blueblood growled.

“And Gears isn’t a field Enginseer, yet he’s bravely marching with me into battle!” Dusk said. “Are you telling me that this cowardly, feeble, injured earth pony cast-off is more of a stallion than you, Prince?” He quirked an eyebrow, his amber eyes meeting the unicorn’s glare without difficulty.

Blueblood was silent for several seconds. Then his narrowed eyes darted toward Gear Works.

“Are you, in fact, marching with him into battle?” Blueblood asked.

“If I don’t, he’ll hit me,” Gear Works said miserably, sniffling.

“This is a stupid idea, and we’re all going to regret it,” the prince growled, using his magic to cock the hammer on his bolt pistol.

“That’s the spirit!” Dusk Blade slipped his visor down, and his vision was replaced by dark green field. A few seconds later it turned on, and data screed filled the lens screen before scrolling out of sight and leaving his vision mostly unobstructed. “Gears, you have any ideas on where we should go first?”

“The vox transmission relay that’s emitting the distress beacon should be our first stop,” the Dark Acolyte recommended. “I can use the sensoria augurs to determine where the foe is gathering, and possibly help along the request for reinforcements.”

“Possibly help, hm?” Blueblood sneered.

“I can guarantee nothing, I’m afraid. Command… doesn’t really like me,” Gears admitted.

“Can’t you route the request through the Dark Mechanicus, then?” Blueblood asked. “They have their own armed forces, right?”

“They like me SUBSTANTIALLY less than Command.”

“You’re part of their priesthood!”

“I believe that’s the root of much of the bad blood, actually.”

Blueblood released a growl through clenched teeth, and then turned back to Dusk Blade. “Lead the way, Lieutenant. I suddenly have an irrepressible urge to shoot something.”

Ponyville – town center

On its best days Ponyville was a bizarre mix of rural equine architecture married to industrialized human logistics. Brightly painted wooden homes had great metal blocks plugged into their sides and tall metal smokestacks poking through the roof. Wiring and cable bundles snaked through lawns and hung between transformer towers topped with weather vanes and decorated with local flowers. Great metal cargo crawlers sat in the road next to rickety wooden wagons. Charming welcome mats that said “Our home is your home” laid between autoturret defense systems that constantly scanned the streets for likely targets.

This was not one of Ponyville’s best days, and as it so happened there were a lot of likely targets this particular afternoon.

Lasblasts criss-crossed the streets in clumsy volleys, lashing out from windows and small turrets. Most splashed against the ground or struck another building, adding to the hundreds of dark spots and smoldering debris that now decorated the village. Occasionally, however, the lasers found a target, and a furious shriek erupted from the streets of Ponyville.

Sickle-armed Hormagaunts sprinted between the houses, snarling and hissing while they dodged through crossfire. Barely the size of an average pony, these quadrupedal Tyranids had a lithe, uncomplicated physiology that balanced their long, poorly-armored body and head low to the ground with a long, whip-like tail that lashed behind them as they ran. Their carapace was bright blue, with a dark purple streak running down their backs.

The aliens darted through town with single-minded purpose, all but ignoring the crossfire until they got caught by a lucky shot. The lasblasts bored deep holes into the Hormagaunts when they hit, easily burning through the shining outer carapace and cooking a tunnel of fleshy mass within. The warbeasts fell to the ground with angry shrieks of pain, but their siblings simply jumped over their fallen without so much as a glance.

Behind the pack of smaller beasts stalked a much larger one. The Tyranid Warrior stood taller than a Space Marine and boasted a long, fleshy cannon grafted directly to one of its four arms. Long tubes that resembled the fuel feeds of mechanical weapons curved back into the creature’s body, drawing ammunition from some internal organ.

Unlike the Hormagaunts, the Warrior didn’t rush into the web of laser fire, instead bracing itself and aiming its cannon at the nearest source of lasblasts. An appalling slurping noise came from the weapon, and then it launched a glob of bright yellow sludge across the battlefield.

The projectile struck a window that was cracked open just enough to fire through, eliciting a startled yelp from the occupant. The window was completely covered over with a thick slurry, and a moment later the lasgun withdrew and the window slammed shut all the way.

The Warrior fired again, and again, and again, systematically shutting down every firing point in its path. Windows were covered over in the strange slime, blinding the gunners behind them, and the few small turrets in the area had their targeting sensors completely consumed by the ooze and rendered useless. The machines shut down soon afterwards, their servos struggling to shift back into standby mode against the slime clogging them.

After nearly a minute, the Warrior could detect no more threats from its current firing point. There were more lasbolts coming from deeper into the village, harrying its smaller brethren while they rushed ahead, but this block was clear of threats.

Or so it seemed until a pair of adamantium blades stabbed into the back of its head.

“Surprise! You die now,” Dusk planted his rear legs onto the Warrior’s back, and then drove his other set of talons into the swollen mass of the alien’s head. The claws sunk deep into the inner carapace and the brain matter within, and a psychic pulse erupted from the Warrior as it shrieked angrily.

It started to flail, but Dusk pulled his blades free and clung on to the alien’s back, his claws finding good purchase in the thicker armor shell there. Once it swung its head about to try and knock him off it exposed the untouched side of its cranium and Dusk attacked again. Three lightning-fast stabs punched into the bulbous mass protected under the Warrior’s armored head crest, and then the entire creature started to stumble.

Dusk flapped his wings, leaping from the defeated Warrior as it crumpled onto the ground. Hormagaunts were already rerouting their approach to intercept him, but he flew higher into the air and easily lifted out of reach of the first lunge.

A loud gunshot rang out, and that Hormagaunt’s head suddenly burst into a shower of purple goo and wet, fleshy chunks. Its body pitched to the side, tripping the next Tyranid that was trying to line up a jump for Dusk Blade’s legs.

“You alien wretches have interrupted my long-awaited vacation,” Prince Blueblood said, his voice cold as the grave. His bolt pistol rocked backward again, and the next Hormagaunt was blown off its feet. “I will see every one of you scum GROUND TO DUST.”

His bolt pistol swiveled about in the air, and then it took the head off of a different Tyranid that was approaching from another angle. On the opposite side another Hormagaunt was racing to attack, but Dusk swooped down and punched his claws into its back, slaying the creature.

“Prince, my analysis of Tyranids’ tactical behaviors suggests that the smaller bio-forms should break and run quite easily once the large psychic controller is dispatched,” Gear Works said while Blueblood continued shooting at each alien darting toward him.

“Splendid!” the unicorn barked, shooting down another Hormagaunt. “It seems like they’re doing the exact opposite, but I trust you know what you’re talking about, Techpriest!”

“I’m not a Techpriest, Prince, I-“

“Would you stop wasting breath on trivial corrections and HELP?!” Blueblood snapped right before his bolt pistol clicked empty. He levitated another magazine from the belt of them under his barrel and ejected the spent one.

“Oh! Right. So, the reason I brought up the behavioral tactics point was not to suggest that we were on the verge of victory, but rather to suggest that there is yet another of the larger ‘Warrior’ bio-forms within engagement range,” Gear Works explained at length. “The first Warrior died with absolutely no obvious effect on the smaller Tyranids, which I am led to believe is not typical of them.”

“When I requested help, I meant you should SHOOT something!” Blueblood griped before he obliterated another Hormagaunt with his pistol.

“I am not properly equipped for using human weapons, and I possess no combat augments,” Gears explained.

“Your tail has a spike on it! If the blasted insects get too close to me, stab them in the eye or something!” Blueblood barked, turning to check for any more targets.

“This is a class III neural dataspike, Prince,” Gears said in a slightly chastising tone while his needle-tipped tail lashed back and forth behind him. “It is highly unsuitable for organic interface.”

Blueblood whirled on the cyborg, his teeth clenched and his patience broken. “Now you see here you pile of low-born scrap: if you don’t get off your useless metal arse and dispatch-“

The unicorn was suddenly struck in the head by glob of projectile slime, bowling him over entirely. Gear’s optics went wide, and he recoiled in fright as the larger stallion rolled across the ground.

“PONY DOWN!! PONY DOWN!!” the tech-cultist cried, turning around to flee into cover.

Before he could take so much as a step Gears found himself face to face with a charging Hormagaunt. The screeching alien struck him across the head with its talons, knocking the cyborg to the ground, and then leapt atop its target to finish the job.

“GET THE HAY OFF HIM ALIEN SCUM!!” Dusk’s hoofblades struck in an instant, carving into the Hormagaunt’s neck and ripping it open.

Dusk kicked off of the mortally wounded Tyranid, and then flipped around in the air to land blades-first on another alien’s back. A rear leg punched adamantium talons into the Hormagaunt’s leg, and when the war beast staggered he stabbed another set of talons into the back of its neck.

Dusk flapped his wings hard to vault into the air, leaping just high enough for a blast of ooze to shoot underneath him. The bat pony let out an angry, echoing shriek, not even bothering to search for his opponent visually. The location of the enemy was returned to him in an instant; a mass of jagged, fleshy meat crouching behind an empty Chimera.

Dusk Blade twisted about in the air, locking his combat visor onto the Tyranid Warrior. It fired its gun again, and the bat pony lifted himself slightly to avoid the shot.

“Two shots is more than most ever get at me,” the Lieutenant snarled, tearing a krak grenade from his chest bandoleer, “too bad your aim sucks.”

He crossed the distance to the vehicle and the Warrior stood up to its full height, brandishing enormous purple scything talons to intercept the flying equine. Adorable.

Dusk dropped to the ground right in front of it, and then did a flip-kick into the barrel of the Warrior’s bio-cannon. The weapon flew up at the alien’s face and caused the creature to flinch back, pulling its limbs out of their protective positions. In that instant Dusk was inside its guard, bouncing up between the ungainly Warrior’s weaponized limbs.

“You lose,” the thestral said, punching the grenade into the Warrior’s snarling maw. Another flap of his wings and a kick off the Warrior’s shield-like head crest, and he was spinning out of reach.

Dusk was already turned around and flying back to his companions when the grenade detonated, reducing much of the Warrior’s head to a messy pulp. Fearful shrieks and agonized howls came from nearby roads and buildings as the Hormagaunts experienced the psychic backlash of their synapse node dying, but Dusk ignored them, too. None of the aliens were visible from this stretch of road, so there was at least a little more time before they became a threat.

“Gears! Gears, speak to me!” Dusk Blade shouted, landing next to the Dark Acolyte.

Gear Works, who was sitting upright where he had been tackled earlier, blinked at him. “All right. What did you want to talk about?”

Dusk quickly collected himself and shook his head. “Oh, okay. Guess you’re all right. Good!” He stepped closer, peering at the cyborg’s hood. “You’re not even bleeding? Did the claw hit metal or something?”

“If only it did,” grumbled the Dark Acolyte. “The talon simply wasn’t very sharp. It was more like being struck with a large stick than being slashed with a blade. That said, it jarred my injured leg rather badly. The pain is actually quite severe.”

“Huh. That’s… strange. Still, I’m just relieved you’re all right,” Dusk said with a sigh.

“But I’m not-“

“Oh, how the heart melts at this scene! The brave warrior with blood on his claws and ice in his veins brought nearly to tears at the prospect of his dear friend being harmed! I don’t suppose you can spare a crumb of concern for your OTHER companion, could you?”

Dusk and Gears turned to look. Prince Blueblood was sitting just two meters away, watching them with an expression of utter contempt. At least, they were guessing it was contempt; the unicorn’s face was still partially obscured by the strange, sticky goo he was shot with.

“Okay, hold up, YOU’RE alive too? How does that work?” Dusk complained. “Shouldn’t your face be melted off by the alien acid or space poison or whatever?”

“I hate to disappoint you,” Blueblood drawled, “but as it happens this is not some weaponized alien toxin I was struck with. It’s apple sauce.”

“Apple… sauce…? What?” Dusk gawked.

“Well, maybe it’s more of a jam or preserve. It seems a bit too thick and sticky for apple sauce, but it’s not like I’m well-versed in the breadth and depth of apple-based semi-solid foods.” Blueblood wiped off some of the strange gunk with a disgusted grunt. “Whatever the case, enough of it got in my mouth to confirm it’s definitely edible and apple-flavored. Very sweet too, incidentally.”

Dusk turned to face Gear Works, clearly expecting the cyborg stallion to offer an explanation for this.

“I… could not begin to construct a hypothesis on why the Tyranid invaders are discharging apple-based bioweapons,” he admitted. “However, I’ve catalogued several tactical anomalies that seem to suggest an unusual cellular makeup in these organisms. Their epidermal chitin seems to be of substandard strength, they move somewhat sluggishly, and – as I previously mentioned – their limb blades are curiously blunt and soft.”

“There’s also the smell,” Blueblood added, wiping more apple sauce off of his face.

“I cannot confirm that, as I have long since lost my olfactory senses,” Gear Works confessed.

Dusk pulled his respirator mask down, and then took a long whiff. His eyes widened immediately.

“Apples! It smells like apples!” Dusk said incredulously. “The burnt corpses smell like baked apples, the projectile goo smells like spiced apples, and the corpses smell like rotting apples! WHY THE HAY IS EVERYTHING APPLES?!” the thestral demanded.

“As I said, I have no theories on how this absurdity came to be,” Gears said, his ears flipping down.

Dusk huffed angrily, and then galloped over to one of the Hormagaunts he had killed. He stabbed a hoofblade into the Tyranid’s leg, and then bit into its thigh. Blueblood and Gears recoiled in disgust, but they offered no verbal complaint as the bat pony ripped off a strip of alien flesh and chewed.

Dusk Blade’s eyes narrowed before he swallowed the raw corpse-meat. “Apples,” he hissed.

“Do you… not like apples? You seem very upset about this,” Prince Blueblood noted.

“Not a fan, no. Me and my family eat bugs but we used to live with a clan of fruit-eating bats for a while, and the fermenting fruit smell kind of put me off sugary foods in general,” Dusk admitted, calming down substantially. “But I’m mostly just upset because it’s dumb.”

“It’s not much further to the vox relay. Shall we continue?” Gear Works asked, gently massaging his injured leg.

“I hope they have a shower there,” Blueblood grumbled, levitating his bolt pistol off the ground and scraping off the apple sauce splashed on the receiver casing. “Let’s move.”

“Well, this doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t know… I’ve seen a lot of battlefields, and… well this is just… different.”

The vox relay outpost was a large, multi-level ferrocrete bunker. Heavy autoturrets sat on each corner of the complex, every single one completely encased in a pile of sticky yellow slime. Tyranid corpses were scattered everywhere; primarily the small Hormagaunts, but there were also the bodies of Warriors lying about the wide field that separated the complex from the surrounding buildings. Blue moon apples – the exotic fruit delicacy exclusively sold by Ponyville’s Apple family – were scattered among the bodies and clustered near the wall.

“Whole apples this time? What, did the Tyranids spit them up or something?” Dusk grunted while he approached the fortification.

“I think that’s correct, actually,” Gear Works observed, following the batpony. “Look at those spots on the wall. It looks like apples were being used as high-velocity projectiles; the ones on the ground are mostly crushed or deformed.”

“Why would aliens throw APPLES at a bunker?!” Dusk demanded, shifting his mask back up into place to filter out the smell.

“Again, I have no hypothesis as to why this Tyranid assault force seems to maintain an apple-based biological affinity,” Gears said, “but if their bodies are made of apple fibers and their glands generate apple fluids, it is hardly beyond imagination that they possess weapons that can launch whole apples as missiles.”

“Is everyone inside dead? I want to use their washroom, but if the aliens overran it then the interior is probably much messier than I am,” Blueblood said with a grimace.

“It looks like the entrance was forced open, so it’s not looking too good,” Dusk admitted. “Gears, Prince, you wait here at the entrance. I’ll sneak in and check things out.”

“As you wish, Lieutenant,” Blueblood grumbled, taking up position while the bat pony crept into the darkened interior. “Techpriest, or Acolyte or whatever, try to find something useful to do while we wait, would you?”

Gear Works looked up at the bunker, his optics running several diagnostic scans. Power transmission was functional. None of the devices were suffering from extensive structural damage. The turrets, mechanically, were in fine working order, but could do nothing while encased in a layer of hardened carbohydrates.

“Hmmm…”

Vox relay center Alpha 7

Dusk Blade studied the scene on the ground floor with a practiced eye, his optical visor magnifying various wounds and picking out shell casings for analysis.

The defenders had withdrawn from this level and had obviously fought hard for the opportunity. The floor was positively carpeted with smaller Tyranids, most of them torn apart with explosive force and shrapnel. The positioning suggested that most had perished to fragmentation charges; probably the path had been mined once it was clear the aliens would be able to break through, with a few grenades thrown into the swarm for good measure.

Off to one side was a cogitator station. The machine was smashed in, with the screen shattered and the control panel covered in mulched apple. On the other side was the brig and sanitation facility. There wasn’t much in the way of alien bodies inside; it looked like nearly all of the aliens had tried to rush upstairs to the second level, and a great many had died in the attempt. The Prince would have no problem taking a quick shower, so long as he was willing to step over dozens of corpses and risk another assault while he was so occupied.

Dusk Blade pulled his mask down, took a sniff of the air, and then recoiled with a disgusted expression. The entire room smelled like rotting apples. With a shudder, he placed his mask back on and approached the stairs.

Then Dusk froze in place, his ears turning ever-so-slightly toward the stairwell in the back of the bunker. Voices. Voices talking at normal volume, rather than the frantic shouts of desperate soldiers fighting for their lives. There was also a distinct absence of frenzied snarling, which did not match his experience with the disgusting fruit-based invaders at all.

Dusk contemplated sneaking upstairs and scoping out the occupants first, but reasoned that surprise may not serve him well here. Besides, they might have any blind spots trapped, and it would be EXTREMELY embarrassing to die in the middle of an alien invasion to friendly pony fire.

“Hello?! Is anypony up there?!” he shouted suddenly, scoping out the best hiding places in case it became necessary to break the lumens and take to the shadows.

The talking stopped immediately, and soon after there was the sound of heavy footfalls above. Not power armor heavy, but definitely better armored than the typical Chaos mercenary. “Whoever’s down there, come up here, quickly! It’s not safe outside shelter!”

“Sounds great! I’ll be right up, but, uh,” Dusk paused, chewing his lip. “I don’t suppose there are any mines or autoturrets ready to take the head off anything that comes galloping up those stairs, is there?”

“Ha! Not to worry little one, the xeno filth have used up all we had!”

“Who’re you calling ‘little one,’” Dusk grumbled into his mask as he hopped into the air, flying straight up the stairwell.

The human who greeted him on the second floor was unexpected, to say the least. Rather than a mercenary wearing carapace armor and boasting a lasgun, the man was wearing full plate armor – of the mundane, non-powered sort – and carrying a sword and shield. A boarding shotgun was strapped to his back such that its grip hung over one shoulder. Wrapped over his chest plate was a bandoleer loaded with shotgun shells, but beneath that was a white tabard boasting a symbol that Dusk instantly recognized: Princess Celestia’s cutie mark.

“A Sunsworn cultist? What are you doing here?” Dusk asked suspiciously.

“I live here,” the man grunted, leaning over the edge of the stairs to look down to the lower level. “Not in this structure, mind, but in Ponyville. I came to help after the Tyranids managed to shut down the turrets.”

“This is a restricted area,” Dusk pointed out.

“And by the will of the Princess, I intend to keep it that way,” the Sunsworn laughed, turning back to the entrance. “Come on in, we probably have a few minutes until more of the void-spawned xenos arrive.” He called out as he entered, “Look sharp, everyone! We have a Company pony on deck!”

Inside the room was a command center and logic engine banks. A pair of earth pony mares were in the command section, one of them looking badly battered and laying next to the wall while the other was frantically poking at the relay controls. Two more humans were with them, both of whom were wearing robes that immediately identified them as Sunsworn. One of the humans had heavy, archaic armor on like the other, but the other one, a woman, was wearing a simple robe that had been smeared over with applesauce. All the humans were armed, and judging by the state of their weapons they had just seen a great deal of combat.

“Reinforcements?! Already?” The mare resting against the wall stood up, her legs shaking slightly. “Thank Celestia! I didn’t think the Iron Warriors would respond so quickly!”

“Well, uh, strictly speaking they did not,” Dusk Blade admitted, pushing up his optics visor. He elected to keep his mask on, though; there was still a few Tyranid bodies piled in a heap in the corner.

“What does that mean?” asked the other pony. This one was a white mare with a red cross for a cutie mark. Dusk imagined she wasn’t used to cutting things open as much as stitching them back together, but the mare had several stains in her fur colored the same as the strange aliens’ guts. “The Company didn’t send you? Are you alone?”

“The Company didn’t send me,” Dusk confirmed. “I happen to be out here on leave. And I’m not alone, no, although our numbers are much closer to ‘alone’ than ‘rescue team.’”

This news didn’t seem to bother the humans, but the ponies immediately deflated, looking miserable.

“This is ridiculous! We can’t hold off another wave like that last one! And if the bugs take out this bunker all the perimeter defense systems around Ponyville go down too!” lamented the white mare.

“We can hold them off, and we will,” said one of the cultist knights. “Our enemy is weak, and Celestia is with us!”

“Celestia is NOT with us! Maybe she could be if one of you could figure out how to work the relay logic engines!”

“Look, I did scouting ops and he was a deck rating before we left the fleet. We don’t even know how to tell if the blasted tower is still working!”

“All they’ve thrown at it so far is apples! It can’t be THAT badly damaged…”

Dusk coughed, interrupting the building argument. “So, who exactly is the operator here?”

“None of us. I don’t think they station a permanent guard detail here. Most of the systems are automated. I took shelter in here with the mares and tried to call for help, but then the autoturrets stopped working and the bugs forced their way through the front door,” explained the woman. “These Tyranids seem to be much weaker than they’re supposed to be, but they could still bludgeon you to death or suffocate you with applesauce or something. If we can’t get the systems back online we’re probably better off making a run for it.”

“Well, lucky for you then!” Dusk said with a grin. “You were already fortunate enough to have the assistance of a skilled bat pony commando, but I happen to ALSO have a Techpriest with me!”

“Ooh! Is it Miss Gaela?!” the mares asked, perking up hopefully.

“Uh, no. It’s a friend of mine named Gear Works. He’s a pony,” Dusk said with a chuckle. The mares deflated again, their ears falling flat against their heads.

“I didn’t know ponies could become Techpriests,” one of the Sunsworn remarked.

“Yeah, he’s the only one! Isn’t that cool?” Then Dusk Blade coughed. “Also I guess TECHNICALLY he’s just a Dark Acolyte, but don’t worry about it, he knows what he’s doing!”

“Yeah, okay, I’m ready to make a run for it,” the injured pony said, heaving a sigh. “Redheart, do you know anywhere better protected than this place?”

“I think the merchant corp guildhouse has a security compliment. They won’t be out here helping anypony unless the Mayor negotiates something, but if we go to them…”

“Okay, you know what? The hay with all of you,” Dusk said, trotting past the others and heading toward the control panel. He slammed a hoof onto a button and then shouted up into a receiver. “Gears! Prince! The bunker is safe! Shower is on first level, control is on the second. Let’s get a move on!”

“I’m sure you’re very tough and your friend is a very good cultist, but we’re sitting ducks here,” Nurse Redheart said. “The turrets are dead, the doors aren’t working, and the alien horde clearly sees this complex as a priority target.”

“On the other hand, I’d rather fight the bugs while they try to force their way through a rockcrete hallway than out in the village,” remarked a Sunsworn.

“Look, you guys can do what you want. Run away, barricade yourself in here, or curl up into a ball and cry yourself to sleep. Don’t care,” Dusk Blade said. “As for me, I’m going to find out what’s going on and FIX IT.”

“How?” asked Redheart.

“Not completely sure, but stabbing aliens over and over has worked very well so far so I thought I’d build on that success.”

A clanking noise came from the stairs, and the occupants turned to watch as a hooded pony with a servo arm limped into the command center. The equine cyborg glanced from one occupant to the other, his blue-green optics lights glowing softly, and then he started walking toward Dusk Blade.

“Well I’ll be, it really is a pony tech-cultist,” whistled the woman.

“Of course! Did you think I was making him up?” Dusk scoffed. “This is Gear Works. He’ll have this place up and running in a jiff.”

“That’s a pretty tall order for a single pony, Techpriest or not,” one of the mares said, “do you think we can-“

She was suddenly cut off by the sound of heavy bolter fire, and the mares scrambled to their hooves. The Sunsworn quickly whirled on the entrance, one of them drawing his sword and the others checking their guns. Redheart cocked her head to the side, immediately realizing something important.

“Wait… That’s heavy weapons fire! Where is it coming from? Did more troops arrive?” the nurse asked.

“No, that’s the defense turrets,” Gears replied, speaking for the first time while he approached the controls. “I intended to test their targeting telemetry from the main controls, but it seems some hostiles have done it for me first.”

“You… You fixed the guns?” Redheart asked, eyes wide.

“And the front gate. Well, sort of. The opening mechanism is still inactive, but they can at least be closed and secured manually now. The Prince didn’t want to shower with the front door open,” Gears reached the control panel and his servo arm reached up and tapped a switch. “The autoturrets were less severely damaged, thankfully.”

“See? What’d I tell you?” Dusk asked smugly. “Gears knows what he’s doing!”

“Well I can’t say I’m sorry to have to eat my words, given the circumstances. Did you really fix all four turrets in the time since you got here?” Redheart asked.

“The Dark Mechanicus has ancient enchantments and psalm-programs that can perform veritable miracles,” admitted one of the Sunsworn.

“Well, yes, it does, but I don’t know any of those,” Gears said before plunging his dataspike tail into an interface socket. “I just found a garden hose and sprayed them off.”

“… You did… what?”

“Sprayed them with a hose.” Gear’s dataspike sparked loudly, and several of the screens above the controls vanished into a blur of code or static. “The turrets didn’t suffer any serious damage, they were simply entangled in a viscous high-sucrose film beyond the point of basic mobility. It wasn’t a difficult fix.” Gear Works paused. “On that note, have we encountered any clues as to why these Tyranids possess such maladjusted bio-weaponry?”

The mares glanced at each other, each of them arching an eyebrow.

“Hopefully the vox relay can help us with that,” Dusk Blade said, stepping over to his augmented companion. “Load the noosphere stack cache and check all the vox transmissions chrono-tagged prior to the distress signal and their origin geo-coordinates. If we root though those we can probably track the places where they were first noticed and work our way backward to find out where all these bugs are coming from. Then-“

“Sweet Apple Acres,” said both of the local mares and all three Sunsworn.

Dusk seemed startled at the interruption. “What?”

“Sweet Apple Acres. The big farm at the edge of town owned by the Apple family. That’s where they’re coming from,” Redheart explained.

“Why would aliens be coming from a FARM?” Dusk asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, but c’mon, it’s obvious,” the nurse retorted. “It’s the biggest apple plantation for hundreds of miles, and we’re besieged by monsters that shoot applesauce and smell like fruit pie when you roast them with lasers. The coloration on them is just like those funny blue moon apples, too.”

“Well, okay, that’s a decent enough lead,” Dusk admitted. “But I still want to review the vox logs for confirmation.”

“Half the vox messages are just ponies cursing the Apple family for unleashing a tide of apple monsters on the town,” Gears said.

“Oh for moon’s sake,” Dusk groaned. “Fine! Sweet Apple Acres is the presumed target! Now what do we do about it?”

“Our plan was to wait for the Iron Warriors to show up and do something about it,” Redheart admitted.

“I have alerted Ferrous Dominus and confirmed receipt of the earlier distress call,” Gear Works noted, “however, I am uncertain what the combat response, if any, shall be.”

“Surely they don’t want a bloody Tyranid infestation along with the Orks,” remarked the unarmored woman. “If they fought to keep the Orks contained, the Company will definitely want to nip this in the bud.”

“I believe they’re analyzing the strategic data and formulating a response. However, these circumstances are quite unusual,” Gears noted.

“Unfortunately, aliens rampaging through Ponyville is anything BUT unusual these days,” Redheart muttered.

“You know what he meant. Just chill, would you?” Dusk scolded. “The turrets are on, we know the source of the infestation, and the enemy is a bunch of defective fruit monsters. Everything is going to be FINE.”

The screens above the control panel started flickering, and one by one they turned to loud static.

“… Is that supposed to happen?” Redheart asked.

“If not, then Gears will fix it!” Dusk snapped. “We’ve got this under control, all right?”

The screens all restored themselves at once, and Gears suddenly found himself staring into seven different transmission feeds of Dark Acolyte Sheraan’s face.

“… Ponyfeathers,” Dusk hissed under his breath.

“Brother Sheraan! Greetings!” Gears said, sitting down in front of the control panel. “Are you here to receive my status report?”

“Negative,” Sheraan replied. “We have received the necessary data and calculated a solution.”

“Oh! Excellent! What are you going to do and how may I assist?” Gears asked, his ears perking up.

“The void craft designation: Omen is currently in an ideal orbital vector in the repair docks. The refit crew is warming up the reactor systems as we speak. Once weapon systems are online, the Omen will commence a strategic orbital strike,” Sheraan explained in a grim monotone. “The xeno shipwrights claim this battlecruiser is rated very highly in planetary bombardment capabilities, in stark contrast to the rest of our fleet. This is an optimal circumstance to test their boasts.”

“You’re going to shoot the aliens… from space? Is that what you’re proposing?” Redheart asked, walking up next to Gear Works and craning her neck to look up at the monitors.

“Affirmative.”

One of the knights stepped up behind the ponies. “That’ll do for the farm, probably, but we’ll still need some kill teams on the ground to clear the alien threat from Ponyville.”

“Negative,” Sheraan retorted, “the bombardment shall suffice to remove the xeno hostiles within the settlement as well, assuming the unit designation: Omen meets minimal operational expectations.”

Gear’s ears flipped down and Dusk winced. The others didn’t respond right away, slowly piecing together the ramifications of what the Dark Acolyte was saying.

“W… Wait,” Redheart lifted a hoof, her legs quivering and her heart rate rising. “What… What about the ponies here? What about their homes? What-“

“Estimated time until the necessary weapons are operational is two-point-one-seven hours,” Sheraan droned. “You appear to have a functional vox relay in your possession. It is within my colleague Gear Work’s pitiful capabilities to broadcast an evacuation order in that time frame.”

The sound of hooves against the flooring came from the stairs, but none of the occupants noticed as Blueblood cautiously approached the command center.

“You’re out of your data-blasted mind!” shouted one of the Sunsworn knights. “We can’t evacuate the entire village that quickly! We’d rather try and fight the xenos ourselves than have the entire town wiped off the map with a bombardment!”

Blueblood’s ears perked, and he arched an eyebrow.

“Your relative preference in strategic operations is perfectly irrelevant,” Sheraan noted. “It is advised you cease wasting time arguing and begin evacuations.”

“Dark Acolyte! Stop them!” Redheart shouted, turning to Gear Works with tears in her eyes. “This is insane! Tell them they can’t do this!”

“Oh, so NOW you want his help,” Dusk grumbled.

“Yes! Now that it is an existential threat to Ponyville rather than an unlikely repair task, I am BEGGING you to fix this!” the mare cried.

“Er… I… Ah…” Gear’s optics lights shrank to pinpricks as his thoughts came to a shuddering halt. “I don’t… Maybe… I… I should probably send that evacuation order, right? In case we-“

“Ugh! Step aside you worthless bucket of bolts,” Blueblood snapped, suddenly alerting everyone to his presence.

The Prince strode up to the control center, his blond mane and pearly white coat still wet from the shower. He stared at the control monitor with an expression of irritation, as if the prospect of Ponyville being demolished from orbit was a nuisance being unfairly thrust upon him. Gears turned around to intercept him, approaching before he could get to a comfortable speaking distance to the vox receiver.

“Prince, I don’t wish to demean your efforts but the cult takes a very dim vie-“ Blueblood shoved Gears out of the way, throwing the cyborg pony onto the floor. Gears landed on his injured leg and cried out in pain, but the unicorn didn’t even bother looking at him, keeping his eyes locked on the glittering green lenses on the monitors.

“You there. What is this foolishness I hear about bombarding Ponyville?” Blueblood demanded.

Sheraan didn’t answer right away, his optics focusing on Gears as he was sprawled out onto the floor. He released a strange noise that sounded slightly like a laugh, and then turned his gaze fully to the unicorn.

“You may request an update from your companions,” Sheraan sneered, “however, every time increment spent discussing the impending devastation is a similar time increment lost that was likely necessary for avoiding obliteration.”

“That answered my question well enough.” Blueblood’s eyes narrowed. “This is unacceptable. Abort the bombardment and concoct a new strategy.”

“At once, Dark Techpriest,” Sheraan replied. Then he paused. “System error detected: You do not possess executive authority, psyker primitive. Recalculating… the bombardment effective perimeter has now been expanded.”

“Geez, I really hope the Tau were exaggerating what this thing can do,” Dusk mumbled as the humans started backing away toward the exit. The mares were completely stunned silent, staring at the suspended monitors in slack-jawed horror.

Prince Blueblood, however, seemed unmoved. He cocked his head to one side. “Ostensibly we’re in a hurry, but I simply must ask: what do you plan to tell the Iron Warriors when they ask you why you destroyed the Nethalican?”

Sheraan froze only a moment, and then swiftly turned his head slightly to look at something out of view. His arms weren’t entirely visible to the ponies, but the slight shifting of his shoulders suggested his hands were very busy at the controls.

“Ah, I see,” Blueblood drawled. “Condemned an Equestrian settlement to annihilation without even pausing to wonder if it contained something important, did you?” He released a weary sigh and brushed a hoof against his golden mane. “I must say: for an organization that prides itself on extreme competence and efficiency, I find myself CONSISTENTLY disappointed in the capabilities of the Mechanicus, Acolyte.”

“The bombardment area has been restricted,” Sheraan blurted, his voice noticeably higher pitched than before. “The area that-“

“Be silent,” Blueblood said calmly. Acolyte Sheraan, to the amazement of the other observers, immediately stopped talking. “I like the idea of a bombardment, but it will a PRECISION strike, is that clear? It would be an utter embarrassment to damage Ponyville any further over this infestation of apple aliens.”

Sheraan seemed to collect himself for a moment before speaking again. “You do not possess strategic authority-“

“You will FIND someone with the strategic authority and route my request through them! Does that compute, you hotwired metal dolt?!” Blueblood took a step toward the monitor and his horn sparked. Sheraan flinched, as if actually concerned the unicorn was going to somehow blast him through the vid-feed. “If I have to find someone of ‘strategic authority’ myself, I’m going to have to relay to them how LAZY and STUPID you were in ordering an orbital bombardment atop the single most important Chaos Temple on our planet! IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR, ACOLYTE?”

“Affirmative,” Sheraan said, his voice maintaining a careful monotone. “The facility you occupy contains tactical beacons. My colleague can prepare them to mark a target for bombardment.”

“A beacon? So we just need to drop it where we want you to attack, right? That’s how it works for artillery,” Dusk said.

“The observed area of direct effect of a single Liberator-pattern mass driver is 120 meters in diameter. The Tau have claimed their bombardment weapons are of equivalent potency. Plan accordingly.” The monitors all went dark as the vox feed was cut, mercifully ending the utterly embarrassing encounter.

“Did you really just yell at a Dark Techpriest?” one of the Sunsworn asked in awe.

“He was a Dark Acolyte,” Blueblood corrected the man. “They differ little from the full Techpriests in ability or appearance, but they’re MUCH more responsive to bullying.”

Gear Works shook his head. “The rank differences betwee-“

“Shut up and find that beacon,” Blueblood snapped.

“Right away, Prince,” Gears said, quickly ducking away and scurrying to a locker built into the wall.

“Okay, so we have a big ship in orbit with big guns, and a small device that tells the big guns exactly where to shoot. That’s progress. We can make a plan with this.” Dusk Blade looked over at Redheart. “I’ve never been to the apple farm. Do you have any ideas where we should target the bombardment?”

“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to either track the aliens running into Ponyville or ask the Apples themselves,” Redheart admitted.

“If this invasion originated on their property, what are the chances any of them are still alive?” Blueblood huffed. “I’m aware that Applejack and Big Macintosh are combatants of some ability, but the former is in space and these days the latter seems to spend a lot of time cooped up in Nightwatch, for some reason.”

“That’s true, but the farmstead is better fortified than this building is, and they still have Crabapple, I think.”

“Crabapple? I’m not familiar with that pony,” Blueblood admitted. “Did the Warsmith bequeath armor suits to the entire extended family?”

“Crabapple isn’t a pony, Crabapple is Apple Bloom’s sentient daemon engine,” Redheart corrected him.

“A Defiler-class assault walker, if I recall correctly,” Gear Works said, limping back toward the others with a hoofball-sized device clamped tightly in his servo arm. “I believe the combat armaments of a single Defiler should be sufficient to protect a bunker complex from being overrun by these particular aliens, although it is possible that there is some variant we have not yet encountered capable of defeating it.”

“Okay, great. So let’s make a run for the farm and try to get inside. If there’s anypony left, we’ll get their help to find out what needs to go boom. If not, there will probably be a trail to our target, at least,” Dusk slipped his visor back down. “Let’s lock and load, ponies!”

“… Am I to understand we’re accepting that these farmers own a daemon engine without further interrogating that fact?” Blueblood asked.

“Everypony does, yeah,” Redheart admitted.

“Capital,” the Prince said sarcastically, “Lieutenant, lead the way.”

Sweet Apple Acres

Flames danced among trees. Pillars of smoke stretched to the sky. Craters dotted the fields. Corpses of blue and purple littered the ground; some curled up into positions of agony, and others blasted completely apart into a steaming, gooey smear.

And all around drifted the smell of baked apples.

“You know I was complaining about the smell earlier, but it was mostly out of shock more than genuine distaste. The scent of roasting apples is really quite pleasant and I appreciate that it’s pungent enough to obscure the smell of spent mass-reactive cartridges.” Blueblood mused.

“I believe that’s mainly axiomite-32,” Gears corrected. “The heavy smoothbore cannons use a larger grain mixture than the mass-reactive shells. Surely that would be the dominant odor. Possibly also the flamer admixture, but I’ve been led to believe it’s almost odorless.”

“Gear Works, have I ever mentioned what an agonizing bore you are?” Blueblood asked.

“Thrice today, Prince.”

“And yet you never learn,” the unicorn huffed, stepping around a pile of burning slime. “You didn’t grow up in the Cult Mechanicus, right? How is it that a Canterlot pony lost every scrap of his social mores in a bare few months? I’d expect the thestral to be poor company but shouldn’t you, at least, be able to properly participate in a conversation?”

“Ah, well, that’s actually a funny story,” Gears paused as a thunderous boom came from somewhere in the orchard, followed by the rattle of automatic gunfire, “but anyway, I apologize if conversation with me seems tiresome or trite.”

“… Well? You’re not going to tell me the story?” Blueblood asked, his irritation growing.

“No. I was going to but then I remembered that it involved my servo skull and the Tau destroyed my servo skull and now I’m sad,” Gears explained, his ears flipping down against the sides of his head.

“Celestia grant me the strength not to hurl these idiots into the alien nest,” Blueblood said miserably, kicking aside a blue moon apple that was in his path. “There’s the farmstead up ahead. By the sounds of things the alien scum are being engaged at a different section of the property, probably by that daemon engine.”

“It has a name, you know,” Gears interjected before catching sight of something shifting out of his right-most optic sensor.

“Ponies shouldn’t name weapons as if they’re pets. It’s tacky,” Blueblood continued, levitating his bolt pistol from its holster and floating it above his head, “my gun isn’t some precious companion, it’s a device for disposing of enemies and-“

Gear Works released a startled squeak, but it wasn’t nearly enough warning. A section of the orchard seemed to peel away from the rest, revealing a bipedal, long-limbed Tyranid with a carapace that matched the surrounding apple trees. One very long limb lashed out from the creature’s shoulder, sweeping the unicorn off his hooves. The other slammed down onto Gear’s back, pinning him to the ground.

“AAAAAAGH!!” Gears shrieked as pain yet again shot up his injured leg. Sucking in air, he then managed a second exclamation. “LICTOR!!”

Blueblood’s floating bolt pistol wavered for a moment, and then spun to face the alien ambusher. The Lictor swatted it out of the air, pitching the weapon aside as it fired. The bolt hit an apple tree, and the gun bounced away and out of the range of Blueblood’s telekinesis.

“Oh cursed device help us it has TENTACLES!” Gear Works cried, flailing as best he could despite the force on his back holding him tight against the ground. He had to imagine that if the alien’s carapace and muscle wasn’t made of fruit fibers then the limb would have punched directly through his body and pierced the ground. As it was the creature was still strong enough that he was completely helpless, and he doubted that Blueblood would be any help either.

A high-pitched shriek came from behind the alien.

The Lictor moved immediately, spinning around and slashing both of its scythe-like shoulder-mounted limbs at a wide angle. A shadowy blur leapt at it, twisting perfectly to fly through the gap between them. Sunlight glinted off polished monomolecular blades in the moment before they met flesh.

Once, twice, and then thrice the adamantium talons plunged into the Lictor’s face and head. Each time it made a satisfying THUNK noise, like an axe sinking into soft wood, followed by a spurt of purple-tinted fluid.

Dusk Blade lifted himself off the Lictor right before it grabbed at him, and then darted back in, plunging his blades into the alien’s swollen head.

“Blasted… Alien… Monster!” Blueblood stumbled to his feet and then levitated his bolt pistol up off the ground.

Dusk kicked off the head of the Lictor, evading another frantic swipe of its claws. Blueblood fired, drilling two mass-reactive rounds into the foe’s head and shoulder. Bright purple apple pulp burst from the wounds, and the Lictor quivered unsteadily.

Then it collapsed with an exhausted wheeze, its syrupy blood pooling beneath it.

“Boy, it took way longer than I thought before you guys ran into something dangerous,” Dusk wiped his hoofblade off on a tree, smearing it with the colorful, sweet-smelling ichor.

“Yes, lucky us,” Blueblood hissed, gingerly rubbing an ankle. “At this rate we may yet reach the blasted farmstead before we get gunned down by a Tyranid shooting apple seeds or something.”

“That WOULD be a far superior form of projectile attack than the weaponized biomorphs we’ve so far encountered, and perfectly workable within the common biomechanical organs of Tyranid infantry weapons,” Gears mused, limping past the unicorn. “However, regardless of their threat most of the swarm seem to be rerouting into the village or toward what I assume is Crabapple causing the cacophony on the other side of the residence. We have been very fortunate in our choice of route.”

Dusk flapped his wings harder, building more altitude. “I’ll stay in the treetops while you guys approach and contact the occupants. Try to look weak and delicious so we can clear any more ambushes on the path to the farm.”

“I despise you. I really, truly do,” Blueblood growled as he sped up.

Up ahead the Apple family bunker complex loomed above the confusingly appetizing carnage of the farm, surrounded by crackling flames, gouts of smoke, and wrecked agri-machines. The ferrocrete walls were partially stained with purple gore, but much of the bottom level was scorched black, as if something had scoured it clean with a heavy flamer. Very little obvious damage had been inflicted on the bunker complex, although there were splotches of applesauce and crushed blue moons around the armored shutters.

Up above, on the second level, lasguns fired down into the smoke in uneven bursts. Whoever the gunners were seemed quite inefficient – much of the laser fire appeared to be almost random spray between the flames – but their firing point was nearly unassailable to an enemy with apple-based weapons. Apparently the aliens had tried anyway, judging by the many apples crushed into and around the bunker’s firing slit.

Blueblood reached the front gate – barred with siege shutters over an inch thick – and banged a hoof against the surface. “HELLO! FARMER! THIS IS YOUR PRINCE! OPEN YOUR DOMICILE IMMEDIATELY!”

“I doubt they can hear you,” Gears admitted as another thunderous battle cannon detonation came from the other side of the building. He walked up to a piece of metal paneling and brushed off a blue moon apple stuck onto the surface. Then his tail curled about, it’s dataspike point aimed at a tiny medal node sticking out.

A spark of energy ran from the tip of the tail onto the node. The metal protrusion retracted in an instant, and then the panel popped open. Behind the panel were several buttons, a holo-screen, and a vox interface.

“Are you serious? Access to this hovel requires some degree of fantastical cybernetic enhancement?” Blueblood asked, incensed.

“No, normally you’d just press a button. But the farmstead IS under siege, so a more sophisticated bypass mechanism is necessary,” Gear Works explained. He lifted his bionic foreleg, and the hoof opened up to reveal a small, segmented metal appendage, like a metal finger. It unfolded and pressed the green button at the bottom. “You should be able to contact them now, Prince.”

Blueblood snorted and leaned closer to the vox receiver. “Greetings farmer, this is Prince Blueblood. I have a matter of some urgency to discuss with you, but presently find myself trapped outside your domicile with the wretched aliens. Admit me access at once.”

There was a shuffling noise from the vox caster, and then the stallions could hear the crack of lasgun fire. “Uh… Is this it? Hello? Ah’m sorry Prince, Mac usually handles the cogi-whatsits. Ah sure wish he were here now!”

“Yes, yes, your ineptitude is most unfortunate. The door, then. Open the door,” Blueblood said, turning to check behind them.

“Er… The door ain’t workin’ Prince,” the voice replied through the vox after a brief silence. “Ah tried pushing the pedal and the door opened but then there’s… uh… another door? There’s two doors now.”

“By my aunt, we may very well perish out here because the imbecile farmer can’t figure out how to work the entrance,” Blueblood moaned, his shoulders slumping.

“Ah, Prince, he can hear you,” Gears mumbled awkwardly.

“Yes, I can see the button is still depressed, what of it?” the unicorn snapped. “I at least know enough of these devices to work a two-way vox! Since YOU profess to be more experienced, why don’t YOU open the blast shutters?”

Gear Works nodded. “Right away, Prince.” Then his servo arm ripped the entire interface panel off.

Blueblood stepped back uncertainly while the Dark Acolyte set upon the wiring underneath the panel. His augmetic hoof opened up to reveal a dozen or so small probes, scalpel blades, and sparking needles, and they started jabbing and whirring and cutting in a sudden frenzy of activity. All the while Gear’s dataspike tail remained pointed at the input socket, and after a few seconds the appendage released another electric arc into the hole.

Several motors started up, and then the blast shutters trembled briefly before they started to rise.

“… That didn’t even take a full minute,” Blueblood said, his voice sounding accusatory. “Why didn’t you do that to begin with?! What were we standing around here for?!”

“It is preferable to be granted regular access by the bunker occupants rather than slicing the system hardware to activate the override, particularly when security may be compromised at any moment,” Gear Works explained. “Besides the damage inflicted on the control system, it’s quite rude to open a secure facility by force, don’t you think?”

Blueblood did not look mollified by his explanation, and Gear’s ears flipped down. “Please don’t hit me.”

When the shutters finally opened entirely, they were faced with an unfamiliar stallion standing in the entrance. He was a dull yellow with a dirty blond mane, a Stetson hat, and leather vest on. A lasgun with a custom wood stock and a modified lever trigger was slung over his back. Gear Works had seen similar alterations to Company weapons before, made by ponies that were unsatisfied with the firing brace for one reason or another. The replacement of the small finger trigger with a much larger lever allowed guns to be wielded more easily by creatures without hands, although Gears imagined it dramatically increased the number of accidental discharges.

The unfamiliar stallion smiled broadly and tilted back his hat. “Well howdy, fellers! Welcome to Sweet-“

A horrendous shrieking noise from above interrupted him, startling the ponies. A heavy thump was followed by more loud, angry snarls. Then Dusk Blade and a bunker-colored Lictor tumbled off the side of the building, landing behind Gear Works.

The Lictor struck the ground first, landing painfully on one arm while its other limbs flailed in a panic. Dusk was entangled with the Lictor’s beard of tentacles, one set of talons already embedded in the alien’s eye. The other foreleg punched into the Lictor’s throat repeatedly, and sweet-scented fluids gushed over Dusk’s chest.

A violent spasm ran through the alien infiltrator, and then its limbs started curling up. The tentacles around its mouth went slack, and Dusk quickly tugged himself free before drawing his hoofblades out of the gaping purple wounds. The thestral flexed his wings, folded them, and then turned around to face the other stallions.

“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Dusk Blade. I’m in charge of this combat patrol, for the most part,” Dusk spread out his legs and then shook himself like a dog, spraying the area nearby with purple apple juice.

Blueblood recoiled, shielding himself with a leg. “Gah! Lieutenant, could you act civilized for ONE MINUTE?! I just showered!”

The farmer seemed completely stunned, and Gear Works reached over with his servo arm and waved it back and forth in front of him. After a moment the other earth pony blinked and stumbled backward.

“Shucks! Company ponies really are somethin’ else, ain’t they?” The farmer chuckled nervously and reached out a hoof. “The name’s Braeburn. Ah’m the manager of this here apple farm.”

“Splendid,” Blueblood said, not sounding pleased in the least or shaking the proffered hoof. “Now let us in. We must discuss this alien threat and the means with which we may stem the tide.”

“Make yerself at home, Prince!” Braeburn stepped out of the way, grinning widely. Prince Blueblood and Gear Works quickly trotted inside, while Dusk Blade stopped briefly to wipe his boots on the “Orks, Tau, and solicitors will be disintegrated” novelty welcome mat.

“Lemme just close the door…” Braeburn turned toward the control panel behind him and started to puzzle over the buttons.

Gear’s tail darted in over Braeburn’s shoulder, and the large metal spike tapped a button and flicked a switch. The door promptly slammed shut, and then the access light above it turned from green to red.

“Oh! Well, thank ya kindly, Doc!” Braeburn tipped his hat to the cyborg, who looked perplexed at being addressed as “Doc.” “Now then, Ah’m guessin’ y’all have some questions, doncha? This ain’t a great time fer a tour of the orchard.”

“Indeed, we do,” Blueblood said, drawing himself up and glaring down his muzzle at the farmer. “Tell me, Mister Braeburn, how is it that you have Tyranid war beasts emerging from your farm?”

“Tyranid? Is that what they’re called?” Braeburn scratched his head. “We didn’t know what the varmints were. They just started poppin’ up in the blue moon pit.”

“Pit? You mean you store the blue moons in a hole in the ground?” Dusk asked.

“No, Sir! We store ‘em in the barn and cryo-silos like all the other produce. We GROW ‘em in a hole in the ground!” Braeburn chuckled, although it lacked any sincere humor. “We got this special area just fer the apple spines that produce the blue moons.”

Gear’s optics lenses flickered off and on in sequence. “Apple ‘spines?’”

“That’s right, Doc! They’re grown on these weird, hollowed-out spines that we seeded in the pit where some space thingamajig crashed during the invasion. Er, the second invasion, Ah think. By the Tau main fleet? Or is that the first-“

“Let’s not get bogged down in the precise chronology of our world being corrupted by alien invaders,” Blueblood sniffed. “Celestia knows things have been eventful enough to fill a small library with the history of the last year. Concentrate on the specific aliens and corruptions that led to this state of affairs.”

“Right. So…” there was another explosion outside, and the lights flickered briefly before coming back on. “We were told that if any spines appeared where we didn’t plant none, then we had to burn ‘em.”

“These sound like EXTREMELY sketchy fruit plants,” Dusk remarked.

“Yeah, Ah guess. And we did see a couple spines sprout and we did burn ‘em down. Just piled some kindling on the sides and lit ‘er up. Wasn’t no big deal.” Then he grimaced. “Thing is… new ones started poppin’ up after that. Thicker ones, with this weird, waxy bark.”

“Okay… and you burned those too, right?” Dusk asked.

“We tried, yeah. But it didn’t work!” Braeburn cringed, his ears pressing flat against the sides of his head. “the fire just sorta scorched the outside black, without burnin’ it all the way. We thought it was burnt at first, but then it, uh, kept growin’. And the burnt parts just peeled off. We made a bigger fire, but it didn’t stop ‘em at all!”

“Tyranid organisms are highly adaptable,” Gears interjected. “It is not surprising that a hive growth with a very specific impediment to survival would develop a counter-mutation. But surely you could have destroyed it in other ways. The organism can become resistant to heat or thicken its skin, but it has hard limitations on how well it can protect itself and still perform its core function.”

“Yeah, Ah reckon yer right,” Braeburn admitted. “We were gonna have Crabapple march down there and just tear the spine out with the giant mechanical claws and such…… but…”

“BUT?” Blueblood asked, his expression souring even more.

“But then Apple Fritter noticed that the spines near the new growths were becomin’ much more productive, and the apples were gettin’ bigger. We were gettin’ fruits the size of melons, and they were growin’ even faster than before! So… we decided to let ‘em be for a while and see what happens, y’know?”

“And this is what happens,” Blueblood said, glaring at the farmer.

“… Ah have regrets,” Braeburn said, lowering his head shamefully.

“Well, luckily the brave stallions of the 38th Company have arrived to clean up your mess for you,” Blueblood sneered. “We have secured the use of an orbital bombardment and a tactical beacon. We intend to place the beacon within the alien nest and wipe out the source of this plague in one fell swoop.”

“Well shucks, that’s better’n any idea Ah had,” Braeburn said, pushing his hat back into place. “Ah tried to lead an attack into the pit, but even with Crabapple at the fore the critters beat us back. Now the big metal galoot’s the main thing keepin’ the critters from swarmin’ the farmstead.”

“Gears. Beacon.” Dusk Blade pushed his visor down over his eyes, cloaking his face from top to bottom in plasteel plates and glassine lenses.

Gear Works curled his servo arm to reach under his robe, and then pulled out the vaguely pyramid-shaped object. Dusk Blade turned around, and the Dark Acolyte started attaching it to a strap on his back.

“This part of the mission I’ll be taking on alone,” Dusk said, stretching out his wings. “I’m the infiltration specialist, plus the only flyer out of all of us. I just need to know exactly where this pit is so I don’t have to track the aliens back there.”

“No problem, friend! Ah got a holo-map right here!” Braeburn said, gesturing over to a wall panel.

He poked the bottom, and then a three-dimensional topographic map appeared. The farmstead was marked out with a bright holo-glyph, and Dusk’s target was equally obvious: A large concave section of orchard in the far corner of the property. The space surrounding the crater was barren, save for a rail track that was apparently used to cart produce out of the area. Large, curved spikes protruded from the ground within the crater, and the detail of the hololith was such that they could make out the large thorns decorating the spines’ backside.

“All set,” Gear Works said, backing away from Dusk Blade. “Simply press down on the top panel and the beacon will begin transmitting and the opposite panel will adhere to whatever it’s set on.”

“Gotcha.” Dusk paused. “How long will I have between activation and the bombardment?”

“Well that depends on the readiness of the firing platform, but the beacon does allow for a longer arming period for evacuation of the placement team. Should I activate that feature?” the Dark Acolyte asked.

“You mean giving the deploying agent time to escape isn’t the default setting?!” Dusk asked in alarm.

“Stop being a foal and get a move on!” Blueblood snapped. “Every minute of delay is another mob of apple freaks descending on the village!”

“If you want to try to magic the thing into place just say the word, Prince,” dusk retorted with an annoyed snort. “Nobles who sit behind walls and shout at ponies fighting in the trenches should save their breath and show us how it’s done.”

“I suspect waiting here with the cyborg and the dullard for company will prove to be just as intolerable as a trot through the alien nest,” Blueblood sniffed. “But as you said, you are uniquely suited to the task, and our very survival is likely at stake. I relent.”

Gear Works took a step back. “The beacon engram has been adjusted. It will begin transmitting 60 seconds after activation, rather than immediately.”

“One minute? Cutting it a little close still, don’t you think?”

“The longer the beacon remains inactive, the longer the enemy has to find and disable it. Sixty seconds is the recommended withdrawal frame,” Gears explained.

“Welp, here goes everything.” The Lieutenant briefly clashed his hoofblades together and then trotted past Braeburn and into the next room.

Braeburn watched Dusk step out of sight, perplexed. “Whatcha goin’ to the kitchen for? There ain’t no exit that way.”

There was no response from the next room, and after a few seconds Braeburn walked over to the doorway and stuck his head inside. “… Hello? Lieutenant? Where’d ya go?”

“Oh, he pulls that trick all the time. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gears assured the other stallion.

“Trick? Gettin’ out of a room with no exits?”

“Yes. More often it’s entering a room with secure entrances. But conceptually-“

A cry of pain and terror suddenly came from upstairs, and Gear Works stammered in surprise.

“Oh thank Celestia, we have a dire emergency,” Blueblood said, sighing in relief. “Cease your prattling at once! Ponies are in danger, for all I know!”

“That came from the gunner’s nest!” Braeburn yelped, dashing up the stairs. Gear Works followed him as quickly as he could on three legs, while Prince Blueblood ascended at an equally relaxed pace.

The structural interior of the gunner’s nest was quite familiar to Gear Works, who had serviced more that one pillbox in and around Ferrous Dominus. This one had evidently been modified to double as a den, with several large couches, a plasma furnace (restyled to look like a conventional fireplace), and a juice bar. While the exterior-facing wall was dominated by a long firing slit, the others boasted various furs, gun racks, and a few alien hunting trophies (two stuffed squigs and the bleached skull of an Ork Nob).

Granny Smith quietly hummed to herself and rocked back and forth in a corner, while a stallion wearing a flak vest rolled back and forth on the floor, hooves pressed against his face. They were not the only ponies in the room; a dozen other earth ponies were laid out among the rug and furniture, most of them laying under blankets and bearing bandages.

“Turnover! Stop movin’ around and hold steady!” Braeburn commanded as he galloped into the room. “Fritter, what happened? Did somethin’ breach the bunker?”

A mare with a green mane in twin pigtails was standing over the wounded stallion, and she shook her head. “Naw, one of the gunner varmints got a lucky shot in, is all.” She pointed a hoof at a moist, light blue object on the floor: small and spherical, save for a stem and a section that had clearly been caved in from a violent impact.

Braeburn’s expression straightened. “It still down there?”

A cracking noise came from the firing slit, and the crushed remains of another apple projectile bounced into the room. Braeburn set his jaw and drew his lasgun.

While the stallion trotted up to the firing point, the mare helped the wounded pony over to the others. Gear Works quickly grabbed a loose blanket with his servo arm to help, and Prince Blueblood looked over the other injured ponies.

“None of the wounds look too severe, but this is quite a heap of casualties,” Blueblood said. “Considering the capabilities of the alien beasts, I do hope you at least took a commensurate toll on the enemy.”

“Sure did! We left bushels of dead critters down in the pit!” Apple Fritter huffed. “But they just kept comin’! Crabapple kinda shrugs ‘em all off but she can’t catch the little ones ‘fore they get to us or protect our flanks from gettin’ shot up.”

She pointed a hoof over to a pony draped in bandages. “Tart nearly got buried in them pony-sized monsters and dragged off. Their arms ain’t too sharp, but they don’t tickle, that’s fer sure.”

She moved on to gesture to an unconscious stallion who was unusually pale and breathing shallowly. “Golden here almost choked to death on the alien apple sauce.”

Blueblood grimaced. “It is a somewhat more… threatening attack than it seems. The slime is sticky and cloying, and hardens shockingly quickly.”

“Ah hear ya. He was coughin’ up bits of apple and snot fer nearly an hour,” Apple Fritter said sadly, hanging her head.

“What happened to her?” Gear Works asked, pointing to a mare laid out on the couch without a blanket. She looked swollen and miserable, but he couldn’t see any sign of external injury. “Retroviral weapon? Poisonous spores?”

Fritter’s expression shifted from grim to irritated. “That’s Caramel Apple. She ain’t injured. She liked the smell of them varmints after they get zapped by lasblasts so she up’n ate one of ‘em.”

