Some called it “the lab,” others called it “the workshop,” but for the Shiners who spent enough time around the Rabbit Hole, they eventually caught on to its alternate nickname: “The Octopus’s Garden.”
Jackanapes wandered in, trotting down the ramped walkway and into a long chamber that, if not for the natural rock walls, could have been mistaken for a factory floor.
There were long tables and workbenches covered with half-assembled devices of all sorts, many of which were busily being assembled by engineers. Though “engineers” was a bit charitable: most of the ponies there we barely more than foals. “Engineers,” as society was concerned, meant some unicorn who went to school and assembled clockwork gear-driven automata or steam-powered monstrosities that chugged away in factories. It didn’t mean ponies who worked with solaether. Not since the Empire had made it illegal.
Oh, a unicorn had invented it. And it was unicorn scientists who first started talking about the applications. But once earth ponies started figuring out all the ways it could empower them and make the unicorn mages and pegasus weather ponies just a bit less special… that’s when it went from “a promising new form of energy” to “sun theft” and “a vicious drain on Her Majesty's power.”
Banished from the realm of unicorn scholars, it was inherited by any earth pony who could get their hooves on the right manuals or learn by word of mouth. And the ones who usually took to it most readily were the young ones. Jackanapes passed by scores of adolescents who eagerly squabbled and laughed just a bit too loud as they debated the next step in processes he had no understanding of, but hung his very survival on out in the field.
They usually ignored him, knowing his talents were for quick wits and quick getaways, but not for the science that dominated their young lives. They only cared when the tech got tested for the first time. Then they listened with rapt attention and took detailed notes, scribbling furiously before going back to their drawing boards.
These colts and fillies got called “Sol Streakers,” a term they wore like a badge of honor, or “Wundercolts” (regardless of gender) or “Goo Girls” (specifically for the fillies, and named for the solaether gel at the heart of the work).
Jackanapes just called them “The Kids,” but he had to admire them. They were a mix of boundless enthusiasm and tireless obsession, and they took readily to the new work. They were irreverent and didn’t give a flying fig about authority, and they were the first ones to start drawing the grinning sun symbol on their vials of solaether that had now become their emblem. They were fast learners and eager to prove themselves, and thus they formed the basis of the Octopus’s team.
And speaking of which, despite the busy goings-on of the workshop floor, Jackanapes didn’t see her anywhere.
“Oi, Octy!” he called, cupping a hoof to his mouth. “Don’t tell me I came all the way down here for nothing, ya dusty ol’ biddy!”
Something cold and metal snaked around his barrel, seizing him and lifting him up before he had the chance to squirm away.
He found himself hoisted up to the rafters that crisscrossed the cavern’s roof and was brought up and around to face the Octopus herself.
“So nice of you to join us, Groaner,” she said, a knowing smirk on her face.
The Octopus was a middle-aged mare with a chestnut brown mane that was beginning to show the gray streaks of age. She had brown eyes and thick pair of spectacles. Her fur was a creamy off-white and she constantly wore a baggy jacket with pockets that bulged with all the tools and parts she carried with her at all times.
Most notably, of course, was the device embedded into her back from which sprouted eight spindly mechanical tentacles that were either constantly busy with some task or another or, if unoccupied, quivered with anticipation.
“Well, I ain’t one to disappoint a lady,” Jack said, keeping his nonchalance despite being entirely in her clutches. “Or you, since there ain’t no ladies about. By the by, love, I know you must be lonely an’ all pent up, but there’s got to be a better way to pick up stallions than this,” he added, gesturing to the tentacle that had lifted him up.
“Heh. Charming,” she sniffed. “Well, I was in the middle of a project on the second level when I heard you come in, so I figured I’d save you the legwork.”
Using her tentacles, the Octopus grasped the rafters and a series of rocks to climb up a shaft in the ceiling of the cavern, up to the second floor of the lab, which had numerous smaller alcoves crisscrossed with rough metal gangplanks.
She hoisted Jackanapes up onto one of these gangplanks and then ascended it herself, the various tentacles keeping her aloft in the air as they grasped the hoofrails.
“Now, get your cute little flank over here and give me your report,” she said, turning back to one of the alcoves.
“Oi, you’re a cheeky bird tonight, ain’t you?”
A tentacle snaked back and swatted him on the backside, causing him to yelp.
“Who’s ‘cheeky’ now, Groaner?” she quipped without looking back. “Besides, what do you mean ‘bird?’ I thought I was an octopus.”
“I s’pose that’d explain that fishy smell comin’ off ya, Octy,” Jack said as he followed her. “Might want to stop ya tinkerin’ a tick and have a bath now an’ again.”
The Octopus gave him a sharp look for a moment, her cheeks coloring, but then she relaxed and let out a laugh. “Only you, Jack,” she said, “ever give it as good as you get. The others all treat me like some sort of den mother around here. But we both know I’m not old… just old for a Shiner. It’s a goal worth reaching for.”
He said nothing to that but continued following her until they arrived at an alcove where she’d been busily drawing up plans for her latest invention while her tentacles assembled another device almost independently on the desk next to her.
“The news arrived before you did,” she said returning to her work. “The raid on Sector 12. I presume they seized the solar mirrors and the charger?”
