Gear in the Machine

by SFaccountant

Detour

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 9
Detour

---

Centaur III
Main rail line – Canterlot bound

“So, what, she’s become even MORE distant since she returned? How is that even possible?”

“Well… Maybe ‘distant’ isn’t the right word. It’s not like she was anything but cold to me before. But she seems… more confident? More untouchable? Like… before, she definitely hated my guts, but she was also pretty flustered just by the knowledge that somepony desired her. Now she doesn’t seem to get flustered anymore.”

“So what? Is that bad?”

“No! No. I mean, not really. I find it really hot, personally. That confidence and steely control suddenly replacing the goofy awkwardness is actually really cool and an incredible turn-on. Objectively speaking it’s definitely an inconvenience to me, however.”

“It doesn’t help that every attempt to ingratiate yourself with her friends fell apart.”

“It’s not fair! I had a good plan for the orange one, too, but that stupid attack meant we had to be at Ferrous Dominus until the fleet returned!”

“It’s definitely for the best. Miss Applejack is well-known for being one of the more short-tempered mares. Although I would have liked the chance to ingratiate myself with her brother.”

“What? Her brother? Who’s her brother?”

“Big Macintosh! Ironside! You have at least a passing interest in augment technology, surely you’ve heard of him.”

“Oh! Right. The red guy. He seems pretty cool. He has a heavy bolter, though.”

“… Yes? So?”

“I try to avoid social contact with stallions who are more heavily armed than I am. Especially when I’m befriending their sister. You’re probably right; that would have gone nowhere good.”

“Why does something like that concern you? You live in the most dangerous place on Centaur III, and your job involves regular contact with brutal aliens.”

“It’s a little thing called risk management, Gears. It’s an important skill you pick up living in the caverns. My job and home life is dangerous enough. No need to antagonize armed ponies as well, right?”

“You antagonize armed ponies all the time!”

“None of whom had a heavy bolter, though.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant…”

Gear Works and Dusk Blade sat across from each other as the passenger train rumbled over the mountains. Dusk was wearing a light jacket rather than his combat uniform, with a rebreather mask hanging loose around his neck. It was the first time Gears had seen him in casual clothes; even when off-duty, Dusk had always worn some kind of combat suit in Ferrous Dominus.

Gear Works, on the other hand, was wearing his Acolyte robes as usual. In addition, he also boasted several med-patches, and his organic foreleg was in a sling. He was obviously in a state of grievous injury, and probably would have been immobile if not for his augmetics.

Sitting with them, his gaze focused on a levitating dataslate, was Prince Blueblood. The unicorn was wearing a fine coat of the sort he used to wear while performing his duties in Canterlot, but with several design customizations: the Legion’s iron skull emblem was pinned to the breast, and a small belt of bolter rounds was stitched to one sleeve. Atop his head the unicorn wore a peaked cap with a hole for his horn to fit through, and a bolt pistol was holstered at his flank.

“Boy, it’s been months since we’ve been to Canterlot, hasn’t it? Feels like a whole other world up here,” Dusk remarked, sighing as he stared up at the mountains. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Ferrous Dominus, but it’s a nice change of pace to see real vegetation again. I’m real glad you asked me along!”

“I didn’t ask you along,” Gear Works reminded the bat pony.

“Sure you did! You told me you were going on medical leave yesterday!” Dusk countered.

“And then you showed up at the train station this morning without telling me anything. I never invited you anywhere.”

“It was implicit,” Dusk said. “Besides, I really need a vacation. We’ve all been on duty constantly since we joined up! Snuffing Orks night after night is fun and morally fulfilling, but the ol’ stabbing leg needs some time to rest.”

“That’s fine, I guess. I just don’t understand why you’re coming to Canterlot with me. Does your family live there like mine does?” Gears asked.

“Nah. My folks live in this cave colony back East. I was the only one from my family who wanted to sign up when Princess Luna returned to the throne, so they still live there.”

“Huh. I see.” Gear Works shifted in his seat, and his servo arm swiveled around to hang over the other side of him. “Equestria really doesn’t know much about the bat pony colonies, do we? Some ponies didn’t even know your kind existed before Luna’s return.”

“Well, we don’t really like to talk about it,” Dusk said with a sigh. “There’s a lot of ancient history there, and most of it is bad. Sparkle may have zapped Princess Luna and purified her of evil, but the rest of us just sort of received news one day that our ancient crimes were forgiven-slash-forgotten and we should rejoin Equestrian society by signing up as soldiers for the purified Princess.”

“Huh… I suppose it’s not that dissimilar to my experience signing up for the Dark Mechanicus,” Gears admitted.

“Yeah! Except you were already in Canterlot, and volunteering to live and work in a poisonous pit of misery and death, and the whole point of my career was to escape one.” Dusk chuckled. “Pretty funny that we both ended up in the same place, huh?”

“And what about you, Prince?” Gears asked, turning to the blond unicorn. “Do you have family you’re meeting in the city?”

“I’m trying to read,” Prince Blueblood retorted.

“Ooh, the chaperone is cranky,” Dusk said, his smirk showing off his fangs.

Blueblood’s eye twitched, and a spark ran up and down his horn, as if he started to cast a spell but then thought better of it. “Why, yes, now that you mention it, having to beg a base commander to be assigned as some idiot’s escort just to get leave to visit home does frustrate me. Splendid observation.”

“Hey, Gears isn’t just ‘some idiot,’ he’s the sole Dark Acolyte among all idiotkind,” Dusk said, reaching a wing over and patting the cyborg on the head with it. “Show a little respect!”

“This entire trip was possible only because he let himself get mutilated by some pitiful little mongrel in the desert,” Blueblood spat.

“Then you should show a little respect AND gratitude!” Dusk countered. “If he wasn’t such a pitiful weakling he’d probably be getting a promotion and you’d still be whipping menials for hours on end. How often do you get to tag along on some other chump’s recovery leave?”

“Lieutenant, please stop defending me,” Gears requested blandly. “Prince, I understand that the circumstances, as they so often are these days, are sub-optimal. Nonetheless, thank you for your assistance.”

Blueblood stared at the tech-cultist for a few seconds, and then clicked his tongue. “Well, it’s fine, I suppose. It’s hardly the deepest wound to my pride inflicted by the 38th Company. Just try not to embarrass me once we get to the city, all right?”

“Of course, Prince,” Gears replied, bowing his head.

“That goes for you too, scoundrel,” the unicorn said to Dusk Blade.

“ThAt GoEs fOr YoU tOo sCouNdReL,” Dusk Blade repeated in an exaggerated goofy voice.

Blueblood’s hackles rose, and he lifted his head higher as his horn started to glow. “Don’t you mock me, thug! I’m responsible for you, too! Not that you need it, since whatever injury you claimed for leave seems to be a complete fabrication, but don’t think I won’t mention that to your commander should you continue to make a nuisance of yourself!”

“Tell them whatever you want, Prince,” Dusk said, lifting his wings in imitation of a shrug. “Just check in with the medicae at some point to see if they can do something about that stick up your rear.”

Blueblood slammed a hoof down on the table between the seats, turning to face the bat pony. Dusk Blade twisted about in his seat to face him just as quickly, his wings spreading as if readying a pouncing strike.

Gear Works watched, alarmed, as the two other stallions glared at each other, each one silently daring the other to attack first. Gears was quite certain that Dusk Blade would have a decisive edge in a physical altercation, which made it all the more bizarre that Blueblood looked to be on the verge of attacking anyway. Then again, Prince Blueblood was armed. Dusk didn’t appear to have a sidearm, and his other weapons were all packed away somewhere.

“Ah… perhaps this isn’t the best time to ask this, but, well… did something happen between you?” the Dark Acolyte asked. “The only time I’ve seen you two together was that one time we were all meeting to play tabletop games together, but from that I was under the impression you were friends.”

“You were mistaken,” Blueblood hissed, slowly lowering himself back in his seat. “I welcomed his presence for the sake of my own entertainment, but he quickly exhausted my patience.”

“Yeah, well you’re a lousy DM,” Dusk huffed. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that undetectable no-save-allowed traps kept springing up whenever someone complained or asked you a question.”

“Your talent at perception is matched only by your whiny ingratitude,” Blueblood retorted. “You only died twice! Stop being a foal about it!”

“Read your book, Prince,” Dusk grumbled, relaxing into his seat and crossing his forelegs.

The stallions settled into a tense silence, with Dusk resting his eyes, Blueblood glaring at his dataslate, and Gears nervously thinking of a topic he could broach that wouldn’t annoy either of them.

Then the train slowed sharply, and everyone seated within it suddenly lurched toward the front. Gear works slammed his injured leg into the table positioned between the seats, yelping painfully. Blueblood’s dataslate was wrenched free of his telekinesis magic, bounced off the table surface, and then smacked the Dark Acolyte in the side of the head.

“What the hay was that?” Dusk Blade asked, having braced himself much better than the others. He slipped out into the aisle, and then started rushing to the next car. Along the way he pushed up his respirator mask up into place; there was always a possibility of toxins or hazardous smoke when investigating an accident, and it paid to take precautions.

He tapped a button near the base of the doorway with his hoof, and the door lock disengaged before opening up. The door on the adjacent car opened as well, with a metal platform secured between the two to allow him passage.

Rather than entering the next car, Dusk jumped up and kicked off the doorway to gain altitude. He opened his wings, and then glided over the tracks to get a better view of whatever was happening.

“It wasn’t an explosion… I didn’t hear gunfire either… also not a lot of screaming, so it doesn’t look like we’re under attack.” As the bat pony spoke he constructed an image of the local space with his echolocation, looking for any hazards that weren’t immediately obvious to the naked eye.

The only thing that stood out, alas, was extremely visible.

Dusk gave his wings two powerful flaps, and then dove down to land atop the nose of the train engine. “What in Luna’s moon is THAT?” he asked, gawking at the absolute mess decorating the front of the train.

In front of the vehicle was some kind of enormous body that had evidently been struck by the train and ripped open by the impact. It was as big as a main battle tank, but wasn’t a creature that Dusk Blade recognized. Whatever it was, it had a thick outer carapace of dark blue that looked well-armored, but hadn’t been able to stand up to the locomotive. The creature’s guts, which were a surprising hue of ruddy purple, had been splattered all over the sides of the engine car and dragged along the sides of the tracks, leaving long, colorful streaks of goo along the train’s path.

The crackle of static came from the train’s internal caster, followed by an utterly bewildered announcement by the train operator. “HELLO FOLKS, UH… SORRY ABOUT THE SUDDEN STOP… I DON’T THINK THAT WAS QUITE HARSH ENOUGH TO HURT ANYPONY, BUT PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO LOOK AROUND THE CABIN FOR ANYPONY THAT MAY NEED ASSISTANCE, AND BE AWARE THAT, UM, CARGO MAY HAVE SHIFTED DURING OUR… EMERGENCY DECELERATION.”

Dusk Blade moved to the side of the train and then swung over the top, clinging to the roof while he was hanging upside-down. With a view of the cab, he could see the train engineers: a pair of earth ponies clearly in the throes of panic but trying to hold it together long enough to resolve the current problem. One was nervously holding the vox receiver, while the other was frantically swiping through a dataslate looking for the proper emergency procedures.

“WE’RE ONLY A FEW MINUTES OUT FROM, ER… PONYVILLE, AND WE SHOULD BE BACK ON TRACK AS SOON… AS SOON AS WE… REMOVE SOME, UH, DEBRIS FROM THE TRACKS. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND STAY INSIDE WHILE WE RESOLVE THIS… TEMPORARY? TEMPORARY! TEMPORARY IMPEDIMENT! THANK YOU!”

The engineer pony on the vox clicked it off, and then sighed deeply.

“So did you guys kill that thing, or was it mostly like that when we hit it?” Dusk asked.

One engineer yelped in surprise and scrambled around, but the other one merely glanced up at the bat pony in mild annoyance. “I think it was moving before the impact, but we didn’t exactly have a lot of time to study it.”

“You’re with the Company, right? Wh-What is that thing?” the other engineer asked, peeking out of the window very carefully, as if he was expecting incoming gunfire. “Is that a daemon?”

“Nah, definitely not a daemon. If it was a daemon it wouldn’t leave its dead guts all over the place; they tend to disintegrate after being slain.” Dusk turned his head to stare at the corpse and brought one wing around to his chin to scratch it. “But that said, I don’t have a clue what it is. Doesn’t look like an Ork or Tau war beast, but I haven’t seen all of the different species they have available… Might just be something from the Everfree.”

“Is… Is it dead?” the engineer asked nervously.

“Definitely,” Dusk replied. “I can tell. Probably a good thing too, unless it has friends nearby.”

The engineer gulped. “W-We gotta clear the tracks! We’re supposed to be at Canterlot within the hour!”

“Okay, well, good luck with that. I’m gonna bring a friend of mine up here to take a look; he’s a nerd, maybe he knows something about this thing.” Dusk Blade kicked off the side of the engine car, and then curved around to fly back where he came from.

Several minutes later, Dusk emerged from the nearest passenger car with Gear Works and Blueblood following him. Gears moved with a noticeable limp, and Blueblood matched his impaired pace without complaint. The unicorn had his bolt pistol drawn and levitating nearby, and he kept glancing every which way.

“Is this it?” Gear Works asked, tracing the path of the bright purple sludge all the way to the massive corpse.

“Yeah, that’s our little blockade,” Dusk said. “Any clue what it is, Gears? I’ve never seen anything like it. Too dumb to avoid the tracks when the train’s coming, but not quite big enough to get away with it.”

