Steampony

by Winged Anomaly

1: Claws of the Past

Steampony
Ken Atkinson

Chapter 1: Claws of the Past

“Come one! Come all! Witness and marvel at the internal workings of the fantastical Harvester Engine, courtesy of Sir Black Quill, master inventor! The Harvester Project – Unlimited Energy for an Unlimited Future!”

The tattered banner snapped in the wind that whipped down the narrow street like a living banshee, its trailing edge torn and mangled from months being bludgeoned against the rough brick wall it was affixed to with two loops of steel wire. I popped my collar and pulled my coat more tightly about me in an attempt to ward off the patient cold; winter was bearing down on us, I could feel it. Fortunately a fresh pub was just around the corner – one from which I hadn't yet been barred for overindulging in the owner's good graces. If all went well, my belly would be warm enough to ward off the encroaching chill. A little brass bell tinkled as I brushed through the door, taking a seat at the bar and propping my hooves up on the counter. It seemed like a cozy place; not too big, a pool table and a few booths in the back, a fan lazily circling overhead, and a muted television flickering behind the bar. A tall, silver-maned Unicorn stallion meandered over a moment later, using his magic to clean a mug.

“Haven't seen you here before. So, fillie... what's your name?”

I cracked a slight smile.

“I'm Pandora, and I'll take whatever you've got on tap.”

The Unicorn nodded and filled a glass, sliding it across the counter into my waiting hooves.

“Haven't heard your name either, and that's something. Most everyone gets a mention in here once or twice.”

I shrugged, and emptied half the mug in one gulp.

“Most people just know me as Rainbow Dash's non-daughter.”

“Rainbow Dash? That so?” he commented as I finished off and slid the mug back for another go.

“Yup.”

“Really. I was a big fan of hers back in the day... you know, during the rebellions against the Unicorn regime. She was a hell of a leader, I tell ya. She had the charisma to rally the people around her, and the spine to lead them into battle when the chips were down. A damn hero, your mother is.”

I laughed a short, clipped laugh, and stared at the beer as it filled the mug.

“She might've been a hero, she might've been a revolutionary, and she might've been like a hurricane in bed, just like all the stories. What she wasn't was a mother.”

I took a hearty swig, and continued after slamming the mug back down.

“You hear all these stories about her, but she isn't some myth or legend. She's just another pony like the rest of us, with all her ups, downs, glaring flaws, and anger management issues.”

He laughed.

“Well, she never did really seem like the family type.”

“She's not,” I replied after finishing off the second beer, “I exist because she and Spitfire, who are both so lesbian they don't even think about stallions, decided to get pregnant to help bolster the decimated Pegasus population.”

He winced.

“That's rough. I knew she had a thing with Spitfire, but... never mind, I'm not touching that subject. What was the death tole for Pegasi after the war again?”

“Fifty percent,” I said as I motioned for a third beer, “And that's fifty percent of all Pegasi in Equestria. Not one division, not one battalion, that's fifty percent of ALL of us, dead.”

I paused, about to take a swig, and frowned.

“Wait a second, you're a Unicorn. Why are you so fond of Rainbow when everything important she did in her life was to overthrow a Unicorn regime?”

He shrugged, and glanced up as another patron wandered in.

“Oppression is oppression is oppression, doesn't matter if you're the same race as the guys dealing it out.”

“Can you turn up the tellie?” I called after him as he moved to serve the new guest, and he nodded, cranking the knob jutting out of the dark wooden casing until the set was producing sound at a level approaching audible.

“...to unprecedentedly positive reception. Professor Black Quill himself stated after the exhibit was closed that he was shocked at the turnout.”

Ahh, I knew what they were talking about. Black Quill, the inventor of the Harvester Engine, had recently broken down one of the mysterious contraptions in front of an audience to shed some light as to how they worked. I'd seen bits of the presentation, but honestly, it was all beyond me... something about using mechanical energy to funnel something into something, drawing magic energy across something from somewhere. Long story short, the Harvester Engine harvested and stored magical energy, twice as fast as the strongest Unicorn and without pause for food or rest. Within a decade of the device's introduction, it had become part of everyday life. Harvester made magic, magic made heat, heat turned water to steam, steam generated electricity. In ten years, ten, we had vast power grids, automated factories, networks of transport and communication, giant machines to march off to war in the west, and all on a completely unprecedented scale. I glanced back up to the set.

