The Broken Toy

No matter how loudly ecologists wail, the planet calmly accepts the marks of human activity. Over time. Plastics, metals, and chemicals all come out of the ground and back in again, sooner or later. The oldest parts of the dump looked more like salt marshes or just rocky wastelands full of construction debris and scrap metal. Here and there, hulks of buildings, structures, and machinery of truly cyclopean proportions were still standing.

Lyra gazed with awe and fear combined at the wheel with the buckets. Each of them could have held a herd of ponies, and next to the wheel lay a twisted boom that had once seemed an integral part of it. Now this defeated titan was a mountain of rusted metal, lying motionless among the rubble... how many years? Ten? Fifty? A hundred?

And what was the purpose of such a monstrous machine? In Lyra's opinion, this thing could easily dig an entire riverbed. But what it would do that for was unclear.

“There must be a whole layer of human history buried here," the unicorn said aloud.

“Yeah," Jerry snorted sarcastically. “Tell me what's in your trash and I'll tell you what you are. Human — you're a swine, I say.”

Lyra almost stumbled, and Scootaloo giggled.

“Jerry!” the unicorn exclaimed indignantly.

“Look for yourself," the mouse, half-lying on the pegasus' back, circled the area with his hand. “Everything you see here served two purposes. First, to extract money. Second, to kill. Both at a monstrous cost to the planet and the producing countries. And in general, it's typical of humans to throw away things that could last for centuries.”

“Are you saying, like, that car over there could still run?”

Jerry turned to see the rusty hulk of a car with the remains of its wheels.

“That's not what I mean," he said. “Dumps are often filled with things that have been thrown away because something better has come along. Or worse, but more fashionable. Sadly, that's also true of the likes of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“A company that releases a new model of synthet usually replaces obsolete models at a reduced price, or sometimes for free. And the old ones—”

“...are sent to the Rainbow Factory!” Scootaloo put in.

“And nothing to do with silly pony scares!” Jerry interrupted. “They're being recycled. Considering that the personal memory only has to be rewritten into a new body, not re-generated, the benefit to the manufacturers is still enormous.”

Lyra wanted to ask what the old Nightmare Night stories had to do with it, but she met the mouse's gaze and hesitated.

At the thought that hundreds and thousands of ponies could be sent to their deaths just because some "new model" was released, a lump formed in her throat and her heart clenched with real pain.

She didn't want to say if Jerry had witnessed such a thing. And the guesses were not comforting at all.

But Lyra didn't want to give up.

“Humans have built great cities, Gigapoleis," she said. "That fact alone—"

“...proves nothing," the mouse interrupted. “The project has not fulfilled its purpose. And the Black Gigapolis is a prime example of how things can go wrong very quickly.”

“What is the Black Gigapolis?” asked the curious unicorn immediately.

Jerry's gaze grew so heavy that it looked like it could be used to make rails for a maglev train.

“The Black, or officially African, Gigapolis is a war-torn city where everyone is out for themselves. Authorities against juntas, fanatics against cannibals, gangs against gangs, and everyone against everyone. And yet it's fair out there — it's either kill or be killed.”

“Can't humans in their wisdom settle this question?” Lyra exclaimed.

At the word "wisdom," Scootaloo just snorted contemptuously, and Jerry snubbed, "And 'humans in their wisdom' are in no hurry to restore order there. The mega-troopers need combat experience, the obsolete weapons need to be sold to someone. Nothing personal, just business.”

“Did you see it yourself?” Lyra asked, squinting in disbelief.

“Do I look like a kamikaze going into the Black Gigapolis?” the mouse replied with a question. “I just knew a synthet who was there.”

“I bet it was a chatty rodent," Scootaloo interjected.

Jerry patted her neck and said, “It was a mega-trooper lying in the hospital. Little guys like us wouldn't last a minute in there. I went into the infirmary to steal something, and he caught me and listened to what I was babbling about until morning. Then he let me go, I gotta hand it to him. Could have crushed me with two fingers, though.”

Lyra pressed her lips together, thinking about the fact that Victor hadn't told her any of this. Had he not had time, or had he deliberately withheld it? And if the latter, why? As she had found out in the Pony Play, humans weren't usually known for their sensitivity. And finally, Victor told her in broad terms about the unsightliness of the human world.

“If there is a war, what do they pay for weapons, armor, equipment and so on?” Lyra asked, trying to mentally map the relationship between the war-ravaged city and the rest of the world. “I doubt they have much money, considering what they do...”

Jerry sighed. “The Black Gigapolis is a supplier of raw materials, including recycled materials from landfills. Very cheap. Because it's slave labor. Africa is still relatively rich in underground resources. Among other things, the war itself is an entertainment for ordinary people in other, more prosperous cities. Bets, donations to favorites—”

“I don't want to hear about it anymore!” Lyra said sharply, shaking her head on her way.

“We've arrived," said Scootaloo, to whom this was no longer news.

The pegasus stopped beside an imposing concrete bunker and tapped her hoof on the iron hatch. The fortification had been there for a long time, perhaps since some ancient war. The cracked walls were covered with a layer of dirt and moss, and the structure itself was embedded in the ground up to the embrasure, covered with a network of cracks.

The entire ancient structure was littered with shattered metalwork. Apparently, the power tower that had stood nearby had fallen a long time ago, and no one had bothered to lift it up and repair it.

Lyra was about to ask whom they had come to see when a head and a long, lithe body emerged from the pillbox's embrasure.