Blueblood recoiled in disgust, and Gears cocked his head to one side. “She ate a Hormagaunt?”

“Is a Horm-ah-gaunt one of them speedy pony-sized buggers?”

“Yes.”

“Then no. It was one of them big ‘uns with the long guns.”

Caramel Apple burped, and then groaned and rolled over, turning away from the other ponies in shame.

The sharp crack of an enhanced lasgun shot came from the firing slit. Braeburn stood in place for several seconds, and then again tugged gently on the trigger lever sticking out of the side of the weapon. The lasgun fired again, and then he let out a deep breath and backed away.

“Took you two shots this time?” the pigtailed mare asked.

“One fer each of the varmints,” Braeburn replied. “Caught ‘im tryin’ to move into cover while I had the other one marked. There are more rushin’ in from the orchard, too. Crabapple moved onto the other side and now they’re tryin’ to make a run on the wall.”

“Ah… Ah think Ah can still shoot,” groaned Apple Turnover. One eye was swollen and his breath was ragged, but he did seem capable of holding a weapon correctly at least.

“Dagnabbit, it won’t even matter if the bat gets the pit cleared out at this rate! There’s too many of ‘em on the rest of the farm!” Braeburn complained. “What good are all these turrets if they shut down so easy?”

Gear’s ears perked. “Turrets? You have autoturrets here? On the farm?”

“By Luna’s wings, this village is more heavily fortified than Canterlot Castle,” Blueblood interjected. “Not without reason, evidently.”

“Yeah, they were part of some deal Cuz made with the Dark Mechs,” Braeburn explained. “They were really tearin’ up the critters that escaped the pit but then they stopped firin’ like an hour ago.”

“Apple sauce?” Gears asked.

“Nah, a bunch of them small ones were gnawing on the power relay and then Crabapple torched ‘em. And the relay, of course.”

Blueblood frowned over at Gear Works. “That sounds somewhat more difficult to repair. Can you manage it?”

“I can’t be certain until I see the extent of the damage, but I may be able to improvise a fix in case it’s beyond service,” Gears said, swiftly trotting toward the exit.

“We’ll need an escort, since our combat specialist is busy,” Blueblood said, “Mister Braeburn, you can guide us to the target area and protect us.”

“Sure thing, Prince! Havin’ those autowidgets back would do a heap more good than stayin’ here to shoot bugs out the window!”

Gear Works stopped and looked over at the unicorn. “You’re coming too, Prince? It will be much safer in here.”

“Yes. But you won’t be here, will you?” the royal stallion asked, levitating his bolt pistol above his head. “One lasgun would MAYBE be sufficient to hold off one of the smaller alien pests. I think we’ve all noticed by now that they prefer more voluminous assaults. We’ll need more than one guard if we’re attacked.”

“I’m… surprised you’re concerned for my safety,” Gear Works admitted, continuing down the stairs.

“I’m concerned for my VACATION!” Blueblood corrected. “If you die, then the Iron Warriors are sure to revoke my leave so that I can carry your wasted carcass back to the fortress for recycling! Nopony wants that! I have things to do!”

“That is far more consistent with my expectations,” Gears allowed. “Shall we deploy?”

A tremendous boom rolled through the trees as the battle cannon’s shell detonated. A half-dozen Hormagaunts were instantly pulverized, their bodies flattened into a hot, sugary mush over the ground. A nearby Warrior was hurled back into an apple tree, slamming hard enough into the trunk that apples rained down from the branches.

A reaper autocannon thundered after the explosion, punching through the larger Tyranid and blasting gouges in the wood behind it. The Warrior released a tepid gurgling noise, and then fell forward into a heap.

Crabapple stood above a veritable carpet of dead Tyranids, smoke wafting from the barrels of its guns. Apple sauce was caked over its legs and arms, and one of the Defiler’s enormous pincers seemed to be stuck in place. Splashes of purple in various shades decorated every one of its massive mechanical limbs, and a blue moon apple had been very conspicuously wedged into one of the eye sockets of the golden mask that topped the assault walker. Ammunition hoppers cranked fresh munitions into the gun receivers, and the smoke stacks at the rear of the chassis vomited a cloud of smoke around a few stray bits of fluids (probably apple-based) that had stuck on the mouth of the tube.

“Keep at it, Crabapple! You show those varmints what fer!” Braeburn crowed, dashing behind the daemon engine. Gear Works and Prince Blueblood followed at a more cautious pace, giving the possessed machine a wider berth.

A loud, tremulous creak came from the Defiler’s substructure as its torso twisted to the side. A long, low-pitched screech poured from the mask, followed by a series of clicking noises that sounded like gears slipping.

Gear Works stopped, and his ear twitched. “What? Ironside? What about him?” the Dark Acolyte asked, turning to look up.

Crabapple released another screech, and Gear’s ears fell flat. “No, I don’t know where Apple Bloom is. I’ve never even met her.” The Defiler started making several shorter, sharper noises, and Gears interrupted. “That was not an invitation to tell me about her. Can this wait?”

“You can understand that thing?” Blueblood asked, his eyes lingering on the giant claw that kept opening and snapping closed.

“Yes. Most daemon engines find complex communication very difficult, but this one is quite…” Gears paused as a low groan came from the Defiler. “What? Where?”

A few more stuttering clicks came from the walker, and then Gears turned to look at Blueblood again. “It wants us to escort it to school.”

“No,” Blueblood said decisively.

A squeal came from the enormous war machine, and it lifted itself slightly higher above the ground to better loom over the stallions.

“It said that it’s m-“

“And I said no,” the Prince repeated sharply. “Our passage to Canterlot has been delayed long enough! We’re not taking side quests given to us by defunct battle walkers!”

More strange noises started coming from Crabapple, and its legs started to pump up and down one at a time, straining against the apple sauce stuck in the servos.

“Is it throwing a TANTRUM?” Blueblood asked, scowling in distaste.

“It… It is, yes,” Gears admitted sheepishly. “This Defiler seems very attached to its owner. It’s unusual behavior, even for a daemon engine.” His cybernetic tail lashed back and forth nervously. “Also, um, it IS very well armed and we are foreign entities according to its IFF registrar. Perhaps if we-“

A stream of blue moon apples suddenly pummeled the Defiler from the side, smashing to mush against its armor with no ill effect. Crabapple swiveled about, and then it released an aggravated bleating noise when a pair of snarling Warriors emerged from behind the trees.

“Ah, good, it found something useful to do,” Blueblood said right before the reaper autocannon opened up. Then he shoved Gear Works in the direction Braeburn went. “Now follow the whiny machine’s example and MOVE!”

“Ow! Okay, okay! Please, stop pushing!” Gear Works begged as he stumbled away from the battlefield.

Gears and Blueblood raced across the yard as another explosion rocked the orchard. Braeburn was waiting for them next to the well – a large metal tower overrun with piping – with his lasgun at the ready. Behind him was the power relay: a scorched metal box surrounded by dead Hormagaunts. The device had clearly been exposed to a flamer weapon, and Gears immediately inventoried the components that would be most likely damaged.

“Took yer time, didn’cha!” Braeburn shouted. “What’s the damage, Doc?”

“Please stop calling me that,” Gear Works sighed. “I’m not a doctor. My skills at electric engineering were not earned from conventional education, nor have I acquired certif-“

Prince Blueblood smacked a hoof into the back of Gear’s head, generating a loud clanging noise. The Dark Acolyte yelped and stumbled, but Blueblood said nothing, just glaring at the tech-cultist.

“Erm, I can fix it. Yes. Just give me a few minutes,” Gears cringed away from the irritated unicorn and started prying the side panel on the relay open.

“Lemme tell ya, it’ll be a big load off mah withers to have the turrets workin’ again! Aside from the apple varmints we also use ‘em to keep them little greenskins off our trees!” Braeburn explained.

“That goes a long way to explain why your home is so heavily fortified, but I wish to emphasize that we do not care,” Blueblood warned.

“A lotta the stuff around here is a bit fancy for my taste,” Braeburn admitted, declining to take the hint. “Whenever somethin’ don’t work right there’s nothin’ Ah can do except keep fiddling with it or try to ask the DarkMech what’s wrong. And the DarkMech stopped taking mah vox calls a long time ago.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Blueblood drawled.

“They’ll talk to Cousin Mac, but he ain’t always around. So the-“ Braeburn was suddenly – and mercifully – interrupted by the beginning of an orbital bombardment.

A spot of light descended from the sky, diving through the atmosphere while trailing a spiral of flame. A dull roar rumbled across the orchard at its descent, followed by a cataclysmic crash once it impacted.

Prince Blueblood flinched back from the sight, and Braeburn pulled his hat down over his face. Seconds later a hot wind rolled over them, moving with such intensity that it nearly unbalanced the ponies.

“Ah, I see the Lieutenant placed the beacon successfully. Good!” Gear Works said while he tore out some burnt wiring.

Three more strikes followed the first, descending on a near-identical trajectory. The ground shook, clouds of dust stretched into the sky, and the wind whipped back and forth chaotically due to the enormous shifts in temperature and pressure.

“… I hope he was able to get clear,” Gear Works mumbled while waiting for the tremors to pass.

“Whoa, nelly! Yeah, that oughta clean out the pit!” Braeburn chuckled nervously, holding his hat to his head. “Kind of a shame about all the apple spines that weren’t hatching crazed alien monsters, though. Ah guess that’s just how it goes.”

“I doubt you’ve learned any enduring lesson from all this, but nonetheless I hope you’ll at least be more careful when toying with alien technology for petty profit,” Blueblood said.

“Ya got that right!” Braeburn agreed.

“…… Which part?”

Gear Works finished replacing the main conduit wire and his servo arm reached forward to grab the main relay plug.

The metal pincer pressed into the gleaming red skin. The flesh held firm for a moment but then gave way, collapsing under the pressure of the servo arm. Rich, murky juice dribbled down the length of the mechanical limb, seeping into hinges and pistons.

Gear’s optics lights turned off and on again in rapid sequence in imitation of a blink. He wasn’t grasping the relay plug at all. His servo arm was holding onto an apple.

This wasn’t all that strange, in the abstract; after all, there were a lot of apples on the Apple farm, some of which had been fully weaponized and ended up in odd places. Still, Gear Works was SURE he had been reaching for the relay plug. And if he had simply experienced a slip in visual recognition for a moment, where was the relay plug?

Gear Works backed out of the relay station, pulling his head out of the damaged housing. “Ah… Mister Braeburn? Might I ask if… Mister… Mister Braeburn?!”

Gear Works didn’t have anything that could be reasonably considered a “jaw” anymore, but if he did it would have been hanging open in shock.

Where Braeburn Apple once stood there was, instead, an enormous pony-sized apple. Wearing a leather vest and a hat. Braeburn’s customized lasgun leaned against the huge fruit, apparently abandoned.

“Wh-What? What is… Prince? PRINCE!”

Gear Work’s optics went wide, almost filling his visor screen with blue light. Another giant apple was positioned behind him, colored a brilliant gold that matched Prince Blueblood’s hair. Its stem stuck out at a sharp angle and tapered to a point, obviously in imitation of the unicorn’s horn. An officer’s cap sat atop the apple, while a bolt pistol was attached to a long belt that wound around it.

“I… I don’t… B-Braeburn? Prince? H-Hello? Is anybody here? Is th-this some kind of p-prank?!” the Dark Acolyte shouted, his good legs quivering.

When no answer seemed to be forthcoming, Gears locked onto the relay tower again. “Work first. Panic later,” he said, lowering himself back to the ground.

Unfortunately, his efforts to continue repairs were stymied when he found the entire interior of the relay packed with apples. The fruit was a splendid mix of types, filling the device with a pleasing cornucopia of colors. It also completely impeded access to any of the important internal parts, and had not been there several seconds ago.

Gear Works released a terrified squeak. He didn’t know what to do. None of his training, studying, or experience (meager as it was) had prepared him for anything like this.

A spark suddenly came from the top of the relay. Electric arcs danced among the apple stems, passing among them in a fashion that Gears found highly suspect.

Then the mysterious apple pile exploded at him, blasting him with a stream of fruit like a giant apple shotgun.

Gears was flung backward, his vision spinning. Pain surged through his injured leg, but every other sense was being slowly consumed by apples. His vision, which should have been taking in the open sky and then the rapidly approaching ground, saw only more apples. Apple juice washed up through his respirator hose and drenched his tongue, filling his mouth with a sweet, light flavor. Neurons that had been long since disconnected from working organs activated, and the scent of fresh apples bombarded his brain. Even his hearing was consumed by the crisp, distinctive sound of apples being bitten into, which was the only particular noise he associated with the fruit.

“H-Help… it’s… it’s too much… too many… apples…” the Dark Acolyte moaned. They were all around him now, washing and rolling about below and above, like he was sinking through an apple ocean. “P-Prince… Lieutenant… please… help… me…”

Gear’s muscles went limp. His augments were unresponsive. He couldn’t breathe. The apples pressed in all around him, the pressure slowly building to intolerable levels. Juice seeped through the cracks between apples, soaking his coat and robe in sweet apple flavor.

The world went white, and then collapsed into static.

“Guh!” Gear Works stumbled upright, his optics finally returning valid data.

He was on the farm. On the ground. The non-apple ground. In front of him was the damaged power relay. The paneling on the side was open. There were no apples inside. He could no longer taste, hear, or smell apples. His injured leg still hurt, though.

“Wh… What?” Gears lowered his servo arm, and then realized it was holding the relay plug.

A groan came from off to the side. Prince Blueblood was sprawled out on the ground, looking dazed. His bolt pistol was lying next to him, and showed no signs of recent firing.

Another groan came from the other side, and Gear Works was quite surprised – and relatively pleased – to see Dusk Blade sprawled out on the ground much like Blueblood. The thestral had his wings spread and flapping awkwardly out of sequence, as if they were trying to manage flight but had lost all sense of muscle memory.

“A… App… Apples,” the Lunar Lieutenant croaked through his respirator mask. “Why…?” Gear Works had no answer for him.

“Hey, looks like y’all are okay after all! Gave me a bit of a scare!”

Gear Works stumbled about to look behind him, and his optics lights widened.

Braeburn was standing in front of a large Tyranid organism. A Zoanthrope; the enormous brain case and comparatively tiny, withered body made identification simple. The alien was dead, its face and body covered in lasburns and a pitchfork embedded deep in a patch of exposed brain on the side of its head.

“What in Tartarus is THAT thing?” Prince Blueblood demanded, pushing himself up to his hooves once more.

“That… is a Zoanthrope. A fully weaponized Tyranid psyker,” Gears said uncertainly, his optics staring at Braeburn. “And… you killed it? On your own?”

“Ah think so,” Braeburn grunted, giving the dead alien a light kick behind him. “Wasn’t easy. The ol’ laser gizmo kept hittin’ some kinda magic barrier so Ah just found somethin’ sharp and aimed fer the soft spot. Ha!”

“How the hay did you do that?” Dusk asked, wobbling slightly as he stood up. “I saw the thing from above but when I got close enough to begin a dive…” he shuddered. “It was just… apples.”

“I can still taste it,” Blueblood said, looking perturbed as he recovered his weapon. “Apples just… consumed my thoughts entirely. I couldn’t even breathe. I could FEEL the apples in my throat, choking me!”

“I had a similar experience,” Gear Works said, cocking his head to the side and staring at Braeburn. “So why didn’t you?”

“Oh, Ah did too,” Braeburn said. “Like the whole world just seemed to wash away into a tide of apples ‘n such, right? And then it sorta just presses in on ya and ya feel like yer bein’ crushed? Yeah. Ah know whatcha mean.”

The other stallions stared at him, and then stared at the dead Zoanthrope.

“But… then how did you fight off the Tyranid if you were similarly incapacitated?” Gear Works asked.

“Well Ah couldn’t let the apples take me down like that. It’d dishonor mah family name,” Braeburn explained, his tone turning very stern and serious. “Apples are prey. They serve ponies. You cannot fear the apple. And once you gain mastery of the apple, it has no power over you. Ah mean, shucks, those apples weren’t even real!”

There was a long, awkward pause while the other stallions thought that over.

“… What the HAY are you talking about?” Dusk asked.

“Belay that question, peasant. It appears the cavalry has arrived,” Prince Blueblood interjected, staring up at the sky. Valkyrie gunships were approaching fast in the distance, followed by a trio of Tau Devilfish skimmers.

“And with that, I think we’re done here,” Gear Works said, throwing the switch on the power relay tower. The device shuddered to life, and a deep hum came from the box’s interior.

“Well shucks, thank ya kindly, Doc!” Braeburn said, his voice returning to its cheerful, goofier cadence. “Say! We got a lot of cleanup to do ‘round here before the farm is presentable again, but y’all have helped us out a lot! Maybe saved our lives! What do y’all say to comin’ back for a celebration with a classic homemade Apple family feast?”

“Not even at gunpoint,” Prince Blueblood said, turning around immediately and trotting away.

“The train tracks have probably been cleared by now, but the station is surely locked down until the train can be subjected to augur scans,” Gear Works explained, limping after the unicorn. “We might still be able to reach Canterlot by this evening!”

“Let’s get the hay out of here,” Dusk Blade grumbled, taking off into the air.

Author's Note

What Is Love (7" Mix) - YouTube

Homecoming

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 10
Homecoming

The train creaked loudly as it rolled into Canterlot station, its wheels straining and engine shuddering. Purple slime gummed up the axles and pistons driving the locomotive, and the plasma reactor powering it blasted constant puffs of steam into the air as it fed more energy to the drive shafts. The train crawled to a stop once it reached the embarking platform, and the main exhaust port let out a sound that closely resembled a weary gasp.

The ponies waiting on the platform stared. The fully militarized train had always been something of a clashing aesthetic with the rest of the city, what with its armor plating and weapon turrets, but this time the front of the train engine was splashed over with dark purple muck. The machine was mostly undamaged, which could only be attributed to superb engineering on the part of the Mechanicus, but it was obvious to everypony watching that it had crashed into something. Bits of carapace clung to small crevices and were glued to the wheel wells, and after a few seconds of resting in position the waiting equines detected the smell of ripe apples.

The passenger door slid open and a blond unicorn immediately stepped out with an irritated sigh.

“Thank my AUNT we’re finally here. I really thought for a moment that we might have to spend the night in that dreadful farmhouse when the engineers said they couldn’t get the reactor started again.” Prince Blueblood shuddered slightly in the late afternoon cold.

“Then you should be thanking Gears, not Celestia,” Dusk Blade replied while he followed the Prince out. The thestral carried a duffel bag on his back that rattled with every step. “If we didn’t have Techpriest support we would have been there all night!”

Gear Works exited last, limping to avoid putting pressure on his injured leg. “They probably would have managed to restart it without my help. The safety psalms are important, though.”

“Excuse me, but… what happened here?” asked an elderly mare, beckoning to Prince Blueblood. “This train was due hours ago!”

“Alien attack,” Prince Blueblood said dismissively, trotting down the platform stairs.

“More or less,” Dusk Blade added, following the unicorn.

“Less,” Gear Works clarified, sort of. Then the trio headed out of the station.

The beautiful, delicate spires of Canterlot were a pleasant change from the massive metal bulwarks of Ferrous Dominus, even to Gear Works. The sky was clear, with dozens of pegasi gliding over every street. Traffic was thin but constant, and not a single pony other than Gear Works himself was wearing a mask.

Despite the capital’s “traditional” Equestrian charm, the changes that had taken root in the city were stark. Large metal cylinders with glowing track lumens were attached to many homes to supply efficient power. Mixed among the traffic of pony-drawn carriages and carts were cargo autohaulers of various sizes, chugging along beside their owners on rugged tracks with a rumbling micro-motor attached to the chassis. A few citizens even had modern prosthetic augments, although that was far more rare.

Turning a corner, Prince Blueblood caught sight of a long banner and scowled. It was hanging against the wall of a metal building that had been constructed between two apartment towers, and it boasted the iron helm emblem of the Iron Warriors over the eight-pointed star of Chaos. Surprisingly, the exterior of the building otherwise lacked the grim aesthetic or security features he had come to expect of the 38th Company. There were no guards or sentry guns, and the exterior walls had colorful pict-captures of ponies in combat wargear posted on them. One of the largest posters featured a high-resolution image of Twilight Sparkle in power armor, leaping through gunfire while her horn casing was ablaze with magic.

“A recruitment office,” Blueblood spat.

“I think you’re right. Guess the flow of volunteers slowed down,” Dusk remarked, his eyes lingering on Twilight’s visage. When he finally looked over the other ponies, he immediately noticed a certain blue-haired stallion with a leathery wing to his forehead in salute. “Hey! It’s me!”

“Despicable,” Blueblood grumbled.

Gears turned to the unicorn. “What is? The use of sanitized parade-grounds imagery to attract recruits into the horrors of war?”

“No, that’s fine. I was referring to the Lieutenant specifically,” Blueblood explained, “but if I seem nonplussed at the sight of these establishments it’s simply because I am reminded that I received no such choice when recruited to serve the Iron Warriors. It’s galling that many ponies have happily given up that which was taken from me by force.”

“They should have a picture of you, too,” Dusk interjected, jabbing Gear Works with a hoof.

“What? Me? Why?”

“How about because you’re the most heavily augmented pony on this or any other planet?” Dusk said. “Or the only pony member of the Dark Mechanicus? Even most people in Ferrous Dominus don’t know the DarkMech accepts ponies!”

“It’s not something they like to advertise,” Gear Works admitted. “And I would be hesitant to recommend it to anypony even slightly less enthusiastic about physics than I am.”

“We should also not make it a habit to ship our best and brightest off to serve the humans,” Blueblood added.

“We also sent you, so it balances out,” Dusk quipped.

The Prince turned a displeased stare on the batpony. Dusk stuck out his tongue. The stallions held that stalemate for a few seconds before turning back to the street.

“Ah, and there’s the road to the palace and my estate,” Prince Blueblood said, something close to a smile appearing over his muzzle. “I don’t suppose you two need lodgings for the night.”

“Well-“ Dusk managed to utter a single word before the unicorn turned away and continued talking.

“Then this is where I bid you farewell, gentlestallions! If I am unlucky I will see you again come tomorrow, but DO try to keep out of trouble until the day after, when we are scheduled to leave.” The Prince trotted away without waiting for a response, his expression just barely recognizable as pleased.

“My, he must be VERY happy to be home,” Gears said while he and Dusk continued down the main avenue.

“Yeah, good for him,” Dusk grunted. “I’m a bit miffed that he got sent with us as an escort and he’s using it as a solo vacation, but… he DID effectively save Ponyville today, so I guess I can let it go.”

“Didn’t you fabricate your reasons for coming entirely?” Gears asked.

“Yes! But the difference is MY superiors don’t care!” Dusk said, his voice carrying a note of inexplicable pride.

“I thought the Lunar Guard was more of a stickler for discipline than that.”

“It’s a bit complicated, since our leadership takes a dim view of the Company’s order to begin with,” Dusk explained while they walked. “Within the Lunar Guard, misbehavior or even mere weakness is harshly punished. But when it comes to Chaos leadership, we’re kind of proud at how much we get away with. Nopony thinks the current rate of combat sorties is sustainable, so faking an injury report to get some time off is quietly smiled upon.”

“I see,” Gear Works mumbled, “I’ve heard similar complaints from the Tau engineering sections. Due to the constant demand for battlesuit deployments they can’t keep up with maintenance and repair requests, and the pilots are experiencing serious fatigue.”

“And what about the Mechanicus?” Dusk asked. “You guys are also worked pretty hard, right? All the attacks on Ferrous Dominus caused a ton of damage, plus expanding protectorate control means there’s a lot of new territory that needs modern infrastructure. And there’s all the weapons and machines you still need to make to keep up with everyday trade needs!”

“Such tasks are a trifle. Chores barely worthy of our skills,” Gears replied. “It is a considerable shame that I’ve been removed from my labors for such a petty injury, in fact. But I decided it was necessary to contact my family directly.”

“That doesn’t sound terribly healthy,” Dusk admitted, “you’ve been gone for a long time! You should relax and re-energize!”

“Poor health can be repaired, but unproductive hours are lost forever,” Gears said. “Also if I’m away for too long I’m afraid they’ll change the security codices to the residential cells.”

“Ah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

A cargo walker stomped past the stallions carrying furniture, its six legs padding across the street with a surprisingly soft tread. A sensory sphere set in the frontal mount swiveled back and forth constantly, beaming a gentle ray of light over the path to check for obstacles. A pegasus mare sat atop the machine, paying only slight attention to the road while she applied her makeup.

“Well, there it is,” Gear Works said, something like a sigh escaping from his respiration mask. “My home. Or, rather, my parents’ home. Mine was never actually rebuilt after it was destroyed during the siege, you see.”

The building was a mid-sized tower, with different sections hived off into separate living spaces of varying size. Several balconies were attached to the building’s exterior, and a large metal tube covered with wires and warning notices was clamped onto one corner, looking quite out of place. The various electric lumens and magical nightglow crystals that illuminated Canterlot during the night were flickering on now, and above the city the moon was rising rapidly into the sky.

“… I suppose this is where I say goodbye,” Gears said after an extended pause, turning to Dusk Blade.

“Nah. I’m going with you,” the bat pony replied.

Gears tilted his head to one side, and some of the optical sensors narrowed on the far corner of his vision screen. “You’re… going to escort me to the front door? Or to my family’s unit?”

“Something like that, sure,” Dusk said, smiling.

Another awkward pause followed, and then Gear’s ears flipped down. “Wait, were you planning to stay with me here?”

“Yes.” Dusk’s expression didn’t change at all.

“Why?” the Dark Acolyte asked, distressed. “How am I supposed to explain bringing home an unexpected guest from our special forces?”

“Just make something up. Or, hay, you could even tell the truth. Whatever,” Dusk scoffed. “As for why, last time you spoke to a relative she tried to talk you into leaving Ferrous Dominus. Your parents are probably going to try the same thing. If I leave you alone they’ll probably browbeat you into giving up, so I need to be there to back you.”

Gear’s expression turned bemused, with all the optics circles on his vision screen narrowing into lines. “Is this because you don’t have anywhere else to stay?”

“That is also accurate,” Dusk confessed. “I don’t have an assigned bunk or barracks access right now. BUT it’s mostly the other thing. We can’t have our top recruits getting all mushy and sentimental and turning their tails on the 38th Company because their loved ones are upset.”

“Okay, no. This isn’t happening,” Gear Works said firmly, turning around. “Lieutenant, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Dusk quirked an eyebrow.

After a few seconds, Gears continued. “I’m serious, Lieutenant Blade!”

“No you’re not,” Dusk retorted.

“I’m not going to let you impose on my family like this!” Gears insisted.

“Yes you will,” Dusk retorted.

“You can’t simply intrude on my life as want because you think it’s in my best interest!” Gears sounded increasingly desperate, wagging his servo arm at the other stallion.

“I can, and it IS in your best interest,” Dusk retorted with a smile that showed off his fangs. He stretched a wing over to Gear Works and patted the cyborg on the head with it. “Gears, you remember how we handled the invasion this morning? You ROCKED it out there! Sometimes. Then there were moments where we needed to fight and kill things and didn’t have a machine handy to do it for us. Then I rocked it out there. Because we’re a TEAM!”

“We’re not a team, though!” the augmented stallion protested. “You just like to follow me around and drag me into trouble! The Tyranid purge wasn’t even a sanctioned operation!”

“LIFE isn’t a sanctioned operation, buddy,” Dusk said solemnly. “But just like the apple bugs, we’re gonna face it head-on anyway, expressly against your wishes. Now get a move on Gears, we’re already late.”

A sputtering noise came from the Dark Acolyte, but it rapidly petered out to nothing. Gear Works groaned and turned toward the front door, and then opened the way inside. “Just promise you won’t hurt anypony?”

“Of course I won’t! Swear on the moon and stars!” Dusk insisted.

Gear’s servo arm swiveled around and reached out for Dusk’s back. “Then I’ll take this for now.” The mechanical pincer grabbed the duffel bag the batpony was carrying between his wings and lifted it away. “You won’t need your weapons here, Lieutenant.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” Dusk said, giving Gears a pat on the shoulder with his wing. “Whatever you need to feel at ease, buddy!”

Dusk started to draw his wing back and Gear Works suddenly snapped “It would GREATLY help me feel at ease if you put that knife back, Lieutenant!”

Dusk Blade froze, and then his wing moved to put the combat blade back in the side pocket. “All right, consider me impressed. I’ve dodged complete weapons searches with that trick!”

Gears stepped into the lobby. “These optical screens aren’t just for displaying emotional variance, Lieutenant. And if I may ask, just how many times have you smuggled weapons into some place they were not allowed?”

“You may not ask,” the thestral replied, following him.

They walked up some stairs to the second story, Gear Works in the lead. He slowed down as he approached a particular doorway, and the bag on his back shifted under his servo arm while he adjusted his gait between the extra weight and his injured leg. Dusk Blade quietly stopped behind him, his ears perked to listen. There was a conversation happening on the other side of the door, but he couldn’t overhear anything substantial before Gears raised a hoof and knocked.

“Mother? Father? I’m here!” the Dark Acolyte announced.

The voices on the other side stopped, and they were followed by galloping toward the door. Dusk held his breath. This was the moment that was going to set the tone for the rest of the trip.

The door swung inward, revealing a lime green mare with her mane in a bun and an apron tied to her body. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her tongue. Her eyes widened, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she stared at the arc of glowing lights and the respirator mask built into Gear’s face.

Behind her stepped up a stallion of dark burgundy with a white patch over his muzzle and forehead. He had wide-rimmed glasses on, and his cutie mark was a pile of multicolored, faceted stones. He similarly stopped short when he saw Gears, and then he gasped in horror.

“Hello Mother. Hello Father,” Gears said, lazily swinging his servo arm back and forth over his head. “My apologies for arriving later than expected. Some kind of xeno infestation down in Ponyville.”

“ANOTHER one. Can you believe it?” Dusk interjected.

His parents’ expressions didn’t budge, so Gear Works swiveled his servo arm around toward Dusk Blade. “The thestral behind me is Lieutenant Dusk Blade, of the 38th Company’s Lunar Guard. He’s a ranking officer in the special forces division.”

“I’m Gear’s best friend!” Dusk said brightly, smiling widely to show off his fangs.

“That’s not true,” Gears retorted immediately. “I expect he’ll lie about other things while he’s here, so please regard him with suspicion at all times.” He pointed his servo arm to his mother and then his father. “Lieutenant, this is my mother, Dewdrop Melody, and my father, Carbide Gear.”

“Hi, Gear’s parents! Great to meet you!” Dusk said cheerfully, not obviously discouraged by Gear’s warning about him.

“Gear Works… what… what HAPPENED to you?” Dewdrop whispered.

“My augmentation has been substantially expanded and upgraded since I left Canterlot. I understand if it’s… jarring to see for the first time,” Gears said awkwardly. “However, I can assure you that the bionic augments are functioning perfectly and I am in good spirits and in good health!”

“Your leg is broken!” Carbide Gear shouted, scowling.

“That… Okay, yes, that’s true. BUT other than that-“

“You said you were fighting aliens?! What happened?! Did they hurt you?” Dewdrop asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“Er… well, I didn’t endure any SERIOUS harm… probably.”

“Probably?!” Carbide asked, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“There are sometimes lasting effects from psionic contagion. I don’t expect there was any meaningful damage, but I imagine that I’ll be dreaming about apples for some time,” Gear explained.

“Ugh. I can still taste them,” Dusk gagged.

Dewdrop finally lurched forward to seize her son in a hug. “Oh, Gears! I’m so sorry! We never should have let you leave!”

“Mother, please,” Gears grumbled.

“We have a lot to talk about, Son. Come inside,” Carbide said gruffly. “Lieutenant Blade, thank you for escorting our son home to us. We won’t keep you any longer.”

“No, no, I’m not leaving. I’m with him,” Dusk said, gesturing to the Dark Acolyte with a wing.

Carbide blinked. “I’m sorry? Did Gears invite you to stay with us?”

“Yes!” Dusk lied.

“No I didn’t,” Gears objected.

“We discussed it on the way here!”

“We did, and at no point in that argument did I invite you to stay,” Gears said, his ears pinning backward.

“It was implied by your resigned submission at the end,” Dusk insisted breezily.

“Lieutenant, Sir,” Carbide Gear said, his voice grim, “I’m afraid I cannot accommodate you this evening. I apologize for any inconvenience, but this matter is not open for further debate.”

Dusk furrowed his brow, staring into the steely gaze of the earth pony. Dewdrop Melody ushered Gear Works into the domicile behind them. Dusk said nothing for several seconds, and then sighed.

“It’s unfortunate you feel that way, Mister Gear. But if you insist, then I suppose I’ll see Gear Works again later.” Dusk Blade folded his wings and bowed his head politely.

“Thank you for understanding, Lieutenant,” Carbide Gear said, reaching for the doorknob. “Good night.”

Gear Works watched quietly out of his right-most sensor light as the door shut and his father locked it. “… Huh. I didn’t think it would really be that easy,” the cyborg mumbled.

His head was suddenly shifted to the side so that Dewdrop Melody could stare closely into the visor that had replaced his eyes and much of his forehead. The mare cringed, eyes tearing up and her ears flattening against her head.

“What have they done to you?” she asked, her lower lip quivering. “They ripped off your face and replaced it with… what even IS this?”

“That’s mostly accurate, for varying designations of ‘they,’” Gears admitted. “As for this augmetic suite, it’s a Hybrex-pattern optical veil and sensoria dock. Plus a respiratory manifold rated for class IV attenuated biospheres.”

A bar of light crossed over the length of his optical facing, pulsing with light. “No longer am I bearing salvaged bionics barely distinguishable from the garbage melted down in the tertiary foundries!” the cyborg announced proudly, lifting his head higher. “Now my augments are… well they’re generally just one or two tech grades above that, actually, but I do really like what they did with my tail.”

“Why did they put a knife on it?” Carbide asked darkly.

“It’s not a knife, it’s a dataspike,” Gears corrected. “Rather than cutting or piercing flesh, it cuts, pierces – and then typically extracts or injects – pure information!”

“It’s HIDEOUS,” Dewdrop replied.

“My appearance has a certain grim, industrial aesthetic to it, I admit,” Gear Works said, “but I came here to reassure you both that I’m doing well, and that there is no need whatsoever to leave my current duties.”

“I see,” Carbide Gear said gruffly, walking to the dining room table and having a seat. He gestured with a hoof to the chair across from him. “Well, then: sit down and reassure us, Son.”

Gear Works felt his confidence wane as he crossed the floor to the table. The servos and micro-motors in his bionic legs whirred noisily, and his servo arm swiveled around to shift the chair out from the table. He sat down, and Dewdrop quickly took the chair next to him.

“How did this happen? Where did your other leg and eye go, Gears?” Carbide Gear asked.

“They were damaged beyond repair,” Gears answered.

“HOW?” Carbide barked. “Were they caught in some kind of dangerous machinery? Were they sacrificed to some kind of insane, monstrous god?”

“No, don’t be absurd,” Gear Works scoffed. “The machinery is no great risk to navigate with adequate instruction, and the Machine God does not demand anything so crude and primitive as flesh sacrifice.” He hesitated before he continued. “Anyway, what happened I was that I was beaten to near-death by a Khorne fanatic.”

Dewdrop gasped, pressing her hooves to her cheeks. Carbide’s expression darkened further to a furious scowl.

“Those sadistic apes are just allowed to savage anypony they wish?!” the elder stallion asked angrily.

“It was actually a pegasus that attacked me, not a humanoid,” Gear Works corrected, “but otherwise that statement is correct.”

“That’s even worse!” Dewdrop said, nearly breaking into a sob.

“… Is it?” Gears asked. “I’m not sure what the exact moral ramifications are from being assaulted by another pony rather than a deranged hominid.”

“The ramifications are that Chaos is turning ponies into frenzied maniacs and turning MY SON into a lurching, mechanical monster!” Carbide Gear snapped.

“I can’t actually prove that the mare who keeps mauling me wasn’t a frenzied maniac before she submitted her remaining sanity to the Blood God,” Gear Works admitted, “but I understand your point.”

“Did she also break your leg?” Dewdrop asked.

“No, this was actually a wound sustained in combat,” Gears explained.

“You said the aliens in Ponyville didn’t inflict any serious damage,” Carbide countered.

“It was a different combat. I was deployed to an explorator task force in the wasteland. Oh! That reminds me, I want to show you-“

Carbide slammed a hoof down onto the table. “How many battles are they pushing you into?! My understanding was that you weren’t even a soldier! I thought you were supposed to stay in the city and repair things!”

Gear Works flinched. “Neither engagement was expected by the 38th Company. The wasteland town had been pacified, but I stumbled on a hidden foe by accident. And nobody knew about the Tyranid infestation until we arrived…”

“But somehow it fell to YOU both times to do battle? That’s ridiculous!” the elder stallion complained.

“I agree, actually. But there was hardly anything to be done about it… and it’s not like I was alone…” He shook his head. “But should I find myself threatened in a field of operations and have to fight, so be it! The missions I’ve undertaken are vital to maintaining Equestria’s Protectorate! And our intervention in Ponyville may have prevented a global catastrophe!”

“And just how did more aliens get to Ponyville anyway?” Carbide grunted. “Aren’t the Iron Warriors supposed to be protecting this place?”

“It’s a long and very strange story, but the short version is that the aliens actually grew out of the local apple farm due to flawed xeno-horticultural practices,” Gears released a tired sigh. “Luckily, the situation was contained swiftly and decisively. I do not anticipate further outbreaks.”

Sweet Apple Acres

“Thank ya kindly, gentlebots! You guys really saved me! It could have taken days to hunt down the other apple critters, and most of mah help is still injured!”

Braeburn laughed heartily, staring up into the unmoving glare of a green optics bar. The Dark Techpriest looming over the pony pressed the mechanical digits of his hands together, tip-to-tip, and a gentle hum came from the current running between them.

“Your weakness was anticipated. The scenario has been resolved within operational parameters.” A whip-like mechatendril snaked around one of the Techpriest’s arms as he spoke. “This has also allowed the surviving organisms to be subdued and recovered alive. This project has yielded materials in surplus to expected output.”

“That sounds… good? That’s good, right?” Braeburn chuckled nervously, adjusting his hat. “Well, if it makes you happy, and Ah don’t have no more monster bugs gnawing on mah cousins, all’s the better!”

Then the stallion brightened. “Say! The ponies who were here before couldn’t come by again so we could thank them fer all their help, but how would y’all like to stay fer supper?”

The emerald-colored visor glimmered. “I have evaluated my current task inventory, and a full 98.27% of logged objectives take preferential precedence over your proposed diversion. Your offer is declined.”

Then a servo arm swiveled about from behind the tech-cultist. It was carrying a large suitcase in its pincer claw, and it quickly but carefully lowered it onto the ground in front of Braeburn.

“Here are the replacement materials. This concludes all local objectives,” the Dark Techpriest droned.

“Replacement materials? Fer what?” Braeburn asked.

“Xeno-hortiplex spiral T-1138. The bio- forged organism cluster you have designated as ‘apple spines.’”

“Wait, what?! These’re more blue moon seeds?!” Braeburn recoiled from the case, looking alarmed.

“Affirmative. It is requested that you cultivate the replacement organisms so that the trial observations may progress.” The servo arm lowered the case to the ground on one side, and then the container cracked open. Cold mist poured from a grid of foam cells, each one containing a greasy-looking, fist-sized sphere.

“I dunno, partner. The last batch caused an awful ruckus,” the farmer fretted, scratching one leg with the other.

“These spiral cores have been further gene-crafted. They are substantially different from the previous organism index,” the Techpriest explained.

“Oh. Uh… does that mean they’re safer?” Braeburn asked, arching an eyebrow.

“… That is a rational assumption,” the cyborg replied after a brief pause.

“That’s great! Thanks!”

Canterlot

“Gear Works, please. You have to stop this,” Dewdrop said sadly. “These creature have taken so much from you already! What could be worth this much suffering?”

“Technology beyond our wildest imagining,” Gears replied without hesitation. “Look at me, Mother: I would have been dead long ago if not for the sorts of machines I manufacture and maintain now!” His voice rose as he continued, his passion building. “Neural-input codices! Flesh-graft adherosol! Vapor-respiratories! I could rebuild half a pony’s body in its entirety and I know the barest fraction of my order’s most common knowledge!”

“And something like THAT is supposed to be worth THIS?” Carbide demanded.

“It’s worth far more,” Gears said solemnly. “The technology and materials dispensed to me, the youngest and most lowly of the Dark Mechanicus, is worth any imaginable degree of suffering.”

“Is it worth DYING for?” his father asked.

“Absolutely,” Gears replied boldly.

Despite his fearless answer, Carbide Gear did not look persuaded. The elder stallion’s eyes narrowed, and Dewdrop shook her head sadly. Then Carbide stood up with his forelegs on the table and slammed a hoof down again.

“I’ve heard enough of this rubbish! I don’t know what they did to you, but I won’t stand for it any longer!” Carbide Gear barked.

“Wh-What?” Gear Works flinched back, his sensor optics widening.

“Maybe they dazzled you with some deadly machine, maybe you’ve gone insane from toxin exposure, or maybe they just put a control chip in your head! I don’t know why you’re obsessed with the humans’ wretched toys, but this farce ends now!” He thrust a hoof at his son. “You’re not going back to Ferrous Dominus! Your time in the cult is OVER!”

The Dark Acolyte jolted back in his seat, almost falling over. “B-But… But Father, you… I… that…”

“Please Gears, listen to your father,” Dewdrop Melody said, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “Maybe you really did like that place, but it’s not worth your life!”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to determine the exact value of my life?” Gear Works protested.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?” Carbide Gear growled. “Giving up limbs, organs, sanity, and for what? Some shiny new guns?”

“Well, no, I don’t get any guns. I manufacture guns, but they’re not for me,” Gear Works clarified. “The actual value I receive from Mechanicus membership is somewhat abstract, because-“

“The value of living here, in Canterlot, pursuing a respectable trade, is NOT abstract,” Carbide interrupted. “You can make a fine living without having your limbs ripped off or ending up in a battlefield!”

“My first augments were granted to me after my limbs were ripped off here in Canterlot, after it turned into a battlefield,” Gears retorted flatly.

“Don’t give me that! It was all because of the blasted aliens! The aliens YOU work with now!” Carbide snapped.

Gears shrunk back, his ears flattening against his head. “It was the Tau who attacked Canterlot! The humans SAVED us! And saved me!” he protested. Then, after a few seconds, he added “Although I work with the Tau too, actually.”

This didn’t help improve Carbide’s mood. The older stallion slammed a hoof down on the dining room table yet again. “This discussion is over! We have your room prepared, and you’ll be living there until you can afford a place of your own here in the city!”

Gears shrunk back, his sensor lenses wide. “Father, please! You can’t do this to me! I’m a grown stallion!”

“You’re MY SON!” Carbide Gear barked. “Or at least half of you is! You’re staying here before I lose any more of you!”

Gear Works started gibbering incoherently, his voice turning to mush under his father’s stony glare. Dewdrop gently walked up and hugged him, trying to soothe the tech-cultist as best she could. Carbide Gear started to stand up, intending to carry Gear Works to his room by force, if need be.

“Yeah, I figured something like this was going to happen. Earth pony families are a riot.” Dusk Blade walked into the room from the kitchen, and Carbide and Dewdrop recoiled in surprise. The batpony had a large serving bowl on one wing, and a thick, brown-gray sludge gently swirled inside it. His other wing carried a dinner bowl and a wooden spoon, and he placed all of it on the dining table while the earth ponies watched in confusion.

“Wait, you’re-“ Carbide Gear began, only to be cut off.

“Dusk Blade, yeah. I don’t think we need to redo introductions.” Then he took the spoon in his jaws and started scooping the contents from one bowl to the other. “This is mushroom stew, right? I’m surprised to see it here! I thought Canterlot families always ate fancy imported veggies!”

“It’s an old family recipe. I make it with gravy and paprika,” Dewdrop Melody said awkwardly. “But didn’t you leave? I thought-“

“That there was no exterior access through your kitchen? Yeah, I get that a lot,” Dusk chuckled. “Anyway: Family! It’s just amazing to me how tight-knit you guys are. Batpony parents can hardly remember their childrens’ names and faces after they leave to live on their own. There are some that live together in clans once the foals grow up, but honestly they’re more like criminal gangs than families.”

He switched his grip on the spoon to his wing and then scooped up some stew. “My family was one of the gang ones, incidentally. I had to strike out on my own or else I’d still be robbing griffon peasants to earn my keep. But anyway.” He carried the spoonful to his mouth.

“Lieutenant, I regret having to ask you this again, especially in the same evening, but please get out of my home,” Carbide Gear said firmly.

“Wow! This is GREAT!” Dusk Blade flushed slightly, licking his lips. “I’ve never had it with gravy before! Makes all the difference!”

“Th-Thank you,” Dewdrop replied, blinking. “It must be cold, though. We were expecting Gear Works to arrive much earlier, so we already ate.”

“It’s fine. No need to reheat it on my account,” Dusk assured her with a toothy smile. “But onto the matter at hoof: You don’t seriously expect this to work, do you? Demanding a cult acolyte abandon the Dark Mechanicus for a dreary existence fixing clocks in your attic?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Carbide replied coldly.

“I’m making it my concern,” Dusk replied in a similar tone, swallowing another spoonful of stew. “On that note: I would advise you treat your son more kindly and enjoy his company while he’s here. He will be departing with me, as scheduled, two days from now.”

“Lieutenant…” Gears whispered, confused but slightly relieved. Dewdrop Melody looked downcast, hanging her head.

Carbide Gear’s expression didn’t change much at Dusk’s defiance, but he glanced between the other two stallions silently before he drew himself up and spoke again. “Is this about desertion? Do you intend to tell the humans where he is?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Dusk scoffed, pausing to eat another spoonful of stew. “Prince Blueblood might, though. That miserable grouch probably would be asked to explain what happened and I doubt he’d make the slightest effort to protect anypony else.” Then the thestral shrugged. “But personally I don’t know Mechanicus doctrine on resignation and it doesn’t matter to me in the least.”

“Then why are you interfering with us?” Carbide demanded. “This is a family affair! If you’re not trying to enforce the Iron Warrior’s rules then finish the food you stole and leave us be!”

“Why am I interfering?! Why do you think, you crusty old mule?!” Dusk snarled suddenly, baring his fangs at the older stallion and slamming a hoof onto the table. “Your son – my best friend! – comes to visit his family because you were worried! To assure you that he’s making the most of his career! To tell you about his adventures and triumphs and struggles! To pour his heart out and defend his life’s decisions! And you’re trying to lock him up in the attic?!” Dusk took another bite of stew, his amber eyes almost glowing with anger.

“His career is slavery, his adventures are suicide missions, and his defense is… unpersuasive,” Carbide Gear said coldly. “If you were any kind of real friend you’d be helping convince him to stay where he’s safe and covering for his absence.”

“Well, good thing I’m not a real friend,” Dusk said breezily before gulping down another spoonful of dinner. “… Okay, so that retort sounded better in my head. It’s kind of accurate though, so I’m running with it.”

“This is ridiculous. You have nothing to do with this and you have no authority here,” Carbide said wearily, shaking his head. “I don’t have to listen to you. Get out!”

“I’m not leaving without Gear Works,” Dusk said stubbornly. “If you want to try to move me by force, go ahead. It won’t end well.”

“Please, Lieutenant! Think of his future!” Dewdrop begged. “Those horrible fanatics will work him to death!”

“Mare, have you SEEN your colt when he’s in a forge?” Dusk scoffed. “He’d die with a smile on his face.”

“I can’t really smile perceptibly anymore, though,” Gears interjected.

“Not helping, buddy,” Dusk replied. “My POINT is that Gears decides Gear’s fate. Gears has made his decision. And if some uppity thug is threatening that, whether it’s a vengeful Acolyte or his own blood relatives, then they have to go through ME first.”

Dusk Blade and Carbide Gear continued staring at each other angrily, with Dusk steadily scooping more mushroom stew into his mouth every few seconds. Then his ear twitched. The sound of gently creaking timbers alerted him to another pony descending the stairs.

“Gears, does anypony else live with your folks?” Dusk asked quickly, his eyes still locked on Carbide’s. “Like a grandparent or an aunt or something?”

“No, not that I’m aware of,” the cyborg pony answered. “In fact the only other family that lives in Canterlot is Swift Striker.”

“I see… that’s bad. Very bad,” Dusk replied as Gear’s sister stepped into the room.

“Well, well, well, look what the mag-hauler dragged in,” Swift Striker drawled while she trotted away from the stairs. Her mane and tail was a frayed mess, as if she’d just gotten out of bed. “Hi Gears. Sorry I missed you coming in. Spent the better part of the day running around trying to figure out what happened to your train and when I got back I needed a nap.”

“Hello, Striker,” Gear Works said, standing up from his chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye when you visited Ferrous Dominus several weeks ago. Why did you leave so suddenly?”

“Yes, why DID I leave so suddenly?” Swift Striker mused aloud. “We’ll go over that in a bit. For now I’m just really glad to see you didn’t lose any more extremities since the last time I saw you.” She grimaced at Gear’s injured leg. “Although it looks like you came close.”

“I realize that you all hold an irrational attachment to my so-called ‘natural’ body, but it is entirely likely and ultimately preferable that all my legs should eventually be replaced by bionic augments,” Gear Works said, sounding somewhat frustrated.

“Gears, please, don’t talk like that,” Dewdrop said, shuddering.

“And look who else came along to visit!” Swift Striker said, her voice taking on an obviously fake, cheerful quality. “Lieutenant Dusk Blade of the Lunar Guard! We don’t deserve the honor of hosting such a prestigious guest!”

Carbide Gear quirked a brow. Dusk was still glaring at him, but the thestral seemed obviously uncomfortable now. His ears were pinned back, his wings were held partially open, and he had stopped eating entirely.

“What? Nothing to say, Lieutenant? You were so happy to see me last time!” Swift taunted, facing the batpony’s back. “You’re not going to get all flirty again? Don’t tell me you mutated and grew a sense of shame since then!”

“Miss Striker, this isn’t about me and you and any alleged misdeeds and/or affairs between us,” Dusk said, still not turning to face the mare. “This is about Gear Works and his future among the Dark Mechanicus.” He pushed the bowl of cold stew away and then jabbed a hoof toward Carbide Gear. “What I said to you back then in the fortress-factory is still as true today! Gears found his fortune in Ferrous Dominus. He seized his destiny from those who did not believe in him and attained his current rank through sheer will, persistence, and talent! Unimaginable opportunities still await him, from the mass production of his own inventions to leaving this planet and traveling the stars!”

He suddenly swiveled about to lock eyes with Dewdrop Melody, who started in surprise. “All of this means nothing to you, I’m sure. How could it? To you the Cult Mechanicus is just another batch of lunatics who fight the Orks so you don’t have to. It would be absurd to expect you to privilege their weapons and knowledge over your precious son. I get it.” Dusk stood his forelegs on the table, lifting himself above all the other ponies. “But to him, that IS his life! It’s a triumph greater than any royal honor or noble favor or fulfilling that weird compulsion you guys have for doing what your cutie marks tell you to! To take that away from him would be crueler and more painful than any torment Chaos could inflict!”

Carbide Gear and Dewdrop Melody frowned deeply as Dusk Blade finished, feeling conflicted. They glanced at Gear Works, searching the Dark Acolyte’s optics cluster for the dramatic conviction Dusk spoke of. Swift Striker scowled, her mane bristling angrily. She was about to contribute some very unproductive commentary when Gear Works spoke up first.

“Wait, that’s what you talked to Striker about back in Ferrous Dominus? When you two left the Mechanicus dorms I was under the impression you were leaving to copulate,” he asked suspiciously.

Dewdrop blinked repeatedly. Carbide, who had already taken a very dim view of the batpony, scowled angrily. Swift Striker flushed, but her lips twitched into a smirk.

“Yeah, I was also under that impression,” the hoofball player said icily, “but rather than stealing my heart the sweet-talker here just stole my access card and then kicked me out of the city.”

“WHAT?!” Gear Works shouted in shock.

“Oh please, I did not,” Dusk scoffed, dropping back down to the floor. “She just got all huffy after I gave an impassioned speech defending your decision so she took off.”

“He locked me behind a security gate in the train station, told me never to return, and threatened that if I tried he’d lie to the guards to get me in trouble,” Swift Striker continued.

“LIEUTENANT BLADE!!” Gear Works shouted in a rage, his optics lights narrowing and tilting sharply.

Carbide and Dewdrop recoiled in surprise at seeing the normally mild-mannered stallion step past Swift and glare at the batpony. The servo arm loomed overhead, its pincer claw yawning open like it was preparing to snap closed on the thestral. His tail lashed back and forth, the spike on the end gleaming in the light. Dusk, for his part, didn’t look frightened or even very surprised. If anything, the Lunar soldier looked offended.

“What? I told you I didn’t do any of that! Do you really think I’d toy with a mare’s feelings like that just to get her out of the way?” Dusk asked.

“Of course you would!” Gears answered without hesitation. “You manipulate ponies all the time!”

“C’mon Gears, you seriously believe her over me?” Dusk asked.

“Of course I do!” he again replied immediately. “My sister never lies to me! You’d lie to anypony at the slightest convenience!”

Dusk frowned. “Okay look I’m trying to help you out of being foalnapped and detained by your own family but you have to work with me a little here.”

“This has nothing to do with that! You lied to her, threw her out of the city, and then you lied to me about what happened!” Gears shouted. “You exiled my family from my home and threatened them to keep it a secret! You absolute cad!”

“Gears, are you really friends with this creature?” Dewdrop asked while she gave Swift Striker a motherly nuzzle.

“Yes, and I’m as disappointed as anypony to admit it,” the cyborg groused.

Dusk pressed the tips of his hooves together. “Gears, buddy, listen: I have a plan to deal with this thing that’s happening. You know, the whole lock-you-in-your-room idea to get you to abandon your beloved career? But I really need you to meet me halfway here and stop getting sidetracked with dumb stuff like who I may or may not have lied to a long time ago.”

“It was LAST WEEK!” Swift shouted.

“You can stay on the topic if you want Miss Striker, I don’t think your opinion really matters here anyway,” Dusk said. “So back to-“

“Lieutenant, I do think you have SEVERELY overstayed your welcome,” Carbide Gear interrupted, “and in light of hearing what you did to my daughter I am going to offer you ONE last chance to leave before you are removed by force.”

“Oh. Really? We’re really doing this?” Dusk blinked at the older stallion, tilting his head to one side. “Are you ex-guard or do you have a bunch of soldiers on call? Because I was tearing the guts out of blade-limbed monstrosities just this afternoon, you know. I don’t think the ‘force’ part of your calculation here quite adds up in your favor.”

Dusk smirked and stepped away from the table, his wings lifted into a loose combat position. Carbide Gear remained at his seat, glaring down at the soldier. Gear Works heard the sound of wood sliding against wood behind him, and his ears perked.

“Lieutenant! Wait! You-“

“Yeah I know: your sister is lining up the chair to hurl at me. I have echolocation, she can’t surprise me,” Dusk said, still smiling without looking behind him. “You should be shouting desperate warnings at your relatives, not me. I’m not going to-“

The chair flew across the room like a cannon shot, and Dusk barely had time to twitch before it cracked against his shoulder and head. The furniture shattered into splinters from the impact, and the batpony was slammed hard into the wall. An agonized squeak came from Dusk before he slid down to the floor, a streak of blood coloring the wallpaper behind his head.

“L-Lieutenant!” Gears cried in shock, racing over to Dusk Blade.

“Swifty, dear, don’t you think you overdid it? You didn’t have to aim for the head,” Dewdrop chided.

“Is he dead?” the hoofball star asked, sounding only marginally interested in the answer. “If I killed him then yeah, I overdid it. Maybe.”

Gear Works leaned over the batpony, doing a brief tissue scan. “No, you didn’t. The shock knocked him out, and I’m reading several minor fractures and some internal bleeding, but it’s probably not fatal.”

“We still have more chairs,” Swift Striker said, smiling at her mother. Dewdrop frowned and shook her head in disapproval.

“Gears, go upstairs. I’ll dispose of this ruffian,” Carbide Gear ordered, walking up to the unconscious stallion.

“No,” Gears replied.

The elder stallion stopped short. “Pardon me?”

Gear’s servo arm lifted Dusk up by a leg, and he lowered himself onto the floor. “No, I will not be going upstairs, and no, you will not be disposing of anypony.” He pulled Dusk Blade onto his back, and then stood back up. A pained hiss came from his respirator as he was forced to put too much weight on his injured leg, but the Dark Acolyte endured and turned toward the front door.

“Gear Works, listen to your father,” Dewdrop Melody chided. “We’re very worried about you, and you shouldn’t be making friends with dishonest ponies like him. Honestly, things are so much worse for you than we imagined, and we want to help!”

Gears hesitated, and then Carbide Gear spoke up. “Gear Works, I’m not accustomed to making requests of you,” the elder stallion admitted, “but right now I want you to stop and listen to reason. You can’t trust these cyborg people. You can’t trust the soldiers that work for Chaos. You won’t be safe, you’ll be forced to do awful things to keep your position, and if the worst should happen to you they’ll discard you like a rusted shoe.”

Gear’s ears flipped down, but before he could speak Swift Striker began talking. “Gears, I already sat through Dusk’s stupid speech about how important the cult is to you. Twice! This crazy tech cult feels like something important and amazing that you’ll never get to be a part of unless you sacrifice the rest of your life and more and more of your body. It makes you feel special, but it’s weird and gross and - this part is really important - the other people and ponies around you are abusing and mutilating you! Whether you're willing to endure it or not, that's not okay!”

Then she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “And another thing… I think this whole thing is kind of our fault. We didn’t treat you very well after the accident. I avoided you and nodded along quietly when ponies made fun of you behind your back. Dad resented having to take you in after your house was wrecked, and didn’t try very hard to hide it. Mom barely spoke to you and acted like her son had died even though you were living in the same house, just because you lost a leg and an eye and… well, you know.”

Dewdrop and Carbide cringed unpleasantly, their ears flipping down and their eyes darting away from the cyborg in the middle of the room. They nodded in acknowledgement, however.

“I… suppose I thought that if I were harder on you, that it would drive you to rebuild faster,” Carbide said with a cough. “I thought that you might fall into despair with what you lost if you weren’t pushed. I didn’t think that you would turn to the humans instead. That was my error,” he finished grimly.

“I don’t have any excuse,” Dewdrop sighed. “I was shocked and repulsed by your bionics and that you had chosen them instead of magic healing. I didn’t want to accept it, so I neglected you. But when you left I was devastated all the same. I was shallow and selfish, and I’m sorry, Gears. Please, forgive me.”

“So there you have it: we were wrong about you,” Swift said, stepping up to Gear Works. “We really do miss you, and we really do want to help. Help you rebuild something like a normal life, rather than being abused by aliens and tormented by creeps like Dusk. Okay?”

Gear Works was silent, staring at his family through the array of sensors that had replaced his eyes. Swift Striker looked embarrassed but earnest, her face flushed like she couldn’t believe she had managed to give such a speech. Dewdrop Melody looked hopeful, her eyes pleading. Carbide Gear had fixed a stony frown on his face that looked like it would require mechanical hardware to alter.

One of the sensors in the corner of his face tracked down to view his own leg. A trickle of blood was crawling down it, staining the dirty chrome surface of the augmetic and seeping into the cracks. A weak cough came from the body on his back, and a bit more blood was splashed on the side of his cloak.