The two engineer ponies were working with a crowbar and a shovel to scrape the bits of the creature off the train. They were making halting progress though, and it wasn’t at all clear what their plan was to remove the bulk of the corpse from the tracks.

Gears studied the body in silence for a minute. His optics zoomed in on various parts, took pict-captures, and then cross referenced them compared to the vast registry that made up his limited corner of the noosphere. Eventually he discerned the remnants of the creature’s head. The others had missed it because it had no visible eyes, and because half of it was gone. There were several thickened chitin plates on top of a pair of large jaws, and most of it had been caved in by the impact. There were no holes in the plating for eyes, but Gear’s optics could discern the telltale nerve clusters that gave away both optical senses and the nearby neural cortex.

“Analysis complete,” the Dark Acolyte said, turning around. “This is a Tyranid. Specifically, a Carnifex assault bio-form.”

Dusk and Blueblood stared at him blankly.

“You probably don’t remember the name of that species, as we’ve never before recorded an instance of the Tyranids having a presence in the Centaur system. However, if you recall the details of the Tau Empire’s Emerald Dawn project, they meant to lure the Ork fleet across several systems in order to bring them within striking distance of a Tyranid fleet so that both aliens would fight each other,” Gears explained at length.

“Wait… yes, I do remember something like that,” Blueblood said, his brow furrowing under his horn. “Weren’t these Tyranids far, far away, though? The plan was to send the Orks off in their direction, not to bring the other aliens here as well!”

“That is correct, Prince. The Tau had neither the means or the intent to draw the Tyranids this way.”

“So then what’re they doing on our planet?” Dusk asked, scratching at his head with the tip of his wing, “and how did they make it here without anyone noticing?”

“Excellent questions for which I have no hypothesis,” Gears admitted. “My study of the species is minimal, but I do not believe it is typical to encounter organisms of this magnitude absent a proper war fleet.”

“More alien scum pointlessly causing trouble for innocent, hard-working ponies,” Blueblood sniffed. Then he sniffed again. “Does it… smell odd to you? The dead body, I mean.”

“Should have brought your mask,” Dusk said, tapping at his own respirator. “I can’t smell a thing!”

“Well, take it off for a moment,” Blueblood insisted, “this smell is all wrong.”

“How would you know what a dead Tyranid is supposed to smell like?”

“I’ve been around my share of corpses, Lieutenant! This is a most… inappropriate fragrance,” the unicorn insisted, his muzzle twisting into a concerned grimace.

“Odd smells aside, we should find a vox spire and report this to the 38th Company,” Gears said, “they can run a scan-“ The Dark Acolyte suddenly straightened, his ears perking noticeably and his eyes blinking in a strange, involuntary pattern. “WARNING: Incoming vox transmission, prioritus alpha. Distress signum detected. Beginning emergency feed,” His voice was noticeably deeper as he said this, as though it was a vox recording of someone else.

“What? What’s wrong with-“ Blueblood took a step back, his eyes narrowing at the cyborg pony, but Dusk held on to every word.

The optics lenses in Gear’s face pulsed as a voice emerged that was even further from his own. “Attention! Anyone who can hear this, please, help us!” The voice was clearly feminine, and there was some background noise that the stallions immediately identified as shotgun fire. “They’ve completely surrounded the outpost! They’re in Ponyville! I… I don’t know what they are! Some kind of bug monsters! Send anyone you can! We can’t hold out much longer!”

The message ended, and Gear’s optics returned to normal.

“What was THAT about?” asked one of the engineer stallions.

“I think it’s just what it sounds like,” Gears murmured, “Ponyville is under attack by Tyranids, similar to this creature here.”

“Wh-What about the train station?” gulped the other train operator.

“Unknown. However, it would be prudent to assume the whole of the town is compromised,” Gears said.

“What should we do?” the engineer asked, looking increasingly panicked. “We’re on a schedule! We have hundreds of passengers! What if we get attacked?! I don’t even know how to use the multilaser turrets!”

“We’ll hold here for reinforcements and clear this track impediment,” Prince Blueblood said, swiftly taking charge of the situation. “I’ll dispatch our specialist to scout the train station. If it’s clear, then we’ll run the train straight through to Canterlot. Otherwise, we’ll remain here and attempt to facilitate contact with Ferrous Dominus.”

A thumping noise came from behind him, and Blueblood twisted his head around. An open duffel bag was lying on the ground. Behind it, Dusk Blade was fitting the hoof gauntlets onto his carapace armor.

“What are you doing?” the unicorn asked.

“Arming up. I think I’ve got a bolt pistol clip in there somewhere too if you want to look for it; I just shoved a bunch of stuff from the armory in there when I left.” Dusk secured his hoofblades, and then set an optics visor on his head. “Get ready Prince. You too, Gears.”

“What? Why? Get ready for what?” Gear Works asked, a sense of dread crawling down his spine.

“What do you think? They asked for help, and here we are!” Dusk announced. “Princey is already armed, but there might be a laspistol or something in there.” He scooped up a frag grenade from the bag and secured it to his chest.

“A what?! No! Why would we fight? I can’t fight!” protested Gears, his optics lights nearly doubling in size while he recoiled.

“Of course you can fight. You didn’t get those injuries from pissing off the cult mares again, right?” Dusk scoffed. “Have a little faith in yourself!”

“Putting aside that I share the Dark Acolyte’s complete lack of such faith, his wounds are a perfectly good reason why he shouldn’t take to the field,” Blueblood interjected. “But implicit in that argument is that a healthier pony – like, say, me – should follow you to certain death in an utterly futile rescue mission. I do not believe that is the case!”

“What do you mean ‘certain death?’ You don’t know anything about these attackers!” Dusk said.

“We’re standing right in front of one!” Blueblood snapped, jabbing a hoof at the Carnifex corpse.

“That one’s dead. And we didn’t even kill it on purpose! C’mon, stop being a wimp,” Dusk taunted.

“Do I have to stop being a wimp too?” Gear Works asked, his ears pinned to the sides of his hood. “Why am I even coming along?”

“Because there’s probably going to be some tech stuff there that we need you to fix, manipulate, or explain,” Dusk Blade said, folding a wing to look like a finger and raising it in front of him. “For example: Ponyville is protected by a network of auto-turrets to gun down stray Orks that sometimes wander in from the valley where much of that invasion army died. Why didn’t they shoot down these Tyranids? Are they destroyed? Malfunctioning? I don’t know, so you should come along to find out.”

“Well, gosh, that sounds like a well-reasoned line of thought,” remarked one of the train engineers.

“I’m more concerned with why we should investigate the town at all, rather than waiting here for reinforcements,” Blueblood said, his eyes narrowed at the thestral.

“Well, partially it’s because there’s clearly still some fighting going on, making this the ideal time to rush to the aid of the defenders, take the enemy by surprise, and possibly rescue some people who can still fight,” Dusk explained, wagging his finger-wing at the royal unicorn, “but aside from that the reason we’re not going with your plan is that it involves me scouting out the danger alone rather than with you two, and I’m not doing that.”

“Again, the bat pony makes an excellent point,” the other train engineer said. “You should definitely do what he says.”

“This is ludicrous! I’m not a combat officer! I command menials!” Blueblood growled.

“And Gears isn’t a field Enginseer, yet he’s bravely marching with me into battle!” Dusk said. “Are you telling me that this cowardly, feeble, injured earth pony cast-off is more of a stallion than you, Prince?” He quirked an eyebrow, his amber eyes meeting the unicorn’s glare without difficulty.

Blueblood was silent for several seconds. Then his narrowed eyes darted toward Gear Works.

“Are you, in fact, marching with him into battle?” Blueblood asked.

“If I don’t, he’ll hit me,” Gear Works said miserably, sniffling.

“This is a stupid idea, and we’re all going to regret it,” the prince growled, using his magic to cock the hammer on his bolt pistol.

“That’s the spirit!” Dusk Blade slipped his visor down, and his vision was replaced by dark green field. A few seconds later it turned on, and data screed filled the lens screen before scrolling out of sight and leaving his vision mostly unobstructed. “Gears, you have any ideas on where we should go first?”

“The vox transmission relay that’s emitting the distress beacon should be our first stop,” the Dark Acolyte recommended. “I can use the sensoria augurs to determine where the foe is gathering, and possibly help along the request for reinforcements.”

“Possibly help, hm?” Blueblood sneered.

“I can guarantee nothing, I’m afraid. Command… doesn’t really like me,” Gears admitted.

“Can’t you route the request through the Dark Mechanicus, then?” Blueblood asked. “They have their own armed forces, right?”

“They like me SUBSTANTIALLY less than Command.”

“You’re part of their priesthood!”

“I believe that’s the root of much of the bad blood, actually.”

Blueblood released a growl through clenched teeth, and then turned back to Dusk Blade. “Lead the way, Lieutenant. I suddenly have an irrepressible urge to shoot something.”

---

Ponyville – town center

On its best days Ponyville was a bizarre mix of rural equine architecture married to industrialized human logistics. Brightly painted wooden homes had great metal blocks plugged into their sides and tall metal smokestacks poking through the roof. Wiring and cable bundles snaked through lawns and hung between transformer towers topped with weather vanes and decorated with local flowers. Great metal cargo crawlers sat in the road next to rickety wooden wagons. Charming welcome mats that said “Our home is your home” laid between autoturret defense systems that constantly scanned the streets for likely targets.

This was not one of Ponyville’s best days, and as it so happened there were a lot of likely targets this particular afternoon.

Lasblasts criss-crossed the streets in clumsy volleys, lashing out from windows and small turrets. Most splashed against the ground or struck another building, adding to the hundreds of dark spots and smoldering debris that now decorated the village. Occasionally, however, the lasers found a target, and a furious shriek erupted from the streets of Ponyville.

Sickle-armed Hormagaunts sprinted between the houses, snarling and hissing while they dodged through crossfire. Barely the size of an average pony, these quadrupedal Tyranids had a lithe, uncomplicated physiology that balanced their long, poorly-armored body and head low to the ground with a long, whip-like tail that lashed behind them as they ran. Their carapace was bright blue, with a dark purple streak running down their backs.

The aliens darted through town with single-minded purpose, all but ignoring the crossfire until they got caught by a lucky shot. The lasblasts bored deep holes into the Hormagaunts when they hit, easily burning through the shining outer carapace and cooking a tunnel of fleshy mass within. The warbeasts fell to the ground with angry shrieks of pain, but their siblings simply jumped over their fallen without so much as a glance.

Behind the pack of smaller beasts stalked a much larger one. The Tyranid Warrior stood taller than a Space Marine and boasted a long, fleshy cannon grafted directly to one of its four arms. Long tubes that resembled the fuel feeds of mechanical weapons curved back into the creature’s body, drawing ammunition from some internal organ.

Unlike the Hormagaunts, the Warrior didn’t rush into the web of laser fire, instead bracing itself and aiming its cannon at the nearest source of lasblasts. An appalling slurping noise came from the weapon, and then it launched a glob of bright yellow sludge across the battlefield.

The projectile struck a window that was cracked open just enough to fire through, eliciting a startled yelp from the occupant. The window was completely covered over with a thick slurry, and a moment later the lasgun withdrew and the window slammed shut all the way.

The Warrior fired again, and again, and again, systematically shutting down every firing point in its path. Windows were covered over in the strange slime, blinding the gunners behind them, and the few small turrets in the area had their targeting sensors completely consumed by the ooze and rendered useless. The machines shut down soon afterwards, their servos struggling to shift back into standby mode against the slime clogging them.

After nearly a minute, the Warrior could detect no more threats from its current firing point. There were more lasbolts coming from deeper into the village, harrying its smaller brethren while they rushed ahead, but this block was clear of threats.

Or so it seemed until a pair of adamantium blades stabbed into the back of its head.

“Surprise! You die now,” Dusk planted his rear legs onto the Warrior’s back, and then drove his other set of talons into the swollen mass of the alien’s head. The claws sunk deep into the inner carapace and the brain matter within, and a psychic pulse erupted from the Warrior as it shrieked angrily.

It started to flail, but Dusk pulled his blades free and clung on to the alien’s back, his claws finding good purchase in the thicker armor shell there. Once it swung its head about to try and knock him off it exposed the untouched side of its cranium and Dusk attacked again. Three lightning-fast stabs punched into the bulbous mass protected under the Warrior’s armored head crest, and then the entire creature started to stumble.

Dusk flapped his wings, leaping from the defeated Warrior as it crumpled onto the ground. Hormagaunts were already rerouting their approach to intercept him, but he flew higher into the air and easily lifted out of reach of the first lunge.

A loud gunshot rang out, and that Hormagaunt’s head suddenly burst into a shower of purple goo and wet, fleshy chunks. Its body pitched to the side, tripping the next Tyranid that was trying to line up a jump for Dusk Blade’s legs.

“You alien wretches have interrupted my long-awaited vacation,” Prince Blueblood said, his voice cold as the grave. His bolt pistol rocked backward again, and the next Hormagaunt was blown off its feet. “I will see every one of you scum GROUND TO DUST.”

His bolt pistol swiveled about in the air, and then it took the head off of a different Tyranid that was approaching from another angle. On the opposite side another Hormagaunt was racing to attack, but Dusk swooped down and punched his claws into its back, slaying the creature.

“Prince, my analysis of Tyranids’ tactical behaviors suggests that the smaller bio-forms should break and run quite easily once the large psychic controller is dispatched,” Gear Works said while Blueblood continued shooting at each alien darting toward him.