The unicorn had never thought snakes could be so huge. The triangular head with bright yellow eyes hung in front of the pony while the body crawled further out, filling the perimeter of the circular "courtyard.”

Lyra felt the fear of a small animal facing a hungry predator stir in her heart. All the pony's instincts howled, urging her to run, and Lyra felt her mane try to stand on end.

But when the initial shock passed, Lyra discovered that intelligence glowed in his yellow eyes, and a cyber-access headset was mounted on his head.

The thirty-foot boa constrictor was a synthet, not just a monster from the depths of the cinder jungle. Besides, she thought, if the boa attacked, none of the three of them would be able to escape fast enough. But Scootaloo and Jerry, though they looked a little nervous, were clearly not expecting any aggression from the monstrous snake.

“Good hunting, Kaa," Scootaloo and Jerry greeted the boa, while Lyra could only bow politely.

“Little ones-s," the serpent hissed with the slight smile of an old man unexpectedly visited by his young grandchildren. “What are you here for?”

“Well, we wanted to know how you were doing—" the mouse began from afar, but the boa constrictor was not to be fooled.

“Jerry, s-someday your cunning will get you into trouble. You never jus-s-st drop in on old Kaa. You only come when you run into a problem you cannot s-solve on your own.

“We came to wish you a Merry Christmas!” Scootaloo protested with a belligerent flap of her wings.

“I apprec-ciate it, don't doubt it.” Jerry wanted to say something, but the serpent continued, “There is-s no need to ex-s-splain. I realiz-s-se that my appearanc-ce caus-ses-s fear and trembling in you little s-synthets-s. And I am not angry with you. S-so, what can old Kaa do for you?”

“We... uh... found something," Scootaloo said, sliding the briefcase over to the boa constrictor. "And we want you to take a look at it.”

The snake nodded and picked up the handle of the case with his tail, then crawled leisurely back into his burrow.

“What's he gonna do?” Lyra asked.

“He's got a terminal and an illegal shunt into the Cybernet," Jerry explained. "Powerful computers that can break through file security.”

“Why does he need all this?”

“He writes scandalous articles and posts them online.”

“But where does he get them? What does he even do?”

The mouse shrugged and began to tell, “As far as I know, he's just a brilliant analyst. He exposes the money grubbers, the dirty games of government and corporations. Like ‘Wall Street's New Pyramid, Open for Lunch’ or ‘I Am a Python, But This Much Even I Would Never Dare Swallow.’ Everyone knows that if ConstrEEctor goes online — expect high-profile dismissals and investigations. In general, Kaa is a scandalous gonzo journalist who is outlawed but continues to publish... At the same time, he remains a calm philosopher, which doesn't fit his online image at all.”

Jerry stammered, and the ginger pony spoke up, “You forgot to say that he's helping the fugitive synthets.”

“Yeah, that too. He helped me and Scootaloo when we first got here. He also crashes websites from time to time. Like the ones that broadcast bloody entertainment with synthets.”

Lyra sighed. It wasn't even the cruelty and injustice of this world that struck her. Not the rampant vices and the monstrous scale of social catastrophe.

Lyra Heartstrings' greatest protest was the indifference of those around her. And the fact that a foal had to put up with it. To put up with it, to survive, and to take it all for granted.

The wait dragged on.

Scootaloo was sitting there, scribbling something in the dust with her hoof. Jerry was stretching his legs, pacing back and forth.

A chilly breeze blew through the junkyard, and the unicorn's empty stomach rumbled again.

“We're not going in?” Lyra asked.

“Why should we?” Scootaloo replied with a question.

“We came to visit, the least Kaa could do is offer us a cup of tea... with a muffin.” A wicked gust of wind sent a chill through her jacket and shirt, and the unicorn added, "Or at least invite us into the house!”

“Are you sure you want to go into the lair of a giant snake?” Jerry asked. “Personally, I'm not comfortable with it, no matter what. Besides... some guys who visit Kaa don't really come back. There's no need to tempt fate.”

“He's helping you!”

“Yes, he is. But we don't know his motivation. And that's scary. Mark my words, he will come out and he won't say anything straight.”

As if hearing these words, the serpent reappeared from the embrasure. Lyra and the others waited patiently as the huge body filled the courtyard once again. The boa placed the briefcase in front of the ponies.

“The ans-swer is-s no longer hidden,” he hissed.

“What is it?” asked the mouse. “We can't even fully decipher the metadata. Can you at least help with that?”

“The ans-swer without ques-stion. The Key. I cannot open the res-st.”

Jerry sighed sadly, but Scootaloo decided to take the bull by the horns. “Kaa, where do we find Prophet?” she asked.

The mouse nudged the pegasus' leg warningly, but the serpent wasn't surprised.

“Everyone is-s looking for Prophet,” he said. “What did you little ones-s need him for?”

“We're looking for a safe place, and they say he can provide one for all the fugitive synthets,” replied Jerry.

“You know that Prophet s-speaks-s to no one and leads-s no one. And I am no exc-ception in this-s matter.”

The serpent's voice was calm and deep. Lyra thought that if he wanted to, he could easily hypnotize a reasonable prey...

“We have something to offer him!” Scootaloo asked defiantly.

But the serpent was adamant. “You cannot buy happiness-s, little pony. Es-spe-s-cially not from Prophet—”

“You saw it yourself!” The pegasus didn't give up. “We have... we have... the Key!”