“Thank you, Striker,” Gears said, raising his augmetic hoof and patting Swift on the head. She blinked in surprise and some trepidation; such a gesture was uncommon ever since they had grown up, and she still didn't like the mechanical prosthetics. “Thank you Father, and you, Mother. You’re right. All of you. About me, about the Mechanicus, about the Iron Warriors, and certainly about the miserable individuals who would describe themselves as my friends. My future in the Dark Mechanicus is not a pleasant one, and I don’t know how long it will be, either.”

Gears withdrew his hoof. “But it IS my future. I forgive you. Goodbye.”

He turned and limped to the front door. There were a few stuttering words of protest, but he tuned them out entirely. His servo arm swiveled around to grasp the doorknob, and after stopping to brush his hooves against the welcome mat to remove some of the collected blood, he left his family’s home for good.

When Dusk Blade returned to consciousness it was like getting hit with a flying chair all over again.

The world was blurry, his entire body ached, and he felt like retching. A bizarre ringing seemed to echo in his head, ruining his local sonar. He shifted to try to roll upright, only for something to grab his wing and hold him down.

“Stop. Lie still. You shouldn’t be moving yet.”

Dusk’s first instinct was to lash out at being restrained, but at the sound of Gear’s voice he relaxed. “What… What happened?”

“A wooden projectile of some eight kilograms struck you at extreme velocity. You have a concussion and multiple fractures. And frankly, you got off lightly.”

“Lightly?!”

“Yes. I’ve seen Swift Striker practice. Her Aurora Driver kick demolishes steel-banded barrel targets with ease. It’s actually been banned in official hoofball games.”

Dusk flinched as he felt something rough tighten around his leg. Bandage wrappings, he realized after a moment. His vision was also starting to crystallize, and he realized he was outside on the streets.

“… Are… Are we outside? Why am I not in a hospital or something?” Dusk mumbled.

“Because I didn’t want either of us to be interrogated as to how this happened to you,” the Dark Acolyte replied. Dusk could see now that he was holding a rag against the top of a bottle clutched in his servo claw. “Incidentally, the event that led to new, suspiciously specific safety regulations in professional hoofball also left Striker with an indictment on her criminal record. She was acquitted. Barely.”

Gears pressed the wet cloth against Dusk’s head, and the thestral hissed in pain. “I think… I think it’s coming back to me. That… argument with your family, and… and your dad was going to throw me out… and then…” Dusk cringed. “Did I just… lose a fight to your little sister?”

“No, I would not characterize it that way,” Gear Works said with a slight sarcastic edge to his voice. “You did not attack her, and she hurled a heavy object at you from behind at a proximity you were unable to avoid and at a velocity you couldn’t possibly defend against. That was not a ‘fight’ in any meaningful sense.”

Dusk Blade slowly turned his head around to check their surroundings. He was laying on the sidewalk under a street lumen outside of a small shop. The shop was still obviously open late at night, which was somewhat unusual for establishments in this city. Overhead, blocking out much of the night sky, was a stone bridge of some sort with its underside encrusted with moss. Canterlot didn’t have anything that could be reasonably considered a “seedy” district, but the closest thing were the sections around and under the aqueducts that carried water to the city from the mountain’s peak. The gentle noise of rushing water from the large construct above them was just barely audible over the ringing in his skull.

“Okay, I think everything has been disinfected. Turn your head to the left and I’ll wrap this up,” Gears ordered.

Dusk did so, and then the servo claw swiveled around with the end of a long cloth bandage strip clutched in its pincer. Gears held the rest of the strip on the other side, feeding it from a roll that was spooled on a small input probe that extended from his bionic hoof.

“So. Are you… mad at me?” the thestral asked hesitantly.

“Extremely,” Gears replied sharply. “You lied to my sister and you also lied to me. You had someone I love cast out of Ferrous Dominus after toying with her emotions and may have endangered her life. I already think very little of you, Lieutenant, but this revelation has nonetheless reduced you further in my estimation.”

Dusk Blade didn’t reply right away while Gears secured the bandages around his skull. “… You’re not leaving the Dark Mechanicus though, are you?”

“Of course not,” the Dark Acolyte replied. “And I didn’t need you to drive my relatives away or threaten them to reach that conclusion, either!”

The batpony winced. “Okay, okay! I didn’t know! I thought you were really going to get bullied into giving up the cult! So I, y’know… did some friendship work.”

“That is NOT friendship work!” Gears snapped, suddenly tightening the bandages around Dusk’s head. The soldier flinched and hissed, and then Gears continued. “It’s not even that you don’t know any better! Both times you intervened and made impassioned, persuasive appeals for my career in the Mechanicus! That was appropriate and helpful! Why can you not contain your impulse to hurt others to get what you want?!”

“It’s just really worked for me a lot in the past, okay?” Dusk replied. “And frankly I expected it to be received MUCH better than it has been among the army of corrupt slavers and killers that saved us so they could plunder our world and magical power. Just saying.”

“What the blazes are you two doing out here?”

Dusk and Gears glanced behind them. Prince Blueblood was standing at the entrance to the shop. Dusk wasn’t in a laughing mood in his current condition, which was the only thing stopping him from breaking into howling laughter at the sight of the unicorn. Gear Works blinked his optics in surprise.

Prince Blueblood’s coat was in ruins; damp and rumpled, and with one sleeve torn. His hat had been impaled on his horn and the Chaos Star that decorated the brow had been smashed. The prince’s body was otherwise in disarray as well: his mane was frazzled, his eyes were bloodshot, and one cheek was decorated with smudged lipstick stains. The other cheek had a bruise shaped very conspicuously like a horseshoe.

“Partying a little too hard, huh?” Dusk Blade asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.

Blueblood grimaced. “That… I mean… Well, I suppose there are worse ways to describe it. You too?”

“I assure you Prince, what happened to us wasn’t fun for anypony,” Gears explained.

“I don’t know about that; I can only imagine the delight of the ruffian that managed to get the best of our intrepid soldier here.” Blueblood’s sneering was probably meant to sound amused, but he had obviously been drinking and there was a haze about his speech. The unicorn turned away from the door of the shop and walked over to his companions. “What happened? Did the roach-eater provoke a guard?”

“No. Somepony kicked a heavy object at me and it landed. It happens,” Dusk grumbled. “What happened to you? Looks like you got to second base and then struck out.”

“Shut up, you fanged mongrel!” Blueblood snapped, his mood instantly souring again.

Dusk Blade guffawed loudly at the reaction, and then whimpered. “Ugh… hurts to laugh.” He hissed through his teeth, and then slumped onto the ground. “Anyway, you’re not the only pony here to get violently discarded by a mare you were into, so don’t let it bother you.”

“I’ll have you know this is no mare’s hoofprint,” Blueblood huffed as he sat down on the other side of Gear Works, “it’s the husband’s!”

Dusk and Gears turned toward him, staring silently.

“… I meant… uh… it…” Blueblood winced and shook his head. “It’s a long and tedious story, and you can guess at the conclusion. Suffice to say I won’t be welcome back at that party.”

“Most unfortunate,” Gears said. “Were you here to purchase something before you returned to your estate?”

“… Yes and no,” the unicorn grumbled. “The party was AT my estate.”

Dusk laughed again, but it quickly trailed off into pained coughing. “Oof… well. Looks like we’re homeless for the night, gentleponies!”

“Don’t you have a barracks?” Blueblood asked.

“I’m not stationed here in Canterlot anymore, so no. Lunar guard usually bunk during the day anyhow; the beds will all be full of the other guards right now.” Dusk lifted a wing and pressed the tip against his bandaged head. He winced at the pain, and then continued. “I didn’t bring any money, either. I figured I could mooch off you two while we were here.”

“You’re an embarrassment,” Blueblood growled.

“I’m not the one who got beaten up and tossed out of his own mansion,” Dusk countered.

“Prince Blueblood doesn’t own the property himself. It’s registered to one Senator Highbit,” Gear Works explained. “A close relative, I imagine. And hopefully not the previously mentioned ‘husband.’”

“He wasn’t!” Blueblood yelped, looking slightly panicked. “Wait, how do you know all that?”

“I’m using the noosphere to peruse the local property registry codex for vacant homes,” Gear Works explained. He was staring straight forward, and the lights in his optics visor pulsed in a seemingly random pattern. “Once I’ve located a suitable property, we’ll at least have somewhere inside to sleep tonight.”

“Are you serious? We’re to break into an empty home like common burglars?” Blueblood asked, wrinkling his snout.

“Well, YOU don’t have to do that, Prince. I’m sure if you went back home and apologized profusely they’d let you back in,” Dusk suggested with a fanged smile.

“Lead the way, Techpriest,” Prince Blueblood said, standing up again without acknowledging what Dusk said.

“I’m a Dark Acolyte.”

“I still don’t care. Oh: and do try to find a hovel to break into that’s decently furnished. I detest sleeping on the floor.”

Gear Works stood up, and his servo arm tugged on Dusk’s wing to bring the thestral upright. “I have a location nearby. I must credit Miss Raven for actually installing an up-to-date noosphere registry and keeping to regular updates. I have little regard for most of the Royal order but Princess Celestia’s administrators are entirely worthy of their station.”

“You’re being escorted by a member of that order right now,” Blueblood reminded him.

“More specifically, I’m leading a member of that order into an abandoned home so that he doesn’t fall ill sleeping on the sidewalks,” Gears replied.

“… You’ve gotten cheekier since this afternoon,” Prince Blueblood mumbled while he and Dusk Blade followed the cyborg.

“My fault,” Dusk Blade volunteered, limping after the other stallions.

“… Care to elaborate?” Blueblood said after a pause.

“Nope.”

Gears approached a house and paused, cycling his vision modes to search for any heat signatures or significant power flow. “All right, I think this location will do. This street is very well-lit though, so-“

Dusk leapt into the air with a flap of his wings, and a few seconds later the street lumen went out, blanketing the area in darkness. Blueblood almost tripped in surprise, and he stumbled to a stop right before the batpony landed in front of him. Landed badly, as it turned out, because Dusk was still suffering some disorientation from his concussion and landed on his injured leg.

“Ah! Ow! Oh!” Dusk hissed in pain and pranced back and forth, flapping his wings wildly. In doing so he accidentally slapped Blueblood in the face, further unsettling the drunken unicorn. Blueblood yelped and recoiled, and this time he did trip, striking a hoof against the lumen post and promptly tipping over onto his side.

Gears ignored the shouts and thumps behind him, walking up to the front door. The knob had a simple mechanical lock, more for assuring privacy than deterring what little crime there was in even the shadier districts of Canterlot. He raised his bionic hoof to the door knob, and the edge opened up to reveal a pair of metal probes.

“What the hay is wrong with you?” Blueblood wailed, lighting up his horn so that he could see.

“Shut that thing off!” Dusk hissed back, squinting his amber-colored eyes against the light of the prince’s magic. “Why do you think I took out the lumen to begin with?”

“I’m not a nocturnal beast OR a cybernetic abomination! I can’t see in the dark!” Blueblood complained. Nonetheless he cut off his magic, and once again that particular patch of sidewalk was engulfed in darkness.

A click and a creak came from the building, and the bickering stallions turned to look. The blue-green glow of Gear’s optic lights hung in the shadows in front of the doorway, and then tilted in the direction of the entrance.

Dusk Blade and Prince Blueblood scurried inside, although the latter struck his hoof against the doorstep and fell over again. With a cry of surprise followed by an embarrassed grumble Blueblood staggered through the doorway, and then Gear Works entered behind him and closed the door.

“NOW may I summon a light?” Blueblood asked impatiently, afraid to move further and risk tripping again.

“Yeah, sure. If you really need it,” Dusk said smugly, trotting ahead of the other ponies.

Blueblood’s horn flashed, generating a floating ball of magical light and illuminating the interior of the home. It was fairly cramped and lightly furnished, and what furniture there was had plastic sheeting over it. It had the look of a home that had been abandoned in a hurry, but wasn’t being prepared to be sold.

“Whose home is this?” Blueblood asked. “This doesn’t look like some Senator’s rental property.”

“The registrar codex lists the current owner as Starshine Bell, currently a rank two enchantress among the 38th Company’s cabal unicorns,” Gear Works explained, causing the other stallions to wince. “Her property is currently being held in trust, under the very reasonable assumption she will not be returning to Canterlot.”

“Bleak,” Dusk replied, heading for the stairs.

“I don’t know about that; I remember that name. She was present at both the battle of Ponyville and the subsequent founding of the Nethalican. Her efforts were integral to the survival of our planet,” Gears replied.

“Some of us expected to go HOME after our tour of planet-saving,” Prince Blueblood grumbled, following Dusk up to the second story.

“Highly unlikely. After the Iron Warriors successfully weaponized unicorn magic and used it to rescue us from certain doom, why would they abandon that capability? Even if all the unicorns were good for was summoning Warp storms, it would still represent a fantastic strategic advantage.” Gear Works carefully limped up the stairwell after the others, and the trio emerged into the master bedroom. “Really, I’m surprised they haven’t been more aggressive in utilizing pegasi as well; being able to shape the weather on command surely has significant tactical applications.”

Blueblood twisted his head around to address the cyborg. “And what if we don’t WANT to waste our lives away as servants to cultist fanatics in a smog-choked factory-city or monstrous space craft?”

“I can barely comprehend such a perspective,” Gears admitted.

The master bedroom was much like the rest of the rooms, with a plastic sheet laid over the bed and a few chairs stacked in a corner. Dusk Blade tugged the sheet off with the claw of his wing and then flopped onto the bed with a groan of pain.

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to head back to base tomorrow,” the batpony announced. “A brief vacation in Canterlot sounded dull back when I was merely faking a combat injury. If I’m ACTUALLY going to be laid up until my skull heals I’d rather do it in my own bunk in a city that can do nanostitching sutures.” He sighed, then added. “I’m aware of the irony.”

“So what did you come here for, if you didn’t want to actually visit someplace you can actually see the sun for a few days?” asked Blueblood, standing at the other side of the bed.

“Why would a thestral want to see the sun?” Dusk scoffed. “I came here to make sure Gears didn’t get talked into abandoning the Iron Warriors! Or forced into it, as it were.”

“A grossly unnecessary intervention,” the Dark Acolyte huffed, his voice rising again. “Besides, you were probably just to trying to prevent me from finding out about what happened to my sister.”

“No! That wasn’t it! Honest!” Dusk insisted. “I completely forgot about her after I threw her out of Ferrous Dominus! I had NO long term plan for hiding that!”

Blueblood glanced between the two stallions in confusion. “What in Tartarus happened to you two?”

“It’s a Friendship thing. You wouldn’t get it,” Dusk replied. “Oh, speaking of which: I never did thank you for dragging my unconscious body out of your parents’ place, so thanks for that, Gears.”

“It was the Techpriest’s PARENTS who savaged you?” Blueblood asked incredulously.

“Something like that, yes,” Gear Works answered before lowering himself onto the floor. “In any case, I concur with your earlier proposition. We can leave tomorrow.”

“Ugh. And I suppose as my escort I have to go with you, don’t I? Asinine,” Prince Blueblood grumbled, letting the previous topic drop entirely. He climbed into the bed opposite Dusk Blade, fluffing the pillow with a few telekinetic pulses from his horn.

“You already got kicked out of your house after a single evening; what would you do tomorrow if we didn’t leave?” Dusk asked.

“Perhaps to seek out the couple he encountered and apologize?” Gears suggested.

Dusk Blade and Blueblood laughed, with the former trailing off into pained coughs after a few seconds.

“Ahhh… still hurts to laugh,” sighed the thestral. “Anyway, let’s aim for noon or something to leave. You’ll probably be sleeping off a hangover, Prince, and I need some extra rest for the ringing in my skull to die down.”

“It’s later than I’d prefer, but all right,” Gears agreed. “The sooner we return to Ferrous Dominus, the sooner I can return to reviewing the field data for the Striders.”

“You’re still injured,” Blueblood reminded him. “In fact, I’d guess our little scuffle in Ponyville probably made your wounds much worse.”

“There’s a great deal of work I can do while immobilized,” Gear Works insisted. “For me this trip was only ever an excuse to meet my family and achieve some degree of closure with them. I don’t expect to be visiting more often in the future, if at all.”

The Dark Acolyte laid his head on the floor, and the lights under his hood winked out. Blueblood squirmed in place for a few seconds, and then the magic from his horn dimmed. The bedroom went totally dark.

Dusk Blade stared at nothing for a minute, his thoughts racing. “Hey, Gears?” he said suddenly, interrupting the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

One of the smaller optics lights in the corner of Gear’s hood turned on, creating a single speck of glimmering blue-green down near the floor. “What is it?”

“How do you do it, Gears?”

“……. How do I do what? Field analysis studies?”

“No, not that specifically. Just… uh…” Dusk frowned, wetting his lips while he thought through his question. “It’s like… you really love your family. You truly appreciate them, whether or not they treated you very well, right?”

“Affirmative. They’ve made some mistakes, but they’re all good ponies and each of them has helped me far more than they’ve ever hurt me with negligence or careless words. What about it?” Another few optics lights turned on.

“That’s just… amazing to me,” Dusk mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “You really love and care about them, but you still defied and left them. I thought I was going to have to talk you into staying with the 38th Company at some point, but you never had a doubt in your mind you would go back, did you? They would have really had to force you to stay.”

“Yes. And then I would have gone back anyway, as foal-napping me and imprisoning me is not a feasible long-term solution,” Gear Works replied, finally lifting his head and turning toward the bed. “Father is rather headstrong and decisive, as I’m sure you noticed. But my family simply isn’t capable of restraining me for long.”

“Incredible,” Dusk mumbled.

“… Is it?” the cyborg asked.

“Not all of us feel our destiny so keenly as you do,” Blueblood interjected, deciding that he may as well join the conversation if his companions weren’t going to let him sleep. “The Lieutenant and I were conscripted under the Iron Warriors. You made your way to the city and joined one of its most mysterious and exclusive orders on your own. There’s a certain… strength in your simple-minded certainty and devotion to your future in the Mechanicus. I do not envy you, but it is not without merit.”

“I see it as nothing more than the most obvious fulfilment of my destiny, much as any other pony is drawn to a craft related to their talents and cutie mark,” Gears explained. “Perhaps I sought my true destiny in a place where other ponies fear to tread because my fascination with the Mechanicus is that much greater, but I’m no braver than anypony else.”

“Haven’t you EVER thought about quitting, though? They hate you!” Dusk pointed out.

“I have, actually. During my stay in the Mechanicus penitent cells,” Gears admitted bitterly. “There are, in fact, tortures that could make even me regret the path I have chosen.”

“Until someone let you out,” Dusk added.

“Yes, of course,” Gear agreed, tilting his head to the side. “Once I was free to go, I had access to my research again. It would have been foolish to throw that away over a mere 30-hour lockdown in the mag-chambers.”

“Incredible,” Dusk and Blueblood mumbled simultaneously.

“I… don’t understand,” Gear Works said, his ears flipping down.

“Many batponies tribes don’t have cutie marks. Mine doesn’t,” Dusk said, changing the topic. “I sometimes wonder what it’s like… There’s a whole legend about us losing them after Luna’s banishment by ‘breaking free of our destiny’ or whatever, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly lies. We… didn’t do very well without them, I think. Lots of deprivation and civil strife and provoking the local pony settlements into hunting us down. And it would have been REAL nice if somepony in the caves randomly turned out to have a talent for medicine or cooking, let me tell you.”

“You thestrals do have quite an insidious reputation,” Blueblood said grimly. “Hostile, unruly, uncivilized, and none of you work an honest trade.”

Dusk Blade was glad that the darkness hid his expression as he replied, “Yeah, we know. We joined the Lunar Guard to try to fight that type of prejudice.”

“Prejudice? You earned that reputation AS the Lunar Guard!” Blueblood retorted. “Most Canterlot citizens thought batponies were an ancient myth before Princess Luna was purified and brought a pack of you savages here to serve her during the nocturnal hours! And we dearly regret tha-AUGH!”

“Prince, please refrain from shouting,” Gear Works said, lowering his head back down to the floor. “If the neighbors hear conversation coming from an abandoned home they may call the guards to investigate.”

“He BIT me! The psychotic mongrel actually bit me!” the unicorn complained, thrashing about under the covers.

“Wasn’t me. Must have some kind of bug under the sheets,” Dusk lied.

“That was no insect, you scoundrel! I think I’m bleeding! What if it gets infected?!”

“Some third of our army worships a greasy ball of disease, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not one of them!”

“Not YET, you’re not.”

“Please stop fighting,” Gear Works implored the others. “The two adjacent units ARE currently populated.”

“You’re the ones who are keeping me up! I turned my horn light off long ago!” Blueblood complained.

“Nopony asked you for your opinion on Gear’s career OR batponies in general,” Dusk retorted.

Gear Works groaned, and the lights under his hood turned off again.

Canterlot City
The following day

The next afternoon saw the three stallions crossing Canterlot once again, two of them in a particularly awful state. Blueblood’s eyes were bloodshot and his mane was in disarray, with his clothes even more rumpled and dirty than they were the previous night. His hat had at least been removed from his horn, but it now bore a very large and obvious hole in the front. Dusk Blade was in, if anything, even worse shape, with several deep bruises on his head and one leg. The batpony’s ears and wings hung down, his eyelids struggled to stay open, and every once in a while he’d stumble and sway to one side.

Gear Works still had one leg bandaged up, but was obviously better rested than the other two. With the sluggish pace set by his companions he didn’t even need to limp. The Dark Acolyte rather enjoyed the leisurely walk to the train station, and frequently snapped pict-captures and spectrograph images of objects they passed by that he found interesting.

“Canterlot has changed a lot since I lived here, hasn’t it? It’s a shame I couldn’t spend at least one evening with my parents to discuss what everyday life is like with a municipal vox net and noosphere bank,” Gears said to himself.

“I would likewise like to spend an evening with whomever of your relatives gave Lieutenant Blade a concussion,” Prince Blueblood grunted.

“Are you going to be like this the entire trip back?” Dusk asked, pausing to yawn. “Because I’m probably going to sleep on the train, and Gears really shouldn’t have to put up with your whining on his own.”

“No, actually, once we’re on board I plan to become inebriated as quickly as possible,” Blueblood admitted. “Until you’re unconscious I do insist on being insufferable, however.”

“Urggh…” Dusk released a pained groan, squinting his eyes and pressing his wingtips against the sides of his head. “Hey, Prince? Are you allowed to see Princess Celestia personally? Like, whenever you want?”

Blueblood quirked an eyebrow. “More or less. Why?”

“Can you tell her to turn the sun down a little? Is that a thing she can do?” Dusk asked. “Seriously, this is just WAY too bright. How do you guys stand this?”

“You were a Canterlot citizen for months, at the least. How did you stand it then?” the Prince asked.

“By SLEEPING during the day!” Dusk Blade snapped, only to slump and yawn again. “I know I’ve changed my sleep cycle to be awake more during daylight hours, but this is too much! Don’t they use cloud cover?! Won’t it get too hot if you just… let the sun… just… uh… shine on everything? There were clouds in Ponyville!”

“Clearly the Lieutenant isn’t much of a morning pony,” Blueblood sneered. “Pathetic.”

“In defense of the batponies, the atmospheric differences between night and day are rather muted within Ferrous Dominus,” Gear Works interjected. “The pollution blocks much of the sun, the extensive lumen matrix lights the streets very well at night, and the ambient temperature doesn’t vary by much since the manufactorum starts venting plasma after nightfall.”

“You really needn’t defend the batponies,” Blueblood responded. “Seriously, it’s not worth it.”

Dusk made some sleepy retort to the unicorn, but Gears filtered it out as they approached the train station. His companions had been cranky and noisy during the brief walk across the city, and despite their claims he didn’t expect them to calm down during the trip home. He just hoped the train ride out would be less eventful than it was coming in.

Then the cyborg pony stopped. His optics jumbled about in his visor for a second, and then several of them zoomed in to magnify a particular pony at the edge of the train platform. Not that she was difficult to spot and identify with her particular color scheme, but he was surprised enough to see her that he needed to be sure.

“We may have a problem,” Gear Works announced.

“What? Is there still alien apple residue on the train?” Prince Blueblood asked. He stepped up next to Gear Works, but couldn’t see anything that obviously warranted a warning.

“Swift Striker is here. I believe she’s waiting for us.”

Dusk jolted, raising his head up straight and spreading his wings in preparation to take off. “What? Here? Where?!”

Blueblood was surprised by Dusk’s response, but also very puzzled. “Swift Striker? Of the Canterlot Sunbeams?”

“The very same, Prince. Are you a fan?” Gears asked.

“Somewhat, yes. I hosted their championship victory banquet two years ago. Unfortunately the last season was canceled due to alien invasion; I believe a Dreadnought wrecked the stadium wall while it was chasing some Tau Pathfinders through the district.” Blueblood spotted the mare in question sitting at the edge of the embarkation platform. She looked distracted, and stared off into the distance while other passengers walked around her to board the train or get somewhere else in the station. There was no mistaking the pony athlete, however; she was even wearing her hoofball jersey with the team’s sun emblem on it. “What is she doing here?”

“Doesn’t matter. We need to evade,” Dusk Blade said, his eyes darting back and forth. “I can infiltrate the train directly, and I don’t think the prince has anything to worry about, but Gears can’t sneak. Here’s what we’re going to do-“

Rather than indulge the Lieutenant, Gear Works lifted his servo arm higher and then raised his voice. “Striker! What are you doing here?”

The mare jumped up in surprise at hearing the voice, and Dusk also jumped once she swiveled her head around and sighted them.

“GEARS?! What are you doing?” the thestral asked in a panic.

Swift Striker spent a moment to pull something onto her back. Gears recognized it immediately; it was the duffel bag that he had brought to his parents’ home and had subsequently abandoned. Then she rushed toward the stallions at a fast trot.

“Why are you greeting a star hoofball player like you know her?” Blueblood asked before turning to Dusk Blade. “And why are YOU suddenly so nervous about it?”

“Gears! You’re here! Thank Celestia! I checked the hospital and couldn’t find you, so this was the only other place I could think of!” Swift Striker stopped in front of the Dark Acolyte, a tired smile on her face. Dusk Blade recoiled and spread his wings as if to take off, but she ignored him entirely.

“The train station was a good guess. After… what happened, I have no particular reason to stay.” Gear’s servo arm nudged forward. “I believe that’s the bag we left at home?”

“Yeah. Mom was NOT happy to see how many weapons were in there.” Swift Striker grimaced while Gears lifted the duffel bag off her back with the claw of his servo arm. “But, well, that’s not the real reason I’m here…”

Gears pulled the bag over and onto his back. “I guessed as much. Go ahead. I’m going to return to Ferrous Dominus and the Dark Mechanicus regardless, but I will hear you out.”

Blueblood swiveled his head between the mare and the cyborg. “Wait, hold on! What is going on here? How do you two know each other? You were visiting Swift Striker’s home? What is this?!”

“Huh? Oh, Prince Blueblood! Geez, sorry, I didn’t even notice you with that getup.” Swift tried and failed to suppress a chuckle at seeing the unicorn’s disheveled state. “How do you know my brother Gear Works?”

“BROTHER?!” Blueblood yelped.

“Yes, we’re siblings,” Gears replied. “As for the Prince, he’s a menial Overseer in Ferrous Dominus. His accompanying me is more of a bureaucratic oversight than anything else.”

“I… I don’t understand…” Blueblood looked absolutely shaken by this revelation, his eyes wide and his ears pinned back. “Were one of you adopted? Is that what happened here?”

Swift’s expression soured considerably. “Prince, you’ll have to excuse me. I came here to talk to my brother. And possibly finish off Dusk Blade, but I haven’t decided on that quite yet.”

Dusk flinched, his hair standing straight up like an angry cat’s. Blueblood staggered backward, gaping. Gears made a tsking noise through his mask.

“Striker, please don’t bully the Lieutenant. You’ve humbled him sufficiently since your last meeting.” Then he drew himself up. “That said, I have taken his words to heart regarding my role in the Dark Mechanicus. I won’t abandon my course now.”

“Yeah, I… I think I get it.” Swift hung her head and her ears flipped back. “I’m still really afraid and I hate what they’ve done to you and… well, I think we all said plenty. But... you really want this. It wasn’t that we drove you away or that you didn’t have any other options. You WANT to be a spooky cyborg magician, right?”

“That’s an unorthodox way of putting it, but yes,” Gears admitted.

“Then that’s… well, it’s not fine, but I understand.” Swift seemed to be building up to something, her eyes darting away from Gear Works as she chewed her lip. “But… before you go, could I… could I get a pict-capture? With us?”

Blueblood perked suddenly, and then he started patting down his rumpled coat. “What? Oh, no, but my mane is just-“

“No, not you,” Swift Striker corrected, sounding annoyed. Then she started rummaging through a saddlebag. “All the pictures of you that we have now are from before the accident. I think Mom even dug up a few more and hung them up after you left town. They… They still want to remember you as you were before, I guess.” She pulled out a pict-capture surveillance unit.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Gears replied. “The accident was traumatic for all of us, even if I’ve recovered adequately. But if you want a more current photo, I’d be happy to oblige you.”

“Thank you, Gears. It would mean a lot to me,” Swift Striker said, something approaching a smile breaking over her face. Then she waved the machine in Blueblood’s direction. “Excuse me, Prince? Could you do me a favor and take the pict, please?”

Prince Blueblood actually paused to consider it, weighing the trivial effort of granting the request against the likelihood of things escalating to violence if he made Dusk do it. “Oh, fine. If you insist.” His horn lit up, and the pict-capture device lifted off from Swift’s hooves and into the air. “Here, stand in front of that fountain so I don’t capture any of the tourists gawking at the cybernetic cripple.”

The earth ponies moved over in front of the fountain, and Gear Works swiveled his servo arm around and over Swift’s back. She yelped slightly in surprise, and then adopted an extremely forced smile as the metal pincer pulled her into what could charitably be considered a hug.

“Is that really the best expression you can manage?” Prince Blueblood asked, levitating the machine to eye level.

“S-Sorry! I’m trying!” Swift Striker insisted, trying to force a smile harder and visibly sweating at the effort.

“I was speaking to the cultist. I don’t expect you could do better with him touching you,” Blueblood grunted before pushing a button on the side. The view screen pulsed, and a small indicator lumen turned red and then green. “There. I don’t imagine we’ll do better than that.”

Blueblood spun the pict-capture unit around in the air with his magic so that it faced him, and then he grinned and pushed the button again. The machine clicked and whirred, and again the lumens changed colors.

“And there’s something slightly more pleasant to bring home with you,” Blueblood said with a smirk.

“Lovely,” Swift deadpanned while Gears withdrew his servo arm. “I don’t suppose you want to snap one of Dusk too? I could print out his face and put it on my training targets.”

Dusk Blade released a high-pitched screech in response, spreading out his legs and wings with his tail whipping back and forth. Blueblood and several other ponies nearby recoiled at the noise, and then pinned their ears back.

“Striker, I asked you to stop that. He’s actually been behaving himself for the last few minutes,” Gears chided.

“I believe those two things are connected, actually,” Blueblood quipped, returning the pict machine to Swift Striker’s saddlebags.

“All right Gears. I guess… this is goodbye, then,” Swift said with a slight hitch in her voice. “I… can’t promise I’ll see you again in Ferrous Dominus.”

“You can’t get in! You’re still a security discrepancy!” Dusk snapped, shaking his hoof at the mare while using Blueblood as cover.

“I’ll fix that as soon as I get back,” Gear Works assured his sibling, patting her gently on the shoulder. “You don’t need to visit, but if you ever want to do so, I’ll ensure you are welcomed and protected. Goodbye, Striker. I love you.”

“Awww! Gears!” Swift Striker was suddenly overcome with emotion, and she lunged forward to seize her brother in a hug. “Please be careful back home! And don’t let your evil friends hurt you anymore, okay?”

“I can guarantee nothing. But I’ll try,” the Dark Acolyte said solemnly. Then they parted, and Swift Striker turned and trotted away.

Gear Works spent a moment watching his sister leave, and then turned back to the train station. “It seems our business here has concluded without further complications. Shall we depart?”

“I still want to know how it is that YOU are related to one of the most celebrated professional athletes in all of Equestria and nopony mentioned it until now,” Blueblood said, following the hooded pony to the platform.

“I can’t believe she called us evil and neither of you said anything,” grumbled Dusk Blade.

“She called YOU evil. I’m not his friend,” Blueblood corrected.

“You bully Gears too!” Dusk retorted as he stepped into the train.

“Yes, and I take pains not to generate any expectations to the contrary,” the unicorn explained while he followed. Then he stopped, suddenly looking worried. “Oh, drat! What if Miss Striker thought I was friends with you two? Somepony might ask her how she got a picture of me in this state! If she were to mention you two my reputation would never recover!”

“Why are you more worried about being seen with us than you are about being thrown out of your home after a drunken fight?”

“I promised to be insufferable until I acquired more synthehol and I meant it, you unwashed savage.”

Attention! Line four rail service to Ponyville, Saddlebrook, Palomino Junction, Happy Hills Unification Complex, and Ferrous Dominus will be departing once ticket scans are complete. Please ensure that all luggage has been properly stowed and all weapons and explosive devices are inactive and safely secured!
Enjoy your trip, and remember: We are Chaos, and Chaos is strong!

The train doors slid shut.

Author's Note

Hey look something resembling a story arc wooo
That picture of a picture was done by Cabbage!.
Have more Chaos pone gif

War Machine

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 11
War Engine

The vid-screen issued a loud, dangerous-sounding clunking noise before it flickered on, first turning to stacked horizontal bars of static and then gradually defining itself into something resembling an image of the space outside. A series of blinking red lumens on the side turned green one by one, and when the entire row had changed the image quivered and stabilized. Rows of Leman Russ battle tanks and Chimera APCs were pictured ahead in uneven ranks. Soldiers moved around them at a hurried speed.

Gear Works sat near the back while the two other Dark Acolytes in the transport bay studied the image. It was hard to see with them in the way as the vid-screen was very small, but he doubted he had any tactical insight to offer if they gave him a good look anyway. After a few seconds one of the green lumens flashed red again, and a streak of white suddenly spoiled the imaging. The Dark Acolyte nearest the controls blurted a profanity in Binaric, suggesting he would as soon smash the errant light as try to identify the malfunction.

Scav Crawlers were odd creations among the otherwise highly standardized vehicle squadrons of the 38th Company. Assembled from the remains of burnt-out wrecks and spare parts, the transports used by the Dark Mechanicus combat engineers were almost entirely recycled in a way that inevitably invited comparison to Ork vehicles. Mismatched hull plating, hotwired internals, and engines that either struggled to carry their load or were too big to be properly mounted on in the hull were commonplace. Cranes, winches, trailers, or servo claws were mounted on every Scav Crawler, ready to devour the wreckage presumed to be at their destination. Some of the Crawlers boasted wheels and compact, sealed cargo compartments. Some were heavy tracked vehicles with open cargo beds. The most consistent feature between them was the grinning silver skull stamped on the sides of the hull on each one, announcing its allegiance to all who saw it.

As a result, it was commonplace for the transports to boast underpowered sensoria and data-feeds, unfortunately, and the systems they did possess were in poor repair. The Dark Acolyte ripped open the control panel and began feeding mechadendrites into the circuitry underneath. The vid-screen flickered, then turned bright green. Then it finally turned into a recognizable image again: that of a wasted battlefield.

This particular aftermath hosted a number of dead bodies with four arms and the remains of arcane golems. Enormous sandstone limbs littered the ground, some of them boasting strange arrays of broken crystals and scorched metal casing. No two of the constructs were alike, which was evident despite the destruction and crude quality of the display. Some of them had extra limbs, or giant, bulbous heads, or elegantly carved crests.

+Tacticae logs display a penchant for ambush and exotic weaponry. They possess examples of high technology, but these do not appear to reflect the overall industrial capabilities of the faction, which are not substantially greater than other class III civilizations on this world. Like all the lesser races, they do not understand proper strategic doctrinae.+

+The battle was successful without Astartes combat efficacy. Losses were below projections.+

+On that note, we really must adjust the sim codex formula to account for equine persistence.+

+Error: Illogical. Equines display no basis for correction.+

+Historical performance? Why would consistently inaccurate conclusives not warrant adjustment?+

+They are within acceptable statistical variance.+

+No it isn’t.+

+Shut up.+

+For what it’s worth, the inexplicable survival rate of equine combatants does not seem to influence overall tactical efficacy; ponies that are severely wounded rather than dead, or simply too scared to advance, do not contribute to victory any more than a corpse. Slightly less, in a way, since we must expend resources to extract still-living combatants,+ Gear Works mused, his interjection emerging in a two-second crackle of static.

The Techpriests slowly turned to look at the cyborg stallion, staring at him through clusters of glowing green lights beneath black hoods. It was a routine sight for him, as many of his colleagues in the Mechanicus persisted in having these reactions whenever he spoke up.

+It remains irrationally jarring every time that creature speaks fluent Binaric,+ said one of the Dark Techpriests, turning back to his companion.

+Concurrence: Carmed may experiment as he wishes, but it would be optimal to keep his projects properly contained. Its work deployments are only tolerated because the Astartes and other equine servants have an inexplicable fondness for it,+ said the other cultist, mixing his grumbling with a blurted sigh.

Gear Works endured the conversation with his usual patience while the Scav Crawler shuddered to a stop. One of the Dark Techpriests stabbed a dataspike into an inlet port and began generating a topographical data field within the noosphere link. A hundred separate augury scans – taken before, during, and after the combat – were all compiled and parsed, with mass clusters identified and marked by material type. In seconds the quantities were logged, production estimates were calculated, and objective nodes were designated.

Attached to the walls were braces carrying servitors, taking up most of the vehicle’s cargo capacity. One by one these restraints were unlocked and lowered, and the servitor within oriented itself on the ground. Once every brace was open, the cyber-slaves moved simultaneously and disconnected themselves from the charging lattice. Orders inloaded and processed, some of them immediately turned and walked off, while others shifted into groups and awaited more specific programming.

Gears stepped out of the Scav Crawler, his bionic legs thumping loudly against the ramp. A pair of servitors lurched after him, carrying hydraulic pincers and heavy drills where their forearms used to be in a past life. On the sides of the Crawler, cylinder-shaped pods carried on the sides of the hull slowly ratcheted down to the ground before opening up. Another pair of cyber-slaves stepped out onto the battered ground, the charging cables on their back and neck tugging loose from energized sockets within the pod. They stiffly rushed to join the other two, completing the squad of workers.

His squad complete, Gear Works walked through the battlefield toward his objective. The battle had clearly been fierce, but the winner was obvious from the aftermath. Numerous shattered stone hulks were strewn about the battlefield and outnumbered the hulks of wrecked tanks. Without the Iron Warriors making up the core of the force the Company division had lacked the crushing tactical edge to turn the battle into a massacre, but weight of firepower and stable firing lines had still won the day. Craters from artillery bombardment pockmarked the ground, and some of the weaponized crystals from the enemy constructs still hummed and crackled with charge on the verge of being released.

The Chaos soldiers were still rearming and moving out in pursuit of their next objectives; Gear Works was unsure what their current collective status or ultimate mission was. His role was here, far behind the storm of lasers and lightning that dueled for dominance of these lands. A golem wreck was bracketed by his optics and multiple rune markers tagged the different clusters of material. Sandstone shell for the exterior: abundant and useless. Iron endocore: abundant and useful. Arclith shard capacitors: rare and valuable.

On the other side of the battlefield, Gears spotted another formation of transports pulling up. Packs of Chimera APCs stopped at the edge of the field, most of them with their turrets replaced by cargo harnesses or servo cranes. Behind them were a few larger trucks with long cargo beds covered by canvas sheets. A few were for scrap and wreckage, but one had a white skull emblem tagged onto the side. The corpse wagon.

Gear Works stopped to watch as a stallion stepped up onto the roof of a Chimera and started shouting commands into a vox amp.

“All right, get the lead out! We have two hours to get the bodies and loose wargear packed up and sent home! MOVE IT, you louts!” Prince Blueblood stomped a hoof on the roof of the APC, and then continued. “The next person I catch filching las batteries is going to spend the rest of the operation hauling dead bodies! If I catch you filching a discarded weapon, you’ll be one of the bodies! GET TO WORK!”

Gears decided against greeting the other stallion; Blueblood looked very busy, and was probably in as sour a mood as ever. His teams were usually set to work in Ferrous Dominus itself. Field scavenging and cleanup were harder and more dangerous operations usually left to the Scavurel and Dark Mechanicus, but with the majority of the Techpriests away with the fleet there were barely enough tech-cultists to see to the major salvage.

+Team 4-913, advance to the targeted work site. Recovery parameters initiated,+ the Dark Acolyte spat to the crew of servitors. They turned in tandem and then stomped off toward a pile of three golem wrecks.

“As Techpriest Lomenai noted, these Keepers put up a laudable effort and their technology is leagues beyond anything else that originates here on Centaur III, but they are not skilled at war,” Gears said to himself as he walked around an artillery crater. “They have little ability to hold territory. They have very poor battlefield intelligence. They are unable to escalate once they engage an enemy army and they do not retreat in good order. Hallmarks of strategic inexperience. Except in Orks, I guess.”

There was little chance the mysterious wastelanders had any relation to the greenskin thugs from beyond the stars, at least. The Keepers’ war machines were exquisitely crafted monsters of stone enchanted by magic, not shambling assemblies of recycled wargear running off of dirty oil and sheer ignorance. Gear Works stopped to behold a particularly massive war golem that had broken down in the center of the field; it was a huge, four-legged thing of elaborately-carved sandstone segments with a central armored body. Atop the shattered chassis was a huge dome-shaped turret with a crystal amplifier the size of a motorbike as its primary weapon. Grooves and markers had been cut into most of the edges, although much had been destroyed beyond legibility by the pounding of autocannons and heavy bolters. The might of its cannon was evident by the huge black marks that were scattered over the battlefield, often centered around piles of ash and slag. It was unclear what the targets had been before the weapon had struck, and such materials had been deemed beyond recovery.

Gear Works clambered up one of the collapsed leg blocks to get a better look at the crystal. It had been partially damaged, with a deep gouge on one side that still hummed with retained charge. He settled in for a deeper scan, trying to untangle the numerous ionizing energy fields still surrounding the cannon.

An ident-tag suddenly popped up on his visor display. Then another. They were next to the wreck, on the opposite side of the core from where Gear Works was. One of the names was unfamiliar to him but the other he recognized, much to his regret. The optics lights in his visor narrowed, and then Gears hopped down to walk around the war golem’s wreckage.

The other side of the wreck was mostly a pile of stone rubble; battle cannons had blown apart one of the massive golem’s legs and also cracked open part of its chassis. It was here that Gear Works spotted a lone figure stooped over the rubble and sifting through it with a dull orange tail lifted into the air.

“Hello, Citizen Dapperpaws,” Gears said, his voice accompanied by a threatening undercurrent of static. “Have you been separated from your work team? This section is restricted.”

Capper Dapperpaws jumped upright, releasing a surprised yowl before quickly composing himself. The bipedal feline calmly dusted himself off, and then looked over at the Dark Acolyte. His bright green eyes betrayed nothing, and his face slowly shifted into a gentle smile.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my old buddy Cog Wonks!” Capper said with a chuckle. “I didn’t know you’d been rounded up for this gig too!”

Gear’s servo arm clamped shut, as if practicing to crush something. “My name is Gear Works, and my rank is Dark Acolyte,” he spat. “You will include both when you address me, menial. Now explain why you’re scavenging around one of the Keeper wrecks!”

Capper didn’t seem at all threatened by the stallion’s demand, and he calmly rubbed at his chin while he concocted an answer. He still wore a dark red overcoat, but this one was the usual cultist uniform among the 38th Company. A thick leather belt laden with pouches was wrapped loosely around his hips, and a light respirator mask hung around his neck. Below it was an amulet bearing the Star of Chaos; the accessory carried by most residents and visitors of Ferrous Dominus, and the source of his ident-code.

“Now, now, don’t get your bearings in a grind. My team was just moving a little slow so I went on ahead of them,” Capper explained with a slight smirk. “I know you cyber-guys are handling the big wrecks, but I just needed to check that there were no bodies or dropped wargear under here.”

“And? What did you find?” Gears drawled.

“Jack diddly,” Capper laughed, giving the Dark Acolyte a big thumbs-up. “All yours, techpony!”

Gear’s servo arm reached out and tugged sharply on Capper’s belt. Several las batteries tumbled out of his coat, along with a micro-lumen, a credit stick, a pair of playing cards bearing aces, a tiny carving of a daemon, and another Chaos amulet.

“Is ‘jack diddly’ some sort of labor vernacular for ‘I looted a dozen bodies in flagrant breach of recovery protocol?’” Gears asked dryly.

Capper’s expression soured, and he carefully but firmly removed the servo arm’s pincer from his person. “You asked what I found here. I didn’t find anything here,” he retorted, sticking out his tongue. Then he quickly added, “and everything ELSE I was going to turn in like I’m supposed to! Later.”

“Of course. If you’re done here I won’t keep you any longer. Go about your work, menial.” Gear Works turned back around and started to walk away.

Capper mumbled something under his breath and leaned down to sweep up the various objects back into his pockets. When he reached the amulet, he hesitated. Then he shrugged and picked it up.

“Hey, Gears,” Capper called.

“That’s Dark Acolyte to you, feline,” Gear Works retorted, twisting his head around again. “What is it now?”

“I guess I did find this thing here. I’d turn it in with the rest of the scavenged stuff, but if it’s real important that only you cyber people get to dig around the wreckage, then you can do it instead. No fur off my tail.” He held up the amulet, which had its chain broken. It was obviously an ident-tag amulet, of the sort that most of the mortal residents and soldiers who served the Iron Warriors wore. Unlike most of the accessories distributed to the soldiery and citizens of Ferrous Dominus, this one bore a completely different glyph: a blocky X with a horizontal line through the middle and another running under the bottom. The Mark of Khorne.

Gears stared at the amulet. “This ident-code belongs to someone named Scarlet Shrike of Rozen Wing squadron,” he said. “This was the code I detected before, along with yours.”

Capper glanced down at the amulet, and then shrugged. “Okay, sure. So what?”

“That’s a pony name. And you found that here? In the rubble?”

“Yeah. The chain was sticking out from the rocks. Is that a problem?”

Gear Works turned around and walked up to the mound of rocks. His optics hood went blank, and then a bright green line appeared at one end and slowly moved across the empty space. Then the cyborg stallion recoiled in shock.

“They’re alive! I’m detecting a heartbeat!” Gears shouted in a panic, diving at the rubble. “Quick! Start digging! It might not be too late to save them!” He shoved aside the smaller rocks on top, and then grabbed a bigger stone in his servo arm.

Capper arched an eyebrow, still standing in place. “Ah… I’ll pass. Gotta go hand this stuff over to the boss pony, you know?”

“START DIGGING OR OMNISSIAH HELP ME I’LL HAVE YOU LOCKED OUT OF EVERY SANITATION CLOSET IN FERROUS DOMINUS!”

Capper groaned and stepped up, pulling aside a rock nearly as big as his head. He grimaced as he spotted a slash of red between the bits of rubble below. “Ugh, it’s all bloody,” he complained, tossing the rock away.

“It’s not bloody, the coat is red,” Gears retorted, pulling away more rocks around the opening.

Capper leaned in close, squinting. “… Some of that is DEFINITELY blood.”

“Aren’t you here to dispose of the dead?!”

“That’s what they said, yeah. Avoiding that is kind of why you found me over here, though.”

Gears snarled incoherently, a storm of angry and completely incomprehensible Binaric erupting from his mask. Capper begrudgingly picked up another stone, then lifted it up and dropped it to the side with an exaggerated grunt.

“I’ve recalled the servitors! They can cut around the sides while we dig down! Faster!” Gear Works barked. He pressed his shoulder into a large, flat chunk of rock and shoved it out of the way.

Capper whistled. “Wow. She’s a big one, isn’t she?”

Now that the pony’s upper body was unburied, it was fairly easy to identify her as a pegasus mare. Her bright red coat was dusty from the debris and covered over in places with dried blood, but still stood out easily amidst the rubble and battered body armor. Her face was mostly obscured by a curtain of long, raven black hair, but her left eye was covered by a large eyepatch decorated with the Mark of Khorne. Her wings were spread and still pinned under the remaining debris, and shredded feathers were scattered all around.

The pony was also, as Capper succinctly noted, huge. Despite most of her body still being buried, Gear Works estimated she was more than twice his size. The polyceramic armor plates of her combat suit were strapped to thick slabs of muscle, and her chest and shoulders were wider than any stallion’s he had ever seen. He had to imagine that the sheer size of the pegasus had a lot to do with her surviving for so long under so much weight.

“Hey, uh, Gears? Are you SURE she’s alive?” Capper stooped over the unconscious mare, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t see her breathing.”

“Her heartbeat is still there, but it’s fading. She won’t last much longer,” Gear Works said grimly while he continued scooping away more rock. “I’ve already notified the Genetor Aphotic, but he may not arrive in time! I need a shock pad. Or a filtration engine. Maybe a-“

“What the blazes is going on here?!”

Gears and Capper glanced behind them. Prince Blueblood was trotting over with a handful of workers carrying sacks. The Prince looked incensed as usual, but he hesitated upon seeing the body half-buried in rubble.

“Is that…? Is she dead? What happened?” Blueblood demanded.

Gear Works didn’t respond, his optics centering on a pronged silver fork strapped to Blueblood’s flank. A taser goad. The electric weapon could be used as a weapon when keyed to higher amperage, but was also given to overseers and slavemasters to inflict less lethal punishment among their charges. It wasn’t a perfect choice, but it would do.

“I need that,” was all the explanation Blueblood got before the Dark Acolyte lunged, his servo arm grabbing the taser goad and tearing it free.

Blueblood jolted back with a startled whinny, but by the time he realized what was happening Gears had already turned around. The tech-cultist held the goad in the air and peered closely at the power dial, and then a small claw emerged from his bionic hoof to grasp it. It twisted the dial a few clicks to the right, and then withdrew.

As Gears lowered the goad toward the insensate pony, Blueblood suddenly understood what was happening. “Wait! You may want to lower the charge further than that. That much power still kills the Gretchin we occasionally find in the junk heaps.”

“Thank you, but I’m well aware of the amperage,” Gears assured him while he levered the taser goad’s fork against the mare’s chest. “This one’s mass is much closer to that of an Ork than a Grot.” He reached up to press the handle trigger, but hesitated. “If she survives, don’t tell her I said that. CLEAR!”

He pressed the trigger handle, and electricity surged through the taser goad. Bright blue arcs of power lashed between the prongs, racing down the length before sinking into battered muscles. A spasm ran through the mare, and her legs jolted. Gears saw her heart rate jump briefly, but then it quickly started to decline again.

“Blast! It’s not enough! There’s no time for this!” Gear Works reached out and toggled the taser goad’s power up again.

“Too high!” Blueblood yelped.

“Either it works or she’ll die anyway!” Gears snapped back, stabbing the prongs between the armor plates. “CLEAR!”

A much more energetic shock blasted into the pegasus, and she quivered rapidly enough to unsettle some of the rubble around her. Then she gasped, sucking in a deep breath of air.

“YES! It worked! She’s breathing!” Gear Works exulted, pulling the taser goad away from the charred patch of fur.

“Good call, Chief,” Capper congratulated the Acolyte. His nose wrinkled at the smell of cooking meat, and the feline coughed into a fist. “We done here?”

“Of course not! She’s still unconscious and buried, isn’t she?” Prince Blueblood replied, stamping a hoof onto the ground. “Hurry! All of you! Clear that debris at once!”

The menials behind Blueblood rushed into action, and humans and ponies alike lined up next to Gear Works to help dig out the trapped pony. The servitors Gear Works recalled finally arrived at about the same time, lumbering around the golem wreck and taking position at the outside edges of the pile. The cyber-slaves set into the debris with drills and hydraulic claws, and within minutes the pegasus was completely uncovered.

Capper cringed as he stood over Gear Works, studying the mare’s body. While the rest of her had endured the weight of the wreckage without severe damage, her wings had been utterly mangled under the crush of stone. What’s more, the patches of crimson staining the rubble under her wings looked much fresher than the rest stuck about the work site.

“She’s bleeding again. Relieving the pressure on her wings has opened many of the ruptured blood vessels,” Gear Works explained, taking a brief ray scan of the mare’s body.

“Dapperpaws, go get a med-patch immediately! As many as you can find!” Blueblood commanded, using his telekinesis to tug on the feline’s coat.

“No, that’s unnecessary,” Gears said, backing away from the mare. “The Genetor Aphotic is here.”

Genetor Tallonen clambered across the battlefield on ten pointed, insectile legs, like a metal spider clothed in black rags. Even among the Dark Techpriests, who didn’t shy away from terrifying and grotesque body constructions, the Genetor Aphotic was particularly unsettling. Suspended between the many legs was a tall, bloated torso riddled with tubing and bits of machinery that churned underneath the black rubber robes such that the entire body quivered and pulsated even when standing in place. The back of the Techpriest was covered over with large jars and bulbs containing various serums, chemicals, and preserved samples, giving it the resemblance of a cluster of hideous tumors or egg sacks. Servo limbs hung from the top of the body, the majority of them boasting blades, saws, or needles.

Undoubtedly the most horrifying aspect of the Genetor Aphotic was his head. Attached to the body by a long bundle of tubing and wires wrapped together and joined with a series of serpentem micro-motors, his neck resembled an eel poking its head out of its lair. The head itself was mostly organic, with a set of small optics nodes replacing the eyes and a respirator attached over the mouth with its tubing running under the chin and winding around the neck. Thick, rubbery jowls hung from the Techpriest’s bloated cheeks, and pale wisps of hair poked out from beneath a peaked cap that matched its robe and bore a red, stringy-looking caduceus symbol on it.

The menials scrambled out of Tallonen’s path, huddling together behind Blueblood. Blueblood and Capper also retreated, albeit with more dignity and to a position with a better view. The servitors received an override command and immediately stopped working, turned away, and then plodded off to complete their previous, unfinished tasks. Only Gear Works remained next to the fallen pegasus as the Genetor Aphotic scuttled toward her.

+Genetor, my profound thanks for this timely intervention. The patient’s pulse has recovered, but we have not stemmed the bleeding. There is a high likelihood of complications without immediate treatment,+ Gears explained in a brief blast of static.

+Noted. Analysis… complete. Aerial extremities account for 97.21% of contingent fluid loss. Subject survival probability rated at 31.45%. Intervention sanctioned,+ Tallonen said without looking at the Dark Acolyte. He continued crawling forward, his legs lifting his bulk over the pegasus while his neck bent down so that his head loomed over her.

+I recommend arterial staples,+ Gears suggested, his servo arm gesturing to the damaged wings. +Other methods to stem the bleeding may have unacceptably reduced efficiency considering how badly the blood vessels in the wings have been damaged already.+

+Treatment order rejected. Cease advisory supervision,+ the Dark Techpriest commanded. Several servo arms levered downward with a clunk, and one particularly long, multi-jointed claw clamped onto the peak of the mare’s wings.

“Oh. So… what are you going to do?” Gears mumbled, switching to Gothic as he stepped back from the work site.

The Genetor didn’t bother replying. The servo claw lifted up the wings, blood dribbling down the shredded, dirty red feathers. Then another servo limb flipped open, revealing a rotary saw.

“Ah. I… I see.” Gear’s ears flipped down, and the optics lights on his face slowly shrunk to tiny dots.

Capper turned away as the saw’s motor started up, squeezing his eyes shut and plugging his fingers in his ears.

“And why are YOU so squeamish? Aren’t you a predator?” Blueblood grumbled, also conspicuously facing away from the operation.

“A CIVILIZED predator, Overseer. I don’t scratch up helpless animals for meals, I work for a living!”

“Barely,” Blueblood snorted.

The sound of a saw grinding through flesh and bone finally stopped, and the wings, still soggy with blood and filthy with dirt, were tossed aside like garbage. Then the Genetor Aphotic dropped lower over the unconscious pegasus and his head curved even closer, small rays of light beaming from his optics and sweeping over the large red equine. More servo arms twisted around and darted toward the body, jabbing it with several needles at once. Constant whirring, pumping, and buzzing came from the numerous mechanical limbs working in perfectly efficient sequence, all hidden from view by a curtain of black rubber. Pieces of armor were cut off and then suddenly ejected from the confines of the cloak, scattering the pony’s combat suit among the rubble that had nearly crushed her to death.

In less than two minutes, it was over. Genetor Tallonen backed away from his patient and turned around. +Subject survival probability has exceeded 86.71%. Operational threshold achieved; task complete. Cycling objective chain.+ The Dark Techpriest clambered away while sputtering Binaric Cant, not waiting for thanks or any other commentary from the assembled spectators.

Gear Works looked over the unconscious pegasus. Her wings had been reduced to a pair of thick stumps tightly wrapped in field dressings, and her other cuts and abrasions had been swiftly cleaned and treated. Some of the smaller wounds had practically vanished with some rapid nanostitching, and her coat and mane were damp from a quick (and deeply inadequate) steam wash.

“Well, what are you all standing around for? He can’t carry somepony that size himself!” Blueblood barked at his workers. “Someone get a cargo bed and get her inside a transport! Then get back to work!”

Scarlet Shrike coughed, feeling a deep, throbbing pain roll through her body.

Her head throbbed. Her muscles were sore. Every joint ached. Her eye – the one that remained – stung. Her lungs burned and every heartbeat felt like it was pounding against her chest, trying to get free. The only things that didn’t hurt, ominously enough, were her wings. Scarlet opened her eye, and then immediately shut it as the light pouring in caused the head-throbbing to intensify.

“You’re awake already? The anesthesia should have kept you under until we had returned to the relay camp, at least.”

Scarlet turned her head toward the voice and then slowly, carefully, cracked her eye open. She was lying on her side, heaped in a plasteel cargo bed that had been placed in the transport bay of a Chimera APC. Sitting next to her, closer to the open embarkation ramp, was Gear Works. The Dark Acolyte had an array of holo-screens arrayed around him that were swimming in flows of data screed, but she hardly paid any attention to them.

“Are… Are you a Techpriest? What happened?” Scarlet asked, squinting.

“I am a Dark Acolyte, technically. As for what happened, we found you buried in debris during the battlefield salvage operations. It seems you were left for dead, but we unburied you and… addressed your injuries.” Gear Works didn’t turn away from the holo-screens, but one of the aqua-colored sensor lights on the side of his visor slid to the side to watch the crippled mare. “I have contacted the Rozen Wings to update them as to your status, but I lack sufficient command authority to demand a response. We are estimated to leave the site within the hour.”

Scarlet Shrike blinked silently at the outpouring of information and frowned. Now that she was awake, Gears saw that her remaining eye was a bright green, while the covered eye socket had a trio of dark scars running across it that were visible around the top and bottom of her eye patch. Her cutie mark was also visible without her armor to cover it: an elongated skull of some sort – definitely not human and probably not a pony – that had angry looking red eyes and pointed fangs. Combined with her sheer size and striking colors, Scarlet looked every bit the savage warrior of Khorne.

Which made it all the more bizarre when she gasped and then smiled brightly.

“Yes! I remember now! I was fighting one of those war golems, and then a battle cannon hit it and it fell on me! I was trying to pull myself free but then something else fell on top of the golem and I blacked out!” She breathed a sigh of relief, still smiling happily. “Thank the Gods you found me! I thought it was the end for sure! Thank you, Acolyte! I am forever in your debt!”