“Splendid!” the unicorn barked, shooting down another Hormagaunt. “It seems like they’re doing the exact opposite, but I trust you know what you’re talking about, Techpriest!”

“I’m not a Techpriest, Prince, I-“

“Would you stop wasting breath on trivial corrections and HELP?!” Blueblood snapped right before his bolt pistol clicked empty. He levitated another magazine from the belt of them under his barrel and ejected the spent one.

“Oh! Right. So, the reason I brought up the behavioral tactics point was not to suggest that we were on the verge of victory, but rather to suggest that there is yet another of the larger ‘Warrior’ bio-forms within engagement range,” Gear Works explained at length. “The first Warrior died with absolutely no obvious effect on the smaller Tyranids, which I am led to believe is not typical of them.”

“When I requested help, I meant you should SHOOT something!” Blueblood griped before he obliterated another Hormagaunt with his pistol.

“I am not properly equipped for using human weapons, and I possess no combat augments,” Gears explained.

“Your tail has a spike on it! If the blasted insects get too close to me, stab them in the eye or something!” Blueblood barked, turning to check for any more targets.

“This is a class III neural dataspike, Prince,” Gears said in a slightly chastising tone while his needle-tipped tail lashed back and forth behind him. “It is highly unsuitable for organic interface.”

Blueblood whirled on the cyborg, his teeth clenched and his patience broken. “Now you see here you pile of low-born scrap: if you don’t get off your useless metal arse and dispatch-“

The unicorn was suddenly struck in the head by glob of projectile slime, bowling him over entirely. Gear’s optics went wide, and he recoiled in fright as the larger stallion rolled across the ground.

“PONY DOWN!! PONY DOWN!!” the tech-cultist cried, turning around to flee into cover.

Before he could take so much as a step Gears found himself face to face with a charging Hormagaunt. The screeching alien struck him across the head with its talons, knocking the cyborg to the ground, and then leapt atop its target to finish the job.

“GET THE HAY OFF HIM ALIEN SCUM!!” Dusk’s hoofblades struck in an instant, carving into the Hormagaunt’s neck and ripping it open.

Dusk kicked off of the mortally wounded Tyranid, and then flipped around in the air to land blades-first on another alien’s back. A rear leg punched adamantium talons into the Hormagaunt’s leg, and when the war beast staggered he stabbed another set of talons into the back of its neck.

Dusk flapped his wings hard to vault into the air, leaping just high enough for a blast of ooze to shoot underneath him. The bat pony let out an angry, echoing shriek, not even bothering to search for his opponent visually. The location of the enemy was returned to him in an instant; a mass of jagged, fleshy meat crouching behind an empty Chimera.

Dusk Blade twisted about in the air, locking his combat visor onto the Tyranid Warrior. It fired its gun again, and the bat pony lifted himself slightly to avoid the shot.

“Two shots is more than most ever get at me,” the Lieutenant snarled, tearing a krak grenade from his chest bandoleer, “too bad your aim sucks.”

He crossed the distance to the vehicle and the Warrior stood up to its full height, brandishing enormous purple scything talons to intercept the flying equine. Adorable.

Dusk dropped to the ground right in front of it, and then did a flip-kick into the barrel of the Warrior’s bio-cannon. The weapon flew up at the alien’s face and caused the creature to flinch back, pulling its limbs out of their protective positions. In that instant Dusk was inside its guard, bouncing up between the ungainly Warrior’s weaponized limbs.

“You lose,” the thestral said, punching the grenade into the Warrior’s snarling maw. Another flap of his wings and a kick off the Warrior’s shield-like head crest, and he was spinning out of reach.

Dusk was already turned around and flying back to his companions when the grenade detonated, reducing much of the Warrior’s head to a messy pulp. Fearful shrieks and agonized howls came from nearby roads and buildings as the Hormagaunts experienced the psychic backlash of their synapse node dying, but Dusk ignored them, too. None of the aliens were visible from this stretch of road, so there was at least a little more time before they became a threat.

“Gears! Gears, speak to me!” Dusk Blade shouted, landing next to the Dark Acolyte.

Gear Works, who was sitting upright where he had been tackled earlier, blinked at him. “All right. What did you want to talk about?”

Dusk quickly collected himself and shook his head. “Oh, okay. Guess you’re all right. Good!” He stepped closer, peering at the cyborg’s hood. “You’re not even bleeding? Did the claw hit metal or something?”

“If only it did,” grumbled the Dark Acolyte. “The talon simply wasn’t very sharp. It was more like being struck with a large stick than being slashed with a blade. That said, it jarred my injured leg rather badly. The pain is actually quite severe.”

“Huh. That’s… strange. Still, I’m just relieved you’re all right,” Dusk said with a sigh.

“But I’m not-“

“Oh, how the heart melts at this scene! The brave warrior with blood on his claws and ice in his veins brought nearly to tears at the prospect of his dear friend being harmed! I don’t suppose you can spare a crumb of concern for your OTHER companion, could you?”

Dusk and Gears turned to look. Prince Blueblood was sitting just two meters away, watching them with an expression of utter contempt. At least, they were guessing it was contempt; the unicorn’s face was still partially obscured by the strange, sticky goo he was shot with.

“Okay, hold up, YOU’RE alive too? How does that work?” Dusk complained. “Shouldn’t your face be melted off by the alien acid or space poison or whatever?”

“I hate to disappoint you,” Blueblood drawled, “but as it happens this is not some weaponized alien toxin I was struck with. It’s apple sauce.”

“Apple… sauce…? What?” Dusk gawked.

“Well, maybe it’s more of a jam or preserve. It seems a bit too thick and sticky for apple sauce, but it’s not like I’m well-versed in the breadth and depth of apple-based semi-solid foods.” Blueblood wiped off some of the strange gunk with a disgusted grunt. “Whatever the case, enough of it got in my mouth to confirm it’s definitely edible and apple-flavored. Very sweet too, incidentally.”

Dusk turned to face Gear Works, clearly expecting the cyborg stallion to offer an explanation for this.

“I… could not begin to construct a hypothesis on why the Tyranid invaders are discharging apple-based bioweapons,” he admitted. “However, I’ve catalogued several tactical anomalies that seem to suggest an unusual cellular makeup in these organisms. Their epidermal chitin seems to be of substandard strength, they move somewhat sluggishly, and – as I previously mentioned – their limb blades are curiously blunt and soft.”

“There’s also the smell,” Blueblood added, wiping more apple sauce off of his face.

“I cannot confirm that, as I have long since lost my olfactory senses,” Gear Works confessed.

Dusk pulled his respirator mask down, and then took a long whiff. His eyes widened immediately.

“Apples! It smells like apples!” Dusk said incredulously. “The burnt corpses smell like baked apples, the projectile goo smells like spiced apples, and the corpses smell like rotting apples! WHY THE HAY IS EVERYTHING APPLES?!” the thestral demanded.

“As I said, I have no theories on how this absurdity came to be,” Gears said, his ears flipping down.

Dusk huffed angrily, and then galloped over to one of the Hormagaunts he had killed. He stabbed a hoofblade into the Tyranid’s leg, and then bit into its thigh. Blueblood and Gears recoiled in disgust, but they offered no verbal complaint as the bat pony ripped off a strip of alien flesh and chewed.

Dusk Blade’s eyes narrowed before he swallowed the raw corpse-meat. “Apples,” he hissed.

“Do you… not like apples? You seem very upset about this,” Prince Blueblood noted.

“Not a fan, no. Me and my family eat bugs but we used to live with a clan of fruit-eating bats for a while, and the fermenting fruit smell kind of put me off sugary foods in general,” Dusk admitted, calming down substantially. “But I’m mostly just upset because it’s dumb.”

“It’s not much further to the vox relay. Shall we continue?” Gear Works asked, gently massaging his injured leg.

“I hope they have a shower there,” Blueblood grumbled, levitating his bolt pistol off the ground and scraping off the apple sauce splashed on the receiver casing. “Let’s move.”

---

“Well, this doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t know… I’ve seen a lot of battlefields, and… well this is just… different.”

The vox relay outpost was a large, multi-level ferrocrete bunker. Heavy autoturrets sat on each corner of the complex, every single one completely encased in a pile of sticky yellow slime. Tyranid corpses were scattered everywhere; primarily the small Hormagaunts, but there were also the bodies of Warriors lying about the wide field that separated the complex from the surrounding buildings. Blue moon apples – the exotic fruit delicacy exclusively sold by Ponyville’s Apple family – were scattered among the bodies and clustered near the wall.

“Whole apples this time? What, did the Tyranids spit them up or something?” Dusk grunted while he approached the fortification.

“I think that’s correct, actually,” Gear Works observed, following the batpony. “Look at those spots on the wall. It looks like apples were being used as high-velocity projectiles; the ones on the ground are mostly crushed or deformed.”

“Why would aliens throw APPLES at a bunker?!” Dusk demanded, shifting his mask back up into place to filter out the smell.

“Again, I have no hypothesis as to why this Tyranid assault force seems to maintain an apple-based biological affinity,” Gears said, “but if their bodies are made of apple fibers and their glands generate apple fluids, it is hardly beyond imagination that they possess weapons that can launch whole apples as missiles.”

“Is everyone inside dead? I want to use their washroom, but if the aliens overran it then the interior is probably much messier than I am,” Blueblood said with a grimace.

“It looks like the entrance was forced open, so it’s not looking too good,” Dusk admitted. “Gears, Prince, you wait here at the entrance. I’ll sneak in and check things out.”

“As you wish, Lieutenant,” Blueblood grumbled, taking up position while the bat pony crept into the darkened interior. “Techpriest, or Acolyte or whatever, try to find something useful to do while we wait, would you?”

Gear Works looked up at the bunker, his optics running several diagnostic scans. Power transmission was functional. None of the devices were suffering from extensive structural damage. The turrets, mechanically, were in fine working order, but could do nothing while encased in a layer of hardened carbohydrates.

“Hmmm…”

---

Vox relay center Alpha 7

Dusk Blade studied the scene on the ground floor with a practiced eye, his optical visor magnifying various wounds and picking out shell casings for analysis.

The defenders had withdrawn from this level and had obviously fought hard for the opportunity. The floor was positively carpeted with smaller Tyranids, most of them torn apart with explosive force and shrapnel. The positioning suggested that most had perished to fragmentation charges; probably the path had been mined once it was clear the aliens would be able to break through, with a few grenades thrown into the swarm for good measure.

Off to one side was a cogitator station. The machine was smashed in, with the screen shattered and the control panel covered in mulched apple. On the other side was the brig and sanitation facility. There wasn’t much in the way of alien bodies inside; it looked like nearly all of the aliens had tried to rush upstairs to the second level, and a great many had died in the attempt. The Prince would have no problem taking a quick shower, so long as he was willing to step over dozens of corpses and risk another assault while he was so occupied.

Dusk Blade pulled his mask down, took a sniff of the air, and then recoiled with a disgusted expression. The entire room smelled like rotting apples. With a shudder, he placed his mask back on and approached the stairs.

Then Dusk froze in place, his ears turning ever-so-slightly toward the stairwell in the back of the bunker. Voices. Voices talking at normal volume, rather than the frantic shouts of desperate soldiers fighting for their lives. There was also a distinct absence of frenzied snarling, which did not match his experience with the disgusting fruit-based invaders at all.

Dusk contemplated sneaking upstairs and scoping out the occupants first, but reasoned that surprise may not serve him well here. Besides, they might have any blind spots trapped, and it would be EXTREMELY embarrassing to die in the middle of an alien invasion to friendly pony fire.

“Hello?! Is anypony up there?!” he shouted suddenly, scoping out the best hiding places in case it became necessary to break the lumens and take to the shadows.

The talking stopped immediately, and soon after there was the sound of heavy footfalls above. Not power armor heavy, but definitely better armored than the typical Chaos mercenary. “Whoever’s down there, come up here, quickly! It’s not safe outside shelter!”

“Sounds great! I’ll be right up, but, uh,” Dusk paused, chewing his lip. “I don’t suppose there are any mines or autoturrets ready to take the head off anything that comes galloping up those stairs, is there?”

“Ha! Not to worry little one, the xeno filth have used up all we had!”

“Who’re you calling ‘little one,’” Dusk grumbled into his mask as he hopped into the air, flying straight up the stairwell.

The human who greeted him on the second floor was unexpected, to say the least. Rather than a mercenary wearing carapace armor and boasting a lasgun, the man was wearing full plate armor – of the mundane, non-powered sort – and carrying a sword and shield. A boarding shotgun was strapped to his back such that its grip hung over one shoulder. Wrapped over his chest plate was a bandoleer loaded with shotgun shells, but beneath that was a white tabard boasting a symbol that Dusk instantly recognized: Princess Celestia’s cutie mark.

“A Sunsworn cultist? What are you doing here?” Dusk asked suspiciously.

“I live here,” the man grunted, leaning over the edge of the stairs to look down to the lower level. “Not in this structure, mind, but in Ponyville. I came to help after the Tyranids managed to shut down the turrets.”

“This is a restricted area,” Dusk pointed out.

“And by the will of the Princess, I intend to keep it that way,” the Sunsworn laughed, turning back to the entrance. “Come on in, we probably have a few minutes until more of the void-spawned xenos arrive.” He called out as he entered, “Look sharp, everyone! We have a Company pony on deck!”

Inside the room was a command center and logic engine banks. A pair of earth pony mares were in the command section, one of them looking badly battered and laying next to the wall while the other was frantically poking at the relay controls. Two more humans were with them, both of whom were wearing robes that immediately identified them as Sunsworn. One of the humans had heavy, archaic armor on like the other, but the other one, a woman, was wearing a simple robe that had been smeared over with applesauce. All the humans were armed, and judging by the state of their weapons they had just seen a great deal of combat.