“The Key is-s nothing without the lock," said the serpent.

He even closed his eyes, doing his best to look like a creature distracted by nonsense. But the slight smile that gave the serpent's face a somewhat mischievous look was still there.

“But we need Prophet!” Jerry exclaimed. “He's the one who spoke of the price. Or at least show us the way, O Kaa...”

He said the last part with a kind of doom in his voice. As if the old snake knew more than he was saying.

“If you have taken the Key, you have taken the way of Prophet," Kaa said finally, "and if you do not get it right, you will peris-sh. And if you backs-slide, you will peris-sh even more. But if you go to the end, you will find the ultimate—”

“Hey, what about freedom of choice?” Jerry objected.

“The choic-ce has-s been made. Your choic-ce is-s the Key.”

“But what do we do with the Key, Kaa?” Lyra asked, finally pulling herself together.

“What you do with every key... Find the lock.”

“Thank you, O Kaa," Jerry bowed jokingly, "you've been very helpful!”

Kaa's eyes turned from yellow to orange, and fear crept back into Lyra's soul.

Scootaloo gave the mouse a pitiful look, but he was already off the point. “I was going to say that we're grateful, and we should be on our way to... lunch. Yes, lunch! Thank you, and see you later!”[1]

The boa constrictor glanced at the hastily departing synthets. He had known the little filly and the mouse couple for a long time. This was the first time he had seen the pale green unicorn.

He knew that Jerry had managed to access the headers. A few months ago, an exploit had suddenly appeared on the Net to attack — unthinkable! — a standard disk encryption algorithm, and Kaa had done a lot to spread the word. Of course, after such a scandal, everyone had to hastily switch to other encryption methods — each in their own way. However, the ability to break the root sector's defenses remained: the vulnerable cipher was written into the standard of the data exchange protocol, and it was still unknown when a replacement would be ready.

Kaa was more than certain that this tiny snippet of half-crazed machine code had long been known to the corporants, and that the vulnerability itself had been deliberately inserted into the crypto algorithm.

Apart from the headers, it was impossible to analyze the rest of the array — even with the illegal quota available at the largest quantum computing complex on the planet, it would take years... And at the same time, it was obvious that immediate decryption and publication was the only chance to save Jerry and Scootaloo. The only arrangement that would make killing them uneconomical.

That was why he had sent them out to find the access codes.

He couldn't find a rational explanation for it — but his professional reporter's instincts clearly indicated that the mint unicorn would eventually manage to lead them in the right direction. Moreover, from what he had seen in the headers, it was clear that the success of the operation would cause very painful damage to those who had continued to create sentient beings to live in torment for so many years. And yet, the question of whether the publication would be the gateway to Heaven or open Pandora's Box remained open...

Admittedly, the copy protection was excellent: there was simply nowhere to rewrite so much data. But Kaa realized that the little ones needed backup like air. Having stuffed all available drives with chunks of the array, as well as storage space in the cloud, he was already contacting hacker teams from the hidden segments of the Cybernet...

The boa constrictor moved toward the burrow, but hesitated, turning as if into nothingness.

“And why did you s-stay? Your ques-stions-s have already been ans-swered for thos-se you keep. Look for the res-st of the ans-swers-s in your own heart.”

With these words, he ducked into the old bunker that had been his home for decades. Ever since a young boa constrictor, unwilling to wait for disposal after upgrading his model, had been looking for a place to bow his head.

Who would have thought that a dirty hole full of tasty rats in an abandoned fortress would soon become a real home? And that mastering a simple computer tablet found among the garbage would start a powerful cyber center with an antenna made from a jumble of old girders?

The serpent has seen a lot in his life. Gigapolis has grown before his eyes. Abandoned, war-torn territories soon became a landfill, safely burying the legacy of the past, forming its own biosphere and a special society of outcasts.

A lifetime had passed since then. A generation of people had changed, and more than one. And one could not even believe that now, because of a small accident in the world, something... could change.

And of course, Kaa knew very well that careless youth can sometimes move mountains where wisdom and experience fail...

Once Kaa's concrete bunker was out of sight, Jerry exhaled. “I hate that snake sometimes! Not only does he talk in riddles, but he looks at me like I'm his lunch.”

“Actually, snakes eat mice,” remarked Scootaloo, kicking a rusted tin can with her hoof.

“Shut up, Scoot!”

But the ginger pegasus' voice only grew more snide. “Yeah, it sucks being at the bottom of the food chain—”

“I thought we agreed not to bring that up?!”

Lyra suddenly felt funny. “Only best friends can tease each other like that!” she said cheerfully.

“Are you all in cahoots today?!” the mouse said, tugging at a lilac strand of the uncombed mane.

Scootaloo's voice made it clear that she was laughing too. “I think someone's pouting... like a mouse in a maze!”

“All right, that's enough!” Jerry was outraged and sat on the pegasus' back with his arms crossed over his chest. “You're going to cook your own lunch!”

“Cutie Mark Crusaders the Cuisinarts, yay!” Lyra interjected.

Scootaloo, however, made a sad, pleading face, turned to the mouse, and said in a plaintive voice, “That's a low blow, honey...”

The mouse looked into the little pony's moist eyes and sighed. “Okay, okay. I can't get angry when you look at me like that. But this is the last time, you know that!”

“He's already said that four times," Scootaloo told Lyra in a conspiratorial whisper.