Her voice was chipper and sincere, and her expression was beaming. Gear Works wondered silently if some of the drugs the Genetor used on her hadn’t worn off yet after all.

“Yes, well… we did the best we could. I’m afraid there was some severe damage, however,” Gear Works said, awkwardly preparing to deliver the bad news.

“It’s my wings, isn’t it? Were they destroyed by the rubble? It feels like they’ve been amputated.”

The lights on Gear’s optics hood vanished and then rebooted, simulating a blink. “Uh… Yes. You’re… not upset about that?”

“It’s very disappointing, don’t misunderstand,” Scarlet said, her tone turning more serious, “but I almost died! Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve been maimed in battle. Probably won’t be the last, either. Blood for the Blood God, as they say!” She smiled again.

Gears continued staring. “… You’re taking this VERY well. I must confess I was anticipating a berserk rage at your loss.”

“Oh, no! I couldn’t! Not after you helped rescue me! That would be terrible!” the mare assured him. “Is that why I’m strapped down to the cargo bed, by the way?”

“No. You’re restrained for your own safety. It did occur to me that it would give me a decent head start if I had to flee, however.”

The mare laughed, which again startled him. After a few seconds her giggling stopped with a few pained coughs, and then she regarded the cyborg with a warm smile.

“What’s your name, Acolyte? I’m Scarlet Shrike.”

“I am Dark Acolyte Gear Works. You may refer to me as ‘Acolyte’ or ‘Gears,’ however you wish, Miss Shrike.” He made a few final adjustments on the holo-screen and then detached his tail spike from the Chimera’s engine cogitator. “I’m just wrapping up the final recovery protocols. This transport will deliver you to Ferrous Dominus for your recovery leave.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s really necessary. I’m already feeling much better,” Scarlet said. “The headache is already gone!”

Gear Works paused. “You… You’ve been maimed. Two major extremities were removed. You’ve suffered substantial blood loss.”

“Yes, and I’ll definitely need to get bionic wings. There might be recovery time for that, I suppose. A few days at most,” she said anxiously, shifting her position laying in the cargo bed. “I really need to get back to active duty as quickly as possible.”

“Why?”

“Religious obligation to slay the enemies of Chaos and my sacred duty to restore harmony to the planet,” the pegasus replied in complete earnestness.

“I… suppose that makes sense, although it seems strange when you put them together in the same breath like that,” Gears mused. “Well, that’s not up to me. You can make arrangements when you return home and are properly debriefed. In the meantime-“

“Oh! Sergeant!” Scarlet’s eye widened, and she raised her head sharply as she spotted something behind Gear Works. “Sergeant Folgore! You came back for me!”

Gears paused and then turned around, idly banishing the last holo-screen with a sweep of his hoof. There were three pegasus ponies walking up the embarkation ramp to the APC, all of them looking like they had just come from an active battle zone. Each wore battle armor optimized for pegasi to offer maximum mobility and minimal encumbrance while flying, and had blades attached to their boots. Dust was caked over their wargear, along with a decent degree of blood splatter.

Reading their ident-tags, Gears wasn’t terribly surprised to discover that he was being approached by the remainder of the Rozen Wings Reaver squadron, a unit of hunter-killer pegasi. He shifted to let them pass, but the unit Sergeant in the lead shifted to head straight toward him, having no intention of passing the tech-cultist by. Gear Works had no idea why the unit commander would want to address him before his wounded soldier, but the Dark Acolyte steeled himself for the confrontation.

The lead pony was a stallion identified by his noosphere marker as Folgore. His coat was charcoal black, while his mane and tail were a silvery gray dirtied and scorched by combat. His sleek, well-muscled body was scarred in multiple places, and his right foreleg had been replaced by a hefty weaponized bionic. He stopped in front of Gear Works, fixing his golden eyes to the optics lights of Gear’s visor without paying any attention to his injured subordinate.

“Greetings, Dark Techpriest. It was you who flagged my squadron, yes?” he asked. His voice was scratchy and rough, like it was trying to rise to a growl and he was restraining it as best he could.

“I am a Dark Acolyte, actually. Dark Acolyte Gear Works. But you are correct, Sergeant: it was me,” Gears said, trying to suppress a stutter. The other stallion was inexplicably intimidating despite his calm words and professional demeanor, and Gear Works suddenly felt as if he was in grave danger.

“Dark Acolyte Gear Works,” Folgore said, correcting the rank designation immediately, “it is my understanding that you located Shrike and were responsible for her rescue and resuscitation. I thank you for your efforts and diligence.” He bowed his head and touched his wingtips to the deck. “I also apologize for the feeble performance of my subordinate that made such a task necessary.”

“Oh, uh, that’s not really a problem,” Gears assured him, “I’m just-“

“Accept the apology and shut up, nerd,” advised one of the other pegasi, cutting him off.

This one was a mare, and she had a coat of rich brown with white socks. Her face seemed bizarrely beautiful and made up for a soldier, never mind a Khorne cultist, with big blue eyes, a heart-shaped mark on her forehead, and elegantly styled, chocolate-colored hair. Despite her appearance, her armor was as dented and her hoofblade was as blood-spattered as the others’, and her ident-tag named her as Stormy Ruin. Definitely the name of a pony you could expect to find among the Reaver kill teams.

The third pony was also a mare, and she had a much simpler color pattern of a dull orange coat with jet black hair in a pony tail. She said nothing, her silvery eyes slowly and constantly scanning the surroundings while occasionally lingering on Gear Works himself. She was the only one wearing her respirator mask despite the lack of any obvious airborne hazard, and it also appeared to be a much higher grade than the models dangling under the necks of her companions. Her ident-tag referred to her as Morte Venin.

These ponies – or at least the two that had spoken – had a bearing much more in line with what he expected from Chaos cultists, and in particularly devotees of the Blood God: everything they said, regardless of the actual words, sounded like a rumbling threat, as if they were constantly on the edge of a violent outburst and daring the listener to interrupt. They seemed fresh from the battlefield, with wet blood and hot dust still stuck to their weapons and armor, and Stormy – whose appearance was otherwise suspiciously immaculate for a warrior – even had a deep cut in her wing that looked as if it hadn’t been given so much as a field dressing yet. They seemed, in short, like leashed animals desperate to taste violence; the polar opposite of Scarlet Shrike.

It was hard not to notice that Scarlet was much bigger than all of them, however.

Folgore raised his head and walked around Gears to attend to his subordinate. The mares followed, although both of them kept their eyes locked on the tech-cultist while they passed by. Gear Works shrank back before their gaze, his optics lights flattening and tilting to look worried.

“Hello, Shrike,” the squad Sergeant said, sitting down on his haunches in front of the injured mare. His voice had suddenly lost much of its edge and sounded exasperated. “This is the third time you’ve been incapacitated in a combat operation.”

“Y-Yes. Well, almost. I still feel like the first case shouldn’t count since all the enemies were already dead,” Scarlet explained awkwardly.

“You fell behind. Again. And while the rest of the squadron was striking the mission objective, you allowed yourself to get distracted engaging a different enemy. AGAIN.” Folgore’s disappointment was rapidly building back up to anger, and his lips curled up to reveal his teeth. They were sharp and curved; much more like a shark’s teeth than a pony’s.

Scarlet winced. “Yes. I’m sorry, Sergeant. Ah… it was very hard to keep flying after the first lightning blast hit me.”

Gear Works, having experienced a discharge from one of the smaller Keeper lightning weapons first-hoof, was very surprised that her main problem after getting hit was staying aloft. Folgore was clearly less impressed. He stood upright again, and his wings lifted slightly as if in preparation to pounce.

“You haven’t completed a SINGLE primary objective in your entire career in the Rozen Wings!” Folgore shouted, trying to control his temper and gradually failing.

“Okay yes but it’s only been two months!” Scarlet whimpered.

“You’ve been incapacitated in combat thrice in two months?” Gear Works asked.

“Twice! It was only twice! The first one didn’t count!” Scarlet complained. “Look, I know I fell behind! I’ll boost my training regimen again! I can do better, I swear!”

“I’m more incredulous that you sustained severe injury twice before but returned to active service quickly enough to be here today,” the Acolyte explained.

“Shrike’s skull is thicker than any Space Marine’s helmet,” Stormy Ruin said with a smirk. “She’s not good for much else, but she is very hard to kill.”

“Which brings me to my final point,” Folgore said acidly, leaning forward so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the giant red pegasus. “Shrike, time and time again you’ve failed me. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you have DESPERATELY inadequate fervor for killing, and every time we have these debriefings all you have to offer are tepid excuses and empty promises. And each time you fail you don’t even have the dignity to give yourself to Khorne in battle as a final sacrifice!”

Scarlet wilted under the criticism, her ears pinning back and her eye searching the floor. “I’m sorry…”

“No you’re not,” Stormy snorted.

“Well… okay, yeah, I’m not sorry about not dying. I actually really like that part. But I’m sorry about the rest of it!”

“SILENCE,” Folgore snapped. Scarlet flinched back, and the stallion took a deep breath. His eyes were a bright gold, and they seemed to glow as his anger bubbled around his words. “Shrike, you are a TERRIBLE Reaver, and I have given you enough chances. You have disgraced our Lord Khorne, failed the 38th Company, embarrassed our squadron, and now you have even lost your wings. I can think of no other option: you are hereby discharged from the Rozen Wings permanently, and suspended from combat service.”

Scarlet recoiled, her mouth hanging open and her remaining eye bulging in shock. “That… But… You… No! Please! You can’t!”

“There will be no further discussion,” Folgore snarled. “I will submit your formal discharge to the factional commander, and you will be stripped of your service profile and returned back to your village posthaste.”

“Ah, pardon me Sergeant,” Gears interjected while Scarlet was still reeling. “With respect: while you obviously have command authority within the squad, you cannot void Miss Shrike’s service or residency,” he explained, his servo arm nodding gently over his head.

Folgore shot him a glare, and Stormy Ruin seemed to take that as a cue. She stepped toward the cyborg pony and extended a wing toward him. “That’s a really fancy respirator rig you have there. Does it have an ‘off’ switch?” she asked in a mock-pleasant tone, brushing the tip of her primary feathers along the respirator hosing.

Gears could only manage a mumbled “wha” before Stormy’s hoof slammed into the side of his head, throwing it into the wall of the APC with a metallic clang. A crack appeared over his optics visor, and the earth pony started blubbering in pain.

“Stormy!” Scarlet gasped, “What are you doing?! Stop that!” She tried to stand up, and there was a loud creaking sound as the straps and plasteel cargo bed strained to hold her down.

Stormy planted a hoof on his bionic shoulder, pinning him against the wall and causing substantial pain as the neuro-transistors were pressed hard into his shoulder socket. “I asked you a QUESTION, nerd. Do your ears still work or should I tear those off so you can get some shiny new ones that do?” She was shockingly strong for a pony of her size, and he had to suppose she was probably holding back, too.

Folgore watched the assault with a very slight frown. “Ruin.”

With a single calm word the mare recoiled, retreating next to the Sergeant and bowing her head with her ears pinned. Her face was red, and she now wore an expression of intense frustration. Gears moaned in pain, but timidly stood back up. Scarlet huffed and finally laid back down, granting some relief to the leather straps that were on the verge of snapping apart.

“Shrike, do you have your amulet?” Folgore asked.

Scarlet blinked, and then looked down at her chest. She hadn’t noticed before, but she had been completely stripped at some point when she was unconscious, presumably to have her wounds treated. Sweat started collecting on her brow, and her eye darted back and forth hoping to spot it elsewhere in the APC bay.

“I h-have her amulet,” Gear Works said weakly, slowly raising his servo arm.

Folgore turned sharply to face the Dark Acolyte. Gears flinched at the movement, shielding his face with a leg.

“Give it to me,” the black stallion commanded, “I will get rid of it, and with that her enlistment in this army is null and void. It’s time to wash our hooves of this farce.” Scarlet winced, her expression ashen.

“Y-You do n-not have the auth-th-thority,” Gears stuttered, his body quivering so badly some of his bearings rattled.

“WHAT?” Stormy’s wings shot up and her lip curled.

The other mare’s reaction was more restrained, shifting silently into an attack pose with eyes narrowed into slits. Both pegasi looked like attack hounds waiting to be unleashed, and Gear’s optics lights went wide with terror. Scarlet looked shocked and confused, uncertain if she should or could intervene.

Folgore’s eyes narrowed. “I said: Give me the amulet. I will not ask you again, Acolyte.”

The optics lights turned into X’s, and beads of sweat were visible on Gear’s ears. “This… This is Miss Scarlet’s personal property and can only be recovered at the direct order of the Company Regiment Commander, city magistrate, or an Astartes! I must refuse!” he barked, the words spilling out all at once while he braced himself for retaliation.

Stormy tapped her hoof on the deck, and a blade emerged from her gauntlet. Her wings spread, and her leg muscles visibly tightened as her expression moved from incensed to furious. Morte seemed to be just as offended, but made no move to prepare an attack vector; she surely assumed – correctly – that one Reaver would be enough to deal with the tech-cultist.

“Hold,” Folgore said coldly. Stormy almost stumbled in surprise at the command, and then quickly straightened. “Very well, Acolyte. Your resistance puzzles me, but we are above brutalizing mere laborers over petty disagreement about the rules.”

Were Gear Works not afraid of having his respirator ripped out and stuffed down his throat he would have noted that they already did brutalize him, that he was not a mere laborer, and that there was no actual disagreement over the rules aside from whether or not the Reavers should have to obey them. But he was completely terrified, so he simply bowed his head quietly while Folgore turned away.

“Shrike, whatever happens from here on out, it is no longer any concern of mine. Khorne willing, we will not cross paths again,” he lifted a wing and walked toward the embarkation ramp, and the mares turned to flank him on the way out, giving Gear Works a final heated glare as they did so.

“Does this mean I’ll have to attend the victory feast on my own?” Scarlet Shrike asked, blinking away a tear.

Stormy stopped with a groan and twisted her head around. “For Warp’s sake, mare! You just had your wings ripped off,” she chided, her voice noticeably lacking the heated aggression from earlier. “Take a few weeks to recover and just… go home already! It’s over!”

She huffed and then dashed after the rest of the squad, leaving Gear Works and Scarlet Shrike alone once again in the APC’s transport bay.

Gear Works stood up straight, and then groaned as he heard a strange grinding noise come from the shoulder of his bionic foreleg. “Blast, she definitely damaged something,” he grumbled aloud.

“Stormy’s such a hothead sometimes, I’m terribly sorry about that,” Scarlet said wearily.

“It’s… fine, Miss Shrike. I have endured worse,” Gears assured her. Then his servo arm curled around and under his belly, grabbing something beneath the folds of his robe. “As earlier discussed, this belongs to you. I already took the liberty of repairing the chain.” The servo arm held the amulet bearing the Mark of Khorne.

“I can’t believe you actually talked back to Sergeant Folgore over that thing,” Scarlet said. It wasn’t clear by her tone whether she was happy about that or not.

“I couldn’t possibly sacrifice your ident-marker so easily. The Sergeant intended to destroy it,” Gear Works retorted, walking up to injured mare. “This amulet isn’t merely a hunk of metal with your name inscribed and meme-tagged within the circuit wafer. It was gifted to you by the Iron Warriors as a token of your service and loyalty. It contains your profile, your combat history, and your primary data weave. It is a key to your home and your career, and were you to give yourself to Khorne in battle it is likely the only part of you that would make it back to the grave marker.”

Scarlet blinked repeatedly, looking somewhat overwhelmed.

Gear’s servo arm lifted it up higher, dangling the Mark of Khorne before her eyes. “Now, it may be that such things mean nothing to you. Perhaps you’d as soon see the amulet melted down as have to wear it again. Maybe after all this you’ll take your peers' advice and leave the ranks of the Company for good. But that’s your decision, Miss Shrike, not the Sergeant’s.”

“I… I see…” Scarlet whispered, her ears pinning back. “Uh… th-thank you, Acolyte. For everything. I’m not sure I deserve it…”

“Irrelevant. What you do or do not deserve is not for me to judge.” Gears dropped the amulet in the cargo bed between her front legs. “We both have our duties, and this is mine. Recovery of surviving personnel and wargear takes priority over mere battlefield salvage.”

“And so you did recover me. At least one of us is good at his job!” Scarlet chuckled and smiled sadly as a miserable tear ran down her cheek.

“If that will be all Miss Shrike, I should see to the withdrawal of the scrapper servitors. I wish you luck in your reassignment and/or early retirement.”

Gear Works turned away from the cargo bed, and then halted. There were half a dozen ponies standing at the embarkation ramp, watching intently, along with Capper Dapperpaws. Most of them were clearly laborers carrying supplies and material in their packs, but at the front of the group was Prince Blueblood. The unicorn quickly straightened up and adopted a disinterested expression, and then coughed into a hoof.

“Are we interrupting something? This Chimera is designated for our departure,” the Prince asked.

“No. I’m finished here,” Gears said curtly, shifting to walk past him.

Blueblood did not let him pass, much to his surprise. Blueblood stepped to the side to block his path, and then reached out a hoof to lift the cyborg pony’s chin. Blueblood peered into the optics array, his eyes narrowing. The break in the visor wasn’t very large, and no pieces of diamantine had come loose from the screen that replaced much of Gear’s face, but the damage was quite obvious and the Prince doubted it was accidental.

“Your visor is cracked,” the unicorn announced, his expression darkening. “How did that happen? You didn’t get hit out in the field.” Blueblood turned a suspicious glare on the mare strapped down further in the transport hold.

“That was Stormy. I’m very sorry about that,” Scarlet sighed. “She tends to lash out when she’s provoked. Or when she’s bored. Or when she’s experiencing some other emotion but can’t quite find a way to express herself in words so she defaults to violence.”

“I… see,” Blueblood mumbled, looking somewhat surprised by the answer. Then he turned back to Gear Works. “Your leg is making strange noises too. Would you like to return with us, Acolyte? It will spare you a walk across the battlefield and perhaps a few extra hours of hazing from your esteemed peers.”

“Oh, well, that’s uncharacteristically thoughtful of you. Just give me a moment to ensure my servitor contingent has been secured and inform Techpriest Lomenai.”

Gears summoned another holo-screen, lifting his bionic hoof. The refracted light panel displayed a dizzying array of geometric patterns and scrolling text, completely beyond the ability of anyone else to read, much less understand. The ponies following Blueblood shuffled past him and stashed their cargo, some of them piling it on the stack of cases and boxes next to Scarlet. The Prince waited silently for Gears to finish, unbothered by the jab at his sense of grace and generosity.

“Ah, it seems they already left,” Gear Works said, tapping the holo-screen and banishing it once again. “Without informing me.”

Capper crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the stack of crates next to Scarlet Shrike. “I thought you Mech guys had some kinda connection up in your heads so you could easily check up on each other and send messages if you needed to.”

“Affirmative. That would describe our noosphere uplink nodes. They can indeed do that,” Gears replied. “They did not.”

Capper coughed into a fist awkwardly and looked away. The other laborers finished stashing away the cargo, and when the last crate was shoved into place Blueblood’s horn started to glow. A lever near the entrance flipped, and then the embarkation ramp lifted closed.

The unicorn banged his hoof twice against the deck. “Pilot, you may proceed! The cargo is secure!” he barked. “Menials, once we return to the dump site you’ll unload, unseal, and then deposit the salvage on platform 9.”

“Aren’t we going to get a break? We set out so early!” Capper complained, heaving an exhausted sigh as the Chimera lurched into motion.

“What do you call two hours of sitting in an APC if not a break?” Blueblood asked snidely.

“The way some of these guys drive, I’d call it an occupational hazard,” the feline answered.

Blueblood noticed that the red pegasus was staring at him, so he broke off his argument to address her directly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I am Prince Blueblood, as you’re likely aware,” he said gruffly, staring down his nose toward the maimed pony (as best he could, considering that she towered over him).

Scarlet’s expression brightened considerably and her ears pivoted forward. “Ah! I thought so! I’d heard that more of the royal family had been recruited besides Princess Luna, but I thought it was just a rumor! I’m Scarlet Shrike, Reaver third class! Or I was this morning, at least. I think I’m still a Reaver, though? Acolyte Gear Works probably knows.”

Blueblood waited until she stopped speaking, and then frowned slightly. “You’re a Reaver?”

“Yes, your Highness!” she chirped. “Probably!”

“As in, the hunter-killer soldiers marked by Khorne, the Blood God?”

“Yes, your Highness!” she said again just as happily.

Blueblood stared at the mare inscrutably for several long seconds. “… Did you suffer a head injury among your other wounds? Or perhaps it’s the anesthesia?”

Scarlet seemed confused by the question, but Gears shook his head. “Negative. Judging by the conversation with her squad, this demeanor is entirely normal for her.”

“Demeanor? Did I say something wrong?” Scarlet asked, her ears pinning back and her expression wavering with concern.

“No. Which is the source of my skepticism,” Blueblood replied.

Scarlet looked even more confused, and Capper leaned over toward her. “They’re talking about how you’re not a frothing lunatic. It’s a compliment!”

“Oh! That! Ha!” Scarlet laughed breezily, which was, again, not the sort of reaction that the Prince expected from a Khornate warrior. “I’m a little more level-headed than some of the other cultists, it’s true.”

“You’re more level-headed than some Canterlot diplomats,” Gears retorted.

Capper stepped over in front of the mare, bending over into a bow. “My name is Capper, by the way. Capper Dapperpaws, at your service.” He reached out and took her hoof, attempting to lift it to his lips for a smooth, genteel kiss. It refused to budge so much as a millimeter, as if he was pulling on the leg of a stone statue.

“What are you doing?” Scarlet asked, clearly puzzled. She didn’t seem to be putting any effort into resisting, but the slightest tension in her muscles made her leg impossible for Capper to shift.

Capper chuckled and let go of her without answering the question. “By the by, it was me who found where you were buried.”

“Oh! Really?” Scarlet Shrike smiled widely and bowed her head. “Thank you so much, Mister Dapperpaws!”

“Don’t mention it! It was the least I could do!” the feline replied with a smirk, returning to his previous position leaning on the supply crates.

“That certainly describes your contribution to digging her out,” Prince Blueblood grumbled. “Anyway, to return to my previous line of questioning: it was my understanding that being blessed by the Blood God Khorne gave one supernatural strength and blinding rage. Do his gifts sometimes manifest in other ways? Or are you not properly marked yet?”

“No, you’re exactly right!” Scarlet said brightly, nodding her head. “I have those things!”

“… Uh huh…” the unicorn mumbled, his doubt plain for all to see.

Scarlet’s expression turned into a smirk, and then she shifted to move her legs under her body. The cargo bed she was on creaked as the straps holding her down went taught, and that noise intensified while she slowly stood. The lengths of leather tightened to their limit, quivering, and then – one by one – each of the three restraints snapped. The plasteel bed went flat once more, and Scarlet Shrike stood up triumphantly, her head held high.

Capper whistled and clapped, delighted at the display of raw power. Prince Blueblood seemed less impressed.

“I was more referring to the ‘anger’ aspect of the gift,” the unicorn drawled. “You don’t feel the power of Chaos driving you to fury?”

“Why, of course I do!” Scarlet replied, lifting a hoof to wag at the stallion. “The power of Khorne’s rage is like a volcano constantly threatening to explode and consume everything around us! But you know, you can’t just fly into a berserk rage all the time, especially off of the battlefield. It’s not helpful to anypony. So I do meditation exercises to calm myself down.”

There was a long silence after she finished speaking, filled only by the rumbling engine of the Chimera.

“… Well I think it’s working,” Capper opined.

Scarlet nodded. “It does! I’m actually a little worried about how the squad will do if I’m not there. Sergeant Folgore will be fine; he’s very good himself at self-control. But Stormy is terribly impulsive and I’m worried she’s going to pick a fight with an Astartes if I’m not around.”

“What exactly happened? You said you were unsure of your current rank,” Blueblood asked.

“Miss Shrike’s squad command isn’t taking her injury with the same degree of grace as she is,” Gears explained. “Sergeant Folgore has insisted on dropping her from the Rozen Wings squadron and even demanded she be exiled.”

“That’s kind of… extreme, don’t you think?” Capper asked, arching an eyebrow. “Why would he care what happens to her after she’s left the squad?”

Scarlet chuckled nervously, her eye very conspicuously avoiding contact with everyone else’s. “I don’t really know, but I would very much like to stay with the Rozen Wings if I can, or join with some other hunter-killer squad in the 38th Company if I can’t.”

“You should join the rank-and-file mercs,” Capper said, leaning over toward the mare. “Most of ‘em get guard rotations around the city. Safe and boring! Easy money!”

“Due to the repeated heavy assaults on Ferrous Dominus since its establishment, the actual casualty rate for city guards and garrison troops is only slightly less than that of the assault forces fighting outside the region,” Gear Works corrected the menial. “It would actually be higher if not for the battle of Ponyville, which saw an especially grievous death toll and skewed the average.”

“Thank you for that totally necessary clarification, Gee Dubya,” Capper said dryly. “My POINT was that it’s easier and there’s a lot less violence. MOST of the time.”

“But I don’t want an easier and less violent job! I want to kill the enemies of Harmony and take their skulls for Khorne’s throne!” Scarlet complained.

The others looked quite perturbed at that comment, but Gear Works nodded in agreement.

“What’s more, without an active combat assignment it’s very unlikely Miss Shrike will be able to requisition bionic wings. The Dark Mechanicus puts a low priority on supporting equine units with military-grade prosthetics, so the troops rely on the officer corp to lean on them. I suppose she could buy some from Trademaster Delgan’s people, but that junk won’t be able to survive combat AND would be ruinously expensive.”

“But I’ve already lost my assignment, so what do I do?” Scarlet asked sadly, lying back down in the cargo bed. “I have to apply to a new combat command now, right? But if I don’t have any wings, what Reaver squad would take me? And if I’m not in a Reaver squad, who knows how long it will be before I’m finally assigned bionics? They’ll probably just stick me on guard duty anyway.” She heaved a miserable sigh.

“Yeah, that does sound like quite a pickle.” Capper muttered, scratching his whiskers. “I don’t suppose those other squads will take you on so you can get your fancy space wings and then join them in the field later, would they?”

“Unfortunately, Miss Shrike’s established combat record isn’t going to impress the other squad commanders either,” Gear Works admitted. “Her most difficult confirmed kills are Ork foot soldiers, and not an astounding number of them.”

“That’s not true! I defeated that war golem today!” Scarlet protested.

“You said a battle cannon destroyed the war golem. You just happened to be fighting it at the time.”

“… Does that not count?”

“I don’t think you’re going to impress the other squad commanders or the Blood God with that, no.”

Scarlet pouted sadly.

“In any case there are only three Reaver squadrons anyway, including the Rozen Wings. I think Miss Shrike’s best option is Blood Star squadron if she’s going to beg for a Reaver assignment, but I don’t rate her chances highly,” Gears admitted, shaking his head.

Blueblood glanced from Gears to Scarlet to Capper and then back again to Gears, his expression supremely annoyed. “Are you all being serious right now?”

“I’m sorry? What do you mean?” Scarlet asked nervously, afraid that she had offended the Prince somehow. Capper and Gears also turned toward the unicorn, also unsure of what he meant.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Blueblood huffed, glaring more directly at Scarlet. “You call yourself a servant of the Blood God and a soldier of Chaos, yet here you are stumbling over your own hooves about records and procedures and requisitions. It’s none of my concern of course, but frankly it’s embarrassing to witness.” The unicorn stepped forward, and Scarlet gulped and straightened as best she could.

“These louts have good reason to be concerned with bureaucratic niceties; Dapperpaws is a mere menial, and he’s one disciplinary report from the slave pits. Acolyte Gears joined a religion that valorizes organizational tedium. But you, Miss Shrike, are a warrior, are you not?” Blueblood was now standing directly in front of the mare, his head craned up to look directly into her remaining eye.

Scarlet nodded rapidly, not trusting herself to speak.

“And you are a scion of Khorne, are you not?” the Prince continued. “A mighty Chaos soldier, empowered by the Dark Gods?”

Scarlet nodded again.

“Then ACT like it!” the unicorn barked. “Are you going to take your demotion with a quiet pout or prove to your unit that you’re an asset?!”

Scarlet’s eye widened. “B-But… my wings! Even if I could… uh… fight my way back into my unit, I simply can’t deploy with them like this!”

“The Prince here is big on giving orders, not so big on making plans,” Capper admitted.

“Be silent, scoundrel,” Blueblood snapped before addressing Scarlet again. “If you need new wings first, then GET them. Use force, or persuasion, or bribery if you must. Don’t curl up into a ball mewling about the approval process. Are you a Chaos pirate or a Canterlot barrister?”

“I think you SLIGHTLY underestimate the difficulty of requisitioning bionic prosthetics of suitable make,” Gear Works said to the Prince. “It is not a process amenable to brute force, like securing a fuel supply. Bionics must be custom-calibrated and fit to precise individual specifications. Furthermore, Techpriests are notoriously difficult to charm, and Miss Shrike hardly has any materials of interest to tech-clergy.”

“Ah. Yes. My mistake. Who could have realized it would be HARD? Go ahead and wallow in your helplessness, then,” Blueblood sneered.

“Now hold on a tick,” Capper said, one paw scratching at his chin. “If all we need to do is talk a Techpriest into helping out, I think we can manage.”

“I cannot concur,” Gears replied. “Most tech cultists are not as agreeable as I am, Menial.”

“You’re probably right. So we should just use you, instead,” Capper continued, winking.

Gear Works recoiled, the optics lights on his face widening. Blueblood arched an eyebrow. Scarlet perked up, her face brightening.

“W-What? Me? I’m not a Techpriest!” Gears protested, suddenly alarmed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know: you’re the lower ranking kind of cyborg weirdo. Whatever,” Capper waved off his concern, still smiling broadly. “But you’ll do fine! We believe in you!”

“Belief isn’t the problem!” Gears protested. “Bionic limbs and organs are very different from other mechanical devices! Simply replacing a leg requires advanced knowledge of at least four primary disciplines! For wings I’d need at least six! It’s nothing like constructing a laser! I have no basic competency or experience here!”

Scarlet, for her part, looked even more hopeful. “But… if you did have that… then you’d make them for me?”

“I can’t!” the Dark Acolyte insisted. “I have regular duties and deliverables! Trying to learn the necessary fundamentals will be hard enough, but I can’t possibly construct them as well in my extremely limited personal time! And then I have to INSTALL them without rendering Miss Shrike an invalid!”

“Oh, don’t be so overdramatic,” Blueblood huffed. “You’re installing wings; it’s not as if she can get any MORE grounded if you muck it up.”

“We’re talking about an organically integrated flight system! If I muck it up it is EXTREMELY likely that the resulting accident will kill her, which may indeed be considered MORE grounded than merely being flightless! And even THAT assumes that the installation occurs without complications! I’ve never done anything like that before!”

“I will take that risk!” Scarlet said firmly. “Please! I’ll accept whatever you can make for me!”

“Did you not hear the part about the time constraints?” Gear Works replied. “Your desperate and unwise consent to the procedure is not a meaningful obstacle! It’s simply impossible!”

Scarlet deflated, her ears pinning back before she looked away. “I… I understand. You’ve done so much for me already. Even if you could manage it, it isn’t fair for me to put you in this position.”

“You see this?” Blueblood interrupted. “This is what I’m talking about! No determination! No nerve! The Acolyte just dumps some empty excuses on you and you immediately back down!” The unicorn glared, and Scarlet Shrike cringed nervously. “Do you want to be restored to your former glory or don’t you?!”

“I do! But… they seem like pretty good excuses, though…” she replied meekly, scratching one of her forelegs with the other.

“Oh for Aunt’s sake, do I really have to think of everything?” the unicorn seethed before turning to Gear Works. “Acolyte, I’ll be requisitioning your services for a week, starting tomorrow. Some kind of emergency in the scrap-grinders or something. Use that time to figure out what you need to figure out and manufacture some acceptable bionics.”

Everyone else in the transport bay jolted in surprise.

“Really? You… You’d do that for me?” Scarlet asked, looking awestruck.

“No. I’m doing it for the Acolyte,” Blueblood corrected her. “He’s precisely the sort of type to eventually reason himself into aiding you anyway despite his schedule and just give up sleeping until he perished of deprivation or was ejected from the Mechanicus for neglecting his duties. It’s beneath me, but I can spare some measure of influence to save us all the embarrassment.”

A tear dripped from Scarlet’s good eye, and she sniffled. “Thank you! Thank you all so much!”

“Uh… I… er…” Gear Works timidly raised his servo arm, trying to work out how best to enter a complaint. He felt reasonably committed to his earlier objection despite Blueblood’s apparent belief that he was definitely going to do the job anyway. “I… have to construct working bionic wings in… a week?”

“If you have some extra time I actually would like you to join the menial teams for a few hours,” Blueblood muttered. “The Techpriests avoid touching the machines that the pony teams use like they’re contaminated. The scrap-grinders are working fine, but I don’t like the way it rattles near the end of the late shift.”

“It’s… It’s kind of a-“

The Prince cut him off while grimacing at Scarlet’s eye patch. “You should also whip up a bionic eye while you’re at it.”

“Wh-What?!” the Acolyte yelped, his optics lights widening.

“Oh, no! That’s okay!” Scarlet assured him, shaking her head. “I’m fine with one eye, really!”

“Nonsense. Why would we allow an elite combat unit to deploy warriors with impaired depth perception?” Blueblood asked.

“Don’t they have an entire unit that’s blind?” Capper asked.

“Tzeentch-worshipers don’t count. Nobody cares what happens to them,” the Prince said dismissively.

“Okay, wait! Hold on! I can’t build both a functional bionic flight prosthesis and an optical unit in a week!” Gear Works complained.

“The Warsmith rebuilt some third of Macintosh Apple’s body overnight, did he not?” the unicorn asked airily.

“The WARSMITH!? You can’t compare me to him! You may as well ask me to raise the sun because Princess Celestia can do it!” Gears fumed.

“And that’s the sort of poor initiative and self-defeating attitude that has your peers abusing and taking advantage of you throughout the cult,” Blueblood sighed, shaking his head.

“No it isn’t!”

“But they ARE abusing and taking advantage of you, right?” Capper asked.

“Yes! But if anything my behavior is an adaptation to constant mistreatment, not the cause of it!”

Scarlet started laughing, and the others turned to look at her.

“Oh, sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, trying to stifle her giggles. “I’m just… I’m so relieved to have somepony to help me! And the way you all joke and banter with each other is so much fun!”

“… Which part was the joke?” Gears asked, confused.

The pegasus sighed and wiped her eye with her leg, and then addressed Gear Works more seriously. “I understand that this is no simple task, and I have nothing of worth to give you for your service. I will gratefully accept whatever you can offer me, and would be forever in your debt.”

“More debt, that is,” Blueblood sniffed. “You still owe him for digging you free.”

“And me, for finding you,” Capper said, winking.

“You tried to loot her body,” Blueblood said dryly.

“That is MOSTLY inaccurate,” the feline snapped back.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Scarlet laughed nervously. “Although if you happen to have found my armor among the salvage I would like it back…”

Gear Works tuned out the banter as the Chimera rumbled along, thinking to himself and scanning the noosphere. Images of several bionic wing configurations scrolled past him in visions only he could see. Some were primitive and practically ornamental; hunks of metal that were too heavy for real flight and lacked any real nerve integration. Others were complex and customized specifically to the bearer’s physiology to optimize weight and air flow. There was a wing that had been built to look organic, with exquisite artificial feathering and myomer twitch-motor ligaments.

The total number of designs was fairly low. Prosthetic wings were an unusually sensitive mobility limb, and the Dark Mechanicus did not have substantial practice (or show great interest) in their manufacture. In Gear’s experience the bionic wings they did eventually produce weren’t satisfactory, either; Breezy Blight complained quite often that she couldn’t fly very high or far with hers, although he suspected that had as much to do with her corrosive breath damaging the joints as it did with the design. Luckily, Breezy’s power armor possessed an effective flight pack that rendered the bionic’s efficiency mostly moot, but Scarlet Shrike didn’t have such impressive wargear.

Making the bionic eye would be relatively simple, although it would still require a great deal of study. Those designs had been designed and tested to exhaustive perfection and the adjustments necessary for ponies – even very large ones – were trivial. But the wings were going to be an engineering challenge that Gears didn’t feel remotely capable of handling alone.

But perhaps he didn’t have to…

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 4
Lab complex G-44

“So there I am, standing over two injured infantrymen, no more splinter magazines, and only Nacht for support. She’s cursing up a storm while trying to recalibrate the echo cannon, and the Orks are blind-firing into the brush. Bullets zipping by everywhere! I’m creeping toward a tree to get a jump on them when I pick something up coming from the other direction; there’s a Killa Kan walking over to the ridge. I look over and see a high-beam sweeping the sky. We have seconds until we’re caught between a light assault walker and a dozen Flashgitz. I can barely think over the rattle of machine guns pounding the air!”

Gear Works stood over a small pedestal that was holding a sphere in the grip of a trio of metal claws. The sphere was a construct of metal and glass composites, with several lumens and sensoria nodules centered around a single central receptor. Wires trailed from the opposite side of the orb, hanging freely in loose curls.

“We have a rule for night ops, though: kill the lights. Visibility is always a bigger issue for the enemy. I kick off the tree and take to the air. A bullet hits me when I spin around, but with the adrenaline surge I couldn’t tell whether it got through my plate at the moment. I build altitude, bringing the splinter rifle around exactly at the same time that the high-beam centers on me in mid-air. Time seems to freeze.”

A probe extended from the hoof of Gear’s bionic leg with a tiny glassine shard stuck on the tip. It was slowly pressed into place, and then a series of servo beamers above swung down from the array above. Hair-thin lasers pulsed from the beamers, rapidly grafting the lens shard in place. After a few seconds the servo beamers withdrew, and then Gear Works turned to pick up the next piece.

“I could already hear the reports from dozens of bursts behind me. There was so much intense sound rolling through the forest it felt like the world was splintering apart, but my focus was on the lights. One burst, straight across the right fender. Four needles to empty my last magazine. Both lights blow out at the same time the big shoota opens up. One bullet slams into my chest plate, another hits my hip from behind.”

The servo beamers pulsed again, setting the last piece of the lens in place. Gear Works withdrew his foreleg, and the thin metal probe slid back into the hoof casing. A long metal needle descended from the servo array, slowly pressing its tip into the center of the cooling lens plates. He turned toward a holo-screen, watching a series of nigh-indecipherable diagrams that were splashed across the surface.

“I fold up my wings and go into free-fall, bullets whizzing by from both directions. I hit the ground and roll, curling up as best as I can to make a smaller target. The greens are still firing, but it’s all completely blind now, cutting through the air where I was. I scurry into cover, beneath a tree. Something hurts. I can feel blood running down my leg. And then the echo cannon fires!”

Gears tapped the holo-screen as various sections started flashing yellow, and the needle slowly started pulling back up. The lit-up portions of the diagram pulsed green, and then several of the diagrams collapsed into lines of rapidly shifting data-screed. Another servo limb lowered, and then started to spray a coat of polish over the cybernetic organ.

“Half the Orks drop in a few seconds and the others start scattering. But here’s the kicker: the echo cannon’s sonic cascade can make it sound like the cannon is coming from the target rather than the shooter, depending on where you are! So then the blinded Kan starts shooting into the Flashgitz! It was beautiful! One of them falls over and starts crawling across the ground, howling angrily and coming right toward my hiding place. So I-“

A loud buzzer suddenly spat an announcement in Binaric Cant. +Access request acknowledged. Code 004-274-34C. Awaiting response.+

“That the door?” Dusk Blade was hanging from some piping running across the ceiling, and he glanced down from his upside-down perch to check the access lumen.

“Blast! She’s here already!” Gear’s ears pinned back, and his servo arm slumped over his withers. “I was hoping she’d wait to be contacted. I’m not ready!”

“It’ll be fine, Gears. Here, I’ll get it.” Dusk released his hold on the pipes and spread his wings, flipping around and landing lightly on his hooves. “Anyway, long story short, three Dark Acolytes are dead and I need a place to hide out until I’m sure they can’t pin it on me.”

“That… Wait, what? How? What did you skip that you could have reached that sort of conclusion?!”

Dusk trotted up to the entrance, ignoring Gear’s questions. He slapped a hoof against an access panel, and the buzzer spat out another incomprehensible warning before the door slid open.

Dusk Blade blinked, staring at the brass Mark of Khorne hanging by a chain against a wall of bright red. Then he slowly tilted his head up.

Scarlet Shrike waited patiently until the Lieutenant finally made eye contact, and then she smiled pleasantly. "Hello!"

"UWAGH!!" Dusk recoiled, his wings swinging open as if to help him evade or shield him from attack. “What the HAY man you didn’t tell me they were making pony Space Marines! Is this supposed to be classified or something?!"

Scarlet winced somewhat at the reaction, and then chuckled weakly. “Oh, no, I’m not an Astartes or a mutant or anything. I’m just very healthy! Ha ha!”

“Aside from the extensive physical trauma you’ve endured, of course,” Gears interjected, eliciting another awkward laugh from the pegasus. “Miss Shrike, this is Lieutenant Dusk Blade of the Night Guard. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be here, but all my attempts to secure my work space from him have failed. Lieutenant, this is Scarlet Shrike, formerly of the Rozen Wings Reaver squadron.”

“Formerly? Why? What happened to the squadron? Did she eat them?” Dusk asked, still posed defensively.

Scarlet’s eye twitched, and then she cleared her throat. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lieutenant, but I have business with the Dark Acolyte today.”

“Y… Yes…” Gears wilted considerably as the maimed Reaver turned toward him. “So, ah… as anticipated, the optical implant is ready. It was not easy, but all the challenges in acquiring the necessary fabrication schedule and components proved surmountable. Here.”

He turned toward the assembly pylon, and Scarlet followed excitedly, walking over next to him. Dusk joined him on the opposite side, although he kept glancing over at Scarlet the way he often looked at heavy security servitors: like he was afraid they might open fire or explode at any moment.

“This is the bionic implant I’ve fabricated. It is a Cambron-9 pattern internal optical prosthesis. The unit is self-contained, so the installation surgery will not require the further removal of skull tissue. Obviously there will need to be internal insertion and modification within the damaged socket, and that will be… non-trivial. But it is ready and can be installed immediately with your consent.”

Scarlet’s eye shined and her jaw hung open slightly in amazement. She started walking around the assembly to look at the device from all angles.

“In addition to acting as an ordinary optical sensor, it contains a micro-stack data clone of your amulet. All of the information and access codices are uploaded every cycle, so it is a full backup in case you lose your accessory again.”

“That sounds great! And I really like that you made the lens green so it matches my real eyes!” Scarlet said brightly.

“Does it do anything else? Like have a fancy scanner or night vision or something?” Dusk asked. He looked far more skeptical of the bionic than Scarlet was, looking over the nearby holo-screens and frowning.

“It has thermal imaging, yes. Unfortunately more sophisticated vision sensors and scanning bandwidth would have required an onboard cogitator, either in an integrated helmet or external peripheral built into the skull. This one can do little more than read meme-tags and pick out energy surges,” Gear Works admitted. “Oh, yes, and the photon beamer.”

“The what?” Scarlet looked up.

“It’s something the Tau developed. A highly compact, low-energy alternative to their defensive stun grenades occasionally deployed as a non-lethal weapon for disabling and subduing recalcitrant natives. I even had the dubious pleasure of seeing it used in action during Canterlot!” Gears explained. “It’s small enough to both fit into the optical node and the power capacitors can be charged entirely from the neural uplink through the optic nerve. It takes a little while, of course, and can only be used once per charge, but it’s the only tactical sub-component I could install on such a small base unit with an appropriately simple function. Stand back, please.”

Scarlet and Dusk backed away uncertainly, and then Gear’s servo arm extended to poke a holo-screen. A brilliant flash of light came from the Cambron-9, accompanied by a gentle fizzling noise. Dusk and Scarlet flinched, blinking rapidly, but they were far from blinded; rather they had a tall column of white briefly burned onto their vision, stretching from the implant to the ceiling.

“The output is short-ranged and tightly focused, so it doesn’t have quite the impact on an assault mob that a photon grenade does, but the limitations were necessary to account for all operational parameters.” Gears turned around. “Do you approve?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” Scarlet said cheerfully. “Thank you so much, Acolyte! It’s perfect!” She started bouncing from hoof to hoof in excitement, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve created for my wings!”

“Uh… Yes. Well. About that…” Gear’s ears pinned back, and the sensor lights in his visor started flitting back and forth, as if trying to avoid eye contact.

Scarlet noticed the change and quickly tempered her expectations. “What’s wrong? Are they not ready? It’s okay if they’re not!”

“They’re not ready,” Gear Works said, hanging his head. “Worse, I wasted much of the time I was given trying to produce a novel design, but it’s a failure. The bionics are nearly unusable.”

Scarlet slowly arched an eyebrow. “… Nearly unusable?”

“He’s being kind of hard on himself. Personally I think the whole crystal blade look is almost worth it on its own, even if you couldn’t fly with it,” Dusk said.

Scarlet’s ears perked, and Gear Works groaned.

“What exactly happened? Do the wings need more time to be finished?” the maimed pegasus asked.

“No… They are finished, just… non-viable,” Gears admitted weakly. “I suppose I should just show you. Follow me, please.” He turned around and walked toward the next laboratorium section.

Scarlet and Dusk followed after Gear Works. Although the Dark Acolyte trudged along as if he was being force marched to a penitent cell, Scarlet Shrike looked quite excited to see what he had built. Dusk Blade stealthily studied the pegasus while she trotted along, slowing or speeding up to adjust his view.

Dusk had heard of ponies who defied genetic trends and grew up to be monstrously bigger than any of their relatives, such as a peculiar pegasus in Ponyville who was apparently so swollen with muscle that his bodily proportions had ended up hideously distorted. Scarlet Shrike was more normal in her shape but was still bigger than any pegasus, unicorn, or bat pony he had ever met; even Empyra, who fancied herself an equine queen, ranked several inches shorter than Princess Luna even without taking the horn into account. Scarlet may have been slightly shorter than Celestia in his estimation, but the bright red mare was much broader, with legs and shoulders covered in slabs of muscle and massive hooves that thudded against the flooring like armored greaves. It was a tremendous disappointment to him that her wings had been reduced to a pair of stubs wrapped in bandages; not so much because he felt sympathy for her injuries, but because the sort of wingspan on such a pegasus had probably put Celestia’s to shame.

“So what’s your deal, exactly? How come Gears has to make you bionics? Not usually his thing,” Dusk asked.

“He doesn’t have to. He’s agreed to do so out of the goodness of his heart,” Scarlet said with a happy smile.

“Also Prince Blueblood was badgering me into it,” Gears admitted. “It’s mostly the heart thing, though. Probably.”

“Okay, sure. He’s a great guy. Agreed. But what’s happening here? How did it turn out like this?” Dusk pressed.

“Miss Shrike was suspended from her Reaver squadron after being seriously wounded in combat. Because she cannot be authorized for bionic replacements without her squad leader’s requisition, she had to find an alternate means to secure augmentation. I am that means,” Gears explained.

Scarlet nodded happily in agreement. “If I can still fight, then there’s a chance the Rozen Wings will take me back!”

“Why would you want to go back to the squad that dropped you?” Dusk asked.

“That… Uh…” at this Scarlet seemed to hesitate, and her eye darted away. “It’s… It’s because they’re my friends, that’s why.” Her voice wavered slightly, as if she wasn’t completely confident in that response, but it firmed as she continued. “I want to prove myself to them and be able to support them again!”

“They’re your friends, but they ditched you after you got hurt?” the bat pony asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, uh… friendship… works a little differently among Khorne cultists,” the mare said with a nervous chuckle. “If you’re not properly supporting your squad or meeting your objectives, it’s not just a failure, it’s more like a betrayal! My squadmates may have been hard on me, but my errors and shortcomings were my own, and I must overcome them!”

“Or in this case, get someone else to overcome them for you,” Dusk replied with a shrug.

Scarlet grimaced at that response, but Gears immediately disagreed. “Hardly. I can install some bionic replacements, but these components do not represent substantial force multipliers. Particularly in the case of the wings,” he sighed. “It will be up to Miss Shrike to earn the respect of her squad, and she will struggle against her body’s limits as much as any of us.”

“Y-Yes! Exactly!” Scarlet said, nodding vigorously.

“That said, her description of friendship among Khornate ponies being ‘different’ sounds like an excuse concocted by somepony who has adapted to relentless bullying and scorn. Her squad abandoned her because she was slower, didn’t come back for her once she was incapacitated, and only showed up long enough to inform her of her suspension. Her squad leader stated directly that her survival was a grievous disappointment.”

Scarlet Shrike winced at each point, a flush darkening her bright red cheeks as she hung her head.

“While I hesitate to draw conclusions from a single observation event, and it is of course no concern of mine whether Miss Shrike is truly friends with the Rozen Wings, their behavior does not reflect any of the affection of friends, or even the bare respect of squadmates or comrades. Although I certainly believe Miss Shrike when she says that they find her substandard performance offensive.”

Gears reached the door and his servo arm stretched forward toward a security lever. He hesitated when he realized the heavy hoofsteps behind him had stopped, and he twisted his head around to check on his augmentation subject. Scarlet Shrike had stopped in the middle of the room, staring forlornly at the floor with her ears pressed flat against her head.

Her eye darted up to look at him, and then fell back to the floor. “Do you… Do you think they… hate me?” she asked. Her voice trembled, thick with trepidation.

“No,” Gears said immediately. “Whatever else one can say about Reavers, you are not subtle. If the Rozen Wings hated you, then you would know it, and so would anyone else who saw you together. Their behavior – and again I am basing this on a single observed encounter – is more akin to frustrated peers than friends… Well, except for Sergeant Folgore.”

Scarlet’s head snapped up, and her entire body tensed. “How? What do you mean? What about him?”

“He didn’t seem as disinterested in your immediate fate as I would expect from someone who was disappointed at your survival,” Gear Works explained, “he was clearly invested in your removal from combat duty entirely, not just from his responsibility.” Then Gears shook his head. “Or perhaps I’m just imagining things. I’m not an especially empathetic pony, and I was quite terrified at the time.” He lifted a hoof toward the next room. “Shall we proceed?”

Scarlet Shrike didn’t move right away, staring down at the brushed steel floors and thinking. “Maybe… Maybe you’re right about them. But… even if they don’t care about me, I still care about them.” She looked up and pressed a hoof to her chest. “I worry about what they’ll get up to without me. Stormy is very aggressive and can’t help but pick fights, and Morte has even more trouble interacting with others.”

“Yeah, bad tempers are kind of a given when Khorne’s your guy,” Dusk mumbled.

“Oh, well, not in her case. Morte isn’t too angry to handle conversation, she’s mute,” Scarlet explained. “She doesn’t know any wing language either, but I have an easier time interpreting her eyes and body language than the others do. Sergeant Folgore doesn’t seem to care about her input on anything so long as she follows orders, and Stormy just gets angry trying to figure her out.” She lifted her head higher. “I want to try to help them, even if they think of me as a burden. They’re important to me. That’s why I need to do this.”

“And that’s all the reason you need, Miss Shrike.” Gear Works turned back to the door and unlocked it. The security lumens flashed green, and then the machinery within the walls started to pull the gates open. “It is, of course, going to be quite a challenge. Especially if you’re equipped with these things.”

The next room was an experimental laboratorium containing a wealth of machining tools, smithing benches, and micro-fabs. Scarlet had never seen its like before, being new to the Mechanicus temples in general. Nonetheless, her attention inevitably settled on an unfamiliar figure standing in front of a test dais in the center of the area. A male Tau in a blue and black jumpsuit was tapping at an engineering tablet, seemingly oblivious to the ponies entering the lab.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Scarlet demanded, stepping in front of Gear Works as if to protect the smaller pony.

The alien glanced over at her. “Huh. I figured Gears was deliberately skewing those mass calculations, but it seems I was wrong. Is this some kind of daemonic mutant or a rare pegasus sub-species?”

“That doesn’t answer EITHER of my questions,” Scarlet huffed, taking a threatening step forward.

Gear’s servo arm touched her shoulder. “It’s quite all right. This is Fio’el Fennin, one of my colleagues hailing from the Earth Caste of the Tau. I assure you, he is here to help. Fio’el, this is Scarlet Shrike, the augmentation subject. To my knowledge she possesses no key divergent gene-strains; her size is simply on the high end of the probabilistic curve for our species.”

Scarlet quickly reigned in her posture and gave the engineer an apologetic smile. “Ah, sorry! My mistake! I know you’re on our side now, but then there was that other group of Tau that used that assumption to their advantage and then killed a bunch of people. So, you know, it just pays to be vigilant! Nice to meet you, Fio’el! I’m very happy to have your help with this project!”

Fennin said nothing for several seconds, staring blankly at the pegasus. Then he looked down at Gear Works again. “Didn’t you say the subject was a Khorne cultist?”

“Yes, I am!” Scarlet volunteered happily.

“…… Are you sure?” Fennin asked.

She laughed. “Quite sure, Fio’el! I know I’m more personable than some of the other Khornates, but I say there’s no point in devoting yourself to the god of slaughter if you don’t enjoy it!”

“Yeah, see, I don’t get it though; every other Khorne cultist I’ve met is nearly insane with anger all the time,” Dusk Blade admitted. “Even that Tellis guy feels like he’s doing the crazy prankster bit on the edge of a psychotic breakdown. I figured rage was just part of the package.”

“Yes, it is,” Scarlet agreed again, placing a hoof against her chest. “Khorne’s fury fills each and every one of us, inspiring our hearts to violence! To temper our anger and release it when advantageous is a core aspect of our training and religious rites!”

Fennin, Gear Works, and Dusk Blade stared at Scarlet.

“… I’m told I’m very good at the tempering part, actually,” Scarlet chuckled self-consciously.

“Extremely good,” Dusk said blandly, “probably the best, actually.”

“Thank you!”

Fennin put down his engineering tablet. “Well, now that the introductions and incredulous prodding are out of the way, I imagine you’re here to see what’s wrong with your replacement wings.” He lifted an arm to the objects on the testing dais. “Here they are. I rather like the aesthetic, but they are fairly impractical.”

The bionic wings were a pair of long metal sheathes that encased a series of thin, pointed, white crystal plates that were stacked together. Scarlet started walking around the devices, utterly perplexed. They didn’t look like wings at all, or even some kind of arcane propulsion machine.

“This is an Arclith Shard Kinetic Pulse bionic flight system, model, uh… well VII would be the closest, I suppose. Not that it makes much difference.” Gears walked up to the dais and summoned a holo-screen from nowhere. “The wings are currently in standby mode. Here.”

With a jab of his servo arm, the wing cases unfolded. Scarlet’s eye widened in wonder as the crystals fanned out and extended, settling in a shape that was more obviously an imitation of biological wings. The opaque, glassy crystals formed the “feathers,” while the silvery casing formed the connective limbs that anchored them.

“We actually constructed this unit with the crystals found at the very site in which you were incapacitated. We’re still unsure where the Keepers mine their conduit silicates, but they’re of excellent quality,” Gear Works noted.

“It looks like Princess Luna’s flight pack on her armor,” Scarlet pointed out, her eye still shining with fascination.

“Yes. That was the original design. Created by Warsmith Solon himself.”

Scarlet whirled on the cyborg pony. “You created a machine designed by the Warsmith himself?!”

“No,” Gears and Fennin said simultaneously.

At her surprised expression, Gears wilted again. “We, uh, tried to do that, but…”

“Didn’t work,” Fennin grumbled. “The man’s notes are complete garbage. The schemata may as well read ‘this circuit induction is magic, don’t bother trying to figure it out.’”

“There’s a real possibility it IS actually magic. Princess Luna’s armor is fueled by daemonic sorcery.”

“Don’t even get me STARTED on Warpspawn reactors! I am not going to start imprisoning space monsters for a power supply when we have piles of perfectly usable ion-vanadium power cells!”

“I’m sorry, can we back up a little?” Scarlet asked meekly, gesturing to the bionic wings unfolded in front of her. “What is wrong with the wings, specifically? They can’t generate lift or thrust?”

“On the contrary, they generate so much that installing them would be suicidal,” Fennin sniffed. Then he hesitated. “Well… actually, that might not be the case with you. Like I said, you’re much heavier than I expected and judging by the size of those stumps we could actually reinforce the drivers properly if we can get enough metal drilled into your back. The normal output of these things is so intense they’d tear themselves right out of most ponies.”

Scarlet blinked in surprise. “Oh. Uh… really? Can’t you… turn them down a little bit?”

“No. Obviously you can shorten the activation pulse to lower the total impulse thrust, but every attempt to actually weaken the kinetic discharge per active cycle has failed. Your acceleration will be intense, violent, and short. So that’s the first problem,” Fennin announced. “The second problem is kind of fun, so we’ll do a live demonstration. Move aside.”

Scarlet backed up, watching the dais intently. Gears tapped a few buttons on the holo-screen, and then a pair of heavy servo arms lowered themselves down from the ceiling and clamped onto the top edge of the wings, carefully avoiding the crystal blades. He gave Fennin a nod, and then the engineer brought up his tablet again.

“Beginning test cycle 86. Hazard zone clear. Capacitors charged. Engaging impulse cycle.”

A surge of force blasted from the crystal vector thrusters, and the blade-like panes glowed a furious red. The servo arms and dais clamps trembled and creaked from the recoil, struggling to hold the wings in place. A tremendous rush of air blasted through the test laboratorium, throwing Scarlet’s long black mane to one side despite her being well out of the path of the thrust.

Then, after precisely one second, the cycle ended. The servo arms stopped shuddering, and a gentle whine came from the bionics themselves. The crystals remained a bright red, however, and a few arcs of plasma jumped between the blades.

“You might not be able to understand fully because you’re nearly illiterate and the most complex piece of technology back where you came from was a water wheel,” Fennin began, pointing to a bar graph on the dais, “but right now this flight system is at about 72% of its emergency heat threshold. That is after one second of effective thrust. This system generates a truly unfathomable degree of waste heat; it shouldn’t even be possible according to any of my projections and simulations!”

Scarlet stared at the alien blankly, aware that she was being insulted but honestly struggling to understand his explanation. “Oh… kay. Is that a big problem?”

“It means that less than two seconds of thrust will hit 100% and overheat it,” Dusk replied before Fennin could. “And then what happens? It explodes?”

“Actually, no!” Fennin replied. “I was as surprised as anyone to find that the emergency cooling safeties work flawlessly, especially given that nothing else in this stupid design functions as expected! Zero overheat shutdown failures over the 78 test cycles that reached threshold. You’ll just lose impulse control until the vector crystals cool enough to engage another cycle. Which may be a problem if you’re airborne, I dunno. I don’t really do aeronautics.”

“You’re working on a bio-integrated cybernetic flight pack, and you ‘don’t do aeronautics?’” Dusk asked with an arched brow.

“No. Don’t do bionics either, to be honest,” Fennin replied with a shrug.

“I didn’t have a lot of choices when I was searching for someone to put aside their time to help me for absolutely nothing in return, sorry,” Gear Works grumbled. “Also, I thought that Tau expertise in high-energy transmission would be crucial in figuring out the lithoconductor drivers.”

“How did that work out?”

“Poorly,” Fennin said without a trace of frustration or regret, “I can’t figure out what the Warsmith did to his design to handle the obscene heat generation. As far as I can tell Princess Luna’s personal flight pack is almost heat-neutral and utilizes ONE modular thermal pump! I’ve tried to come up with an auxiliary cooling sheathe to distribute energy bleed, but the acceleration tears them apart in short order. The best I could do was to get them to vent upward and outward so they don’t bake the user or melt away the limb seals.”