“Reinforcements?! Already?” The mare resting against the wall stood up, her legs shaking slightly. “Thank Celestia! I didn’t think the Iron Warriors would respond so quickly!”

“Well, uh, strictly speaking they did not,” Dusk Blade admitted, pushing up his optics visor. He elected to keep his mask on, though; there was still a few Tyranid bodies piled in a heap in the corner.

“What does that mean?” asked the other pony. This one was a white mare with a red cross for a cutie mark. Dusk imagined she wasn’t used to cutting things open as much as stitching them back together, but the mare had several stains in her fur colored the same as the strange aliens’ guts. “The Company didn’t send you? Are you alone?”

“The Company didn’t send me,” Dusk confirmed. “I happen to be out here on leave. And I’m not alone, no, although our numbers are much closer to ‘alone’ than ‘rescue team.’”

This news didn’t seem to bother the humans, but the ponies immediately deflated, looking miserable.

“This is ridiculous! We can’t hold off another wave like that last one! And if the bugs take out this bunker all the perimeter defense systems around Ponyville go down too!” lamented the white mare.

“We can hold them off, and we will,” said one of the cultist knights. “Our enemy is weak, and Celestia is with us!”

“Celestia is NOT with us! Maybe she could be if one of you could figure out how to work the relay logic engines!”

“Look, I did scouting ops and he was a deck rating before we left the fleet. We don’t even know how to tell if the blasted tower is still working!”

“All they’ve thrown at it so far is apples! It can’t be THAT badly damaged…”

Dusk coughed, interrupting the building argument. “So, who exactly is the operator here?”

“None of us. I don’t think they station a permanent guard detail here. Most of the systems are automated. I took shelter in here with the mares and tried to call for help, but then the autoturrets stopped working and the bugs forced their way through the front door,” explained the woman. “These Tyranids seem to be much weaker than they’re supposed to be, but they could still bludgeon you to death or suffocate you with applesauce or something. If we can’t get the systems back online we’re probably better off making a run for it.”

“Well, lucky for you then!” Dusk said with a grin. “You were already fortunate enough to have the assistance of a skilled bat pony commando, but I happen to ALSO have a Techpriest with me!”

“Ooh! Is it Miss Gaela?!” the mares asked, perking up hopefully.

“Uh, no. It’s a friend of mine named Gear Works. He’s a pony,” Dusk said with a chuckle. The mares deflated again, their ears falling flat against their heads.

“I didn’t know ponies could become Techpriests,” one of the Sunsworn remarked.

“Yeah, he’s the only one! Isn’t that cool?” Then Dusk Blade coughed. “Also I guess TECHNICALLY he’s just a Dark Acolyte, but don’t worry about it, he knows what he’s doing!”

“Yeah, okay, I’m ready to make a run for it,” the injured pony said, heaving a sigh. “Redheart, do you know anywhere better protected than this place?”

“I think the merchant corp guildhouse has a security compliment. They won’t be out here helping anypony unless the Mayor negotiates something, but if we go to them…”

“Okay, you know what? The hay with all of you,” Dusk said, trotting past the others and heading toward the control panel. He slammed a hoof onto a button and then shouted up into a receiver. “Gears! Prince! The bunker is safe! Shower is on first level, control is on the second. Let’s get a move on!”

“I’m sure you’re very tough and your friend is a very good cultist, but we’re sitting ducks here,” Nurse Redheart said. “The turrets are dead, the doors aren’t working, and the alien horde clearly sees this complex as a priority target.”

“On the other hand, I’d rather fight the bugs while they try to force their way through a rockcrete hallway than out in the village,” remarked a Sunsworn.

“Look, you guys can do what you want. Run away, barricade yourself in here, or curl up into a ball and cry yourself to sleep. Don’t care,” Dusk Blade said. “As for me, I’m going to find out what’s going on and FIX IT.”

“How?” asked Redheart.

“Not completely sure, but stabbing aliens over and over has worked very well so far so I thought I’d build on that success.”

A clanking noise came from the stairs, and the occupants turned to watch as a hooded pony with a servo arm limped into the command center. The equine cyborg glanced from one occupant to the other, his blue-green optics lights glowing softly, and then he started walking toward Dusk Blade.

“Well I’ll be, it really is a pony tech-cultist,” whistled the woman.

“Of course! Did you think I was making him up?” Dusk scoffed. “This is Gear Works. He’ll have this place up and running in a jiff.”

“That’s a pretty tall order for a single pony, Techpriest or not,” one of the mares said, “do you think we can-“

She was suddenly cut off by the sound of heavy bolter fire, and the mares scrambled to their hooves. The Sunsworn quickly whirled on the entrance, one of them drawing his sword and the others checking their guns. Redheart cocked her head to the side, immediately realizing something important.

“Wait… That’s heavy weapons fire! Where is it coming from? Did more troops arrive?” the nurse asked.

“No, that’s the defense turrets,” Gears replied, speaking for the first time while he approached the controls. “I intended to test their targeting telemetry from the main controls, but it seems some hostiles have done it for me first.”

“You… You fixed the guns?” Redheart asked, eyes wide.

“And the front gate. Well, sort of. The opening mechanism is still inactive, but they can at least be closed and secured manually now. The Prince didn’t want to shower with the front door open,” Gears reached the control panel and his servo arm reached up and tapped a switch. “The autoturrets were less severely damaged, thankfully.”

“See? What’d I tell you?” Dusk asked smugly. “Gears knows what he’s doing!”

“Well I can’t say I’m sorry to have to eat my words, given the circumstances. Did you really fix all four turrets in the time since you got here?” Redheart asked.

“The Dark Mechanicus has ancient enchantments and psalm-programs that can perform veritable miracles,” admitted one of the Sunsworn.

“Well, yes, it does, but I don’t know any of those,” Gears said before plunging his dataspike tail into an interface socket. “I just found a garden hose and sprayed them off.”

“… You did… what?”

“Sprayed them with a hose.” Gear’s dataspike sparked loudly, and several of the screens above the controls vanished into a blur of code or static. “The turrets didn’t suffer any serious damage, they were simply entangled in a viscous high-sucrose film beyond the point of basic mobility. It wasn’t a difficult fix.” Gear Works paused. “On that note, have we encountered any clues as to why these Tyranids possess such maladjusted bio-weaponry?”

The mares glanced at each other, each of them arching an eyebrow.

“Hopefully the vox relay can help us with that,” Dusk Blade said, stepping over to his augmented companion. “Load the noosphere stack cache and check all the vox transmissions chrono-tagged prior to the distress signal and their origin geo-coordinates. If we root though those we can probably track the places where they were first noticed and work our way backward to find out where all these bugs are coming from. Then-“

“Sweet Apple Acres,” said both of the local mares and all three Sunsworn.

Dusk seemed startled at the interruption. “What?”

“Sweet Apple Acres. The big farm at the edge of town owned by the Apple family. That’s where they’re coming from,” Redheart explained.

“Why would aliens be coming from a FARM?” Dusk asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, but c’mon, it’s obvious,” the nurse retorted. “It’s the biggest apple plantation for hundreds of miles, and we’re besieged by monsters that shoot applesauce and smell like fruit pie when you roast them with lasers. The coloration on them is just like those funny blue moon apples, too.”

“Well, okay, that’s a decent enough lead,” Dusk admitted. “But I still want to review the vox logs for confirmation.”

“Half the vox messages are just ponies cursing the Apple family for unleashing a tide of apple monsters on the town,” Gears said.

“Oh for moon’s sake,” Dusk groaned. “Fine! Sweet Apple Acres is the presumed target! Now what do we do about it?”

“Our plan was to wait for the Iron Warriors to show up and do something about it,” Redheart admitted.

“I have alerted Ferrous Dominus and confirmed receipt of the earlier distress call,” Gear Works noted, “however, I am uncertain what the combat response, if any, shall be.”

“Surely they don’t want a bloody Tyranid infestation along with the Orks,” remarked the unarmored woman. “If they fought to keep the Orks contained, the Company will definitely want to nip this in the bud.”

“I believe they’re analyzing the strategic data and formulating a response. However, these circumstances are quite unusual,” Gears noted.

“Unfortunately, aliens rampaging through Ponyville is anything BUT unusual these days,” Redheart muttered.

“You know what he meant. Just chill, would you?” Dusk scolded. “The turrets are on, we know the source of the infestation, and the enemy is a bunch of defective fruit monsters. Everything is going to be FINE.”

The screens above the control panel started flickering, and one by one they turned to loud static.

“… Is that supposed to happen?” Redheart asked.

“If not, then Gears will fix it!” Dusk snapped. “We’ve got this under control, all right?”

The screens all restored themselves at once, and Gears suddenly found himself staring into seven different transmission feeds of Dark Acolyte Sheraan’s face.

“… Ponyfeathers,” Dusk hissed under his breath.

“Brother Sheraan! Greetings!” Gears said, sitting down in front of the control panel. “Are you here to receive my status report?”

“Negative,” Sheraan replied. “We have received the necessary data and calculated a solution.”

“Oh! Excellent! What are you going to do and how may I assist?” Gears asked, his ears perking up.

“The void craft designation: Omen is currently in an ideal orbital vector in the repair docks. The refit crew is warming up the reactor systems as we speak. Once weapon systems are online, the Omen will commence a strategic orbital strike,” Sheraan explained in a grim monotone. “The xeno shipwrights claim this battlecruiser is rated very highly in planetary bombardment capabilities, in stark contrast to the rest of our fleet. This is an optimal circumstance to test their boasts.”

“You’re going to shoot the aliens… from space? Is that what you’re proposing?” Redheart asked, walking up next to Gear Works and craning her neck to look up at the monitors.

“Affirmative.”

One of the knights stepped up behind the ponies. “That’ll do for the farm, probably, but we’ll still need some kill teams on the ground to clear the alien threat from Ponyville.”

“Negative,” Sheraan retorted, “the bombardment shall suffice to remove the xeno hostiles within the settlement as well, assuming the unit designation: Omen meets minimal operational expectations.”

Gear’s ears flipped down and Dusk winced. The others didn’t respond right away, slowly piecing together the ramifications of what the Dark Acolyte was saying.

“W… Wait,” Redheart lifted a hoof, her legs quivering and her heart rate rising. “What… What about the ponies here? What about their homes? What-“

“Estimated time until the necessary weapons are operational is two-point-one-seven hours,” Sheraan droned. “You appear to have a functional vox relay in your possession. It is within my colleague Gear Work’s pitiful capabilities to broadcast an evacuation order in that time frame.”

The sound of hooves against the flooring came from the stairs, but none of the occupants noticed as Blueblood cautiously approached the command center.

“You’re out of your data-blasted mind!” shouted one of the Sunsworn knights. “We can’t evacuate the entire village that quickly! We’d rather try and fight the xenos ourselves than have the entire town wiped off the map with a bombardment!”

Blueblood’s ears perked, and he arched an eyebrow.

“Your relative preference in strategic operations is perfectly irrelevant,” Sheraan noted. “It is advised you cease wasting time arguing and begin evacuations.”

“Dark Acolyte! Stop them!” Redheart shouted, turning to Gear Works with tears in her eyes. “This is insane! Tell them they can’t do this!”

“Oh, so NOW you want his help,” Dusk grumbled.

“Yes! Now that it is an existential threat to Ponyville rather than an unlikely repair task, I am BEGGING you to fix this!” the mare cried.

“Er… I… Ah…” Gear’s optics lights shrank to pinpricks as his thoughts came to a shuddering halt. “I don’t… Maybe… I… I should probably send that evacuation order, right? In case we-“

“Ugh! Step aside you worthless bucket of bolts,” Blueblood snapped, suddenly alerting everyone to his presence.

The Prince strode up to the control center, his blond mane and pearly white coat still wet from the shower. He stared at the control monitor with an expression of irritation, as if the prospect of Ponyville being demolished from orbit was a nuisance being unfairly thrust upon him. Gears turned around to intercept him, approaching before he could get to a comfortable speaking distance to the vox receiver.

“Prince, I don’t wish to demean your efforts but the cult takes a very dim vie-“ Blueblood shoved Gears out of the way, throwing the cyborg pony onto the floor. Gears landed on his injured leg and cried out in pain, but the unicorn didn’t even bother looking at him, keeping his eyes locked on the glittering green lenses on the monitors.

“You there. What is this foolishness I hear about bombarding Ponyville?” Blueblood demanded.

Sheraan didn’t answer right away, his optics focusing on Gears as he was sprawled out onto the floor. He released a strange noise that sounded slightly like a laugh, and then turned his gaze fully to the unicorn.

“You may request an update from your companions,” Sheraan sneered, “however, every time increment spent discussing the impending devastation is a similar time increment lost that was likely necessary for avoiding obliteration.”

“That answered my question well enough.” Blueblood’s eyes narrowed. “This is unacceptable. Abort the bombardment and concoct a new strategy.”

“At once, Dark Techpriest,” Sheraan replied. Then he paused. “System error detected: You do not possess executive authority, psyker primitive. Recalculating… the bombardment effective perimeter has now been expanded.”

“Geez, I really hope the Tau were exaggerating what this thing can do,” Dusk mumbled as the humans started backing away toward the exit. The mares were completely stunned silent, staring at the suspended monitors in slack-jawed horror.

Prince Blueblood, however, seemed unmoved. He cocked his head to one side. “Ostensibly we’re in a hurry, but I simply must ask: what do you plan to tell the Iron Warriors when they ask you why you destroyed the Nethalican?”