“I heard it all!” the mouse said, then added, without addressing anyone in particular. "Just a kindergarten... with ponies.”

The ponies' laughter echoed over the dump, scaring away a flock of small creatures. Lyra felt a warm cheerfulness that diminished fear and hunger. And even the cold wind...[2]

Another gust made the unicorn shiver. No, laughing alone would probably not keep her warm...

Suddenly, Jerry jumped off Scootaloo's back.

“Go ahead, girls," he said. “And keep talking.”

With that, he slipped behind a pile of garbage before the ponies could ask a single question.

“Let's go," Lyra called out, "but you first, because I don't remember the way.”

Hiding behind one of the many piles of petrified rubble, Jerry picked up a rusty iron pin and tossed it in the air to try it out.

Someone was following them. For quite a while already.

And if in the city he could go unnoticed, here...

I'm in my element here, Jerry thought as he watched a figure about his height creep along the cinder ridge. Gotcha!

Jerry could have sworn that the spy had not noticed anything until the last moment.

But the one reacted immediately. The slender figure ducked to let the ambushed mouse pass and gave him a swift kick.

Jerry, who hit the old brick, instantly regained his balance and attacked again, swinging his improvised weapon.

The slim figure of the spy, dressed in a black jumpsuit, dodged again. Jerry made out round ears sticking out of a helmet with a universal visor, and a thin tail at the back.

A synthet mouse. It was unclear which one it was, though, but that didn't matter now.

The iron pin whistled through the air again, but the spy dodged time after time. Finally, he jumped aside and threw up his arms. There was a click, and Jerry turned sharply to see the ribbed barrel of a blaster aimed at him. A tiny one, just the right size for his hand.

But the beam, almost invisible in daylight, did not cut off the mouse's life, only his weapon.

With a curse, he let go of the instantly red-hot iron.

“Jerry?” asked a soft voice, muffled by the helmet.

The mouse opened his mouth to retort angrily, but stopped short.

The spy raised his free hand and pressed something under his chin. The helmet clicked open and flew to the ground, revealing a cascade of almost human hair falling to the shoulders.

Jerry mentally groaned as he stared at the sight.

“I suspected someone was following us from the beginning," he said, "but I had no idea it would be you, Gadget.”

The little mouse, former cartoon character and idol of several generations at once, brushed a stray strand of hair from her pretty face and lowered her weapon. Huge blue eyes, reminiscent of ponies, stared at Jerry.

“That's me," said Gadget Hackwrench. “And is that you?”

“What a circus," Jerry said irritably. “Me, you... Gadget Connors?”

“Yes. Jerry Fitzgerald?”

“Yup. Only now I'm just Mouse.”

Overwhelmed by long-forgotten feelings, the mouse looked away and didn't see the shadow of concern running across Gadget's face.

“Why Mouse?” she asked.

“I can't take the name of the man who killed Tom, okay?” Jerry replied sharply, meeting her eyes again. “What are you doing here? Why did you... follow us?”

“I came to help.”

“When I really needed your help, you didn’t came! And now you're bringing up the old mouse?”

“I saw you the other day. I wasn't quite sure that you were you until now.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I'm actually a white mouse in disguise, obsessed with taking over the world!”

“Don't you dare say that about Brain, he was trying to help! You know exactly what I mean!”

“He really did! Especially—”

“He and Tom didn't always get along, right, but Brain never wished him—”

Jerry stopped her with a sharp gesture. “Okay. Never mind. No need to rehash old times, it's been so many years—”

There was a pause. For a moment, Jerry was pulled back into the past, so long ago that it now seemed like someone else's life.

He sighed and said, “And you haven't changed at all.”

It wasn't true. The years had taken their toll: the figure, while retaining its athletic firmness, had lost its girlish slenderness, and there were barely visible wrinkles at the corners of the eyes under the fur.

Gadget smiled and tilted her head to the side. "But you, on the other hand, have changed. What happened, Jerry?”

“The escape from the Fitzgerald house happened, and then the years of life on the streets.”

“In all that time, you couldn't forget?”

“Neither forget nor forgive.”

“And all those years—”

The mouse shot an angry glance at his companion. “Almost. A year ago, Scootaloo came into my life.”

“Just showed up? You treat her like a daughter.”

Jerry couldn't know it, but Gadget was comparing her life to his. Drawing parallels and remembering how their hearts had once been scattered all over Gigapolis. Two little mice in a colossal city.

“Come on, I'll tell you on the way," Jerry said nonchalantly, and without looking back, he headed in the direction the ponies had gone a few minutes before.

It didn't even occur to them to cover their tracks...

In the trailer, the mice were greeted with surprised looks from the ponies.

Jerry said in a tired voice, “Girls, this is Gadget. Gadget, these are the girls—”

“Hello," the introduced spy smiled modestly. “I know your names, I've heard them before. Nice to meet you.”

Scootaloo was the first to come to her senses. “And you, I see you don't waste any time. Right, Jerry?”

“Come on, Scoot. We go way back. Gadget was our secret protector. She was the one who helped us in the city. She didn't tell me why, though.”

“Could she be a... spy?” asked the pegasus, narrowing her eyes.

The mice looked at each other.

“Actually, yes, I am a spy," Gadget replied with a smile, still not putting her helmet back on. “You say that like it's a bad thing, Scootaloo.”

“Yeah?" she went on. “Why would anyone want to spy on us, huh?”