“Um, so…” Scarlet began anxiously, “I think I understand the problem. It can only be used in short bursts, it’s hard to control output, and it gets so hot it shuts down quickly, right?”

“Yes. You could probably use it to glide, but it would be insanely dangerous and is anyway completely unsuitable for long-range flight,” Gears admitted, his ears pinning back. “I’m very sorry, Miss Shrike, but I’m afraid I’ve failed. We’ll need to start over with a more conventional design.”

“Are we sure that any exist that can carry something of her size?” Fennin asked.

“Fio’el, please!” Gears protested, his optic lights narrowing and slanting irritably.

“That’s not an insult; I’m serious. Every other pegasus I’ve seen probably has less than a third her mass,” Fennin explained, gesturing to the red pony. “I feel like any bionic system that doesn’t have a thrust engine isn’t going to work either. At least this one has enough power to get her airborne easily.”

“And you’re basically out of time anyway, right?” Dusk added. “Are you going to go to Prince Blueblood and beg him to make up some more fake work for you to do so you can start over?”

A frustrated groan came from the Dark Acolyte’s mask, and Gears hung his head again.

Scarlet looked over at him, and then up at the wings. She leaned in toward one of the crystal edges, watching the carved surface slowly dim from bright, neon red to a darker shade. She could feel the hot air blowing off of them, warning that even the briefest contact would be disastrous.

“How durable are these crystals?” she asked.

“Extremely,” Fennin responded. “These ‘Keepers’ are still a mystery to me, particularly the origin of their technology base, but their fabrication process creates very strong litho-conductors. Furthermore, the sheer amount of heat it generates, absorbs, and vents means it’s almost immune to thermal conduction weaponry and warps molecular disintegration arrays… sorry, I can see your eye is starting to glaze over. In dumber terms: they’re highly resistant to lasers and power weapons.”

Scarlet nodded hesitantly. “I see. Can you run that test cycle again? Where the wings activate for a second?”

“If you’d like,” Gears volunteered, turning back to the holo-screen. “Preparing test cycle 87. I will begin the ignition at your command, Miss Shrike. This one will probably shut down before it reaches a full second of thrust; it still hasn’t cooled completely since the last cycle.”

The pegasus turned away from the dais, looking back and forth around the lab. Then she spotted what she wanted and trotted over to a rack holding numerous meter-long metal rods. She took one of the rods in her jaw and then carried it back to the others, who watched with perplexed expressions.

“Please, go ahead,” Scarlet ordered, adjusting her grip on the rod so that she was holding on to one end.

“Initializing,” Gear Works announced, his servo arm grazing the holo-screen.

Again a wave of intense force erupted from the wings, and the servo clamps quivered and sparked as the vector shards fought to rip them free of their mountings. In a heartbeat, however, the thrust stopped and the dais stopped shaking. Several holo-screens showed bright red graphs and meters, verifying that the bionics had overheated and shut down.

“Another threshold overheat, another flawless failsafe initiation,” Fennin noted. “There’s a bit of irony that a Chaos soldier invented a system so insanely dangerous and volatile but somehow perfected the failsafe overrides so that it could never burn itself out or melt down. I’m sure it would be very comforting to the hypothetical equine catapulted into the sky like a ballistic rocket. Anyway, now what?”

Scarlet lifted the metal rod and then swung it toward the fan of crystal wings.

A gentle sparking noise came from the contact, followed by a light sizzle. A piece of severed metal landed on the opposite side of the dais, one end glowing orange from where it was sliced through. It bounced loudly against the floor, and then rolled to a stop next to Gear’s hoof. Scarlet dropped the remaining piece of the rod, smiling broadly.

“That… uh… hmm.” Fennin scratched at his chin. “Okay, that’s pretty clever. I didn’t think it could be weaponized like that.”

Gear Works straightened uncertainly as Scarlet Shrike approached him.

“Dark Acolyte, thank you so much for your help,” the pegasus said brightly. “I approve of this bionic system. Please, install the wings.”

“R-Really? But… they still can’t fly effectively!” Gears warned.

“Well I’m not exactly in soaring shape right now, so I’ll take the upgrade,” Scarlet said decisively. “How soon can you install them?”

Gear Works looked over at Fennin. The Tau engineer shrugged. Dusk Blade grinned and slapped a wing over Gear’s withers encouragingly.

“For the record, I think this is a TERRIBLE idea,” Gears said, “but if you’re sure, we can begin the surgery in two hours after some additional calibration and servo reworking.”

Scarlet squealed in delight, but Fennin furrowed his brow. “Why do you need to rework the servos? They handled the stress of the vector propulsion just fine during the test cycles.”

“I want to alter the range of aug-ligament motion so that the crystal vectors can’t touch her body,” Gears explained. “Really, we should have worked that out right after we discovered the heating issue, but I didn’t believe we’d ever actually install them.”

“Oh. Yes. Good idea.”

The chirurgeon pit was a monstrous construct of stained porcelain and gleaming aluminum, looking like a cross between a butcher’s table, an assembly fab, and a holy shrine. A platform in the center was ringed with battered metal fencing and restraint chains positioned over a large drain. Tubes and syringes surrounded the table, which would have been quite intimidating enough to most patients. Above the table, however, was a vast collection of servo arms, each tipped with some tool of surgery or construction and hanging on a set of concentric ring-shaped rails.

On the outer ring of the cluster were small, precision motion arms with scalpels, flesh-stitchers, and probes. Closer to the center were larger, less precise machines: saws, welders, sanders, clamps, and some devices that were completely unidentifiable to the casual observer. In the middle was a drill head. While a drill had obvious applications in a procedure that required the removal of substantial bone and tissue in order to install mechanical devices, this particular drill was some ten inches wide at the base and boasted teeth that looked designed to grind rock rather than flesh.

Scarlet stared in awe at the contraptions while Gear Works tenderly unwrapped the stumps of her wings. The stink of disinfectant was thick in the room, which served as a subtle reminder that much of the 38th Company was dedicated to the Chaos God of plague and that nearly all tech-cultists possessed inbuilt respirators that rendered them immune to airborne chemical hazards. Candles were set up around the room to provide the majority of the light, which seemed remarkably inefficient but definitely gave the alcove an atmosphere of solemn religiosity. Long scrolls sealed to the wall with wax contained tech-scripture and inexplicable diagrams, completing the arcane impression.

“This device is amazing! Is it going to install the bionics itself?” the pegasus asked.

“It will do most of the work, yes, but there will be many delicate operations that I will need to perform personally, particularly when installing the eye,” Gears explained. “I’m no meta-surgeon, so I’m afraid usage of the auto-surgery is essential.”

“Isn’t this one used for the Chaos Space Marines?” Dusk asked while he walked in behind Scarlet, towing a mag-lev cart that had the cybernetics stacked on it.

“Yes, usually. Miss Shrike’s bone density is closer to theirs than it is a human’s, and anyway this device is of much higher quality than the sub-IX chirurgeons.” Then he whirled around. “And WHY are you still here?!”

“What? Why would I leave?” Dusk kicked aside the chain attached to the cart. “This is huge, Gears! Your first weaponized bionic enhancement of a live subject!”

“… And you… want to watch?” Gear Works asked, perturbed.

“Sure! I’m pretty acclimated to gore and stuff, it doesn’t bother me.” Dusk grinned. “More importantly, this is a big milestone for you, and I want to be here for you as moral support! Or physical support, if you screw it up and she dies. I can help get rid of the body.”

“Is that likely?” Scarlet asked, interested but not obviously distressed.

“Of course not! Gears knows what he’s doing!” Dusk assured her.

Gear Works coughed. “As previously mentioned, I have no actual experience with this procedure. This pattern of auto-surgeon has a catastrophic failure rate of a mere 0.3%, but that is due to mainly being used on unusually robust subjects. There is no way to calculate my own unforeseen errors, unfortunately, so I cannot fully advise you on the potential risk.”

“If the hyper-active, overheating crystal wings didn’t scare me off, then surgery isn’t a problem!” Scarlet laughed. “I’m pretty robust too!”

Gears chuckled anxiously, and a series of holo-screens appeared on the edge of the railing. “Well, then… please step into the restraint pit, Miss Shrike. I’ll administer the anesthetic.”

Scarlet Shrike stepped through a gap in the railing and stopped in the middle of the ring. She was calm but curious, looking at the machines around and above her with undisguised wonder and no apparent fear for how sharp most of them were. A servo arm moved along the railing and positioned itself under her chin, while another swung down from above and seized her by the back of her neck. More mechanical pincers emerged from the platform and locked onto her legs. Soon the pegasus was completely immobilized and the servos locked, freezing her in place.

“Beginning analgesic cycle. Please relax,” Gear Works requested.

All at once, a dozen smaller servo arms tipped with needles shifted into position and then plunged into the mare. She flinched at the suddenness of it all, and a gentle sucking sound came from the devices all around her as the syringes rapidly pumped the anesthetic solution into her body.

“Oh! That’s… That’s a lot of needles!” she chuckled.

“Well you need a lot of serum,” Gears admitted. “This is, by the way, your last opportunity to stop this. Once you fall unconscious in the chirurgeon pit, you will wake up with the bionics installed or you will not wake up at all.”

Scarlet’s expression hardened. “Of course. Do what you must, Acolyte. If I cannot endure this, I can’t possibly survive the trials of being a Reaver.” The syringes withdrew. There was no effort to patch the injection points, and blood started dribbling slowly down her legs and flank, leaving tiny streaks of darker red among her coat.

Gear Works nodded. “As you wish, Miss Shrike.”

Several seconds passed. Dusk walked up to the railing, and then waved a wing in front of Scarlet’s face.

She blinked. “Yes, Lieutenant? Is something wrong?”

Dusk Blade turned his head around toward Gears. “How long is this supposed to take? That was a LOT of juice.”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to ready the bionics for implant,” the Dark Acolyte said, plucking the Cambron-9 optical bionic from the cargo hauler.

Dusk Blade turned back to Scarlet. “Well, I guess you’re not going anywhere… Mind if I ask you something?”

“Is it about my size? I really don’t know what to tell you, Lieutenant. I just grew up this way,” Scarlet sighed.

“No, this is about the other thing people keep bringing up incredulously,” Dusk assured her. “You’re a Khorne cultist. You have your Mark? Like, your cutie mark used to be different?”

“Yes. It was a shield with wings before,” Scarlet explained. “It changed upon the completion of my blood trial.”

“Blood trial. Yeah. The blood trial,” Dusk’s wing tip scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Could you tell us more about that?”

“Oh, sure! After studying the Path and having our devotional ceremony, each aspiring cultist is invited to an arena fight to earn their Mark. In order to pass you must best a Bloodletter in single combat!” Scarlet seemed quite animated as she spoke, and the servo arms holding her head in place creaked to keep her still.

“Bloodletter… Hey, Gears? What’s a Bloodletter? Do you know?” Dusk asked, leaning over to one side.

Gear Works absently tapped a holo-screen while he was hauling one of the Arclith Shard wings into place. It rapidly expanded, showing a humanoid daemon with skin of dark red. Its body was very lean and a little taller than a human’s, with a goat-like legs and an elongated head framed by two curved horns on each side of its skull. It held a blazing longsword in one hand and its body was riddled with spines and scales.

Dusk Blade whistled. “Wow. You beat one of those?”

“Yes!” Scarlet chuckled. “It took my eye down with it, though!”

“Still, I’m really impressed! That sword looks like it could cut a pony in half!” Dusk remarked.

“They don’t let the Bloodletters use their swords,” Gears remarked as the servo clamp carried the bionic wing up toward the ceiling. “The combatants would stand no chance, so they disarm the daemons first.”

“Oh. Uh…” Dusk arched an eyebrow. “So it’s an unarmed fight against a daemon? That’s still pretty hardcore!”

“The aspirants are allowed melee weapons. They aren’t required to be unarmed. Although they usually are after they get decked by a Bloodletter for the first time,” Gears dropped down to the mag-lev and started lifting the second wing. “Incidentally the rate of maimed failures to successful cultists was still so skewed at first that they changed it from a fight to incapacitation to a ring match; first one thrown, shoved, or tricked outside the circle is the loser,” Gear Works continued. “The cult preachers weren’t very happy about the changes, but the Iron Warriors preferred more units of mediocre but still bloodthirsty soldiers to a tiny corp of true pony elite.”

“I see,” Dusk said, staring directly at Scarlet Shrike with an unreadable expression.

She smiled nervously. “That’s… true, yes. Bloodletters are quite vicious, and it really is difficult to hold your nerve before Khorne’s rage renders us fearless conquerors!” Her eye darted to the side. “I certainly didn’t…”

“Why did you end up taking the blood trial anyway?” Dusk asked, leaning against the pit railing. “Like, how does someone like you get it into their head to swear servitude to a dark god? Let alone Khorne, the god of bloodshed, war, and anti-social tendencies.”

Scarlet Shrike looked like she wanted to shrink from the question, and the servo arms holding her in place creaked some more as they strained to hold her in place. “Well… it’s a little embarrassing, but… I wasn’t much of a fighter before.”

Gears turned around as if he was going to interject, thought better of it, and then went back to work.

“I come from a small pegasus village called Airbrook, near the border. I was a guard. Obviously. I mean, look at me,” she gave another wry chuckle. “There wasn’t much muscle labor to do in a place like that, so the bigger ponies get trained as guards. I was one of the best fighters. Well… I was the biggest fighter, which often made me the best fighter because I could bowl everypony else over during training.” Scarlet flushed. “Not that the sparring was very intense in Airbrook. There wasn’t much pressure to become the most skilled warrior. We dealt with griffon bandits and the odd flying beast that threatened the village, and occasionally patrolled trade roads. It wasn’t very demanding.”

“I’m guessing this story takes a turn when the Iron Warriors arrive,” Dusk said.

“Close. It took a turn when the Orks arrived,” Scarlet said bitterly. “A squad of Deffcoptas buzzed the village. We’d heard of what was happening in Equestria but it all seemed so weird and distant until the greenskins shot up our home.” She clenched her teeth, and the servo arms groaned against the tensing of her muscles. “They didn’t take anything, they just strafed the cloud houses and shot up the place until they ran out of ammunition and left. I took three bullets trying to shield a family friend of mine.”

Dusk frowned. “You couldn’t fight off the Deffcoptas? They’re plenty dangerous, but not that tough.”

“We didn’t try. We fled or hid. We were completely paralyzed in the face of a handful of alien raiders,” Scarlet scowled. “I was so ashamed. I felt so helpless and pitiful. So when a pamphlet advertising enlistment with the 38th Company arrived in Airbrook, me and a few of the other pegasi left to sign up.”

“And how’d that go?” Dusk asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Not great,” Scarlet grimaced. “I joined a regular assault force, but I wasn’t very good with a lasgun and the other pegasi could fly rings around me. In my first engagement I ended up crashing and an Ork rushed me and tried to hack me up. I fought him off and managed to escape, but I was beaten pretty badly so I retreated behind the gun line and then the regiment Commander yelled at me.” She sniffled. “I just wasn’t cut out for war. But war was what Equestria needed. So in my weakness, I turned to the Blood God.”

“…… You know, usually it’s the bloodthirsty, glory-hungry warriors who love battle that end up swearing themselves to Khorne,” Dusk drawled.

“That’s what the cleric said too! But I thought if I could just prove myself to the Blood God and endure the trials, he would make me a worthy warrior! And it worked!”

“Did it, now?”

“Yes. Well, mostly,” the maimed pony admitted. “With the blessing of Khorne I have become utterly fearless. I no longer dread the crush of melee, flinch from the sound of gunfire, or feel ill at the sight of gore. My desire for victory is finally the equal of my desire to protect my home and my friends! And I have the Blood God to thank for all of it!” She sighed. “But it’s not enough, is it? I cannot merely be a vessel for Khorne’s power. I must do MORE than endure! I must triumph! I have to-”

“Miss Shrike,” Gear Works interrupted.

She started, and the restraints let out another strained groan at the movement. “Yes? What’s wrong?”

“Why are you still conscious?”

Scarlet blinked. “Uh… I… feel a little sluggish, I guess? I don’t know.”

“That much anesthesia should have been enough to knock out a bear!” Gears retorted. “Bah. All right, let’s try another dose.” He brought up a holo-screen and started tapping at it.

“Sorry, I always have been rather hardy,” Scarlet chuckled.

“We’re SURE she’s not a pony Space Marine, right?” Dusk asked, leaning over toward Gears. “Secretly kidnapping ponies and turning them into pony super-soldiers would hardly be the most ridiculous thing the Iron Warriors have done.”

“I assure you Lieutenant, she does not possess any biological features consistent with Astartes gene-forging other than exaggerated bone density and mass.” Gear Works swiped his servo arm across the holo-screen, and then jabbed an activation key. “Beginning supplementary analgesic cycle.”

Scarlet held her breath as the servo arms swiveled back around and again plunged numerous syringes into her legs, neck, chest, and flank. A chill ran down her spine, and her remaining eye started blinking sleepily.

Dusk watched the needles withdraw after a few seconds, and then he looked over at Gear Works with a grin. “So… just how closely did you study her physiology? Eh?” He nudged the Acolyte with a wing.

“Lieutenant, I’m replacing an eye and two of her extremities. The tissue scans were extensive and necessary,” Gears said flatly.

“Okay, okay! I getcha,” Dusk coughed, and then stepped closer to whisper. “Seriously though, is she your type? I just figured since she’s also getting the machine tre-”

One of the servo needles suddenly flipped over the railing and stabbed toward Dusk’s flank. The thestral bounced aside, swatting the syringe with his wing while stepping out of reach. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll be good.”

The biometric augurs drooped noticeably as the bat pony fell silent, and Gear Works glanced over at Scarlet. The pegasus was asleep, her body hanging limply against the shackles and servo restraints. He slid a hoof down the side of the screen, and the heavy drill in the center of the chirurgeon assembly started lowering itself down toward her back. Several other servo arms descended ahead of it, boasting claws and pinchers and other tools of surgery that were more difficult to identify.

“Here goes everything,” Gears breathed as the drill started spinning up.

Author's Note

Finally managed to redo the last Gears chapter and even got some art to go with it!
I felt I needed a new Khorne pony, and if I was going to design a new OC they needed to be a traumatized weirdo. See you next time, heretics! :trollestia:

For the Blood God

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 13
For the Blood God

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 5 – Arena 2, the Pit of Thorns

“LORD KHORNE, HEAR OUR PLEAS. OUR DEVOTIONS. OUR CRIES FOR ABSOLUTION.”

A procession of cultists in dark red robes plodded across the dirt, each one carrying an incense burner carved from a bleached skull. They were led by a masked, well-muscled man with the look of a gladiator, his upper torso bare to display numerous combat scars. In one hand, he held a jagged sword, but in the other he had a book from which he led the prayer.

“ACCEPT THIS OFFERING OF BLOOD AND SPORT. HEAR OUR PRAISE FOR YOU IN THE SONG OF BLADES STRIKING FLESH. DRINK DEEP OF OUR FURY, AND FEAST ON THE SOULS OF THE FALLEN.”

The large, ring-shaped arena grounds were surrounded by a high wall riddled with spikes, and above that point were ascending bench seats for spectators. There were several people and ponies already sitting down, and more still filing in. Although the crowd didn’t look like it would come close to filling the seating, it already had an impressive attendance for a single spur-of-the-moment personal challenge.

“SEE OUR DEVOTION. WITNESS OUR TRIBUTE. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!”

At his prompt, the procession behind him roared “SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!”

Up in the coliseum seats, Dusk’s jaw cracked open in a yawn while his wing curled around to cover his mouth. “Would it kill these guys to hold their honor duels later in the day? The Lunar Guard would be way into this stuff if they would start after 6 PM!” the thestral complained.

Gear Works sat next to him, poking at a dataslate that his servo arm was holding overhead. “These events often last for some time, and there is a considerable clean-up period after the combat to sanctify the dead and see to the wounded. Sometimes they schedule a victory feast for the survivors, as well.”

“Bleagh. Diurnals,” Dusk Blade grumbled. He blinked sleepily, and then he frowned. “Why is the entire procession human?”

“An honor duel between a few Reavers isn’t likely to demand the attention of an Astartes,” Gears answered.

“No, I mean, why aren’t there any ponies with them?” Dusk clarified. “All the other temples have a good number of ponies by now. Hay, I think the Tzeentch one has more ponies than humans since we have a lot of unicorns and hardly any human psykers. Why is Khorne different?”

The tech-cultist paused to stare at the other stallion briefly, and then shrugged. “Khorne is… generally considered ‘worse’ than the other Chaos Gods. His ethos is more openly malicious and violent, so he has a much harder time attracting ponies to his cult.”

“The Reavers don’t seem to have a problem with it. You can be a bloodthirsty maniac, just make sure to aim at the bad guys, right?”

“That seems to be the compromise they’ve arrived at, but getting there isn’t exactly easy,” Gears explained. “There aren’t that many ponies seeking martial excellence to begin with, the violent philosophy is uniquely repulsive, and… well… the initiation rite is REALLY scary.”

“It’s one daemon! An unarmed daemon! You don’t even have to kill it!”

“Overcoming a single daemon is quite a trial for a pony, Lieutenant,” Gear Works warned.

“Pff. I could do it.”

“You probably could. It is my opinion you would make an excellent Blood Cultist.”

Dusk Blade shuddered, suddenly remembering that he very much didn’t want to do that. “Okay, I guess I can understand. But is Khorne really the WORST Chaos God for ponies? What about Nurgle? He’s all about disease and stuff!”

“There’s sort of a naturalist element to him that some ponies find… tolerable, I suppose. His power seems to extend to plants and insects, if not in tenuous and highly disturbing ways. Besides, converts usually worship him so that he’ll save them from crippling or fatal diseases, which he does. Saving pony lives is an excellent way for a god to stay in Equestrians’ good graces.”

“Okay, then what about Tzeentch?”

“What about Tzeentch?”

“I don’t know anything about Tzeentch, actually. I was hoping you’d tell me what his deal is.”

“He’s the Chaos god of sorcery, change, and deception.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“That’s the deception part at work,” Gear Works admitted. “Tzeentch is more popular among unicorns for obvious reasons, and it’s harder to discourage the curious from learning of him since the downsides aren’t obvious. The only thing really holding back Tzeentch’s cult is that Nurgle is favored among the Warsmith and his Vice-Commander and they’re deeply suspicious of Tzeentch.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Dusk scratched at his chin with his wingtip. “Is that all of them? I thought there was a fourth Chaos God.”

“There is. I found several entries on something referred to as ‘Slaanesh’ in the noosphere general library, all data-warded beyond my access registry.”

“Right, right… does anybody know WHY they’re so touchy about that one?” Dusk asked, lowering his voice a bit.

“I don’t know; I’ve never asked. Out of fear for my life.” Gear Works likewise lowered the volume, such that the sound through his mask was barely intelligible. “The bits and pieces I’ve gathered incidentally suggest that the grudge seems to be personal, rather than a theological objection.”

“Gathered incidentally? How did that happen?”

“The echo cannons used by the Lunar Guard have their origin in a faction called the ‘Emperor’s Children.’ A great deal of the documentation surrounding that faction carry references to the disfavored god. Also, the Iron Warriors fight them a LOT. That’s where all the spare sonic weaponry comes from.”

“Oh, I get it. So this god is aligned with that Imperium of Man that the Iron Warriors are at war with? That makes sense.”

“No. The Emperor’s Children are Chaos and are at war with the Imperium as well.”

“Huh. So, like, do they have their own Chaos Emperor or something?”

“No. Their name refers to the same Emperor that their enemies worship. It doesn’t really make sense, but from what notes and accounts the Iron Warriors have established, the Emperor’s Children are very stupid. But back on the topic of sonic weaponry-“

Dusk suddenly jumped up, badly startling the stallion next to him.

“Twitchy, aren’t we? Didn’t think I’d see you up this early, rodent.”

Stormy Ruin was standing on the bench seat a few rows behind the stallions. Her wing was in a sling and wrapped tight to her body, and she wore a rough wool cloak dyed red over her back. Her respirator mask hung loose under her chin along with the bronze amulet bearing the Mark of Khorne, exposing her hostile sneer.

Standing behind her was Morte Venin, the third (current) member of the Rozen Wings. She had her mask up, unlike Stormy, and was wearing her usual combat armor. The sleek, black material was very lightweight and flexible, consisting of a plasteel microweave vest with several molded flak armor pads attached in key places. The orange mare’s cutie mark was painted across the rear hip plate: a pair of sickles crossed in an X shape and joined with a chain.

Dusk Blade scowled, but said nothing. Gear Works turned around and then winced at Stormy’s expression, and likewise said nothing. The Pegasus glanced back and forth between the two, and then a growl escaped her throat.

“What, did somepony else tear out your throats before I got around to it? Can’t even say hi?” she demanded.

“Shut up and move along,” Dusk snapped, “you’re right that I don’t like being up at this hour, so lay off already.”

A vein popped up on Stormy’s head and she stepped down a row, a manic expression on her face. “Oh yeah? Or you’ll do WHAT?”

“Or I’ll finish what I started last night,” Dusk growled back, his wings lifting slightly off his back. “You don’t exactly look like you’ve recovered.”

“A little sore I guess, but I’m up for it if you are, little pony,” Stormy taunted, a manic, almost insane smile stretching across her face as she stepped even closer, “think you can keep up?”

“I swear to Luna,” Dusk Blade growled, almost nose-to-nose with the mare, “the things I am going to do to you…”

The two ponies stood in that position for several seconds, a fearsome energy surrounding the both of them while their eyes bored into each other. It was several seconds later that they realized all noise from the surrounding spectators had ceased. People and ponies had stopped walking to their seats, had stopped chatting, and even a few of the cultists from within the arena pit had turned around to watch silently.

Morte made a gesture with her hoof cutting across her throat. Gears coughed gently while pointedly looking away.

Dusk suddenly recoiled, his face darkening. “Fighting! I was talking about fighting! We weren’t… I wouldn’t ever…”

Stormy just laughed while the spectators slowly returned to what they were doing. “Simmer down, rodent! Nobody would think I’d have anything to do with YOU.”

Her smirk slowly faded, and then she clarified. “Well, actually… you’re definitely my type. But I’m dating Sergeant Folgore, so it’s out of the question.”

“I didn’t ask,” Dusk growled.

“Yeah, this thing where you respond to everything I say with boiling hostility? Super hot. But I’m taken,” the pegasus said with a tone of mild disappointment.

The bat pony turned around and seethed silently, refusing to engage further. Gear Works finally turned to look up at the pegasus himself, hoping that a less combative inquiry might get the mare to leave.

“Did you want something from us, Miss Ruin?” the Dark Acolyte asked.

“Yeah, I did,” Stormy frowned at him. “I just wanted to ask why you guys are so invested in helping Shrike, anyway. I get why you dragged her off the battlefield and patched her up, but then you actually stood up to the Sergeant to protect her and rebuilt her wings. Why?” She sat back on her haunches and flipped her hair over her shoulder with her good wing. “I actually meant to ask this last night when I confronted you, but I forgot and kicked you in the face instead.”

“Specifically, I was badgered into it by several others who simply have no respect for my time or the value of my labor,” Gears replied, “but more broadly, Miss Shrike warrants sympathy and assistance just because she’s a very kind and pleasant pony. And also rather pitiful.”

Stormy and Morte shared a glance. “Do you actually think she can win this battle?” the former asked.

“No,” Gears replied curtly. “I have only Sergeant Folgore’s written exploits and statistical record to judge by, but barring an instance of ATROCIOUS luck, he will prevail with ease.”

“Even with your upgrades?” the Reaver asked.

“It’s quite embarrassing to admit, but I cannot say with confidence that the bionics I crafted for her are ‘upgrades,’” Gear Works sighed.

“Oh, come on! I know the wings didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but what about her eye? You fixed her eye too!” Dusk insisted.

Stormy arched an eyebrow. “Well that’s his story, what about you? Why are you helping Shrike?”

“Because I hate you,” he replied blandly.

“I told you, there’s no use flirting,” she sniffed, turning her head away with a dark flush on her cheeks.

Dusk quivered angrily, but didn’t turn around or say anything further. After a few seconds, Stormy coughed into a hoof and then addressed Gear Works again.

“Well, I guess that’s that. You’re not under any delusions about what’s about to happen,” she started to turn around, and then hesitated, her mouth opening slowly as if she was struggling to organize the sentence. “And, uh… I think you… I mean, Shrike, she…”

Stormy spent a few more seconds fumbling over her words, and then Morte touched her leg. Stormy stopped and watched as the orange Pegasus stepped forward silently, her dead-eyed gaze firmly on Gears. The Dark Acolyte cringed slightly, his ears pinning back and his shoulders sinking as if he was being threatened.

Then Morte Venin bowed her head. Her wings spread as well, before tilting down so that the tips touched the ground. She held this pose for a few seconds, and then lifted her head and glanced at Stormy.

“… Thank you,” Stormy Ruin said at last, looking almost relieved to finally speak the words.

Gears blinked his eye-lights. “Pardon? For what?”

“For saving and taking care of Shrike,” Stormy said, visibly struggling not to snap at him.

Gears blinked again. “You’re… welcome? But I’m somewhat confused; when I saved her in the field you seemed entirely ambivalent, and when I assisted her further you attacked me. Why would you thank me for it now?”

Stormy’s expression soured. “Who cares, idiot?! Just take the-“ she suddenly stopped and took a deep breath, and then started over. “Okay, look: when you dragged her out of the rock pile you were just doing your job. When you showed up with her to beg the Sergeant to let her stay I didn’t know what you were doing, but it ticked me off. But now you’re here, about to honor her last day as Reaver, if not her last day alive. I still don’t get it, but you’re not here now because of any stupid regulations or something.” Her intact wing ruffled on her back for a few seconds, and then she stood up straighter. “You helped out Scarlet a lot and you even stood up to me and the Sergeant in the process. That took guts, and although I’m not GREAT at showing it, I respect it a lot. Even though I’m kind of mad about her still hanging around and trying to worm her way back into Sergeant Folgore’s company, that’s not your problem. You gave her the chance to get booted out of here on her own terms, and that matters. So thanks. You’re all right, for a fanatical nerd.”

Morte gently patted Stormy’s shoulder with her wing and the Stormy heaved a tired sigh, as if the admission had exhausted her. Then, without waiting for a reply, the mares turned away sharply and headed off to their seats.

“That… was strange. Rather nice, but strange,” Gear Works mumbled as the pegasi trotted out of earshot.

“I really wish there was a way to get Ruin sent into the arena too,” Dusk grumbled. “Maybe she’ll leap into the ring to try and save him?” After ruminating on that particular fantasy, he turned back to Gear Works. “By the way, you’re still up for this, right? That harpy didn’t actually manage to win you over with that spiel, did she?”

“Yes I am, and no she did not,” Gears replied. “It does surprise me that Miss Ruin holds any sort of concern for Shrike outside of jealous hostility, but it does not matter for our purposes. Besides, she’s still an utter psychopath and I suspect she’ll recant such lukewarm feelings were Shrike to emerge victorious and secure her place within the squad."

"Well, it’s time to find out,” Dusk whispered, surreptitiously glancing toward the cogitator closet at one end of the stands.

The bare-chested man with scars cut into his chest to form the Mark of Khorne was stepping out of the armored shack. He closed the door behind him, and then quickly punched a few numbers into a metal panel above the entry lever. Once the panel lumen blinked red, the brawler turned around and headed down the stairs into the arena.

“Follow me and keep your head down. Act normal,” Dusk whispered, hopping down off the bench.

Gears nodded and followed silently, and the two stallions made their way through the assembling crowd. The bleachers were filling up very near capacity by now, and some of the human spectators were taking up standing positions on the railing at the top because there wasn’t enough space lower down. The turnout was unusually high, which Dusk found surprising. These arenas were often used for brutal rituals and bloodsport, with dozens of humans and aliens pushed into combat and many of them perishing in the event. A duel between two ponies, not even necessarily to the death, seemed dull by comparison, but apparently a great many citizens were interested.

“Well, I hope they enjoy the twist ending,” Dusk mumbled under his breath, his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Lieutenant, how do you intend to achieve entry? The door has been mag-locked,” Gear Works asked.

Dusk nodded and slowed his pace, moving to walk alongside the cyborg and whispering in his ear. “I need you to walk up to the door and decipher the exact access type and how much time it would take to quietly get through it.”

Gear Works lifted his head, and a few of his optic lights started to pulse. “I can determine that from here. It is a Narex-pattern codex key. They are unlocked with a simple numerical combination. I do possess an emergency override authority to unlock it, but doing so will leave a very clear data trail to identify my presence. I could, alternatively, attempt to slice the internal data-warding. That would take more time, at least several minutes, and also confirm to any subsequent investigation that entry was forced. I suppose I could also just try to guess the combination. Do you have any ideas?”

Dusk Blade didn’t respond as Gears reached the door and stopped just a foot in front of the blinking red panel lumens. “Lieutenant? I need a decision,” he hissed, looking up at the panel.

After a few more seconds of silence, Gear Works turned his head to look behind him. There were several cultists and a cluster of menials sitting and standing in the bleachers around him, but no ponies. He looked back and forth, his ears flipping down as failed to find the Lunar Lieutenant among the nearby crowds.

Then there was a sharp click from the door and it swung open, smacking Gears in the nose (protected as it was by his respirator mask). A bat wing reached out of the shed, wrapped around the Acolyte’s servo arm, and then immediately dragged Gear Works inside.

Scarlet Shrike took a deep breath, feeling the muscles of her chest tighten.

“Blood God, watch over me. With every swing of my blade do I honor you. Every strike, every bullet, every spark, a prayer at the foot of your mighty throne. The bodies laid around me and the souls sent shrieking to the veil are my offering. And should that not be enough, I ask of you, oh great Lord of Chaos, to take mine as well.”

Eight men bearing metal censers stood around her, and the smell of ash filled the small cell where the mare waited and prayed.

“Bolster my heart against fear. Harden my bones against injury. Ward my mind against pain. Shield my soul against…” here her voice faltered for a second, “m-mercy.”

If the cultists around her noticed her hesitation, they didn’t show it. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” they bellowed, a nearly electric energy surging through the air.

“SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!” Scarlet replied, throwing her head back.

One of the men approached and planted a blue cylinder into the socket in her back. A buzzing sound issued forth, and then the capacitor sunk deeper into the battery well and locked into place. Track lumens within her flight pack lit up, flooding the crystal blades with light. Scarlet’s bionic eye expanded its tracking well, emitting a gentle green glow from the photon compensators.

A clanking noise came from the access shutters, and then the rattling of chains as they started to lift open. The cultists backed away as light spilled into the cell, and then Scarlet stepped forward into the glare of the hi-lumens shining around the arena.

“AND HERE COMES THE CHALLENGER! PUT YOUR HANDS, CLAWS, AND-OR HOOVES TOGETHER FOR SCARLET SHRIKE, THE FORSAKEN REAVERRRRRRR!!”

Scarlet flinched slightly at the unexpected announcement, and then again at the sudden cheering that erupted from the surrounding bleachers. Being that she had been mostly praying for the last few hours, she hadn’t known what sort of reception her match was going to get. Seeing the mobs of people and ponies in the stands left her a bit stunned.

She looked back and forth, and then spotted a booth suspended partially over the combat pit.

“THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS, THIS MONSTER OF METAL AND MUSCLE IS THE LEAST OF THE INFAMOUS REAVERS, AND TODAY SHE’S HERE TO CARVE OUT HER PLACE IN OUR FAIR FACTORY! IN BLOOD!!” cheered a cream-colored pegasus into the vox receiver in front of her. “AS ALWAYS, I’M YOUR HOST, SCOOPS, AND HERE WITH ME TO PROVIDE FIGHTER ANALYSIS IS MY CO-HOST, KILROY!!”

“PRAISE THE GODS FOR THIS FEAST OF PAIN AND CARNAGE! ALL HAIL LORD KHORNE!! ALL HAIL OUR DARK AND MERCILESS MASTERS!!” snarled a man wearing a fine-tailored suit with a burlap sack on his head.

Scoops chuckled. “THANK YOU KILROY, BUT DID YOU HAVE ANY COMMENTARY ON THE FIGHTERS?”

“Indeed I do, Scoops,” Kilroy replied, immediately toggling down the volume controls. “Scarlet Shrike is considered by her commanders as a mediocre warrior with a superior physique, but her physical capabilities are, if anything, understated by her impressive size.” He spent a moment to adjust the knot of his tie. “This mare has shrugged off countless Ork bullets and trampled armored Nobs to death. There is little question why so many have witnessed her and asked when we began producing equine Space Marines.”

Scarlet’s cheeks turned an even brighter red and her ears flipped down, and then she started scuffing at the ground of the arena. She was actually quite pleased with that description, but the way the audience’s cheers started building even higher was unexpected and quite embarrassing. Then the gate on the other end of the arena started to creak open.

“AND HERE HE IS, LADIES AND COLTS!! THE ACE OF AIRBROOK HIMSELF! THE SLAYER OF SEADDLE! THE… uh… MARAUDER OF… what town starts with an M? Drawing a blank here…”

“Mudvale. Anyway,” Kilroy coughed to clear his throat while a black pony walked leisurely out of the gate and into the arena, “the reigning champion Reaver, Folgore, stands as the mightiest duelist among the equine ranks and holds the rank of Gladiator Sergeant. Though he lacks the incredible psychic might and incomprehensible wargear of the Princesses, he is truly blessed by Lord Khorne in his skill and fury! Countless greenskins have met their end on the tip of his blades, and in his tireless sorties he has slain more Ork Warbosses than any other equine! MAY THEIR SKULLS ADORN KHORNE’S THRONE UNTO ETERNITY!! KNOW OUR DEVOTION, LORD OF SLAUGHTER!!”

Scoops arched an eyebrow. “… Didn’t Twilight Sparkle destroy a Space Hulk?”

“Well, yes. Not by herself, though.” Kilroy shrugged. “Kill scores are often ambiguous and difficult to determine at scale when part of a larger war effort. Besides: Sparkle doesn’t dedicate her victims to the gods, so who cares?”

Scarlet Shrike felt her heartbeat quicken as Folgore sauntered to the center of the arena, clearly in no hurry. Chants and cheers and whooping came from the crowd, although Scarlet was surprised that the noise wasn’t substantially louder than when she had emerged. The Reaver Sergeant stopped some 20 feet away from his opponent, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her face.

“… I see your eye has finally been replaced,” Folgore said, not bothering with any greeting or other formalities. “Was that the Acolyte’s work as well?”

“It was,” Scarlet confirmed. “I owe him a great deal. For this eye, these wings… and this battle.”

Folgore snorted. “I was as surprised as any when he demanded I hear out his offer, but make no mistake, Shrike: This is YOUR fight. YOU stand before me and it is YOU who will feel the bite of my blade.” He lifted his head. “I know I often speak to you with contempt, looking down on your abilities and contributions, but I am… gratified that you’re here today and that it has come to this, Shrike. This is a far better way to end your career than giving you a lecture while you’re strapped to a shipping bin.”

“Don’t celebrate your victory just yet, Sergeant,” Scarlet insisted, her voice firm. “I’m under no illusions about my chances, but I will fight for my place here if I must!”

“I… would prefer you were more enthusiastic about this, actually,” Folgore grumbled, heaving a sigh. “Fine. Enough chatter. Let it begin!”

Folgore lifted his bionic leg, and a mechanism triggered. The lower leg split apart, and a long, slightly curved blade like a katana slid out and fixed into place. A thick arc of plasma jumped from the tip, writhing over the edge, and the whooping from the crowd suddenly jumped in volume.

“In the name of Khorne, let battle be done!” Scarlet shouted, her wings spreading with the sound of metal sliding against metal. The capacitor in her back sparked, and the dim red crystal blades pulsed. The cheering from the crowd built even higher, and some people started standing up and pumping their fists into the air.

Folgore started to run on three legs, his wings slowly spreading as he accelerated. Scarlet angled her wings forward and very slightly upward. Her bionic eye narrowed its iris, zooming and highlighting the enemy target automatically.

Scarlet Shrike pulsed her wings with the very smallest acceleration burst possible, and she was immediately blasted off her hooves and sent flying at the charging stallion. Folgore was already ducking as her body sailed over his, either by virtue of superior reflexes or sheer combat instinct. He hopped and whipped around in the air, one leg touching down and skidding across the dirt to slow him. His eyes tracked the red streak shooting across the arena with surprise and not a little interest. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the strange mechanical wings, but it wasn’t that.

Scarlet spread the wings wider, slowing her movement roughly before she touched down. Her landing was clumsy; she was moving too fast and she barely managed to turn before she slammed into the spike-ridden arena wall. Folgore’s mind briefly strayed toward the violent possibilities of such augmetics. The ability to generate that degree of force so easily, attached to somepony of Scarlet’s mass, could be an incredible weapon on a bolder pony.

With a snort, his focus returned to the combat at hand. “So you can still fly after all.”

“Uh, y-yes. Yes, I can definitely fly. Obviously,” Scarlet said, her voice needlessly anxious. Then she firmed her stance and spread her wings, the crystal blades glowing a bright neon red. “That’s not all they’re good for, either! One slash of these will cut through any armor!”

Folgore blinked, and then his expression soured. “Show, don’t tell, Shrike.”

“I SEE THE CHALLENGER HAS SOME IMPRESSIVE WARGEAR SMUGGLED INTO THE ARENA!” Scoops shouted gleefully, leaning up over her vox receiver. “AS IS TRADITION, EACH FIGHTER EXPOSES THEIR SPECIAL WEAPONS TO THE OTHER AND EXPLAINS THEIR CAPABILITIES!”

“That’s not a tradition, you just made that up,” Kilroy said flatly.

“ALL TRADITIONS HAVE TO START SOMEWHERE! NOW IT’S CHAMPION FOLGORE’S TURN TO EXPLAIN HIS NIFTY LEG-BLADE THINGY!”

“No, I will not,” the stallion snorted, craning his head up to address the commentators.

“COME ONNNNNNN,” Scoops prodded.

“REVEAL YOUR SECRETS, REAVER!!” Kilroy shouted, sympathetic to the stallion but deciding that badgering him was more fun. "SURELY THE MIGHTY CHAMPION DOES NOT REQUIRE SURPRISE TO BEST HIS SUBORDINATE!!”

Folgore grit his teeth. “Be SILENT! This is a sacred ritual, not a sports match for your petty entertainment!” he snapped up at the booth.

“IT LOOKS MORE LIKE THE SECOND THING FROM UP HERE.”

“After I dispense with Shrike, I’ll have to contemplate additional sacrifices,” Folgore grumbled, focusing on his opponent once again.

Scarlet Shrike was charging across the arena in a hard gallop, her wings trailing a bright crimson glow. Folgore really was quite annoyed that she had informed him of the threat they posed; the enormous mare was hardly in a position where she could give up the advantage of surprise, and it felt like she wasn’t taking this seriously. He angled his own cybernetic blade to meet her, and a plasma arc lashed across the weapon’s edge.

His ears suddenly pivoted, and the hair along his spine stood on end.

Folgore launched himself to the side, diving away just as a series of gleaming spikes punched up through the slots cut into the ground. One of them managed to graze his wing, tearing through feathers and flesh and spilling an arc of blood across the dirt. The stallion hit the dirt and rolled, using his injured wing to push against the ground and launch himself back upright. Scarlet’s charge stumbled immediately, and she stared at her opponent with wide eyes.

“S-Sergeant! Are you okay?” Scarlet gasped.

“AND SO THE PIT OF THORNS TASTES BLOOD!!” howled Kilroy gleefully while the audience roared its approval.

“Er…” Scoops frowned. “KILROY, IT WAS MY UNDERSTANDING THAT THE TRAP MACHINERY WAS DISABLED FOR THIS MATCH.”

“THAT IS WHAT THE SLAUGHTERPRIEST SAID, YES,” Kilroy confirmed, “HOWEVER: WHO CARES. FIGHT, COWARDLY EQUINES!!”

Folgore focused a sour gaze on Scarlet Shrike even as blood dripped from his wing wound. “Why did you stop, Shrike?” he demanded, his tone acidic.

Scarlet flinched. “Uh… well, we were told that the arena’s traps were-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Folgore cut her off, his eyes and voice burning. “Hesitation is failure! If you desire victory, fight like it matters! I am not some trainee plucked fresh from the streets of Manehattan, and I will not accept you treating me that way!” The stallion launched forward like a missile, lightning whipping along the ground behind him.

Scarlet stumbled backward and then swept one wing at him to meet the charge. The bright red crystals hummed as they cut the air, and as Folgore vaulted over the swing, that was all they cut. The stallion tucked his legs and wings in as his body spun in the air over the cybernetics, and then one rear leg lashed out to strike Scarlet in the head. She staggered to the side, and Folgore was flung away to land at a safe distance.

His ear twitched as he landed, hearing the rattling of chains above. He bolted forward, racing across the arena floor just before a plate of spikes crashed into the ground where he had stood. Scarlet Shrike’s eye bulged again at seeing the trap land, and she looked anxiously up at the ceiling to check which sections had spiked death traps on top of them.

All of them did, it turned out.

“What’s going on?! This match isn’t supposed to have the traps turned on!” she complained against the whooping cheers of the crowd.

“It doesn’t matter! They won’t stop me!” Folgore said, racing around the slowly lifting spike plate.

Two more floor sections suddenly erupted in front of him, creating a veritable forest of sharpened steel between the two ponies. Scarlet flinched, beads of sweat appearing around her head and neck, but Folgore simply jumped into the air.

“Come at me, Shrike! Let me see what those new wings of yours are truly capable of!” the Reaver Sergeant demanded.

“I really think we should get the trap problem fixed first!” Scarlet said, nervously stepping away from the nearest spike plate. “They don’t even seem to be using the normal timing mechanisms!”

Folgore released a furious whinny and curled in the air, narrowly avoiding another spike plate that was plummeting in front of him. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!” he roared, flying up and then swooping directly at the other Reaver with blade extended.

Scarlet Shrike yelped, turning to throw her wing into the attack. The electrified blade struck the cooling crystals with a hollow snapping sound, and electricity lashed across Scarlet’s neck. Folgore touched ground with one hoof and pivoted hard on that leg, throwing a double kick into Scarlet’s chest. The larger Pegasus was lifted off her hooves by the impact and flung away, the wind knocked out of her.

Folgore pulled his legs back to a standing position, and then restrained a wince at the twinges of pain that ran through his legs. He had never kicked Scarlet full-on like that before, and it reminded him of the time he had tried to bludgeon his way through an Ork’s mega armor. No matter how little he thought of her combat skills, he could never help but be impressed by Scarlet Shrike’s sheer physical might.

Then he leapt into the air again as another bed of spikes nearly took his head off.

“Okay, look, I’m as big a fan of deathtraps as anyone but something weird is going on here,” Stormy Ruin insisted, her good wing curling around her shoulder to rub thoughtfully at her chin. “Why do the spikes keeping activating right around Sergeant Folgore?”

Morte tilted her head to the side and pointed a wing at Scarlet Shrike as the enormous Reaver stood up.

“Yeah, none of them seem to be coming close to Shrike. Which is fine, actually. I don’t think anyone would be happier if she got taken out by the arena. But like… what about the other random spots? Why are they mostly activating to get in the Sergeant’s way? That’s not a normal pattern at all.”

Stormy turned to her squadmate, looking into Morte’s silver eyes. Then she grimaced. “Right. Why am I asking YOU anything?” she grumbled, turning away. Morte seemed annoyed by the response, although as always much of her expression was hidden by her mask.

“You know who WOULD have a useful answer to that question? A Dark Techpriest!” Stormy mused, brightening and standing up in the bleachers. “Let’s go find those two nerds.”

She stood up from the seat, weaving through the whooping and roaring crowd to search for Gear Works and Dusk Blade. When she spotted the bench where she had encountered the two stallions before, she scowled. They weren’t there anymore, and a pair of exhausted-looking human menials were seated there instead. She turned left and right to scan the crowd, growing visibly agitated when she couldn’t find the Dark Acolyte.

“Why’d they leave?! Were they afraid that we’d double back and pick on them some more? Well… maybe I will, now!” Stormy griped.

Morte flew up over her, adding her own keen eyesight and a higher vantage point to the task. After about two more minutes of noisy fuming and four more falling spike platforms, the mute Pegasus swooped down and tapped Stormy’s leg. Her squadmate whipped around expectantly. Morte pointed her hoof over to the small, reinforced shed at the end of the bleachers. Stormy blinked, and then her eyes narrowed.

“What? I don’t see them over at that end either!”

Morte drew her foreleg back and pointed it again at the cogitator closet more urgently.

“Yes, I know that’s the place that controls all the arena machinery. So what? You want to fly in and try to fix the traps yourself? I don’t care, go for it,” Stormy said, waving her off with a hoof.

Morte’s eyes narrowed. Then she whipped around in the air, snapping a lightning-fast kick into Stormy Ruin’s forehead. The other mare reeled, shouting in surprise and anger, and then the masked pegasus zipped away, flying toward the shed. Stormy immediately jumped forward, galloping after her while loosing an inarticulate, enraged howl.

Pit of Thorns cogitator closet

Dusk Blade scowled as he stared out of a small slot-shaped armorglass window positioned above the bank of logic engines.

“Gears, the last two spike patches weren’t even close. You sure you’ve got a handle on these things?” he asked, clearly frustrated.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant. Those activations are deliberate. I don’t want it too look too obvious that the traps are targeting the Sergeant,” Gear Works replied. His tail was plugged into a data port on the other side of the shed, and his optical hood had filled with scrolling data screed that rushed by too quickly for anyone to possibly read it. The logic engines whirred and beeped noisily and occasionally shuddered, as if agitated by the intrusion of the two stallions.

“Okay, but you still haven’t gotten a good hit in! It’s hard to see from here but I’m not seeing a lot of blood!”

“That’s also correct. The Sergeant is a highly mobile, hyper-aware target and he can fly. These trap mechanisms are simply ineffective against him, although they do seem to have bought Miss Shrike some breathing room.”

“Guano,” the thestral cursed, backing away from the vision slit with a grimace. “I was expecting him to be at least seriously wounded by now so we could sneak out before anyone checks on the logic engines! Why won’t she END HIM?!”

“Her insufficient aggression and middling skill are mostly why things came to this to begin with,” Gears reminded him. “In any case, whenever you feel that we’ve been here too long, we can evacuate. If we’re caught it will be worse for us AND her.”

Dusk sat back on his haunches and scratched at his chin with a wingtip. “Well, maybe I can slip out and scout around for a bit. See if anyone-”

There was a sudden, loud banging noise against the wall, startling the two stallions.

“MORTE, WHAT THE HAY!! GET BACK HERE YOU SQUEAKY LITTLE-STOP IT!! I’M GOING TO JAM THAT STUPID MASK DOWN YOUR USELESS THROAT!!” screamed Stormy Ruin right outside the door.

Dusk’s ears flipped down, and he made a shushing noise to the cyborg. Gears ducked fearfully, his eye lights shrinking down in imitation of biological pupils. The shed trembled as another impact struck the wall and Stormy screamed another deranged threat at her teammate. A moment later there was a heavier impact against the door, and part of the metal folded inward as the hinges strained.

Dusk Blade winced. “Okay, look, I’m going to sneak out and try to draw them away,” he whispered to Gears, his voice barely intelligible with the escalating noise against the entrance. “When you hear me shout, you can make a break for it, okay?”

Gear Works started to nod, but then another impact against the door finally ripped off one of the hing panels. Dusk’s reflexes had him leaping backwards atop the cogitator bank to get clear, but the hefty metal plate slammed into Gears and wrenched his tail spike free of the dataport before smashing him into the far wall of the shed. Dusk hissed in aggravation, and then glared at the mare standing in the doorway.

Stormy Ruin was stumbling in front of the entrance with her jaw slack and one leg partially extended after bucking the door in. She stared at Dusk Blade in confusion, and then her expression slowly and silently shifted to absolute rage. Morte Venin – bleeding from one shoulder and with a wing visibly broken – stepped up behind her teammate, eyes narrowed. Dusk sneered and dropped down onto the floor.

“You’re so annoying,” he said flippantly, baring his fangs and approaching the mares.

“And you’re so DEAD,” Stormy Ruin retorted, nearly apoplectic with fury. “I’m going to rip out those fangs and shove-” She felt Morte poke her urgently in the side, and then she released an impatient growl. “WHAT, MORTE?! WHAT IS IT NOW?!”

Morte Venin pointed her good wing at the broken piece of the door, which was clearly lying on top of something. Dusk quickly stepped to the side to get in the way.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any point to explaining myself, so why don’t we get to the part where you attack me in a frenzy and I beat you into the deck?” Dusk asked, sweeping one wing forward and then slowly drawing the claw on the peak over his throat.

Stormy hesitated, her suspicions breaking through the haze of anger that had been threatening to consume her. The dented plate of metal suddenly lifted up, and a weak groan issued from the pony beneath it. Dusk’s eye twitched in aggravation, and he seriously considered stomping it back down to keep Gears from exposing his presence. The Dark Acolyte slowly pulled himself free and stood up, his head ringing and somewhat scrambled from the sudden and unexpected termination of the data link.

“You… You little…” Stormy was almost boiling now, her elegant face turning bright pink and quivering. Morte’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and she clashed her hoofblades together threateningly.

“Rejoice in the bedlam of battle! Feel the power surging within Khorne’s ever-burning fury!” Folgore sang as he and Scarlet charged headlong into each other.

Scarlet swiped a hoof at him, but Folgore darted to the side, avoiding it with ease. He kicked up off the ground, avoiding a sweeping arc of crystal blades with a single flap of his wings. Then he spun in the air, slicing into the massive mare’s back with his augmetic blade.

A lash of electricity trailed the blade’s tip, and it wrapped around the capacitor plugged into Scarlet’s back. Sparks blasted from the cylinder and steam started venting from the heat sinks below her wing panels, mixing with the blood spilling over her side. Scarlet pushed through the pain and the dangerous crackling noises and sliced through the air with her sword, missing the other pegasus completely.

Folgore flew backwards and landed, and Scarlet turned toward him and spread her wings, preparing to launch herself into an attack. A sharp fizzling noise came from her back as she triggered the boosters, followed by a pop, but she didn’t move at all. Folgore raised an eyebrow, watching as the cylinder lit on fire and the augmetic wings automatically folded up into standby mode. Scarlet looked quite alarmed, and she nervously took a step back.

“Second-rate bionics for a second-rate warrior. I should have known,” he sneered. “The Acolyte is bolder than you, but that is not enough. Are we done here, or do I have to break that eye as well?”

Scarlet hesitated, then twisted her head around to look at the wound on her back. After a few seconds, she turned back to her opponent. “Give up? When you’re still going so easy on me?” she snorted, her brow creasing. “You won’t get rid of me with a pinprick like that!” She started running forward, lowering her head into a charge.

Folgore scowled, but he didn’t bother replying as the mare came at him. He couldn’t really say that he was putting his best effort into this match, but he had not been holding back his strength. Scarlet was genuinely harder to wound than most Orks. He tapped his blade on the ground, shaking off some of the blood clinging to the edge.

A scream of fury and another of terror came from the edge of the arena, and Scarlet flinched and broke her charge. Folgore’s ears pivoted, although he didn’t turn his eyes from his opponent. Once he recognized some of the screaming coming from Stormy Ruin, however, even he couldn’t help but look.

“WHAT’S THIS?! IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE HAS BROKEN INTO THE COGITATOR SHED WHILE THE MATCH WAS GOING ON!” Scoops gasped, quickly aiming the vid-recorders toward the lower deck of the stands.

“YES SCOOPS, IT SEEMS THAT WE’VE DISCOVERED THE ROOT OF THE TRAP ‘MALFUNCTIONS’ THAT HAVE PLAGUED THIS DUEL,” Kilroy agreed with a snort, “HOWEVER, LET’S NOT DELAY THE BATTLE’S CONCLUSION ANY FURTHER! KHORNE WILL TASTE BLOOD THIS DAY!!”

“Uh… BUT… IF THE ARENA DEATHTRAPS HAVE BEEN SABOTAGED, SHOULDN’T THE DUEL BE CANCELED?”

“NO,” Kilroy replied firmly.

“BUT… THE INTERFERENCE FROM A THIRD PARTY MEANS THAT THE MATCH WASN’T FAIR, AND THAT A STARKLY INFERIOR COMBATANT COULD WIN!”

“THAT’S TRUE, SCOOPS, AND VERY UNFORTUNATE,” the cultist conceded, “BUT WHO CARES.”

A rousing cheer erupted from the crowd, followed by a crash.

“OH MY!! IT APPEARS A NEW CHALLENGER HAS ENTERED THE RING!! NO! TWO NEW CHALLENGERS!!”

Morte Venin gasped as she rolled across the dirt, and then quickly kicked herself upright. Dusk Blade was already on top of her, swooping through the air, and she barely avoided a savage kick to the head before he built altitude again for the next strike. She dashed away to try to gain some distance, but with her own wing injured and the thestral already airborne Morte didn’t expect she would last long.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Folgore howled, the hair on his back bristling in rapidly building anger. “Venin! Lieutenant Blade! Evacuate the arena THIS INSTANT!”

Presumably Morte would have obeyed if she had the chance, but Dusk didn’t acknowledge the order, much less stop. The bat pony landed an aerial kick into her side and sent the mute pony skidding across the ground. Scarlet flinched at the sight, gasping, and Folgore jumped into the air to stop the intruder personally.

Then yet another howl of rage came from the sidelines, and a dark blur sailed over his head before crashing and rolling across the ground.

“WHAT’S THIS?! YET ANOTHER PAIR OF DUELISTS HAVE ENTERED THE RING!! THIS RITUAL COMBAT IS TURNING INTO A BATTLE ROYALE!!”

“ALTHOUGH WE ALSO HAVE RITUALS FOR THOSE,” Kilroy assured the audience.

“GIVE US A MOMENT TO IDENTIFY THESE NEW CHALLENGERS, FOLKS! WHAT AN EXCITING AND UTTERLY DISQUALIFYING TURN OF EVENTS!!”

“Is that pony that just got thrown in a Dark Techpriest?” Kilroy mumbled. “I didn’t know we had pony Techpriests.”

Stormy Ruin leapt onto the arena floor, a visible aura of menace quivering around her. Like Morte, she couldn’t fly with a crippled wing, but unlike the silent Reaver her enemy was similarly grounded and far, far less capable. She moved into a gallop immediately, already in the throes of blood frenzy.

“RUIN!! Not you too!” Folgore growled. The mare didn’t flinch at his voice as she often did, bearing down on the Dark Acolyte while snarling in rage. In that moment Folgore had to choose between intercepting Dusk or Stormy, and he darted in the bat pony’s direction.

Scarlet Shrike glanced back and forth at the spreading bedlam, her heart pounding faster than ever. She had no idea what was happening, and with the immediate pressure off of her she easily recognized the cloaked pony. Gear Works was bleeding and quivering as he slowly stood back up, and it wasn’t clear that he even knew Stormy was racing toward him from behind. Not that he would be able to stop her anyway.

Stormy Ruin jumped, leaping over the Dark Acolyte and seizing his servo arm in her jaws. Her landing immediately pulled him over and threw him back onto the ground, and a resigned squeal came from Gear Works as he kicked up another light shroud of dirt. Then Stormy started to spin around in place while still holding onto the mechanical pincer.