Sheraan froze only a moment, and then swiftly turned his head slightly to look at something out of view. His arms weren’t entirely visible to the ponies, but the slight shifting of his shoulders suggested his hands were very busy at the controls.

“Ah, I see,” Blueblood drawled. “Condemned an Equestrian settlement to annihilation without even pausing to wonder if it contained something important, did you?” He released a weary sigh and brushed a hoof against his golden mane. “I must say: for an organization that prides itself on extreme competence and efficiency, I find myself CONSISTENTLY disappointed in the capabilities of the Mechanicus, Acolyte.”

“The bombardment area has been restricted,” Sheraan blurted, his voice noticeably higher pitched than before. “The area that-“

“Be silent,” Blueblood said calmly. Acolyte Sheraan, to the amazement of the other observers, immediately stopped talking. “I like the idea of a bombardment, but it will a PRECISION strike, is that clear? It would be an utter embarrassment to damage Ponyville any further over this infestation of apple aliens.”

Sheraan seemed to collect himself for a moment before speaking again. “You do not possess strategic authority-“

“You will FIND someone with the strategic authority and route my request through them! Does that compute, you hotwired metal dolt?!” Blueblood took a step toward the monitor and his horn sparked. Sheraan flinched, as if actually concerned the unicorn was going to somehow blast him through the vid-feed. “If I have to find someone of ‘strategic authority’ myself, I’m going to have to relay to them how LAZY and STUPID you were in ordering an orbital bombardment atop the single most important Chaos Temple on our planet! IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR, ACOLYTE?”

“Affirmative,” Sheraan said, his voice maintaining a careful monotone. “The facility you occupy contains tactical beacons. My colleague can prepare them to mark a target for bombardment.”

“A beacon? So we just need to drop it where we want you to attack, right? That’s how it works for artillery,” Dusk said.

“The observed area of direct effect of a single Liberator-pattern mass driver is 120 meters in diameter. The Tau have claimed their bombardment weapons are of equivalent potency. Plan accordingly.” The monitors all went dark as the vox feed was cut, mercifully ending the utterly embarrassing encounter.

“Did you really just yell at a Dark Techpriest?” one of the Sunsworn asked in awe.

“He was a Dark Acolyte,” Blueblood corrected the man. “They differ little from the full Techpriests in ability or appearance, but they’re MUCH more responsive to bullying.”

Gear Works shook his head. “The rank differences betwee-“

“Shut up and find that beacon,” Blueblood snapped.

“Right away, Prince,” Gears said, quickly ducking away and scurrying to a locker built into the wall.

“Okay, so we have a big ship in orbit with big guns, and a small device that tells the big guns exactly where to shoot. That’s progress. We can make a plan with this.” Dusk Blade looked over at Redheart. “I’ve never been to the apple farm. Do you have any ideas where we should target the bombardment?”

“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to either track the aliens running into Ponyville or ask the Apples themselves,” Redheart admitted.

“If this invasion originated on their property, what are the chances any of them are still alive?” Blueblood huffed. “I’m aware that Applejack and Big Macintosh are combatants of some ability, but the former is in space and these days the latter seems to spend a lot of time cooped up in Nightwatch, for some reason.”

“That’s true, but the farmstead is better fortified than this building is, and they still have Crabapple, I think.”

“Crabapple? I’m not familiar with that pony,” Blueblood admitted. “Did the Warsmith bequeath armor suits to the entire extended family?”

“Crabapple isn’t a pony, Crabapple is Apple Bloom’s sentient daemon engine,” Redheart corrected him.

“A Defiler-class assault walker, if I recall correctly,” Gear Works said, limping back toward the others with a hoofball-sized device clamped tightly in his servo arm. “I believe the combat armaments of a single Defiler should be sufficient to protect a bunker complex from being overrun by these particular aliens, although it is possible that there is some variant we have not yet encountered capable of defeating it.”

“Okay, great. So let’s make a run for the farm and try to get inside. If there’s anypony left, we’ll get their help to find out what needs to go boom. If not, there will probably be a trail to our target, at least,” Dusk slipped his visor back down. “Let’s lock and load, ponies!”

“… Am I to understand we’re accepting that these farmers own a daemon engine without further interrogating that fact?” Blueblood asked.

“Everypony does, yeah,” Redheart admitted.

“Capital,” the Prince said sarcastically, “Lieutenant, lead the way.”

---

Sweet Apple Acres

Flames danced among trees. Pillars of smoke stretched to the sky. Craters dotted the fields. Corpses of blue and purple littered the ground; some curled up into positions of agony, and others blasted completely apart into a steaming, gooey smear.

And all around drifted the smell of baked apples.

“You know I was complaining about the smell earlier, but it was mostly out of shock more than genuine distaste. The scent of roasting apples is really quite pleasant and I appreciate that it’s pungent enough to obscure the smell of spent mass-reactive cartridges.” Blueblood mused.

“I believe that’s mainly axiomite-32,” Gears corrected. “The heavy smoothbore cannons use a larger grain mixture than the mass-reactive shells. Surely that would be the dominant odor. Possibly also the flamer admixture, but I’ve been led to believe it’s almost odorless.”

“Gear Works, have I ever mentioned what an agonizing bore you are?” Blueblood asked.

“Thrice today, Prince.”

“And yet you never learn,” the unicorn huffed, stepping around a pile of burning slime. “You didn’t grow up in the Cult Mechanicus, right? How is it that a Canterlot pony lost every scrap of his social mores in a bare few months? I’d expect the thestral to be poor company but shouldn’t you, at least, be able to properly participate in a conversation?”

“Ah, well, that’s actually a funny story,” Gears paused as a thunderous boom came from somewhere in the orchard, followed by the rattle of automatic gunfire, “but anyway, I apologize if conversation with me seems tiresome or trite.”

“… Well? You’re not going to tell me the story?” Blueblood asked, his irritation growing.

“No. I was going to but then I remembered that it involved my servo skull and the Tau destroyed my servo skull and now I’m sad,” Gears explained, his ears flipping down against the sides of his head.

“Celestia grant me the strength not to hurl these idiots into the alien nest,” Blueblood said miserably, kicking aside a blue moon apple that was in his path. “There’s the farmstead up ahead. By the sounds of things the alien scum are being engaged at a different section of the property, probably by that daemon engine.”

“It has a name, you know,” Gears interjected before catching sight of something shifting out of his right-most optic sensor.

“Ponies shouldn’t name weapons as if they’re pets. It’s tacky,” Blueblood continued, levitating his bolt pistol from its holster and floating it above his head, “my gun isn’t some precious companion, it’s a device for disposing of enemies and-“

Gear Works released a startled squeak, but it wasn’t nearly enough warning. A section of the orchard seemed to peel away from the rest, revealing a bipedal, long-limbed Tyranid with a carapace that matched the surrounding apple trees. One very long limb lashed out from the creature’s shoulder, sweeping the unicorn off his hooves. The other slammed down onto Gear’s back, pinning him to the ground.

“AAAAAAGH!!” Gears shrieked as pain yet again shot up his injured leg. Sucking in air, he then managed a second exclamation. “LICTOR!!”

Blueblood’s floating bolt pistol wavered for a moment, and then spun to face the alien ambusher. The Lictor swatted it out of the air, pitching the weapon aside as it fired. The bolt hit an apple tree, and the gun bounced away and out of the range of Blueblood’s telekinesis.

“Oh cursed device help us it has TENTACLES!” Gear Works cried, flailing as best he could despite the force on his back holding him tight against the ground. He had to imagine that if the alien’s carapace and muscle wasn’t made of fruit fibers then the limb would have punched directly through his body and pierced the ground. As it was the creature was still strong enough that he was completely helpless, and he doubted that Blueblood would be any help either.

A high-pitched shriek came from behind the alien.

The Lictor moved immediately, spinning around and slashing both of its scythe-like shoulder-mounted limbs at a wide angle. A shadowy blur leapt at it, twisting perfectly to fly through the gap between them. Sunlight glinted off polished monomolecular blades in the moment before they met flesh.

Once, twice, and then thrice the adamantium talons plunged into the Lictor’s face and head. Each time it made a satisfying THUNK noise, like an axe sinking into soft wood, followed by a spurt of purple-tinted fluid.

Dusk Blade lifted himself off the Lictor right before it grabbed at him, and then darted back in, plunging his blades into the alien’s swollen head.

“Blasted… Alien… Monster!” Blueblood stumbled to his feet and then levitated his bolt pistol up off the ground.

Dusk kicked off the head of the Lictor, evading another frantic swipe of its claws. Blueblood fired, drilling two mass-reactive rounds into the foe’s head and shoulder. Bright purple apple pulp burst from the wounds, and the Lictor quivered unsteadily.

Then it collapsed with an exhausted wheeze, its syrupy blood pooling beneath it.

“Boy, it took way longer than I thought before you guys ran into something dangerous,” Dusk wiped his hoofblade off on a tree, smearing it with the colorful, sweet-smelling ichor.

“Yes, lucky us,” Blueblood hissed, gingerly rubbing an ankle. “At this rate we may yet reach the blasted farmstead before we get gunned down by a Tyranid shooting apple seeds or something.”

“That WOULD be a far superior form of projectile attack than the weaponized biomorphs we’ve so far encountered, and perfectly workable within the common biomechanical organs of Tyranid infantry weapons,” Gears mused, limping past the unicorn. “However, regardless of their threat most of the swarm seem to be rerouting into the village or toward what I assume is Crabapple causing the cacophony on the other side of the residence. We have been very fortunate in our choice of route.”

Dusk flapped his wings harder, building more altitude. “I’ll stay in the treetops while you guys approach and contact the occupants. Try to look weak and delicious so we can clear any more ambushes on the path to the farm.”

“I despise you. I really, truly do,” Blueblood growled as he sped up.

Up ahead the Apple family bunker complex loomed above the confusingly appetizing carnage of the farm, surrounded by crackling flames, gouts of smoke, and wrecked agri-machines. The ferrocrete walls were partially stained with purple gore, but much of the bottom level was scorched black, as if something had scoured it clean with a heavy flamer. Very little obvious damage had been inflicted on the bunker complex, although there were splotches of applesauce and crushed blue moons around the armored shutters.

Up above, on the second level, lasguns fired down into the smoke in uneven bursts. Whoever the gunners were seemed quite inefficient – much of the laser fire appeared to be almost random spray between the flames – but their firing point was nearly unassailable to an enemy with apple-based weapons. Apparently the aliens had tried anyway, judging by the many apples crushed into and around the bunker’s firing slit.

Blueblood reached the front gate – barred with siege shutters over an inch thick – and banged a hoof against the surface. “HELLO! FARMER! THIS IS YOUR PRINCE! OPEN YOUR DOMICILE IMMEDIATELY!”

“I doubt they can hear you,” Gears admitted as another thunderous battle cannon detonation came from the other side of the building. He walked up to a piece of metal paneling and brushed off a blue moon apple stuck onto the surface. Then his tail curled about, it’s dataspike point aimed at a tiny medal node sticking out.

A spark of energy ran from the tip of the tail onto the node. The metal protrusion retracted in an instant, and then the panel popped open. Behind the panel were several buttons, a holo-screen, and a vox interface.

“Are you serious? Access to this hovel requires some degree of fantastical cybernetic enhancement?” Blueblood asked, incensed.

“No, normally you’d just press a button. But the farmstead IS under siege, so a more sophisticated bypass mechanism is necessary,” Gear Works explained. He lifted his bionic foreleg, and the hoof opened up to reveal a small, segmented metal appendage, like a metal finger. It unfolded and pressed the green button at the bottom. “You should be able to contact them now, Prince.”

Blueblood snorted and leaned closer to the vox receiver. “Greetings farmer, this is Prince Blueblood. I have a matter of some urgency to discuss with you, but presently find myself trapped outside your domicile with the wretched aliens. Admit me access at once.”

There was a shuffling noise from the vox caster, and then the stallions could hear the crack of lasgun fire. “Uh… Is this it? Hello? Ah’m sorry Prince, Mac usually handles the cogi-whatsits. Ah sure wish he were here now!”

“Yes, yes, your ineptitude is most unfortunate. The door, then. Open the door,” Blueblood said, turning to check behind them.

“Er… The door ain’t workin’ Prince,” the voice replied through the vox after a brief silence. “Ah tried pushing the pedal and the door opened but then there’s… uh… another door? There’s two doors now.”

“By my aunt, we may very well perish out here because the imbecile farmer can’t figure out how to work the entrance,” Blueblood moaned, his shoulders slumping.

“Ah, Prince, he can hear you,” Gears mumbled awkwardly.

“Yes, I can see the button is still depressed, what of it?” the unicorn snapped. “I at least know enough of these devices to work a two-way vox! Since YOU profess to be more experienced, why don’t YOU open the blast shutters?”

Gear Works nodded. “Right away, Prince.” Then his servo arm ripped the entire interface panel off.

Blueblood stepped back uncertainly while the Dark Acolyte set upon the wiring underneath the panel. His augmetic hoof opened up to reveal a dozen or so small probes, scalpel blades, and sparking needles, and they started jabbing and whirring and cutting in a sudden frenzy of activity. All the while Gear’s dataspike tail remained pointed at the input socket, and after a few seconds the appendage released another electric arc into the hole.

Several motors started up, and then the blast shutters trembled briefly before they started to rise.

“… That didn’t even take a full minute,” Blueblood said, his voice sounding accusatory. “Why didn’t you do that to begin with?! What were we standing around here for?!”