The mouse tilted her head to the side. “Who told you I was following you? I was originally following the OBE courier.”

All eyes immediately turned to the black briefcase.

“Wanna take it?” Jerry asked.

“Are you kidding?” Gadget replied with a question. “How? Have you tried lifting the briefcase, Jerry? Scootaloo carried it all the way, remember?”

“Then what good are you on this mission?” the ginger pony kept pushing.

“My job was to watch. Gather information. They screwed up my size, though. They thought it would be limited to a microdisk, and I could have easily taken it away... On the other hand, if I'd been bigger, they would have noticed me. By the way, can I look at that?”

Jerry glanced over at the pony and spread his hands.

“I don't see why not," he said. “I guess you don't work for the corporation, or you wouldn't be talking, you would just shoot a beam in the back of everyone's head.”

Lyra flinched at that.

“It was enough for me to let the hunters capture you in the White City,” replied Gadget, crossing her arms over her chest. “I had to do the exact opposite — prevent the briefcase from reaching its destination.”

“And you're telling us that so calmly?” asked Lyra, who was also suspicious. “Why?”

“Because spies don't leave witnesses," Scootaloo muttered. “And as soon as—”

“Enough!” Jerry said sharply. “If it were anyone else, Scoot, I'd accept your argument. But as old-fashioned as I am, I would never hurt Gadget. At least not in memory of what happened. And you, Gadget, would never obey an order that went against your world view. You've always been like that...”

He looked into his old friend's eyes and she did not look away.

“Thank you," she said quietly, bringing a smile to Lyra's muzzle.

The unicorn didn't say it out loud, but that straightforward look and the mouse's trust instilled confidence in her heart as well.

“There's information on how synthets can make other little synthets without the biofactories," Jerry said, making Lyra blush. “And other data. Lots of it.”

“I heard your conversation this morning, but I'm interested in something... different.”

"’Overlord’?” Lyra and Jerry asked in unison.

“Yes.”

The unicorn's stomach rumbled again to Scootaloo's unapologetic giggles.

“How about this," Jerry suggested with a smile. “While Gadget takes a look, I'll take care of lunch. Lyra, come help me. And you, Scootaloo—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know," the pegasus waved him off, "I'll pack up and see if everything's okay in the neighborhood...”

About an hour later, the ponies were happily devouring the water-filled vermicelli, topped with a flavorful gravy.

“Jerry, how can you make such yummy stuff out of ordinary noodles?” Lyra asked, munching on the mouse's lunch.

“Pasta, my dear, that's the proper name for it," the satisfied chef proclaimed. “Jerry's pasta! In a sauce... er... a ‘what's-in-a-bag’ sauce!”

“Thank you so much!” Lyra said as a nice hot heaviness formed in her stomach.

Scootaloo, who had once again devoured a full three plates, hiccupped contentedly from the floor where she lay upside down with a bloated tummy. In fact, Lyra had noticed that Scootaloo ate her fill every chance she got. Sensibly, come to think of it. Living on the streets, you never knew when your next meal would be.

Lyra chuckled, but stopped when her eyes fell on the plates meant for Gadget and the mouse himself. He took a yellow lump and carefully crumbled it into an unappetizing mass, the nature of which was left to guess.

“Jerry, why didn't you eat the... pasta with us?” asked the unicorn.

He grinned. “Aside from the fact that it was eaten by two hungry ponies...? Just kidding, Lyra, don't make those eyes! Don't worry.”

“Are you and Gadget really going to eat this?”

“We are mice. Our kind creators gave us stomachs that can digest some pretty weird stuff... And the damn cheese is built into our metabolism. It's not that easy to get!”

“You still haven't answered why you don't want to eat properly.”

“You need to listen more carefully. We can safely eat something that will melt the sensitive ponies' tummies. And it'll be good for us. Rest now, and Gadget and I will eat.”

“Do you know there is a tracking device here?” Gadget, who was sitting on the table and doing something with the briefcase, spoke up.

Jerry, who had tasted his lunch, choked.

“What?!" the ponies exclaimed as the mouse cleared his throat.

“The device that shows the briefcase's location," Gadget explained. "It uses some of the power from the interface to boost the signal... Looks like Kaa turned it off, but it definitely managed to transmit our location.”

“So that's how they kept finding us!” Scootaloo exclaimed, jumping to her hooves. “In the White City, and ever since—”

“Wait a minute,” Lyra said. “Then why didn't they come here?”

“I told you there was a lot of metal around here," Jerry said. “Besides, we've been underground for a long time, and that might have made it harder for them to find us.”

“Then we have to leave now," Gadget summed up, "because they'll be here any minute.”

Jerry glanced longingly at the plate where a century-old army ration, sprinkled with cheese, was being ground up. But finally he decided.

“Lyra," he said, "could you help Scoot pack up the rest of the stuff while Gadget and I eat? I really don't want to run around on an empty stomach again...”

The unicorn smiled and nodded.

Her heart was certainly troubled. But her conscience would not allow her to insist on an urgent escape now that the ponies had eaten and the mice had not.

What will happen to this cozy little house that has sheltered us for a day? she thought. I wish such a wonderful place would not be damaged...

As Jerry and Gadget hurriedly finished their portions, Scootaloo threw everything she thought she needed to take into the middle of the house.

Some things Lyra rejected immediately: dishes, books, a pillow, a pile of some clothes... It seemed that the pegasus intended to go on an expedition somewhere in the wilderness and set up an independent settlement there.