He nodded.
“Did you charge the solaether units at least?”
“Yeh,” he murmured. “Had to use one, though.”
“Ah, for the wings. I heard you got the chance to use them.” She turned to face him, even as her tentacles finished assembling one device and moved on to another. “Did they work?”
“Like a charm, Octy, like a charm!” he said with a grin. “New model sprang out an’ had me airborne like a pegasus on a jetstream! Took a bolt to the wing, though, and had to land. Might be nice if it could take a good knock or two next time.”
“I’ve got the kids working on improving durability, but you try making it stronger without making it any heavier. Some titanium would be great right now, but we’ll have to make do until we can get the supplies. Or the bits.”
“Right, right,” Jack murmured.
“If you’ll leave the harness with me, I’ll have it fixed up and get you back in the sky in no time,” she said.
“Ah… ya see, about that… might’ve had to ditch it back on that rooftop.”
She groaned. “Jack…”
“Oi, oi, wasn’t much I could do, Octy,” he said, holding up his hooves. “Wings wouldn’t fold back up, an’ I surely wasn’t gonna get far with ‘em stickin’ out while I ducked down alleyways an’ over fences, now was I?”
“Hmph,” she grunted. “I suppose not. I just hate the thought of the Imps getting their hooves on my inventions and taking them apart, or even just destroying them. Plus, it’s one less set of wings for us to use. But at least the buzz above ground is good. Ponies love a good story, and I already hear that there’s talk of the earth pony who flew on glowing wings and made the Legion look like idiots.”
“Don’t take much with that lot,” Jack remarked.
“Maybe not, but anything that casts us in a better light works to our advantage. More earth ponies supporting our cause is vital to our success. But speaking of our reputations…”
Jack shifted uncomfortably.
“The Empire hasn’t issued a full statement,” the Octopus continued, “but we can both guess how they’ll phrase it. ‘Two innocent soldiers’ will be there. ‘Brutal attack’ most likely. And they’ll call us terrorists for the umpteenth time. That sort of thing does not help our cause, Jack.”
“I know, Octy, I know,” he said. “But believe you me, it weren’t no cold-blooded shite. It was them or me.”
“I don’t doubt that,” the Octopus said. “Still… mm... no, it can’t be helped, so I'll skip the lecture. We’ll get the Tract Team working on a good spin for this. In the meantime, I take it those goggles worked their magic?”
“Like bleedin’ Hoofdini,” Jack replied, removing the goggles and placing them in the Octopus’s outstretched hoof.
“Well, that’s another thing to be happy about,” she said. “I had hoped you wouldn’t have need of them so soon, but since you did, I’m glad they performed well.”
She undid the screws in the chamber next to each goggle lens and out popped a single tiny vial of solaether, its characteristic glow notably absent.
“The reticules on the inside lenses helped a fair bit. Might be nice to get more than one shot per lens, though, Octy.”
“More blasts mean more solaether. More solaether means more weight, more bulk, and less area to store it, unless we want to make the goggles two and a half times thicker.”
“The flash after I fired it left me seein’ spots.”
“Hm. I think I can boost the photo-reactive shading when fired. Thank you for the suggestion.”
Jack nodded, and a silence settled over the two of them as the Octopus became more engrossed in her work. Jack almost trotted off, but then she finally broke the silence with another pointed question:
“I haven’t heard of Hobnail coming home,” she said. “Is he…?”
“Nah, not to worry, Octy. I gave him the solaether and sent him down to the hidey hole. Shouldn’t be too long ‘fore he shows up no worse for the wear.”
The Octopus paused in her work and turned to meet his eyes. “I’m sure that’s true. Hob’s a smart young stallion. I’m sure he’ll come home safe. So there’s no need to worry, Jack.”
“Worried, what? Who’s worried?!” he laughed, looking away.
She turned to him, using her hoof to pull his gaze back to her as she raised his chin. “Jack. Seriously… he’ll be fine.”
He relaxed. “Yeh. Course he will. Thanks, Octy.”
She smiled and returned to her work.
“That all, then?” he asked. “Because I do believe I hear the pub callin’ me, and—”
“Actually,” she said, cutting him off, “I’ve got a Greenhorn who just joined today. Go catch her up to speed, get her situated, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, come on, Octy!”
She silenced him with a sharp, reproachful look. “Jack, her whole cell got wiped out. It was just a few amateur Shiners out near Tall Tale. If she’s going to be of any use to this organization, she needs to get solid ground back under her hooves. And who better to do it than the hero of the day? You’re our most famous member, too, so I want somepony there whom she’ll listen to. So talk to her, help her out, and hopefully it’ll help her stay alive when things get tough.”
Jack sighed. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, turning to walk away. “First thing I’ll warn her about is to beware o’ the daft old nag with the metal arms and terrible hygiene.”
A tentacle snaked out and snagged him by the tail, yanking him back.
“You behave yourself,” she snapped, poking him in the muzzle. “Oh, and if you call me a nag again,” she added, holding up one spindly tentacle to his face, “then I’ll shove one of these so far up your backside that by the time I’m done, you’ll legally be considered a kebab.”