“...our next story is one of tragedy, as yet another violent and lethal terrorist attack strikes downtown Manehattan.”

And there... there was the other side to the coin. Harvester Engines being stuck at the heart of everything from cities to toasters was of great benefit, yes, but Unicorns, a race whose exclusive and prized ability was control of magic, found themselves offered the shit end of the stick. Everything a Unicorn could do, a machine powered by a Harvester Engine could do faster, more efficiently, and without need for food, rest, or pay. In five years, the employment rate for Unicorns dropped by fifty percent... five years more, and it had fallen even further, leaving an astounding seventy five percent of Unicorns unemployed. Many took it lying down, acknowledging a changing world and trying to do their best with the new rules... and some didn't. A small percentage of Unicorns were more furious than the rest, and organized a... well, I don't know what to call it. It's not a rebellion because there's nothing they're rebelling against, it's not an underground because everyone knows about it... it's closest to an anarchist society, I suppose, given their philosophy seems to be 'blow things up until people do what we want.' Terrorist organization! That's the word I was looking for. Claws of the past, sinking into the present and dragging it down.

Boom.

Bottles rained from the shelves behind the bar, crashing to the floor in a cacophony of shattering glass as something detached from the ceiling and cracked over my skull, knocking me to the floor to enjoy the stars swimming in my vision and the ringing in my ears.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?” roared the bartender as I shook my vision straight.

“Unicorn terrorists,” I growled around the rapidly growing headache as I straightened my hat, “Speak of the fucking devil.”

The other patron seemed frozen for a moment, but ran out in a panic a few seconds later as the bartender sighed.

“You okay down there?”

I pushed the heavy object off my back and got to my feet, laughing bitterly as I realized it was the fan I'd noticed earlier.

“I'm fine,” I grunted, “Just going to take a look in the mirror, see if I got bumped harder than I thought. Have a shotgun under that counter?”

He nodded.

“Then lock and load. When they get in a blowing-up mood, they tend to take out anything they encounter for the next five minutes too.”

“I know. I watch the news.”

He pumped the long shotgun with a harsh rasp as I stepped into the bathroom and took a look at myself. I'd always hated myself for my appearance. My coat was a flat light gray, lacking any of the colour that had made Rainbow so noticeable, and my eyes were a fairly common blue. The only trait I'd actually inherited from Rainbow Dash was the vibrant, multicoloured mane, but it contrasted so harshly with my coat that I generally kept it cut short so I could hide it under my beloved wool flatcap. I noticed a few tufts poking out from under the brim as I pulled my hat off; getting time for another haircut. After a few seconds of examination, I came to the conclusion I was fine, and started for the exit after putting my hat back on... but just as I was almost out the door, I caught sight of it in the mirror. That thing I hated talking about. My cutie mark. Eight arrows, radiating out in a circular pattern from a single point... the symbol for chaos. My special talent was chaos. How do you think I felt after accidentally collapsing half the shelves back at the Library in Ponyville, only to discover it was THAT I was good at? Breaking things? Making a mess? Spitfire told me there were positive uses for chaos, but even up till now, I'd had a hard time believing her. How could I put a talent for chaos to use without joining those Unicorn nutjobs?

“How're you holding up?” I asked as I stepped back onto the pub's main floor, watching as the bartender shoved the fallen ceiling fan out of the way and righted stools, the shotgun abandoned on the bar. He just nodded, and I moved over to help him get the place in order, when an older stallion stumbled in through the door, looking thoroughly shaken. I didn't offer him a second glance... until I realized I knew his face.

“Professor Black Quill?” I asked hesitantly, and he nodded.

“That blast,” he gasped out between breaths, “Came from two doors down. My lab.”

I frowned.

“Why the hell is your lab situated in the undercity? Surely you're wealthy enough from the Harvester Engine to move into an outer-city complex?”

“Convenience,” he said as he took a seat, still collecting himself, “Some of my inventions can be... difficult to shift. Clearly, given my popularity with certain factions, this was an error in judgment.”