But, as the unicorn noted, it would be easier to find wheels for the trailer and pull it on their own.

“Tools, some water, a change of clothes and the briefcase!” Jerry spoke, swallowing another spoonful of unappetizing mess. “Nothing else!”

“We've been collecting these comics for almost a year!” Scootaloo exclaimed, nearly crying over the stack of old magazines. “I can't give them up!”

“They're not worth your life, Scoot!” objected the mouse. “Just like all the other junk!”

“It's a miracle no missiles or attack drones have targeted the briefcase signal yet," said Gadget.

“Apparently the OBE doesn't want the briefcase damaged," Jerry said. “Or they just don't want too much attention right now. Given what's in there and how much, they won't send it over the Cybernet or through transportation companies.”

“Maybe," Gadget's voice was worried. "But let's not tempt fate...”

Jerry, however, looked back longingly at the trailer that had been home to the small family of abandoned synthets for almost a year.

He was back on Scootaloo's head. Gadget was sitting comfortably on Lyra Heartstrings, who was carrying most of the bags. Jerry turned away from the dark silhouette of the motor home.

Once again, as it had been so long ago, the road ahead was unclear...

* * *

Victor awoke to find himself feeling incredibly rested.

Seraphima wasn't beside him, but there was the sound of water and gurgling mumbling coming from the shower. Whether she was trying to brush her teeth and sing at the same time, or just the sound was distorted that way.

Vic did not deny himself the pleasure of lying down some more. The bed showed signs of what had happened during the night: crumpled sheets, a pillow lying on the floor, and a mattress pushed to the side.

His gaze fell on the bedside table, and Victor frowned thoughtfully as he saw the banknotes lying under Seraphima's watch...

“Why did you give back the money?” Victor asked as the towel-wrapped girl returned from the shower.

“Just because,” she gave a short answer and without any hesitation started to change her clothes.

Victor thought he should turn away now, but he didn't want to. Seraphima's movements were full of grace, and it occurred to him that she could probably dance amazingly well...

The light revealed that Seraphima had a firm, slender body. Almost boyish, especially considering her short haircut and facial features in general. But it was surprisingly beautiful.

“Why didn't you take it all?” Vic asked in a different way, distracted from his thoughts.

“Think of yourself as my favourite, handsome.” The look of brown eyes shot to the man.

“Seraphima, this is not serious—”

The girl, already covering herself with denim armor again, didn't answer right away. “Well, okay, okay. You're a good guy, there's something about you that can't be sold or bought. Even in this time.”

Victor grinned. “My grandfather would have liked you.”

Surprised, he noticed something like embarrassment on her face.

“Hey, we don't know each other well enough for you to introduce me to your relatives!”

“Aha, so the bed is no reason?” asked the man, his soul thirsting for revenge for all the teasing.

Seraphima, however, was not offended at all. She leaned forward, bringing her face closer to his, and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she said, “Vic, I don't know how you have it up there, but in the Gray City, a bed is not even a reason to get acquainted.”

Victor looked away, offended in his best feelings by the girl's cynicism.

But she poked him sensitively in the shoulder and added, “I'll tell you something, boy from the White City. I grew up on the streets. My father died before I was nine, unable to pay for medical treatment. And when I turned thirteen, my mother popped some pills and went on a date with God, if there is one. I'm no brainer, and I did what I did, and I'm not just gonna stand by and watch you stubbornly try to get yourself killed. And then your horsey won't stand a chance. So come on, pull yourself together and clean up while I make some sandwiches for breakfast and to go.”

Victor started to reach for his clothes, but Seraphima suddenly threw another pile on his lap.

“Put this on," she advised, "'cause you're attracting a lot of attention in Gray City with your nanowear.”

“What's this?”

“Some of my ex-boyfriend's stuff. He was about your size, so it should fit.”

“Okay," Victor said and slipped into a pair of worn gray jeans, a shirt and a sturdy, heavy jacket. Everything was made of rough fabric, but it looked solid and almost new.

“Now you look like a real man!” The girl jokingly poked Victor in the shoulder again.

“Seraphima," he called, and her brown eyes stared at him questioningly. “And yet, tell me, why did you...? Well, at night...?”

“Why not? You needed to come to your senses. And you also kept me awake with your fussing.”

With that, she left for the kitchen, humming something under her breath.

So what happened didn't mean anything to you? Victor wanted to ask, but he dared not, and then Seraphima had already gone out of the room.

From the kitchen came the noise of dishes and unintelligible chanting. Apparently, Seraphima's mood had been elevated since the morning, and Victor arrogantly assumed that it was due to the night. It was just that the girl probably considered expressing her feelings a weakness and tried to hide them behind the mask of a reckless tomboy.

So he didn't shout across the apartment to find out what was going on. He really didn't want to destroy the fragile feeling of peaceful warmth that had settled in his heart.

And to sort out his own feelings now, when Lyra was in desperate need of help, would just be criminally careless.

Pinkie Pie style, the man thought with grim humor and got up from the bed. Lyra, Lyra... Just hang in there, little one. We're on our way...

The morning greeted them with an overcast sky that was about to rain. Yes, humans had learned to partially control the weather, but they hadn't gotten much further than creating artificial hurricanes and tornadoes. No rains for agriculture, no cloud dispersal over resort areas: the first thing to be done was to create weapons. And then the research somehow stalled.