“OH MY!! ONE OF THE NEW CHALLENGERS HAS ANOTHER IN A HELICOPTER THROW!! I’VE NEVER SEEN THIS IN A FORMAL COMBAT DUEL!!” Scoops gasped.

“EXTREMELY INEFFICIENT AND POINTLESSLY FLASHY,” Kilroy added, “AND AWESOME!! CRUSH THE FEEBLE TECH-CULTIST!! HA HA HA HA HAAA!!”

Gears wailed helplessly as he was swung in a wide circle, and after a few seconds Stormy let go. Gear Works flew across the arena, sailing toward the bed of large needles built onto the wall of the battle grounds. The crowd leapt to their feet, an ecstatic roar of approval already emerging from hundreds of throats.

Scarlet jumped into his path, and the cyborg slammed into a wall of steely red muscle instead. There was a metallic crunching noise as several internal parts broke, and Gears whimpered as he slumped onto the ground.

Scarlet Shrike turned her head, staring evenly at Stormy Ruin. Stormy stared back, looked down at Gear Works, and then looked back up at Scarlet.

“Did you just save him?” Stormy asked, snapping out of her berserk rage.

“This is not your fight, Stormy,” Scarlet replied firmly. “Withdraw, please.”

“… No, I was asking seriously. Did you just save him or did he get crushed in the impact and die anyway?” Stormy clarified, frowning. “If he’s dead then I don’t really care that you got in the way, so I need to know what happened so I know how mad to be.”

A cracking noise came off from the side, and the mares briefly glanced over to the other side of the arena. A pair of dark blurs zipped back and forth through the air, clashing and crashing over and over with explosions of sparks and the sound of ringing steel. The audience whooped and roared at each impact as Dusk and Folgore clashed, having already forgotten their disappointment that the earth pony hadn’t been impaled.

Scarlet set her jaw and took a step over Gear Works. “Stormy, this is the last time I’m going to ask you. Please, withdraw from the arena.”

The smaller pegasus arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

Scarlet lowered her head, her ears pinning back. Her expression remained firm, however. “Don’t make me do this, Stormy.”

“You’re not going to do anything,” Stormy Ruin sneered, pawing the dirt with her hoof in preparation to charge. “You’ll just stand there fretting and lecturing as I tear that metal fool’s bionic heart out. You’re nothing but a giant coward!”

“ALL RIGHT EVERYONE, WE’VE IDENTIFIED OUR COLISEUM INTERLOPERS!!” Scoops interrupted excitedly. “IN THE EAST CORNER, COWERING BETWEEN THE CLASHING TITANS IN THE SKY, IS MORTE VENIN, REAVER SECOND CLASS! THE AIRBORNE COMBATANT WHO, SHOCKINGLY, IS HOLDING HIS OWN AGAINST THE REAVER SERGEANT IS LUNAR LIEUTENANT DUSK BLADE!!”

Kilroy leaned in to his vox receiver. “LIEUTENANT BLADE IS A WARRIOR OF EXEMPLARY SKILL, BUT IS BETTER KNOWN FOR HIS INEXPLICABLE TALENT FOR DEFEATING BARRIERS AND SECURITY PROTOCOLS! THIS WOULD NORMALLY PROVE TO BE A SKILL OF SUPREME IMPORTANCE FOR INFILTRATION AND SABOTAGE, BUT IT TURNS OUT HE MOSTLY USES IT TO STALK MARES RATHER THAN SERVING THE DARK GODS. DISAPPOINTING!”

“Highly problematic,” Scoops mumbled before clearing her throat. “IN THE WEST CORNER, WE HAVE STORMY RUIN, ALSO A REAVER SECOND CLASS! WHAT HAVE YOU GOT FOR US, KILROY?”

“MISS RUIN – LOVE THE NAME, BY THE WAY – DOES NOT HAVE THE COMBAT RECORD OF HER SQUAD LEADER, BUT IF ANYTHING HER REPUTATION IS EVEN MORE FEARSOME AS THE MOST VOLATILE MEMBER OF THE ROZEN WINGS,” Kilroy chuckled.

“VOLATILE? IS THAT A GOOD THING?”

“NO, BUT WE ENJOY IT,” Kilroy admitted. “AND FINALLY, THE IDENT-CODE OF THE BLACK-ROBED CUR BEING SMACKED AROUND THE PLACE SAYS HIS NAME IS GEAR WORKS OF THE DARK MECHANICUS!”

“WOW! A REAL PONY TECHPRIEST!!” Scoops gushed.

“HE’S JUST A DARK ACOLYTE,” Kilroy corrected right before an explosion of red and black came from the center of the arena.

Folgore went spiraling through the air, wings tucked tight against his body, but hit the ground on his hooves. They dug divots in the ground as he skidded across the dirt, eventually sliding over one of the metal panels that held the spring-loaded spike traps. His hyper-aware senses did not warn him of a threat this time, and sure enough, the trap didn’t trigger; the devices were inactive once more.

Dusk Blade flew backward from the detonation as well, wisps of strange, inky… SOMETHING trailing from his hooves and wings. He did not land like Folgore did, his wings beating harder to bring him around. His eyes blazed orange like hot coals, and as he pushed forward again a fearsome howl seemed to encircle him even as he remained silent.

“Fascinating technique,” Folgore mumbled, swinging his arc blade to the side. Whips of crimson plasma lashed around him, and a micro-engine in his bionic leg started to whir loudly as a magna-accelerating flywheel accelerated. “For the Blood God,” he whispered, his hushed pronouncement somehow rising above the crackling of his augments and the roar of the crowd.

Folgore backflipped, his wings spreading and his blade swinging. A ferocious buzz of power became a thundering thundercrack, and a bright red arc slashed through the air directly toward Dusk. The thestral’s body flickered, his image seeming to split in two and vanish among the streaks of darkness.

The blood-red slash ripped through the tide of shadow, boiling it away, and then went on to slam into the arena wall. The heavy armor was shredded on the point of contact, splitting apart and drooling molten slag down the breach. It was, however, not the intended target.

With an amber flash Dusk slid to a stop behind the Reaver, and then reared back a claw to attack. A back kick lashed out before he could strike, and he barely blocked it with his raised leg before Folgore launched upward again.

“Delightful tricks! More! Show me MORE, Lieutenant! What wonderful secrets of murder have your kind been keeping to themselves?!” Folgore was fully enraptured by his new duel now, a sincere – if insane – grin plastered across his face. He had completely forgotten his original challenge, as well as his other subordinates still in the ring with him. “Let me see your fury! Let me hear your pain! Khorne smiles upon us, thestral!! AH HA HA HA HA HAAH!!”

“Get out of my way so I can go save my friend, you fanging freak!” Dusk roared back, galloping forward while shadowy mist swirled around him again.

Across the arena, Scarlet and Stormy paid only occasional attention to the more energetic duel, as their attention was necessarily fixed on each other. Stormy Ruin slowly circled the larger mare, her eyes narrowed to slits. Gear Works quivered in a pile on the ground, his chest occasionally spitting sparks.

“So what’s the play here, Red?” Stormy asked, her voice sounding cheerful and casual despite her expression. “Are you just going to park your giant butt between me and the nerd and hope I won’t bother to get around you?”

Scarlet moved slightly to the side as Stormy walked, keeping herself between the Reaver and the tech-cultist. “He’s not an enemy, Stormy. He can’t defend himself. He is no worthy offering to Lord Khorne,” she lectured.

“That’s not the POINT, you worthless heap of muscle!” the smaller mare snapped. “You realize he was the one manipulating the traps, right? He was trying to kill Sergeant Folgore!”

Evidently Scarlet Shrike had not realized this at all, and she recoiled in shock. Stormy immediately bolted forward, hoping to reach Gear Works during her moment of diversion. The smaller pegasus curved sharply to zip around Scarlet, and the larger pegasus promptly spread her bionic wing and swung it down to block her path.

“Get back! Leave him alone!” Scarlet demanded, swinging around to face Stormy.

“Get out of my way!” Stormy barked, faltering for only a moment before surging ahead again. “I have had it up to HERE with you!”

Stormy struck Scarlet thrice in the chest, rearing up and hammering her front hooves in rapid sequence. Then she flipped around to face the other way, one rear leg already chambered for a punishing kick.

Scarlet grunted in pain as the last kick drove home, and she staggered backward. Stormy turned around again and prepared to descend on the unprotected Acolyte, but the massive red pony simply stepped forward again to block her.

“I won’t let you do this, Stormy,” Scarlet said firmly, lowering her head to be (more or less) level with her opponent.

“Yes you will,” Stormy snarled. She struck Scarlet in the cheek, her hoof impacting with a gut-wrenching crack. “You’re going to just stand there and bleed until I move you!” Another strike to the other cheek, even harder. “I’m sick of it! I’m sick of YOU!! FALL DOWN ALREADY!!” Another hoof hammered the underside of Scarlet’s jaw.

Each hit brought a pained flinch, and little else. Scarlet Shrike endured the blows like an iron statue, even as trickles of blood splashed across the dirt below her. She kept her legs rooted firmly in place, impeding any attack on Gear Works, and they didn’t budge a millimeter under the assault.

Four more blows to the face and another double-legged buck to the chest fell upon the crimson giant, and she responded to each with a pained grimace or steaming snort. By now Stormy’s attacks were lagging in their speed and ferocity. Not out of exhaustion; she could fight for hours on end with greater intensity. But against an unmoving target that would not retaliate, the smaller Reaver felt her fury stalling.

“Fight me, coward!” Stormy Ruin howled, rearing up while her eyes glowed with a wrath that she could not properly vent. She pressed her nose against Scarlet Shrike’s and snarled, “Don’t just stand there and frown about it! If this worthless scrap pile means anything at all to you, then DO SOMETHING!!”

Scarlet’s bionic eye pulsed, and then released a blinding flash.

Stormy yelped and recoiled from the photon beamer’s light pulse, jumping back while the hair on her back bristled. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for an attack, shielding her face with a leg. Her wings twitched reflexively; normally she would have taken to the air to evade, but being grounded vexed her usual combat instincts.

Then a massive red hoof fell firmly onto her withers and pushed her down. Stormy’s eyes bulged as her legs buckled almost instantly, and she screamed as she was forced onto her belly and pinned.

“HEY!! GET OFF!!” Stormy shouted, scrambling to shift her legs so she could stand.

“Are you going to calm down?” Scarlet asked, her voice as cool and steady as ever.

“No, I’m going to RIP OFF THE TECHPRIEST’S HEAD AND BLUDGEON YOU WITH IT!!” Stormy Ruin tried to stand up, pushing hard against the hoof on her back, and the veins on her head and neck bulged from the effort. Scarlet’s leg budged, and the smaller pegasus slowly started to rise.

Scarlet Shrike very gently shifted her weight, and Stormy was immediately pinned to the dirt again. “I’m not going to fight you, Stormy. I won’t hurt you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t defend my other friends.”

“OTHER FRIENDS?! YOU THINK I’M YOUR FRIEND?!” Stormy snarled, twisting and flailing as much as she could to try to get free.

Scarlet stared down at the smaller mare, idly tasting the blood on her teeth. Then she slowly smiled. “Yes, Stormy. Of course you are.” There was nothing mocking or smug in her expression, although it looked slightly wistful.

Stormy Ruin released an incoherent growl of frustration and stopped trying to escape. “Why would I be your friend?! Have I ever been kind to you?!”

“Yes. Even though you complain, you’ve never tried to hurt me out of spite or idle frustration.”

“That’s your idea of kindness?! You’re enough of a burden as it is, what good would it do to cripple you?!”

Scarlet nodded. “You’ve always encouraged me to be a better warrior and take my training to the next level, even though it never worked. Many times you picked up the slack when I faltered on a mission.”

“As if I had a choice, you… you…” Stormy ground her teeth angrily. “I took your stallion! Is that something a friend would do?!”

“Sergeant Folgore left me. He ended our relationship clearly and directly face-to-face, and I have no claim to him. You two love each other completely and sincerely, and as much as that hurts, it is no slight against me,” Scarlet said somberly. Then she coughed gently and lowered her head. “… But I think we should leave that topic aside for now rather than discussing it in front of the audience.”

“Eh, they’re all watching the guys fight, it’s fine,” Stormy retorted.

Another thundercrack came from the middle of the stadium, and a shock wave blasted into the mares. Scarlet’s long, raven-black hair whipped about in the wind, while Stormy remained flat on the ground and mostly unbothered. Gear Works rolled limply across the dirt behind them, his servo arm creaking and clanking with every rotation.

Once the wave passed Scarlet looked up again, staring in awe at the only real battle happening in the Pit of Thorns. Streaks of red and black slashed through the air in rapid sequence, crashing into each other with a ring of steel striking steel and bright blue sparks of plasma. The colors mixed, swirled, and parted with equal speed, only to veer back around and clash again. The sky was a chaotic web of howling violence moving too fast for her natural eye to track, and her augmetic only managed to do any better by locking onto Folgore’s ident-code and tracing the signum vector.

The Reaver and the Lunar Lieutenant met again and again in the air, with broad, azure slashes sliding harmlessly through waves of inky darkness. The shadows morphed and twisted around the blazing red aura, and claws and wings emerged frequently to jab at every opening along with furious, high-pitched shrieks. The shadowy attacks mostly landed, but Folgore brushed them aside whether they scratched against his armor or bit deeply into his flesh.

Folgore surged upward and spun in a circle, a triumphant howl emerging from his throat. His arc blade whipped around him, washing away the clinging shadows with wide swathes of crackling energy. Dusk reappeared beneath the whirlwind of destruction and dropped to the ground, finally giving his wings a chance to rest.

As far as actual damage went, the thestral was almost unscathed. Folgore had not managed to land a single good hit on him. Dusk was obviously approaching his limit, however. His chest heaved and his coat was matted and sweaty, and his wings quivered slightly while he folded them against his back. Folgore looked completely energized in comparison, although he had numerous bleeding wounds. The pegasus cultist ignored his injuries completely, looking down on the other stallion with an expression of gleeful bloodlust.

“You’re not done yet, Lieutenant! You can’t tell me that’s all you’ve got!” Folgore hovered high above the center of the arena, his wings beating faster with every breath. “SHOW ME WHAT THE SLAYERS OF THE NIGHT ARE TRULY CAPABLE OF!!”

“Sergeant Folgore!”

Folgore’s ear twitched, and his exultant grin faded as he turned his head. Scarlet Shrike stood on the far side of the arena, her neck craned upward to watch him. Stormy Ruin was still pinned to the ground, Scarlet’s hoof pressed firmly onto her withers while she fumed helplessly.

“Don’t worry Shrike, I haven’t forgotten about you,” the stallion said, his tone impatient and patronizing, “this will be resolved quickly! Should I still stand, I will dispatch you too and this will be an afternoon well-spent!”

Without waiting for a response, Folgore turned back to his opponent and started building altitude in preparation for a dive. “NOW!! KHORNE’S WILL BE-oh blast, where did he go?”

Much to the Reaver’s frustration, Dusk Blade had vanished in the few seconds he had spent addressing his subordinate. He furtively glanced left and right, his narrowed eyes seeking any hint of movement or discolored patch of gray among the pit. Alas, the only motion he could find was Morte Venin, who was waving to him frantically while pointing her uninjured wing at the commentator booth hanging over the arena.

Folgore clicked his tongue in frustration. While he was at least Dusk’s equal in martial skill and arcane fighting techniques, they were not so evenly matched when it came to matters of stealth and infiltration. His attention had slipped away for a mere moment, and that was the only opportunity the Lunar Lieutenant needed. The arena’s audience, which had been absolutely ecstatic at the escalation thus far, quickly receded into murmurs at the sudden lull in the action.

“Tch! One disappointment after another,” the Reaver Sergeant grumbled, slowly lowering himself back down to the arena floor. His ears were perked and pivoting back and forth sharply, eagerly anticipating an ambush that would allow him to engage the blue-haired stallion again.

By the time he landed in front of Scarlet Shrike, however, no such assault had come and his danger sense was silent. He steeled himself and glared across the dirt at Scarlet, and then down at the smaller pegasus trapped under her hoof.

“Ruin, did you really lose to Shrike?” Folgore asked, his tone becoming even more aggravated.

“No! I didn’t lose! She wouldn’t even fight me!” Stormy protested, flailing helplessly in the dirt.

“Then am I to understand you ended up in this shameful position WILLINGLY? What do you think you’re doing?” the Reaver Sergeant retorted, a vein popping up above his ear.

“Sergeant Folgore, I am your opponent. We’ve spent enough time on interruptions and diversions,” Scarlet interrupted.

Folgore arched an eyebrow. “Hmph. True. All right then, let’s see if-”

“I surrender, Sergeant. You win,” Scarlet interrupted again.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” the stallion raged, stomping the ground in frustration. “You put everypony through all this only to quit at the final hour?! If you knew you couldn’t win you shouldn’t have shown up in the first place!” The arena’s crowd seemed to agree with the squad lead, and numerous boos and taunts started rising from the stands.

“OH DEAR! AFTER ALL THAT UNEXPECTED EXCITEMENT IT LOOKS LIKE WE’VE REACHED A RATHER UNSATISFACTORY CONCLUSION TO THE DUEL,” Scoops said sadly, her ears pinning back and her shoulder slumping. “NOT THAT I CAN EXACTLY BLAME MISS SHRIKE AFTER SEEING WHAT THE SERGEANT IS REALLY CAPABLE OF!”

“Are we all just pretending we don’t know where the bat pony went? I can see him from here,” Kilroy asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Scarlet Shrike shook her head solemnly as Folgore fumed. “This isn’t about whether I can win or not. I don’t want to fight you, Sergeant. Even if it means the end of my career. Because…” she gulped and stood a little straighter. “Because… I love you, Folgore.”

The noise from the crowd instantly hushed. Stormy groaned in exasperation. Folgore stared incredulously at the bright red mare, his jaw hanging open slightly.

“… So WHAT!?” the Reaver Sergeant demanded, almost trembling with anger. “Yes, I know you’re in love with me! I’ve known what this was all about since the beginning! Why did you agree to fight me only to give up now?!”

“Even for you, this was a pretty dumb plan,” Stormy Ruin sneered, even as she was still pinned under Scarlet’s hoof. “If you somehow beat the Sergeant and got to stay on the squad, you still would have never gotten back together with him. You should have demanded to fight ME instead!”

Scarlet Shrike shook her head somberly, looking down at Stormy with a sad smile. “I couldn’t bear to do such a thing, Stormy. I love you too.”

Intrigued gasps rolled through the arena’s crowd, the spectators hanging on every word. Stormy Ruin blinked repeatedly, completely dumbfounded. Folgore was no better, his jaw hanging fully open now and his rage abandoned. Up in the commentary booth, Scoops and Kilroy leaned over the vox array, barely daring to breath for fear of breaking the dramatic tension.

“I… I, uh… what?” Folgore asked, his eyes rising and falling from one mare to another. “What exactly do you mean by…”

“I mean that I love both of you, Sergeant!” Scarlet said, her voice sad but proud. “And I love Morte Venin, too!”

The masked Reaver had been slowly creeping along the periphery of the arena to sneak behind Scarlet, and she suddenly stumbled at the proclamation. Morte blushed deeply, and her uninjured wing shifted to scratch at the back of her head bashfully.

“I love all the Rozen Wings! And the rest of the Reaver flocks! And our Slaughterpriest, Reynal!”

Up in the stands, the shirtless man who had led the pre-combat prayers pounded a fist into his scar-crossed chest, a few tears trickling down his neck from under his rusty iron mask.

“It’s for love of you all that I fight, and the entire reason I’m here is to protect and help you! This is my calling, my reason for being a Reaver!” Scarlet said, a few tears of her own streaming down her cheeks. Her bionic eye wept too, although the fluid dribbling from that socket was a thick, dark oil. “When I was given the opportunity to fight for my place in honorable combat, I agreed. It seemed like the best option available, and a worthy tribute to the Blood God. But in this arena, facing you and then Stormy, Khorne’s anger fails me. To harm you for the sake of my status before the Company and our God… it’s impossible. My heart cannot withstand such cruelty.” She bowed her head. “This is a blasphemy before the Blood God and failure for me. Merely the last of many. For the sake of love, I am prepared to face the consequences.”

There was a long pause after she finished, and Scarlet awaited the judgement of her squad leader. Then her ear perked, hearing a rhythmic thumping sound coming from off to the side. One of the pony spectators was stamping a hoof on the bleacher repeatedly and sniffling, tears running freely down her cheeks. The stallion next to her quickly joined in, beating the metal with his leg. Other ponies nearby quickly joined in as well, and then some clapping slowly added to the cacophony as it built. Cultists, soldiers, and laborers alike stood up and applauded, and some started cheering again as the noise kept rising.

Scarlet Shrike looked bewildered as she looked around at the spectators, and she clumsily wiped her cheek with her leg that wasn’t still pinning Stormy down.

Stormy Ruin furrowed her brow, and then tapped the ground. “If you love me so much, can you let me up?”

“Will you be good?” the larger pegasus asked.

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t ask.”

“That’s not how this works, Stormy.”

“Silence, both of you,” Folgore said sharply. The mares obeyed, their ears pinning back. The Reaver Sergeant stared up at Scarlet Shrike silently, studying her. His expression was completely inscrutable, but it conspicuously lacked the simmering fury that normally characterized his behavior.

“… I must admit I’m somewhat… moved by your admission, Shrike,” Folgore said, sighing. “It certainly doesn’t feel like you’re fishing around for an excuse to avoid harm or embarrassment.” The blade in his bionic leg flipped around and then slid into the pocket on the bottom of the frame.

“I can endure almost anything, Sergeant,” Scarlet assured him, “I can brush off any wound, I can lose you, and I can suffer exile. But I can’t endure hurting my friends. You mean too much to me.”

Folgore grimaced, looking away to the side. “… This is quite unbecoming of a cultist of Khorne, you realize? Under the terms of our duel and the precepts of the Reaver’s charter, your surrender is a dishonor before the temple in addition to the established grounds for exile. Yet another embarrassment you’ve scarred my unit with.”

“I know, Sergeant,” Scarlet said sadly. “I will do as you ask this time. I regret that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BLOODSPORT I’VE EVER SEEN,” Scoops sobbed, punctuating the sentence with a hiccup. "TO THINK WE CAME TO SEE SAVAGERY AND DEATH BUT INSTEAD WITNESSED SUCH HEARTFELT BENEFICENCE!”

“OKAY YES BUT WE DID GET A LOT OF VIOLENCE TOO,” Kilroy retorted. “SPEAKING OF DEATH, HAS ANYONE SEEN THE ACOLYTE MOVE AT ALL SINCE THE LITTLE ANGRY PONY THREW HIM?”

The audience in the arena was still clapping, although the noise was no longer rising. Several people had broken down into sobs, and there were some humans and ponies tearfully hugging each other and rocking back and forth. Even Stormy Ruin sniffled a little bit, although her tears may have been a result of her aggravated injuries or her legs cramping up.

Folgore nodded to his challenger, looking uncharacteristically subdued. “Well, then your fate is decided… This is quite an anti-climax, isn’t it?”

Then a black dagger of shadows punched up into his gut, and Dusk Blade emerged from the ground and launched him into the air.

“SURPRISE, MURDER TURKEY!!” the Lunar Lieutenant shrieked, rearing back his other hoofblade.

Folgore blocked the stab with his bionic leg, and the adamantium blades punched into the plasteel shell rather than his ribcage. Dusk kept flying higher, lifting the Reaver into the air above him while blood drizzled down his legs and face.

“Treacherous vermin,” Folgore hissed, his golden eyes glowing again as his anger was swiftly rekindled.

“You wanted to see what I can do, didn’t you?” the thestral retorted, his amber eyes pulsing with equal intensity. “What’s the matter?! Not having fun anymore?!” He twisted the blade lodged in Folgore’s bionic, tearing it open and tearing the internal mechanisms.

“SERGEANT!!” Scarlet and Stormy cried in shock, watching as the stallions shot into the air. A twisting shroud of inky darkness marked their ascent, trailing behind Dusk’s flapping wings. A rousing cheer and surprised whooping came from the crowd, suddenly shocked out of their sentimental mood by the surge of violence.

Scarlet’s wings spread open, but then she glanced back at the burnt-out capacitor on her back.

“Well?! What are you standing around for?! Go get them!” Stormy shouted, pounding her hoof impotently on the ground.

“I can’t fly!” the larger pegasus admitted, again staring up at the sky anxiously. “My bionics were damaged earlier!”

“Khorne’s beard, you are SO USELESS!!” Stormy raged.

Scarlet Shrike started to hang her head, but suddenly felt a tugging sensation on her back.

She almost kicked whatever was touching her, but when she glanced back again she did a double take. “Acolyte?! You’re okay?!”

Gear Works pried the burnt capacitor out of the socket between Scarlet’s shoulder blades. “Dthsss hah grrrk kthaaa?”

Scarlet blinked, totally unable to make out the sounds coming from the stallion’s ruptured mask. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Gears was in horrific shape, with his optical screen cracked and reduced to static, his throat hosing torn, and both legs on his right side clearly dislocated. His respirator mask was halfway torn from his face, with curious and disgusting fluid drooling from the breach. Nonetheless, his shuddering and sparking servo arm tossed aside the useless power capacitor, and then reached down to Gear’s chest.

“Hkkthk kshl ahn futhuth thuks,” the Dark Acolyte gasped as a small glowing cylinder was ejected from a chest compartment. His servo arm snapped it up, and then wound its way back up toward Scarlet’s back.

“Wait, what is that? Do you need that? You look like you’re very badly hurt!”

Gear Works mumbled some more incomprehensible gibberish in reply, and then stabbed the capacitor into the Scarlet’s back. The mare jolted upright and her wings sprung open, knocking Gear’s servo arm away and only missing his face due to her much greater height. The tech-cultist quickly backed away, his head bowed and a series of painful-sounding sucking noises coming from his mask.

Scarlet looked stunned at first, but then her eyes narrowed. “I understand. Thank you again.” She finally lifted her hoof off of Stormy Ruin, and the smaller pegasus immediately jumped upright.

“Stop yapping and HELP HIM!” Stormy snapped.

A shrill whine came from the Arclith shard thrusters, and the power cell quivered in its socket.

Dusk slammed two kicks into Folgore’s abdomen, ripping his hoofblade free. A quick flap of his wings sent him into a spin, and another kick struck the Reaver’s head, pitching him to the side.

Folgore’s vision spun, and by reflex he tried to activate the sword in his bionic hoof again. The augment sparked, and then the casing snapped apart at the hinge. The blade segments broke with a sharp crackle of electricity, and Dusk laughed before ascending upward again, slashing the Reaver in passing. Folgore tried to twist about to line up his own kick, but Dusk bit onto his wing to hold him level and then punched a claw into the joint between wing and back.

Dusk spat out his wing and grinned. “Your god is calling you, Sarge. Go say hi.” Then he kicked off of the pegasus again, launching upwards while sending Folgore into a death spiral.

A tremendous roar came from the crowd, and Dusk sucked in a deep breath as he hovered above the Pit of Thorns. Blood was splashed over his face and legs, and for that brief moment, with his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, Dusk Blade had to admit that he could see some of the appeal of the Blood Cult’s martial rituals. Granted, his own presence here was a plot to undermine it specifically, and he couldn’t really remember if this outcome was advantageous to his goal, but at that one moment, it just felt GOOD.

He glanced down at where he had sent Folgore, and a smirk crossed his lips as he watched Morte and Stormy dash across the arena floor to catch the fallen Reaver. They would make it easily… unless somepony swooped in and kicked the wounded stallion slightly off-course. He swiveled about in preparation for a dive.

His ear twitched, detecting sudden motion coming from the ground.

Dusk Blade curved sharply to one side, narrowly avoiding the blazing red edge of Scarlet’s wings while she blasted by him. Even having dodged her, the heat and air pressure of her passing buffeted him, and he took a moment to shield himself and get some distance before coming around to follow her.

“What, now YOU’RE on my tail too?! Fine! I’ll break every last one of you lunatics!” the thestral growled, speeding up to catch her.

“WHAT A TWIST!! HAVING DEFEATED THE CHAMPION, THE MEDDLING NEWCOMER IS NOW FACING DOWN THE CHALLENGER!! I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!!”

“THIS COULD BE THE END OF THE ROZEN WINGS! AN ENTIRE SQUAD OF KHORNE’S CHOSEN PONIES, SINGLE-HANDEDLY DEFEATED BY A TREACHEROUS FLYING RODENT!! OR, I GUESS, SINGLE… HOOFEDLY? IS THAT A THING?”

Dusk caught up to Scarlet Shrike and dove on top of her, kicking into her head and bouncing off to avoid the lethally hot blades of her wings. The pegasus flinched and adjusted course to follow, but Dusk proved to be much more agile in the air than she. He zipped upward and then dove in back down before she could evade, slashing across her shoulder and immediately dropping out of her line of sight.

“I don’t even know why you picked this fight. At least the other idiots could actually fly when they tried to beat me,” Dusk remarked as he circled around and struck her in the side of the head.

Scarlet’s head budged – slightly – to the side with the impact, and then she fixed a smoldering glare on the retreating thestral. “I can’t bear to hurt my friends. But you? I can endure that.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Shrike,” Dusk said sarcastically. Then he suddenly dove straight toward her at an angle that left him open to her wings.

Scarlet took the opportunity immediately, turning to swing her left wing in an arc that could have sliced a fighter craft entirely in half. Instead, Dusk’s body turned into a stream of churning darkness, and the red-hot crystal blades cut through nothing but air. Dusk materialized on the other side of the pegasus, stabbing her in the underside between her armor plates and then dropping down as she tried to kick him.

“What sorcery is this?! Face me, coward!” Scarlet Shrike demanded as she turned around to face the Lunar Lieutenant again.

“I guess that technique is a little much for somepony like you, but I can’t hold back a lot after the last fight; the crowd is rabid down there,” Dusk admitted, glancing at his hoofblade. It was slick with blood, but the massive mare was as mildly upset as before. “By the way, I know we covered this before, but are you SURE you’re not a Space Marine pony? 100% positive? You were this big and resilient a year ago?”

“HYAAAAAAAAAAH!!” as her Arclith thrusters cooled enough to allow for another burst of thrust, Scarlet blasted forward through the air again, a hoof aimed to crush the bat pony to powder.

Dusk flew straight toward the Reaver, meeting her head-on at full speed. Once again a bright streak of burning crimson clashed with a lance of writhing darkness, and the sound of steel striking steel rang through the arena as a hush fell over the crowd. Scarlet and Dusk passed each other, and then slowed.

“Too easy,” Dusk sniffed, swinging around in the air.

Scarlet convulsed, and a substantial wash of blood erupted from her chest and shoulder. The crowd stood up and roared in approval, whooping wildly while the pegasus struggled to remain aloft. Teeth clenched, Scarlet banked and once again turned to face her enemy.

“Okay, this is just getting embarrassing now,” Stormy Ruin grumbled as she craned her neck up to watch the encounter. “I know taking so much damage and staying in the fight is the only thing that really makes Shrike impressive, but it kinda just makes it worse if she can’t even touch the guy.”

Morte nodded somberly, feeling slightly more respectful of Scarlet’s endurance but agreeing with the conclusion. Underneath her was Folgore, who was looking rather worse for wear despite being saved from a fatal collision with the ground. One wing was ragged and bent at a bad angle, his bionic leg had been reduced to twisted scrap, and he was slowly bleeding from half a dozen cuts and gouges of varying intensity. Morte had found some cloth and was applying pressure to the worst of the damage, while Stormy was slicing up a roll of bandages to help.

Still, the Reaver Sergeant kept his eyes on the sky. The enemy had not been defeated, and Scarlet Shrike, despite her deteriorating condition, had not submitted or been rendered incapable. He could not – WOULD not – leave the arena under his own power until the victor was decided.

A sprinkle of blood splashed across the ground nearby, spattering across the hard-packed dirt in a bright crimson arc.

Suddenly inspired, Folgore lifted his head to the sky and closed his eyes. “Lord Khorne, accept this offering of your faithful and deliver to us the glory of the damned.”

Morte and Stormy were startled by the sudden prayer, and they stared at their Sergeant.

“Our pain is yours. Our souls are yours. As our blood feeds the soil, so your rage feeds our hearts. The blade falls, the bullet flies, again and forever, in a holy litany to the Blood God.”

Stormy Ruin and Morte Venin closed their eyes and bowed their heads, silently joining the prayer. A strange noise started to build in the back of their minds as he spoke, and each of them could feel their blood pressure rising. Folgore continued to chant, his voice building like a storm.

“Grant us strength, Lord Khorne. Let the weapons of the foe shatter upon our steel! Let the enemy’s sorceries fail, their engines falter, and their blades fall short! Grant us victory against the treacherous and the weak, and to you we grant our last breaths! War, eternal! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the skull throne!”

Scarlet Shrike flailed in the air as she was beaten back under a flurry of impacts. Quivering black arcs cut through the air around a pair of amber eyes, battering against her chest and head. Sometimes they touched with a hefty impact, other times with the kiss of a blade, but always at a speed she couldn’t hope to track.

Scarlet tried to twist about to slash at Dusk, but the red-hot crystals sliced through nothing and then another hoof smashed into her jaw. The impact didn’t unsteady her, but every attack she made had the same result; a clumsy swipe at the air followed by a punishing counter. Aside from the slowly accumulating injuries, it was extremely demoralizing. Scarlet felt far more hopeless facing Dusk and his bizarre shadow magic than she had facing down Folgore and his augmetic arc blade.

Dusk kicked her in the side of the head again, and then a second later she felt his hoofblade dig into her chest armor. She tried to kick back, and then her head snapped up from a somersault kick to the underside of her jaw.

“Okay Shrike, I think it’s about time we wrapped this up,” Dusk Blade said as he hovered above her and put some distance between them. “The crowd is starting to sound a little bored, and I don’t blame them. Fighting you is kinda like practicing on one of those spiked steel training dummies, except you keep making pitiful little pained noises every hit.”

Scarlet felt the spark of anger inside her burn a little bit hotter. “Come at me without that weird black stuff to help you and I’ll make it plenty exciting!” She demanded.

Dusk paused and tilted his head to the side. “Hmmm… no.” He reeled back one hoofblade, and then the swirling black mist emerged from nowhere and started to twist around it.

“As long as we have a moment, do you want to explain what the hay that shadow… THING is all about? How are you using this magic?! You’re not a unicorn!” Scarlet asked, sounding increasingly desperate.

“Instead of answering that, I think I’ll break your wings now,” Dusk mused. “You can survive a fall from this height, right? Sure you will.”

Dusk Blade rocketed forward, his entire body turning into a black, arrow-shaped shroud. There was a slight surge of noise from the crowd below, but it was noticeably muted compared to the excitement from earlier in the match. Cries of “come on!” and “finish her already!” bubbled up from the stands, even from those more sympathetic to Scarlet.

Time seemed to slow as Scarlet Shrike watched the tide of shadows drilling through the sky toward her. She could try to dodge, but Dusk was far more agile and had no difficulty adjusting his attacks before. The red Reaver raised a hoof feebly, well aware that it would simply sweep uselessly through the shadow-stuff. Still, she figured she had to make SOME attempt to defend herself.

The spark of anger pulsed, and Scarlet felt a strange, uncomfortable heat flow through her. It seemed to irritate her injuries rather than soothe them, and she felt no surge of strength or fresh vitality in her thick, iron-hard muscles. Instead, she felt an impulse building in her eye. Her bionic eye, specifically. With little idea what was happening, Scarlet submitted to the sensation.

Her bionic eye activated its photon beamer. The resulting flash was much weaker than the pulse that had stunned Stormy, as the capacitor had not had time to charge fully since its last use. The effects of the light were nonetheless quite dramatic.

The darkness around Dusk melted away in an instant, exposing a shocked expression as he dove toward Scarlet Shrike at full speed. Scarlet, given the perfect moment to strike down her opponent, flinched and missed it. She too was surprised by the outcome, and completely failed to react in time.

Dusk slammed face-first into Scarlet’s head, and she yelped at the impact. The two recoiled and immediately started falling, and Scarlet Shrike quickly swung the Arclith shards directly behind her and generated a very short pulse of thrust to control her descent. She jolted forward, breaking away from the flailing bat pony and heading toward the ground at a much more reasonable angle.

Dusk Blade’s descent was much more chaotic. His wings flapped and his legs flailed helplessly, and he had completely lost his sense of balance. His vision swam and his ears were ringing like he had just flown into a tower bell. Still, through sheer effort and willful panic, the Lunar Lieutenant managed to slow his fall enough so that when he did hit the ground, the collision was merely painful rather than lethal. Dusk struck his shoulder and rolled, bouncing across the hard-packed dirt.

Across the arena, Scarlet made a much better landing. Her hooves dug into the ground and she skidded across the dirt for a good three meters, kicking up a wave of dust behind her. Gasps rolled through the audience, and the crowd fell to silence.

The enormous mare turned to face her foe, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Dusk Blade was more sluggish in standing upright, but nonetheless he pushed himself to his hooves. His wings spread, scratched and bloodied but still intact. He clenched his teeth, fighting against the growing vertigo that threatened to consume his thoughts entirely.

“Hrrgghlnf.” Then he gave up. Dusk collapsed onto his side, passing out with an agonized whimper.

Scarlet Shrike blinked, then raised her head. She looked left, at the comatose body of Gear Works. She looked right, at where Stormy and Morte were carrying Folgore out of the arena before he perished of blood loss.

“UN… UNBELIEVABLE… AFTER ALL THAT, THE WINNER IS…” Scoops began, her voice trembling.

“TECHNICALLY,” Kilroy interjected.

“SCARLET SHRIKE!! THE MARE HAS DONE IT!!”

Once again, the crowd erupted into cheers.

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 9 – medicae ward 4S
(3 days later)

“So I have to admit I’m still not clear on what happened. Or… what’s happening now.”

Dusk Blade laid on an examination bed on his back, a thick and relatively clean burlap cloth laid over him. He had a cast around his head and neck, and bandaging on his wings and one of his legs. A monitor pict-screen detailed a diagnosis of cranial trauma, along with various less serious fractures and abrasions.

“Is it the concussion? It’s probably the concussion,” Scarlet Shrike fretted, looming over the foot of the bed. “I’m very sorry about that! I didn’t mean to hurt you that badly!” She sported numerous small bandages and patches over her body, many of them with little hearts, lipstick kiss marks, or marks of Khorne drawn on them. Despite the number of them, the mare was obviously quite healthy; she didn’t bear any signs of more serious treatment and the smaller cuts that had been inflicted had already healed completely.

“Shrike, don’t apologize for winning. It was a FIGHT,” lectured Folgore, who was standing next to the much larger pegasus. “You didn’t even hit him, anyway.”

The Reaver Sergeant had a simple metal pole inserted into the damaged socket of his bionic leg, apparently serving as a crutch until his replacement was complete. He otherwise bore no bandaging, exposing all of his recent and partially healed cuts. Dusk could see some of the stitching that had sealed the long wound on his belly, by far the most serious damage inflicted during the battle.

Stormy Ruin and Morte Venin stood behind the two, both of them bearing their own bandaging, especially around their wings. Finally, standing near the head of the bed, was Gear Works. The Dark Acolyte had undergone extensive repairs, with many of his components being new (although made from the same mediocre materials as before). His organic legs were wrapped up in bandaging, although the wrappings were already stained with machine oil and bore small contact burns. Clearly Gears had been working despite his recovery.

“No, I remember what happened in the duel, just not the part after I blacked out,” Dusk admitted, frowning. “But more to the point, are you here to kill me?”

Scarlet blinked. “What? No!”

“Not right now,” Stormy corrected. “Maybe later.”

“Right, I suppose you wouldn’t know the match outcome. I doubt they bothered to brief you after you regained consciousness,” Folgore explained before coughing lightly into a hoof. “Despite the unexpected interference, Shrike acquitted herself well and defeated you after you had felled me.”

“TECHNICALLY,” Stormy interjected.

“After the match was over and our more serious wounds were tended to, we met to discuss the matter at length.” Folgore looked up into Scarlet’s eyes, and she smiled sadly. “On the one hoof, Scarlet was victorious according to the rules of the arena, including the surprisingly extensive sections on sudden interventions and invasions of the duel arena by outside contenders. On the other hoof, she’d proven completely helpless before me, and her victory was definitely not in the spirit of the ritual. Especially given that she had surrendered already before facing you.” He sighed.

“Okay, let’s get to the point here,” Dusk said, moving his hoof in a circle, “I’m not sure if you guys picked up on this, but I’m not really involved here for Shrike’s sake. What’s the upshot?”

“She is being formally discharged from the Rozen Wings, but will be allowed to remain in Ferrous Dominus as she wishes,” Folgore said, sounding strangely content. “She may retain her rank as a Reaver, and may one day be allowed to rejoin our ranks if she should develop sufficient skill and ruthlessness to fly with us once more.” He shook his head. “It occurred to me after the battle that in trying to exile her, I was again making an error based on my personal feelings. Once I determined that she was an incapable fighter, I feared that her presence here would simply lead to a pointless and dishonorable death. This prospect… displeased me. At least as much as the prospect of having to deal with a laggard Reaver having jealous squabbles with my lover. So I sought to use my authority to force her to safety, whatever her own feelings.” He grimaced. “But I was wrong. I had no right to indulge my petty feelings to infringe upon the service of another soldier of the 38th Company and scion of the Blood God. Even a really bad one.”

Scarlet’s lip trembled, and a tear crawled from her organic eye. “Th… Thank you, Sergeant! I can’t express how much it means to me to hear that from you!”

“Stop crying, Shrike. It’s unseemly,” Folgore demanded firmly.

“Okay!” she agreed as she sniffled, not stopping at all.

Dusk Blade’s eyes narrowed. “So she’s all set. Great. That all worked out, somehow. But what about us?” he asked, gesturing to Gear Works with his wing. “I’m a little surprised to wake up and see that Gears hadn’t been turned into ration tins while I was unconscious.”

“We were gonna do that,” Stormy admitted, “but Shrike just would NOT stop moaning about leaving him alone! And after you guys screwed up her duel, too!”

“I unfortunately had little to offer in my defense,” Gear Works said, being careful not to interrupt the pony cultists. “However, the ultimate results of the match seem to be strangely… satisfactory to them.”

Dusk narrowed his eyes at the Reavers standing at the foot of his bed. “Really? You guys aren’t mad about the traps nearly skewering Folgore? That was all my idea.”

“I’m quite upset about it, personally,” Scarlet said, giving the thestral a stern frown. “But you’re already in the medicae because of it, so what’s the point in still being angry?”

“By Luna, you’re dense,” Dusk spat.

“You have the skull fractures to prove it,” Gears noted.

“As for me, well, I can’t say I’m pleased at such an underhanded attempt on my life,” Folgore said. His tone was bizarrely sanguine, without a hint of the casual hostility and subtle threat with which he normally spoke. “But aside from that, the battle was thrilling.”

“Thrilling,” Dusk deadpanned. “I tried to murder you. First with the traps, then directly, and then with a surprise attack. I broke your wing!”

“Indeed you did. You are a magnificent fighter, Lieutenant Blade, and it was an honor to taste your steel. Unfortunately, Shrike intervened in our fight - twice - so it was not an honest contest of strength and wits, but that does not change that it was my loss,” Folgore said, a pleased smile crossing his severe face. “I had little idea how badly you wished to slay me, but if you should wish to attempt it again in the future you need only ask.”

“I don’t WANT you to cooperate, I want you to disappear!” the Lunar Lieutenant snarled. “Stop being so happy about getting your flanks kicked! It’s CREEPY!”

Folgore chuckled calmly, which sounded utterly alien coming from the Sergeant. “Forgive me my contentment, Lieutenant. It is rare for me to meet a true equal in the arts of combat. The Astartes are far above us, far as we’ve come, and very few ponies and humans can measure up.” He gently cleared his throat. “But aside from my personal gratification, you two have helped Scarlet Shrike a great deal, both in restoring her body, and in bringing about this compromise on her service. It would not have been possible without either of you. She can and has thanked you herself, but you also have my deepest gratitude. Because I feared to show weakness and refused to lay my feelings bare, and because I would not accept her own, I hurt her in a way much more grievous than a mere wound. Such neglect was unacceptable as the leader of the squad. And… also as a friend.”

Scarlet sniffled again, but held her head up high.

“I despise ALL of you,” Dusk Blade replied venomously, clearly unmoved by the heartfelt show of gratitude.

Scarlet and Folgore laughed lightly at the response. Morte rolled her eyes. Stormy quivered and bit her lower lip.

“I think we’ve said enough,” Folgore said, turning away. “I’m sure we’ll see you both again. Much to your distress! Ha!” the mares moved to follow him out.

“Wait,” Dusk said, shifting higher in his bed. “I have another question that’s been bugging me.”

The Reavers stopped, all of them looking back at the Lunar Lieutenant.

“You have a real problem with Shrike’s skill as a fighter, and I get it. But you also actually care about her and have some basic respect for her as a pony, apparently. And she's totally into you, obviously.” Dusk furrowed his brow, looking up at the enormous red pegasus. “So I’ve gotta know: why did you two split up? Did you dump her just because she was a bad Reaver?”

Scarlet’s eyes went wide, and she quickly replied, “Yes! Yes, that’s exactly why! I’m just terrible at, you know, fighting! And it’s really embarrassing so let’s not talk about it more!” Sweat started trickling down her neck, and her eyes kept darting over to Folgore, pleading with him silently.

The stallion was unmoved. “No, that’s not why. I can tolerate a partner who is an inferior warrior. It was because she’s too big,” he said flatly, causing Scarlet to flinch. “Every time we made love I had to set up the furniture like scaffolding and prepare safety gear. It was like painting a roof.” Scarlet looked absolutely mortified, and the other mares cringed in sympathy. “Once she was marked by Khorne her strength increased even further and it became intolerable. That is why we separated.”

Dusk and Gears looked up at Scarlet, but she turned her head away, refusing to meet their eyes (or bionic equivalents) as her cheeks glowed almost to a hot orange. Then they turned back to Folgore, staring at the metal socket that had been grafted onto his shoulder.

“I didn’t break his leg! That’s not my fault!” Scarlet cried once she realized what they were looking at.

“You didn’t break THIS leg,” Folgore muttered.

“It was a hairline fracture, not something you would have to replace with an augment!”

“Quite fortunate, since that was before we’d ever heard of Chaos…”

Scarlet Shrike sobbed and whirled around, rushing toward the exit. The door started to open at her approach, but apparently not fast enough for the crimson mare, and she charged into the gap to force her way through. It creaked loudly in resistance against her mass, but then something in the inner mechanism snapped. The door was forced open in a burst of sparks and shrapnel, and Scarlet broke through into the hall, still wailing in embarrassment.

Folgore stared at the broken doorway, looking decisively unimpressed. “Anyway, I have to go. Dark Acolyte, I will have the schemata for the arc blade delivered to your residence for a replacement bionic. Register an appointment for my installation once it is complete.”

Gear Worked recoiled. “What? Me? Why me?!”

“I am impressed by the quality of Shrike’s augments. The arc blade is an advanced design, but it should be fully within your abilities,” the Reaver Sergeant explained.

“I am not a metasurgeon! Enhanced prosthetics is not a specialty of mine! There’s no reason at all for your bionics to be my responsibility!” Gear Works protested, his optic lights narrowing.

“Do it or I’ll break your face again,” Stormy Ruin said blandly.

“In that case, I’ll have you up and running within 100 hours,” Gear said, his ears flipping down.

“Splendid. Until we meet again,” Folgore nodded and followed Scarlet’s path out the door. The access lumen sparked and blew out as he passed through, blasting another jet of sparks across the floor.

Morte Venin followed the stallion out of the room but Stormy Ruin hesitated, stopping just outside the doorway. She glanced outside, and then stepped closer to the medicae bed.

Stormy leaned in further toward Dusk, who looked more irritated by the second. “So, listen… I don’t think it’s gonna happen but… IF by some insane turn of fate Sergeant Folgore and Shrike get back together, would you wanna-”

“GET OUT OF HERE YOU FREAK,” Dusk snarled through clenched teeth.

“Okay! Just thought I’d ask,” she replied, shrugging, “but just so you know, the nerd can get all my contact info on demand. Toodles!” She trotted out of the room, still looking obnoxiously upbeat.

Dusk Blade fumed silently after the pegasi left, falling back into the (extremely inadequate) pillow. Gear Works remained for a few minutes, quietly waiting for the thestral to speak or at least calm down enough that he felt he could hold a conversation, but eventually the Dark Acolyte turned away and started heading for the door himself.

“I’m sorry,” Dusk grunted.

Gear Works halted. “… About what, specifically?”

“Come on Gears, don’t make this difficult,” the other stallion said, clenching his teeth. “I made a lot of mistakes and I’m apologizing for all of them, okay?”

“If you’re having difficulty recounting all the distinct errors in judgement you made, I’ve been keeping track,” Gear Works replied. “This particular incident – designated K113 – begins with your casual belligerence toward Miss Shrike, extends through to your emotional manipulation of me to assist in an assassination, the attempt itself - which was entirely inadequate and unsuccessful - and then concludes with your unnecessary combat against the Rozen Wings in which your inexplicable magic techniques failed and you knocked yourself out. All while I was in critical condition on the ground, in case that makes any difference to you.”

Dusk frowned. “Why does this misadventure have a case number?”

“I recommend against pursuing further tangents, Lieutenant.”

“Fine! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I keep picking fights with the dumb blood cultists! I’m sorry I talked you into trying to murder one of them! I'm sorry I didn’t keep you safe when we got caught, and I’m sorry I went all out and tried to take down all the psychos myself! I’m sorry I let the head psycho divert me while the psycho mare was tearing into you! I’m also sorry that I ultimately lost, although I guess that part worked out for everyone,” the bat pony ranted, steam blasting from his nostrils. “This should have been Shrike’s problem, but I had to stick my dumb snout into it for petty, selfish reasons! And even though it was all because they were picking on you, you just got hurt more! Does that cover everything?!”

Gears looked fairly surprised at the outburst. “Yes, that is sufficient. Thank you. You sound very sincere. Honestly.”

“Yeah, well, I have a lot of regrets what with the Khorne freaks all ending up happy and me ending up with a concussion,” the bat pony fumed, “but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Shrike gets to stay, all the Rozens are alive, and they mostly lost interest in bullying you.”

“I do broadly prefer that ponies extort me for services rather than assault me, so this is categorically an improvement,” Gear Works agreed. “That largely covers your misconduct, but there’s still one other effect of our interference that you may wish to address.”

“What? The Reavers’ injuries? Is it a problem that they’re going to be out of action for a little while?” Dusk asked. “I don’t see how that’s my fault. Folgore knew the risks when he agreed to the ritual duel and the others attacked me first.”

“Not that. There have been a few inquiries into your… techniques. You countered the Sergeant’s daemonic aura with some manner of dark magic. You appeared to dematerialize repeatedly over the course of the battle, and slipped through solid ground in your surprise attack on the Sergeant. It was all captured on the vid-stream. Several officers are analyzing it. The tactical applications of such capabilities are very intriguing to them.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. That.” Dusk Blade furrowed his brow. “That’s… gonna be a problem. There was no way I was gonna survive against Folgore without using that stuff, but I really let things get out of control there. Shoot.”

“Would you like to explain how you can disincorporate your body and consciousness into what appears to be fluid darkness?”

“No.”

“I can accept that answer, but the Iron Warriors may not.”

“Guano.”

“Rest well, Lieutenant. You’ll need it.”

Author's Note

For the purposes of the timeline of Nightwatch and explaining why the Elements of Destruction still haven't had their powers discovered, this chapter takes place at a completely ambiguous and confusing point in time. Thank you.

Chapter art is by Blazing Stred, and this other piece was done by Mantequiademani (but I think they go by Mimi for short)

Booting Up

Pain.

That was the first impulse that punched through the darkness, eliciting a startled, shuddering gasp. Every tortured nerve was suddenly alive with agony, and muscle spasms managed to squeeze extra twinges of misery from the pony’s terribly abused body.

Despite the pain suddenly jump-starting a general sense of awareness, the darkness remained. The pony simply writhed, gasping and twitching, completely lost in his senses.

“It… It worked? It actually WORKED?” came a voice. Female.

“Brainwave readings have climbed considerably and are stabilizing. Circulatory pressure is elevated, but falling. The procedure is successful,” the second voice was… weird. It was a droning buzz. It sounded completely unnatural, “As you were advised.”

“Okay, okay, fine. You were right. Nurse, could you contact the family, please? They’ll want to know he’s conscious again.”

“Yes, Doctor! Right away!”

More groaning and twitching came from the pony. He could hear voices, and make out what they were saying, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. Everything was just a jumble of rushing thoughts, confusion, darkness, and the ever-loving PAIN that wracked his body. He could smell something. Antiseptic?

“Can we administer painkillers now? He’s obviously suffering!”

“There is little point. The pain is not due to any physical injury, and will not induce shock. Administering further medications can only complicate the immediate recovery and waste resources.”

“And the patient’s comfort is of absolutely zero concern to you?”

“Affirmative. We learn from pain. It is-“

“NO. I am NOT sitting through that lecture again! I will happily use your tools and let you butchers help save my patients, but I am sick of hearing about your psychotic opinions on physical distress!”

The pony struggled to turn his head away from the noise above him, but he couldn’t budge. At least, he thought he couldn’t. There wasn’t much sensation other than the feeling of a million needles being slowly pushed into his body. What was going on? Who was arguing? Where was he? Why was it so dark?

WHO was he?

Thankfully, after considering that last desperate question, an answer bubbled to the surface. His name was Gear Works. He was an earth pony. He lived in Canterlot. He had a shop that sold and repaired clocks, locks, pumps, and other assorted mechanical devices.

“In fact, now that the patient is finally conscious again, I believe your job is done, Techpriest Carmed. You may go.”

“Negative. The patient has not yet recovered.”

“What do you mean? Of course he has! Or did you want to give him ANOTHER ‘nerve shock’ just to make sure?”

Had. He HAD a shop that sold machines. What happened to it, again? Something bad.

“Negative. The patient has not yet been restored to operational status.”

“Operational… well… no, I suppose he hasn’t. Still, it’s a little early to be worrying about THAT. The poor dear has barely woken up. And after what happened to him…”

Right. Something bad. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he did recall the entire roof caving in on his head. That was pretty bad.

“Irrelevant. The patient is conscious, and we can begin implantation procedures within the hour.”

“Implantation-! Now, hold on! He hasn’t agreed to anything, yet!”

“There is no other prospect of the patient being returned to operational capacity. Augmentation is the only acceptable option.”

“Ugh!”

How the hay was he even alive? Had someone unburied him? What happened to Canterlot?

“H-h-h-h…” Gear Works’ attempt to speak came out as little more than a shuddering breath. However, it seemed enough to attract the attention of the weird voice.

“The patient’s consciousness has stabilized. Reverberations in esophagus indicate attempt at verbal communication.”

“He’s trying to talk? Oh! Here, let me get some water!”

Gear Works sucked in a deep breath and then tried again. “Hhhurrrts,” he hissed quietly.

“Affirmative. That is consistent with operational expectations,” said the weird voice, “your condition is stable. You are in no danger of expiration.”

Gear’s body shook slightly as a wry chuckle tried and utterly failed to escape his lungs. He hadn’t had the honor of working with Dark Techpriests nearly as much as he’d wanted, but to hear of one talking about him “expiring” like a jug of old milk struck him as funny, somehow.

“Here you go. Have some water, Mister Works,” said the feminine voice.

A moment later, Gears felt something being stuck into his mouth between his teeth, and then water started flowing down his desperately dry throat. He drank greedily, and after nearly a minute the tube was pulled out of his mouth again.

He gave a relaxed sigh. The pain was starting to ebb, and now a general ache had settled over his muscles and in his head.

Well, most of his muscles. Now that he was feeling well enough to tell one cluster of agony from another, he noticed that he seemed to be missing sensations from some sectors of his body.

“I’m sure you have questions,” the feminine voice said, “my name is Doctor Miracle Tonic, and that irritating grating sound is Dark Techpriest Carmed. How much do you remember?”

“Everything,” Gears gasped, his breaths coming heavily, but steadily, “Canterlot was taken over by the Tau… the Royal Guard had been imprisoned… a few of those Fire Warrior guys made me take them to my shop... they finished searching it for weapons and then started interrogating me... then there were some explosions and everyone took cover... I could hear a lot of shouting, and some gunfire... I hid behind the counter, but I'm... not sure what happened after that. ”

Gear Works took several more deep breaths before he concluded, “I think the building collapsed.”

“You are correct,” Carmed confirmed, “additionally, your decision not to evacuate a dwelling under sustained assault was poorly considered.”

“Yeah,” Gears huffed, “I can see that, now. Kind of a bad call.” He groaned again. “Speaking of seeing, why’s it so dark in here? Or do I have gauze on my face? I really can’t tell.”

“Your optical-“

“Techpriest, I think it would be best if you left this part to me,” Miracle interrupted. Then she cleared her throat. “Mister Works, let me say first that Canterlot was saved. The Tau threat was defeated, and for the foreseeable future, we’re safe.”

“Huh. Really? How did that happen?”

“The Elements of Harmony led the 38th Company into the city. Eventually they cleared out the other aliens,” the Doctor pony said, “anyway, after the battle, it wasn’t until a full day later that someone figured out there was somepony inside the collapsed ruins of your home. We managed to get you out, and you were still alive, but you were in a coma. It’s been a week since the battle.”

“Oh… well, that’s not too bad,” Gears said cautiously, “and… I woke up at night, before anypony managed to fix the lights in the hospital?”

“Er… no. While we did manage to save your life, we couldn’t save… ALL of you.”

“…… Oh, ponyfeathers.”

“Negative,” interjected Carmed, “you do not possess any feathered extremities. Which is fortunate, as pegasus wings would have certainly been crushed under the debris as your legs were.”

“Carmed! I told you to leave it to me! I need to break it to him gently!” Miracle shouted.

“No, Doctor Tonic, it’s okay,” Gears sighed, “I made a mistake, and I paid the price for it. And really, I’m surprised to even have survived at all.”

“The equine subspecies ‘earth pony’ possesses much denser musculature and skeletal structure than is normal for an organism of your approximate size,” Carmed explained, “such resistance to injury was critical in preventing expiration before your body was recovered.”

“Heh… well, finally, being an earth pony comes in handy,” Gears grunted, “is my family here?”

“No. They visited several times, but I decided not to inform them about the… procedure we used to wake you up. I’m still quite surprised that it worked.”

“I informed you that its success rate-“

“Yes, I know what you said. I didn’t believe you, and I was wrong. Now would you LEAVE?”

“Negative. The implantation operation must begin as soon as possible.”

“No, he’s not-“

The doctor was cut off by Gear Works, who coughed loudly as if to remind the two that he was conscious and lucid. “What implantation procedure?”

“Designated citizen Gear Works,” Carmed buzzed, “the damage to your body due to the structural failure of your home was considerable. Two of your extremities were crushed beyond any possibility of recovery, and skeletal damage is extensive. Numerous internals have ruptured, as has your right optical organ. I have recommended to your so-called ‘medical professionals’ a complete augmetic rebuild and upgrade to restore and enhance bodily function.”

“This is true,” Doctor Tonic grunted, “and in my professional opinion as a doctor, and my personal opinion as a pony, the augmentations are a mistake.”