“It is preferable to be granted regular access by the bunker occupants rather than slicing the system hardware to activate the override, particularly when security may be compromised at any moment,” Gear Works explained. “Besides the damage inflicted on the control system, it’s quite rude to open a secure facility by force, don’t you think?”

Blueblood did not look mollified by his explanation, and Gear’s ears flipped down. “Please don’t hit me.”

When the shutters finally opened entirely, they were faced with an unfamiliar stallion standing in the entrance. He was a dull yellow with a dirty blond mane, a Stetson hat, and leather vest on. A lasgun with a custom wood stock and a modified lever trigger was slung over his back. Gear Works had seen similar alterations to Company weapons before, made by ponies that were unsatisfied with the firing brace for one reason or another. The replacement of the small finger trigger with a much larger lever allowed guns to be wielded more easily by creatures without hands, although Gears imagined it dramatically increased the number of accidental discharges.

The unfamiliar stallion smiled broadly and tilted back his hat. “Well howdy, fellers! Welcome to Sweet-“

A horrendous shrieking noise from above interrupted him, startling the ponies. A heavy thump was followed by more loud, angry snarls. Then Dusk Blade and a bunker-colored Lictor tumbled off the side of the building, landing behind Gear Works.

The Lictor struck the ground first, landing painfully on one arm while its other limbs flailed in a panic. Dusk was entangled with the Lictor’s beard of tentacles, one set of talons already embedded in the alien’s eye. The other foreleg punched into the Lictor’s throat repeatedly, and sweet-scented fluids gushed over Dusk’s chest.

A violent spasm ran through the alien infiltrator, and then its limbs started curling up. The tentacles around its mouth went slack, and Dusk quickly tugged himself free before drawing his hoofblades out of the gaping purple wounds. The thestral flexed his wings, folded them, and then turned around to face the other stallions.

“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Dusk Blade. I’m in charge of this combat patrol, for the most part,” Dusk spread out his legs and then shook himself like a dog, spraying the area nearby with purple apple juice.

Blueblood recoiled, shielding himself with a leg. “Gah! Lieutenant, could you act civilized for ONE MINUTE?! I just showered!”

The farmer seemed completely stunned, and Gear Works reached over with his servo arm and waved it back and forth in front of him. After a moment the other earth pony blinked and stumbled backward.

“Shucks! Company ponies really are somethin’ else, ain’t they?” The farmer chuckled nervously and reached out a hoof. “The name’s Braeburn. Ah’m the manager of this here apple farm.”

“Splendid,” Blueblood said, not sounding pleased in the least or shaking the proffered hoof. “Now let us in. We must discuss this alien threat and the means with which we may stem the tide.”

“Make yerself at home, Prince!” Braeburn stepped out of the way, grinning widely. Prince Blueblood and Gear Works quickly trotted inside, while Dusk Blade stopped briefly to wipe his boots on the “Orks, Tau, and solicitors will be disintegrated” novelty welcome mat.

“Lemme just close the door…” Braeburn turned toward the control panel behind him and started to puzzle over the buttons.

Gear’s tail darted in over Braeburn’s shoulder, and the large metal spike tapped a button and flicked a switch. The door promptly slammed shut, and then the access light above it turned from green to red.

“Oh! Well, thank ya kindly, Doc!” Braeburn tipped his hat to the cyborg, who looked perplexed at being addressed as “Doc.” “Now then, Ah’m guessin’ y’all have some questions, doncha? This ain’t a great time fer a tour of the orchard.”

“Indeed, we do,” Blueblood said, drawing himself up and glaring down his muzzle at the farmer. “Tell me, Mister Braeburn, how is it that you have Tyranid war beasts emerging from your farm?”

“Tyranid? Is that what they’re called?” Braeburn scratched his head. “We didn’t know what the varmints were. They just started poppin’ up in the blue moon pit.”

“Pit? You mean you store the blue moons in a hole in the ground?” Dusk asked.

“No, Sir! We store ‘em in the barn and cryo-silos like all the other produce. We GROW ‘em in a hole in the ground!” Braeburn chuckled, although it lacked any sincere humor. “We got this special area just fer the apple spines that produce the blue moons.”

Gear’s optics lenses flickered off and on in sequence. “Apple ‘spines?’”

“That’s right, Doc! They’re grown on these weird, hollowed-out spines that we seeded in the pit where some space thingamajig crashed during the invasion. Er, the second invasion, Ah think. By the Tau main fleet? Or is that the first-“

“Let’s not get bogged down in the precise chronology of our world being corrupted by alien invaders,” Blueblood sniffed. “Celestia knows things have been eventful enough to fill a small library with the history of the last year. Concentrate on the specific aliens and corruptions that led to this state of affairs.”

“Right. So…” there was another explosion outside, and the lights flickered briefly before coming back on. “We were told that if any spines appeared where we didn’t plant none, then we had to burn ‘em.”

“These sound like EXTREMELY sketchy fruit plants,” Dusk remarked.

“Yeah, Ah guess. And we did see a couple spines sprout and we did burn ‘em down. Just piled some kindling on the sides and lit ‘er up. Wasn’t no big deal.” Then he grimaced. “Thing is… new ones started poppin’ up after that. Thicker ones, with this weird, waxy bark.”

“Okay… and you burned those too, right?” Dusk asked.

“We tried, yeah. But it didn’t work!” Braeburn cringed, his ears pressing flat against the sides of his head. “the fire just sorta scorched the outside black, without burnin’ it all the way. We thought it was burnt at first, but then it, uh, kept growin’. And the burnt parts just peeled off. We made a bigger fire, but it didn’t stop ‘em at all!”

“Tyranid organisms are highly adaptable,” Gears interjected. “It is not surprising that a hive growth with a very specific impediment to survival would develop a counter-mutation. But surely you could have destroyed it in other ways. The organism can become resistant to heat or thicken its skin, but it has hard limitations on how well it can protect itself and still perform its core function.”

“Yeah, Ah reckon yer right,” Braeburn admitted. “We were gonna have Crabapple march down there and just tear the spine out with the giant mechanical claws and such…… but…”

“BUT?” Blueblood asked, his expression souring even more.

“But then Apple Fritter noticed that the spines near the new growths were becomin’ much more productive, and the apples were gettin’ bigger. We were gettin’ fruits the size of melons, and they were growin’ even faster than before! So… we decided to let ‘em be for a while and see what happens, y’know?”

“And this is what happens,” Blueblood said, glaring at the farmer.

“… Ah have regrets,” Braeburn said, lowering his head shamefully.

“Well, luckily the brave stallions of the 38th Company have arrived to clean up your mess for you,” Blueblood sneered. “We have secured the use of an orbital bombardment and a tactical beacon. We intend to place the beacon within the alien nest and wipe out the source of this plague in one fell swoop.”

“Well shucks, that’s better’n any idea Ah had,” Braeburn said, pushing his hat back into place. “Ah tried to lead an attack into the pit, but even with Crabapple at the fore the critters beat us back. Now the big metal galoot’s the main thing keepin’ the critters from swarmin’ the farmstead.”

“Gears. Beacon.” Dusk Blade pushed his visor down over his eyes, cloaking his face from top to bottom in plasteel plates and glassine lenses.

Gear Works curled his servo arm to reach under his robe, and then pulled out the vaguely pyramid-shaped object. Dusk Blade turned around, and the Dark Acolyte started attaching it to a strap on his back.

“This part of the mission I’ll be taking on alone,” Dusk said, stretching out his wings. “I’m the infiltration specialist, plus the only flyer out of all of us. I just need to know exactly where this pit is so I don’t have to track the aliens back there.”

“No problem, friend! Ah got a holo-map right here!” Braeburn said, gesturing over to a wall panel.

He poked the bottom, and then a three-dimensional topographic map appeared. The farmstead was marked out with a bright holo-glyph, and Dusk’s target was equally obvious: A large concave section of orchard in the far corner of the property. The space surrounding the crater was barren, save for a rail track that was apparently used to cart produce out of the area. Large, curved spikes protruded from the ground within the crater, and the detail of the hololith was such that they could make out the large thorns decorating the spines’ backside.

“All set,” Gear Works said, backing away from Dusk Blade. “Simply press down on the top panel and the beacon will begin transmitting and the opposite panel will adhere to whatever it’s set on.”

“Gotcha.” Dusk paused. “How long will I have between activation and the bombardment?”

“Well that depends on the readiness of the firing platform, but the beacon does allow for a longer arming period for evacuation of the placement team. Should I activate that feature?” the Dark Acolyte asked.

“You mean giving the deploying agent time to escape isn’t the default setting?!” Dusk asked in alarm.

“Stop being a foal and get a move on!” Blueblood snapped. “Every minute of delay is another mob of apple freaks descending on the village!”

“If you want to try to magic the thing into place just say the word, Prince,” dusk retorted with an annoyed snort. “Nobles who sit behind walls and shout at ponies fighting in the trenches should save their breath and show us how it’s done.”

“I suspect waiting here with the cyborg and the dullard for company will prove to be just as intolerable as a trot through the alien nest,” Blueblood sniffed. “But as you said, you are uniquely suited to the task, and our very survival is likely at stake. I relent.”

Gear Works took a step back. “The beacon engram has been adjusted. It will begin transmitting 60 seconds after activation, rather than immediately.”

“One minute? Cutting it a little close still, don’t you think?”

“The longer the beacon remains inactive, the longer the enemy has to find and disable it. Sixty seconds is the recommended withdrawal frame,” Gears explained.

“Welp, here goes everything.” The Lieutenant briefly clashed his hoofblades together and then trotted past Braeburn and into the next room.

Braeburn watched Dusk step out of sight, perplexed. “Whatcha goin’ to the kitchen for? There ain’t no exit that way.”

There was no response from the next room, and after a few seconds Braeburn walked over to the doorway and stuck his head inside. “… Hello? Lieutenant? Where’d ya go?”

“Oh, he pulls that trick all the time. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gears assured the other stallion.

“Trick? Gettin’ out of a room with no exits?”

“Yes. More often it’s entering a room with secure entrances. But conceptually-“

A cry of pain and terror suddenly came from upstairs, and Gear Works stammered in surprise.

“Oh thank Celestia, we have a dire emergency,” Blueblood said, sighing in relief. “Cease your prattling at once! Ponies are in danger, for all I know!”

“That came from the gunner’s nest!” Braeburn yelped, dashing up the stairs. Gear Works followed him as quickly as he could on three legs, while Prince Blueblood ascended at an equally relaxed pace.

The structural interior of the gunner’s nest was quite familiar to Gear Works, who had serviced more that one pillbox in and around Ferrous Dominus. This one had evidently been modified to double as a den, with several large couches, a plasma furnace (restyled to look like a conventional fireplace), and a juice bar. While the exterior-facing wall was dominated by a long firing slit, the others boasted various furs, gun racks, and a few alien hunting trophies (two stuffed squigs and the bleached skull of an Ork Nob).

Granny Smith quietly hummed to herself and rocked back and forth in a corner, while a stallion wearing a flak vest rolled back and forth on the floor, hooves pressed against his face. They were not the only ponies in the room; a dozen other earth ponies were laid out among the rug and furniture, most of them laying under blankets and bearing bandages.

“Turnover! Stop movin’ around and hold steady!” Braeburn commanded as he galloped into the room. “Fritter, what happened? Did somethin’ breach the bunker?”

A mare with a green mane in twin pigtails was standing over the wounded stallion, and she shook her head. “Naw, one of the gunner varmints got a lucky shot in, is all.” She pointed a hoof at a moist, light blue object on the floor: small and spherical, save for a stem and a section that had clearly been caved in from a violent impact.

Braeburn’s expression straightened. “It still down there?”

A cracking noise came from the firing slit, and the crushed remains of another apple projectile bounced into the room. Braeburn set his jaw and drew his lasgun.

While the stallion trotted up to the firing point, the mare helped the wounded pony over to the others. Gear Works quickly grabbed a loose blanket with his servo arm to help, and Prince Blueblood looked over the other injured ponies.

“None of the wounds look too severe, but this is quite a heap of casualties,” Blueblood said. “Considering the capabilities of the alien beasts, I do hope you at least took a commensurate toll on the enemy.”

“Sure did! We left bushels of dead critters down in the pit!” Apple Fritter huffed. “But they just kept comin’! Crabapple kinda shrugs ‘em all off but she can’t catch the little ones ‘fore they get to us or protect our flanks from gettin’ shot up.”

She pointed a hoof over to a pony draped in bandages. “Tart nearly got buried in them pony-sized monsters and dragged off. Their arms ain’t too sharp, but they don’t tickle, that’s fer sure.”

She moved on to gesture to an unconscious stallion who was unusually pale and breathing shallowly. “Golden here almost choked to death on the alien apple sauce.”

Blueblood grimaced. “It is a somewhat more… threatening attack than it seems. The slime is sticky and cloying, and hardens shockingly quickly.”

“Ah hear ya. He was coughin’ up bits of apple and snot fer nearly an hour,” Apple Fritter said sadly, hanging her head.

“What happened to her?” Gear Works asked, pointing to a mare laid out on the couch without a blanket. She looked swollen and miserable, but he couldn’t see any sign of external injury. “Retroviral weapon? Poisonous spores?”

Fritter’s expression shifted from grim to irritated. “That’s Caramel Apple. She ain’t injured. She liked the smell of them varmints after they get zapped by lasblasts so she up’n ate one of ‘em.”

Blueblood recoiled in disgust, and Gears cocked his head to one side. “She ate a Hormagaunt?”