However, any resident of the Spires could take a hovercar in bad weather and soon find himself many miles away from home, enjoying the generous sunshine somewhere in Hawaii. The poorer ones could escape Gigapolis by stratoliner or maglev. But most residents spent their entire lives in the city, often never leaving their neighborhood.

By the time Seraphima and Victor had left the house, the air was damp, heralding inclement weather, but the streets were still dry. Only the tops of the high-rise buildings were hidden in the haze. Passersby, like yesterday, like a year ago, like fifty years ago, hurried about their business, shutting themselves off for the duration of the walk in their own world of thoughts and sometimes music from the player.

Vic noticed the pensive look on the girl's face.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“What...? Uh, no, everything's fine. I have an idea who to ask about Lyra, but I don't know how... smart it would be. But if he does, he'll find her.”

“Two whole 'buts,’" Vic said thoughtfully, "can you elaborate on that?”

“Y'know, before we go to him, we'd have to try everything else.”

“Just tell me straight. Who is he?”

Seraphima ruffled her short red hair nervously.

“There is a dude who runs a lot of the synthet stuff," she said. “If he doesn't know by now, he can find your Lyra in twenty-four hours.”

“Why didn't we go to him right away?” Victor wondered.

“Because it's very dangerous to be in debt to someone like him.”

“Is he a mobster?”

“Oh, no. His activities are completely legal. No drugs, no crime... At least he's never been suspected. But just so you know, he owns most of the synthet fleshpots in Gray City. Specifically, the Pony Play and the Flight of Fantasy.”

“And even the Solaire?!”

“Not that I know of. And what's the profit margin on your club? Collecting fees from Pinkie's parties? But it's a good thing he's not interested in that place.”

“You're right.” Victor sighed. “We'll only go to him as a last resort.”

The wheeled taxi merged into the stream of cars, hurrying like the passersby to go about their business. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, heralding a coming storm...

* * *

The door of the former trailer opened, and the shadows of two men in hats and coats fell on the floor.

“Well, it's pretty cozy in here," said Dick Tracy as he stepped inside.

It was obvious the occupants had been here recently, from the scattered belongings, the unwashed dinner plates, even the light that had confused the detectives outside.

“Parasites," the judge said, waving the scanner from side to side. “I don't get it. Last time the signal came from here, but there's no one around.”

“I guess they found the tracker and left," Tracy concluded. “You know, they must have lived here for a long time.”

He picked up a thin book of old superhero comics from the floor. Their synthet doppelgangers were still sometimes seen even on the streets of Gigapolis. However, the superhero series had been a failure, even more so than the anime characters.

In both cases, the synthets were very different from what was on the screen.

Creating someone with dangerous superpowers was neither technically nor legally possible. In the case of anime, there was also the problem of unnatural facial proportions, which might look cute on screen or in holograms, but looked ugly and frightening in real life.

Several multimedia companies in the Asian Gigapolis went bankrupt after investing money in a project with animated characters of their own products. The situation was more or less remedied by releasing a series of human synthets with the characters' traits and personalities — but overall it didn't help much.

The expected hype was missing. As it happened, synthets of this type fell victim to the psychological phenomenon of the "uncanny valley": despite their resemblance to humans, they evoked mostly negative emotions, ranging from fear to utter disgust. Humanoid androids were rarely created for the same reason.

However, the demand never completely died down. And the idea of neko-slaves and the like was still one of the most popular.

As usual, those who bet on the baser instincts of the common man won.

“We'll have to call a cleanup crew to the dump," the judge said.

He reached out and suddenly snatched the comic book out of Dick Tracy's hands, crumpling the magazine with ease.

“We don't have time for this," the detective replied. “They're obviously not here, so let's go.”

Wrapping themselves in coats against the chilly wind, the detectives stepped outside. Doom muttered something about "burning this hole down," but did nothing.

“Coffi!” came from above. “Coffi Coffi Coffi!”

Dick looked up and saw a purple orb with eyes crawling out of a pile of trash. The creature's mouth was open in a smile of sparse but sharp teeth, and its huge eyes stared straight at the detective.

Doom reacted instantly.

A blaster sprang from a holster concealed beneath his coat, and a red beam shot through the creature.

With an inarticulate wheeze, the orb deflated and collapsed into a pile of rubble. The smell of burning flesh and ammonia wafted through the air.

Dick turned to the judge, who twirled his pistol on his finger before holstering it.

“Bull's-eye," the synthet grinned.

“And for what?" Dick asked.

“No big deal, just a garbage pest," Doom shrugged.

“He was no threat to us.”

“If you ask me, he could have attacked us. I don't get it, Tracy, are you going to moralize at the end of your tour of duty? I'm willing to believe you have a thing for little horses for kids in your old age, but this? Just look at this piece of shit!”

“He didn't touch us or even get in our way.”

The judge covered his eyes with his palm. “Tracy, you've lost the last of your mind... The signal stopped here. They must have discovered the tracker while they were at home. Any idea where to find them now?”

“We can sweep the area. After all, they couldn't have gone far. Maybe someone saw them... And by the way, it might be the one you killed.”

“I'm sick of you!” Doom snapped. “Pokémon can't talk, okay?!”

“Don't raise your voice at me. The important thing is that he can understand speech and nod. The rest doesn't matter. Besides, it'll be harder for us to find an informer now.”

With that, the detectives made their way to the jumble of old structures.