“Black Quill!?” the bartender finally exclaimed, “In my pub!? Is there anything I can get for you, Sir?”

“Straight shot of vodka, a pint of beer, and a new set of glasses,” he muttered, tossing the thin-framed oval lenses aside, the cracked glass making them next to useless.

“Any idea why they hit your lab, Professor?” I asked as the bartender located a still-intact bottle of Vodka and poured some beer. Quill just shrugged.

“Not a fucking clue.”

I had to try hard to stifle a laugh at the way he cursed; it felt almost forced. The good scientist must not have mingled with the common folk often. He kicked back the shot like a pro, though.

“Actually, that's not correct,” he continued a moment later, “I'm working on a new variant of the Harvister Engine. It's a project I've been putting off for a while. Didn't feel it was practical... but the Military Council pressed me. Apparently, the war in the west is getting nastier by the minute, and bigger is better in their eyes.”

“What... exactly do you mean, 'bigger is better'? What are you working on?”

He sighed.

“The Military Council commissioned me to finish the Titan Heart. It's a concept I was tinkering with a while ago; a Harvester Engine of unprecedented size and output, so big it would only be useful for permanent installations, or moving vehicles so massive I can't even comprehend the labour behind their construction. Back when I was first working on it, I did some calculations... it will weigh one hundred twenty tons when completed. How is something like that practical when one could simply employ multiple, smaller Harvester Engines for similar power output and similar weight?”

I shrugged.

“It sounds like a showstopper to me. Not intended to be practical, just big for the sake of being big. It'll probably be built into a weapon so massive, firing it would be next to impossible... something to scare the Buffalo into surrender.”

He seemed confused.

“But why not employ a fake? Build a hollow cannon and wheel it to the border; let its shadow scare them into submission, rather then putting the time and resources into building a practical prototype?”

“Because if the Buffalo call their bluff, they can't wipe an entire city off the map as a demonstration.”

A look of grim understanding crossed his features.

“Ah. Well, either way, the point is the bombers probably wanted to stop me from completing the Titan Heart.”

I nodded to the bartender.

“Barkeep, could I get another beer?”

He nodded, and started pouring.

“If you're planning on being a regular,” he commented as he slid the mug across the counter, “You can call me by my name. I'm Mercury.”

I took a swig.

“Well, you already know my name. It's a pleasure, Mercury.”

Quill glanced around half-nervously.

“I don't.”

I raised an eyebrow, and emptied my glass.

“Whelp, I'm Pandora, agent of chaos and daughter of Rainbow Dash.”

He raised an eyebrow back at me.

“Rainbow Dash's? Really? I wasn't aware she'd had any children.”

“Yeah, that's a common misconception. Often seemed like she wasn't aware she'd had a child, either.”

Not moments after I'd finished speaking, the door of the pub swung open once again, this time admitting a white-coated Pegasus with fiery orange-gold eyes. She was in police gear, and spoke with a strong Whelsh accent.

“Sorry to intrude, mares and gentlecolts. I'm police lieutenant Whitefire... I'm afraid I'll have to take a statement from each of you regarding the incident. Don't worry, though. It shouldn't take long.”

***

“Alright... name?”

“Pandora,” I replied, “I seem to be introducing myself a lot today.”

“New in town?” she asked as she wrote something on her clipboard. I shook my head.

“Nah, just new to this pub.”

She laughed quietly.

“Yeah, I know how that goes. Alright, all I need you to do is tell me what happened as best as you can remember. Include as many details as you can; surprising things can turn a case from a cold turkey to a sealed archive.”

I shrugged.

“Really, I don't have much. I doubt I can add anything to the Professor's testimony.”

“We'll see, just do your best.”

I nodded.

“Alright. I got here about... an hour and a half ago now, looking to get completely flattened. Place was deserted when I came in. I had a short conversation with Mercury, the bartender, then another customer pulled him away, so I watched the television for a bit. A few minutes later, boom. All the bottles on the shelf crash to the floor, and that fan you can see lying over in the corner disconnects from the ceiling and hits me in the head. After I picked myself up and went to the bathroom to make sure my brain wasn't leaking out, I came back out here and a couple minutes after that, the Professor walks in and says it was his lab next door that was attacked.”

She paused, tapping her lip with her pencil.