Gears shifted uncomfortably. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I mean that the ‘upgrades’ Dark Techpriest Carmed is considering are absurd. We’re not discussing a mere replacement liver or a new leg,” Miracle complained, “they include such obtrusive parts as a servo arm, respiratory filtration engine, dermal carapace, neural uplink, and internal generator.”

“The upgrades are-“

“UNNECESSARY,” Miracle interrupted, “I recommend limiting the procedure to merely organ replacements, and if you MUST, the augmetic limbs. Although even those may be too much. We can magically regenerate his legs. They won't be as functional as before, but they're better than attaching those big heaps of metal to him. Ponies have done just fine with walking sticks and leg braces for generations, and I honestly don't see it as an improvement to be wired up to some giant hydraulic contraption.”

"Your professional opinion is subject to entirely irrational bias against non-organic components. Your advisory role has been compromised."

“Whoa, wait,” Gear Works mumbled as his ears twitched, “Techpriest Carmed wants to do all that to me? Why would he offer me all that?”

“Proof of concept,” the Dark Techpriest replied without reservation, “I wish to create a template for converting equines to servitors. My peers insist that equine anatomy is incompatible with common bionic augments and standard technical protocols that govern servitor processing. I suspect that they are beholden to a common, illogical prejudice that only the sapien form is an acceptable template for servitor conversion. Your reconstruction and area of technical specialty are ideal for this purpose; if I can restore your body to full operational capacity and even improve upon it, then I will have evidence that equine anatomy poses no substantial barrier to service, and greatly expand our base of available resources.”

There was a long pause as Techpriest Carmed completed his explanation.

“… So, in addition to wanting to turn you into a walking blender like he is, the Dark Techpriest wants to use you as proof that our species makes perfectly good cyber-slaves,” Doctor Tonic said dryly. Then she sighed. “As you seem to be in perfectly lucid condition, Mister Works, I must allow you to make the decision for yourself. However, I must point out that such obtrusive, extensive augmentation is going to have an extraordinary and detrimental effect on your quality of life. You won’t just be a pony with bionic parts; you’ll be as much machine as equine. It will be a jarring change, to say the least, and there are some who would consider such an individual… less than pony, if you will.” The way she cleared her throat seemed to suggest that she herself just might hold that point of view. “Nonetheless, the choice is yours to make. What do you say?”

Gear Works took several deep, shuddering breaths as the Doctor and Dark Techpriest watched and waited patiently.

“AWESOME.”

****

SFaccountant ~~proudly~~ presents

A My Little Pony/Warhammer 40,000 crossover set in the Iron Age divergence…

Gear in the Machine

Punctuation key: “Gothic speech”, *Tau speech*, +Binary speech+, Non-verbal communication such as telepathy

Chapter 1

Booting Up

****

It was quite amazing how the world looked through the eyes of a machine.

As Gear Works stared through the window at the passing terrain, his view was split between two utterly different landscapes. One was a blur of color, shadows, and textures that he had known all his life. The ordinary view that his mind unraveled to determine distance, depth, hardness, and a variety of other casual estimations that were necessary for navigation. It seemed so ordinary, as many things did when one practiced them since birth.

The other half of his vision was a web of green wire frame images. A bizarre, precise, mechanical mirror-image of his biological eye, the sensor sphere wedged in his skull took measured calculations of distance, depth, and material composition and broke it down into a feed of data points. Then it laboriously re-constructed those data points into a crude image to feed them back to his mind to give spatial context to the river of information. One eye broke down a picture for information. The other put together information to paint a picture. It was almost poetic.

Gear Works was inclined to favor the view from his natural eye. It was more familiar, more aesthetically pleasing, had colors, and wasn't as confusing as the monochrome jumble from his augmetic. Yet the more he thought about it, the more doubtful that preference became. After all, his optical bionics provided all the information he needed and more. Its limitations came from having to reconstruct the visual information into crude images for his brain to comprehend. In that context, his natural vision was holding him back, keeping him from viewing the world around him as a set of measurements rather than a pretty picture. It was a fascinating conundrum.

He glimpsed something large moving through the grass outside, but in a moment he had passed it by. The mag-lev train moved too quickly for one to really enjoy the view, which was why few other passengers bothered trying. There were but four other ponies in his car and one human, and only the human was looking outside, apparently fascinated by the landscapes.

Ironic, really. The man had been to other planets, and come to the surface on a metal vessel capable of escaping a world's atmosphere and navigating the depths of space. His life contained a sort of grand, near-infinite freedom that an Equestrian could only dream of: the ability to leave the planet and explore others. Yet he looked upon something as mundane as lush grasslands and unspoiled forests as something remarkable.

Gears thought back to the creature he had seen briefly, and the vision in his right eye disconnected from the view in his left. A playback of the last minute proceeded before him, freezing when the creature was displayed in all of its green, hard-angled glory. Text flickered across his optical until a match was found. That had been the tail end of a chimera (the monster, not the APC), evidently. The creature had been startled by the passing of the train, no doubt.

Gear Works chuckled, shifting in his seat. Once the hefty hybrid predators had been considered a serious obstacle to traveling through the region. And they still were, he supposed, if one were traveling by hoof. But there were a plethora of better options nowadays.

The mag-lev train that connected Ponyville to Ferrous Dominus ran through some fairly harsh terrain in its path to the badlands, including a few swamps and jungles infested with dangerous creatures. None of the dangers of the route proved any real impediment to the well-armed and armored train. Large animals quickly learned to stay away from the electrified rail lest they be smashed aside by the transport’s mighty prow or strafed by automated defense lasers. The rough ground may have proven some small impediment to laying the rail track, but once established the train itself floated above such hazards at fantastic speed. The route was a remarkable departure from the familiar train system that linked Canterlot to the rest of the kingdom, and that was even before taking into account its destination.

Once the train reached the badlands, physical evidence of Chaos taint was quite obvious; trees were withered, discolored seams of ground crawled over the dirt like veins of darkness, and an unnatural number of carrion birds roosted on the bare tree branches while scanning for food. Gears could feel a distinct chill along his spine as his transport crossed over the wasted ground, as if Death itself had crossed his path.

“Checkpoint alert,” growled a distinctively unfriendly, pre-recorded voice from the train vox caster, “security scans engaging. Reducing speed.”

The scenery started passing by much more slowly as the train decelerated, and Gear Works tilted his head at an angle so that he could get a better view of what was ahead. Large black obelisks were situated on both sides of the track ahead, a thick red sensor lens built into the sides facing the train’s path. As the mag-lev train passed between the obelisks, a glimmering red screen appeared between the paired sentries, filtering through the train’s armored shielding.

“Wow…” Gears was nearly breathless as he watched the checkpoint scanners sweep over the train, and his breath caught in his throat as the first of the crimson webs appeared at the front of the car and was swiftly carried through it. As the scan field reached him, the stallion’s augmetic eye flickered and started returning static.

Gears grunted as he felt his right side grow heavy, and indication that his other augmetics were losing power. He felt slightly worried as he glanced down at his bionic foreleg, but put his fear aside as he shifted his weight. This was probably normal; and even if it wasn’t, Ferrous Dominus was the home of the Dark Mechanicus and undoubtedly the best place in the world for one’s augments to suddenly lock up and stop working.

Several more crimson screens passed through his train, and as the final one swept over him, Gears felt a sudden jolt run up his back. His optical started rebooting, and after a few seconds his vision was returned to its usual mix of normal vision on one side meshed with green wire-frame outlines on the other.

With his vision returned to “normal”, Gear Works once again leaned toward the window, and he gasped. Looming up ahead were the massive walls, cannons, and smokestacks of Ferrous Dominus.

Gear Works had seen numerous images of the place. Pict-captures, paintings, and even a fancy hololithic model set up in the Iron Chest. He had talked to many ponies that had visited the fortress-factory. But nothing they conveyed held a candle to the grim majesty of seeing the bastion himself. Ferrous Dominus was as unique a place as any city in the world, even with such exotic locations as Cloudsdale and Canterlot on offer. A living space carved into one of the most wasted, inhospitable lands on the planet, which somehow sustained its population while making the area, in many ways, even MORE hostile. The number of guns immediately visible from Gears’ current distance was staggering, and he could see the base’s enormous anti-ship batteries stretching toward the sky behind the walls.

Almost giddy with excitement, the stallion clambered over to the other side of the train. The noisy clanking of his augmetics against the metal floor drew some alarmed stares from the nearby passengers, but Gears paid them no heed as he peered out the window on the other side.

From this angle he could see the bulk of the manufactorum, its smokestacks pouring a constant stream of green-brown poison into the air. And off on the side, looking entirely out of place with jet-colored facings and crescent moon emblems, was Nightwatch, jutting into the soot-stained sky like a massive black spike.

The sight almost brought a joyful tear to his organic eye, and the stallion grinned as he plastered his face against the armorglass.

Then the door that separated the train cars opened, and the sound of heavy, metal-clad footfalls diverted the attention of everyone in the car, Gears included.

Gear Works had been lucky (or so he would claim) enough to see an Iron Warrior before, so he wasn’t shocked still at the sight of the giant armored man that had entered the car and started looking over the passengers. At more than eight feet tall in his power armor, before one considered the brass horns jutting up from his helmet, the Chaos Space Marine made it abundantly clear why the train’s ceiling was so tall.

The Iron Warrior’s gaze locked onto Gears, and the stallion felt his heart jump as the super-soldier advanced on him. The warrior’s weapons were mag-locked to his thigh and belt, but Gear Works had to consider that a Chaos Space Marine could easily kill him with his bare hands. And he’d never seen an Iron Warrior with bare hands.

Stopping in front of the augmented stallion, the Iron Warrior remained silent, looking the pony over. The equine had a slate blue coat of fur, with a shock white mane. What was more interesting was the pony’s augmetics, which were more extensive than the Marine had ever seen in a pony before: there was a bulbous optical piece, and his front left and rear right legs had been replaced. A black rubber cloak covered much of the pony, obviously in imitation of the Dark Techpriests. The tip of a metal tendril poked out the back of the robe, suggesting that the pony had even been given an augmetic tail.

What was most bizarre, however, was that the emulation of the tech-clergy had gone so far as to include a servo arm. The additional limb was folded against the stallion’s back in an effort to be as unobtrusive as possible, but adding a presumably functional servo arm to an individual was not something that was done lightly outside of the Cult Mechanicus or the Iron Warriors themselves.

The Iron Warrior placed a hand to the side of his helmet as it performed a more comprehensive scan of the augments. They were surplus-grade; heavy, bulky, and most likely created from recycled materials. The sort of components that were normally fitted to servitors. Such bionics would have embarrassed most Techpriests, but then it was hard to imagine a Techpriest supplying such equipment to a pony in the first place.

“You are clear,” the Chaos Marine rumbled as his visor confirmed that the augments possessed no weapons or dangerous materials. Then he connected his vox to the train operator. “All scans negative. The passenger cars are secure.”

He started to turn, but hesitated as he saw the pony still staring up at him with an expression of silent, thoroughly intimidated awe. The Iron Warrior decided to indulge his curiosity.

“You wear robes and boast bionics in imitation of our Dark Techpriests. How did you come to be augmented like that?” the Marine asked. It was meant to be an idle question, but the helmet vox and long habit made it sound a lot like a growled demand.

Gear Works almost jumped. “It was after the invasion of Canterlot, Lord!” he barked stiffly. “The first one, that is! I was buried in my home and the Dark Techpriests dug me out and saved me!”

“And rebuilt you too, clearly,” the Iron Warrior mused, “but that cloak isn’t something borne by individuals outside of our Mechanicus detachment. Has the Cult Mechanicus truly started inducting you equines into its ranks?”

“Er, no, Lord, not as such,” Gears admitted. Then he gulped and looked up at the soldier. “But I hope to be the first, actually.”

The Iron Warrior shifted as the train started slowing further, indicating that they had reached the gates that served the mag-lev track. “It seems an odd ambition for one of your kind. Your horned folk are associated with fanciful and surprisingly harmless psionic abilities, and those of you with neither wings nor psychic powers are thought of as banal, rural beasts.”

Gears chuckled nervously. “Well, I suppose we can give that impression.” Then he paused. “Wait, what about the pegasi?”

“They’re mostly associated with flying into windows, whining about the soot clouds, and generally being idiots.”

“Sounds about right,” Gears mumbled, “regardless of the preferences of the rest of my species, I, at least, aspire to be more. I wish to join the Cult Mechanicus, learn the secrets of the machine, and serve the 38th Company to the best of my ability.”

“You aspire to be servant to us?” the soldier snorted in amusement. Gear Works briefly wondered if the amusement was due to an aspiration of submission, or the suggestion that he wasn't a servant already.

“If it weren’t for the 38th Company, I would be dead. Twice over, maybe thrice,” Gears mumbled, “all Equestrians owe you a debt. I would consider it an honor and an opportunity to repay mine personally with my service."

The train's vox caster crackled with static. "Now arriving at station Primus 1. This is the end of the transit route. All passengers are ordered to disembark for screening and security checks. Compliance is mandatory. Defiance will not be tolerated."

Gears turned to look at the vox caster, and then back to the Chaos Space Marine. "It's nice of you to specify when defiance won't be tolerated. Otherwise we'd think it wasn't a good idea at all."

"I can never tell if you creatures are being sarcastic or not," the Iron Warrior mumbled, turning away. He started to leave, but then paused after a few steps. "... A word of caution, equine."

"Yes, Lord?" Gears asked, perking up attentively.

"We have numerous servants already. The mercenaries, the menials, the slaves, and those of your kind who have already immigrated here to take up arms or pursue commerce within our walls," the warrior explained, "the Dark Mechanicus are not among them, however."

Gears blinked his organic eye.

"To be Mechanicus is to be much more than another sack of flesh for us to use as we see fit. They are not the equals of us, the Astartes, but still they are too powerful, too valuable to be treated as expendable tools like the other mortals. They are our allies, not our servants."

Gears furrowed his brow in thought.

"Keep that in mind when you make your plea to them, equine," the Iron Warrior warned, "they do not accept all those who wish to join, but only those who have earned their place. They do not wear their symbols as a mark of ownership or mere allegiance, but a mark of pride; an honor earned through suffering and effort."

He said nothing else, leaving the train car without looking back or looking over the other passengers. The train had slowed to a crawl now, and through the windows Gears could see the great metal buildings of the fortress-city through a web of chain link fencing. The train stopped entirely, and another blast of static came from the vox caster.

"Welcome to Ferrous Dominus," growled the voice from above, "now get out."

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 19 processing

"Next!" shouted the officer at the front desk.

Gears absent-mindedly took a step forward as the line shifted, bringing him one step closer to being released into the fortress at large. He was close enough now to overhear the interview going on at the front of the line, but wasn't paying the slightest attention to the man or the ponies ahead of him.

The augmented pony was completely entranced by his surroundings. No doubt by Iron Warrior standards it was drab, cramped, and ramshackle. To Gear Works it was a marvel.

A huge air purifier was mounted on the ceiling, rumbling obnoxiously as it constantly sucked up air, processed it, and then blasted it back into the room. Gears could feel the machine's vibrations through his hooves, and the cleaned and regurgitated air had a slight chemical scent to it.

One wall of the immigration processing station was covered by a bright orange hololithic screen, floating barely an inch over the wall itself, which displayed various warnings and advertisements. There was evidently a sale going on to celebrate the opening of a new clothing store - equine and human ensembles, so it said - and a dessert shop was seeking new hires. A recruitment poster featured a proud-looking stallion standing over a fallen Ork warrior with the Iron Skull hovering above him. Atop the holo board was a general greeting for those waiting for admission: Welcome to Ferrous Dominus. Our bread baked fresh daily.

The other side of the admission line was what held Gears' absolute attention, however. In contrast to every other pony, who was trying to ignore it. Gun servitors slowly shifted right and left in an endless search for a target, their glowering red optics casting rays of blood-colored light across the equines waiting in line. Boltguns clicked back and forth from pony to pony, and rotary cannons would turn every few seconds, whirring to action and then slowing to rest. There were two standing gun servitors that were plugged into a length of cable that ran into the wall; presumably they could disconnect from their power source and move if they needed to chase something, although Gears recalled that the exterior of the building was a web of criss-crossing fire arcs and automated guns anyway. Between the two mobile servitors was a human torso that had been installed in a wall port, covered over with armor and boasting two small Gatling guns.

The other ponies seemed almost desperate to distract themselves from being a finger twitch away from obliteration, but Gears struggled to keep from leaving the line to start crawling around the place and toying with the various machines and cyborgs. He was surrounded by the sights and smells of wartime industry. Grim, dirty, unfeeling, and generally awful. He loved it. He might have burst into song, but he was pretty certain that would cause the sentry guns to open fire on him.

"Next!"

The line budged again, and Gear Works finally found himself at the front of the line. He turned to face the stony-faced human standing behind the counter, and then felt a knot of nervousness that had been conspicuously absent while staring down the barrel of the gun sentries.

"Name."

"Gear Works."

"Species."

"Earth pony."

"Origin point."

"Canterlot City."

The questions from the desk clerk came rapidly and with a curiously hostile inflection that made them sound like demands.

"Combat training."

"N-None, Sir."

"Hmph. Profession."

"Machinist. Or, well, I suppose you would call me a Techpriest. Er... maybe?"

This finally prompted the man to halt and look up from the hololith screen at who he was interviewing. He seemed slightly surprised at the sight of the augmented stallion, which implied that he hadn't looked up at the ponies he was processing once since Gear Works had entered.

"... YOU'RE a Dark Techpriest?" He asked, furrowing his brow. Confusion had briefly eclipsed his disdain, but he seemed hesitant to argue the point. After seeing ponies armed with lasguns and even with power armor, it wasn't obvious anymore which roles equines couldn't fill at all.

"Well, not really. I hope to be, though!" Gear Works said, placing his augmetic hoof up onto the counter. "I'm just not sure what you call those that work and build machines who aren't necessarily associated with the Mechanicus."

"We usually call them victims," the man quipped.

"Oh. Uh... I'd rather not characterize myself that way," Gears mumbled.

The man frowned, but then entered something in his console anyway. "I've assigned you temporary lodgings in temporary hab-block Alpha-3 in sector 18. Your room number is 611."

"Ah. And I'll be moved into permanent housing after my application is processed?" Gears asked.

"You'll be issued a return ticket to your station of choice when your application is rejected and you're removed from the base premises," the clerk corrected, "assuming you don't join a different organization after your initial rejection that isn't going to toss you out into the streets like so much trash."

Gears frowned as the man continued entering data into his console. "... I have to say, Sir, that the Iron Warrior I met on the train was FAR more encouraging."

"It's hard to best our Astartes masters when it comes to withering contempt for your people, but I'm proud to be among that particular class." The clerk slid a finger across the hololith, and a shaky grinding noise came from the cogitator. A shiny metal card slid out of a slot in front of Gears. "There is your access card. It will allow you to enter any building that is not subject to a security access level. Most structures are subject to a security access level, so it won't get you very far. It will also deactivate after two days, which I believe should be sufficient time for the Dark Mechanicus to destroy your aspirations entirely. Enjoy your stay for as long as you can."

Then he waved his hand to the side. "Next!"

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 18

Gear Works had obviously been experiencing some mixed messages since he had arrived in Ferrous Dominus.

The lone Iron Warrior had been bizarrely accommodating, and the clerk specifically responsible for dealing with pony immigrants had been almost hostile. The streets of the fortress-factory were a similar mix of contradictions. He had been expecting large, open streets with tank convoys and security checkpoints and maybe - HOPEFULLY - a giant monstrous armored walker.

There were all those things, including the walker. Which was amazing and wonderful and great even if it had snapped at him like an angry dog and scared him into hiding under an APC. But then there were things that one rather wouldn't expect to see in a massive industrialized war factory. He had passed by several restaurants and a coffee shop, and there were posters advertising various Equestrian goods, the benefits of joining the 38th Company's mercenary corps, and some kind of show by the Great and Powerful Trixie. Those last ads in particular Gears found odd, since he recalled Trixie as being a warrior unicorn that had bravely led the assault that liberated Canterlot from the Tau, and it seemed strange that somepony like that would be putting on magic shows.

Still, that wasn't QUITE as odd as a pony giving guided tours through the fortress. Close, but not quite.

"On your right you'll see a standard pattern Leman Russ main battle tank," said a bright orange mare pleasantly as she walked ahead of a crowd of other ponies, "the standard pattern model possesses a turreted main battle cannon, a hull-mounted lascannon on the body, and two heavy bolters attached to the sponsons on either side! Many also boast an additional heavy stubber on the pintle mount, bringing it to a total of five guns! It is one of the most heavily armed and armored main battle tanks in the known galaxy, and its performance is respected even among aliens that generally hold human technology and wargear in contempt!"

Gear Works matched the pace of the surrounding tour group, completely absorbed in the guide's explanation. His augmetic focused on the Leman Russ, and within seconds reams of data spilled out of the crude wire-frame construct. Mechanisms hidden under the outer layers of armor were highlighted and sketched out by his bionic, then slid away from the rest of the image before being surrounded by measurements and data points. It was fantastic.

"Most of the Leman Russ and Chimera vehicles are either stolen from military bases or restored from recovered wrecks on the battlefield! This is in contrast to the Astartes vehicles such as the Rhino APCs and Predator attack tanks, many of which have been in service for thousands of years!"

The pegasus acting as tour guide sounded fairly ridiculous giving her cheerful monologues through a respirator mask, but the crowd gave her their polite attention whenever they weren't busy gawking at something the guide was pointing out. Besides, they all looked equally silly wearing their own masks along with touristy sun hats and flower-print shirts.

"Oh! Here comes a Sentinel patrol! Lucky!" The tour guide spread a wing out to point down the street while four stilt-legged light walkers moved around a bend at a jog. "These vehicles usually serve as combat scouts in the Company armies, although I hear they've been shifting to a fire support role as of late! Pegasi and batpony squadrons can find and mark targets much faster and more easily escape retaliation, which makes them better scouts, but lack the heavier armor and weaponry of the Sentinels!"

"Uh... Why are they dragging a human behind them?" asked a stallion uncomfortably. As he had noted, there was a chain length trailing from one of the light walkers, and it was attached to a screaming man being dragged over the ferrocrete streets.

The tour guide's relentless cheer was unmoved by the grisly spectacle. "What we're seeing here is a criminal execution! Punishment for various crimes against the 38th Company or the citizens of Ferrous Dominus range from relegation to slave labor to death!"

"Wait, really?" asked a mare. "Isn't there anything less severe than either of those?"

"Crimes that don't warrant making the perpetrator a slave or a corpse are considered too petty to warrant the time of the 38th Company's enforcers or military administrators, and as such are effectively legal!" the guide explained. "Fun fact: in hosting the world's first Chaos and machine cults but banning worship of something called the 'Whore God' under pain of death, Ferrous Dominus has both the greatest religious diversity and the strictest religious laws of any city in the world!"

Some of the tourists paused to take pict-captures of the Sentinels and their victim as they passed by, which Gear Works found incredibly morbid. Then they were on the move again, finally approaching the section of the military fortress that he had come to see in the first place: the temples of the Dark Mechanicus.

"Please use caution when navigating the area! Any sudden movements may be interpreted by the combat servitors as an attack pattern and unleash a fusillade that will kill us all!" The guide's voice didn't waver in the slightest from her usual cheerful, bright tone, and a few of the touring ponies chuckled at the warning. The chuckles trailed nervously off as the group slowed down and a few targeting lasers swept across them.

Gears had to restrain an excited squeal. There were servitors everywhere; from the simple, minimally augmented lifters to very heavy models bearing tank-like tread chassis and heavy cannons. Many of them were armed, and these units seemed to pay particular attention to the group of alien creatures with low security access.

"So are these those slaves that everypony makes a big deal about?" mumbled one of the tourists.

"No, not at all!" the guide said with a giggle. "Servitors are humans who have had their minds erased and their bodies rebuilt to work as machines! They don't fit Equestria's definitions of slavery, as their neural re-programming robs them of anything resembling free will, sentient dignity, or complex emotions! By our standards they're more or less worker zombies!" She started heading forward again. "It's ironic, really, since the process of turning humans into servitors is easily just as cruel as the executions and slave labor, yet don't excite nearly as much criticism from Equestria! Hah! Now, up here we see the main refineries..."

Gear Works let the crowd of ponies pass around him, rooted to the spot. His head was craned upward, and his augmetic zoomed in on a massive iron relief over the doors of the main temple. A giant human skull wrought in metal loomed down over the streets, half its face bone, and the other half composed of machinery. The Star of Chaos surrounded it, the arrows spreading into tracks of glowing red circuit tracers that spread over the face of the temple. A cascade of feelings washed over him as he beheld the mighty temple. There was fear, certainly, but it was drowned under the strength of his awe and curiosity.

The Dark Mechanicus had a controversial reputation among the Chaos factions in Equestria. They were the source of all the technology that gave the 38th Company their many advantages - military and commercial - over Equestria and the rest of the planet. And for those that had less interest in material conveniences or warfare, they also had a database of knowledge that any academic-minded equine would sell their own foals for. The problem being, of course, that the Tech Cult would probably buy them. Just as the Iron Warriors freely demonstrated their tyrannical and brutal nature even as they defended Equestria from rampaging aliens, the Dark Mechanicus made little effort to hide their lust for resources and exploitation while sustaining the new trade in alien goods on Centaur III. They would happily carve the entire planet apart for metal and chemicals, and enslave anyone who stood in their way.

And now - FINALLY - Gear Works would get his chance to help them.

Two wall-mounted gun servitors swiveled to face him as he approached the front gates, and one spat a harsh command from behind the grill of its face plate.

"Halt. Unit not authorized for entry. Unauthorized access will result in unit termination."

Gears stopped as instructed, but didn't seem nearly as bothered as he probably should be by having a sparking plasma cannon aimed directly at him. "Hi! Can I speak to whoever is in charge of applicant processing?"

An assortment of robotic beeps and squeals came from the servitor, and then a hololithic screen appeared in front of its face.

"Contact permissions granted. Accessing vox-link 8204-239815. Opening channel."

A blast of static came from a completely different speaker on the servitor's chest, and then a new voice spoke. It was deeper and spoke faster than the servitor, but other than that Gears found it remarkable how similar it was to that of the lobotomized cyber-slave.

"This is Dark Acolyte Sheraan. Auspex scans complete: adult equine, genus 'pony'. Earth sub-genus, male. Twenty-nine percent of body mass represents bionic augmentation. Weapon class null." There was a brief pause. "Speak."

"Hello, Acolyte! My name is Gear Works, and I would like to talk about the possibility of joining your fine organization!" Gears said. He would have stepped closer to the servitor to make sure his voice reached wherever the vox receiver was, but he wasn't sure that the gun servitors weren't still set to annihilate him for approaching without permission.

There was a long pause, and more static and beeping noises came from the servitor.

"Access to temple lobby granted. All defensive units are ordered to stand down," barked Sheraan. The servitors quickly turned away from Gear Works, swiveling about to watch other people passing down the avenue. "Proceed."

A heavy groan came from the front doors of the temple, and then the hiss of pistons shifting. They swung open with surprising speed, and Gears made a mental note that the caution striping below the entrance wasn't just a theme-related welcome mat.

"Well. I've officially made it further than I really thought I would," the stallion mumbled to himself as the gates settled into their open position, "here goes everything..."

The temple lobby was rather sparse, with a cavernous main hall that mostly served as an empty space branching off into different parts of the temple interior. There were a few podiums near the back with cogitator consoles, and the walls were overrun with piping and cables. Above the center of the hall was an enormous cog suspended from the ceiling with heavy chains. The top of it was covered in clusters of lit candles, and the entire room smelled of incense.

Standing in the middle of the room was a single man in charcoal-black rubber robes. His arms were bare and still mostly flesh, but his face was completely covered with a face plate and emerald-green visor. A pair of servo arms curled up over his shoulders, aimed toward Gear Works as if waiting for a chance to strike.

Two more figures in robes stood behind the podiums further back, both of them more obviously and extensively augmented than the man in front of Gears. The stallion nonetheless gave the closest engineer-cultist his full attention and sat down on the floor in front of him.

"I am Dark Acolyte Sheraan," the man said once Gears sat down. "You have come seeking employment by the Dark Mechanicus?"

Gears took a moment to consider the question. "Well, I don't think 'employment' is the right word for it. I'm not just looking to work for you; I want to become one of you!"

Bursts of static came from the Techpriests further back. After a mere three seconds they were quiet once more, and Gear Works blinked in surprise.

"Noted," said Sheraan in monotone. "You mean to take up worship of the Omnissiah, the Dark Machine God. The greater construct of the pantheon of Chaos, the source of all wisdom, and the Truth."

"Yes. Absolutely. I am all about that." Gear Works nodded rapidly. "Granted, I don't have all the details on that 'Machine God' thing, but that's why I'm here to learn!"

"You wish to take up worship of a God you know nothing about." Although the wording suggested it was a question, it sounded a lot more like an accusation.

Gears felt himself starting to sweat, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Whatever sense of fearless apathy he called upon while staring down the barrel of a plasma culverin was not in evidence here, while he was being grilled by the cyborg cultists who would determine the major course of his immediate future.

"I do know some things about it. Not enough, obviously," the stallion began, "as you can see, I already have a bit of the Machine God in me already!" He chuckled nervously, and his servo arm unfolded above him.

"A product of one of Dark Techpriest Carmed's failed experiments," mumbled Sheraan.

Gear Works didn't know if calling the experiment a "failure" was some kind of judgment on him or with the man's work in general. "The experiment was a failure, Acolyte?"

"Affirmative. Equine biology is inferior, and unsuited to servitor conversion."

"Ah. I see. Well, that's... unfortunate? But anyway, I wanted to-"

"Likewise, your kind are unsuited to the duties of the Dark Mechanicus," Sheraan continued, "your technological achievements are risible, your reliance upon psychic power revolting, and you lack proper tool-centric physiology."

"Counterpoints!" Gears raised a hoof sharply. "First, technological achievement in Equestria is not limited to purely mechanical and electronic devices - which are uncommon in our country, but do exist - and as such one must consider the remarkable magic-based creations developed by our people when judging our technology level. Second, whatever prejudice you have against psykers, I'm an earth pony, and thus shouldn't be subject to any related stigma. Finally, I know enough about the Cult Mechanicus to know that overcoming one's biological origin is the entire POINT, which means that the weakness of my flesh versus yours is quite irrelevant; in the end, we both aspire to be machine, and machines are judged according to their efficiency and objective worth, not some random incidence of their creation."

Gears took a deep breath as he finished speaking, surprised that his nerve had held up long enough to deliver his rebuttal. The Techpriests engaged in another few seconds of indecipherable machine-speak, and then the stallion was again the subject of their cold, bright green stares.

"Explain your qualifications and desire to serve the Cult of the Machine," Sheraan demanded.

"Oh, sure! So, my special talent is working with and building machines! Obviously relevant, although Equestrian machines are several orders of magnitude less complex and impressive than your own! Personally, I think it's because scientific advancement is reliant on ponies ending up with research specializations as their-"

"Remain on-topic," Sheraan interrupted, "you are currently diverting otherwise productive time, and the numerous failings of your wretched alien society do not concern me."

Gears swallowed loudly. "Ah! Right! Good point! Uh... well, after my shop in Canterlot was demolished by the Tau - or, rather, demolished by the Company trying to fight the Tau - I decided to try to work for the 38th Company directly to get better access and understanding to your technology! I was doing some petty recruitment work at first, because Master Delgan didn't want me poking around at all the machines instead of working, or disassembling his inventory. That didn't really stop me from doing those things, though, so I was... uh... fired."

There was more Binaric chatter from the Techpriests in back.

Gears didn't hear anything from Sheraan, though, so he continued. "It was suggested by many of my former co-workers at the time that I should try out for the Dark Mechanicus. They weren't serious, of course, but the more I looked into your organization the more intrigued I became. I already have bionic enhancements, and your unusually spiritual approach to industry interests me deeply. My family was against it. Like, seriously, totally against it. They were trying to save up money so I could start a new shop. But after seeing the second liberation of Canterlot, and the way the Iron Warriors saw off the final Ork threat, I made up my mind! I wanted to serve the Company, and the best way I can do that is by joining the Dark Mechanicus!" He grinned brightly. "See? I got a robe and everything!"

Dark Acolyte Sheraan tilted his head to one side. "You say you undertook this decision contrary to your family's wishes. Membership within the Dark Mechanicus precludes any marital or paternal attachments outside the cult. You cannot bring your spouse with you, in particular if it will obstruct your duties in any way."

Gear Works blinked in surprise. "What? Spouse? Oh, no, that's not what I meant! I was talking about my parents and sister! I don't have a wife or kids. Or a marefriend. So that's not a problem. I don't have to sever ties with my relatives, do I?"

"Negative," Sheraan said, "this concludes the preliminary interview. Processing application."

The Acolyte immediately twisted around to face the Dark Techpriests behind him.

+Adjudication: There is no technical impediment to applicant admission. I await input,+ Sheraan bleated to the Techpriests.

+Interrogative: When did species cease being a technical qualification to the Cult Mechanicus?+ replied one of the cyborgs as his mechatendrils quivered.

The other Dark Techpriest interjected before Sheraan could answer. +Hypothesis: Current precedent includes the enlistment of mutants and daemonkin within the Dark Mechanicus. Conclusive: Strict sapien heritage need not be a requirement for service.+

+Retort: The organisms listed share a human DNA base. To accept a xeno will further pervert our order and damage our reputation relative to other Dark Mechanicus detachments.+

+Interrogative: When has genetic deviancy and daemonic influence been determined to be a detrimental deviancy of the Dark Mechanicus? Hypothetical: The expansion of genetic samples and techniques allow for our own to be further tested and refined, and to add new ones. Conclusive: There may be unexpected advantages to allowing the applicant to achieve Aspirant status, and negligible risk.+

Sheraan interjected his own blast of static. +Concurrence: The equine shares sufficient anthropomorphic traits to provide service. Conclusive: Applicant may be exploited and then ejected from the Cult Mechanicus with minimal disruption to operations.+

+Hypothetical: Applicant will by then possess knowledge of the Dark Mechanicus that cannot be allowed to leave the cult.+

+Practical: Then applicant can be terminated, or converted to a servitor as Dark Techpriest Carmed originally intended.+

+Interrogative: You wish to give that lunatic's experiments legitimacy? Are you malfunctioning?+

Gear Works fidgeted nervously as the three robed cyborgs spat Binaric Cant at each other. The exchange went remarkably quickly, ending in some two minutes. But for the anxious stallion it was a painfully long time before Sheraan whirled back around to face him.

He jumped to his hooves immediately, startled. "Yes! What is it? What's happening?"

"Your application has been considered. There is one final step remaining in the admission process," Sheraan said.

Gear Works blinked, surprised. "Oh! Really? Okay. What is it?"

"Stand over here, onto the designated testing area," the Dark Acolyte pointed to a square slightly off to the side of the stallion.

"Okay, sure, I just thought-" Gears twitched to a stop when he saw the 'testing area' that was being pointed out to him. "Uh..."

"Step into the designated testing area," Sheraan repeated.

"The... testing area? This area, here? With the black and yellow warning stripes that generally indicate 'danger'?" Gears said, pointing a hoof toward the colored tile.

"Affirmative."

"The area with the warning stripes that has a very obvious open seam around its circumference, as opposed to the rest of the flooring around it?"

"Affirmative."

Gear Works stared down at the spot, and then cautiously pressed the tip of his hoof against it. As he applied more pressure against the tile, he felt it give slightly, only for it to push back into place as soon as he let up.

"Is... Is this some kind of springboard?" Gears asked incredulously.

"Affirmative," Sheraan said again, "now get on."

Gear Works looked up at the Techpriests behind Sheraan, noting that one of them had a mechanical, tri-jointed arm poised over a large red button.

"... No. I'm not stepping there," the stallion said.

Sheraan immediately whirled around again, and then the black-robed figures began sputtering Binary at each other again. Gear Works idly wondered if he should take the time to flee.

Then Sheraan turned to face him again. "Your application has been approved. You are granted the rank of 'Aspirant'. You are now officially a member of the Dark Mechanicus."

Gear Works recoiled, almost stunned. "Wha-You-Really?"

"Affirmative. You will submit to processing and be given an assignment immediately." Behind him, the two Dark Techpriests left their podiums, one of them sputtering a curiously bitter-sounding string of Binaric Cant.

"This is... I... I can hardly believe it!" Gear Works said, fighting to hold back tears. "I was willing to do whatever it takes to join you, of course, but I thought that even then-"

"Please be aware that displays of emotion are considered to be beneath you, with occasional allowances of murderous rage and lofty contempt," Sheraan interrupted, "shameful conduct may result in your being ejected from the ranks of the Dark Mechanicus. Most likely into the recycling forge."

Gears quickly recovered from his joyful outburst, adopting an expression of grim seriousness. "Of course! You're right! I look forward to serving the interests of the Dark Mechanicus and the Iron Warriors! Glory to the Omnissiah!" He bowed his head deeply, closing his biological eye as he did.

Then he cracked that eye open again. "By the way, just to be sure: if I had stood on that panel there, would you have really flung me out of the temple and possibly seriously injured me rather than just telling me to leave?"

"Affirmative," the Dark Acolyte said, "furthermore, we are allowing your admission based on the presumption that you will eventually fail, and most likely die."

"Huh. I suppose I should feel resentful about that, but honestly this has all gone much better for me than I had any right to expect," the pony reflected, standing up again.

"Welcome to the Dark Mechanicus, Gear Works."

Author's Note

It is with a heavy heart that I must announce to my readers that my workplace has, unexpectedly, finally gotten its internet filter to work well enough to actually block me from accessing FiMfiction on my work computer.
Granted, my being on this site during work hours is PRECISELY the sort of thing that the filter was designed for, and really it's quite perplexing that I've had access to the site for over a year without issue. And of course I can't possibly make a sensible case for why I should be able to read and upload pony fanfics when I'm supposed to be doing accountant stuff.
But ultimately this means the end of most mid-day updates, which means you, the reader, having to wait several hours longer for each chapter to appear than usual, which means you should all feel horribly aggrieved and embittered by the cruel, heartless profit machines that don't want to pay me accountant wages to read fanfiction.

Of course, none of this affects my ability to WRITE fanfics at work, so when you really think about it, I'm still kind of the jerk, here.

Stormy Weather

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 12
Stormy Weather

Sector 4 – Mechanicus Temple Lambda-9
Testing arena Omega

“Engaging target array. Test pattern 688-2. Field shielding is operational.”

Engines underneath the rockcrete flooring kicked into gear, soon followed by the clanking of moving chains. Ten posts rose from a series of holes cut in the floor, each one made of crude scrap metal salvaged from vehicle wreckage. Scraps of clothing and dented helmets were bolted onto the posts, giving a vague impression that they were meant to proxy Ork warriors.

“Vid-capture active. Subject flag… released. Miss Shrike, you may begin when ready.”

Scarlet Shrike took a deep breath, shifting her legs to a takeoff stance. She could feel a deep soreness in her muscles behind her shoulder blades, where her bones were now melded with rods of heavy durasteel. The metal shells sat on her back, the blade-like impulse crystals packed together and retracted. Between the two bionic wings was a blue cylinder plugged into the center of her back. It was some kind of high-capacity energy cell; a necessary accessory, Gears had assured her, since Scarlet did not possess a micro-reactor and the waste heat dispersal for the wings was simply too intense to risk in-built power supplies.

Her view was half a green-tinged vid display melded with her familiar organic vision. The insertion and neural integration had gone perfectly; her bionic eye shifted and focused as naturally as the organ it had replaced. The coloration was still disconcerting, however, and she had already activated the photon beamer twice by accident.

A surge of current ran up her spine, and her neck tingled as the bionic wings opened and the arclith shard thrusters fanned out and extended. There was no warming of engines or safety check to prepare for operation. There was no idling or standby mode. All she could do was initiate the thrusters very briefly and try to control her landing.

Her vision shifted toward one of the posts to her left, and Scarlet Shrike plotted her attack. It was about ten meters ahead, and she reasoned that if she could direct herself to pass by it closely enough then her wing would cut through it on landing without further attention. Once she was on the ground again, each target could be destroyed with a brief sweep of her wings while they were still venting heat.

“… Miss Shrike? Should I reset the testing parameters?”

Scarlet shook her head to clear it, and then glanced back at the observation balcony. Gear Works was standing before the control cogitator (on top of a crate, as it was of course built for a human’s height), one leg hovering next to an override switch. Lieutenant Dusk Blade was lounging on the deck next to him, lying down with his head sticking through the safety railing.

“No, I’m fine.” Scarlet turned back toward her target, and she set her jaw as her wings spread open further. “Engage!”

The arclith shard thrusters flashed a brilliant red and Scarlet was launched forward like a rocket.

She blasted past her initial target, being far too high in the air to hit it with her wing or anything else. To her credit, Scarlet didn’t scream or otherwise express panic while she fought to control her descent. She did release a distressed neigh when she crashed into a different target post at the far end of the testing arena, though.

Scarlet fell end-over-end after impact, snapping the target post in half and then rolling across the ground. Her wings flailed about, slicing deep, molten scars into the flooring for nearly eight meters until she slid to a stop. Smoke poured from the arclite thruster blades, and a series of brilliant crimson plasma arcs buzzed across the razor-edged tips.

Gear Works groaned. The objective counter on the controls beeped, and a big “1” appeared.

“Pretty impressive,” Dusk offered.

“What, that the sheer velocity enabled her to destroy a target by accident?”

“No, that she didn’t slice off her own leg after crashing. You were really on the ball making sure the wings wouldn’t flex the wrong way.”

Gears tapped the screen. “Miss Shrike, are you injured?”

“N-No! No, I’m fine!” Scarlet jumped up, her wings spreading to her side. They were still glowing a bright red, and occasionally a blast of hot sparks sputtered from the blade tips. “I can continue!”

“You just hammered a metal pole in half with your face,” Dusk Blade pointed out, leaning into toward the vox receiver.

“Yes, I noticed,” Scarlet grumbled, tenderly touching a hoof to her jaw. “Nothing broken! HYAH!!”

Scarlet Shrike bolted into a gallop, her wings dropping flat to either side and spreading out as far as possible. She ran between a pair of posts and they were severed instantly at her passing, throwing half the helmet-topped tubes of metal into the air. The counter on the controls switched to a “3” and the pegasus rounded on another target.

She swung around to again cut at the test target with her wing, and this time the limb jolted while it tore through the post, spraying hot sparks across the floor. She galloped to another, slicing it apart with the other wing, but it suffered even more resistance as the crystal blades cooled.

“I’m going to try another boost!” Scarlet declared, her wings tilting upward. “I’ll try a higher jump arc.”

“Bad idea,” Dusk said immediately.

“Terrible,” Gears agreed. “You shou-“

The boosters fired, and Scarlet Shrike launched high into the air. The arena was very tall to allow for some degree of flight maneuvering, and she had used an even shorter activation cycle this time to cut the total amount of thrust.

Thanks to such caution, when she reached the top of the arena she merely banged her head on the ceiling rather than slamming into it at lethal velocity.

Gears and Dusk winced at the impact, while Scarlet restrained a pained yelp. Then she began her descent, trailing streaks of brilliant red from the blades of her bionic wings. To the spectators’ surprise, the glide down from the ceiling was almost perfectly controlled, and after a steep drop from the peak Scarlet swooped down into a fast but steady landing.

Granted, she landed several feet out of reach of any of the targets, perhaps due to the early impact to her head, but it was a far more graceful failure than either of the stallions were expecting. The pegasus shuddered, shook her head, and then charged forward at the nearest target. She slammed a hoof into it half-way up, and the metal pole almost cracked apart entirely as it bent over from the impact.

“Man… I dunno about her,” Dusk mumbled.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Gears Works asked while the target counter ticked up again. “She obviously misjudged the power of the arclite thrusters, but that’s to be expected. If anything she’s performed better than I’d anticipated. I’ll have her checked for concussion after she’s cleared the training sequence, she’ll be fine.”

“No, it’s not that.” Dusk frowned, his eyes narrowing. “It’s just… this is the best she can do? This is a Reaver’s fighting ability?”

“Well… hmmm…” Gear Works glanced up at the target counter as it ticked up again, trying to work out how best to phrase his next statement. “It WAS suggested by her former teammates that her combat skills were below unit proficiency. But I don’t know if we should expect a Khorne cultist to bring any great feats of violence against mere test targets. There’s no blood or deep enmity to be had for scrap iron poles.”

“Good point. Okay, let’s kick it up a notch,” Dusk suggested, spreading his wings and lifting up off the ground.

“Huh? Wait, what-“

Scarlet lashed out with her rear legs, breaking off another metal post. The helmet, plates, and other bits of Ork wargear that was charitably referred to as “armor” went flying from the impact, clattering across the deck in a dry, bloodless facsimile of battlefield carnage. The next pole was several meters ahead, and the massive mare sped into a gallop to break it.

As she bore down on the target, she could hear something beating at the air behind her, like a towel or cape whipping against the wind. Scarlet was fully focused on the training exercise, however, so she ignored the noise until it suddenly passed her by. A blue and gray streak zipped ahead and struck the target pole, smashing the helmet off before bouncing up and away from the impact.

Scarlet Shrike recoiled with a slight whinny, sliding to a stop. Dusk somersaulted through the air and then landed in front of her on all fours in a cat-like display of agility. He looked up at her, his neck craning considerably to meet her confused gaze. The bat pony had his mask and optics on, obscuring his face behind a shell of armaplas and gleaming green lights, but otherwise he only wore a light jacket and his amulet.

“Lieutenant? Wh-What are you doing?” Scarlet asked, sounding worried.

“I’m gonna bump up the challenge level a little bit,” Dusk replied, his voice sounding thick and raspy through the mask. “We can see you can smash metal poles apart, great. Let’s see how you handle a moving target.”

Scarlet looked alarmed as the thestral started trotting around her. “What? You mean… you? You’re the target?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Uh… Well… not necessarily, but…” Scarlet was glancing back at Gear Works in the control dais anxiously, as if hoping that he would intervene. “Isn’t there some machine that can do it? It’s just that… fighting against friends and allies is always so awkward…” Her ears pinned back, and she winced at her own words.

Dusk stopped. “What do you mean? You don’t do combat sparring for training?”

“I… do, yes. I’m not very good at it, though. I like fighting Orks, but training by fighting my teammates just feels-“ Scarlet’s protest was cut off when a hoof smacked her in the nose, and she flinched.

“Come on mare, quit whimpering and let’s see some of that Khorne rage!” Dusk taunted, darting out of reach.

Scarlet Shrike looked doubtful. “Um… but… what if I hurt you?”

“Are you serious?” Dusk retorted. “Who cares?!”

“You’re friends with Acolyte Gear Works, aren’t you? He cares!” Scarlet protested.

The vox caster crackled briefly. “No I don’t,” Gears corrected before the vox shut off.

Scarlet Shrike looked like she was about to argue the point, but Dusk darted forward and jabbed her lightly in the snout the moment she opened her mouth.

“Come on! What’re you afraid of?” Dusk didn’t even step out of range of counter-attack this time, trotting a circuit around the mare with his wings spread.

“I’m afraid of breaking your spine. I know it sounds strange and a little conceited but I’m very strong and you’re not even wearing combat armor,” the pegasus explained, wrinkling her nose.

A hoof struck her in the rear, and Scarlet yelped and jumped in surprise.

“Moon’s sake, her butt is like a hunk of granite,” Dusk volunteered, giving another experimental kick to the other cheek. “What’s your workout like? I might want-“

Dusk jolted backward just before a hoof the size of his head flew past his nose. Scarlet’s kick displaced a considerable amount of air in its passing, and as he felt the rush of wind through his mane and watched her rear leg slowly pull back, the stallion took a moment to consider whether he would have survived such an impact. Then his lips quirked into a smile under his mask.

“Better,” the thestral said, smoothly stepping out of leg’s reach.

Scarlet turned around slowly, her expression grim. Her bionic eye seemed to be glowing slightly, leaving a neon green trail with her movements, and her jaw was set in a dark frown. It was a stark difference from her earlier mannerisms, if still very restrained for a Khorne cultist. Once she was facing Dusk she started walking forward, her head held high so that she could properly tower over him while she glared.

“You’re going to want to apologize now,” the Reaver said, her tone set to freeze blood.

Dusk felt more than a tinge of fear confronting the massive equine looming in front of him, but he pushed it aside. “Hit me and I will.”

“You don’t want me to do that,” Scarlet replied, snorting angrily.

“That’s why I’ll be dodging, yeah,” Dusk retorted. “Judging by what I’ve seen so far, you won’t be able to touch me.” His wings flapped, lifting him off the floor. “Wanna prove me wrong?”

“Then make peace with whatever useless idols you pray to, Lieutenant,” the pegasus said, her voice a simmering growl. “Khorne will have your skull this day!”

Scarlet bolted forward, her charge considerably more energetic than before. Dusk lifted higher into the air, and then spun into a dodge as a fan of red crystal blades swung at him. He kicked off the wing and then landed off to the side, running a wide circuit around the larger pony.

Scarlet spun around and then charged ahead again, looking as if she intended to simply trample the thestral. Dusk kept racing to the side and then jumped just as the pegasus reached him, avoiding a hoof that would have surely broken something on impact. Dusk spread his wings and kicked with a back leg, landing a solid strike on the side of Scarlet’s head.

The disgraced Reaver shrugged off the impact and chased after him, her hooves thundering against the flooring. Dusk flew higher as he led her around the training field, keeping an altitude just a few feet over her head. She sped up into a sprint and extended a wing to slash it at him, but Dusk twisted into a dodge and then kicked off the flat edge of the crystal shards. Without the excessive heat bleed of a recent thrust cycle they made for a very clumsy weapon, albeit they were still heavy and sharp enough that he couldn’t afford a direct hit.

While Scarlet was surely a mortal threat to anything closer to the ground than she was, equine physiology meant it was harder for her to attack enemies above her. Back when she had her organic wings this was surely less of issue, but at present she was at a disadvantage against any opponent who could fly. Dusk circled around the massive pegasus in the air, constantly staying just far enough away to let him react when she jumped or tried to swipe with her wings. After the third such attack was tried and kicked away fruitlessly, the bat pony clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“C’mon now, is this really all you’ve got?” the stallion taunted, swooping down and jabbing Scarlet directly in the nose.

She released an infuriated growl and reared up, but Dusk simply flew higher to stay out of reach of the flailing hooves and gnashing teeth. “I get that you’ve been maimed and all but I don’t know how you’re gonna talk the psychopaths into letting you join up again if your Khornate rage can’t even get you a single hit on me.“

“Get down here and say that again!” Scarlet snarled.

“Really? You want me to give you a handicap? Are you going to go to war and ask the Orks to go easy on you before the battle?” Dusk did an aerial backflip as the crystal blades of Scarlet’s wings cut under him. “I guess it could actually work; Orks are just that dumb and they actually like a challenge. But I don’t think it will convince your Reaver buddies to take you back.“

“Stop squealing and fight me!” Scarlet shouted, leaping in Dusk’s direction.

The thestral bounced up in the air, and then bobbed back down behind the angry pegasus. “Hey, is that little blue cell in your back volatile? Like, if I cut it open would it explode or power you down or just-“

“SHUT!! UP!!” Scarlet barked, her wings snapping back and pulsing with energy.

Dusk desperately sped up to try and get clear, but it wasn’t quite enough. Scarlet Shrike rocketed into the air, bashing her head into his leg and sending the bat pony into a wild spin. As she flew past a stream of searing hot air swallowed him, and he gave up trying to maintain his flight.

Dusk’s wings wrapped around himself and he curled into a spin. He hit the ground and rolled with it as best he could, and then opened his wings again to push back upright as soon as he slowed down. Steam was rising from his body; he felt like his skin was burning under his coat and his leg throbbed like it had been struck by a crowbar (a sensation he was unfortunately familiar with).

Scarlet kept flying upward, and then shifted her wings sharply to spin around and face backward as she neared the ceiling. “Blood for the Blood God,” she hissed, tilting them back down.

Then she activated the impulse cycle again, rocketing back down.

Dusk’s eyes bulged in shock as the pegasus turned into a bright red comet, and he missed any possible window for reaction.

Scarlet hit the floor, and the flooring plates surrounding the impact immediately buckled under her before the mare was obscured by a shock wave of debris and hot dust. A pair of practice targets near the landing zone were ripped apart by the force and turned into steaming shrapnel, striking the shielding wall and leaving a series of black scars along the metal barrier. Discarded helmets and sandbags from barricade obstacles were blown across the testing field, landing in shredded heaps or bouncing along until they struck something else.

The heated air swirled around the impact crater for some twenty seconds before it started to disperse. Wings of blazing red extended above the cloud as it parted, and then the glare of Scarlet’s bionic eye pierced the shroud.

“All right, we have some good data. Thank you, Miss Shrike. Testing pattern concluded,” Gear Works announced through the vox.

Scarlet stared straight forward through the smoke of her impact crater, her expression inscrutable and unblinking. Then she looked up, utterly confused. “What? What’s happening now?”

“The test is complete. You didn’t destroy all the practice targets, but that’s fine. After that diving technique I really need to run a medical diagnostic and ensure your stabilizers are still intact,” Gear Works explained further. “Disengaging practice field shielding. You may exit the test area when ready, Miss Shrike.”

Scarlet Shrike blinked several times while the shield barricades slowly descended back into the flooring and ceiling. Her ears flipped down, and then she looked up at the spectator balcony.

“I, uh… I think I just killed your friend,” Scarlet admitted, her facing paling somewhat as the full ramifications of her battle-frenzy started settling in on her.

“No you didn’t,” Gears replied, already tapping away at the holo-screen and sorting through the collected data.

“He… wasn’t your friend?” Scarlet guessed, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course I’m his friend,” Dusk said, walking past Scarlet Shrike with a slight limp. “You missed.”

Scarlet recoiled, almost tripping over herself. “What?! How?! How did you dodge something like that?!” she demanded.

“I didn’t dodge it. You were like twenty feet off-target. Still felt it, though,” Dusk replied. Then he hesitated and looked back. “Also you DID hit me on the way up, so I’m sorry about the sexual harassment.”

Scarlet gaped for a few seconds, and then turned around to look at the testing field, utterly flabbergasted. Dusk Blade continued walking to the observation balcony, and then lifted off from the floor to join Gear Works.

“So how’s it look? That last move whiffed but it looked pretty impressive, I’ll bet.”

“It was, yes. Here, I’ll run the replay.”

Dusk whistled as a hololith projection appeared, tracking Scarlet’s ascent. “Yeah! Yeah, this is almost perfect! Can you edit this zoom? So that you can’t see I’m gawking at her just behind the impact zone.”

“Should I also cut out all the parts where she’s swinging at you uselessly?”

“No, I think those parts are necessary. The build-up to the big attack looks good!” Dusk looked back over his shoulder. “Hey, you coming? The test’s over.”

“I… Uh… Yes, okay,” Scarlet Shrike hesitantly approached the balcony, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’m a bit confused as to what you’re doing right now.”

“We’re trying to get some cool vid of you trying to murder me to show your Reaver boss and impress them,” Dusk explained.

“But… I missed. I barely even touched you,” Scarlet pointed out, looking somewhat ashamed of the fact.

“Yes, hence the editing, to obscure that,” Dusk explained in a condescending tone. “Don’t worry, Reavers are dumb as bricks. The boss won’t suspect a thing.”

“Present company excluded!” Gears quickly added.

“No it isn’t,” Dusk said, reaching into the hololith with the tip of his wing. “Can you add some fire here? It would look cooler if there was fire.”

Scarlet sighed and sat down, her wings folding up into their case sheathing. Gears paused in rotating the hololith to give Dusk Blade a better look, and then started descending the stairs to the testing floor.

“Miss Shrike, are you well? That was quite an impact you caused, and you have no equipment to facilitate it other than sheer body mass,” the tech-cultist pointed out.

“I’m okay. The impact was pretty hard on my knees, actually, but my pride hurts worse than my legs.” She looked into the arc of gloomy aqua-colored lights under Gear’s hood. “Do you think I did well?”

“Negative,” Gears replied bluntly. Scarlet winced, and he continued. “Putting aside your specific performance against Lieutenant Blade – my understanding is that he’s an unusually capable fighter anyway – you were unable to complete the standard exercise and attack all test targets within the maximum allowed time.”

“B-But… the Lieutenant! He challenged me in the middle of the exercise!” Scarlet complained. “How was I supposed to continue with him badgering me?”

Gear’s sensor lights blinked. “It is fairly common during deployments for enemies to try to divert you from your mission task. If I recall correctly, this was one of the specific complaints Sergeant Folgore mentioned when criticizing your combat history.”

Scarlet winced harder. “I thought the exercise parameters had changed! Wasn’t I supposed to defeat him instead?”

“I suppose that’s a reasonable assumption, and would likewise be a worthwhile training effort. But you didn’t really accomplish that, either.”

Scarlet Shrike hung her head and Dusk Blade snickered into a hoof.

“Okay, look: you can always just restart the training exercise and smash some more immobile poles. That’s the point of these tedious, standardized training routines,” Dusk pointed out. “The IMPORTANT thing is that I got you a little steamed and you invented a cool special attack to use! This footage is great! Edit this down, show it to Sergeant Psycho, and change the subject if anypony asks what happened to me. You’re golden!”

“Do you really think it will be that easy?” Gear Works asked.

“Yeah! If she can bring that kind of power against some obnoxious stallion, just think of what she’ll do to the Orks!” Dusk flew up above Scarlet and held up a hoof for her to clap. “You’re going to tear the greenskins to pieces, babe!”

The pegasus looked up at him uncertainly, and then looked away. “I’m not feeling very confident of that right now.”

“Well if you can’t dig up any confidence OR inchoate fury on command then I’m really at a loss for what you’re getting out of this souls-for-Chaos deal you’ve got going on here,” Dusk said, lowering his hoof. “If you want to give up, nopony’s going to stop you. But if you want to try to trick your teammates into thinking you’re a good fighter then we’ve got your back. What’s it going to be?”

Scarlet Shrike set her jaw and lifted her head. “That’s not good enough! I’ll get better, and then I’ll prove to the Sergeant that I won’t hold them back! Even if it takes months! Or years!” She unfolded her bionic wings and snorted. “I’m done being a burden to everypony else, scraping by on cheap promises and hollow sympathy! I’ll become a worthy warrior of Khorne or perish in the attempt!”

Dusk and Gears blinked in surprise. Then Dusk smiled slightly. “Well, if that’s how it’s going to be, I’m going to have to bow out of being your sparring partner. I don’t think I’ll survive if your aim improves.”

“That’s quite alright, Lieutenant!” Scarlet Shrike said, beaming. “I really didn’t want to fight you anyway! I mentioned that, right? It was very annoying!” Then she turned around to face Gear Works. “Dark Acolyte, please reset the training field! After that, you may depart to your official duties. I’ll take it from here!”

While Dusk smiled back at her, pleased with her enthusiasm, Gear Works hesitated. “You said… months? You’re planning a long-term training regime to fulfill your personal goal of rejoining the Rozen Wings?”

“That’s right! Trying to trick the Sergeant into thinking I’ve improved is hopeless when I can barely control my bionics,” the enormous mare said, her raven mane swishing back and forth as she shook her head. “If I can’t stand on my own as a Reaver I’m just going to get left behind again and again in battle and I’ll end up right back where I started! As long as I have these bionics and can stay here in Ferrous Dominus I can take my time and become a worthy servant of the Blood God!”

Scarlet seemed quite optimistic about this plan, and Gear Works couldn’t help but cringe a little as he replied. “And what if you… couldn’t stay in Ferrous Dominus?”