“Is a Horm-ah-gaunt one of them speedy pony-sized buggers?”

“Yes.”

“Then no. It was one of them big ‘uns with the long guns.”

Caramel Apple burped, and then groaned and rolled over, turning away from the other ponies in shame.

The sharp crack of an enhanced lasgun shot came from the firing slit. Braeburn stood in place for several seconds, and then again tugged gently on the trigger lever sticking out of the side of the weapon. The lasgun fired again, and then he let out a deep breath and backed away.

“Took you two shots this time?” the pigtailed mare asked.

“One fer each of the varmints,” Braeburn replied. “Caught ‘im tryin’ to move into cover while I had the other one marked. There are more rushin’ in from the orchard, too. Crabapple moved onto the other side and now they’re tryin’ to make a run on the wall.”

“Ah… Ah think Ah can still shoot,” groaned Apple Turnover. One eye was swollen and his breath was ragged, but he did seem capable of holding a weapon correctly at least.

“Dagnabbit, it won’t even matter if the bat gets the pit cleared out at this rate! There’s too many of ‘em on the rest of the farm!” Braeburn complained. “What good are all these turrets if they shut down so easy?”

Gear’s ears perked. “Turrets? You have autoturrets here? On the farm?”

“By Luna’s wings, this village is more heavily fortified than Canterlot Castle,” Blueblood interjected. “Not without reason, evidently.”

“Yeah, they were part of some deal Cuz made with the Dark Mechs,” Braeburn explained. “They were really tearin’ up the critters that escaped the pit but then they stopped firin’ like an hour ago.”

“Apple sauce?” Gears asked.

“Nah, a bunch of them small ones were gnawing on the power relay and then Crabapple torched ‘em. And the relay, of course.”

Blueblood frowned over at Gear Works. “That sounds somewhat more difficult to repair. Can you manage it?”

“I can’t be certain until I see the extent of the damage, but I may be able to improvise a fix in case it’s beyond service,” Gears said, swiftly trotting toward the exit.

“We’ll need an escort, since our combat specialist is busy,” Blueblood said, “Mister Braeburn, you can guide us to the target area and protect us.”

“Sure thing, Prince! Havin’ those autowidgets back would do a heap more good than stayin’ here to shoot bugs out the window!”

Gear Works stopped and looked over at the unicorn. “You’re coming too, Prince? It will be much safer in here.”

“Yes. But you won’t be here, will you?” the royal stallion asked, levitating his bolt pistol above his head. “One lasgun would MAYBE be sufficient to hold off one of the smaller alien pests. I think we’ve all noticed by now that they prefer more voluminous assaults. We’ll need more than one guard if we’re attacked.”

“I’m… surprised you’re concerned for my safety,” Gear Works admitted, continuing down the stairs.

“I’m concerned for my VACATION!” Blueblood corrected. “If you die, then the Iron Warriors are sure to revoke my leave so that I can carry your wasted carcass back to the fortress for recycling! Nopony wants that! I have things to do!”

“That is far more consistent with my expectations,” Gears allowed. “Shall we deploy?”

---

A tremendous boom rolled through the trees as the battle cannon’s shell detonated. A half-dozen Hormagaunts were instantly pulverized, their bodies flattened into a hot, sugary mush over the ground. A nearby Warrior was hurled back into an apple tree, slamming hard enough into the trunk that apples rained down from the branches.

A reaper autocannon thundered after the explosion, punching through the larger Tyranid and blasting gouges in the wood behind it. The Warrior released a tepid gurgling noise, and then fell forward into a heap.

Crabapple stood above a veritable carpet of dead Tyranids, smoke wafting from the barrels of its guns. Apple sauce was caked over its legs and arms, and one of the Defiler’s enormous pincers seemed to be stuck in place. Splashes of purple in various shades decorated every one of its massive mechanical limbs, and a blue moon apple had been very conspicuously wedged into one of the eye sockets of the golden mask that topped the assault walker. Ammunition hoppers cranked fresh munitions into the gun receivers, and the smoke stacks at the rear of the chassis vomited a cloud of smoke around a few stray bits of fluids (probably apple-based) that had stuck on the mouth of the tube.

“Keep at it, Crabapple! You show those varmints what fer!” Braeburn crowed, dashing behind the daemon engine. Gear Works and Prince Blueblood followed at a more cautious pace, giving the possessed machine a wider berth.

A loud, tremulous creak came from the Defiler’s substructure as its torso twisted to the side. A long, low-pitched screech poured from the mask, followed by a series of clicking noises that sounded like gears slipping.

Gear Works stopped, and his ear twitched. “What? Ironside? What about him?” the Dark Acolyte asked, turning to look up.

Crabapple released another screech, and Gear’s ears fell flat. “No, I don’t know where Apple Bloom is. I’ve never even met her.” The Defiler started making several shorter, sharper noises, and Gears interrupted. “That was not an invitation to tell me about her. Can this wait?”

“You can understand that thing?” Blueblood asked, his eyes lingering on the giant claw that kept opening and snapping closed.

“Yes. Most daemon engines find complex communication very difficult, but this one is quite…” Gears paused as a low groan came from the Defiler. “What? Where?”

A few more stuttering clicks came from the walker, and then Gears turned to look at Blueblood again. “It wants us to escort it to school.”

“No,” Blueblood said decisively.

A squeal came from the enormous war machine, and it lifted itself slightly higher above the ground to better loom over the stallions.

“It said that it’s m-“

“And I said no,” the Prince repeated sharply. “Our passage to Canterlot has been delayed long enough! We’re not taking side quests given to us by defunct battle walkers!”

More strange noises started coming from Crabapple, and its legs started to pump up and down one at a time, straining against the apple sauce stuck in the servos.

“Is it throwing a TANTRUM?” Blueblood asked, scowling in distaste.

“It… It is, yes,” Gears admitted sheepishly. “This Defiler seems very attached to its owner. It’s unusual behavior, even for a daemon engine.” His cybernetic tail lashed back and forth nervously. “Also, um, it IS very well armed and we are foreign entities according to its IFF registrar. Perhaps if we-“

A stream of blue moon apples suddenly pummeled the Defiler from the side, smashing to mush against its armor with no ill effect. Crabapple swiveled about, and then it released an aggravated bleating noise when a pair of snarling Warriors emerged from behind the trees.

“Ah, good, it found something useful to do,” Blueblood said right before the reaper autocannon opened up. Then he shoved Gear Works in the direction Braeburn went. “Now follow the whiny machine’s example and MOVE!”

“Ow! Okay, okay! Please, stop pushing!” Gear Works begged as he stumbled away from the battlefield.

Gears and Blueblood raced across the yard as another explosion rocked the orchard. Braeburn was waiting for them next to the well – a large metal tower overrun with piping – with his lasgun at the ready. Behind him was the power relay: a scorched metal box surrounded by dead Hormagaunts. The device had clearly been exposed to a flamer weapon, and Gears immediately inventoried the components that would be most likely damaged.

“Took yer time, didn’cha!” Braeburn shouted. “What’s the damage, Doc?”

“Please stop calling me that,” Gear Works sighed. “I’m not a doctor. My skills at electric engineering were not earned from conventional education, nor have I acquired certif-“

Prince Blueblood smacked a hoof into the back of Gear’s head, generating a loud clanging noise. The Dark Acolyte yelped and stumbled, but Blueblood said nothing, just glaring at the tech-cultist.

“Erm, I can fix it. Yes. Just give me a few minutes,” Gears cringed away from the irritated unicorn and started prying the side panel on the relay open.

“Lemme tell ya, it’ll be a big load off mah withers to have the turrets workin’ again! Aside from the apple varmints we also use ‘em to keep them little greenskins off our trees!” Braeburn explained.

“That goes a long way to explain why your home is so heavily fortified, but I wish to emphasize that we do not care,” Blueblood warned.

“A lotta the stuff around here is a bit fancy for my taste,” Braeburn admitted, declining to take the hint. “Whenever somethin’ don’t work right there’s nothin’ Ah can do except keep fiddling with it or try to ask the DarkMech what’s wrong. And the DarkMech stopped taking mah vox calls a long time ago.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Blueblood drawled.

“They’ll talk to Cousin Mac, but he ain’t always around. So the-“ Braeburn was suddenly – and mercifully – interrupted by the beginning of an orbital bombardment.

A spot of light descended from the sky, diving through the atmosphere while trailing a spiral of flame. A dull roar rumbled across the orchard at its descent, followed by a cataclysmic crash once it impacted.

Prince Blueblood flinched back from the sight, and Braeburn pulled his hat down over his face. Seconds later a hot wind rolled over them, moving with such intensity that it nearly unbalanced the ponies.

“Ah, I see the Lieutenant placed the beacon successfully. Good!” Gear Works said while he tore out some burnt wiring.

Three more strikes followed the first, descending on a near-identical trajectory. The ground shook, clouds of dust stretched into the sky, and the wind whipped back and forth chaotically due to the enormous shifts in temperature and pressure.

“… I hope he was able to get clear,” Gear Works mumbled while waiting for the tremors to pass.

“Whoa, nelly! Yeah, that oughta clean out the pit!” Braeburn chuckled nervously, holding his hat to his head. “Kind of a shame about all the apple spines that weren’t hatching crazed alien monsters, though. Ah guess that’s just how it goes.”

“I doubt you’ve learned any enduring lesson from all this, but nonetheless I hope you’ll at least be more careful when toying with alien technology for petty profit,” Blueblood said.

“Ya got that right!” Braeburn agreed.

“…… Which part?”

Gear Works finished replacing the main conduit wire and his servo arm reached forward to grab the main relay plug.

The metal pincer pressed into the gleaming red skin. The flesh held firm for a moment but then gave way, collapsing under the pressure of the servo arm. Rich, murky juice dribbled down the length of the mechanical limb, seeping into hinges and pistons.

Gear’s optics lights turned off and on again in rapid sequence in imitation of a blink. He wasn’t grasping the relay plug at all. His servo arm was holding onto an apple.

This wasn’t all that strange, in the abstract; after all, there were a lot of apples on the Apple farm, some of which had been fully weaponized and ended up in odd places. Still, Gear Works was SURE he had been reaching for the relay plug. And if he had simply experienced a slip in visual recognition for a moment, where was the relay plug?

Gear Works backed out of the relay station, pulling his head out of the damaged housing. “Ah… Mister Braeburn? Might I ask if… Mister… Mister Braeburn?!”

Gear Works didn’t have anything that could be reasonably considered a “jaw” anymore, but if he did it would have been hanging open in shock.

Where Braeburn Apple once stood there was, instead, an enormous pony-sized apple. Wearing a leather vest and a hat. Braeburn’s customized lasgun leaned against the huge fruit, apparently abandoned.

“Wh-What? What is… Prince? PRINCE!”

Gear Work’s optics went wide, almost filling his visor screen with blue light. Another giant apple was positioned behind him, colored a brilliant gold that matched Prince Blueblood’s hair. Its stem stuck out at a sharp angle and tapered to a point, obviously in imitation of the unicorn’s horn. An officer’s cap sat atop the apple, while a bolt pistol was attached to a long belt that wound around it.

“I… I don’t… B-Braeburn? Prince? H-Hello? Is anybody here? Is th-this some kind of p-prank?!” the Dark Acolyte shouted, his good legs quivering.

When no answer seemed to be forthcoming, Gears locked onto the relay tower again. “Work first. Panic later,” he said, lowering himself back to the ground.

Unfortunately, his efforts to continue repairs were stymied when he found the entire interior of the relay packed with apples. The fruit was a splendid mix of types, filling the device with a pleasing cornucopia of colors. It also completely impeded access to any of the important internal parts, and had not been there several seconds ago.

Gear Works released a terrified squeak. He didn’t know what to do. None of his training, studying, or experience (meager as it was) had prepared him for anything like this.

A spark suddenly came from the top of the relay. Electric arcs danced among the apple stems, passing among them in a fashion that Gears found highly suspect.

Then the mysterious apple pile exploded at him, blasting him with a stream of fruit like a giant apple shotgun.

Gears was flung backward, his vision spinning. Pain surged through his injured leg, but every other sense was being slowly consumed by apples. His vision, which should have been taking in the open sky and then the rapidly approaching ground, saw only more apples. Apple juice washed up through his respirator hose and drenched his tongue, filling his mouth with a sweet, light flavor. Neurons that had been long since disconnected from working organs activated, and the scent of fresh apples bombarded his brain. Even his hearing was consumed by the crisp, distinctive sound of apples being bitten into, which was the only particular noise he associated with the fruit.

“H-Help… it’s… it’s too much… too many… apples…” the Dark Acolyte moaned. They were all around him now, washing and rolling about below and above, like he was sinking through an apple ocean. “P-Prince… Lieutenant… please… help… me…”

Gear’s muscles went limp. His augments were unresponsive. He couldn’t breathe. The apples pressed in all around him, the pressure slowly building to intolerable levels. Juice seeped through the cracks between apples, soaking his coat and robe in sweet apple flavor.

The world went white, and then collapsed into static.

---

“Guh!” Gear Works stumbled upright, his optics finally returning valid data.

He was on the farm. On the ground. The non-apple ground. In front of him was the damaged power relay. The paneling on the side was open. There were no apples inside. He could no longer taste, hear, or smell apples. His injured leg still hurt, though.

“Wh… What?” Gears lowered his servo arm, and then realized it was holding the relay plug.

A groan came from off to the side. Prince Blueblood was sprawled out on the ground, looking dazed. His bolt pistol was lying next to him, and showed no signs of recent firing.