“What're you thinking?” I asked.

“Quill's lab is intact,” she said, “He felt the explosion with such force that it had to be in the same building, but he didn't actually witness any damage, past a few things falling off shelves. That, coupled with the shock but limited damage I'm seeing here... makes me think that the Unicorns are planting bombs in the old sewers underground...”

“Trying to bring down Quill's entire building,” I finished, “Taking out him and all his projects at the same time.”

I almost mentioned the Titan Heart, but I wasn't sure he'd told her, and I really wasn't sure whether or not the project was supposed to be secret. Best to play it safe; I wasn't a rat. She pointed at me with her pencil, smiling.

“Great minds think alike. I'll warn the professor, then. Hey, if you're not doing anything later... would you be up for some good old-fashioned vigilantism? The Manehattan police are stretched more thin than a condom on an Earth Pony's cock, so we'll take help wherever we can get it.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you ask me, in particular?”

She shrugged.

“You're smart, you can take a hit, and you've got a pretty face. Up for some ass-kicking?”

A slow smile spread across my face.

“Hell yes.”

We moved over to where the Professer was on his eighth beer.

“Professor,” Whitefire started, “I've come to the conclusion that the Unicorn bombers are planting their charges in the old sewers beneath the streets in an attempt to bring down your entire building. I recommend you get any high-value hardware out of there as soon as you can manage, in case the foundation doesn't hold.”

Quill started, suddenly alert.

“Celestia's bones, why didn't I think of that!?”

And he was out the door in a flash. Mercury just laughed quietly behind the counter, where he was sweeping up broken glass.

“Poor fellow's having a hell of a day.”

I followed Whitefire out of the bar and up the street, stopping out front of the building that must have been Quill's lab. It wasn't particularly flashy – a flat, red brick face, standing five stories high and dotted with occasional windows... mostly broken now, though. There wasn't so much as an address next to the thick wooden door, which stood just open enough for me to see the dozen or so wrought-iron locking mechanisms lining the frame. At least he wasn't short on straightforward security – provided he remembered to close the door. I glanced over to where Whitefire had just pried a manhole cover off the road, and was motioning me down. I was about to start down the ladder when I caught a whiff of the smell. My expression must've told the story as Whitefire grimaced.

“Yeah, I know. They say you'll get used to it, but I don't put much credit in that. Come on, time's a-wasting.”

She slid down the ladder, and I had to admire her resistance – the smell was holding me back like a physical barrier.

“Come on,” echoed up, “Believe me, it's not so bad once you get down here.”

I took her word for it and followed her down, gagging when I reached the bottom.

“Liar,” I gasped out as I slowly acclimatized myself, she just laughed.

“Better to act first and beg forgiveness later.”

She rooted around in a pocket for a moment, producing a small flashlight a few seconds later, which she activated with a muted click and shone down the tunnel. The tunnel stretched some distance before its subtle curve took it out of sight, the heavy masonry ribs built into the walls to support the buildings above turning the already small space into a claustrophobic nightmare. It was a matter of seconds before the beam landed on the blast site, on the left wall of the tunnel.

“Luna's tits,” I breathed. The entire area was burned and scorched, the steel catwalk warped away from the wall, which had been blown clear through, opening a rubble-lined tunnel into the next sewer over. But despite the obvious power of the blast, it hadn't been quite enough, opening too small a gap to even threaten the building above. Whitefire nodded in satisfaction.

“Right, we should go let the Professor know he needn't worry for now, then we can start looking for...”

“Could've sworn the charge was big enough. Who did the math on this again?”

“Shut up! Fucking amateur.”

I put a hoof over Whitefire's mouth, and glanced to her questioningly. She nodded, yes... she'd heard the harsh whisper as it was amplified and echoed by the enclosing walls. I motioned to her nigtstick, then pointed to the ground and made waving motions forward. Hopefully, she got what I was planning. I take the stick and move in, taking the Unicorns out, while she stays put and moves the flashlight around, making like everything's normal.

“Looking for evidence,” she finished as she handed me the weapon, “Sorry, kinda spaced for a minute there.”

Trying to keep my movements quiet, I inched along the left catwalk with the nightstick firm in my grip. The damaged area was only a couple of meters ahead now.