“That would be crushing, obviously. There’s no place else in the world I could train, worship, and have a constant flow of opponents. And who knows how long these wings would last without the facilities here to maintain them, too. I would be absolutely miserable.” Scarlet paused, her brow furrowing. “Why do you ask?”

“I suppose, given your general attitude and outlook, you have not reviewed your residency status as of eighteen hundred hours yesterday?”

Scarlet could feel her heartbeat getting faster, and a feeling of dread that she hadn’t felt since her blood trial started creeping down her spine. “Wh-What happened? Please, tell me!”

A long sucking sound came from Gear’s respirator mask as he prepared himself, although he resisted the urge to step back out of lunging range. “As of the previously mentioned time, a discharge and removal order submitted by Sergeant Folgore was approved. I registered my objections to the order, but was unfortunately dismissed. You have been given 200 hours to leave Ferrous Dominus before your access credentials are nullified and you are ejected by force.”

Scarlet’s jaw felt slack and her ears pinned back against her head. Dusk slapped a hoof against his face.

“What?! But… But you said he couldn’t do that!” she protested, horrified.

“Yes, it is against standard protocol. That was the premise of my objection. I regret to inform you that did not carry nearly as much weight as I believe it should.”

Scarlet slumped into a seated position, stunned. “This can’t be… I already got so far.”

“I really must apologize. I assumed you were aware of your change in status and imminent discharge until you spoke of an extended training regimen,” Gear Works said, hanging his head. “With the discharge order in place I am afraid there is nothing more I can do.”

“Then… it’s over? In ten days I’m going to get kicked out of the city?” Scarlet whimpered.

“It’s a little over eight days, actually,” Dusk corrected.

“It was as of approval. It’s now more like seven-point-four-one days,” Gears corrected again.

Scarlet Shrike released a strangled groan and her wings closed up. “This can’t be happening! It just isn’t fair! He’s going to get me thrown out of the city?! Isn’t that going too far?!”

“I agree; I find it perplexing that he’s taken the additional steps to have you exiled from the city even after dropping you from his unit.” Gears paused, weighing internally whether he should ask the next question. “Do you… have any idea why that may be, Miss Shrike? He seems to bear some sort of grudge against you. A grudge that doesn’t manifest in simple, open violence, either, which is… fortunate, but even more bizarre.”

Scarlet Shrike flinched, turning away. The light in her bionic eye dimmed somewhat. “I… I don’t. It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? It’s over. He’s won.”

“Well, yeah, if you’re just going to roll over for him,” Dusk said with a snort. “Are you really going to let him get away with kicking you out of the city?”

The massive pegasus hung her head, exasperated. “I can’t defy Sergeant Folgore! You don’t understand!”

“That’s probably why he doesn’t respect you enough to keep you around even as a trainee or reserve fighter,” Dusk retorted. “Look, like I said before: if you want to give up, none of us can make you fight for your place here. But if you want to stay as badly as you say you do, then do something about it!”

“You mean the idea you had before? Showing him an edited training vid?” Scarlet looked doubtful. “Do you really think that would work?”

“Actually, since this particular pegasus is being a key impediment I was going to suggest just taking him out,” Dusk admitted, “but I guess we can give plan B a shot first, sure.”

Scarlet’s face visibly paled. “Take him out?! Sergeant Folgore?! Y-You can’t.. The v-very idea… I c-couldn’t… NO!”

“Have I mentioned that your reluctance to use violence to achieve things probably harms your prospects as a soldier of the Blood God? I don’t know if I brought it up but it’s very important,” Dusk replied. “Like, it’s fine if you don’t WANT to hurt your friends to get what you want, but you should at least be open to it as a matter of strategy.”

The pegasus looked almost panicked, but Gear Works interjected, “I can make the modifications you described, although I share Miss Shrike’s skepticism about this plan.” Another holo-screen opened in front of him. “The odds of success are surely better than that of assassination, at least. Sergeant Folgore has the second-best combat record of any equine in the fleet, only surpassed by Princess Luna herself.”

“Yeah, sure. Good for him,” Dusk scoffed. “We’ve seen what Shrike’s capable of. If she weren’t afraid of fighting him they’d be scraping his feathers off the walls.”

The thestral had intended to goad her with the comment by implying she was afraid, but Scarlet offered no protest and just cringed. Gear Works shook his head and continued tapping away at the holo-screen with a hoof and his servo arm while a few other screens opened up.

“If we cannot convince the Sergeant to restore Miss Shrike’s rank and station, perhaps we might at least appeal his discharge order,” Gears mused, “or at least learn WHY he’s so insistent that Miss Shrike be ejected from service. I find this mystery quite frustrating.” After a few more seconds the holo-screens suddenly closed, and a wheel icon appeared on the nearby console. “There.” He withdrew a dataslate from the bottom compartment of the console and connected it to the machine’s data port. “Miss Shrike, unless you have some other affair to tend to or wish to complete another training circuit, I recommend we confront the Sergeant immediately.”

“You… You’re going to… come with me?” Scarlet asked, perplexed. “You know it’s dangerous to confront Sergeant Folgore, right? I can’t ask you to accompany me. This isn’t your problem anymore.”

“Strictly speaking it was not my problem once you were recovered from the battlefield and stabilized, Miss Shrike. However I really feel it’s necessary that you have assistance making your case to the Sergeant. I suppose Lieutenant Blade could go, but he’s quite likely to kill somepony for no reason.”

“What do you mean ‘no reason?’ I already came up with a reason!”

“This is precisely what I’m talking about, Lieutenant.”

Scarlet sniffled, instantly catching the stallions’ attention. She slowly stood up again, blinking as a single tear crawled down her cheek under her remaining organic eye.

“I’m… I’m so glad to have your help. I don’t know if it will work, but… but thank you. Thank you for doing this.” She sniffled again, raising one of her huge, muscular legs to wipe it away. Her expression was pitiful, but she steeled herself as best she could before offering a quivering smile to the ponies craning their necks up to maintain eye contact. “I’m not sure I deserve this kind of favor-“

“You don’t,” Dusk Blade reassured her immediately.

“… Right. Of course.” Scarlet cleared her throat and then continued, her tone somewhat less sentimental now, “But if you’re willing to confront Sergeant Folgore, then what excuse do I have? I’ll do it!”

“So just to be clear: assassination is COMPLETELY off the table? Even if this other thing fails?” Dusk asked.

“Yes! Nobody is killing Sergeant Folgore!” Scarlet snapped, a small spark of genuine heat entering her voice. Gear Works recoiled, and Dusk’s wings snapped open on reflex, preparing him to evade. The Reaver took a deep, calming breath, and her demeanor quickly reverted back to normal. “I realize that my behavior is unorthodox for a Khorne cultist, but I don’t want to hurt my friends, even to my own benefit.”

“Yeah, okay, fine. Have it your way,” Dusk scoffed, carefully folding his wings again. “I was just trying to help.”

“Why would you do that?” Gear Works asked suspiciously.

“And why does your idea of ‘helping’ involve killing my superiors?” Scarlet asked uneasily.

“There aren’t really a lot of other kinds of help I can give,” Dusk confessed. “Unless you need something stolen. Would that help? If I stole his amulet could we use it to trick the cogitators into thinking we’re him and get the order reversed?”

“No,” Gears replied flatly.

“Is he always like this?” Scarlet asked.

“He doesn’t always brainstorm strategies with the rest of us before he starts killing things, no.”

“All right, all right, I get it,” the thestral backed away, holding up a wing in a gesture of surrender. “You guys do what you need to do. No skin off my wings.” Dusk turned around and trotted to the exit. “I’m gonna go hit the patrol circuit. Let me know if everything turns out all right!”

Gear Works watched him leave, his sensor lights narrowing suspiciously. Once the door closed, he turned his head back toward Scarlet Shrike.

“Should we go now? According the noosphere registry Sergeant Folgore is currently in his quarters. I would imagine he’s not very… agreeable when he’s been woken up, so I would recommend speaking with him before he retires for the evening.” Gears explained.

“Of course, Acolyte,” Scarlet nodded her head, her voice admirably free of the dread she felt in her gut. “Please, let me show you the way.”

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 18
Residential complex G-6

“You seem nervous, Miss Shrike.”

“I do? Well… I am. Very nervous. And why shouldn’t I be? The last time we spoke Sergeant Folgore suspended me and declared I wasn’t allowed to live here anymore! What if he expected me to be gone by now? Will he be mad?”

“I… I don’t know. What would he do if he were to see you and become enraged at your presence? Attack? Do you think you may be in danger?”

“I… No. No, I’m not. Keep it together, Shrike. Head up, eyes forward. If I can face down a five-ton rock construct wreathed in lighting I can manage a tense meeting with my… my former squad commander!”

“… Are you sure about that?”

“Not even a little bit. But I can lie to myself and I can keep walking forward, and that will have to be enough.”

Gear Works and Scarlet Shrike trotted down the residency hall at a slightly subdued pace, the larger pony following behind. This particular section was devoted to Khorne cultists, and the décor reflected the fact. Ork skulls were prominent, hammered onto iron stakes in the wall or strung from chains hanging from the ceiling. Crude, damaged melee weapons were on display from hunting or gladiator bouts, bolted to the walls next to doors. Surprisingly the hall floors were mostly clean; apparently the maintenance cycles were carried out with strict efficiency to keep the public area free of blood and other detritus from the many battle trophies being strung up.

It was easy to tell which rooms belonged to ponies and which housed human cultists, since the larger and more experienced Chaos troops had larger skull trophies around their doors. They were also inevitably ground-based creatures, primarily Orks and Kroot. The ponies – who were almost all pegasi – had a few Ork and griffon skulls pinned up but otherwise featured the largest bird skulls they could attach to a chain without feeling embarrassed. The pony doors also tended to feature iconography that was more colorful and varied than the Mark of Khorne, with many featuring cutie marks, squad badges, and one with birthday balloons and celebratory cards taped to it that was frankly spoiling the entire theme.

Gear Works identified Folgore’s room ahead, and then he stopped. “We’re here, Miss Shrike. If your nerve has failed you, now is the time to abandon this approach. Otherwise: steel yourself.”

The enormous pegasus pursed her lips, her bionic eye gently pulsing. “Actually… I have a request, Acolyte. Do you still have my eye patch?”

“I do. Why? Do you want it back?”

“Y-Yes. Please.” Scarlet sat on her haunches as Gears withdrew the patch from his robes, and she took it in her hooves. “Not that your work on my eye isn’t exceptional, but it DOES looks slightly… uncanny, I think is the word. I’d prefer to face him with this.”

Gears waited patiently while she strapped the eye patch over her head, covering the pulsing green light in her left eye socket with a black flap bearing the Mark of Khorne. Then she took a deep breath and ran a hoof across her long black hair. “Is my mane okay?”

“… Pardon?” Gears asked.

“I was training before, and I didn’t wash,” she began to fret, her eye glancing about nervously. “It isn’t all dirty, is it? That move where I flew down to try to squash Lieutenant Blade kicked up an awful lot of debris…”

“Miss Shrike, your mane is fine. And if it weren’t fine, I don’t think it would bear notice when you’ve had fusion-powered bionic wings installed.” Gears tilted his head to the side.

“You’re right, of course. I just can’t help fretting,” Scarlet sighed. “Please, go ahead.”

Gears looked hesitant, like he wanted to ask something else. But eventually he turned around again and glanced at the door panel. An access lumen started blinking, followed by the muffled sound of a buzzer going off on the other side. Scarlet flinched and her ears pinned back.

It was a matter of seconds until the door slid open and Gear Works found himself staring at Sergeant Folgore’s stony frown. The pegasus looked to be in a state of mild disarray, with his mane askew and his coat damp and frayed, like he had just come from a difficult training session. His eyes shifted upward, glancing at the mare towering over Gear Works from behind, but they settled back onto the Acolyte’s optic lights without the slightest change in expression.

“Greetings, Sergeant. I apologize for any interruption, but-“

“Apology accepted,” Folgore interrupted, slightly startling the robed stallion. His tone managed to convey that he was deeply unhappy about this meeting but was tolerating it out of professional obligation, which Gears very much appreciated.

Scarlet made a slight yelp, having an excellent view over the stallions’ heads directly into the room behind Folgore. Stormy Ruin lay in a tangle of blankets, tenderly preening her wings. Her coat and feathers were not as messy as Folgore’s was, but it was not hard to tell what the two pegasi had been doing before she and Gears arrived. The feeling of dread Scarlet had been feeling intensified, mixing with numerous other difficult emotions that tangled around her heart.

“Right. Well then, I’ll get right to the point,” Gear Works continued. “As you’ve probably noticed, Miss Shrike’s debilitating injuries from her last combat deployment have been addressed. The new bionics have been tested, and I have compiled some materials for you to review.” His servo arm nudged forward, holding the dataslate.

Folgore looked up at it, and then back to Gear Works. “Why would I do that?”

“I believe the bionics address some previous shortcomings in Miss Shrike’s combat performance, and render her fit for regular combat duty. I implore you to study the training data and reconsider your suspension and eviction order,” Gears said, bowing his head. “I understand that her posting here in Ferrous Dominus is extremely important to her, a matter that I am sympathetic to. It is unnecessary to remove her entirely from Company service.”

Folgore stared at the other stallion expressionlessly, then lifted his bionic hoof face-up to take the dataslate. Gear Works interpreted this as a good sign and placed the device on his hoof. Folgore promptly smashed the dataslate into the door frame, breaking it into pieces. Gears hastily revised his earlier judgment and his ears flipped down.

“Acolyte, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here,” Folgore said calmly, using a wing to brush the stray plastic shards off of his bionic. “I have great respect for you and what you do. I’m obviously no stranger to the miracles of the Dark Mechanicus.” A blade suddenly emerged from the center of the hoof, accompanied by the sound of steel sliding against steel, and Gears jumped in fright. “Although I feel your efforts here were in vain, I appreciate you taking your time and resources to aid Shrike. It puts me at ease that she has allies who are not so…” he started moving the bionic-mounted blade in a circle, gesturing uncertainly while he fished for the right word. “… demanding as those of us in the Blood Cult are.”

Gear Works gulped, and Folgore let the blade withdraw back into his hoof. “However, as you know Shrike well enough to intervene on her behalf, surely you understand WHY we judge her to be unworthy.” He looked up at the enormous red pegasus, meeting her eye as he continued. “Your steel can replace her flesh, but it cannot harden her heart or temper her will. She is weak in mind and spirit, no matter how formidable her raw strength.”

“I think you underestimate her,” Gears replied.

Folgore’s attention snapped back to the tech-cultist, and Gears flinched at the anger in his eyes at being contradicted. “Even now she hides behind you while you make her case for her,” he spat, his lip starting to curl upward to reveal his razor-edged teeth. “She meekly accepts failure time and time again while the enemy wears down her body and her begging wears down my patience. Scarlet Shrike is not good enough to fly with the Rozen Wings.”

A quiver ran down Scarlet’s spine, but she forced the words out anyway. “Maybe you’re right, but I want to try.” She gulped as the smaller pegasus looked up at her again, his golden irises boring into her. “I want to serve Lord Khorne. I want to help the 38th Company. And I want to protect Equestria. If… If I can do that by your side, I want to. If I can’t, then I’ll do it in some other unit and you never have to see me again. Please, Sergeant. Don’t exile me. My future is here, where I can wage war against the enemies of harmony in the name of Khorne.”

For the first time, Gears saw something akin to uncertainty flicker in Folgore’s expression. It lasted for the blink of an eye, replaced immediately with smoldering contempt. He again settled on facing Gear Works, probably to save himself the strain of staring upward.

“No. Shrike is no longer needed here. To the extent she still serves the Blood God and the greater fight against the Orks, she can do so as a border guard or something. Are we done here?”

Scarlet hung her head sadly, utterly defeated. Gear Works looked over at her, and then back to Folgore.

“You are not authorized to void Miss Shrike’s residency or her service under the 38th Company,” Gears declared.

“So you’ve said. I found the men in charge of things like rank filings and access registers far more flexible,” the other stallion retorted.

“So I was correct. You contravened operational protocol to have Miss Shrike thrown out of the city,” Gears narrowed his optical lights. “Why?”

Folgore didn’t answer right away, staring at the other stallion curiously. “I was not aware that I answered to the lower rungs of the Technology cult. When was this new rule established?”

“Acolyte, let’s go,” Scarlet said nervously, taking a step back. “I’ll be okay. There’s no point in aggravating him.”

“I am not seeking to challenge you, Sergeant,” Gears assured him. “You have gotten your way and I cannot reverse that decision. But I am puzzled by your conduct and want to know why you insist upon Miss Shrike leaving Ferrous Dominus entirely. It makes no sense to me.”

The Reaver Sergeant grimaced slightly, which frankly confused Gear Works even more. The subject didn’t seem to move him to anger, so what was the matter? Scarlet Shrike seemed even more anxious, constantly glancing at something behind Folgore and then turning her head away. Gears was starting to get annoyed himself, although the heightened awareness that the ponies in front and behind him could easily break him in two tempered his own attitude.

“I’ve said enough. If Shrike hasn’t told you, then there’s no reason for me to do so. She’s endured enough humiliation,” Folgore said.

“What? What does that mean? Why would she know?” Gears asked.

“Good night, Acolyte. Farewell, Shrike. May the Dark Gods watch over you both and grant you fortune and victory.” The Reaver Sergeant bowed his head and then stepped back into his room. Seconds later the door slid shut, and a lumen on the side blinked on to show that it was locked.

Folgore sighed deeply once he was inside his room again, feeling a familiar weight on his heart that seemed to settle over his smoldering fury like a damp blanket. Scarlet’s expression – pleading, helpless, and despondent – was burned into his mind. It was surely not the impression she’d hoped to leave after having her wings rebuilt and making a bid to return to her old unit, but that was simply her nature. It hurt him to see her like that, and to know that he had caused that pain.

He looked up and saw Stormy Ruin staring at him impatiently. She was still lying on her side where he had left her. Stormy had surely heard the entire confrontation, but didn’t seem the least bit interested in bringing it up; her tail lashed back and forth across the floor, aggressively drawing the eye toward her rear.

Folgore walked up to the mare and leaned down, kissing her tenderly on the nose. “I’m going to go wash up.” Then he continued on to the washroom, tapping his hoof on the door access pedal near the floor.

Stormy cast him an annoyed look as he left her behind, but then glanced toward the entrance.

Her eyes narrowed.

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 18
Residential yard G

Gear Works and Scarlet Shrike walked in silence, exiting the halls into a larger yard area with metal benching and an armorglass skylight above. The window did practically nothing, as the pollution masked any natural sunlight and the dozens of lumens placed in the building provided plenty of illumination. Mostly the areas were used as gathering points and exercise yards, as the claustrophobic nature of the residential rooms and the autoturrets placed in the building lobby discouraged people from meeting there.

This particular space was decorated with murals and ironwork sculptures incorporating weaponry, skulls, and the Mark of Khorne into their design. The Chaos cults had taken to the beautification campaign for Ferrous Dominus with surprising enthusiasm, even if most of their efforts were crude or downright appalling. Like in the hallway, skulls were hung from chains and capped the points of spears and glaives driven into the flooring, but in addition there were more complex craftings with more conventional materials. In particular there was a huge mural in one corner that featured a lone white pegasus caked in blood and thrashing a mob of Orks surrounding her. It was Scarlet’s favorite painting and she usually felt her heart lift every time she saw it, but on this occasion the sight just made the throbbing pain in her heart a little bit sharper.

“Acolyte… I… uh… I want to thank you again,” Scarlet Shrike said, trying to push through everything else that was happening. Her remaining eye was a little blurry from the tears, but she possessed enough fortitude to bury her immediate feelings and express her appreciation. “You didn’t have to do… any of this. There’s nothing I can really do for you in return. And I feel like your efforts were wasted now. So… thank you. Thank you so much.”

Gear Works stopped ahead of her, grasping for something to say. He was, naturally, much less invested in this endeavor, but he found their apparent failure scathing as well. In his opinion Scarlet’s bionic wings were a travesty; a trite mockery of the Warsmith’s miraculous devices that Scarlet had managed to turn into a useful weapon through stubborn resourcefulness. But if he had made an optimized bionic, would it have mattered? Was there any result, any approach that would have been satisfactory to Sergeant Folgore?

“… In my limited analysis, you are an enigma, Miss Shrike,” Gears said after several seconds of silence. “You are not a very mysterious pony, but rather a creature of inexplicable contrasts. A pegasus of incredible strength and middling fighting skill. A grateful servant of the Blood God with an extraordinarily cool temper and beneficent heart. A soldier who obeys orders and deeply desires war yet finds herself facing suspension.”

Scarlet tilted her head to the side, blinking as Gears continued. “I feel like there is some piece missing from each of these contrasts that escapes me, but I am simply not capable enough to find or correct them.”

“No, that’s… You did your best! And it was good work!” Scarlet insisted.

“But it was not good enough,” Gears said, his strange, mask-distorted voice nearing a growl. “My previous endeavors under the Dark Mechanicus, flawed as they were, have ultimately succeeded in their immediate goals. Your gratitude is appreciated, but I’m not convinced I have made the slightest difference in the outcome. You would have been better off without those things on your back.”

“I know that feeling all too well,” Scarlet sighed, hanging her head. “Sometimes we just… we do what we can, and we put everything we have into something we love and need, and… and it just doesn’t work. It hurts, but it’s true.” She looked back over to the mural. “I’m going to miss this place a lot. The thrill of the battle. The wonderful, tender touches. The celebration after a successful slaughter. But I’m still alive. I still have a future, I still have those treasured memories, and no one here can take those away from me.”

“Actually there is a process called mind-scrubbing that CAN take your memories away but I’d like to back up a little first: wonderful, tender touches?” Gears asked, turning to face the pegasus.

Scarlet jolted in surprise, and a few droplets of sweat appeared as she stuttered. “I m-mean, uh, I was t-talking about… Khorne! Yes! The loving, passionate embrace of… the Blood God!”

“… Is that what it’s like?” Gears asked, skeptical. Scarlet smiled nervously.

“Good grief, are you losers STILL here?”

They both recognized the voice immediately. Gears jumped in fright, instantly on edge. Scarlet simply turned her head to address the interruption.

Stormy Ruin walked into the yard with her head lowered, looking every bit the image of a large predator cat advancing on a victim. Her expression was hard to interpret, exactly, but Gear Works was extremely discouraged to find that her eyes were fixed on him and not the other mare.

“We’re done here, Stormy,” Scarlet announced, disappointed. “You won’t have to see me again.”

Stormy Ruin only briefly glanced up at her, still stalking forward toward the two ponies. “Yeah, fine. Then turn on those ridiculous mecha wings of yours and fly out of here. I’m here for the nerd.”

“Wh-What? Why?!” Gears yelped. Scarlet frowned.

“I don’t really share the Sergeant’s professional respect for you little lab rats and lens-polishers,” Stormy admitted, changing direction to walk a circuit around the other two ponies. “ESPECIALLY when you start poking around in other ponies’ business and interrupting my special private time with Sergeant Folgore.”

“I apologize for the interruption! I didn’t know you were in there!” Gear Works yelped.

“Making excuses now, are you?” Stormy’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Stormy,” Scarlet interjected, her voice sad but firm. “You have no quarrel with the Dark Acolyte. Leave him alone.”

“Oh?” the smaller mare swung her head around toward Scarlet, her exquisite, chocolate curls bouncing at the motion. “Do I have a quarrel with YOU, now? What’s wrong, Scarlet? Any problems you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

Scarlet’s ears flipped down and she looked away.

This response, unsurprisingly, seem to aggravate the Reaver even more. “UGH!! You always do this! You always back down at the slightest challenge! Why don’t you stand up for yourself for once?!”

“Because there’s no point. It’s over. I have to leave. You win,” Scarlet said morosely. “But let the Dark Acolyte be. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“He’s poking his stupid cyber-nose where it doesn’t belong!” Stormy seethed.

“He helped me make my case to stay here in Ferrous Dominus. It didn’t work. We’re leaving. There’s no reason to fight now, is there?” Scarlet reasoned, lifting her head up to loom over the smaller mare.

Her tone was firm but cool now, and she sounded every bit like a mother chiding her upset daughter. Gears expected that to just make Stormy angrier, but the beautiful Reaver actually seemed to be calming down, somehow. It was less that she was accepting Scarlet’s argument and more that her earlier mood was simply being smothered beneath the larger mare’s firm benevolence. Gear Works had never seen this phenomenon before, but judging from their mannerisms – and the way Scarlet had described their relationship before – he guessed this happened all the time when the two had fought in the same squad.

“What do you mean ‘you win?’” Gears asked, looking up at Scarlet. “What did she win?”

In retrospect, that query was a bit too intrusive given the circumstances.

Stormy launched herself off the ground, crossing the 8 feet between her and Gears in an eye blink. Her hoof crashed into the side of his head with a burst of sparks and blood, and the tech-cultist was knocked clean off his hooves. He landed on his bionic shoulder and skidded across the floor, soon slamming into a nearby metal bench. The sound of creaking metal accompanied the impact, and a few small parts came loose and bounced across the plaza floor.

Scarlet’s jaw dropped open in shock. “STORMY!!”

“What did I say about sticking your nose where it didn’t belong?” Stormy Ruin landed lightly on her hooves and then lifted a hoof to brush at her hair. “He should have left when he had the chance. Or just not bothered to get involved.” She sneered over at the other mare. “I mean, really, what did he think was going to happen? You were never going to succeed, even with a new collection of metal junk hammered into you. Complete waste of blood and effort.”

Scarlet rushed in front of Stormy, sliding to a stop between her and Gear Works. “You stop that THIS INSTANT!”

“Yeah, okay. I’m done,” Stormy scoffed and turned her head. “If he survived I don’t think it would be much fun to harvest whatever bits of scrap metal make up his skull, so whatever.” She started to turn around.

“STORMY!! What the hay is wrong with you?!” Scarlet demanded, a ghastly green light bleeding from the edges of her eyepatch. “You couldn’t just let me leave in peace?! Why would you follow us just to hurt him?!”

The smaller pegasus was starting to turn around, but she stopped and quirked an eyebrow. “Because I felt like it, obviously. Why? Does it make you mad? Are you going to do anything about it?”

Scarlet quivered slightly, clenching her jaw. She didn’t attack though, nor was there any greater indication of rising fury. “I don’t hurt my friends,” she said firmly.

“Of course not,” Stormy snorted, turning away, “you barely have the gall to raise your voice. And you want to defend the world! Go home, you useless lump of muscle.”

Stormy took precisely two steps before a tiny piece of chain link bounced off her head. It was not thrown with great force, although the impact certainly hurt, and she immediately started to whirl around to retaliate against Scarlet. Then she hesitated, her warrior’s instincts warning her against it. The angle of impact was too steep to have come from Scarlet Shrike, who hadn’t budged from her position guarding Gears.

She twisted her head the other way and looked up right before a dark streak slammed into her.

Scarlet’s eye bulged in surprise as Dusk Blade kicked off of Stormy’s wing, throwing her off her hooves in much the same way she had done to Gears. Unlike the hapless Acolyte, she adjusted immediately, lifting her uninjured wing and shifting her hooves to recenter her stance. She skidded across the floor plating and pivoted on one leg, turning just enough to face the newcomer when she stopped.

“… Huh. A bat. Don’t get a lot of you vermin around this part of the fortress,” Stormy remarked. Her voice was much calmer and more casual than before, which Scarlet immediately recognized as a sign of inchoate fury far beyond her usual violent tantrums.

“Lieutenant Blade?! What are you doing here?” Scarlet gasped.

Dusk had his eyes set firmly on Stormy Ruin, although his respirator mask hid his enraged expression. “Is that a trick question or something? I’m going to kill your ex-teammate.”

Scarlet was very alarmed at this declaration, but Stormy just sneered. “The hay you are! Rats don’t kill raptors!” She started to spread her wings, but her right wing just twitched, the bones either broken or dislocated by Dusk’s opening attack.

“Some Lunar Guard would have gone for the head for the opening attack,” Dusk said conversationally before lifting off into the air again, “but there’s no way that would have landed so easily. Wings are bigger. Softer. And you dumb birds slow down a LOT when you can’t use them.”

Scarlet winced. “All right, look, can you both just tone down the racism a little bit? I’m sure that-”

Stormy screamed and bolted forward. Dusk darted to one side through the air, dodging and winding up for a counter. When the Reaver leapt again Dusk attacked, striking her on the side, while Stormy’s own kick cut low beneath her opponent. The moment the mare landed Dusk was swooping down toward her, and he barely veered out of the way when she suddenly bucked at him.

Dusk gained altitude again and Stormy took off at a run, building up speed as best she could before jumping toward a spear jutting out of the floor and then deflecting off of the haft.

“KHORNE TAKE YOU!!” Stormy raged, sailing past Dusk as the thestral swung through the air. She reached the wall and launched herself again, this time lashing out with her good wing and successfully striking her opponent across the side of his head. “YOUR SKULL WILL DECORATE MY SHOULDER PLATE, YOU COWARDLY VERMIN!!”

Dusk was quite impressed with the strength the mare could put behind her wing given how brittle they tended to be, but he didn’t retreat this time. The Lieutenant darted forward through the air, spinning and smashing a hoof into Stormy’s shoulder. She was flung away toward the ground, and again opened her left wing to create some drag and right herself just before she landed.

“You’re a pretty good fighter! Stupid, though,” Dusk taunted, lifting higher into the air. “That seems to be a theme with your Blood cultists. Go figure.”

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!! GLORY TO THE LADY OF THE SUN AND THE SAVIORS OF EQUESTRIA!!” Stormy boomed, speeding up again to try to leap at the stallion.

Scarlet looked up anxiously as the two ponies became blurs of brown and gray, clashing in the air with meaty thumps and snarled curses. While she imagined the two soldiers may have been evenly matched in a fair fight, Dusk’s first attack to disable Stormy’s wing had been decisive; the Reaver was simply unable to use most of her usual tactics and techniques without being able to fly. Stormy Ruin was in a near-berserk state where the impacts of Dusk’s kicks probably felt like mere pinches, but the bat pony was nearly untouchable and landing several stronger blows.

With a sigh, the cyborg pegasus look back down to Gear Works, who was still lying in a twitching heap behind her. She could tell he was alive, at least, but part of his optical hood was badly cracked by Stormy’s kick and some kind of dark fluid – and blood, although there was much less of it – was leaking out onto the ground. She didn’t know if the unfamiliar fluids were vital to the Techpriest’s survival, but decided it was necessary to get him to someone who did.

Scarlet took off her respirator mask and bit onto Gear’s servo arm, gently lifting the stallion’s body up onto one of her bionic wings. Most ponies surely would have struggled to lift the weight of a full-grown stallion with numerous cybernetics, but Scarlet Shrike merely needed to be careful she didn’t wrench the servo arm the wrong way and snap it off. Once he was settled on her wing she lifted it up to move him fully onto her back, ready to be transported.

Then an especially loud impact came from the battle in front of her, followed by a scream of pain and anger.

Stormy Ruin rolled roughly across the ground and then opened her good wing, pushing herself upright again and flipping back onto her hooves. The Reaver’s normally immaculate hair was matted and dirty, and there was blood dribbling down her face and legs from her injuries. Her wounded wing had hardly been spared further abuse during the combat, and now definitely sported what looked like a major fracture as well. The wounds were serious and rapidly getting worse but Stormy was in a frenzy, her eyes focused on Dusk Blade with deadly intensity. Dusk Blade had not been unscathed either, but the damage appeared to be trivial; it was clear Stormy hadn’t landed a single good hit the entire time.

Stormy Ruin suddenly bolted to the side, slamming a hoof against a pike that had been erected in the deck flooring. The haft bent sharply and then broke, throwing the skull on top across the room. Before she could pick up her new weapon, Dusk rocketed into her side with an aerial kick. Stormy Ruin was knocked off her hooves again, and Dusk Blade backflipped through the air and then landed on the dropped pike.

“Please, stop this! Both of you! I have to get the Acolyte to a medicae!” Scarlet begged.

“Then DO IT! What are you waiting on us for?!” Dusk snapped, kicking aside the loose weapon and jumping up into the air again.

“Not so fast,” Stormy huffed, slowly advancing on her opponent, “she might need to take one more soon.”

“And you think it’ll be me, huh?” Dusk asked blandly.

“Won’t know until I try!” Stormy’s eyes flashed as she spread her (mostly) undamaged wing, and she scuffed at the floor with her front hoof in preparation to charge again. Blood spattered the deck with each movement, but she didn’t seem to notice while she psyched herself up for the next assault.

“Ruin, desist. You too, thestral. This fight is over.”

Stormy and Scarlet almost jumped at the sound of Folgore’s voice, and Stormy immediately seemed to snap out of her battle trance. The stallion was seated at the entrance of the yard, his mane still damp from a recent shower. He wore nothing except for the amulet bearing the Mark of Khorne, and was using a small towel to dry off his bionic leg.

Stormy Ruin grimaced, her ears flipping down and her wings carefully folding. Then she jumped to avoid a swooping kick from Dusk Blade, yelping in surprise and stumbling on her landing. “Hey! What are you-”

“I’m your opponent, not him,” Dusk snarled, gaining altitude again and looming over the mare. “I say when we’re done!”

“You won,” Folgore said blandly, looking up at Dusk. “I would rather not have Ruin injured any worse when we’re due to be deployed again soon. Such a petty conflict isn’t worth the loss.”

“Not your decision,” Dusk snapped. “If you want to stop this, you can step up and end it yourself, Sergeant. Otherwise, shut up and turn around!”

Stormy and Scarlet boggled at the challenge in disbelief. Folgore looked less impressed, and started walking out into the yard toward Stormy Ruin.

“I’m guessing this whole affair is due to the Acolyte on Shrike’s back?” Folgore asked while he approached the injured Reaver. “I respect your efforts, Lieutenant. You fight very well. I think it’s fair to say you’ve avenged his injury.”

Dusk Blade dove to the floor, landing and skidding to a stop right in front of Folgore. The other stallion stopped, a single eyebrow arched.

“What did I just tell you?” Dusk hissed, his amber eyes pulsing with a strange light. “This fight ends when I say so!”

Folgore looked slightly perturbed. “Lieutenant, I hardly think-”

Dusk Blade’s hoof slammed into the side of Folgore’s jaw, pitching his head to the side. Folgore blinked repeatedly. Scarlet gasped, the pupil of her eye shrinking to a pinprick. Stormy crouched into a combat stance again, immediately ready to continue the battle.

“You narcissistic, blood-addled, half-witted vultures kick around whoever you want for whatever reason you want and laugh about it until somebody stronger than you comes along and makes you stop,” Dusk seethed, a strange, dark gloom starting to surround his spread-out wings, “today, I’m that someone. Gears tried to help your dead weight get back into fighting shape and Ruin broke his face for it. Now I’m going to do the same to her, right after I gut you like a cave serpent.”

A few seconds of dead silence dominated the yard. Stormy’s stance wavered. Folgore slowly turned his head back to stare straight forward again, blood trickling down a cut in his cheek. Scarlet’s heart was pounding hard, a deep sense of dread gnawing at her guts.

Then Gear Works groaned, shifting upright on Scarlet’s back. “Lieutenant, please do not murder anypony on my behalf. This damage is not permanent, much less fatal.” He coughed a few times. “Also, what are you even DOING here? You said you were patrolling.”

“I am patrolling!” Dusk protested, his aura of deadly menace rapidly vanishing. “I saw someone starting trouble and-”

“This is nowhere near your patrol routes, you liar. You followed us,” Gear Works accused, gently pushing down on Scarlet’s wing. She quickly opened and lowered it to create a ramp for him, and the tech-cultist started crawling down to the ground.

“Okay, fine. YES. I followed you. You got me. Then I saw this…” Dusk paused to swallow the first profanity that came to mind, aware that the tone of this encounter had suddenly shifted. “… mare slug you. So I did something about it!”

“I noticed. And now the Sergeant is attempting to de-escalate the confrontation and I’d appreciate your compliance,” Gears said.

“Why are you acting like this is MY fault?! I’m defending you!” Dusk complained.

“No, Miss Shrike was defending me. She positioned herself to prevent further harm and terminate the conflict. You were avenging me, not defending me.”

“Semantics!”

“Hardly. You had no idea what my condition was. I could have bled out on the deck while you were busy fighting and the only one who would have noticed – again – would have been Miss Shrike.” Gears coughed again, and a few bits of glassine fell onto the floor in a thin puddle of viscous fluid. “That said… I do appreciate your concern, Lieutenant, and I thank you. Do not think me ungrateful.”

“You sound a little ungrateful!”

Folgore observed the argument silently, his eyes shifting between the brutalized cyborg and the thestral standing in front of him. He raised his hoof and brushed it against his jaw. The kick had not been terribly strong; he was certain a stallion who spent so many of his nights slaying Orks was capable of much worse. Even so, he could feel a bruise forming beneath the trickle of blood. The Reaver’s brow furrowed.

“Ruin,” Folgore said, his voice instantly putting a stop to the other conversation, “apologize to the Dark Acolyte.”

Stormy recoiled, her expression twisting into one of shock. “Wh-What? Are you serious?!”

“Yeah, actually, I’m also kind of confused,” Dusk admitted, looking suspicious.

“It’s exactly as you said, Lieutenant. We do as we please, until someone stops us. You intervened on your friend’s behalf and have purchased our contrition with the only currency that matters: force. We will do as you wish. There is no mystery here.” Folgore looked curiously pleased as he stamped his bionic hoof on the floor. “Ruin! Proceed!”

Stormy flinched, but she offered no further protest. She limped across the room toward Gear Works and Scarlet Shrike, feeling the full weight of her injuries now that the adrenaline and battle fury was draining away. Her left wing sat at a strange angle and her elegantly curled and styled mane was matted and dirty with blood. Gear Works almost felt pity for her as she stopped and dropped her head into a bow, despite the pain still coming from his own wound.

“Dark Acolyte Gear Works. I have been… humbled,” the mare said through clenched, bloodied teeth. “My offense was unwarranted. I’m… I’m sorry for striking you.”

“Apology accepted!” Gears yelped, still nervous about being so close to her.

“Thank you, Stormy,” Scarlet said, looking relieved.

The smaller mare glared up at her, but didn’t say anything further. Stormy Ruin turned around and limped back toward Folgore, sulking. Dusk watched her, but the tension was slowly draining from his body as well. Folgore watched the bat pony carefully, his lips curling into a (very) slight smile.

“We have never had a thestral in Khorne’s ranks. Your people have a reputation for cunning and treachery, not strength,” the black stallion said, gesturing to Dusk, “but were you to be the first of your kind to attempt the Blood Trial I would gladly vouch for your courage, Lieutenant.”

Dusk made a face, but then quickly schooled his expression. Ultimately he was glad he wasn’t going to have to fight a pair of Reavers (probably to the death) and was pleased that he had actually gotten an apology out of Stormy. He wasn’t nearly so happy at the sudden sense of warm camaraderie coming out of Folgore, though.

“We don’t really do the Chaos God thing in the Lunar Guard,” Dusk admitted, his ears flipping down, “but that aside, as long as you’re feeling cooperative I’ve got a question: what’s the deal with you and Shrike? Why are you trying to get her booted from the Company completely? Why does she get flustered every time we bring it up?”

Folgore quirked an eyebrow. He glanced over at Scarlet Shrike, who immediately winced. Stormy glared at the huge red mare.

“Yeah, like this! You see what you’re doing now? Every time somepony asks you all just clam up and start making weird faces! What’s going on here?!” Dusk huffed.

“I suppose you do deserve an explanation,” Folgore said reluctantly. “It is a very private matter and slightly embarrassing, but by now it’s entangled you and the Acolyte. Very well.” He gently coughed into a hoof, and then schooled his expression (for all the difference that made; the stallion’s face may as well have been made of stone). “I’m not sure how much you know about Shrike, but she hails from a small outskirt pegasus settlement called Airbrook.”

“Yeah, we did know that, actually,” Dusk said, “and then it got attacked and she decided to join the Company to take the fight to the Orks but they kicked her butt so she turned to Chaos and so on and so forth.”

“Ah, is that what she told you?” Folgore asked, arching an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose there’s no falsehood in that much. What you probably do not know is that I am also a guard from Airbrook. We were a couple at the time of the attack, and we left for Ferrous Dominus together.”

“A… couple?” Dusk asked, his eyes darting over to Scarlet Shrike. Then he looked back at Folgore. Then he narrowed his eyes and scratched his chin.

“… Do you need a minute?” Folgore asked.

“No, it’s fine. Just doing some math in my head. Keep going, don’t mind me,” the thestral replied, staring up at the ceiling with a fascinated expression.

“Right. As I was saying…” Folgore turned to look at Scarlet with exasperation. “Although we started at more or less the same point, our paths diverged dramatically once we were here. Shrike had great difficulty adapting to the Iron Warriors’ methods of warfare. I excelled at it. I completed my blood trial by slaying my daemon opponent. She finished hers by flailing about in a panic and leaping out of the ritual circle while the daemon tried to grapple her, and was victorious only technically. I was empowered by the fury of Khorne to ever-greater feats of bloodshed and earned the rank of Sergeant. In Shrike’s case her middling enthusiasm for fighting Orks was finally freed of her persistent cowardice.”

“My understanding is that was still a substantial improvement to her combat efficacy,” Gears interjected.

“Yes, fine. I’ll grant her that much,” Folgore admitted, glowering up at the cherry red mare, “but it wasn't enough, was it?”

Scarlet Shrike, who had so far endured the explanation in ashamed silence, slumped. “No, it wasn’t. I was never the equal of the other Reavers, even though I dearly wanted to be.”

“Because you’re NOT a Reaver, Shrike. You never were,” Folgore said with a grimace. His words were harsh, and his tone grim. “You were admitted by whatever whim of Khorne granted you your mark, but you are not one of us. I was willing to play along up until your recent maiming, hoping that perhaps experience would eventually compensate for your lack of zeal and fury, but I was wrong to do so. My leniency led you to lose your wings, and now I’ve decided to end this farce once and for all.”

Scarlet twitched and pursed her lips, looking like she was about to protest. But Folgore turned back to Dusk Blade and continued speaking.

“A short time after we were marked by the Blood God, me and Shrike separated. Since then me and Ruin have become much closer.” He gave the injured mare a perfunctory nod. “I’m sure you can now see the root of all this.”

Dusk tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Well… no? I can see that you have a habit of shacking up with your subordinates – which is a serious problem by the way – but I’m not clear on what that has to do with anything else here.”

“Then let me spell it out for you,” the black pegasus grumbled, “I only tolerated Shrike’s position in the Rozen Wings because of my own feelings, and that was an error. And SHE only wishes to be part of the Rozen Wings – and the 38th Company more broadly – because of her feelings; to stay close to me and continue her anemic rivalry with Stormy Ruin for my affections. This is also an error. I am correcting these errors. It’s time she gave up on me and went back to Airbrook, where she belongs.”

Realization dawned on Dusk’s face, but Scarlet immediately stood up straight and objected.

“That’s not true, Sergeant,” she said, her voice only slightly shaky.

“Don’t lie to me, Shrike,” Folgore commanded, his eyes narrowing. “You know as well as anypony that you don’t belong here. Your feelings are what they are, but by humoring you for so long I’ve put your life and our missions at risk. It’s over. GO HOME.”

“I don’t want to,” Scarlet retorted, her voice becoming just a tiny bit heated. “I’m not here to follow you around like a lovesick puppy, Sergeant. I’m here to fight the enemies of harmony and harvest skulls for Lord Khorne!”

Folgore snorted, and then gestured to the others with a wing. “Do any of you believe her?”

“Of course not. If this isn’t about you, she’d have dropped out of the Rozen Wings a long time ago,” Stormy scoffed.

“I disagree emphatically. Miss Shrike would never leave the Rozen Wings of her own accord,” Gear Works interjected. “She likes you. All of you. She dearly wants to be around her friends, almost as much as she wishes to continue fighting the Orks.”

Stormy’s expression turned angry for a moment at being contradicted, but it rapidly shifted to one of confusion. Scarlet lifted her head higher. Folgore look annoyed.

“Is that what she told you? Foolishness,” the Khornate stallion scoffed, “she doesn’t care about anypony else in the unit. And her stubborn attachment to me is just going to get herself killed.”

“Which… would be an acceptable fulfilment of her worship, right?” Dusk Blade asked. “I thought the only real benefit of being a Blood Cultist was you got to take stupid risks and it fit your crazy religious doctrine.”

“It’s slightly more nuanced than that, but you’re not entirely incorrect. And while I sympathize with the Sergeant’s criticism of her combat record, his attempt to remove her from the city is clearly an overreaction,” Gears added, “aside from being, strictly speaking, against protocol…”

“You may think that if you’d like. Such permissive negligence was how THIS happened,” Folgore retorted, pointing his wing at the bionic ones on Scarlet’s back.

The enormous mare took a step toward him. “Why does it matter so much that I lost my wings? When you had your leg hacked off nobody treated it like it was a huge failure!”

“Because no one doubts my capabilities or service to the Blood God,” he replied sharply. “No one coddles me so that I can share in other ponies’ glory! My scars are the price I pay for victory! Yours are shameful reminders from when you got distracted and fell behind! It’s time to end this childish façade!”

“It’s not a façade!” Scarlet said firmly, clearly upset. “I’m a servant of the Blood God and a warrior of Chaos, even if I’m not as good at it as you are! You can’t throw away my entire career because you think I’m… that I’m faking it to stay close to you!”

“You are, and I can,” Folgore snapped back. “Unless you’re going to do something about it?”

Scarlet immediately froze up, and then her ears flattened. “… There’s nothing I can do, is there?”

“Are you SERIOUS?!” Dusk shouted, causing her to flinch. “Mare, the guy is practically begging you to deck him! DO IT!!”

“B-But I, uh, I can’t j-just-” Scarlet start stumbling over her words, her eye wide and anxious.

“As you can see, you’re just wasting all our time,” Folgore said, walking past Scarlet. “Ruin, follow. We need to have that wing set and your other wounds treated immediately.”

Dusk made an intensely frustrated noise that sounded like a high-pitched squeal. Scarlet Shrike sighed and looked away while the other Reavers walked by. Gear Works looked up at Scarlet for a moment, and then turned his cracked optics veil toward Folgore.

“Sergeant, if I may-” Gear Works began.

“You may not,” Folgore replied curtly, not slowing his exit. “It’s getting late and this pointless affair has spent enough of my patience.”

Gear Works felt a chill down his spine at the firm dismissal, and once again braced himself. “I… I must insist, Sergeant.”

The pegasus halted and then glanced back, his golden eyes narrowed to slits. Gears flinched, feeling his circulatory engine increase its compression cycle of its own accord. Folgore didn’t turn away, however, so he swallowed the dread in his stomach and continued.

“I believe the… crude, spontaneous nature of this conflict troubles Miss Shrike. A more formal arrangement might be more feasible,” Gears said, his voice slightly shaky.

“What are you going on about?” Folgore snorted, turning around completely.

“It is somewhat difficult for me to interpret your wishes, mired as they are in your psychotic warrior culture, but if you wish Miss Shrike to overcome her exile through violence I believe a simple arena match would be the optimal format,” Gear Works explained.

“Why would I agree to that? I’ve already made my decision,” Folgore said, his voice a dark rumble.

“I believe that such a trial would be a viable a test of her combat proficiency, which is at the core of your claim for dismissal, is it not?” Gears asked.

“It is, but I don’t need some arena bout to know what her fighting skills are like; I’ve trained her myself and seen Shrike in action time and time again,” Folgore growled, “and that was when she had wings. What are those hunks of glass in her back good for?”

“Accept the terms and you’ll get to find out,” Dusk interjected angrily. “What’re you afraid of?”

The pegasus stallion hesitated. “… I’m not sure I’m the one you’ll have to convince. What does Shrike think of this arrangement?”

“I accept,” Scarlet said, having been silent since Folgore tried to leave.

“Really, now?” the Sergeant arched an eyebrow. Scarlet’s expression was calm and grim for once, and he couldn’t tell whether she was seized by determination or just desperate. “You’re not going to be facing some hapless greenskin, you know. Do you think you can take down a real Reaver?”

“If that’s what it takes then that’s what I’ll do. Give me the chance to prove myself or fail properly, Sergeant. That’s all I ask,” Scarlet said firmly.

“Fine. No more excuses and no more bargaining. One last embarrassment to bookend your sorry career, and then you can go back to chasing off petty bandits on the outskirts.” Folgore sighed wearily, and then turned around to leave again. “Tomorrow, at 1500 hours. Be at the Pit of Thorns in sector 5.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Scarlet Shrike said. “Who will be my opponent?”

“You will face me, naturally,” Folgore announced. Seeing Shrike flinch, a slight smirk crossed his lips. “You should feel free to accept your exile and flee the city instead. But should you show up, I’ll tear those ridiculous machines out of your back and send you back to Airbrook a proper war casualty. Is that understood?”

The larger pegasus turned her head away briefly, centering herself, and then she took in a deep breath. “Understood, Sergeant. I’ll make you work for it!” she said, staring back into his eyes.

Then Dusk slapped her in the cheek with his wing, and she blinked repeatedly in surprise.

“NO!! No, no, NO!! Stop it with the defeatism, you loser!” the Lunar Lieutenant shouted angrily, leaping up and hovering right in front of the enormous mare. “Tell him you’ll break him apart like a soup cracker! Say you’ll plant his skull on your bedpost to remind you of the old days! Tell him you’re going to break off that cheap bionic and stuff it down his throat!!”

“Uh, b-but… I’m not going to do any of those things,” Scarlet protested anxiously, edging away from the agitated thestral, “even if I win, I don’t need to-“

“IF you win?! At least give us confidence! Show a little guts!”

“Good luck with that,” Folgore grumbled, again walking toward the exit. “Ruin, let’s go get you treated.”

Stormy nodded hesitantly, watching Scarlet out of the corner of her eye. Then she grimaced, limping after her squad leader and lover.

Scarlet winced as the bat pony berated her, her ears pinning back against her head. “I accepted the challenge, didn’t I? Why are you so mad?”

“Because these psychopaths left you in the dust and tried to kick you out of the fleet and BROKE MY BEST FRIEND’S FACE and you barely even raised your voice over it!” Dusk snarled, shoving his nose into hers. “If I wasn’t so peeved at them I’d be on their side! What kind of Khorne cultist are you?!”

“Lieutenant, calm down,” Gear worked ordered blandly. “It’s no wonder the Sergeant took a liking to you so quickly; you look like you’re on the verge of aneurism.” His servo arm idly picked up a chunk of armaplas broken off from his mask while he turned to address Scarlet Shrike. “Miss Shrike, I’ve done all I can. Your fate is now in your hooves, and unfortunately that of your former squad commander.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dusk interjected hotly, backing up, “when were you planning to let us know you and the Sarge were shacking up?”

“I don’t really see what it matters,” Scarlet replied, exasperated. “What exactly would have gone differently had I said from the outset that Sergeant Folgore is my ex-coltfriend? It’s embarrassing and… honestly, still very painful.”

“Why’d you guys split, anyway? Were you too docile for him?” Dusk asked, causing the mare’s bright red face to darken considerably. “Or was he too small?”

“Wha-What do you… Neither! He’s not SMALL!” Scarlet protested, badly flustered.

“Well, okay, maybe not on average, but compared to yo-“

“Lieutenant, can we go?” Gears interrupted. “I would really like to get my optical veil repaired, and your behavior is rapidly getting worse.”

“I have a lot more questions, though!” the thestral complained.

“Then I should really go back to my training,” Scarlet announced, fitting her mask back into place. “Acolyte, once again I really cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. You’ve saved my life, intervened again and again on my behalf, rebuilt my body, and granted me one last chance to be a Reaver. What’s more, you’ve suffered for it, both in your studies, your labors, and physically. I can’t begin to imagine how I could repay you.” Scarlet bowed her head deeply. “Whatever happens from here on, you have my deepest respect and gratitude. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Shrike,” Gears replied, bowing back. “I am still ashamed by the inadequacy of my work on your bionics, but it is a great comfort to hear your words. May the dark gods bless your augmentations, and may they sunder the flesh of your enemies with Khorne’s bloodthirst.”

Scarlet Shrike hesitantly turned to face Dusk Blade. “Lieutenant, I should thank you, too. But not as much. Please don’t kill my friends.”

“I get that a lot,” Dusk admitted. Then he paused and clarified, “Not the thanks, the other thing.”

With a slow, uncertain chuckle, Scarlet turned away.

Sector 4 – Mechanicus Temple Beta-3
Maintenance cloister 2-G

“So the Pit of Thorns, like most of the cult arenas, is named for its primary obstacle setup. There are spikes on the wall, mechanical spikes that emerge out of the flooring, and parts of the ceiling can break off and fall, attached by chains that can lift them back up. So that they can fall again, later. The ceiling also has spikes, of course. Duh.”

Dusk Blade cupped his chin with the tip of his wing, and then raised a hoof to the hololith outlining the arena’s area. With a nudge the image rotated, and then he pointed to a particular point in the stands around the combat pit.

“The Pit of Thorns doesn’t have a control center exactly, since it isn’t considered an active obstacle arena. That’s really weird, in my opinion, but the fanatics don’t think it counts as ‘active’ unless the arena traps are specifically trying to kill you, I guess. The setting here has the traps activate on a predictable cycling timer instead, meaning they don’t use triggers, either. They’re all controlled by a minor cogitator located here, in the maintenance cloister.”

With a gesture, the hololith zoomed in. “Now: the combatants need to be in the arena by 1500. The final sweep is done immediately preceding the starting horn to turn on the death trap machine. I think we can be in there right after the horn, as everyone will be absorbed with the fight. You know how to clear mag-seal access registries, right?”

Gear Works sat on a repair dais, his mask being slowly repaired by several small servo arms drawing over the damaged armaplas covering. “Lieutenant, I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

Dusk huffed and turned to the Techpriest. “Okay, sorry. Got a bit ahead of myself there. Let’s back up: We’re going to help Shrike kill that Folgore guy.”

A larger servo arm swung down while carrying the end of a long tube that ran into the cluster of cables covering Gear’s neck. “I’m not going to do that, no.”

“Gears. Buddy. Chum. Friendo. You know she’s going to lose without our help, right?” Dusk asked.

“I’ve calculated her odds of victory at 3.72%. That meets most statistical thresholds to presume a loss, yes,” Gears Works admitted while the hose was fitted into his respirator mask. “What of it?”

“You don’t care if she wins or not?”

“It would be somewhat gratifying for Miss Shrike to achieve her goal of remaining with the Company, but I cannot say I’m invested in a particular outcome,” Gears admitted. “I have done my part. The rest is up to her.”

“But she SUCKS and needs our help!” Dusk protested. “C’mon, man! I can’t alter the cogitator without you!”

“May I ask why you care for her victory? You seemed quite irritated with Miss Shrike just hours ago.”

“I’m mad at her because she didn’t pulverize the ponies that I hate!” Dusk fumed. “Now she’s going to be fighting them, which is great! So we should help her murder her ex in ritual combat to prove herself or keep her job or whatever.”

“I must confess that I’m surprised at your enmity for Sergeant Folgore. What did he do to offend you?”

Dusk grunted in annoyance, banishing the hololith with a wave of his hoof. “He’s responsible for this whole mess! Whether he’s right about Shrike or not, if he wasn’t such a self-absorbed mule she wouldn’t be in this position and YOU wouldn’t have to deal with Ruin batting you around like a cat with a ball of yarn.” Then he shuddered. “Also it kind of creeps me out that he was so receptive to me kicking his marefriend around. So yeah, I really want to see him smashed into a wet paste.”

“I can see why he was so impressed by you,” Gear Works drawled. The smaller servo arms started removing the cracked pieces of the glassine visor that protected his optical cowl. “Anyway: no. I will not interfere with a formal combat trial between Khorne cultists because you have a grudge against one of them.”

Dusk frowned, and then brightened as he got an idea. “Would you do it for friendship?”

“I just said I was not going to participate in this to fulfill your inane animosity for the Sergeant. Invoking ‘friendship’ – as if it means anything to you other than leverage to extract favors from others – does not change my motivation,” the cyborg pony retorted.

“Okay, first off: it really hurts that you’ve become so cynical, Gears,” Dusk chided, “second: if not for me, won’t you do it for Shrike?”

Gear Works hesitated, and Dusk sensed weakness. He jumped over to the dais and stood next to Gears, wrapping a wing over his shoulder and pulling him closer. The servo arms delicately removing broken shards from his face shifted to compensate, the machinery beeping and whirring noisily.

“I’m not totally clear on where you stand with the definitely-not-a-Space-Marine chick, but I don’t really believe you’re cold-hearted enough to set her on a collision course with the second strongest stallion in the Company and then let raw luck and the most capricious God in the known galaxy decide her fate,” Dusk said, arching a brow. “Shrike was already defeated. She was going to watch the mule trot away with his new girl and then leave the city forever. If you don’t really care whether she stays or leaves, then that would have been the best outcome. But you DO, don’t you?”

Gears gulped, which sounded kind of like gravel being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. “I… I just think, logically, that I’ve performed enough unsolicited favors for her,” Gears said, his optics lights somewhat blurry and misshapen without the screen. “And what you’re suggesting is no mere favor! If we were to sabotage the match and get caught, or even have our participation deduced after the fact, then I don’t believe she would appreciate it! Also the other Reavers would probably kill us.”

“Good points, very solid, so here’s the plan: We will NOT get caught,” Dusk said, smiling darkly.

“Lieutenant,” Gear’s ears fell flat while the servo arms finished picking out glass shards and withdrew.

“Gears. GEARS. You’re the master of engineering and machines and rules and I respect that, okay? But I’M the master of hurting ponies and getting away with it,” his amber eyes seemed to glow as he bared his fang. “If there’s anything you can trust me with, it’s this!”

Gear Works looked away. “There is a moral valence to this project that doesn’t sit right with me, Lieutenant."

"Of course there is! Because you’re a big wuss who always follows the rules and backs down rather than hurting someone,” the bat pony scoffed, “it’s probably why you’re so sympathetic to Shrike. But which of us has actually gotten results against these savages?”

Gear Works groaned. “You did, Lieutenant.”

“So you should trust me when I tell you that my plan will work and it’s not immoral to cheat against Khorne cultists,” Dusk said smugly, moving away from the cyborg and pressing a hoof to his chest. “But remember, this isn’t about me, you’re doing this for Shrike!”

“She’s an incidental beneficiary of your own petty grievance, but yes, I suppose I would be doing it to aid her.” Gears paused as a new lens covering for his optical veil was lowered from the ceiling port. “… However, you’ve made your case, Lieutenant. It… is a bit negligent of me to have delivered Miss Shrike to this point only to abandon her. And I see no other opportunity for assisting her in her match.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dusk said brightly, shoving the visor lens into place. Gears yelped and recoiled, and the servo welders followed after him to seal his face plate in place as best they could. “With your brains, her brawn, and my… uh…”

“Amoral belligerence?” Gears guessed when Dusk trailed off.

“I was going for something more like ‘cunning’ but yeah, that works!” the bat pony said brightly. “We’ll get through this together, Gears! For FRIENDSHIP!”

“Friendship… sure…”

Author's Note

Gear's story is pretty good for introducing new OCs I want to play a bigger role later on. I don't know what I was thinking by having it run concurrently with the main storyline. It was a terrible idea! I could have written a big fancy intro for Mantis and Shifty! So many missed opportunities!
Anyway have a picture of Folgore and Stormy snuggling after a bat beat them up.