//------------------------------//
// Network Failure 
// Story: Gear in the Machine 
// by SFaccountant 
//------------------------------//

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!”