As they passed an old caponier with an overgrown hatch, the judge suddenly raised his hand in a military gesture and urged them to stop.

Dick listened, but heard nothing but the howling of the wind amid the heaps of old cars and ruined buildings. They seemed to have entered the outskirts of a former residential area where the line of an unknown front had once been drawn. In particular, the number of caponiers that had gone into the ground was too large for an ordinary city.

Doom darted sideways somewhere where an old chimney lay like a collapsed tower. Dick followed the synthet, also drawing his pistol. Unlike the judge, he had no intention of shooting anyone.

Inside the chimney it was dark and empty.

“And here are our informers!” Doom shouted cheerfully.

Tracy was distracted from staring at the cold and dark crypt, covered with layers of soot, and rushed to the voice.

The judge appeared a short distance away, behind a pile of plastic and cardboard. He was holding two creatures at gunpoint, a young girl and a boy of about thirteen. Both could have been mistaken for humans if it weren't for the cat ears and tails.

Neko-slaves. One of the most popular synthet types in Asian Gigapolis and actively exported all over the world. A crutch for a failed anime series, but even more popular than ponies. A lot of people fall for the cat ears and other animal features, thinking it's cute.

However, it usually does not save the synthets from a hard fate. The same living toys, but usually not for children, but for adults. With all that entails.

“They'll tell us everything!” the judge promised bloodthirstily as he shot a laser beam into the wall of the makeshift hut.

The synthets, already shrunken with terror, huddled together and closed their eyes.

“Now," Doom said, fiddling with his blaster. “I know there were fugitive synthets here. Two hollow-eyed horses and a mouse with them. Where did they go?”

“Nya?” asked the girl, trying to shield the trembling boy. “Nya-a-a?”

The judge's face twisted into a grimace of fury. He raised his blaster, but Tracy's hand was on the barrel.

“Doom," the detective said, "if you kill one more innocent synthet, I'll take action.”

The judge sighed, calming down, and looked at the man the way one looks at relatives who have fallen into senility. He ran his hand over the heads of the trembling synthets and showed the scanner to the detective. “Yellow marker.”

“That means 'detain and filter,’ not 'kill on the spot,’” Dick said. “Or do we have nothing better to do than have you hunting in a garbage dump? Should I file a report that you're unfit for duty and transfer you to the cleanup crew? Then you'll get your fill of dump hunting.”

The judge shrugged, feigning an indifferent expression, but the detective could see that the synthet was just boiling with rage.

“They're going to be recycled anyway, and I'm just speeding up the process. After they tell me what they know. And what they don't know.”

“You're just an evil monster!” Dick exclaimed, unable to take it anymore.

The red eyes stared back at the man.

“Yes," the synthet said, "and unlike you, Tracy, I'm not ashamed of it.”

“How many synthets have you killed instead of detaining?” the detective asked.

“I haven't counted.”

“Nya?”

The two detectives turned in sync to see the younger of the synthets walk up to them and tug on the detective's sleeve.

“Damn it," the judge cursed, "if he meows one more time, I'll shoot him for sure.”

“Don't you dare," the detective said, looking more closely at the boy. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

The boy nodded. Obviously, both he and the girl were from the series that had no normal speech system. Meowing and purring to imitate cats was all they got. Some apparently found it cute, but Dick found it disgusting. To have a full mind without normal speech was a mockery.

But these two seemed to have found a way out.

The boy took the board hanging from his chest, picked some soot off the wall, and quickly wrote something on it with his finger.

"We've seen a pony," the inscription read.

The judge grinned nastily, but before he could say or do anything, the boy flipped the board over and finished, "Let the red-eyed one go."

“What if I cut off your legs with the beam?” Doom asked, and the boy's cat ears flattened in fear.

“He won't," Dick objected quickly, then turned to the boy. “What's the matter with him?”

The boy sobbed. His ears drooped, and his dirty finger ran over the board again.

"He killed Coffi," the writing said, and the blue eyes glared at the men with reproach and fear.

Dick cursed to himself. The dump was by no means a deserted place; everyone knew each other here. Even the outcast synthets.

The detective turned to the judge. “Get out for now. We can settle this in a normal way, so why make threats? Your escapade with that balloon didn't go unnoticed.”

“Better straight to threats than half an hour of persuasion," Doom muttered and headed for the exit. “I'll be waiting.”

The boy, meanwhile, smiled and drew an arrow on the board. He placed it on the ground and took a step back.

Tracy checked the direction and realized that the synthets went back towards the city. That narrowed the search area a bit, but that was all.

“Thanks, kid," the detective nodded. “Don't be afraid of me.”

“Nya," the boy replied.

The detective turned to leave, but returned. Two pairs of green eyes stared fearfully at the approaching man. When Tracy reached into the waistband of his coat, the boy covered the girl with himself, and there was real horror in his eyes.

Naturally, he expected the man to pull out a weapon now.

But Tracy only smiled soothingly and, putting a hundred credit bill in front of the astonished synthets, went out without saying another word.

His soul felt heavy. The resemblance between the girl and her daughter, left behind somewhere in the past, was simply heartbreaking.
Now, at least, they could leave the dump if they wanted to.

[1] The image: https://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2014/066/8/3/wisdom_kaa_by_darkknightthestral-d799nqu.jpg
[2] The image: https://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2014/066/2/4/only_best_friends_by_darkknightthestral-d799nt7.jpg