“I'm actually a little surprised,” Whitefire continued, seemingly absentmindedly as she swung the flashlight back and forth across the tunnel's width, “The Unicorn underground usually thinks these things through. You'd think they'd have known to bring a bomb with enough blast potential.”

And then I was on top of them. I charged through the blast zone, the stick raised high. Unfortunately, the darkness proved more intense than I'd thought, and I plowed straight into one of the bombers, knocking us both to the ground. Fortunately, I'd kept my hold on the nightstick, and swung it with all my might into the pitch emptiness ahead of me. It connected solidly with one of the bad guys, a wet 'thwack' echoing down the tunnel, followed shortly by the thump of a collapsing body. By then, his accomplice had found his flashlight. The sudden blast of yellow-white light took me by surprise, but that didn't stop me – I just closed my eyes and swung wildly until the stick made contact with something. The bright glow faded from the back of my eyelids as the flashlight struck the battered masonry floor, its owner stumbling back, reeling from the blow I'd dealt. It was a simple matter of knocking the second pony out... after opening my eyes, of course.

“Whitefire,” I shouted back down the tunnel, “We're clear.”

“How many of them were there?” she asked as she carefully stepped over the shattered stone.

“Two,” I said, giving one of the unconscious stallions a kick, “Unless one of them cleared out while I was fighting. I wasn't particularly subtle.”

“Why do you think they're still here?”

I shrugged.

“I'm guessing they sent one of their guys to tell their boss the bombing failed. They're probably waiting for him to return, and trying to figure out why the charge wasn't strong enough at the same time.”

Whitefire shook her head.

“Silly. Stupid. If this is Unicorn resistance, it's a splinter cell, sub group, or mimicer. The guys we've been dealing with up till now are cold, calculating, and very smart. I'm not seeing any of that here. A bunch of stallions plant a bomb that's too small, stay on site during the blast, and wait around for nearly two hours afterward, on the scene of the crime.”

“Think not all is as it seems?”

She snorted.

“Nah. I just think they're fucking stupid.”

I straightened my flatcap, and turned towards the exit.

“Come on, let's get out of here before the stench knocks one of us out.”

***

Six hours later, Mercury had cleaned up the bar, and Whitefire and I were drunk off our asses. She'd sent some poor patrolmen down to pick up the suspects and scrounge for evidence; we'd done our bit, they did theirs. Whitefire was good to be around; she was intelligent and led an interesting life, but was also imbued with that cynical, practical edge I found I could respect so easily.

“You know what,” she slurred, pulling out a napkin and a pen, “You know what, this, right here, is my number. You ever get bored or get an urge to crash somewhere and get completely drunk, gimme a call, aight?”

“Totally.”

I shoved the napkin in my coat pocket, and started when I saw the clock on the wall.

“Celestia, look at the time,” I muttered, “Better get home to my boyfriend before he decides I'm dead.”

Her face fell, but she maintained a forced smile.

“Boyfriend, huh? Baah, boyfriends are boring. Girlfriends... girlfriends are much more interesting.”

I immediately locked down.

“Ah. So you're one of them.”

“One of what, exactly? I'm sitting right here, you know.”

It was at that point that I realized what I'd done, but I was too drunk to think damage control.

“You know, one of... them. Lesbians.”

“And what do you have against lesbians?”

“Nothing, personally, it's just... my parents were two mares. One was always missing, and the other one didn't know how to raise a child. It's nothing conscious, I just... I suppose I just have negative associations.”

She sighed exasperatedly.

“Oh, grow up. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty five? Plenty old enough to get over shit like that and accept that I'm a pony, just like you. You go for stallions, I go for mares. Is that really a reason to think any differently of me?”

“Look, I'm just say-”

“Fuck off. I'm sick of people like you telling me how to live.”

That was it. I jumped to my feet knocking the stool to the floor with a deafening clatter.

“You know what!?” I shouted, “I think I will!”

The bar's door slammed behind me a moment later. I stalled a moment, wondering whether I should go back in and try to apologize, but she was probably still enraged, and I was definitely not in the mood to try and apologize. A couple of minutes later I stormed off, zipping up my jacket to ward off the steadily growing winter chill. At least my boyfriend's apartment was only a few blocks away.