Another groan came from the other side, and Gear Works was quite surprised – and relatively pleased – to see Dusk Blade sprawled out on the ground much like Blueblood. The thestral had his wings spread and flapping awkwardly out of sequence, as if they were trying to manage flight but had lost all sense of muscle memory.

“A… App… Apples,” the Lunar Lieutenant croaked through his respirator mask. “Why…?” Gear Works had no answer for him.

“Hey, looks like y’all are okay after all! Gave me a bit of a scare!”

Gear Works stumbled about to look behind him, and his optics lights widened.

Braeburn was standing in front of a large Tyranid organism. A Zoanthrope; the enormous brain case and comparatively tiny, withered body made identification simple. The alien was dead, its face and body covered in lasburns and a pitchfork embedded deep in a patch of exposed brain on the side of its head.

“What in Tartarus is THAT thing?” Prince Blueblood demanded, pushing himself up to his hooves once more.

“That… is a Zoanthrope. A fully weaponized Tyranid psyker,” Gears said uncertainly, his optics staring at Braeburn. “And… you killed it? On your own?”

“Ah think so,” Braeburn grunted, giving the dead alien a light kick behind him. “Wasn’t easy. The ol’ laser gizmo kept hittin’ some kinda magic barrier so Ah just found somethin’ sharp and aimed fer the soft spot. Ha!”

“How the hay did you do that?” Dusk asked, wobbling slightly as he stood up. “I saw the thing from above but when I got close enough to begin a dive…” he shuddered. “It was just… apples.”

“I can still taste it,” Blueblood said, looking perturbed as he recovered his weapon. “Apples just… consumed my thoughts entirely. I couldn’t even breathe. I could FEEL the apples in my throat, choking me!”

“I had a similar experience,” Gear Works said, cocking his head to the side and staring at Braeburn. “So why didn’t you?”

“Oh, Ah did too,” Braeburn said. “Like the whole world just seemed to wash away into a tide of apples ‘n such, right? And then it sorta just presses in on ya and ya feel like yer bein’ crushed? Yeah. Ah know whatcha mean.”

The other stallions stared at him, and then stared at the dead Zoanthrope.

“But… then how did you fight off the Tyranid if you were similarly incapacitated?” Gear Works asked.

“Well Ah couldn’t let the apples take me down like that. It’d dishonor mah family name,” Braeburn explained, his tone turning very stern and serious. “Apples are prey. They serve ponies. You cannot fear the apple. And once you gain mastery of the apple, it has no power over you. Ah mean, shucks, those apples weren’t even real!”

There was a long, awkward pause while the other stallions thought that over.

“… What the HAY are you talking about?” Dusk asked.

“Belay that question, peasant. It appears the cavalry has arrived,” Prince Blueblood interjected, staring up at the sky. Valkyrie gunships were approaching fast in the distance, followed by a trio of Tau Devilfish skimmers.

“And with that, I think we’re done here,” Gear Works said, throwing the switch on the power relay tower. The device shuddered to life, and a deep hum came from the box’s interior.

“Well shucks, thank ya kindly, Doc!” Braeburn said, his voice returning to its cheerful, goofier cadence. “Say! We got a lot of cleanup to do ‘round here before the farm is presentable again, but y’all have helped us out a lot! Maybe saved our lives! What do y’all say to comin’ back for a celebration with a classic homemade Apple family feast?”

“Not even at gunpoint,” Prince Blueblood said, turning around immediately and trotting away.

“The train tracks have probably been cleared by now, but the station is surely locked down until the train can be subjected to augur scans,” Gear Works explained, limping after the unicorn. “We might still be able to reach Canterlot by this evening!”

“Let’s get the hay out of here,” Dusk Blade grumbled, taking off into the air.

Author's Note:

What Is Love (7" Mix) - YouTube

Comments

[Tech-Priest Dakka]

Blessed be the Omnissiah.

[Phantom_Eclipse]

Oh SNAP its ALIIIIVVVEEEE!!

[Der Kaiser]

“Oh, Ah did too,” Braeburn said. “Like the whole world just seemed to wash away into a tide of apples ‘n such, right? And then it sorta just presses in on ya and ya feel like yer bein’ crushed? Yeah. Ah know whatcha mean.”

“Well Ah couldn’t let the apples take me down like that. It’d dishonor mah family name,” Braeburn explained, his tone turning very stern and serious. “Apples are prey. They serve ponies. You cannot fear the apple. And once you gain mastery of the apple, it has no power over you. Ah mean, shucks, those apples weren’t even real!”

memegenerator.net/img/instances/73837377/they-had-me-in-the-first-half-not-gonna-lie.jpg

[Tonto the Trotter]

Another fantastic episode in the convuluted and painful life of Gear Works.

[Emperor of Jurai]

I love the image at the bottom, good chapter....and yeah figured using space bug DNA at the farm was gonna cause problems sooner or later.

[Nevermore777]

Apple Tyranids. That’s hilarious. You know, it’s a shame, Applejack and Fluttershy probably would have a better chance at befriending these ones or subduing them. Not exactly sure what the Company would use Apple-based Tyranids for, but still.

[egooo]

Ah, that was nice.

Not going to lie, I do hope Gear Works undergoes some character development in the near future and stops being so bullyable.

Don't get me wrong, he's a precious little potato.
But that half of his whole schtick is being pushed around really starts to grind a little, this long into the books :/

Here's to hoping that he be made a full Dark Priest soon'ish and (like all the proper Dark Priests) gains a measure of "fuck you, you're not my superior"-gravitas.
Though then I would half-decent for everyone to still outrank him and still bully him. Bleurgh.

A east he's consistently showing competence at his actual job.

[Easysnuggler]

Yea! I thought the blue moon apples might be trouble. Nice to see Blueblood and Dusk in action dragging Gears along by shoving him in front.

[Uros]

Apple's Revenge, Tyranid Edition.

Wasn't expecting this one, but it is one surprise attack I enjoyed.

[TheClassyLeviathan]

11032112
I read this comment before I read any of the stories, I am without context, but also without fear.

And I can already tell, this'll be one hell of a ride.

[Muffinsforever]

Amazing as always.

[Mix-up]

God Apple Tyranids, what more nameless apple theme horror can come next, lets just hope there aren't also any Genesealer Apples that had sneaked away before the bombardment; are we going to see a Apple Genestealer cult/colt next? I thought it was hilarious that we actually get too see the Apples take on Tyranid and still hold their own. At this point, I think Gear actually managed to endear himself with all the Twilight's friends, albeit indirectly with AJ, but I am sure Breaburn will yap about it for sure, and it was fun to see him send in the final blow to that attack, impressive reflection on the apple prey thing. If I understand it right, Gear was originally supposed to visiting his parents, was there another reason for that too? What was Mac doing in the meanwhile?

[Mirvra]

Loved it, really am hoping to see Gear Works grow some more as a character.

[SirAquila]

I love how fast this story went from. Oh fuck to Buisness as usual in ponyville. Honestly, that could have gone a lot worse is kinda the tagline of this AU.

[SFaccountant]

11032458
Gears is visiting his parents, yes. Big Mac was at Ferrous Dominus the entire time. In his defense, this emergency didn't last long enough for him to learn about it and find transportation to ride to the rescue.

[Sarraceno]

Applenids! AJ gonna be livid....

Did that pone ate an entire Applenid warrior?

[SFaccountant]

11032820
Mistakes were made.

[Scratchpad]

Great shades of Cain... You actually made a pony chaos commissar, with bolt gun, fancy hat and everything. This was awesome!

[Sarraceno]

11033289
He even has the proper attitude!

[geomease]

So you said there was a Tyrannid outbreak in Ponyville?

The ponies fought them off?

Zero casualties?!

The ponies are EATING the Tyrannid corpses!?!

… ok these Ponies are actually a lot more hardcore than I thought…

[TinyPlaidNinjas]

11032139
Farming them as a source of food

[Sarraceno]

11033903
AJ gonna get livid.... but then she may realize she can cash admission too, after all, hunting may become a thing in equestria from now on. After all Applwnids are fruit (apparently)too

[UrsaMajor]

“We’re standing right in front of one!” Blueblood snapped, jabbing a hoof at the Carnifex corpse.

Nobody had ID'd it as a Carnifex before then, so it comes off a bit odd.

Anyway, nice chapter. I was sure it was the CMCs' fault, too.

[SFaccountant]

11034470
I thought it was obvious enough that I could name it, but you're right; in context it's strange to introduce the specific unit type like that. I'll change it to have Gears specify.

[The Warmaster]

Apple Tyranids. Applenids. I love this so much. This is glorious.
Also that made that just up and ate a Applenid Warrior. That just made me burst into laughter.

I love these stories so much

[Hey its that Pony]

Man, it's been so long since this one updated I actually went back and re-read the last chapter to catch up again.

That said, this was a pleasant surprise. Ever since reading about the apple tree/nid tower hybrids, I think everyone's been waiting for this boot to drop. I like that the Applenids (Hive Fleet Mandrake?) were edible. Just a perfect touch of humor. Kept expecting to see a Hive Lord (Orchard Lord?) to show up at the end but the Zoanthrope was even better.

I wouldn't be surprised if some of the bioforms escape and became feral, adding to the unusual wildlife of equestria. They would fit right in and this strain wouldn't be as overwhelming as normal tyranids.

Also, I like this trio. Good variety of personalities and skills.

[BurningSkies]

11036932
Makes me wonder what Tyranids with genes of other Equestrian organisms would be like.

I bet parasprite nids would be the absolute worst, because parasprites are basically magical bugs that can consume inorganic matter as well as biomass, and reproduce as fast or even faster than canon nids.
Poison Joke could backfire on the nids spectacularly.
Timberwolves could be interesting, but probably way less flame resistant than the applenids.
Breezie nids...I don't see any tactical advantage from using Breezie DNA. At least becoming apple-like lets seeds/spawn be carried by organisms higher on the food chain as they eat and digest the fruit and throw the seeds away. Breezies are pathetically fragile, tiny fairies.
Cockatrice nids could accidentally turn each other to stone, if cockatrices aren't immune to their own stone-gaze.
River-serpent-a-la-Steve-Magnet nids...yikes. Those things are pretty big.
Cragodile nids...also yikes. Better get something armor-piercing.
Bugbear nids...yikes again, especially since bugbears can fly.
Any-normal-woodland-creature nids...behold the wrath of The Shy One.

[ShadowsInTheDark]

The one time they could use Fluttershy help and she not here. XD

[Arzoo]

Ponyville still managed to fit in some mayhem and shenanigans even without the Elements of Harmony to attract it all, it seems. Loved Braeburn's speech at the end. Also Blueblood arguing with Sheraan was great.

[Sarraceno]

11037953
there's no wonder why Discord wanted to make Ponyville "Chaos capital of the world", the presence of the Elements, or more specifically the 6 wackos (also called Bearers) of Harmony just ramps up to 11

[Neece]

"Celestia knows things have been eventful enough to fill a small library with the history of the last year.(...)"

The meta is strong in this one!

Gotta love the Applenid eating mare. She should be damn proud!

[Dragon Turtle]

Huzzah it lives! No shade at all to cosmic space adventures, I just really like looking at the events on planet Equestria, the examination of how an average civilian’s life is affected by all this, and the low stakes procedural story settings. With a ton of bizzareness mixed in, of course. I think I just love the giant set piece of a quaint little town built into the alley ways of a mega-death fortress.

I guess it just goes back to the classic appeal of Hearts of Iron.

I was thrilled with returning to the cozy dynamic of the extended Apple family all over in together. Braeburn lights up the room and makes me smile whenever he speaks.

I honestly forgot that Prince Blueblood ever even had a speaking role in this universe.

11032180
Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since I’ve read the preceding chapters, but we did seem to have one new aspect of Gears revealed: he unhelpfully exposits and annoys everyone around him. (Although the part about spent ammo got me interested; I’m also surprised that any 40K flamer mixture could be odorless).

[Der Kaiser]

11032458
apple based daemonic creatures

[Notrab M]

Of course the Tyranids are made up of apples! Why not?! What's next, a mysterious ancient tomb under Equestrian full of pacifistic Necrons that still posses their souls?!!!!!!
Seriously though, did you have this planned from the beginning? And how far in advance are your stories/plot twists planned? Also, how many races from 40k are you planning to integrate into your universe? So far (if I'm remembering correctly) there's Humanity(sorta), the Tau, Da Orks, Tyranids, and the Space Marines(technically). Sooooo, 5 out of 7 or 9 total? Am I forgetting anyone?

[SFaccountant]

11128332
I have had the Applenid thing in the pocket for a while, although I wasn't sure how to play it. A lot of plot devices I dream up and then keep on the sidelines until I can think of an occasion (and hope I don't forget about them)

[clown2107]

I wonder what would happen if at some point Gear Works is made with Necron technology.

[SFaccountant]

11128912
The ability of constant self-repair and phase out whenever he took too much damage would ensure he'd suffer even more meaningless brutality since there would be no consequences.

[PonyofEntropy]

Great story. Keep up the good work.

[ABitterPill]

I wonder if the Dark Mechanicus will accept any responsibility over this fiasco. It was their apple spines that grew out of control.

I also hope that the applenids presence wasn't enough to draw the attention of any hivefleet.

[Wydril]

“I hate to disappoint you,” Blueblood drawled, “but as it happens this is not some weaponized alien toxin I was struck with. It’s apple sauce.”

Ohhh right, the apple spires spines*.

[DOOMRIDER]

To be perfectly Frank. This is by far my favorite chapter of this entire franchise I need more Applenids.

[starshow]

Apples are prey.

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